A true story about consequences.

Sometime this morning, I received a comment to the post I wrote about last week's massage experience. This particular comment was long, and explanatory and full of DRAMA.

Because it was written by the ACTUAL massage therapist (you know, the talker). Who got fired because of it.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Beat me with a piece of rusty barbed wire, tie on some concrete shoes, make me run a half marathon and then ask me to speak in public...and I would still feel BETTER than what's going down today.

Let me tell you all of the things that ran through my mind, at that very moment: guilt that it happened, guilt that I wrote it, fear that someone was mad at me, fear that someone was mad at me and now had access to my blog, defensiveness over what I wrote (because it IS true), confusion as to how it all played out, desire to delete the comment and pretend like it never existed, wanting to fix the whole situation but not knowing what that means exactly.

Now, the massage therapist is pissed, rightfully. Because I publicized our time together with commentary that I WOULD NEVER HAVE SAID IN PERSON. I will put out there, that if you have read my blog for any amount of time, you know WAY more about me than friends and family members that don't read it--because this is the place where I give myself the freedom to voice all of my insecurities and fears and craziness and passion. I believe that I address all of my issues, the good and the bad, in equal measure. But unless you read ALL of it, you are only getting a single snap-shot, taken out of a much larger, complex story.

If I could go back in time, I would tell you to shut the hell up. It would be easier on both of us, I now realize. But let me preface this by saying, that had I kindly asked you to be quiet (I am JOKING about the use of the words shut-the-hell-up, I now feel the need to disclaim my sarcasm), I would have spent the ENTIRE massage feeling like a bitch. Because, if you read my blog, you would know that at heart, I am a people pleaser. I cannot say no to ANYTHING, I hate to hurt feelings, ya-da, ya-da, ya-da. You have NO idea how much I held back during that massage--I LIKE to talk to people! I am not shy! I hate coffee too! I felt rude and second guess-ed myself that entire session. But talking is not what I was in there for--I was looking for 50 minutes of relaxing, sleep-inducing massage. As implied by the wind chime music and soft lighting.

This situation is like my personal nightmare.


Here is also where I tell you that I apologize for every part of the realness that I broadcast--because those failures and judgements and prideful remarks and self esteem issues are, in their truest form, my sinful, dark heart. I hate all of it, because so often, it negatively spins EVERY single thing that I do and say. It makes me bitter and prideful and envious and self-righteous and self-pitying and horrible. I fall short of the way I should treat people, and love them and show compassion EVERY day, and I hate it, without excuse.

I have been publicly writing this blog for a year and a half. I NEVER publicized it at first, because it is so close to my heart. Hell, it IS my heart, every ounce-ful truth of it. But it was found, and people read it and actually seem to relate. Even Massage Luxe follows it, who knew??

Generally, response to my posts are positive and encouraging. But today is tough for me, because it is a reminder that as a writer, some people are going to HATE what I say. That my words will have REAL consequences, my stories will not always be perceived in proper context. I will struggle with this my entire life. Every day, I take a piece of my life and write about it. Sometimes, my posts are as simple as a short moment with my kids. I write about my frustrations with them ALL THE TIME--and yet, very few of you, I would guess, actually believe that I hate my children. I share my downfalls and my selfish, immature thoughts, because I don't think I can tell an accurate story of my life, without sharing my failures.

I honestly don't believe that any of you could see Jesus Christ in me, unless you understand the true, dark sin that is in my heart. He is at work in me, every day. And let me put on the record, that Jesus is NOT A FAN of that massage post (nor the way I spend 95% of my days). But he is going to use it--to convict me, show me what is ugly, help me to ask forgiveness. To be humbled.

My biggest issue with Christian writers is that I often walk away thinking they have the answers, the Holy Spirit, all the keys to daily peace that I am missing. Without understanding the real, practical, sinfulness, I CAN'T see the glory. I can't understand how much Christ overcomes without understanding how dark and lost I am to begin with. But you'd really have to see ALL of me to understand that.

Could I write my posts without cussing? Yes. Could I use less sarcastic language? Yes. Could I be more discerning? Yes. But this verbal diarrhea is the truth, 100%. I could change all of those things, and they would only be for the sake of Christian image, and not for any lasting significance in my heart. I am pretty intentional in my desire not to water this blog down, for the sake of "appearing" Christian. But I would also venture to say that Jesus is working on my tongue and my actions ALL THE TIME.

I'm sure the drama will continue. I'll keep you posted.