What They Don't Tell You

What they don't tell you about the first time you come home

You'll come home expecting your world to be like a forgotten dollhouse
That things will be standing exactly where you left them
Only they'll have collected a layer of time and dust.
When really, people have grown and places have shrunk
You will suddenly look at everything through a microscope
Wondering and wanting to know how every boulder that played a role in your life
now seems like a grain of sand stuck in the bottom of your boot

You'll learn that growing up isn't exactly the carpeted staircase you thought it would be
That it's more like a path of stepping stones through a mud puddle
A balancing act of remembering, restoring, and running forward
That somedays your soul will ache for people and places and past validations
It will feel like chunks of your heart have fallen through the cracks of your ribcage,
Crumbling like plaster
Try not to think of it like you are missing pieces,
but that you now just have a lighter heart and more room to breathe

You'll start to wonder how you ever went to bed before midnight
Or functioned without coffee
Or woke up before 8
Your entire concepts of early and late and being free will have changed entirely
You always expected freedom to be painted on the wings of birds flying down familiar roads
and off into the great unknown
Now, freedom is what binds you to coffee dates with your papers and laptop
The responsibility of getting yourself to bed at a reasonable hour and getting up at one too
Operating on your own clock, the minute hand running far too quickly
As hours catch up with sunsets, and days bump into one another,
politely asking if they could just borrow a couple more minutes of sleep and solitude

They never tell you that home slowly transforms from a building into a feeling
That your feet are more trained to walk back into the lives of others
than to walk back into old rooms and closets
You'll seek solace in voices and eyelashes and outstretched arms
That even though everything's changing
at least the change will always be constant
That the way your sisters smile and the way your mother laughs and the way your papa hugs you
will always be home

Thankful

Mercies new each morning
I am thankful for waking up with breath in my lungs and a song in my heart
For a Creator who knows me and laughs with me and walks with me
Even though His steps are always ahead of mine
He never minds if it takes me a while to catch up to where He wants me to be

Sidewalks and hearts that are under construction
I'm thankful for new beginnings
For short walks to class and long walks down city streets
Hands intertwined, I'm thankful for peace amongst chaos
For comfortable shoes and comfortable people

Familiar faces across computer screens
I am thankful for home
For family and for joy, silly smiles and close ups of eyebrows and noses
For sisters that keep me dancing
And for parents that keep me hopeful
For friendships that are not contained by borders
Just merely reshaped and reassured
That love is flexible enough to reach across miles and mountains

Tea and dish soap and push pins and candles
I am thankful for the little things
For clean laundry on Saturday mornings
And clean hearts on Sunday mornings
For postage stamps and handwritten letters
For new notebooks and new faces

Second chances every second
I am thankful for a love that makes absolutely no sense
A love that stretches from lakeside benches to city skylines
For erasers and white out and forgotten mistakes
For the rain that reminds me that even my darkest stains can be washed away
And for a Shepherd that always welcomes me back into His flock
I am thankful

Boxing Gloves

I am a soul
I am not a story untold
I am a creation, breathing in the fire of my Creator
With eyes open wide at my Maker
I am not my anxieties or a hopeless reality or a spiritual sobriety
I am present in His presence wrapped with a silver bow and the excitement of Christmas morning

I have never worn boxing gloves
But I could probably be a professional fighter
My Daddy would tell you that I rarely think before I speak
And my Mama would say that I am defensive far more than I am decisive
That I argue about things in my sleep with no one but myself
That I've always walked around singing and I've always walked on my toes
Probably as a way to make myself appear louder and bigger than I really am

I may not be a wrestler but my heart will never be done wrestling
I am restless and I am running and I am consistently being ruined
By the One who makes it worth the fight
I am not filled with the tally marks of my mistakes because He doesn't keep score
In Him I've already lost and gained
Made whole again

I have a constant fear of keeping my eyes closed too long when I blink
Because I never want to miss out on seeing the goodness of this world
I'm convinced that true faith is found more often in kindergarten classrooms than theological discussions
That sometimes I hold onto my past as an excuse to procrastinate moving into my future
But sometimes, the gloves come off and all I can do is live in love
I stop fighting and singing and standing on my toes
And learn to dwell in the mystery of impossible hopes

Falling

Aurophobia: the fear of the Northern Lights

How can you be afraid of something so untouchably far away?

I'm starting to believe that we might spend most of our lives behind telescopes

Convinced that if we distance ourselves from the world we are allowed to judge its every detail

I think that the stars have so much space between them because they don't understand each other

And neither do we

So we've separated our hearts by Milky Way miles

and have learned to believe that no amount of gravity can ground us

Bathophobia: the fear depth

I've come to understand that coffee shops brew trust and small talk

We keep a running list of details that we're fine with giving out

But we never seem to tell them why we're scared of walking under bridges because they make us feel like the world may come crashing down at any moment 

Or that we're scared of letting people into the gateway of our hearts because it gets messy

Arteries and broken dreams all wrapped up under ribs that cage our hopes and spirit

Kenophobia: the fear of voids or empty spaces

I'm convinced we've convinced ourselves that silence is worse than death

We desperately grab onto details and stuff them into the nooks of conversation

Filling each other's inhales with our own vocabulary

We hate conviction almost as much as we hate construction

Never wanting our hearts to admit that they're being worked on

Hard hats of hard-heartedness and work boots refusing to follow the detours

Basophobia: the fear of falling

I can count the number of times I've fallen out of bed and into prayer on no hands

But I can't begin to count the number of times I've fallen into shame instead of falling into You

Grabbing onto branches and ledges and ankles of others

Pulling ourselves into places we shouldn't be 

Instead of letting ourselves fail and be built up from fiery embers

We fear the fall itself more than the Flame

Making giving up control synonymous with giving up our names

But we will never fly unless we spend some time falling into heavenly currents of love and direction