Lately, I’ve suffered.
That was possibly a bit of an overstatement, but is certainly remotely accurate. I’ve had some mutually rough relationships with friends this summer, largely due to miscommunication and misperception — but certainly there were character flaws as well. This is what I’ve done:
I’ve been selfish.
It’s a trait that will never leave me and always be rooted in my sinful nature, but I cannot throw the “I’m born selfish” card out, because that’s not an excuse.
I’ve been selfish of my time, emotions and devotions. I have not been disciplined to read my word daily and meditate often. I am now greedy with my time, conversation and even spiritual life.
It’s like I’m saving Jesus to myself, I’m doing my best to preserve the pieces of me leftover, while losing friends in the process. So certainly that is not how friendships work.
I’ve been immature.
I’m not proud of blocking some friends on social media — it was an attempt to create space and re-focus on who I am, where I’m at, why I’m likely in the wrong. How did we get to this point? It was my best effort to not envy their lives, not covet their friendships, not obsess over their highlights.
Honestly, I’ve never done it before — and likely never will. I experienced shame in re-adding them, regret for blocking them, remorse for my actions.
It was a come-to-Jesus moment when I sat and asked, “Why did I block them? What emotions, thoughts and actions led up to this moment? Why do I want them back in my lives? Or why did I leave to begin with?”
I’ve been complacent.
God does not call us to be lukewarm — He wants us to burn with passionate love, to explode with zeal for Him. He wants us to be a city on a hill, a candle in the night, a light in the dark.
I have not been most or any of those things. The other night, I sat alone in the dark and cried in my room. A month ago, I drunk away my sorrows and threatened a dear friendship in the process.
There is a craving within me now — a longing to return home to Jesus, to weep in his arms and cry at his feet. To cry out, “You promise to be good to me, and that’s exactly what you are!!!” even when I don’t believe it — which is too often than I’d like to admit.
I’m not proud of what I’ve done. But I’m proud of who I am.
My actions do not define me — though they certainly shape my reputation and relationships and reactions. They certainly speak to my character and expose my inmost idiosyncrasies.
I know who I am. I am Maelyn — I’m a loyal friend, gifted communicator and driven woman. I exercise often and love to friend strangers. I hate poverty and human trafficking and I crave to make wrong things right. I am an old soul trapped in a young body dying to live present in each moment.
I know whose I am. I am a daughter of the King. I am beloved, I’m an heiress, I will inherit my Father’s Throne. I will experience the fullness of glory and joy and adoration. And that day is yet to come.
But for now, it’s me. I’m not proud of what I’ve done. But I’m proud of who I am. I’m proud of what I will do and who I will be in the future.
It’s with hopeful expectation and utter endurance I promise you: I have done. I have regretted. I have learned. Who I am hates who I’ve been. And I won’t be that version of me any longer.