It’s been two weeks since I wrote my last post — since I poured out my heart in a whirlwind of emotion and keystrokes. I hit a rough spot and questioned why I was even blogging and whether or not I’d ever get married. I was frustrated with God, frustrated with waiting. And I let it all out in a blur of words thrown together between quiet, lonely whimpers — remnants of a breakdown slowly subsiding.
For this dedicated blogger, I’ve definitely felt guilty about not writing. This is the longest I’ve ever gone on this blog without publishing a post. I even sat down a couple times to attempt it, but felt empty as I stared at a blinking cursor for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t force it out. I literally had nothing to say.
Strangely, I’m learning that’s okay.
I don’t know if it’s true that time heals all wounds, but I do believe time makes it easier to move on, to move forward. That’s exactly what happened with me over the past two weeks.
I spent time alone. I hung out with friends. I traveled to visit family. I watched an entire season of Scandal. (Don’t judge.) I woke up early to watch the sunrise. I stayed at work late and blasted Keith Urban in my office. I purposely missed my evening-commute-Metro-stop so I could get frozen yogurt with strawberries and chocolate chips on top. I painted my nails bright pink. I made a flower arrangement just because. I read the book of Jeremiah. I prayed.
Every once in a while in the midst of my self-imposed sabbatical, my phone would beep to tell me I got a new comment on my blog. I read them on the train, while eating lunch at Baja Fresh, while sipping coffee at home, while walking to work, while waiting at the bank. With every comment — without fail — my broken heart got a little bit better, a little bit stronger.
I share these not to toot my own horn or even pat myself on the back. I share them because I’m learning that there is power in community — even community translated over the Internet. There is strength in numbers. There is blessing in reaching out and encouraging someone when he or she is down, which is exactly what you all did for me.
“Thanks, Ruth, for your vulnerability and honesty.” – Lara
“Your honesty is giving me chills.” – Ro
“I praise God for you and your transparency.” – Vay
“I’ve connected with what you have to say.” – Emily
“Thanks for your blog.” – Justin
“Thank you for this blog post. It came right in the time of my own frustration and sadness!” – Emilia
“This post is evidence that you NEED to keep this blog going.” – Charlie
“I can seriously empathize, Ruth!” – Sherie
“I love that I can look here and it actually gives me hope because you have hope.” – Amia
“Thanks for all your honesty and encouragement.” – Brenda
“I laugh with you, I cry with you and I pray with you and for you.” – Claire
“I would say don’t stop blogging… it’s so therapeutic and is helping people all over the world. I promise…” – Nicole
“The encouragement and reminder that others wrestle with similar things can make the waiting and wondering much less lonely of a place to be.” – Leese
“I love reading what you write because it is real and from your heart. Do you know how rare that is? God is using you, yes, especially in your transparency and frustration. Please keep writing.” – Our Father’s Daughters
“It’s nice to know there are, in fact, other people going through the same things.” – Kim
“Thank you for sharing your insecurities with us so honestly, and allowing us to know that we are in this together, that we are not alone.” – Siekwan
“Your honesty and humor are refreshing to read . . . You have an authenticity that many seem to lack.” – Jennifer
“Be encouraged, though it’s lonely, you’re not alone in this.” – Julene
Just a short while ago I was about to give my two weeks notice to WordPress, post my final words, and leave this blogosphere in my rear view mirror. But in the downtime that followed, I realized that it took me two weeks to notice what we have created here together — and to really understand how truly special it is. Thank you for that.
It’s okay to rest.
It’s okay to lean.
It’s okay to breathe.