My blog has remained silent for a while, not because I have nothing to post, on the contrary, posts seem to be bubbling up within me. But every time I concentrate enough to type, the one post that I do NOT want to write is the only one sitting at the tips of my fingers.

So here goes.

It is possible that just typing it will be enough for me. Maybe after I write it out I will be able to delete it and move on. Or maybe it will have to be published. I'm hoping that I can delete it.

For several years, Jeremy and I have struggled with a certain situation about which I want to remain vague. This struggle has shredded our hearts, leaving mangled pieces dangling, exposed to pain whenever the wind picks up. The struggle is now over, but somehow, during those years and especially during the extreme last few months, I erected a protective barrier in front of my heart.

The barrier was never intended to keep people out, just pain. It was a coping mechanism, to borrow a popular phrase; I thought it helped me stay close to the people while keeping the pain-level lower. I think I was wrong.

The only way to minimize pain is to hold the pain-causer at a distance. It's a bit like hugging a hand-grenade, knowing it will explode on you at any second. Minimizing the effects of the blast can only be achieved by running away before the explosion.

But what if -- and here's where the analogy doesn't work very well -- what if you love the hand-grenade? Running away from it is not an option. That dangerous explosion hurts not only you; it destroys the grenade. Jeremy and I would do anything to prevent the destruction of the grenade. Alright, enough with the analogy that no longer works!

All of that was really background information anyway. The point of this post, the subject I intended to address is this. God has brought Jeremy and I into a time of rest. He moved us to a land without connections, without expectations, without a past.

At first, neither of us realized how handicapped we had become. We continued to live inside shells without even knowing it, but slowly we began to see ourselves, to see some of the emotional withering and its affects. I, for example, no longer quickly develop relationships. I laugh at my daughter, Liberty, who stands on our patio and shouts, "HI, FRIEND! WANNA PLAY WITH ME?" to anyone passing, but the truth is, until a year ago, I used to be the one shouting and making immediate friends. Now, I meet people; I chat politely; I long for real friendship, but I hold myself at a distance. It's not fun being burned, and how can I tell who will burn me?

God knew how fragile our souls have become. He knew where we needed to be in order to begin healing. He moved us.

He moved us to a church that I cannot find words to describe. The people love. That is all that can be said. They reach out. They don't believe in just Sunday relationships. At this time when I am unable to reach out, God knew I needed someone who would reach out to me. So He brought us here.

Jeremy is hurting also, and his armor shows up in other areas of his life. Without going into any detail, I will let you know that God has also put him in the specific right spot to recover.

When I say recover, I do not mean that we will revert to the innocence of the way we lived before. No, we hope to grow, accepting the stains, still loving the reasons for the stains, but becoming more mature in our walk with God because of the stains. We do not want to remain in our protective armor. We want to have soft hearts. Hearts that know hurt is possible but that reach out and hug anyway.

It will take time, but our God is good. And He created time.