Making Room For Hope

One Last Time

All the questions,
like pouring rain,
like wax melting
and putting out
the flame.

All my good intentions
and a tendered heart
have flatlined
in pain.

This is life as I have
known it.
But it isn't over.

There is a spark yet
hidden.
Stubborn damn spark.

Fair to middling.

The light is on
as I
continue life
and the
travel home.

Time has caught up to me,
and I'm older than I ever
thought I'd be.

Revive me, O Lord.
Help me uncover some
more Joy that only You can bring.

Remind me of the child in me
who never ages,
whose heart still hears songs in the wind
as her sailboat is untethered
one last time,
one last love
to stretch across time.

Will the wind be with her?

I hope so.
I really hope so.

One last time.

I keep trying to tell God that I’m in this alone, even though somewhere deep inside, I know He is guiding me.

Sometimes I tell Him I’m not wanted here.

And sometimes, just when I think I’m ready to walk away from love altogether, something brings me back to it.

Not necessarily to a person, but to the question of what love is supposed to be.

I tell God, “Maybe this just isn’t meant for me.”

And sometimes I wonder if He is trying to teach me something I thought I already understood.

Because I know love. I’ve felt it. I’ve given it. I’ve lost it. And I’m still learning what it means.

Maybe love isn’t always about being chosen.

Maybe I don’t have to prove myself, impress anyone, become what somebody needs, or earn a place in someone’s life in order for what I feel to be real.

Maybe some love simply teaches us how deeply we are capable of caring.

And I’m learning to be okay with that.

I can love someone and still let them be free.

I can want good things for another person even when those good things may have nothing to do with me.

I can remain in someone’s corner without believing that corner belongs to me.

Maybe that is one of the purest forms of love:

loving without possession,
wanting the best for someone without requiring a place in the outcome,

and trusting God enough to let love be what it is without forcing it to become something else.

And maybe love that doesn’t become what I once hoped for isn’t necessarily love that was wasted.

Sometimes love changes the person who carries it. 🌸

September has been at least, 30 years long.

I’m not rushing it out the door, though. I’ve learned enough this year not to taunt the calendar.

October is standing over there minding its own business, and I intend to let it. 😂

This year has been miraculous. It has also been a classroom. I’ve learned, stretched, stumbled, healed, questioned, laughed and found pieces of myself I thought were gone.

So I don’t want to complain about the lessons.

But September?
The enemy has been on me like white on rice.

And lately I’ve wondered, What in the world do I have that he’s trying this hard to destroy?

Maybe it’s my hope.
Maybe it’s my voice.
Maybe it’s the life I’m beginning to build.

Maybe it’s simply that I keep getting back up.

Or maybe he has me confused with somebody else. 🤣

Either way, I’m still here.

I want to make healing easier for you, so I am going to try.

On the road to breaking the habit of overexplaining, you will slip up, especially when you are tired, sick, or feeling like you have to prove yourself worthy. 🙄

Habits are difficult to break.

The other day I didn’t explain something, and I almost felt mean for not giving more details.

Today I overexplained in a text like I was being paid for every letter. It was excessive, and it wasn’t even detailed. It was basically a book of vagueness. 😂

I didn’t catch it until later. I had just written a book and somehow didn’t notice that five words could have gotten the job done.

Then came the familiar parade. I felt stupid, then ashamed, then angry. Green-and-muscular Hulk angry. 💚

But I’m getting better at snapping out of it.

I took a minute and sent a shaved-down text.

Looking back, I probably didn’t even need to do that either.

And maybe that is part of healing too.

I really think the root of it is getting comfortable in your own skin. When you make a mistake, remind yourself:

So I made a mistake. Big deal. I’m human.

You overexplained. You noticed it. You cringed. You adjusted. Life kept moving. No catastrophe, no giant relationship collapse, no trumpet section announcing your mistake. 😂

Don’t give up.
It’s a process.
Little by little,
you can do it.

And this is what I’m learning to tell myself:

I’m human.
Nothing exploded.
I can keep going. 🌸