Today’s guest post comes from Beth Sciallo of The Art of Encouragement and Beth Sciallo’s Blog. I’ve known Beth as an encouraging commenter for a while, and I was humbled to see myself in her beautiful, catch-you-right-where-you-are post; it’s my pleasure to offer you the same opportunity for reflection. –Tamára
The silence of the drive is almost too much. We are together and apart in the same vehicle. Close quarters make for intimate conversations, but I am not for talking. I can’t. Because every time I try to express what’s going on inside, I just leak and sunglasses will not hide that torrent. I hit the pedal to the metal and turn up the worship music, drowning out his quiet intimations. Generic words about changing scenery get me through the last few miles and up the driveway. But then I have to stop. Stop the motor, stop the music, stop the motions…
I bolt out of the car before he has a chance to reach me– spinning round as if to evade his grasp. He wants to talk but I fear the loss of my self-made shoring all too risky for that exchange.
Let me hold you.
He meets me round the other side of the car as I try to quickstep through the front door.
Because it hurts to have my humanity held up against your majesty… holiness… beauty.
The words sound like a slap in the face, but I cannot lie to him. So I lie to myself in this moment and dismiss his tender mercies as unprovoked and undeserved. I walk through the door, throw down my keys and allow the swirl of my circumstance to close the conversation.
Why do I turn toward all the things that have me sinking?
Why do I hide from the one person who knows my everything and stays despite it all?
He is waiting by the doorway for me to open up this brokenness to him. His unshakeable patience will eventually overcome my very shakeable self. And for that I am thankful, even if I cannot say so yet.
Beth married into a missionary family and lives in Scotland with her husband, five children, and an assortment of animals– including six highland cows and a gecko named Rexi. This living arrangement means writing through the sounds of snoring and painting by the light of the moon.