finding meaning in life ~ collector of moments

Finding Meaning in Life ~ collector of moments

For a minute, I thought I was done writing.
Only it was more than a minute, and more intense then a thought.

And when I think back, it scares me to realize that it was so much more than just my writing I could have walked away from.
I had in my grasp everything that meant so very much to me, and because of my need to collect, I nearly gave it all up.

I allowed the lies I’ve come to believe, about myself, about the world, about God and life and people, to take over…and I almost gave up.

I’ve never thought of myself as much of a collector, but the truth is, I may be the worst of them all.
For I’ve been a collector of hurts.

The moment it hurt, the very second I hurt, there I’d find myself storing it without intention on a shelf somewhere in a hidden closet, and tightly…I’d close the door.
And as long as it stayed that way, I’d convince myself that nobody would ever be able to see the mess I’d created inside.
My collection stayed safe.
But as each day passed, in some way, I was constantly reminded it was all still there…

And 35 years later, those closet doors I kept so guarded, were barely able to stay closed.
For the hurts now had lies attached, and together they took up so much space, it became more than the small room was ever meant to handle.

Suddenly I had on my hands a lethal collection I simply couldn’t ignore anymore.
Yes, life has been tough and people imperfect.
Yes, I’ve felt pain and hurt and sadness and loss beyond what I ever thought I could handle.

But what I’m starting to finally understand is, more importantly, life has also been incredibly meaningful and full of amazing delight.
There has been laughter, and love, and joy and wisdom and friendship and connection beyond what I ever could have imagined or thought I deserved.

collector of moments

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And because my focus was miserably misdirected, I was allowing those incredibly valuable & collectable moments to pass me by.

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Instead, I found myself with a closet full of meaningless dust, dirt, and utterly toxic junk.
Just a messy bunch of nothing.
All completely worthless and taking up valuable space in my mind, heart and life.

I almost walked away from ever wanting to write again, I almost walked away from a lot of things… because every time I looked inside my closet of collected memories, I felt overwhelmingly embarrassed and insecure, and sure that blessings were gifts simply meant for anyone other than me.

It’s been months now of cleaning house and making changes, and working every single day to break 35 years of bad habits.
And I am certain, that when all is said and done, I will proudly leave open the closet doors of my heart, blessed to share what a collector of moments I’ve instead become.

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Comments

  1. Kristin Renee says:

    I absolutely relate. I’m so glad you didn’t walk away from writing for good, as you are so talented and it is a blessing to me (and so many) to read your encouraging words. It is inspiring to know that hurt doesn’t have to control you forever. Thank you for sharing your experience! ~Kristin

  2. Summer Gieser says:

    I am so glad, as well, that you didn’t stop writing:) I totally understand though. I am in a similar place learning to stop believing the lies I have believed about myself. I originally found your blog when looking for some encouragement on anxiety. I had a “me too” moment when I read your post. Thank you for the time you put into this blog and you tube. My name is Summer as well and I love makeup so I has an instant connection…oh and I love Jesus!!!! 🙂 thanks for being so open and honest:)