Earlier today, I was driving home. It was just after noon, and I had a straight stretch of I-35 ahead of me. Music was playing at just the right volume, the road was clear ahead of me, and I felt filled with the possibility of everything.
This year, I didn’t read all the books I wanted.
There was a moment before I clicked play and after I yelled in excitement in which I wondered, “Why?”
I keep hearing these phrases, over and over again, like they’re coming from that person in kindergarten who thought it was so funny to poke people with pencils and see the lead underneath their skin.
“Oooh, looks like she got some work done.”
“Why did she do that to her face? She looked good before.”
“There’s no way that’s her real butt. It’s gross.”
Well, just like 5-year-old me, I’m tired of people stabbing others.
Excuse me, why are you using the black thumbs up emoji if you are, in fact, quite white?
A few months ago, a really good friend challenged me to use this platform to talk about identity and specifically how our perception of ourselves differs from how Christ sees us and consequently, how we should see ourselves.
For some, remembering to be excited is obvious.
For me, however, it’s easy to get bogged down in the mundane. The tasks of everyday seem big and daunting, and tomorrow, and even the happiness of yesterday, seem small and far away.
The truth is: joy is excruciating.
For every laugh that bursts out of me, there are tears that squeeze out of my eyes painfully.
For every drive on a thrilling night with the windows down and music blaring, there’s a quiet car ride during which I am alone with my thoughts.
For every time I lift my hands in praise, there are nights where I look down at them in agony, because they can’t hold what I want them to.
David wrote about this. He wrote about constantly feeling tired. I get the feeling he understood what it meant to be scared of how much he liked to just go to sleep. He was familiar with bitter jealousy that crept into his heart. But he looked further.
“Consider and answer me, O Lord my God,” he wrote.
“Light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death, lest my enemy say, ‘I have prevailed over him,’ lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.
I am shaken.
“But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.”
I am recognizing the bounty of the life that is set before me.