The Art of Honesty

Last night after a full day of cooking for, helping with, eating at, and cleaning up after a lovely Christmas party with some extended adopted family, I wearily made my way upstairs to my room, feet aching with shoes in hand. It was nice to celebrate and participate. It was good to jump right into Christmas celebration on the heels of a happy Thanksgiving. I came upstairs and my body was done but my mind was not.

I was up for a couple more hours before grabbing a book. There is a part of me that has been uneasy for about a week now. It's not restlessness. It may stem simply from a lack of understanding, comprehension, or not taking time to really process through some of the things that are happening around and inside me. Sometimes it's almost as if that small part of me is dying; I'm not yet sure if that's a good or bad things.

I needed to read something, though I wasn't sure exactly what. I scanned my night stand and quickly moved to my book shelf. My pointer finger moved more slowly than my eyes in the search until finally I landed on Rob Bell's most recent book, "Drops Like Stars." I'd already read the first part of the book in a bookstore in America but never finished it. I also had the privilege of seeing him live during his speaking tour. I was impressed with the ways in which he wove the different concepts together and very much enjoyed the tour, but the concepts, the truths, hit in a new way last night. After skipping over the first part, I ended up reading the rest of the book.

Although one part struck me it was a couple of pages later where I really got pinned. He writes,

Have you ever gotten angry enough in a conversation to say, "Do you want to know how I really feel?" The moment we say something like that, we reveal that up until that moment, we weren't being entirely truthful. Now obviously, there may have been good reason - knowing when and where to say what and how much is important. But sometimes there's a truth just below the surface that is, in fact, the real issue. And to get it out in the open, to talk about what really needs to be talked about, to stop pretending and posing and acting, we have to suffer.

Pain has a way of making us more honest.

And with that I'm seeking courage to journey on and through; I'm seeking the courage to be honest - trusting that if this small piece inside of me is suppose to die or be pruned, it will be laid to rest and not ripped from my gasp or stolen without my knowledge. I'm trusting that if it lives, it will be a healthier part and help me to be more alive than ever. But first I have to move through the pain, and perhaps even anger, enough to say, "Do you want to know how I really feel?" And see what happens from there...