I’m not entirely sure of where this is going. So, today, dear readers, you must kick off your shoes, open your eyes wide, and run with me. Grey has settled again over the whole of my home and all of its surroundings. There have been very few days in the past several months graced with the golden warmth of sunshine. Everything is foggy and even the colors have faded and the story-creator in me wants somehow to turn this into a some dreaming state in which the dismal only adds to everything -making life more cozy and so on, I can only do that for so many days in a row. I’m not complaining persay (I have never, ever known how to spell that word) though, it wouldn’t surprise me if I were. I have discovered that as of late, I am somewhat of a complainy complainer face – I complain all. of. the. time. About the fact that our rental car smells like smoke, about the fact that I’ve been sick, about the fact that Aidan ate my granola bar, about the fact that I feel like other people are complaining a lot, about how I’m so often misunderstood, about the lack of qwerty keyboard on the phone that friends of ours were so gracious to give me, about the fact that my own phone was stolen, about the fridge in our bedroom, about the grey, about the smell of our towels, the list really could go on some ridiculous amount – not that it hasn’t already. My family is kind of sick of my complainy complainerness and have kindly (and progressively less kindly) pointed out that I should probably stop – do whatever I have to really, but stop. I, being me, have shrugged most of it off because somewhere in my conceited little mind, I have told myself that I am a peacemaker and bridge builder often enough in my house that I should be allowed to mess up and be self centered from time to time, and besides, don’t they see that it’s not really me at the root, that I’m reacting to what so-and-so said or did? Pathetic, sinful, self-centered, prideful, yes – and more, but that’s the fantastic part about being human and being loved by humans – we are pathetic, prideful, fearful, very self-centered, even hurtful, down-right annoying… for days and weeks and years on end, and we’re still loved. We still belong. We still, at the core of us, are reconciled with God – we still, at the core of us, are glorious and desperately loved. That’s enough to turn my heart – after a two hour nap – to ask forgiveness. I ache when I am not living freely (when I’m living into things that bind me, that keep me from all of the good things sitting at my fingertips – pride, fear, defensive actions, depending on human approval, shutting down, closing off) because that glory inside of me – that knows it’s truly free, that it’s being unnecessarily bound – is crying out fiercely for me to stop putting it in chains. I ache when I’m not free because my soul knows I am more. “Untitled Poem the Fourth” is what I do to myself – what we all do to ourselves.
You are no caged bird,
Not even in a caged world…
You’re sitting idle in the land of open skies,
Life drifts by –
Oh you will be shaped – refined,
No matter how very hard you try,
To stay the same –
Your wings are well-defined,
Why waste them?
Why waste them?