The more I come to understand human nature–its fickleness, its impatience, its greed and ungodly tendencies– the more I yearn to eagerly receive and actively live out the righteousness gifted me. The more God’s holiness is unveiled to me, the more I’m aware of my need of a holy and perfect God. For by lifting my eyes to behold Him, I cast a glance on this life of mine and see no true way to peace, humility, joy, hope, than through the One who perfectly embodies them all. He is, and so I am.
The shape of my body is surrender—to be seen in less glorious ways, to have no compulsion to separate or hide what I feel, what I fear, and what I’ve lost. I am seen and taken care of. I am loved in utterly surprising ways. It feels like a homecoming and there’s sweeping joy just knowing how much I’ve yearned for a moment like this. I, too, carry carefully what they share with me.
When it comes to gratitude, my words fall short all the time. It is a conscious state of mind, a consistent posture of the heart, a sharp remembrance that moves me to tears, shakes me at the core when I acknowledge all I’ve been given, the gifts that have been purposefully placed in my life, my very breath, the realization that my days are known, my life is held, my existence is a heavenly-woven miracle that will never be abandoned.
I am forever the girl at the edge of breaking who quickly rushes to hold it together, to keep the pieces intact. And I perform the happiness, drape it over me like a cloak, I do it so often, and for so long, that I can hardly tell the difference anymore. Thankful for friends who witness the shedding, who are unafraid to see and touch the bone of a truth that might scare them a little. But they stay and stay and stay, choosing me, when I can barely choose myself.
I’ve been thinking about ways to write this post without sounding like a girl on the internet whose heart’s a little shattered and has experienced an incredibly difficult month. Because while that is true, there are also other truths I’ll choose to dwell on instead.
After reading “Mud” by Geoffrey Forsyth, I attempted to create an imitation. I can’t say how close or far I am walking these lines of conceptual writing, but I like this because it’s different from anything I’ve written.
While I have no idea what is coming my way, I shall strive to be true to myself and to Whom I belong. To resist internalizing the world’s condemnation. To not make of myself an exile but rather, give in to the warmth and support of community. To embody a gracefulness that teaches me to make room for others as I would myself, to offer patience.
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
In Bhanu Kapil’s book, The Vertical Interrogation of Strangers, there’s a Twelve Questions poem that I knew I wanted to find answers to the moment I read it. I love a great exercise of interrogation and of course, the hope that in some small ways, I discover some truth, come across a changed thought or simply better understandContinue reading “12 Questions Series: How will you begin?”
When I left home on August 21, 2019 to pursue my MFA at Chapman University, I had no idea what I was stepping into. I was sad walking away from my family at the airport, hearing my mother cry as I tugged on my suitcases and turned my back from the life I’ve known andContinue reading “So Long, Chapman”