Once, twice, many times- there was this girl. She lived in a perfect place named her HOME. She was raised by caretakers that loved her, nourished her, brought her up in intelligence and an abundance of knowledge. She was guided. Mentored. Her future was predicted by those who knew her, who helped her dream. They all hoped together. Her confidence thrived off the affirmations and encouragements of those she cherished and looked up to.
Then- tragedy. Rain came and wiped away her peaceful garden. Snow came and locked her away. Spring came and she refused to awaken with the flowers that naturally would renew themselves. Summer came and the sunlight hurt her crying eyes.
Her caretakers tried to intervene- to bring her back. To show her her part during each season. Rescue came many times. But a girl who knows no longer herself cannot be saved. Help only lasted for a bitter moment, and the girl lost sight of her part completely. She had no understanding of a future need for her. She could not hope because she could not see past her confusion.
Rain came again and washed her garden clean. Snow came too, sealing the ground with nutrients and moisture. Spring came bringing the ready ground sunlight. Flowers peaked out because they were ready, because it was their time. Seasons changed predictably. One season prepared the world for the next. No season was unnecessary. No season lasted forever.
One day after several days, the girl heard a whisper. And awoke. Just like that. She stood and moved. She remembered things she had thought were forgotten. She saw things she couldn’t before. But it wasn’t because some magic happened in one moment. It was because a thread that had tied many seasons together, a piece that was knitted together over this great length of time, was tied off. Something ended inside her. But something else had begun. She saw the seasons for what they were. ONE BIG STORY. An elapse of time required in the process of shaping her.
Her caretakers were there for her, in her beautiful place she called home. They were ready and waiting. The things they taught her before were all still true, but the seasons had enriched them. Deepened her understanding. Life was no longer a simple do or die, blessing or despairing. LIFE BECAME DOING AND DYING, BLESSING AND DESPAIRING. The beautiful predictions they had placed within her were still there too. She was who they had always said she was. HER.
I am a story. I am that story. I was told at a young age what I would be. I have spent my whole life either feeling like I have to force my way through to make some “prediction” come true, or recovering from my failures. I have lived boldly in rebellion and timidly in rebellion. I would stand up for myself to say “NOT ONE MORE HURT WILL TAKE ME DOWN” and I have cowered in corners saying the same thing. I have been on an interesting quest to discover purpose and hope. If everyone is so unique, then why is life so muddily mundane? If we have such purpose, then why do we have to budget and pay bills and overcome physical impurities and think during headaches? I know why. I think. I am me- during those things. I either show up for life, or I allow someone else to. The substitute that “shows up” when I don’t, carries the weight of every hurt, every insult and every failure. My substitute can’t be me because my substitute is designed by many ups and downs that have been my moments and my circumstances through time. I am me. With our without that time I got laid off, I was made to work inspired. With or without that time I said the wrong thing, I was made to speak. With or without that time I was a bad friend, I was made to love.
Seasons end. I do not end. Seasons will continue. I have to choose to continue. To be me. And to know, my part is just that. Be me.
There is no “one day of magic”- just seasons in a big, giant story.
