Black and White Upside Down

I am a person who is exquisitely content with the comfort of small things.  I want things to make sense, books to have a happy ending, justice to win and everyone to do the right thing, simply because it’s the right thing. I think everyone should work hard, do their best, and be honest. Disorder stresses me out and waiting in uncertainty is not my jam. I like to see the finish line from the starting line, and I will sprint there as fast as I possibly can.

Bring into my tidy expectations, adoption and the wild results of trauma, and life is suddenly not what I’m used to. Quiet and comfort and peace don’t lend themselves to exposing the hardest things in our own hearts.  I’m discovering the complications of living life in a cacophony of colors. I’m exposed. Things are not always neat; emotions orderly, and my own broken humanity is also a mixture of goodness and rottenness. I’m complicated too. It’s one thing to live an ideology when in a field of rainbows, but it’s an entirely different thing to live that same spirituality in the trenches.  I have to decide if who I thought I was, is really who I am. If I can actually be the person that I want to be.

I am suddenly stretched to give a wild and exuberant grace, but the smallness of my heart tears a little. Forgiveness is easy to give in words, while holding resentment in a palm cupped behind my back. It’s easy to let stones pile in a sack that I can carry, harder to let them roll down like drops of rain off my skin.

Sometimes I get it exactly, perfectly right. Then other times I don’t, and I hide in a hot bath with a book that doesn’t always have happy ending. I’ve started listening to country music. Disturbing, I know. I’m making peace with this life that makes me so uncomfortable. I’m being widened and pulled, but I see people differently now, because I recognize the shared broken bits in myself. Love isn’t black and white and sterile. It’s wild, and it’s hard and gritty and painful. I still hope for happy endings, but I get now that maybe living faithfully, and honestly, is good enough.

(I need to add a disclaimer about books. In all honesty, I rarely finish a book that doesn’t end satisfactorily. I start them, and read for a bit, but then I have to check the ending. If I don’t like it, I won’t waste my time with the journey. I thoroughly dislike reading something that requires me to invest my time and emotional energy in something that is going to make me feel hollow at the end. )


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