God has been transforming me into a new person by changing the way I think. It feels radical. It’s as surreal and translated as me driving up New Bern every week day morning instead of traipsing down Benvenue to a ballet studio that actually isn’t even there anymore.
Berkeley is no less real a place now that my daily existence happens two and a half thousand miles away. I close my eyes in these cooler days and I really could be in California. But I’m not. And I’m not the woman I used to be on the inside. In my mind.
The irony in finding out how wrong I’ve been about certain things is the urge to go back and make corrections… to pull out my red pen and start turning pages backwards, remembering who all I spouted off my conclusions to and circling cracks in the foundation.
The urge to edit out loud is there, but close behind is the new way of living that has brought so much change to begin with… quick to listen, slow to speak. Ruthlessly eliminating hurry and worry and dread.
So rather than hasten out my newest declarations, I am learning instead to endure. Bursting forth in the glorious light beams that shine all over the blown things is the truth that I don’t have all the right words yet to clean up or stack neatly the thoughts that were wrong in my schematic. Realizing how wildly off course I had become is still a ways away from being able to articulate why.
“And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another…”
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