October is for coming home: becoming things.

October is for coming home: becoming things.

It’s like I found this consistency in who I was & who I thought I would always be. Then one night the fire alarm sounded me out into the cold & that was it. I wasn’t that same person. No longer did I have myself down pat, those well versed lines on the occasions of hot coffee & new friends, no longer flowing through my fingertips like grains of sand.

Because I was hooked on books that build character, unable to ease my mind into the fictitious stories of love & traveling & loss. My line was that I simply couldn’t focus on stories that led me nowhere when I could read a book that would better me.

Sometimes I hate that the line no longer belongs in my bones. That maybe, just maybe, I love nothing more than getting lost in somebody else’s mind, eavesdropping on someone else’s story. I love to travel the world in a breath. I love the words massaging through my knotted spine, relieving me of the stress I still hold, though I can’t change.

Sometimes I like to allow my mind to wander.

& you know, it eats at me. That I cannot point to the precise beginning or destination, the who’s, what’s, whys, when’s, that encompass me. I don’t know exactly the moment I decided to let go of forced growth, I don’t know exactly when my favorite color changed from red to indecisiveness, I don’t know when this body let go of its grip on starvation.

I have come to grips with the fact I don’t know my full self one hundred percent.

There’s more to be unveiled.

& it goes back to the only steady hand through these seasons, Jesus escorting these wobbly legs. It goes back to the God who put on the flesh, bringing heaven to earth. It goes back to before I was born, when he held me & called me by name, when he told me he’s numbered every hair on my head & that he’s ordained all of my days, filling in the details. It’s about David’s psalm to the Lord, in which he cried that God knows him better than he knows himself. Because there’s always more. & God knows we aren’t these linear beings, going straight across the grid. He’s made us individuals. He’s designed us for different wear & different passions. There’s always more. More seasons, more growth, more catastrophes. Always more. & the more will change us.

People change people & so do situations & sometimes the wind. & the changes will sometimes sneak up on you & one day you’ll be sitting across from her in a booth & you’ll be giving your usual words & you’ll realize that you’re choking on them, because that person who used to occupy that particular vessel in your flesh isn’t there anymore. There’s a hairline difference, & it’s all the difference to throw off your wording & force a reintroduction to yourself, force a second glance in the mirror.

It’s terribly uncomfortable, this becoming thing. Because I want to be consistent, I want to be the one who always loves the same books & always gets the key lime pie ice cream & always wears the same size. But gravity hits & sometimes we need to stop taking ourselves so seriously & sometimes we need to allow the Lord to flow through these veins & allow his love to condition us in his own way in e v e r y  s e a s o n .

So today is for admittance & white flags held high. Today is to admit I enjoy reading for pleasure at times & today is to disown the feelings of guilt squirming through my stomach. To admit that I’ve lost interest in living life off five pretzels & an apple a day, that maybe my stomach can grow a little & I can eat pasta & I can love it all. The pasta & my stomach. Today is the day that change is okay & accepting this is allowing yourself to come home.

So won’t you?

It’s your turn, love. Break the silence. Spill your guts.

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