October 29, 2017
I suppose what they mean when they talk about Love is something quite different than I’ve ever experienced. We grew up. We changed. We grabbed what we had to offer the world and we pushed it out into the air the only way we knew how. Immediately. Forcefully. We were foreigners to grace and patience. We knew no other way. No other thing.
My restlessness isn’t as suffocating anymore. There’s stillness where there used to be fear. My bones remain heavy and laden when the morning beckons, but the sun pulls me up and out. My mind swirls and aches more than it dreams and wonders. I read something the other day that noted how infuriating of a thing it is to analyze your life more than you live into it. I know this. I know this well and true and 110%. I miss being busy. I miss having deeper, truer purpose. At this point last year, I would’ve loved to know I’m in the position I am now, but as I stand here and contemplate the beginning of this phase, I remain wary. Hesitant.
Dullness doesn’t help my get up and go. Where do we go to find life and light?
What’s keeping you Alive?
“Good words make me feel more alive than anything else in the world. For some people, it’s sunsets and nature. But for me it’s sentences strung together with deliberate precision.”
“We are in need of something better than this mediocre world. I think we are created with a need to taste heaven, even in the smallest doses.”
“I hope we always see the others. I hope we always care too much. I hope we remain a group of people who are hungry, ready and open.”
“A person never fills the holes only God, Himself, has made to occupy.”
Put on a pot of coffee.
Grab a mug. Take a seat. Settle in.
“But semantics might be all there is to talk about. The question of what our words mean, what we didn’t mean, or what we didn’t mean to mean, as tiresome as it all feels, is really all we’ve got. It’s often our only hope of reconciliation.
It’s our only hope of ever really appearing before one another, of having a go at loving one another. If we’re unwilling to reexamine or revisit the meaning of our words, if it wounds our pride to receive a talking-to concerning our ill-suited talk, what’s left?”
Dark, David. The Sacredness of Questioning Everything (pp. 130-131). Zondervan. Kindle Edition. ”
“In the sweet light of uncertainty, we renounce striving for possession by way of the biblical illiteracy that only listens to its own voice; we reject the need to shrink-wrap revelation to fit a target market or a voting bloc; we repudiate the nonprofit that presumes to speak exclusively for the moral values of the Creator of the cosmos, as if one tradition or interest group could say and therefore police for all time what the Bible means.”
Dark, David. The Sacredness of Questioning Everything (p. 157). Zondervan. Kindle Edition.
All of it was going to ache and throb and pulse. The floorboards screamed under the weight of my cold-presesd toes as I scrambled to and from the bedroom to the bathroom. I knew the cost of healing was a myriad of things; a process; a phase; a walk in the dark with your hands stretched out in front of you; reaching for anything to grab hold of.
The world wakes and sleeps. Utterances go unnoticed. My voice cracks and mumbles. My words fall short. Power. Impact. Sincerity. Swirling remnants of who was, what was, what is, what lasts, what we hold, who we keep.
Playing lost and found with my life.
Staying here. In this space. Listening to my own voice. Remembering what I sound like. Remembering who I left behind.
Falling in and out of love.
I wanted to know what I was feeling while I was feeling it. The type of human who was stronger, bolder, wiser, more able. I didn’t want to feel weighed down by my heart or my head. I would’ve liked for my head to be a pleasant place to reside. A lighter place. I would enjoy letting things go every once in a while. I’d like to make leaps. To move forward. To look at life straight. To see things clearly and in their simplest terms. To not take things above or below face value. To look at life as it presents itself to me. To have that be enough.
To be liberated from the hurt. To be healed. To ever be healed. To not feel this anxiousness. This anticipation. This desire to hold on and let go. To be two things. To be one girl on Tuesday and another girl on Wednesday. To be the same. To think differently as I waken. To forgive myself. To have my heart forgive me. To be deeply apologetic to myself and let it be. Let it be. Let it be.
Where are we able to be human with one another?