One night I was sitting in my room feeling unsettled emotions that I could not put my finger on. Jamie came into my room and asked me what was wrong. I told her I didn't really know, I just felt weird inside. She said that sometimes when she is upset or angry, she'll write down everything she can think of that is bothering her and then rip the paper up. I thought it was a stupid idea, so I tried it. I began writing:
Don't want to teach.
I began writing more and more until the entire page was covered with anxious thoughts, hurts, doubts, and brokenness. As I wrote faster I began to laugh...hysterically. I laughed so hard tears started streaming down my cheeks and Jamie looked on at me, laughing nervously. I don't think this was the reaction she had anticipated...but it wasn't over.
I continued to write. I continued to laugh. I continued to cry. And then I ripped the paper up. I ripped it into tiny pieces, somehow hoping this action would rid me of my cares and emptiness, my loss and confusion. It did not. My hysterical laughter turned into hysterical weeping. Months of anxiety, loneliness and hurt uncontrollably flooded out in the form of salty tears and painful sobs. Kristi, who had heard me from the other room, now sat on the floor beside me, stroking my hair and waiting for the pain...or at least the physical signs of it...to stop.
That night I realized that buried burdens cannot go undetected forever. I saw the faces of my roommates and dear friends, wanting to help, yet completely unaware how deep the roots of my pain had buried themselves in my being. And as I layed on the floor that night, I realized that I was indeed carrying burdens but I was too tired to hide them, too weak to carry them, and too broken to fix them.
I'm not sure why that memory came to mind...except tonight I am able to look back and thank God for my brokenness for it has cultivated in me strength, beauty and most of all, faith.
Don't want to teach...don't have to teach.
Future...is not today