half a year of humility

When you choose the word humility for your word of the year, it doesn't quite sink in what might happen.

In the past six months, I have had such wonderful highs. The level of joy just on my face was causing people to comment on my happiness. It was noticeable. And even that added to my happiness. I think the joyfulness of it all was because love inched up from behind and surprised me. I was so surprised and happy. But then it went wrong.

I'm not sure what happened really. I thought there was something tangible when my heart was really just an abandoned shack wishing it were a home. To be honest, I am humbled to the dust with how it nose-dived when I felt it had been blossoming.

The missing my darling friend part hurts the most though. We did so much together over the past year and then some. It's so strange to carry on without him to tell stuff to and ask if he wants to join me for this or that fun thing, to not be invited by him. I really hate it.

And that's when I feel deep humility. I search my soul for what I might have done or said to be off-putting that I'm not even considered good company as a friend. I will be myself. No doubt about that. But I can wonder still. I don't like losing friends. And maybe I haven't lost the friendship entirely, but it feels like that since the space between us got created, forced into existence.

My heart is humbled, and I am unsure where to set it but aside. I have simply been setting it aside and talking to God about what I should do with it all. The quiet loss of words I taste in my mouth as my mind races through the empty rooms is more than I can face. I keep going to heal and deal with the hurt. I haven't really written very openly until now. And even still, I am not sure how open this is. Does it seem transparent to you? I am trying to be. I have been sitting next to my broken heart watching for words to come, and these are what I could face. The humbling of my heart. The quietness of humility and loss of something that brought me such energy of hope. The pride I had in myself for being able to love again. These are the things I couldn't say, I think.

Is life all terrible? No. Not even close. I am still in a beautiful, comfortable home. I have clothes and food and my four children with me. I have a job I love and freelance work coming in. I have hobbies I enjoy like family history work and writing and leisure reading I've been able to indulge in so far this summer. I have extended family who seem to care about me. Friends reach out, so I know it's not just me pushing myself on anyone. I am appreciated regularly and told I'm pretty and kind, and you know, those things matter. They make life nice.

I just really thought maybe someone might have begun to really love me. That's all. And I am seeing what humility looks like as I reach my focus around the hurt to be thankful that I even had a spark of hope again. I am thankful for all of it. Even the sad part. Because a year ago, I had no idea I would even been able to love someone again as much as I have.

Humility has helped me see how much I have even in the face of loss.