Year One: This Work is F***ing Hard.

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***CAUTION! Strong language is used in this post.***

Yesterday brought the completion of my first year of graduate school at The Seattle School of Theology & Psychology, and let me tell you this…

This work is fucking hard.

I’m not talking about the papers that were written or the projects that were presented to classrooms full of bored-out-of-their-mind faces. I’m not talking about the endless amounts of reading and countless research articles I’ve looked up on EBSCO. I’m not talking about the lectures or the mindblowing words of wisdom that come from the mouths of the prophets and priests that are my professors.

I’m talking about the gut wrenching, earth shattering, pull-the-floor-out-from-under-me, soul work that has broken my heart into a thousand pieces.

This work is fucking hard.

I can easily rush to hope and wrap this up with a, “God is so good!” or a, “Our Creator is molding me into something beautiful!” both of which have come out of my mouth in the past week.

No!

I refuse to wrap this up with a shiny bow, pretending it’s not terrible and awful and soul crushing. I refuse to put any niceties or cliches on this work. I refuse to smile like a plastic doll. Perfect, pretty, and pristine. I refuse to pursue hope too quickly, rushing through the discomfort and the pain of suffering.

Instead, I choose to lament. I choose to sit in the shittyness of this mess that is called brokenness. I choose to grieve the hurt and the pain that have been repressed for decades, cast aside into a dark corner of my heart. I choose to cry for hours. I choose to listen to sad music and sob into endless boxes of Kleenex. I choose to get angry…a raging, righteous anger, with guttural screams of intensity. I choose to stay in the grief as I mourn the trauma I experienced in my life.

This work is FUCKING HARD!

I choose to ask questions…

Why the hell did this have to happen to me?

Does he even know how much he’s hurt me?

Why do I feel so unloved and unwanted?

I choose to weep with a God who saw abuse and darkness unfold as it was happening. A God who wept and cried out for me when harm was taking place. A God who mourns with me. A God who laments with me. A God who sobs and rages on my behalf and in my defense. I choose to let His arms wrap me up as I refuse to climb out of this pit of despair. Instead, He climbs in and chooses to sit in the pit with me.

68 days. I have 68 days until Year Two begins. I have 68 days to reflect and process the hard work I’ve done this year. 68 days to grieve. 68 days to hope. 68 days to continue this journey in the wilderness.

I am so fucking proud of myself.

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2 thoughts on “Year One: This Work is F***ing Hard.

  1. Pingback: My Summer in the South: Fireflies and an Aching Heart. | Where In The World Is Kelsey?

  2. Pingback: My Summer in the South: Healing and Change. | Where In The World Is Kelsey?

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