Show Me The Stars

I don’t want to hear anymore lectures.

No more sermons.

No more being preached at.

I don’t want to be told what I am and what I’m not. I don’t want to be told how I should be and that I’m not enough of something.

I don’t want to be told that I should talk to my parents.

Talk to my brother.

Talk to everyone and tell them what the scars are.

I don’t want to be told I should be more outgoing.

And I don’t need to be told one more time that what I’m doing is an addiction and that it will only get worse.

Or that I need to take that next step. The step after giving him my razors.

I just want to be held. I want someone to whisper into my ear,

“It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. You’re safe. You can still change. He sees you. He hasn’t forgotten you. He still loves you. I love you.”

That’s all. I don’t want anything else attached.

“I love you.”

I don’t want “I love you, but…” or “I love you, so…”

Just

“I love you.”

I want someone to hold my hands, look me straight in my eyes, and tell me I’m still alive. That I’m going to make it. That I’m going to make it. That I’m going to make it.

I want to be told that there is still breath in my lungs and blood pumping through my veins. That he hasn’t won yet. And that I’m worth something.

I want someone to show me the stars, and tell me of a wonderful creation. Not the broken and abused one that tends to be the only thing I ever see anymore.

No more lectures.

No more sermons.

No more being preached at.

Just tell me I haven’t been forgotten.

And that I’m still loved.

kadi.

Heavy and Light.

It’s the start of a new year; the first day has come to a close. And it’s easy, it seems, to go into a new year with feelings filled with doubt, fear, failure- especially after a year when those words characterized each day.

Last night at the New Year’s Eve party, the speaker (Chris Collins) mentioned pain, suffering. He said we all have it; we’ll all experience it firsthand. But, it’s something that will not last.

I read someone’s words earlier today, saying how she was glad for the rain to stop as she was driving home. Maybe that’s a bit like our reality…

Everywhere it rains. But everywhere the rain eventually stops. Even in the areas where it rains for months on end, it all comes to an end and in turn reveals a sun that’s been there all along.

Pain is ever present in a fallen world, as is suffering, failure, fear. Unfortunately, though it’s what we chose in the beginning. We will go through times when we just can’t see the sun anymore. We will. But it also all has to come to an end sometime.

I’ve also heard a phrase, “heavy and light”, be used to describe our lives. Things come in opposites. Heavy and light. Life isn’t always happy, everyone can attest to that. But life isn’t always sad, either.

Life can suck; it can be a living hell. And I have scars as reminders of that truth. But maybe just the fact that I wake up each morning to a new day is something to find hope in. And maybe, too, that whole analogy of the glass half full, half empty kind of thinking- maybe it’s just good that there’s actually something in there.

I can look outside and easily see evidence of struggle and failure. But I can also see a creation so pure. I can see my God’s signature in everything and everyone, even the most beat up and bruised. And that should be something that gives me reason to praise Him forever. The fact that each morning I’m greeted with a new day that reminds me I’m given another chance, no matter how bad I screwed up the night before. I’m given another chance to learn to trust God and believe in what He can do, no matter how far I had run just hours earlier.

It doesn’t matter. He is patient, with arms always extended. He doesn’t care how many times we blame Him or how many times we ignore Him, He wants us and chooses to give us another sunrise.

kadi.