Rant the 100th - Giving Up The Holes

There's four projects currently running in the call centre. Two of those are the People First project, which most of the guys are working on - an intensely pressured job on which the target is 5 a day and you must get at least 4 a day or run the risk of being laid off; and Women in Leeds, another highly stressful task because of how boring it is.

Most of the responses are no replies or answer phones (now we have cleared out the horrible unobtainables and withheld numbers which shrill piercingly down your ear and one after another are torturous) as most women are out at work during the day. When people actually do answer, there is an incredible amount of refusals, men answering to say their wife/partner isn't there and won't be until gone six pm, or people hanging up in the first sentence (which is quite emotionally knocking, for me anyway).

I'm sitting here writing this as I'm dialling in an attempt to keep my poor brain occupied. I'm an outdoor person, stimulated most by physical activity, and sitting here physically (for the most part of the day) and mentally inactive is driving me bananas. The most we're allowed to do while on the phone is scribble or doodle. I sleep or read during breaks, and design dresses, scribble bits of stories, plots or songs, pray or - apparently - handwrite blog posts while making calls which are likely to be answer phones or no replies. Most of the time on projects I can't do this, and even now, I only get about five words down before having to move on to my next call. If my rate drops below the required 35-40 calls an hour, I'll be monitored and have to stop doing this. I should be thankful I get to do this, but I'm really struggling at the moment. :P

God and I had a conversation the other night. Well, it was more like a tear-splashed rant. In which I reminded Him what He already knows, that I love my colleagues and my bosses, but that this job is emotional torment for me. I begged Him for the hundredth time for a job with better wages nearer home, and told Him about how exhausted (mentally and emotionally) I am coming home, from lack of mental stimulation, over emotional use (rejection etc), and grieving over my dreams.
Dreams to found and run a home for injured people, or a convent where I could encourage single people and point them towards Christ, while they still are open to the possibility of marriage/preparing for marriage, while also keeping the door open for any injured people who come to find peace, healing and hope - by pointing them to Christ.
Dreams of helping young people, people who have been through what I've been through, and living out Christ's work in my life.
Dreams of writing.
Dreams of dancing.
Dreams of marrying the guy I love and having my own home and children.
Dreams of travelling all over the world, of climbing mountains, of emigration, dreams of singing professionally, dreams of learning languages, of saving children from abortion and adopting them.

When my brain is alert enough to grieve over them, it does. I hate this forced stagnation, even though it's partially my fault for never knowing what I wanted to do apart from joining the military. I hate the ache inside that realises I will probably never fulfil a lot of those dreams. The constant tiredness, the knowledge that I'm doing no good to anyone currently, the constant slipping up and falling, the wishing I could blend helping people online with housework and still failing both miserably, the missing dreams and longings and the emotional and mental gunk from my job are all generating a constant mound towards depression.

Which I talked out in a stream of frustrated tears, broken sentences and long silences, to God.

And He did the unpredictable again.

He asked for my dreams back.

But I'd already surrendered them. And besides, I hadn't got any to give back. They were all gone. Impossible figments of a once-active imagination. All I'd got were the gaps they'd left. Holes full of pain, sorrow, frustration, grief, and yes, even a little anger.

So maybe that's what He's asking for.

My holes.

The aching empty longing. The knowledge that many dreams won't come true.

But what can GOD do with HOLES?

The same that He can do with nothing. He creates something beautiful.

He wants my holes. He wants me to trust Him with them. To continue with the knowledge that my dreams are wisps, to let go and still hope in an invisible future while the world grows dark because He, the Light of the World, is there and has promised me a future, whether here or in glory.

So that's faith...the courage to take a step out in the darkness, when crossing the mire of life and you can't see your hand in front of your face, in the knowledge beyond knowledge that He is holding you.

And that's trust...to lean on an Unseen Hand in darkness and believe He will carry you through.

I don't know about people who say Christianity is a crutch. It's the most intensely painful, deliberately vulnerable and highly accountable positions anyone could choose to be in.
But it's worth it.

In Psalm 23, the Psalmist says, "Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup overflows."

I like to think of the cup as the holes. Because God does pour healing oil on our wounds. And we do grow. And He blesses us far more than we'd imagined, when we're crying for the trinket instead of searching for the gold.

Our God is an Awesome God. He has promised Himself to those who seek after Him and do His Will.

This reality, all we know, is only dust. He is the Only Reality.

I'm falling short of words, and am still struggling with my holes. *smiles a bit*
I pray we all learn the bliss of sweet surrender, for as much as our proud hearts hate it and think we can do better, there is a real peace and joy in surrender.


In Christ,
Mademoiselle Siân