Just One Thing I Ask

Just One Thing I Ask

It was cold and damp as I stood outside this train station. I had not wanted to come, but this was to be a gift and perhaps one of the best gift of my life. I stood outside the would be train station make shift chapel. I was sure that I was the only smoker, and was dismally overly dressed to hide how I felt. I had nearly a months worth of supplies for a weekend.  I tried desperately to blend in, but I sorely stuck out. It was clear from head to toe, from my mouth to my heart that I had not been accustom to this kind of setting. A Woman's retreat!

My life had been dark up this point. The idea of spending a weekend with what I considered to be overly happy people who want to pray for everyone, was lets say far from my bucket list. For I had not known true joy, and to see that there were so many people experiencing happiness something I had not been privilege to my whole life was like flashing all the more what I was missing; and I hated them for it. 

I was a forgotten child in a huge way.  In the middle of 9 kids is enough sometimes in its self to cause an quake in the fabric of the heart. But, my home was one of brokenness and wickedness. The stings of life had taken its toll on my heart and I was deeply angry, and profoundly broken. My words  were brass and hard to the ears. They often landed in cold sarcasm that a hurting world could so relate with. I was mean and forceful and defied every point of authority in my life. After countless attempts of suicide and being a failure at that as well, I had a dalima with God. Yet I was to far exhausted to fight him anymore. I had to die on the inside, I was empty. 

I sat in the far back of the train station near to the door as to not disrupt anyone if I wanted to run far away. Then the words of the most transparent speaker penitrated the hardness of my heart. She spoke of her deeply broken heart, and how she tried to cover it up with anything she; herself couldn't see through. I knew in that moment this woman understood something that in which I had felt for all my life.  We were asked to think about a few questions that were regarding what she spoke about. I read over and over the paper that was no bigger then a napkin and I felt as if I dare not began to answer these questions. Looking over the question I camped on just one that I felt I could possible began to answere.  "What are some of the ways you cover up, or hide what is going on?" I ran to my bunk where I was alone and there with a mixture of lead and tears I began to feel and see different ways I began to cover up. I poured out my heart on that paper. 

Some time later woman began to trickle in. I closed up as if I had been seen unveiled. They gathered in chairs in a half circle where my bed closed it. I was on the top bunk and as far away as I could get. I was delightfully invited to participate with them. With red swollen eyes heavy with fresh fallen tears I declined. I laid there listen to each woman share her answers. As they shared anger seared up in me. I felt profoundly shameful. For if they only understood what life could have been like. Then the room when quiet and I looked over the bed and I was asked to share at least one of the answers to the question. I panicked! I only could answer one and I had no idea I was going to share this. So for the next 30 min and through broken tears I read my veils that I could see that have covered my shattered heart. My words landed like a heavy blanket on the woman below me. Nearly crushing the room. 

Then with a word the silence was broken a woman voiced her understanding of my anger, and offered to pray for me. I shut down as if I realized I was naked in a room of people who were starring at me. No I said sternly I am not angry and besides I have had lots of counseling for these kinds of things in my life. There was one more request to pray for me and I bluntly said no. 

The next day during a skit a woman was covered in rags and chained to her tool box that was very heavy. She sat at table with four other woman who also had rags some more then others but they were not chained to a tool box. I new before a word spoken that the woman with the box was me and my heart just broke with what would be the first time I had sadness for the woman I was becoming. In the skit the woman could not partake in fellowship because her box and rags was a cause of constant adjusting. With a day of requesting her to open her box I pleaded for her not to. But, it was the Lord talking to me. He gently whispered to me, all I want today is your anger. With tears falling down my face I spoke out Lord who am I with out my sin. You take that from me and I am a tomb. I promise to fill you up if your just give me your anger. I listened as he has a few times with such love and tenderness, the kind I had never known before. With out even thinking about where in the service we were I got up and broke bread for the first time ever and offered God my anger. There on my face in the train station in the foot heals of Mountaineer I was filled to over flowing.