I spent 5 hours on the computer typing and erasing what I wanted to be this week's post. It was meant to be an encouraging piece about not placing the burden of male infidelity on your shoulders. I wrote crappy line after crappy line about how it's not your fault. About how you are not the blame for the 'mistakes' your partner makes. About the importance of unlearning everything society forced on you. About how to do so.
It was fit to be a wonderful post had the words flown properly. I erased lines faster than I could type them—nothing was clever, witty, or insightful enough. I started thinking of ways to morph this into a listicle: 3 Ways to Not Place the Burden on Yourself, or something. A well-intentioned post began feeling more like a chore. What I loved doing began to feel like a job that I wouldn't quite meet the deadline for. Not because I wasn't inspired or didn't feel like writing, but because I was empty.
I am empty.
So instead I sat in the dark, watched the sunset through my living room blinds, and listened to worship music play from my Apple TV.
It's been a long time since I allowed myself to feel in the way I have this evening. Normally I feel to share it. I feel to find a lesson, a story, or a bit of encouragement to pass on to someone else. This time I just felt...my emptiness.
I suppose I had no other choice.
I gave a lot of myself this year. I poured myself out in ways that I didn't expect to. I endured in ways I didn't know that I would have to. I pursued help in ways that I didn't think I would ever need to. I've prayed and cried. I've loved. Forgiven. Fallen. Worked. Fought. Tried. Failed. Shouted. Praised. Pulled myself together and poured myself out again—to people, to situations, to God.
Now, I am empty. But, I don't mean that in a bad way. I've been asking God to do a redemptive work in me since the beginning of this year. I've been asking Him for healing. For restoration. I've been asking Him to fix my heart. To cleanse me. To purify me. And I'm recognizing that in order to do such mighty work—in order to fulfill such grand requests—He has to empty me of myself. I'm realizing that in order to do any powerful work, He needs total surrender and a clean slate.
God works inwardly before He ever provides outwardly; so in this moment of emptiness, I rest assured that this is the beginning of the work I've been requesting. That the prayers of unashamedly wavering faith I spoke (and sometimes shouted) are now manifesting. That the healing I longed for is finally happening.
This is my transformation. And in the midst of trying to find the words to transform you, I realized that I must also allow myself the time and space to transform myself; to be transformed. To grow, and heal, and feel through this transformation process, without having to create a beautifully-worded post, or share a profound podcast episode. That it's okay for me to be fully in this moment of internal work and seek refuge not in writing, but in experiencing. In grieving. In praying. In pursuing.
I am empty. I am hella empty. But I know on the other side of this emptiness is restoration. It's redemption. It's wholeness. And that is exactly what I shall pursue — fully and wholly.
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