My most recent bouquet, bought nearly a month ago, was starting to look really sad over the last couple days. So I decided to press the flowers in an old dictionary.
As I flipped pages and slid flowers in randomly, that quote that says something about how if we think flowers are beautiful, we shouldn't pick them because we are killing them and ending their beauty.
I think that's bs. Because we are people and because we are human, our hearts beat to capture beautiful things. We hold them close to our hearts. Since the beginning of time, beauty has been noticed. You can't tell me that Genesis 1 isn't a beautiful picture of God creating beautiful things for a beautiful, but really unbeautiful us. How foolish of a comparison is it to say that flowers should not be picked because they are too beautiful. My heart longs to hold beauty.
Kind of like photography. We kill the moment by capturing it. But whether it is forgotten or not is our choice. If we simply discard images, they are just like those flowers. But when we hold them and treasure them and save them, alas, we hold beauty.
Today, in the midst of a slow Saturday morning after a busy Friday (and I don't have Friday classes, how is my day still busy?), I forgot to do something semi-important in relation to being an RA. Someone was counting on me to get a job done and I didn't. I'm not sure what exactly the weights were, but they fell on me when I finally slowed down from my busy day and I cried over my steering wheel. I put my head in my hands and cried. I cried because I dropped the ball and I cried because I'm tired and because I'm tired of being tired and because I can't remember things because I'm too stressed.
There's this quote up in my bathroom by Tracee Ellis Ross that says, "I am learning every day to allow the space between where I am and where I want to be to inspire me and not terrify me." I try really hard to remember that in times like these, but lately, I've done a terrible job at letting that space inspire, rather than terrify, me.
I think that, when we're not careful, we easily fall into this trap of insufficiency. As I cried yesterday, I yelled at myself for not being able to get it together and for not being good enough and for not being the senior resident advisor I should be and for not getting an A or B on my test earlier this week and for not taking a break and for forgetting to make time for some of my favorite friends and for getting things wrong and for shattering my phone last night, only to rip my pants two minutes later (proceed to lol). I understand that that is foolish and I'm positive that everyone is tired of hearing me complain, but I'm tired tired tired, friends.
I'm not sure how I got here, but today, I'm stepping into freedom and it feels glorious. Oh, that the sun would shine upon my face. That the Lord would look unto me and call me blessed, even with my shit ton of screwed up things (sorry). That He would see my heart and know my heart and treasure me. Thank you, Jesus.
I come to the cross with my hands really full. They're full of anxieties and bad feelings and heartbreak and exhaustion and my things are rushing over my fingertips.
But in the midst of that, the elephant on my chest is being removed, step by step. This zoo is closed and I will not feel your weight anymore, elephant. The mountain that is front of me will be cast into the sea in Jesus' name. I'm declaring that today. Thank you, Jesus.
and thank you, readers. I say it often, but onward we go.
step by step, we march to freedom.
step by step, we march to freedom.
step by step, we march to freedom.
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