The past two weeks have been a constant cycle of change. One thing will alter the state of a hundred other things. You would never think of the size of the fire one little spark can start!
I've spoken, witnessed, & heard things that I would have never believed to be possible and realized what I should have long ago. I'm a work in progress, thanks to the Lord above, and I'm making changes as the summer stretches on, hopefully which will take me to greater places than I've been.
On Sunday, the twentieth of June, I sat in an Irish restaurant in Arizona and felt a kind of joy that I haven't experienced in a long time. I felt, suddenly, like I deserved to be young and wild and free, as if the world owed it to me. I swallowed my inhibitions and decided that this was true, and dropped the lead weights I was carrying, not thinking on whether or not this would be wise.
For the next three days, I distanced myself even more from this so-called "weight" of my past and attached a pair of cheap wings to my shoulders, hoping to God that they would hold me up.
They did. For a while at least, they actually held me up high and with the assistance of those cheap wings, I learned all there was to know about flying. Or so I thought.
On Friday, plummeting to the ground became an obvious possibility. I dreaded this day with all I had, secretly, and continued the struggle to stay up.
On Saturday, I could see the ground clearly and the knowledge of my descent was in the foreground of my mind. However, I tried time and time again to push it away and ignore the issues at hand - my feathers were torn and I didn't have the necessary supplies to carry on my flight.
On Sunday, as I sat before the Savior in a church sermon, I remembered that having feet firmly planted on the ground was not a negative thing as long as one's steps weren't heavy enough to begin his or her slow burial. Yet again, I continued my bizarre hope of staying adrift throughout the clouds.
On Tuesday, I hit the ground hard. It hurt worse than it would have if my wings were still intact, but they were shredded and worn. It hurt worse than it would have, had I invested in a sturdier pair of wings, but I had already ignored those facts and suffered the consequences.
On Wednesday, with the distraction of my friends, my sprains and pulled muscles were fixed.
By Friday, out of the desire of my heart and the strength of my savior, I lifted myself back onto my feet and began a walk of recovery through a once-damaged relationship, starting with a sweet and warm welcome. A much-needed, "Hello, can we talk for a while?" and an easy, "Of course we can," were the wonderful beginning of a brand new road.
Oh, how things can change in a matter of only a few short days! As long as God is by my side through those days, and I hope and trust in Him always, this change will be a beautiful process...of this, I'm sure.
On Sunday, the twentieth of June, I sat in an Irish restaurant in Arizona and felt a kind of joy that I haven't experienced in a long time. I felt, suddenly, like I deserved to be young and wild and free, as if the world owed it to me. I swallowed my inhibitions and decided that this was true, and dropped the lead weights I was carrying, not thinking on whether or not this would be wise.
For the next three days, I distanced myself even more from this so-called "weight" of my past and attached a pair of cheap wings to my shoulders, hoping to God that they would hold me up.
They did. For a while at least, they actually held me up high and with the assistance of those cheap wings, I learned all there was to know about flying. Or so I thought.
On Friday, plummeting to the ground became an obvious possibility. I dreaded this day with all I had, secretly, and continued the struggle to stay up.
On Saturday, I could see the ground clearly and the knowledge of my descent was in the foreground of my mind. However, I tried time and time again to push it away and ignore the issues at hand - my feathers were torn and I didn't have the necessary supplies to carry on my flight.
On Sunday, as I sat before the Savior in a church sermon, I remembered that having feet firmly planted on the ground was not a negative thing as long as one's steps weren't heavy enough to begin his or her slow burial. Yet again, I continued my bizarre hope of staying adrift throughout the clouds.
On Tuesday, I hit the ground hard. It hurt worse than it would have if my wings were still intact, but they were shredded and worn. It hurt worse than it would have, had I invested in a sturdier pair of wings, but I had already ignored those facts and suffered the consequences.
On Wednesday, with the distraction of my friends, my sprains and pulled muscles were fixed.
By Friday, out of the desire of my heart and the strength of my savior, I lifted myself back onto my feet and began a walk of recovery through a once-damaged relationship, starting with a sweet and warm welcome. A much-needed, "Hello, can we talk for a while?" and an easy, "Of course we can," were the wonderful beginning of a brand new road.
Oh, how things can change in a matter of only a few short days! As long as God is by my side through those days, and I hope and trust in Him always, this change will be a beautiful process...of this, I'm sure.
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