Being in a country where I am lost, all of the time, I am beginning to see the parallel to my life where I am supposed to not be lost, or at least have an idea of where I am going. I am beginning to realize, I have been speaking a different language my entire life. As though I am from Britain or Australia, where I should be understood, but there are just enough words that have different meanings, different contexts that leave me utterly misunderstood, and worse yet, at times, offending others.
And all the time, I have thought I was the strange one, the one that couldn't match heart with words. I was the one in the wrong, asking the wrong questions, saying the wrong thing. Misunderstood constantly, it has been a message of taboo, and being an outsider. Just on the fringe. Trying so hard at times to compare wounds, or express my own desires to be met with curious looks, frustrations and even at times harsh words of criticisms leading to a conclusion of my own inadequacy. The heart completely ignored, the wisdom painfully gained, worth little as it is not viewed as worthy given my different dialect. And at times I yelled louder and slower, as if to speak to the deaf and not those that just didn't comprehend.
Then there were the moments of grace that only heaven could know were so needed. A look of acceptance and understanding, or better yet, appreciation. A word or phrase spoken in recognition of a heart that desired, more than anything else to be recognized for what it was instead of what it had been assigned. In those moments, my walls broke. Falling so easily under the gentle words of someone that seemed, for one moment, to see the heart, and to accept it.
So I bent. I molded. I broke what could be broken to fit an image that would be acceptable. I took the group mentality and laughed with everyone... at myself. I encouraged though I lacked encouragement, I gave ear, though few gave ear to a language they didn't understand... and who would, or could? And after a while, I believed the looks, the criticisms, the graceless interactions. We are not worth what we can not provide. The lesson crept into everything, guarding my heart from more wounding, that seemed inevitable. A slip of the tongue would occur, a slip of the hand... and even the place on the fringe would be jeopardized and that was a risk I didn't want to take. Especially when acceptance only comes through right actions and words.
At times I thought my language was understood, so I poured out, only to find I was wrong again. Something had been lost in translation, and again, I was misunderstood, heart connection gone. Walls back up.
Then something changed. I got it. When you have got nothing, you have nothing to lose anyways. Walking a fine line and all the work it entails means nothing when you are receiving nothing in return. Loneliness is not the absence of people, it is the absence of acceptance and if I already know that, what is there to fear?
Marrying the wrong man? I won't come. Divorcing the wrong man? I can't know you. Too melancholy? Get over it. Too hurting from a divorce? I don't want your friendship. Asking too many questions and still struggling? Maybe there is something wrong with you. Can't be what I want... then I don't want you. Messages heard loud and clear.
The language I have been speaking, somehow, has lead to my demise. Guards upon guards have been needed, constantly watching every word, checking for offense, for acceptance, gauging and re-gauging every moment to make sure I was still at least on the fringe.
Now comes the challenge. Too tired, too angry and too frustrated with faux friendships and communities lacking the grace needed for growth, the desire to bend and mold has broken. Another layer of skin has been shed, and this one is one of the most painful yet. More isolated than ever in a place where I can barely get by, the lack of understanding here is expected and part of daily life, at home, it is no longer. Finally wrapping my mind around the truth that I am not as lacking as I allowed myself to believe, nor am I as inadequate, or strange, or crazy... or whatever, I no longer want relationships based on that belief. Based on those patterns that I admittedly created.
Dark is the road ahead. Cautiously I wonder what it will look like to walk down when I am on the same continent with those that have known a different sort of relationship with me. Accessible by phone... though I am not sure that would really matter since much contact with supposedly close friends (and family for that matter) has been little to nil. I will make exceptions for a few precious people that have birthed a new level of friendship and life that has been used by God to reveal these lessons in a gentle and amazing way. Friendships based on new patters, and a common language.
But still I wonder, how dark will this get? Sitting on the metro with people refusing to meet eye contact, walking the streets of Paris alone, I can't help but think it can't get any worse, but one never knows. This path feels so heretical, so wrong, to shed what you have always known as good, but I can't deny the peace that flows in as I struggle through old beliefs. The comfort is, the language I speak is not from me, but is innate in my being, woven in by my Creator. As I feel Him sit down next to me, placing His hands on my chest, over my heart whispering words that only mean something to be, I hear more clearly than any spoken word I have ever encountered His powerful and perfect Heavenly tongue circling around me. A language I finally understand...
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