Day 46: Bonfire

This past week something happened where I live to make me feel betrayed, misheard, invalidated, unsafe. My heart shut down and I stopped talking to leadership and the girls in my house for days. After everything I’ve fought and sacrificed for the past nine months, I finally wanted to give up and run away. God says he won’t give us more than we can handle. This time, I shouted at Y’shua, on top of everything else, you’ve given me more than I handle. I quit (and my language may not have been that nice).

Y’shua responded by sitting with me and crying.

You can’t always access all your pain, He said, but I always feel it.

It was like He knew something I didn’t.

You feel betrayed, He said.

Duh. And I proceeded to tell Him how hurt I had been this week.

You’re hypersensitive to this right now because of Aaron.

Stunning clarity. And with it arrived a truckload of grief driven by sobs.

My current pain was valid. But it was exaggerated by the pain of feeling betrayed by Aaron. He lied to me. Maybe not outright, but he omitted the truth, and to my heart that carries the same emotional pain as a falsehood. He failed to show me his true self—he hid it. And I believed him. I loved him. I put my whole heart into our relationship. I gave it everything I had and then he betrayed my trust. After it ended, I haven’t known what to believe. I kept finding things he hadn’t told me, and it throws me. Can I trust anything he said? Was any of it true? How much was an act? In my darkest moments of doubt I even have to wonder, did he really love me? In my mind you don’t lie to someone you love. That’s not okay.

So Y’shua sat with me while the pain came out—and the anger. We laid it all out on the table. Then He startled me.

You hate Him, He said.

But I loved him, Y’shua.

I know. And now more than one thing can be true at the same time. You need to be real. You need to admit it.

I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to look and find that depth of anger within myself. I didn’t want to be a hateful person. But that was my pride trying to protect me. It’s not shameful to admit the hate, Y’shua whispered. It’s okay. Just pull it out, look at it, and give it to me. I had to loose my pride and bind myself to His grace [the picture of grace God has given me lately is when I am so weak I can’t even stand, the Lord carries me. And He doesn’t just carry me, but he walks me through the throne room of heaven in my weakened state and shows me off. Here she is, my beloved. Isn’t she beautiful?]. Even then my body tensed and groaned until I could bring myself to spit out the words.

I hate you.

And that’s all it took to loose the power of that hatred. I had been betrayed. And now I had been honest. I got over my religious self and took a hard look at the loathing in my heart. Then I could let it go, hand it over to Y’shua, watch him breathe on it until it melted away. I could forgive and release and bless. It was more wrong to live in denial of the hate than to let it surface in whatever ugliness it contained for the sake of resolution.

I’ve had a box of things sitting in my room for the past six weeks. When I was done forgiving, Y’shua told me it was time to burn them. So one of my roommates helped me build a bonfire last night and I watched letters, pictures, bridal registries, dried roses, and save-the-date postcards turn to ash. But it wasn’t hateful. It felt right. It was time for closure. My roommate and I even managed to laugh a bit. I think it means I’m ready to move on.

And so Aaron I release you. You don’t owe my heart anything. I chose to love you and offer myself to you. That was a choice I made willingly. You don’t owe me for that.

And I bless you.

I bless you to find Y’shua’s goodness, to really know Him, to let Him meet you in your pain and give you what you need.

I bless you to find closure, to discover community, and to move on.

I bless you to find love and unconditional acceptance in the context of being fully known—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I bless you to someday realize your desires and get to minister like you want.

And I bless you—if necessary—to hate me for the way it must’ve felt I rejected you and walked away so you can find a way out of the pain to something better.