Heart Story

I may have mentioned this before, but when I sign on to blog, I feel the need to make sure all my entries are consistent in size, format, etc. Due to this slight OCD nature, I have created approximately 6 different blogs in an attempt to try to start again and make it look perfect. Even as a child and a teen, I did this with journals and paper notebooks.
So although I want to abandon this blog to restart and create a new 'persona' and increase the level of my writing....there’s a piece of my heart that belongs to “Life In Technicolour.”  A few hours of my life has been sown into this...and so thus I return.
My writing is not perfect. The things I have written about in the past may not be a reflection of who I am today, but it was a snapshot of who I was before. And so, this blog is unperfectly perfect. And I hope that as{{you}} read it, that you would hear my voice and feel my heart.
So, topic change.
I am struggling with faith...
I feel as if that statement should never come out of my mouth.  I feel guilty, ashamed, disillusioned, confused....and lost.  I scratch my head and wonder how I got to this point. Who can I blame for my problems with faith? Who can I lay the burden on and say that their insufficiencies caused my personal dysfunction?  It would be much easier to grab someone and tell them it was their fault......then I could call it a day and move on. But no, it’s me.
Sure, I have gone through experiences in my life that have ripped my heart like a jagged edged knife would.  It’s hard to sew those pieces back together when they have been shredded apart. I feel stupid for saying this, but my parent’s divorce threw my world out of order.  When you’re 20 years old and your world is rapidly changing, you want the security of family. The family you knew your whole life that would be the soft mattress in which you could fall back on to. My mom is there for me, and my dad is there for me...but my parents as a ‘collective’ are not there for me. I no longer have a model for marriage, for family that sticks together until they are old and grey.  Although they both love me, I feel torn and split....like I must make sure that my affections and loyalty must be equal at all times.
I’ve written in the past about my struggles with anxiety and panic attacks. I struggled with this addiction (yes, I called anxiety an addiction) for about a year. It was my form of control over my life and the situations that I faced. Sick and twisted, I know.
While I feel free from that (I haven’t had a panic attack for about 2 years now), I feel as if my heart has been hardened. I haven’t truly mourned, I haven’t been able to pick up the pieces and put them together, I haven’t allowed God to heal my heart because in someway I believe that I have been OK, .....or perhaps as “OK” as I will ever get. And thus the battle between the head and the heart begins. I know with my head that in scripture it says Jesus will make us WHOLE, and HEALED....but my heart says, maybe I am the exception. And I justify my thinking by using Paul’s reference to having a ‘thorn in his side’....perhaps my cracked heart is a thorn.

But then I go to various church services and see people who are on FIRE for the Lord. Sometimes I think, maybe they are crazy....what if they have been misled. But no, it has to be real. Why would you forsake things for something that isn’t real?

And then my cracked heart twinges a bit and longs so much for that real passion.......to not be ashamed and to not be fearful. To be all consumed by Jesus.

I love the Lord....I believe Jesus is God....the one and only true way. When I say I am struggling with faith, it’s more that I feel my heart is numbed and I need the Lord to heal back the nerve endings....I want to hear His voice, feel His touch, and see His face.
Xoxo
Nae