On August 19, 2016, I wrote this on Facebook:
It doesn’t hurt but I am hurting.
Disclosure: Sometimes the mask slips, and the feelings I contain to preserve peace come into view, riding waves of tears and sadness and shame. The older I get the harder it becomes to affix the mask. The contours of my face have changed, and the tears leave a residue that makes it difficult to stick. #confessions #quietasitskept #Iamhuman #Icarrylotsofweight #regal #butitsheavyKisha Spencer, 2016, Facebook.
It was around about this time that I had retreated into a makeshift prayer closet in the back of the bathroom of the long term hotel in which we were staying. My husband had just called me dumb for not wanting to sign for yet another pay-day loan so that he could “work the magic” of his own will and mind to do God only knew what. I couldn’t imagine what would happen, grieved over yet another move—despite the fact that this time God had told me to come back before my spouse had to verbalize it. I was devastated by the fact that I was living with my 2 daughters in essentially a one bedroom apartment, the two of them sharing a pullout couch bed trying to pretend like they were happy when they were destabilized and sad…again.
I wrote those words even as I put on a brave face and started a job across the river at a school district in what can only be described as “shambles” from the institution into its very physical infrastructure. The kids had taken over, and where they weren’t in charge? The critters were. The pay was alright, the boss was terrible, the colleagues were questionable. Oh! And one of my friends was arrested for allegedly murdering his girlfriend and unborn child (or having somebody else do it which is basically the same thing).
This post, the hurting I was experiencing? Was the first sign of a crack in the touch armor of my natural resilience and perseverance. This round? I was done.
Or so I thought! Turns out I was just beginning.
Just beginning to run to wherever I thought God may be.
Just beginning to stop living in my own strength.
Just beginning to face the fact that my husband had a deep dislike of me as a person, and that what I thought marriage would be would never be with him.
Just beginning to get tired of living life like a vagabond, never stable and always being “somebody else fault.” Sometimes mine, despite being the one who worked and paid bills when it was not squandered on modern day riotous living.
Just beginning to seek the Lord because He seemed to be somewhere not too far off from me, if I could get there.
The Bible says that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom (Proverbs 9:10). And so in my beginning, I sought the Lord.
And so, when I find myself straying from the beginning—the place where the fear of the Lord and the beginning of His wisdom reside—I begin to fall apart once again. But the beautiful thing about the Lord? He is gracious. So He always calls me back to the beginning of His Wisdom.