You began life knowing you could do much more than you are doing right now. The world was an open field to explore and anything your mind came up with you did.
Big curious eyes guided you as you poured the jug of water on the carpet floor.
You did not know prim and proper but the possibility. The ‘what if I did?’
Many people said stop, wait and don’t but it never was pointed to who you are. So you did not stutter. Everyone was meant to see the world the way you did. Perhaps because you were the only yeh high person in your environment.
When you met those who seemed like you and would understand the world the way you did the under the 2 feet old you felt at home. Understood perhaps.
Then you showed them the carpet trick and they said no. Not to the act as adults did but to who you are.
The “don’t be” lie came and you sought to conform, not knowing the denial of your person would set the stage for a battle you would never win.
Who did ever run away from themselves? You would be the one person who would follow you to the grave.
As you died slowly from the poison of “too much” and “not enough”. Sipping on the lie not noticing the overdose. The pain of being yourself caused you to run and adapt to who she said and he said you are. It worked for them it seems.
Loving arms never look for others they look for you. And when you stare in the mirror and do not see yourself the way He sees you the battle begins. Even though you know He has been a warrior longer than you the terror of a person who will fight for who you really are is scarier than the battles you keep losing with the constant changing of yourself.
He fights for you and it gnaws at you because the memories of the rejection and pain are the welcome mat in your heart.
You learnt not to be that person. No, wait, you swore never to be that person again.
How dare He try to drag that person again from the closet. This prayer closet that draws skeletons you hid and makes them an army. He does it for people like you, who chose to bury themselves with life lessons of how to run away from themselves and becoming better others.
He fight for you because He doesn’t need to read your palm to know your heart because He made it. Every artery you put the glitter of ‘I will be loved’ is seen as debris clogging His love from coursing through your blood stream.
As the hip of your image dislocated and the limp of frustration sets in a father looks at your crocked face and smiles because this is the path you find you.
The complicated truth is that He loves you.
Not the prim and proper you. Not the fun you. Not the quiet you. Not the you created by yours and others expectations. He loves the you who never was afraid of what would happen if you tipped the jug on the carpet floor.
The one who giggled at the squelch of your feet underneath when you stepped on the wet patch.
That moment before someone who knew better told you no. Before life taught you to run away from yourself.
He loves you. And He hates everything that taught you not to love yourself and the lie that you need to be another to be loved.
PS: If my friend asked me to do a piece #InSecureHands this would be it.