afio mai

It’s hard to mourn the death of something that’s still living. It’s hard to grieve the absence of someone when life continues at full speed ahead when the rest of your world is spinning all around you. It’s hard to depend on other people to fill voids others have left in you when you feel incapable to fill the void, let alone allow God to mend you whole. It’s hard, my friend. The road is full of curves and bumps, inclines and declines. And right now, I feel like I’m on a decline heading for a plateau of complacency. It’s hard to feel things so deeply. It’s hard to love others so dearly. Good-byes are hard, transitions are painful, and the changing of seasons makes me nostalgic.

For nearly 10 years I have seen everything through the eyes of abandonment: When will the next person leave? When will they decide I’m not good enough? Why am I so easy to walk away from? Am I too much for people? Is that why they leave? Why do I feel so defective compared to all of the people I’m friends with? Why can’t I trust people? These questions have haunted me for far too long. These lies have manifested themselves into the reality of my being, this war raging has become my actuality. How do I escape? Where do I go from here? I’m not sure.

All I know for sure is this abandoned-filled eyed girl wants to take these lenses off and see beauty and possibility, hope and not destruction. I also know the Lord promises peace. Peace that I don’t have to strive after or be good enough to receive. Peace that overcomes my marred vision, peace that abounds and makes a way to restore my vision to original clarity.

Afio Mai, a Samoan phrase means welcome or to come and right now I am welcoming the Prince of Peace to come rest awhile with my heavy-burdened soul. I hope wherever you are right now you can see that same peace meeting you right where you are as well, my friend.

 

Afio mai Agaga Paia

Holy Spirit come-