1 am

Words and I have been at a weird stand off for the past year. The other week I wrote this in the middle of the night, and I want to share it here because it was the first time in a LONG TIME that I wrote something that really conveyed how I was feeling, the growth that I feel inside my chest, and the vulnerability that I am willing to shake hands with lately. It is Easter weekend, and I share this with you today, because the growth that this piece represents to me would not be possible without the sacrificial love that so willingly brought himself near to us. We are so wildly loved. I will say it again: so. wildly. loved. Our abba God chose to enter into a world of darkness and gore through his son, and this is quite a beautiful thing – that we are loved at the end of ourselves. that we are seen and known deeply and fully — and yet not condemned. Through Jesus we are made whole – through Jesus shame is no longer our birthright. Our birthright is righteousness, freedom, glory – because of his death and resurrection we are presented with a life seeped in joy, peace, and love.  Here it is –

2 Corinthians 5:17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come. The old has gone, the new is here. 

( hello new – i am grateful for your stay.)


meet me here

where im at

it is 1 am

And there are so many things

that i could be doing

rather than sleep

so many things i

could be thinking

about

but instead

i am thinking about

how

when i lift up my stomach

underneath

there are these deep

red

lines  they are not lines

they are

marks.

too strong to be lines

they are deep

but out

hidden

but loud

when i touch them

i feel connected

to my body

in a

strange

strange

way –

they also remind me

that my body has

stretched exponentially

I feel like i need to

scream to the World

that

I HAVE BEEN AT WAR
FOR SO LONG

and finally.

Finally.

my white flag is up.

its ragged and torn

it is at half mass

but

it is up

finally up.

i did not know

what it would feel

like being here

but it feels like

shouting

I AM HERE
AND I WANT TO, NEED TO

BE seen.

known.

it feels like not enough

but enough.

these marks.

i could let them

haunt me

and let every 1 am

be filled with hatred

but on this 1

i’d like to choose

gentleness.

my body is ever

changing

ever

evolving

i am not

stagnant

i am not

lost alone

i am near.

i am here.

i can feel

my hand about

to knock through.

my ribcage

is shaking

rumbling.

it knows something’s coming

it feels

the graceful

presence

of change

taking place

and i guess

I

can too

because my rib cage is in

me

and we both

feel the same wind.

i have been afraid

to write

because

i do not

want to do it

wrong

i do not

want my

un-qualifications

to put me in a choke hold

and i definitely

do not want

my un-qualifications

to actually be visible

and actually

be quanitified as

un-qualifications

but maybe

with change

comes new.

new words

new eyes to

look at my body

with

to eat food

with

to filter feelings

with

to rationalize others

with

( and to accept that rationalization isn’t always concrete)

(with?)

new eyes, new me?

new eyes, new words?

new words, new eyes?

new words, new me.

new eyes, new me.

new eyes, new words.

let peace flow through

these veins

and let love seep into

this aching heart

let joy escape

these smoky lungs

let mercy enter this

messy bag of bones

make me more than a bag of bones.

let color come

and make me move

glory to glory

i am grateful i am here. i am grateful You are near.

it’s 1;42 am

and despite it all

i

am

glad

to

be

alive

right

now

because

it means

there is

still time

to be.

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Not My anxiety

When I was in the tenth grade I had a history class sixth period. My teacher was one of the kindest most laid back teachers I can remember, and there was no reason to feel suffocated in his class. Yet – my heart had palpitations every time I stepped foot into his room, and I now understand why. The class I had afterwards was geometry, and I DESPISED geometry. There were only eight of us in the class, which allowed for everyone to be called on during that 55 minute class. Four out of the eight of us (according to my underclassman brain) were horrifying, smart, and important upperclassman — and I was not one of them. So, everyday before this class came about I would internally panic in sixth period at the thought of having to walk a few feet down the hall, turn left, and enter into seventh period. I would stare at the clock, and wish for the minutes to either pause or flash before my eyes before anyone else noticed I was there. I was afraid of being heard. I was afraid of being seen. And I was afraid of looking like a fool.

 

Flash forward almost 4 years, and I am currently in my second semester as a freshman in college, and it feels as though my life has gone full circle — right back to that geometry class that sparked in me a fear I knew (and still know) so deeply, but at the same time dreaded to come in contact with. The fear that my own inadequacies will scratch themselves above skin level, and write their names over the entirety of my body. My bones ache for perfection, and if I do not shout whispers to my achilles heel that, they indeed, have a purpose – I succumb to the lie that I am nothing more than what anxiety shouts into my ears.

 

This semester I stepped way way way out my comfort zone, and enrolled into the honors program at my school, and I am currently taking two honors classes. In my honors english literature class there are 9 of us, including myself. Sixteen eyes that anxiety convinced me were waiting for me to fall on my face in more ways than one. Waiting for me to prove that my role as an honor student is missing qualifications. Waiting for me to say something that makes it clear that I have no idea what I am talking about. Waiting for me to make a fool out of myself — just how I felt in the tenth grade.

 

This class, and my other honors class, has put me into a position where I have no other choice, but to take my vulnerable, weak, and afraid heart and place it right at the feet of Jesus. Everyday, but especially, Tuesday and Thursday I wake up at 6 am (did I mention… this english class is at 8 am?), and I remind God that I am having a hard time with being seen, and I bargain with Him as to why He needs to give me His courage and strength. I bargain with God as though He does not already see the fears that try to defeat me. As though He did not open up doors to put me in these classes, because He knew it would stretch me. As though He does not see my pain or know my heart.

 

When Jesus died on the cross He knew that anxiety would try to invade my heart and mind on a daily basis from the time I was five years old. He knew what I would face, and He boldly died so that I would be able to walk through the anxiousness that puts me in a chokehold daily. He gave his flesh and bones, so that I would be able to look to Him — reach out my hands — and be given His peace.

 

If you read through this once more – you will see that I never referred to anxiety as “my anxiety,” because it is not mine. I will not claim an anxiety disorder, an eating disorder, or depression as my own, because the moment I hand it over to Jesus it is His.

And once it is His it dies. Once my fears and anxieties are no longer stuck in my heart and hands, and they are in Jesus’ — they die — just like Jesus did on the cross.
I am forever thankful that my brain has been wired differently — because through the struggle I am made brave through Jesus Christ. Through the pain I am being made new. The fear filled five year old girl that has transformed into the me I am today — is being transformed into a being of peace. A girl that lives loved.