Lately I have been in a place, overwhelmed with consequences. Some spring from a series of good, but difficult decisions on how to approach life. Some flow out of the choices made by those that went before me. And a few ooze from the pain of mistakes I have made.

The thing with consequences though, is that for good or bad, they must take their course. They cannot be shortchanged, rushed, or diverted. Which sucks. Especially for me. I’m the type of kid that, after accidentally breaking my mother’s vase, would frantically scramble to super glue it back together before anyone else noticed I messed up. But as I have grown up, I have realized that that glued together vase will never be as beautiful as a whole vase. 

So this time, instead of trying to fix it myself, I had to wait for mom to get home. The anxiety of what would happen nearly made me explode. The shame and discouragement that came from breaking the vase was overwhelming. The fact that I knew I was playing ball in the house and shouldn’t have been, especially because my foot was injured and I couldn’t even juggle the ball properly, haunted me. As any child who knows he has messed up, I wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear. Just poof into thin air. 

But finally, mom got home. And I reluctantly showed her what to I had done. She was disappointed, hurt, and frustrated. And I found that that hurt even more than the immediate consequences of breaking the vase. The thing about being a little kid is, for the most part, children would go to the ends of the earth to please their parents — especially as a young child. And with this desire, I ended up disappointing and hurting the one I wanted protect and be accepted by. 

Although this analogy isn’t a perfect match, because I am no longer a child, and this time it was not my mom, the consequences are much the same.

For now I am stuck. I am sitting in the place of essentially being grounded. But it is worse than being grounded. I am in that place where I know I made a mistake. I am stuck in that place where I owned up to my mistake. And now, I have to be that little boy who sits in the corner, feeling the weight of his mother’s disappointment on his heart, waiting for the consequences to finish taking their course. 

All I can do is wait. Which in theory shouldn’t be difficult for I can add it to the long list of other consequences I have been waiting to finish their course. But in reality it is horribly difficult. I’m sick of waiting. I’m sick of waiting for my process. I’m sick of waiting for healing. I’m sick of waiting for the day that I can take a breath without that familiar twang of pain in my chest. I’m sick of waiting to become the person I have been busting my ass to become. And I’m sick of waiting for all of these consequences to come to an end. 

But in this waiting I am finding strength. In this waiting, I am beginning to find an incredible God peace that calms me in this crazy storm. 

So ya, it freaking sucks. But, I have hope. Jesus, continue to be that hope. Continue to guide me, mold me, heal me and use me. Jesus be with all those people that my process has effected. Heal them as you continue to show me, as much as I get frustrated with it, that it is not always my job to bring about healing. That is your job. I love you so much Abba. Thank you!