I wrote this a while ago, but I re-read it again tonight and liked it again. So here it is. Excuse the improper grammar and lowercase letters. And the lengthiness.
to feel loved is to feel the embrace of the one you love in the sunshine wrapping its arms around you. it's a magical ferris wheel ride, set with a velvet backdrop and silver glitter glue stars and an extravagant full moon.
but really, to be loved is to be unsatisfied. to be loved is to be known, and yet still, never actually known.
to be broken is to be slumped over in your seat as someone mixes black into the colors of the sky, as torrents of failures, regrets, fears, and crashed hopes are rolled up into a bucket of red-faced, puffy-eyed tears. to be broken is to be on your knees, facedown, begging for mercy and begging for completeness. to be broken is to feel the touch of despair, to feel numbness and think that not even death could be this miserable, this desperate.
to be broken is to trade yourself for someone else's charity, someone else's compassion.
to be alone is to walk a barren stretch of dirt road, knowing you have brought yourself to that place of isolation and yet finding some sort of comfort in the fact that no one is expecting you home at any time. to be alone is to stand on the inside of the white picket fence watching moms with strollers, dads with ratty baseball hats, and sticky Popsicle mouthed tots on tricycles blur by.
but you know what? to be alone is almost a relief, understanding that you are really protecting the ones you truly love from your destructive nature.
to be restless is to turn your music loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but no amount of pure volume will be enough to numb your feelings. to be restless is to step into a room of your friends and after walking through the doorway, feeling the urgent itch to turn back around and retreat to a paint-chipped park bench alone with your thoughts.
to be restless is to see the world for what it really is-one fat empty lie. it's when we actually feel the need for fulfillment and satisfaction.
to be at peace is to walk in tall grass with the wind whipping at your white dress and hair while the hills and wildflowers compete for your awe. it is to lay your head down on soft, fluffy freshly-laundered white towels for a nap on the couch on a warm, carefree Sunday afternoon. it's the smell of fresh lemon blossoms meandering through the bright white kitchen.
but lately, peace has been more like swallows playing cops and robbers around the branches of the tree outside my window. i'm the cop chasing the robber, bobbing up and down and swerving around the tips of twigs and reaching my hands out only to catch maybe a feather or two from the peace that evades my heart.
to have hope is to cling to a bouquet of messily plucked daisies when the night strikes and the trail is unmarked. like a burning flame leading you on, it's something mysterious but benevolent, all at once.
honestly, to have hope is to pour out everything you have into another, and even after pouring out everything you have until there's nothing left, it's dying to yourself again and finding that there's still just a little bit more in you to be poured out.
But maybe this isn't what it's really supposed to mean. Maybe we were supposed to be whole, that perhaps we have been broken all the while without realizing it. Maybe my purpose here isn't done yet. Maybe instead of God changing my circumstances, what is really needed is a change of heart. A change of pace, change of perspective a little. Maybe God still needs me here, in this place of brokenness in which I have found my home. Maybe He's not done breaking me yet...
"To be alive is to be broken. And to be broken is to stand in need of grace."-Brennan Manning