When I came back to school last semester, it was in the wake of the decision to live contrary to the year previous. I was greeted with the pessimistic responses of a lot of dear friends, of acquaintances, of strangers I'd never known but who'd watched me tear apart my world.
According to them, I wasn't "fun anymore." Or brushed aside because "it wouldn't last."
And then I was supported by the love of my closest friends, of a circle of women who supported me, of best friends who picked me back up when I slipped and helped me keep moving forward, who kept me pressing on, and who encouraged me by simply pointing to the sky.
It is because of them I am here today. Because a few hands held mine, a few arms encircled my tired frame, and a few hearts reached out to me in love and lifted me in prayer. And the doubters were proved wrong.
And I continue to grow. Continue to put one foot in front of the other, trudging on with my chin to the sky, watching and Waiting in hope for the Promise of His Name.
It gets harder every day.
I have a splinter in my thumb this evening, from shifting firewood, and I want to do everything but pull it out, cause I know it'll hurt, when the skin slides against the wood and slips against the exposed veins, causing blood to trickle its tear down my finger in protest.
Part of me thinks that if I just leave it in there, my body will naturally push it out. And it probably will. Once my mom leaned on a cactus and years later, her body pushed the spikes out of her back. I could leave it and hope.
Or I could grab the tweezers, use the tools I've been given, and pull it out. And stop fidgeting with cleaning the kitchen counter, with making my bed, with sorting the laundry.
Tonight, I still lonely. But I am white
snow, glittering across the frozen ground as I shift
beneath the gaze of the Moon and Wait--wait
for morning, wondering whether I will melt
in the Sun or grow with another fall
of flakes from the velvet sky.
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