Don't Forget To Say Sorry


"D*mn You!," I shouted.

Not the best way for a woman of faith to start a conversation with God. He knew my heart anyway. He knew the anger that was resting in the pit of my chest. The hatred I had for the vision He showed me. He knew how much I despised His plan, and resented ever being obedient. At least in that moment. 

I never lied to God. I was as honest as I could be—sometimes to a fault. That's how our relationship was forged: through honesty. These feelings were something I couldn't hold on to any longer. I tried to be diplomatic. I tried, hard, to speak beyond how I felt. I even tried to suppress my thoughts, hoping that one day they'd dismiss themselves. 

10 months in and they hadn't.

That night, I cursed, and yelled, and cried. I released months worth of anger to a God that I once worshipped. I wrote about my anger a few times before, but this was the first time I let Him know how I felt. It was the first time I'd come face-to-face (figuratively, of course) with Him to express my frustration; to let it out.

I slept good that night.

But that wasn't a streak I was determined to keep up as the year progressed. Because no matter how much I fought, I needed God's will, I needed His grace, and I needed His promise to manifest in the way He intended it to—pain & sorrow included. I later realized that pain & sorrow would become growth & reflection.

So I sat on my floor one month later and repented for every bit of disbelief, disrespect, and the disdain in my heart. I repented for every unkind word and ill sentiment. I apologized not because I had to, but because I needed to. To grow any further I had to stop running from the way He chose to press me.

I spent many days with anger toward God, but I knew that in order to grow deeper in Him—something I was still oddly desperate to do—I couldn't ignore how I once felt. I couldn't act like it never happened. I couldn't pretend like my despise for Him, in this moment, was no longer there. I had to face it. I had to pursue forgiveness. I had to heal the hole in my heart; and the only way to do so was to admit there was one, and ask God to restore me. So that's what I did. I confessed my anger, again, and apologized for the ways in which it manifested in my life (and on my tongue).

The minute I let those feelings go, I felt divinity fill my space again. I felt my heart empty of all negativity. I felt myself—the woman I worked hard to become—begin to take shape again. It didn't happen all at once, but over time I started to get myself back. I started to find myself thirsting for what I missed out on during my 'beef' with God. I found myself finally moving on from a phase of my life that kept me in bondage longer than it should've. Longer than I should've allowed it to.

Some people may think it's crazy to share with the world how God has disappointed them. How He may have let them down. How they may have also cursed Him. Some may think it's crazy to have those thoughts. How could anyone ever shun God in that way? But if we're honest, many of us have felt that way. Many of us have felt that God stopped caring about us; that He stopped protecting us; that He stopped loving us. Shoot, some of us may feel that way right now. That He forsook us. That He lied to us. That He left us. That, when we needed Him most, He was nowhere to be found. 

I know that feeling. I lived that feeling for 10 months, while still trying to push messages of faith and hope. I've been there, and I will never reduce your moment there right now. I can't send you any scriptures that will make you feel good enough to trust Him again. I won't write witty cliche's about how He's going to come through in the clutch. None of that matters to you right now. It didn't matter to me, either. 

What I will do, though, is encourage you to start this new year, new. To be made whole despite what you endured this year. To ask you to refresh your heart and your mind. To get you to recenter your spirit and refocus your energies.

I started this new year's post two weeks ago. I told a few people what the topic would be. I was excited to tell you what I was going to focus on in 2018, and how I was taking control of my life—of my feelings. But I felt convicted to share this message, instead.

I felt like I needed to encourage you to not start the new year with the same hate in your heart that you may have ended this year with. To not continue with the same resentment for obedience that currently exists. To not go forth with the same disdain for the ways in which you feel God failed you. To not rest in the same anger you have toward spirituality that you've wrestled with all year. 

I felt like I had to remind a young woman who, like myself, had once blasphemously cursed Jesus and everything He had ever promised, to repent. To pursue forgiveness. To give God another chance. To ask Him to give you another chance. To start 2018 on a better foot than you may have ended 2017. To begin again. To allow yourself to be restored. To be renewed.

I felt that perhaps you needed to forgive yourself, too. For your less than favorable thoughts. For the ways in which you let this year break you. For the way you lost yourself in the process. I felt like I needed to remind you to put away the resolutions and to focus on yourself. To start the new year with kindness and patience toward yourself. To refresh yourself in self-love. To let go of the bondage you carried throughout this year. To get yourself back. To hold yourself tight into the new year, and to be diligent in discovering and nurturing the new parts of you that are found. To embrace you. Fully. 

Because starting a new year means nothing when you're entering it with the same baggage, the same emotional turmoil, or the same disdain you built up during a rough 2017. So as you create your vision boards, draft your list of intentions, chill your champagne, and think about the way this year may have failed you, don't forget to say sorry. 

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