Hi, My name is Deanna, I am a girl, and I hate to cry. Like seriously hate to cry. Let me explain the type of crying I am talking about. I will cry at a movie or tear up at a commercial. Even cry when I am angry from time to time, somehow those seem excusable.
But that my heart hurts cry, yea that cry. Sucks. Like literally sucks the life and energy out of me sucks.
Sometimes I wish that I was currently still called to write poetry. Blogging is harder for me because it has to be more real, more tangible. I cant really hide behind the pretty prose of supposition and let it be therapeutic to me and vague to the world.
So there have been a series of things in the past week that have just come up and I am currently in that heart hurt place. There are things to mourn and things to lay down and I am just not sure where to begin. There has been this Verse on my YouVersion that I have kept up for the past few days and when I first read it, I felt like ohhhh yea, that’s sooo inspiring. Until finally I realized it was my verse for this specific situation and in all chapters Habbakuk! Yall didn’t even know that was a real book in the Bible did you? But it goes like this in Habbakuk 3
17Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
18yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.
So the Deanna Expository Version goes something like this:
Even though You have Lost your two Best Friends, Even though Your heart is still raw, Even though your past gets thrown into your face, Even though people make you feel like you are not good enough, even when they don’t know it.
Jesus Saved You. He Loves You. Praise Him Anyway.
The moment I acknowledged this. No Like Seriously 15 mintutes ago when I read it again. I Cried. I cried the cry that a child cries nestled into the arms of a parent. That I know you are comforting me and I just need a place to be safe kind of cry. That cry that is the beginning of freedom. The cry of acknowledgement and not of suffering.
So Yea. My Name is Deanna, I’m a girl, and I hate to cry. But Sometimes, I do it anyway. At least in my Fathers Arms.