I feel as though I have been being built all my life. At first, clearly, it was God doing the building. But as his absolute nature of being the Builder diminished and I was left, more and more to participate in the process, I became, understandably, increasingly doubtful of who I am.
Sometimes what I was working on mystically would come crashing down so hard that I thought I was at the very beginning of my flight into the world, standing on that edge of the universe for the first time, and wondering what I was doing there. Wondering what was real. And wondering what would happen when I stepped off the edge.
Home Base, as it were, was always a return to the thoughts that I was insane. Or broken somehow that resulted in visions that had no reality to them. Or perhaps it was just something that happened in childhood—a bump on the head that left with me with a lifetime of visions. Again, with no meaning.
But then, I would stand up and step out of the disaster and find God there, waiting for me. With instructions on how to do it better the next time around. Showing me the subtleties that I missed. Filling in the gaps with lessons.
And giving me time to recover.
It was my world. God. Lessons. Failure. Kneeling. Prayer.
But what was not my world was other people. I mean they were there, of course. But it wasn’t me who was there with them. It was “normal” Julia. Polite Julia. Servant Julia.
I called her Just Julia.
A Julia who belonged in the normal scheme of things.
But time would go by. Trust would increase. Bonding occurred.
And invariably my supernatural aspects would leak out. I would assert myself in a way that revealed too much of who I really am.
And there would be a backing away.
And so over the years my heart’s intention was to forgive. Forgive those who found limits to their tolerance of being around me.
Forgive those who had wanted to mess with who I am.
Forgive those who were jealous and wanted to “beat” me somehow. As though it were a game: my makeup.
Forgive God. Who would place in amongst people, only to snatch me out again when it was time for me to do something else.
As though being with people for whom I felt attachment was just a variable, not a stability.
Something that could be changed. Not cherished for the solace it brought my soul.
I became The Brave Girl.
The girl who could stand on mountain tops and know that I was standing with God.
Even though when I returned to the bottom of the mountain I might be all alone again.
And it was there that I had to be brave.
Again and again.
A normal form of spiritual growth, just rather extremely experienced.
Stripped like Job. Over and over and over again.
Stripped to the bones. Then restored.
Then into battle again.
I learned that forgiveness was not the goal of my heart’s intention.
That there was something beyond unforgiveness.
There was me.
All that building.
Feeling all the pieces come together to form a whole.
Like those toys that children build: it’s a building or a truck.
That turns into something else: a warrior.
Pieces that come together to form a warrior.
So now I know my intention is, simply, to know what I have been created for.
Why all this time and attention. All the discipline and the learning.
All the training.
My intention is to find my battle.