Things to bring you down.

Wobble baby, wobble baby, wobble baby, wobble.

Not sure how this is going to fit into the bigger picture here, but it belongs.


I have this scar on my left hand that connects my wrist bone to my knuckle. By the looks of it, it tells the story of a two a.m. brawl, when a big-mouthed girl thought she could cross me until this big mama right here shoved her fist down her throat. In reality, I cut myself at some point between the five o’clock and six o’clock hour, filling boxes for my procrastinating hunk of a future husband. By myself. On a box. Just doing a good deed. Really, I’m not even mad. 

But the best part is, the scar looks like something that must have gushed red like a Jurassic Park film, leaving my thumb to dangle the whole way to the hospital, though as the story really goes, I didn’t even know it had happened until a while later when I noticed my hand was burning a little. Simple slice, already forming its little dried cocoon over the wound. 

You’d have never known something that snuck by so unnoticed would’ve stuck around for good. 

But isn’t that the way of life? 

It’s the mundane that sticks to your feet like. You know. Weeds. 

In my mind I know what weeds I’m talking about but I realized mid sentence I had no idea what they’re really called. Those ones that are little balls & when you unknowingly cross them on your nature walk, they attack, covering your socks & shorts & leg hairs & seemingly multiplying as you try to remove them? Yep. That’s it. Those are the ones.

But really, isn’t it the small things that always take us by surprise, scarring the worst?

When she never wrote back to you after you poured your heart out on that college ruled paper, placing it into her hands in the hallway rush. 

When you heard your grandfather’s dying breaths and ran away from your final redemptive chance to be there for him.

The last time you ever saw him, when you didn’t know it was the last time, his lips pressed against your window.

& so the yeses & no.

I’ve always been a selfless person. Wholehearted & genuine. Easily crushed. (key: crushed, not hurt. my heart instantly jumps off ledges.) So all my life, I’ve felt like someone who gives one hundred percent to everyone. Every person I meet, no matter how kind or their social status, one hundred percent. & it’s one of those things where as you go along through life, continuing to be the girl Mama always raised you to be, it’s a growing awareness that everyones matching your one hundred percent with fifty percent. Happily, they take all your holding out, every last thing you want to offer them, & somewhere between the hello & goodbye, the reciprocation falls short. You just get a “thanks”. 

I’ve always continued on with the same heart my mother grew, but it’s like with every growing passerby, my hearts grown more bitter. & its something I hadn’t even realized nor thought important until I was miles from where I was, in a place I had never been. So much bitterness. So much brokenness. 

Because everyone always says not to let yourself get trampled by others. Don’t get walked on. Stand your ground. Don’t let them treat you like that. You deserve better. 

But really, if we’re all honest, is that what Jesus was all about?

Making sure nobody walked all over him?

Making sure they treated him how he deserved?

Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus,

who though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped,

but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.

And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient 

to the point of death, even death on a cross.

-Phillipians 2:5-8 (read the whole chapter)

I pray that God knocks our strong self sustained legs to our knees. I pray that he bestows the name of Christ over us every morning as his own signature you’ve got this. I pray he takes our life & breaks into those rooms we’ve walled off, & I pray he weeds us, plucking every bitter seed out from the soils of our hearts. I pray for the battle scars that are so much bigger than their beginnings. I pray that he gives us the strength to be weak.  In the name of Jesus. In the name of our King.

Oh, yeah. Wobble. Wobble to your knees.

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

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