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The Sting of Lemons: Rest and Restoration

the lemons remind you that you're hurting

the lemons remind you that you're healing

the lemons remind you that you're human













You ever touch a lemon and it burns? Here's how it goes: You get a slight cut on your finger, maybe from the edge of a piece of paper or, perhaps, you grazed your flesh along the ridge of knife. Regardless of how it got there, you may not realize it until something external lets you know it's there. I'm a bartender who frequently cuts her fingers on things. I'm often made aware of my injuries when I come in contact with a piece of citrus while garnishing your adult beverage. I cringe for a moment and keep it moving, only to be reminded seconds later that my wound is still very much open and alive. Before you know it, I've raced on to the next task that causes me to momentarily forget about my open wound.

Racing through your healing deepens the wound.

We do this to ourselves. Over and over again. We race through life unhealed and unaware of our wounds. Somebody told us at some point in our lives to "just get over it." Or maybe we've become desensitized to the trauma that we don't even realize we're wounded until we come in contact with something or someone that stings us to the touch. "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade," but sometimes the lemons in your life introduce you to your wounds. Don't sweeten the lemons too quickly, sugarcoating the effect they have on you. Lemons expose you to yourself, your pain, your hurt, your insecurities. When they sting you to the touch, you're reminded that you have a feeling about that situation that has caused pain or the person that has had a lasting effect on you. The lemons remind you that you're hurting, that you're healing, that you're human.


I've encountered many lemons in my almost 29 years on this planet. Most recently, a big ole, gigantic lemon on steroids rubbed against an open wound that I didn't know was there and let me tell you, the STING is REAL! Many people have had suggestions about how to navigate the pain--how to move through the sting and the woundedness. Some have suggested that I need to throw myself in as many activities as possible--to go to the gym and run out my pain, to fill my schedule with social hours and extracurricular engagements; and while some of that can help one to reconnect with oneself and initiate healing, I also think God is sometimes calling us sit and rest in the pain. Everything can't be sugarcoated right away. I started this blog post on February 19, 2016--BEFORE Beyonce' dropped Lemonade, lol, so it's weird that I'm finishing it a whole two years later. What I appreciate about Yonce's Lemonade is that I was able to understand that making lemonade takes time. I'm learning, throughout this current healing process, to let it sting. It's okay to be angry about the sting. It's okay to rest and not run to add sugar to the sour moments of life. Sometimes God is making you lie down in pastures so that God can restore your soul before the lemonade can come into being. And it's not that you're wallowing in a sunken place, but that you're resting.

Maybe you're just not ready for lemonade yet. Maybe you need to rest.

Lately, I've been tired. Not like, sleepy or nodding off in class tired, but weary and run down. No matter how much I sleep, I'm weary. It occurred to me, as I was reading the 23rd Psalm, that God was making me lie down. God is saying to me, "Stop trying to work your pain out on the treadmill." "Stop trying to busy yourself so you don't have time to deal with yourself." "Stop trying to make lemonade before dealing with the sting of the lemons."  God is calling me to rest so that I can be restored, reminding me that lemonade will come in due time. Patience.







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