Being Found and Finding Healing

It's been 45 days since I wrote anything at all; it's been 46 days since I wrote anything on my blog. Last night coffee made me lose my mind, and not being able to sleep, I opened my journal and wrote for the first time again. Perhaps one of the three or four who read my blog wonder what happened to me. You've earned an explanation.

I've suffered severely from the disease of me. I was afflicted with a paralyzing case of the 'I can't' syndrome, and it ate away at my heart. In terms of the journey, I got lost. But I was rescued. I was pursued by one named I AM, the I WAS, and I WILL BE--the one who whispers "you can" and who screams mystically, "you have what it takes." This one is also named Jesus, for he is the one "who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood, and has made us to be a kingdom and priests to serve his God and Father."

I call it being re-awakened. If 46 days ago I was disillusioned, today I'm reoriented--reoriented to my First Love, to what's true, to life again--even to the Church, which his body, which I will write about next.

You see, it's like this: Two weeks ago my sister, my boy Justin, and I got into my car to drive home after eating lunch together. Sure, the sky looked a bit drowsy and the temperature definitely was frigid. Not 5 minutes into our trip home, we ran into one of the worst snow squalls I've ever seen in all my 4 years of seeing snow. Literally, the snow was falling so heavy and the wind was blowing the snow so hard that the visibility vanished instantly. I'm not exaggerating either. There were no warning signs, and there certainly was no way around it. I laughed at first because I love adventure. But when I couldn't see the hood of my car, I stopped smiling--that is because I continued to drive, or I should say crawl down what I hoped was the road. And this is the part of the story called foolishness. My car had no heat, and my engine ran hot when I stopped or drove slow. If we pulled over, we'd freeze, and my car would explode for all I knew. So, foolishly, I drove on as disoriented as could be. It wasn't until we managed to see a glimpse of a green exit sign that we knew where we were. What usually took me 5 minutes, took us 35 minutes. That's what happens when people are disoriented. In fact, some never make it at all. As long as we're talking about the journey as we know it, we must talk about the effects of being disillusioned and disoriented. It was never supposed to be this way. When we finally pulled into the garage, the check engine light finally came on. My car is fixed now, and so am I.

Seven years ago I ventured out on the journey of desire, living out the sacred romance with my Savior, cultivating intimacy with God, walking hand in hand with Him, and learning to take my place in the Story he wrote. Danger was always present and always produced fear in me when I wandered away from the narrow path of life. Children always lose their way when they let go of their Father's hand.

I found his hand again. But more importantly to me, he found mine.