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  • Writer's pictureMartina

Thinks

I suppose you may be wondering why I haven’t written after I talked a big game about being more regular about it now that summer has arrived. Even if you haven’t been wondering, I’m still obliged to fill you in.

Firstly, there is a complete lack of time for it. I tell you what, this kind of —well, I wouldn’t call it work, exactly. Undertaking, I suppose. This type of undertaking doesn’t offer much in the way of idle moments. Fun fact: If I ever update this while on location, it likely hasn’t been written in one sitting.

I digress. It’s a lot more than simply not having time. It’s that your time belongs to everyone else. My time belongs to —in order— God, Father George, Alex, and the people making retreat here. It’s not mine anymore. I’m sure if you asked Father and  Alex, they would say similar things.

I don’t say it to be arrogant about it. I say it because that’s how it is.

Secondly, the fact of the matter is I’ve tried a number of times to put pen to paper (so to speak), and each time it was all wrong. If there’s one thing I strive for in this thing, it’s honesty. I never want to write something just to have content. No. I’ve never been very good at filling silence with noise just for the sake of noise.

So I’ve been waiting for the inspiration to hit me. And finally it has. So. Onward, I guess.

I want to tell you about a struggle of mine. A challenge. I’m going to try to be forthcoming, but bear with me. I, probably more than most, despise vulnerability as a quality in myself.

Let go. This is a lesson I have learned over and over and over again, and something still must be lacking in me because it seems the Lord is always asking me to release my hold on something or other. If it’s not my expectations, it’s my doubts. If it’s not my desires, it’s my pain. Always, always, always He comes to me with open hands and asks that mine be as empty as his. And for what? What’s the big deal? Why is he so insistent with me?

Well, in my heart I know it’s because I can’t reach for him when I’m grasping at the straws of this life. How can he place his hands in mine if they are ever full of what I think I need?

There are no specifics to offer you. But this is what I’ve been reflecting on the past couple days: Sometimes the Lord allows the heartbreak into our lives. There were times this weekend I’d be sitting in a session listening to the talks, and that sense of being crushed became overwhelming in my heart. There were moments while I was singing where the hurt of letting go seemed to compound over itself. Like waves. Like erosion.

We all have things we cling to. We have our little comforts and we have our righteous indignation. We have our doubts and expectations. We have fears and we have convictions. These are the things that fill us up; these are the things that take up the space in our minds and hearts where God wants to dwell. Just to think of it. He leaves all of high heaven and chooses to make a throne for himself in my own heart. But that place —his rightful place— is so full of…everything, I guess. I don’t blame him for asking me to empty it.

When will I learn, once and for all, that nothing can fill that void the way my Jesus can? My heart, I know it, is a hungry, devouring thing. It will take and take and take whatever is given to it and never be satisfied. How can it hope to survive without eating even itself alive? It must, at some point, turn to the One who can never tire of giving; the One who can never out-give my need.

Look, there’s no clever turn of phrase here. No humor. No story. Not this time. This is just me: A girl with many thoughts, conflicts, worries, and pains. A girl with questions and with a heart as restless and unsettled as this life I lead. So where does that leave me? I don’t know. I don’t see this as a final stop. I don’t think I’ve reached the destination yet.

Besides. I’ve always thought it’s more about the journey anyways.

Til next we meet—

Carry on,

Martina

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