goodness is doing its work in me, and it’s face looks a lot like trial.

every time I go to the beach I spend the first day clinging to the sand. terrified of the waves and the way they crash, white foam sputtering, into themselves. flinging bits of sand and seaweed into the salty air. thrashing upon the shore like violent fists coming down hard on a pillow of gritty sand.

perhaps it’s childish. perhaps I’m just not very brave.

but they scare me at first. every time. no matter how old I get.

I imagine getting thrashed and pummeled by those angry fists of water and foam. imagine getting dragged like a rake through turbulent under-currents. just thinking about it sends little spurts of anxiety, like lightning, through my chest.

ah, yes. goodness is doing its work in me, and it feels a lot like being drowned, sputtering and gurgling, to the bottom of a swirling ocean.

and if I’m honest… the shore feels so much safer, so much objectively smarter, so much kinder to a battered & waterlogged heart.


but the sand is only smooth from being softened.

and I am only gentle from being rubbed the wrong way till all my sharp edges are gone. 

and these wounds are only healed from being soaked in & stung by the salt water of tears & trials.

what is “smart” is not always the wise thing. wisdom is one of those things that transcends knowledge and pierces through the moment into the great, huge, timeless view of eternity.

wisdom knows that healing stings and salt water is cleansing. that being rubbed raw leads to becoming soft and gentle. that being waterlogged leads to being washed.

and I’m tired of the rubbing raw. I’m tired of the ache and the cleansing and the hard healing heart work. I really am, y’all. it’s actually the worst.

and it hurts. like. hellfire. in the most delicate, intimate parts of me.


but I’m not giving up. I’m sticking with it. because there are spaces in my heart that have been softened so sweetly that they cannot be hurt any longer. those places in me are kind and open and trusting. and I want the rest of me to be that way, too.

I’m leaning into being rubbed the wrong way so that I can be raw. soft. gentle. kind. strong.

I’m leaning into the pain because it means healing, and healing is everything good and holy.

I’m leaning into all the fear and unknown because it means that I’ll be this softly pulsing beacon of hope to all the other waterlogged and weary souls drifting with the current. that I’ll be a kind hand that hangs on while we all get tugged under together, while we all bubble up breathless again to the surface, while we all begin to become softer creatures together.

softened like sand.

healed like Love.

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