The Shovel, Part 1

Before I fell in Love, I had this really bad habit.

It required a shovel and a hole.

The shovel was given to me as a gift. It was meant to help me unearth all the bad stuff, so there would be more room for the good.

And in the beginning, this shovel served me well.

In the end, it nearly killed me.

As time went on, I got confused. And in a state of deception, I began using this gift even more, but not the way it was intended for me.

I wasn’t careful to measure just how much and just what exactly I was digging up.

My innocence–I struck the giant metal spoon into that soil, thrust all my weight through the shovel, and flung wholesomeness out of the ground.

My relationships–I struck the giant metal spoon into that soil, thrust all my weight through the shovel, and flung selflessness and honor out of the ground.

My spirit–I struck the giant metal spoon into that soil and everything in me shook. Reverberations of pain throughout my body because the shovel hit a rock.

All those years of digging created this gaping hole.

But, the creation of the hole wasn’t my really bad habit.

That was just the groundwork.

So this gaping hole.

I really really liked this hole.

It was so convenient.

When I had fears, I threw them in the hole. When I had embarrassing, horrific sins… in the hole.

When my imperfections and all the unlovely things about me took their toll…you guessed it! In the hole.

Then, I peered to my left and to my right, made sure no one could see, grabbed my shovel, scooped up some fresh dirt and patted it smoothly, perfectly over the hole.

No one knew the hole was there, and I was the only one who felt its weight when people walked over it.

Casually, I threw the shovel over my shoulder and walked away. Oh, never to worry about those ugly things again.

One day, I was really frustrated. I was really frustrated because I had been really sad and I didn’t understand why I was so sad, even though I kept doing things I thought would make me happy…so I kept getting more frustrated.

More frustration fueled more anger, which inflamed ridiculous rage.

THANKFULLY, I had a hole to dump all those feelings into.

So, I went into the garage, got my shovel and walked to my secret place.

When I came upon the dirt, I was confused.

The last thing I had thrown in there was poking out of the ground.

I thought I patted it down, made it perfectly smooth.

I know I did.

I took the flat side of my shovel, beat it against the ground and smoothed it all over again.

Meanwhile, I was still carrying all of my new dirt deposits, so I was tired.

As I set out to release my rage into the black hole, my past dirty deposits sprung up out of the ground again.

Now, I was scared.

Suddenly, I had no where to put my fear, my sexual sin, my lying, my pride, my selfishness, my worries, my messed up motives, my questions and doubts.

All my frustration and sin and rage. Where was I going to put it?

Frantically, my eyes raced across the soil.

The longer it took to find room for all my dirt, the more exhausted I became.

Quick, run!

No, dig another hole!

Wait, go throw all that crap into someone else’s big black hole.

It was too late.

Shell- shocked I blankly stared at the remnants, the debris of damage caused by my explosion.

Then, I fell to my knees.

And Love began to heal me.

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