I spit out my life story
let them into a deep place and just trusted that they’d accept me.
Now I sit here with their names listed in my prayer journal and I wonder if I were to ask any one girl to describe herself, would the first
word she uttered be
Do they know how precious they are? I wonder.
I pass my sister on my way into the kitchen,
Her brown hair is parted to the side and flows softly over her shoulders
The pink in her shirt returns my eye to the highlight in her cheekbones
“You’re pretty” I tell her
Why can’t we say this more often
Scream it from rooftops every time we see it.
If I paint something lovely people tell me so.
When God makes beauty in women, we acknowledge it but bashfully keep our words inside our throat
Lets reach deep inside and and let them out. Let the words dance their way into young girls ears and fill them to their toes with truth. Watch their maker smile with satisfaction.
He is an artist and we are his beautiful canvases.
They stand hand in hand at the waters edge. The aftermath of white-capped waves splashes softly over their toes. He looks at her with so much love in his eyes. She completes him, she has shown him such a different world and made him a better person.
There in that moment on the beach, they are wearing yellow for me.
She splashes in the shallow water, crashing into waves. Wearing a seven dollar swim suit, she looks so at peace and perfect in the lake.
Her swim suit is highlighter green, but there, tumbling amongst the waves she is wearing yellow for me.
back at home he is missing us, wondering when we’ll be back. He always loves me even when I have a hard time showing him my love.
And because of this he wears yellow for me.
Some days the clouds cover the sun and I find the sunflowers at the back of my garden to be wilted and brown. I wear grey because I can’t find any yellow clothes to wear.
with nothing bright in my small little world, tears form on my cheeks and fear eats my mind away.
These days THEY wear yellow for me. They act as my sunlight and dry the droplets on my face.
If I have to drive across the world to see their sunlight then I do.
because I know when I get there they’ll all be wearing yellow for me
and then I can find my yellow shirt too.
(tank top sewn by me is available at the link above)
My cup tipped.
words spilled out onto paper, filling the blanks in the template letter.
Pieces of the alphabet fell into place,
formally and methodologically.
I folded the print sheet in three
and pressed it into the crease of my palm.
Nervous sweat, left stains on the canvas white
I took note of this as I hopped into my truck and headed down that familiar road.
hands shaking on the steering wheel, it did not even flinch when a butterfly hit my windshield.
I was beside myself
Before I enter the place of hard days and mean words, he lay his hands on me he told me this was right, them whispered “TRUST” in my ear
I put on my hard face, the one I had worn through the halls of my highschool. My strides were long, my stomach still jumping
I handed her the letter and suckled back my tears.
But then it was done, I left and released the fallen butterfly from my windshield wipers
His life gone I sealed him away in a book, like I sealed this memory,
and I resigned
I shrug off my moccasins and pad down the darkened hallway.
The walls echo a stillness.
but On each patch of bareness I see a face. Still brimming with life.
One for each that was long forgotten.
If I could write each face a letter I would, and tell them how, their short lived friendship impacted me so. How it helped to mold me and make my heart this odd oblong shape.
A shape like no other.
I look upon the faces, etched in the bare walls and realize there are too many letters to be sent and not enough change in my turtle bank for postage.
So i write letters to Lord and he delivers them for me. Free of charge.
I send one too the girl who loved to imagine. Loved to sit on the swings in a jumper. Then launch and fly into a world of fairies and make believe
Another to the girl who hurt so deep. Who trespassed with me into lush fields and we stole goose eggs and chased away the afternoons. Only to return home to our hidden stack of secrets.
Then one to the boy who could not make up his mind. I tried so hard to help him, but in the end, I turned him over to the Lord so that his hurt did not become my own.
Then several, to the girls who befriended me in that final year. So that I left with a good taste on my tongue. And years past, I will never forget us laughing hysterical in the dark tent that soft summer’s night.
May more to write, I list them off to him and he wraps them in gold envelopes and sends them adrift on the sparkling river.
With each note we send a prayer.
He reminds me that soon I will have more letters to send, more forgotten faces on my wall. But in a different house at different place in time.
I do not mourn the lost friendships as I head back down the hall. Wishing each face a good night and kissing them ever so sweetly on the cheek.
Instead, I choose to trust that each had its time and its own purpose.
Back in my room I creep under my quilt and shut off my lamp.
Outside my door the faces chatter about the ‘old days’, along the hall.
I hear the beat of running shoes on the asphalt. The sun dances circles around the earth. The day is running away.
I run after it, hoping to catch it before it is too far gone. A list of tasks tacked up beside my bed gets left behind.
then I stand in front of a crowd of kids, clad in swimming trunks and frilly bikinis, goggles and ear bands. The day is jumping behind them, taunting me. It leaps into the waters. I dive after it. Peering through the water everything thing is blue and blurr. I forget names and loose track of time.
My focus is utterly on catching the day.
The day is nearing an end. The sun has been replaced by the moon.
Driving through the dark and a quick silver truck. Music plays, brother talks, but my mind is occupied, doing somersaults in the cage of my skull.
At home, I return to the list and start to check things off.
Again I’m running. Racing through emails and tidying up from the day that was so lost.
Then she enters my room.
She talks about all the little things of her day. Her voices trails off when I take back to the races. She likes me to listen, to look in her direction. She can sense if you are there, and understanding. So I stop and turn away from my list. Watch her talk about these simple things. How she finds it absurd that girls can make a box into a rocket-ship. Or how she hated the feeling of a strange child toughing her hair. She told me that she loved holding the small hands of baby twins, so simple in their love, just like her. Her eyes don’t focus as she speaks, but they sparkle and glitter like little gems within her softened features.
The day has also stopped to watch her.
Now the house is quiet and think about how important each sleeping body is. How I love each one so much and so separately. I say a small prayer that he keeps them safe and loves then more than My heart can retain, because I know that is an awful lot.
The day settles around me and turns to mist. In the morning it will just be a dewy puddle on my floor.
I am not vegan but this ice cream is delicious and so easy
rice or almond milk
dairy free chocolate chips
blend (in a blender) and eat
I like to top mine with almond butter as well
Bones are brittle
words are harsh
like jagged knifes
they cut and sting
they make you want to throw a knife back
but you don’t because you understand the pain
you’d hate for someone else to feel that too.
even that person who hurt you so
it hurts that bad that you spare the enemy
so rather than fight you crumble to your knees
and watch the blood flow
tears trickle down your face and your eyes crunch
as you pray so hard that the words don’t stick in
that they bounce off like rubber
but hurt is hurt
its very real