So yesterday, I was doing my Sunday thing, trying to tell the world some Good News. I love doing that, I love my church, my friends, and I love to find the nuggets of truth in the Bible and relate them to the wacky world in which we live. God knows we need some good news, and I love to tell it.
So I was talking about how easy it is to blame the world, the ex, the boss, the whomever for all my problems, and what a cop-out it is, and we really need to learn how to take responsibility for our own hurts and scars and start dealing with them, and quit blaming everyone else for my mess. It is called growing up.
But then, and I planned it this way, I told some of my own horror stories, because if anyone wanted to play the blame game and bail out on taking responsibility for life, I could nominate myself. I am the poster child for dysfunctional. And except by the grace of God, I would be in jail. or rehab. or dead. So I told some of those stories to remind people that they have no excuses. If I can let go of pain, and overcome, and find peace in the soul, they can, too.
What I did not expect was this alarming feeling of being totally exposed by showing off my own scars. I would have rather been naked.
I am grateful for my church, who loves me, and lets me be who I am. You guys are awesome.
