The Whiny Wisdom of a Broken Turtle Girl

 

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Call me Turtle Girl…

I turtle during the raw seasons.

When stress runs high, I pull in. When frustration and hurt claw at my back, I take cover.  In full disclosure, I  wallow in it.

An overabundance of  eating,  sleeping, and  whining ensues. In other words, I act like a self-centered middle schooler.

F.Y.I…middle schoolers are an abusive, hormonal lot. (My personal opinion is most of them-not all-BUT MOST… should be sent to an island and kept there until graduation from high school.  Upon graduation, they may come home to pack before moving into their college dormitory of choice.) Don’t judge me. I have raised two young men, worked with teenaged girls, and I teach in a private school preK – 12 grade where I see their  interactions with each other on a daily basis. Believe. Me. I. know.

My middle school  likeness during my turtle seasons  is  not pretty.

I  shrink…from people, from relationships, from life.

Normally snarky and a tad sarcastic, insecurity becomes my cloak, my isolation, my home.

Not proud of it…I hate it.

HATE. IT.

I feel broken and discarded.  But I am not discarded.

2 Corinthians 12:9  “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” ESV

My grace is sufficient for you…my unmerited favor is enough for you.

Yes. You. Turtle Girl.

Recently, I  realized there was a common trigger leading to  my turtle seasons, and that  trigger usually has something to do with an injury to my pride…

Maybe my tiara slipped, and now I am faced with the fact that others may not think  I am as fabulous as I believe myself to be.

Maybe someone  betrayed me or lied about me…

Maybe the sharing of unkind words are the weopons in my back.

During my lavish pity parties, moments of clarity are rare.

The hurt is real. My struggle is physical and emotional and spiritual. All. Three.

BUT…at some point I have to pull out or I will suffocate.

In this injured existence, I  can’t continue to nuzzle down in my turtle shell.

You see…the problem is … turtle shells become prison cells when occupied for too long. They wreak of self-absorption.

At some point I become disgusted with myself and I begin to recognize that gently nudging from the Holy Spirit. He reminds me who I am and  to whom I belong. He reminds me that His opinion is the only opinion that matters…He reminds me He knows my heart,  my hurt, and my deepest desires.

The sweet knowledge of His “knowing” restores me. His unconditional love encourages me. Leaving my shell, standing in His light…His love covers my weaknesses and soothes my brokenness.

Lord, help me to see my self, my life, and those around me through a veil of your grace and mercy…Looking at life and others without that veil robs me of the love you command me to show. Lord, I do not want to be a turtle girl…I want to be fearlessly faithful. Your girl…

 

Do you have turtle seasons or am I the only weird one who battles with shell fatigue? 

 

 

 

 

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