Revealing Grace

The other day a song came on when I was at work. It was one I had heard for the first time when I was in the depths of my sorrow. The song begins with the words "It feels like an ocean of sorrow is under my skin. Even the ocean eventually meets with the sand. Sorrow on sorrow I'm waiting, heavy I'm anticipating, trusting the current will carry me."  It brought tears to my eyes because in an instant I was back there. As if watching a playback of the last ten months, I saw myself in the depth of my pain. My heart broke for the girl whose world had fallen apart, who would sob hopelessly into the phone, in the bathroom, in the car. I couldn't get out of bed for weeks, and it was months before I was able to go outside of the house for more than an hour. It felt like an ocean of sorrow was welling up within me and I was certain it would never end. When I read back on the journal I kept I want to hold tight the me who felt so hollow, so empty, so ready for darkness

The other day I celebrated a birthday. Here I am, another year older, in the final year of my 20s. My friends and I have talked extensively about what it feels like to be almost thirty. The truth is we like it.   We feel more confident in who we are, more settled in some ways, definitely more sophisticated and healthier. In our twenties we have had different jobs, gone back to school, had relationships that blossomed and relationships that failed, and we have grown into woman that we like and that we want to be friends with.   Yet, as much as I feel like a confident and sophisticated 29-year-old woman, I have to admit that I still sometimes struggle with really owning who I am. Dating kind of makes you realize how confident (or not confident) you are in who you are. I have found myself often worried that I am “too Christian” or “too divorced” or “too tall.” I get nervous that I will be defined by something that in and of itself I am not ashamed of, but that perhaps other