Tuesday, December 12, 2006


This morning I began writing this big blog about how I’m not excited about my birthday, and that my roommate is asking me to plan my own party and how that frustrates me… and I never finished.

I instead went at lunch and checked my myspace, and became even more broken hearted, and… here I am.

Here’s the skinny:
Tomorrow is my birthday. I love birthdays, rather, I love the excitment surrounding birthdays, but the actuality is that I have not really enjoyed my birthday in quite a few years. It has to do with my age. Tomorrow I will be 28. I am not married, and this, albeit a ridiculous thought, is something that I cannot shake, and I therefore become discouraged. I know that you’re supposed to be happy and blah blah blah on your birthday (God knows I give other people a hard time when they aren’t excited), but I am now a hypocrite as, I cannot muster up excitement.

Two years ago, I was at a miserable job and had a corneal ulcer on my birthday. A year ago, I had just completed my 90 days on my new job and I was in charge of planning the departmental Christmas party. This year I, have been kicked out of my house, had my ten year high school reunion, lived with a roommate for seven months (that’s HUGE), and had my heart broken. (I allowed him to break it, so I guess that makes me the stupid one, huh?)

I was thinking about the heart on the way back to work. There are an innumerable amount of medical journals and books about the workings of the human heart, defining shape, function, abnormalities, diseases, etc. Medical science has developed ways to correct problems with hearts from using pig valves to pace makers, to complete transplants, expanding arteries, and so much more. But they can’t fix a broken heart. Doctors can’t even see it. I know this is trite to somebody, but I have been praying for God to fix my broken heart. As much as I want to blame somebody else, it’s my fault. In case I have given anyone the impression that all is calm within, the fact is, that is a façade, and within is tumultuous and empty. I know that the process takes time, but I keep finding ways to open up my own wounds and re-injure myself, and frankly, I’ve got to stop. My natural inclination is to run. I have these moments where I want to throw on tennis shoes and yoga pants and run like a mad woman. As though adrenaline will make all my problems go away. (Note: this is probably why I’m NOT a runner.) Other days, I want to move and get a new start and come back in five years and say “Ha… your loss”. But, I know God will never give me that opportunity because I know better and He keeps me humble. Alas, I must endure the brutally painful healing process knowing that God has bigger things in store.

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