love

I looked up the definition of the word dysfunctional today. It means “1. Not operating normally or properly. 2. Deviating from the norms of social behavior in a way regarded as bad.”

Yup, that’s me.

I went to Panera this morning to get my man a blueberry scone, because he wanted a blueberry scone. Occasionally I sort of forget just how dysfunctional I am. Most of the time I’m in my cocoon of family and very close friends who, for the most part, just accept my dysfunction.

I also spend the vast majority of my time either steeped in dense fog, intensely introspective or in deep conversation with my Father. This, combined with my emotional turtle act while in the company of most people makes for some pretty serious dysfunction.

I honestly don’t much care that I appear incredibly odd but this morning in the hustle and bustle of a busy restraunt while I was standing in line expending every ounce of energy I had just to remember what I came to order and what the appropriate conversational nuances were it hit me that to the people around me I likely not only seem weird but rude.

As I struggled through the rest of the interaction and went to fill my fountain drink I kept my head down and my eyes averted. I almost always do. A former student spotted me and I just kept walking. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

In moments of lucidity over the past month I’ve wondered about the burdens carried by the people going about their lives around me. Often the world seems to move in slow motion with me outside as an invisible observer. I see parents drop their kids off at school and hurry to get to work. I see couples out to eat dinner conversing about this or that, or not. It all seems so normal.

And then I think about me. Those outside of my circle of friends and family have no idea of the burning, screaming, devastating pain that lives inside me every single moment. I’m just some inconsiderate chick who apparently doesn’t notice anything going on around her. They can’t even fathom the extent of my pain.

Maybe that “jerk” who didn’t smile back or cut you off in traffic or didn’t want to talk isn’t a jerk after all. Maybe they are desperately wounded. Maybe they just can’t smile. Maybe the hurt is so deep and so wide that just breathing is an exercise in endurance. Maybe they don’t want to look you in the eyes because either you will see the pain and recoil or, perhaps worse, you won’t notice at all.

God has been reminding me over and over that I have choice to either harden my heart or not. He wouldn’t say “do not harden your hearts” (Heb 3) if I didn’t have a choice in the matter. So as I battle to maintain a tender heart in the face of devastating pain, in the face of temptation just to cut off all emotion to save myself from the horror of the missing and confusion I reach out to you. Will you soften your heart? Will you allow me or her or him the benefit of the doubt? Will you extend His love in the face of a circumstance that certainly doesn’t appear to warrant it?

I want to stop fighting each other and start fighting the enemy. Today love.