I’ve been hiding behind a wall of insecurity and doubt, if I knew how things would turn out it would help me a lot. But I’ve been watching too much TV, reading books, and IMing my friends, ready to open the door and step outside. While I have this fear it could be the best thing that has ever happened to me. Why am I so quick to judge everyone for their walls and their history with each other while I stand here not making my own? And maybe I’ll tare these walls down and leave this place that has been home to my backwards and indefinite plans. So if I could have something to hold onto I’d do it. I have nothing. If I fall I will fall. If I make the jump I make the jump. So I am going to do this.

I’ve grown up in a small town which I wished was a little more interesting than this. But there is no lunar music playing while the stars come into focus at night, and it is just me watching the sky darken. I can’t expect results from something I don’t even try to create. In a world of where I wonder where my place will be, why don’t I create it? I can take my heart, my faith, and take my mark, get set, and run…


My parents have always had both their ears turned towards me, but I kept my mouth closed. They watched me with my “I don’t think you really like me or understand me” look, as I got out of school, or got out of work, or came home. But nevertheless they waited for me to believe that what they see is not something they were making up, but a true reflection in my mirror if only I would see that. It was no other image that I could steal from any other girl or any other name from another label that would make me finally make sense, but my own love and courage that would change my life.

So I dreamed, created, and scribbled things down. Then my father told me that all the good jobs were at the hospital and I should look into financial aid and do something proactive about it. But I looked down at my blue fingernail polish, and blank notebook calling my name, and I could only blink and brace myself for a conversation on “you don’t want to end up like…but you want to end up like…and I don’t know why you continue…” So I listened with enough respect to think that he cared about my future and was probably right. I told myself not to be impatient, but listen. And so I did.

It’s not like I had a tough time really. I went to high school like a normal person, made great grades in reading and writing- big surprise, and went to prom as a freshman and had a great dress- last minute, a bridesmaid dress-and had friends-who let me down, and I think I did the same to them, but ones who are still around and many new ones- and I homeschooled after having a hard time. I sunk. It was a small school, a preppy/hick/bandwagon “we understand ghetto and urban life more than Baltimore”/emo dressed school. I was too scared to be bold and brave and woke up every night in the middle of the night. My mother had patience and love and cheered me on while I fed her lies- I told her what she wanted to here, not that I was all things to all people, giving my everything to a crowd who could care less but entertained it long enough to make me think they accepted it until they let me see the truth- I gave in to only lie to myself, my mother, and them. And how did it feel? Well, I continued to move on and homeschooled. My mom held in with me and my dad called to see how I was doing. My parents divorced when I was seven and I had been the girl going back and forth carrying a load of stuff with her, losing something- leaving something behind with every trip. I was loved but didn’t appear to be a product of someone who responded to it, much less understood it.

So I waited for fall, embraced winter, and hung outside bundled up, blowing into the cold night air, watching my breath cloud up and fade away. I was slightly too deep, a little too odd, and a little too quirky. I had a good perseverance, and open mind, and smart thinking sense of humor- I have been convinced that my mother like my grandparents is an unknown genius hidden in a pocket of the universe making dinner for a blank teenage girl wondering so many things.

And no I stand here in the life of grace which says life is not your own, and I, God will use it and show you that I love you by what I do with it- beginning with your heart. All those fragments and broken bits, charred and edged, are only going to be used to make you an amazing person who has a story and a life and strength and is going to be alright. You’re going to be okay.

Today my father asked me again why I have not met with the local college about grants and scholarships and my sister is on her way to a softball game, and I just got hugs from two of my friends. Apparently writing is not a reliable or dependable or worthy goal, and I am only wasting time with my daydreams. I am alone at my dad’s house, sitting on the porch in the doorway with a notebook and all I see is clear skies.

My friends laughed at “the meaning of life” and had skinny jeans on like me, but unlike me had in-your-face gory band shirts and they watched for my reaction as they laughed, but I smiled and gave hugs again and they’ll be in touch. Maybe the point is not how perfect and how together you can make yourself. If it’s not, I don’t really know what is. I don’t really know a whole lot. With all the hits my heart took, I am here, and it is where I was going to be all along, really okay. What I do know is this, despair has transformed into hope and heaven is imminent and beautiful and offense is protecting my life, while love is just waiting, it is what opens the door and it is freedom. Everything that I go through only opens me up to be strong and know love, and what my name is. Where pain and hurt is there is life and love. I will be in heaven some day and I do not question if God exists or if He loves me. I live it. Ask me about it. Or ask for it. Where my life was a mess, God took my life and changed me from inside and it is on the outside now, and I see it in the mirror now. You have a cry, please cry that cry. I cry out that God will teach me to love Him.