Mornings

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Her eyes opened to the sensation of light seeping in through the window blind. She slowly adjusted her position in bed. “What time is it?” 8:04. She moaned softly as the expected feeling of restfulness never came. Instead, tiredness washed over her aching body. Everything in her wanted to roll back over, throw the blanket over her head, and procrastinate the day’s issues just a bit longer. But that wasn’t really an option today.

She hadn’t slept super well. She finally drifted off to sleep sometime after midnight; then she just kept waking up. She saw 1:30 all the way to 2:00, 6:00, 6:30, and now 8:04. She quit. Attempting to sleep was finished for the night. Yet, somehow she still didn’t feel rested; but when did she ever?

It was in these quiet moments of the morning when her mind most wandered through the impending stresses of the day. Her thoughts mounted a “To-Do” list nigh-on a mile long. Chores, scheduling stuff, phone calls, appointments, all those weighty decisions that need to be made… The sun had barely peeped through the night sky while burdens began piling on her shoulders.

...And then there was yesterday. Apparently it wasn’t enough to have all of today’s issues looming over her already, that now we needed to add yesterday’s unsolved woes, too? Every single problem of previous came rushing back like a flood. “Well, I didn’t get that done.” “That was never fully resolved.” “Oh yeah, that hurt and made me cry.” “Yep. That worry never went away.” And on and on and on. This was all much too much for 8am… She needed coffee.

Bruised Peaches

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Monday. It was this past Monday.

I had burned up my weekend at work and Monday was my first day off in a while. I woke up energized and ready for the day. I had big plans! Admittedly, those plans began- and were subsequently fueled by- some good coffee, but that's beside the point, really. :)

"It's Not Fair!"

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Gee- children can be theatrical, can't they? I was no exception, for sure. I remember this one time when I was rather small that I had had some spat with my siblings. I recall running to my mom, tears pouring down my tiny, red face crying "It's not fair! It's not fair!" I dramatically relayed my side of the sob story and threw myself against her leg. "It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair.."

I also remember my mother, in her ever evident wisdom, telling me "Life isn't fair. It's better off you learn that early." Then I think she hugged me and sent me back to fix whatever the issue was. I was upset with her at the time, I know that for sure; but now, looking back, I'm realizing that she there probably was no better lesson she could've taught me.

Life really isn't fair.

The Dance

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"Do you trust me?"

She could hear the smile in his voice without seeing it. His tone was mostly calm, yet peaked with minor fragments of excitement and thrill. She returned the expression that she heard on his face. 

Giggling, she responded, "Yes! Of course I trust you!"

Her fingers played with the soft fabric that covered her eyes as she attempted a peek at his face, but they were intercepted by his own hands grasping hers. 

"Ah, ah, ah, ah! No peeking! You said you trusted me..." His voice still filled with mirth.

She released a fast sigh and chuckled. "Alright, fair enough! I trust you. The bandana can stay."

"Wonderful. Now follow my lead."

Shells

I love the beach.

The vivid brightness of the sun, the freshness of the breeze, the sound of the waves slowly kissing the shoreline, the warm sand against my bare toes... I love the beach.

One Loose Strand

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She squared her shoulders and stiffened her lip.
She pasted on that fake smile.
Her pain hidden from the entire world.
She'd practiced this for a while.
She sucked in her gut and held in a breath.
She steadied her trembling hand.
'Twas practically perfect, all would be fine;
If not for that one loose strand...

She tucked it back in to her tight up-do.
Struggling to hide it away.
For society screamed "Don't let it show!"
"Never allow it display."
A blemish like this would just never do-
Pressure from all the demand.
She frantically searched for a solution;
She had to fix that loose strand.

She knew of their judgements, knew of their schemes.
Knew that there'd be endless shame.
A 'dog-eat-dog' world is what we've become.
They'd forever mock her name.
She couldn't show weakness, couldn't show need.
Couldn't be anything bland.
She had to impress; had to be "wow!"
She had to hide that loose strand.

But this imperfection was hard to hide.
It was big and hard to miss.
How could she go, let society see;
While walking around like this?
She piled on the make-up, sprayed on the spray;
Trusting in only top brands.
The more she fussed, the more mess became;
Now she faced many loose strands.

She sunk to her knees, tears poured down her face.
Her worth decreased by this mess.
Her mascara ran, her face turned all red.
Her soul in blatant distress.
She must hide within, must recoil inside.
Too broken to even stand.
She must mask her face. She can't be herself.
Because of that one loose strand.

Does someone have worth with imperfections?
Do flaws determine value?
Should society say what someone means?
Should we always mask what's true?
Does true hope exist for those who bear scars?
Could anyone understand?
Are we destined to hide and mask ourselves-
All thanks to just one loose strand?

No, with conviction, I saw we do not.
We don't have to hide our face.
We can stand with assurance, thanks to God.
Upright, in light of His grace.
He determines our worth, loves each blemish.
He made you with His own hand.
His transforming work makes flaws new again;
He loves you and each loose strand.

So unmask your face, reveal each scarred part.
Stand tall in the love that He pours.
For no one can out-talk His say of you.
The worth He gave you is yours.
No matter your weight, no matter your race;
No matter what your homeland.
The Lord, He loves you, just as He made you.
Embrace you, and each loose strand.

I Hope You Dance

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"And we're dancing in the minefields....
                       We're sailing in the storms.....
                                        And this is harder than we dreamed; but I believe.
                                                               
                                                   That's what the promise is for."          

-Andrew Peterson, Dancing in the Minefields