Although I’d like to think of my inner world as a thing of beauty and mystery, inevitably I do not. Instead, I think of it as being inhabited by a ridiculously needy little girl half the time. I know that within myself there is a push/pull between revealing my inner world to the outer and that rooted in this ambivalence lies a history of traumatic consequences for simply being.
As I talked about this phenomenon with a friend today, she mentioned how important it is for us to integrate our young selves with our adult selves but that the only real way to do this is to either imagine we have a very short person in therapy and/or that we invite Jesus’ love into our inner worlds constantly. “Inner world evangelism” is what she called it.
What would it be like if I could take that child into my arms as Jesus would? What would it be like if I could just love myself without all the shame I often feel once I start peeling back the deeper layers of my life? And what would it mean to love so unabashedly and so unafraid of rejection and hurt that I could pour an expensive bottle of perfume, lavishing it onto Jesus’ feet?
Yes, I need to be evangelized. To hear the Good News. I need to bring this little girl forward to be healed. And thankfully, he is there.