July 8, 2016
I remember those beautiful childhood days.
Sitting in the back of the van on the way to ballet lessons, knitting while cranking up the Mrs. Piggle Wiggle tape so you could hear it better.
Digging up mud to build a small church in your backyard, and collecting all the dried grass clippings to feed the horse you would have one day.
Waking up to the smell of bacon and the sound of coffee beans being ground.
Running into the living room on Christmas morning in eager anticipation, smelling coffee and cinnamon rolls and seeing the fire warm the room with its soft glow.
Those were beautiful times.
Where am I now?
I’m not sure, to be honest.
This past week, I pretty much lived at work. Which wasn’t bad. It’s just a new experience.
My friend probably hates me. But at least she’ll be alive to do so.
I’m hungry, but that’s nothing new.
I’ve still got a stack of books over there on the shelf to be read. And I wanted to get them read before the end of the month, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. (There’s been life, ya know?)
I wake up to the sound of either Dylan running and yelling, or silence and snoring. Depends on what mood I’m in that day as to what time I wake up.
I sit in the back of the van on the way to a dreaded meeting, cranking up AP so I can drown the world out.
I don’t think the mud church would have worked out, anyway.
Dreams laugh at me as they shatter in the dust. And I just stare at them as they die before my very eyes.
There’s nothing new under the sun.
I’ve got work tonight. I enjoy the shift, most of the time. It’s been pretty fun to work that time of the day, so I’ve got my hopes up for tonight. We’ll see though.
We’ll also see if I can operate on four hours of sleep. It’s been a long night, and today promises to be no better.
(Which is why I’m typing this at 6:00 in the morning, after two episodes of Bonanza and a half hour of tossing and turning.)
When did I become a teenager? I would have sworn that yesterday was my 8th birthday. (Pigtails and everything, y’all. I was a child prodigy for being able to play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” on the piano with my right hand.)
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
My mom told me yesterday, “Welcome to the adult world.” She was half joking, but there’s a small percentage of truth in what she said.
The days of the smell of bacon in the morning and building mud churches have long since ended. There’s a new chapter that’s begun, whether I want to read it or not.
Funny how life doesn’t ask you if you want it to happen. It just, does.
*we interrupt this session for a quick yawn* *I’m tired, people*
My life isn’t about me anymore. I’ve got people involved in it. There are other hearts to hold dear and to love. Other hearts to love me. Other hearts to be loved. And it’s all as it should be.
I don’t know. I’ve wondered if I care too much.
If I had the choice, would I go back to reading the Magic Treehouse series in my pink shorts? Would I go back to singing at the top of my lungs on the trampoline, dripping wet from coming straight from the pool?
(You don’t know joy unless you jump out of the pool to get on the trampoline. Talk about fun.)
I’d like to say yes. *laughs* I was so naive. And not just because I was 8. There was a world of things I never knew I would face one day.
But to go back then would be to give up what is now.
It would mean giving up the hearts that I love and that love me.
It would mean giving up the lessons I’ve learned, the challenges that have caused me to grow, the victories I’ve won.
It would mean giving up the moments that have become some of my best memories.
I don’t think I could do that.
God sends these things into our lives for reasons. Even if we don’t understand them.
Because let me tell you something. There IS a purpose.
So my naive, fun-loving, bratty 8 year old self, you enjoy your life. Don’t take it for granted. You’re more blessed than you know.
But to my anxious, dark, hurting 16 year old self, you enjoy your life, too. Don’t take it for granted. You’re more blessed than you know.