I’ll place my hope in you, for you know what is best for me before I do. You see me as I am, my redeeming qualities and my faults. Clearly, I am imperfect yet you love me despite.
We are not meant to be turned away, believing we are doomed. There is only one thing that is true in this world and it is the love of Christ. Love prevails through fights, heartbreak, sickness, betrayal, and even death. Stop and take heed of my words: Love conquers all of that. It is the truth and everything loses in comparison. What proof do I have of this? I, once shadowed by depression found no solace in what was promised to bring happiness. I fooled with men, cursed those who hurt me, and sought my own justice to make right only to discover the pleasure morph into self disgust. “You just can’t keep up with this fast life. You’re weak and you will always be weak,” you might say. When will you see that you are weak too? You consume the false pretense that you have to prove something to yourself to be satisfied. How awful! You cannot live your life believing you are your own. We are sinful creatures that cannot be relied on for peace. Can you see the truth about yourself? Believe and you will see. We are imperfect and this is only made right by the only real perfect love there is. I was never mine and following the truth instead of my own beliefs has healed me. It is not too late for you.
I don’t know what went on from Point A to Point B. I wonder what happened to you for you to be so lonely. You won’t accept any help from people that try to help you, insisting that you are fine when anyone who really knows you knows that things are not fine. Not even close. It’s like you want people to get to know you that don’t know you because it would be nice to have friends. Yet you hide yourself away as soon as things get really enjoyable. You fear the worst and refuse to believe that it will last. You believe that this person will see how insecure you are and will decide for themselves that you are too much to be friends with.
So you play the disappearing act. You vanish, leaving people wondering where you went. You say you’re busy with other things when really, you’re in the house too busy hating yourself. What a vicious cycle. I’m sorry. I’m sorry it had to be this way. Nobody deserves to feel as alone as you feel no matter what they have done. And yet, our lives are so intertwined that we don’t see who cares about us. Loneliness makes us self absorbed that way. You’re so used to being by yourself your world becomes too small and you forget what how other people work. Oh, I’m not saying it’s your fault. I’m just saying this can be fixed. If you’re so insistent that you are to blame, forgive yourself and carry on. Forgive yourself and others. It gets easier with time.
When glass falls, it is like a slip in time, suddenly, but surely, it will crash. What beauty comes from the fragile, a luminescent piece suspended in its place. A careless tip from any direction, why even bother with crystal? Perhaps it would be more practical for plastic. Cheap, decent, and easy care. No need for worrying about protection. Not a loss when it is gone. Yet how captivating it is that I begin to wonder? One glass vase brings out the ethereal feel of flowers given during times of regret. It accentuates the hues without losing the delicacy of itself. Already beautiful, making what’s in it more dazzling than before.
How do I love in this world? How can I manage to love unconditionally in a place that is not heaven? I suppose the only way I can answer that is that it was never about me. There is nothing I can do to prove my worthiness to God. I became Christian because I no longer wanted to live for myself. I was tired of fighting of nothing. There was something greater than me that had to be worth it and he found me. He was the love that knew how to love me fully. You love unconditionally because he loves you that way. You are the shining example of love that reflects others back to him. It was never about ourselves; it was all about him. Love is forever, the only thing that stands the test of time. Have faith, hope, and love. The greatest of these is love.
I dreamed of being buried underground. I was aware of my fate, confident in what had to be done. Everyone tried to talk me out of it. My teachers, my family, influential adults in my life. I told them I knew what needed to be done. “You’re going to die, don’t you know?” they all asked. I nodded because I knew. I walked to a woman who injected a heart slowing serum in my arm and I could feel my heart slowing. “This is it,” she led me to my grave, “this spot’s just for you.” Before being buried under to meet my fate, my love said he’d stay with me every step of the way. He was different from everyone else. He knew that I would be safe too. The dirt fell above me and he’d speak to me like he always had. I knew I would be alright, that I wasn’t going to die.
I walked into the hair salon knowing I really needed a hair cut. It had been almost a year since I last went and I was way overdue. The layers in my hair were no longer layers, but a mass of hair that had a hard time keeping to itself. My stylist’s name was Morgan. She was this southern belle that reminded me of motherly hospitality. Sweet as sugar with a slim, feminine physique. At one point she let me touch her thin, blonde hair. I didn’t think much of her when we first started chatting. She was sweet, asking me questions about myself. Where do you go to school? What are you studying? Wow, you want to be a writer? She was thrilled at the idea of me being a writer. She said she wished she could be a writer.
Morgan told me she had a Bachelor’s degree in Elementary Education. She came from a family of doctors and teachers, but she never felt like it was what she was called to do. Her husband noticed that she was always looking at styling videos on Youtube and makeup tips in magazines, so he suggested that she take cosmetology. She told me she thought it was fun working with hair and makeup, but she still wasn’t sure if it was it. We sat in silence as she continued to snip my hair. No heat, I told her beforehand, my hair doesn’t react well to it. What do you want to write about? Do you want to start a blog? She was so curious, more than people usually were. I happily recollected moments in my life where I was happy with books, essays, articles. The words came naturally to me. “Wow, that’s so nice!” she’d exclaim, or “That’s so beautiful.” Her words were like warm soup going down your stomach. I was quiet again, soaking in her sweet honeyed words. Her words made me feel like a child being praised for good things. Did I mention she also adores children?
She began to tell me about her husband. She was married at 21 because she just knew she met the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. “Wow,” I said, “that’s really young.” “It happens you know,” she told me, “everyone thought I was crazy when I got married so young. I had only been with him for 3 months, but if you know, then you know. We have been married for sixteen beautiful years. We have one beautiful boy together. I love him and he was everything I had ever want in a person. He was smart, funny, handsome, and had great faith.”
I suppose it was in that instant where our conversation clicked with me. She had this amazing capacity of love and exhortation. Her words were so genuine that I felt warm inside. It was a mysterious thing that she was my stylist of all people that day. It was something I didn’t know I needed. With my hair three inches shorter with lots of layers, she thanked me for my company and gave me a hug.
Where do I begin? I want to tell you everything. Life seems so dazzling, so hopeful now that I have discovered that everything in my life has led me to this: creative writing. It is so surreal because now that I have discovered this fact, it is a song in my heart that cannot stop singing.
I have always had a love affair with words. The way they wrap around your mind with their sequences, how they control your thoughts with a mere replacement of a punctuation mark. How could I not see everyone as a story? People are basically walking stories. Even the ones we consider dull, why, they are utterly interesting when written in the right narrative. I suppose those good books were the things that made me feel most alive. It came so easily, so effortlessly. It came to me without thinking (which is surprising, considering that reading involves an adequate amount of thinking).
I believed everyone liked to read as much as I did until I got to elementary school. I found out most kids preferred to play in the playground and talk to their friends. How strange, I would think to myself, why would people like doing things like that? I would then over the years continue to build a world of enchantment, where I would be the princess of my imaginary world.