I was cooking dinner; bell peppers, onions, and chicken mingling together delicious. Onions caramelizing, peppers tender, chicken browned just right. After Grace burned her tongue taking a stolen bite and was shooed away I added the curry. Color spilled across pan, aroma rose to meet me. Then I burnt my own tongue and frowned. Not much flavor. So I poured out more and tasted, poured out more and tasted. Still frowning I looked at the label. It was old. Expired. Flavor life ended.
The careful combination of spices meant to enhance and enliven was all but useless. I thought about a journal entry from earlier that day. "The thing I love (writing) I left. When things were difficult I let go of it because I was afraid if I let go of enough emotion to write even a line of poetry with any honesty it would all come pouring out. I was afraid of being spent, empty, poured out, and never full of anything again. I spent sixteen weeks learning how to not be afraid to write. Something I had wanted to do all of my life. In less time than that the courage was gone." So I stood there and thought, "This is what I have become. A vessel filled with the old, the mediocre, the flavorless." But I was not afraid anymore.
The careful combination of spices meant to enhance and enliven was all but useless. I thought about a journal entry from earlier that day. "The thing I love (writing) I left. When things were difficult I let go of it because I was afraid if I let go of enough emotion to write even a line of poetry with any honesty it would all come pouring out. I was afraid of being spent, empty, poured out, and never full of anything again. I spent sixteen weeks learning how to not be afraid to write. Something I had wanted to do all of my life. In less time than that the courage was gone." So I stood there and thought, "This is what I have become. A vessel filled with the old, the mediocre, the flavorless." But I was not afraid anymore.
I know this release, the journaling, the joy list making, the writing are all pouring out to make room for new. It has been a pouring out of old and recent hurt and fear combined, all caked together, matted and worthless. Pouring out is not using up, it is making room for the new, the fresh infilling.
I must pour out to be filled. Pour out strings of words on paper, pour out words typed, pour out in love, pour out in service, pour out in prayer, pour out in grace, pour out in hope, pour out in faith. Until all of the old, flavorless, useless pain and regret and fear have gone.
I used to think that to heal I just had to acknowledge and walk away from it. It is not that simple. It is a constant determination to never go back the way I came. To never put the old in the cleaned out vessel.
2 comments:
Your posts flow mine just blah. ;) Love you Shawnamomma!
Well thank you sweety! I had to laugh though because I went back, reread it and corrected most of the verb tenses. Haha. I finish and I just see editing. I am glad you enjoyed it. Love you too!
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