Learning to make the space for oneself, for time to sit and really think, there in the quiet. Making space to breath and rest when the panic of perceived failure encroaches. Learning to see God, even when I don’t exactly want to or feel like I deserve to do so. Fighting through the silences to put fear into words, when that is all there is to be voiced in my prayers. Sitting and letting the words flow until tears follow, filling the silence.
Each time I begin to think through the story of my jman days in order to finish this public retelling, the nightmares return — the torment and resistance. There’s too much pain and rawness yet; it’s so bound up with my current struggle to find a place in the Evangelical world, in these churches filled often with so many self-satisfied non-seekers. I am the greatest of these.
I’ll pick up the threads soon, I hope. No more promising timelines. I’ll leave you with two photos, though. The first is me sitting in the airport in Istanbul at the very end of March. The second is several months later, after moving out to Washington and beginning to rebuild. My eyes had grown dead from 8 months of endless conflict and anguish; they are rekindled.