Angry.

Have you ever noticed that when you are driving someone else's car, you become a much better driver? Or when you rent a car, you take precautions that you normally roll right through in your own vehicle? When you acclimate, and get comfortable your driving tends to relax and you become less defensive. You coast. You pause at stop signs. You get from point A to point B sometimes without even being able to recall how you got there.

I think we treat people the same way. I think we are cautious and intentional with someone else's heart in the beginning, and then somewhere along the way we get comfortable... and sometimes that leads to becoming hurtful.

Tonight I was driving home from work in what felt like a monsoon. The rain was so hard. It was difficult to sometimes see. But what was more terrifying then the lack of vision, was when the rain overwhelmed the tread on my tires and I would hydroplane.

I was asked recently by a beloved friend how my heart was regarding a specific relationship. I answered honestly. Her response was classic- it was an echo of dislike and caution I have heard for four years. I always defended my position, and I always believed that the intentions were good. Monday afternoon sitting in a little grassy area on Capital Hill, I had nothing other to say than that I was hurt. There was no justification. There was no optimism.

I have thought about my response since then. How I've protected myself and the friendship from judgement, and I think what I finally realized was that I've been holding myself captive by not being able to share my truth about it.

I am angry. Incredibly and frustratingly angry. Sometimes I feel disapointed and foolish. I am angry to be treated in silence. To be left in known confusion. I feel unknown and unloved and uncared for.

I wish we handled our hearts and those we care about with as much caution and trepidation as we approach driving a car that is not ours.

I also had a painfully sad moment while driving thinking about all of these things. As I hydroplaned and felt myself lose control of my car- that if I were to die in a car accident the last thing I would have been thinking was how angry I was at someone that I used to care so much for. When I regained control of my car, and caught my breath I was so sad. Thankful that I did not crash into a guardrail, thankful that I was able to compose myself after the scare... but endlessly sad... and angry... still.

I spoke out loud to the silence in my car and I said "I'm angry." and I just kept talking to myself, to no one, to the one I feel so inflicted by. The conversation was animated for being just one sided. I realized quickly that by finally being able to say how I felt out loud, and not having to hold it in- that my anger was able to morph into something new.

permission.

I had to admit that sometimes when I approach my mailbox there is a split second that I wish for nothing more to be found inside then a postcard that says, "You are loved. You are missed. I'm sorry." Sometimes I think this postcard could be magical. My illusion of it is that I would believe it upon arrival, and that all that I have protected myself and them from will vanish. What I knew and always believed to be true would to restored.

And then, I realize that the postcard is not inside the metal black box. There is a moment in which a sigh of sadness is released. Disappointment for believing it would or could be there.

But then relief, because I am able to for another day not have to respond to someone I do not trust, or be open to someone who has proven so confusing.

I know that when we least expect it, what we are waiting for comes.

I am waiting for something that cannot be found in a mailbox.

I am hoping that it will be able to fill this space in my heart, where so much hurt, resentment, and anger occupy.

In a movie I am watching the main character sends an email to someone she cares about explaining that their relationship has come to a pass. Her friend finally calls back to acknowledge the letter, and apologizes for the time it took to do so. She asks him why he hadn't yet responded, he says to her, "If I didn't respond it meant we were still having a conversation..."

I am realizing more and more how important it is to understand the value of our own heart, our own journey, and how our path is ours with God. That people are going to push us into guardrails, and they are going to sometimes make us cry torrential downpours... but that we are worth the process of no longer protecting and excusing the behavior and finally owning how it has made us feel.

The conversation must begin. So that it can finally end.

I pulled off the highway to drive into Lexington on Route 11. The rain eased up over each mile. I turned to pick up my dinner, Won Ton soup and saw Ryan's car in the Hardee's drive thru. I pulled up next to him and we shared about our day. He asked me how it was, and without pretense or hesitation I told him the truth. I told him I was also glad I didn't die on the highway. We made some small talk, made some plans, and I continued on my dinner mission. It was a respite of sunshine... it was real life returned in the midst of a battle in my car.

When I pulled up to my mailbox after finally admitting to myself what I had been hoping I would find inside, I realized that because I was able to be truly honest with myself about how I felt that my hidden desire held less power. Wanting an apology became less important. Though wanting to feel less hurt remained. Silences and Pinkie Swears do not honor what was realized in the car- that the permission to speak is important... because what I feel and how I'm treated matters.

I write this because I am struggling in how to share this part of the story with those I love.

I write this because I am hopeful that by doing so I will not expect so much for what I am waiting for.

I write this because I am angry... and it was time to finally admit that out loud.

I write this because if I can get out that which I have held in- the conversation will at last, end.

And what I'm waiting for will finally come.

And that is for the anger to subside.

And peace to come.

And neither of those things, can be found in a mailbox.

This much, I know is true.