My Unapologetic Coming of Age

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Short narrative fiction

 

 

I am unraveling the seventh piece of crumpled paper. I think I will use this one. It is getting dark and I am mentally exhausted from rewriting this letter over and over again. Whatever I wrote in this last one will have to do.

I am taking too long to read it. The tremor in my right hand is back, so I can’t stay still long enough to read the words.

I think I have forgotten how to read.

I envy the silence in my bedroom, oh, it is just deafening. Instead of quiet, the first sentence on the page is screaming out, begging to be free.

I am moving my lips as I read the words, but frankly, no sound is coming out. Maybe the truth is, I really don’t want to read it out loud. Because once I do, it will stick to the confines of my brain like glue on paper. Like nail on wood. Once I say these words out loud, they will become me.

I am trying really hard not to cry.

The first sentence reads:

“I am sorry.”

But the thing is, I cannot justify why I am sorry. For what really?

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Maybe I should just say…

I am sorry for being me.

I am sorry that my words don’t match your thoughts. I am sorry that I just like to say it how I see it.

The other day, we were both having a random conversation. It was raining and we canceled the plans we had made earlier to go downtown. The sound of our laughter often brings trouble. But not on that night. It was a serious night. I watched as you waited for me to say something. And when I finally spoke, I saw your face go red with rage. I surveyed your face, perplexed about how your beautiful smile quickly grew into a monstrous emoji.

I am sorry that sometimes we don’t think alike.

Some days, you see fire when I see water. You see dandelions and I see roses. You point to danger and I walk through it just fine. Some days, when you are strong, I am weak. But when I dare to be bold, you perform a disappearing act and hide under your big, old blanket.

I am sorry that, sometimes, we don’t agree.

You told me your opinion that night and I dared to scrutinize it. You shared your worries and I played the antagonist. I outlined my reasons and you told me I was mad.

Did you know that I cried on countless occasions? I was ashamed. Why am I annoyingly different from you? The good thing is you never saw the tears so you just assumed I was fine. It was so easy to cry along with the water from the shower sprinkler. I made sure you never knew. But I’ve always wondered though, about why our opinions clashed that night.

But, now, dear friend, I know who I am. I know my name.

The real words I want to say are these.

I am NOT sorry. I will never be sorry for who my Father says I am. Don’t you agree?

I think I will be me. I am now really comfortable with seeing roses when you see dandelions. I will no longer think I am blind when I see water and you see fire. In my weakness, His strength is made perfect. In my unashamed emotionalism, His name is glorified. Even when I don’t understand why you take the other standpoint, I won’t fight it. Unapologetic. I’ll stand firm with reason.

I promise to lose myself only in His word and His truth.

No, I am not sorry.

This is me. This is my unapologetic coming of age. I hope you find yours.

Shepherd Girl

Shepherd GIRL

 

 

That day will forever be etched in my memory. One second it was hot like fire, and the next the skies broke loose, making way for heavy rain to burst out of clouds that could no longer carry it. Like a mighty army, the rain approached the earth. Determined. Incapable of being stopped.

It fell with purpose. Wiping out suffocating heat. Cooling bodies filled with sweat. Resuscitating discolored blades of grass that drooped sideways, almost dead from days of lack. Bringing winds of refreshing to our sheep.

That day, after we’d put the sheep back in their shelter, we ran straight for the back door of the house. With clothes dripping wet, we sat in front of the kitchen window watching hard drops of rain hit brown soil, wilted grass, and those thirsty plants littered around the sheep shelter.

That same day, my mother looked into my eyes and said, “Nina, see how the rain falls?”

“Yes, mother,” I answered, half-wondering where she was going with this.

“Nina, your heart should be like rain,” she muttered. “One hundred percent in. One direction. One goal.”

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Born To Do This – LBMF Podcast #2 (An Easter Inspiration)

Deep, deep, deep down within His Spirit, He knew that no matter how loudly He shouted and called on His Abba, He would not get any answer that night. He was here at this moment to fulfill purpose. He would not be saved from the task that lay in front in Him – His death on this heavy cross. He was born to do this. He was born to save.


In the same way, “You also were born to do this. You were born to take similar steps as recorded in Proverbs 31. You were made to have victory in every area of your life. You were designed for His highest glory. Generations from your womb are supposed to rise up and call you blessed.”

Proverbs 31:28 says, “Her children rise up and call her blessed; Her husband also, and he praises her.”

Born to do this

Image adapted from SD Dirk on Flickr (Creative Commons License)

LISTEN to the PODCAST for EPISODE #2 below

If indeed you are doing what you were born to do, you’ll be so surprised at how much passion you’ll put into it and how much joy it would eventually bring, and how much GRACE God will grant you to do what you were born to do.

Happy Easter everyone. As you celebrate Easter, I pray you remember these words, “I was born to do this.” Amen.

See you at the next one! XOXO.

What’s Your Intentional Interpretation?

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I see you, as the sun sets over your home, chasing your seven children (or how ever many they are), exploring every nook and cranny in the name of a game. “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with,” you call out. And then, almost out of breath, you stop dead in your tracks and lean your back against the wall.

What’s your intentional interpretation of that scenario? A home filled with chaos, or a home filled with laughter, living energetic voices, loving siblings, and vibrant intelligent children who have become accustomed to valuing play, education, or arts & crafts over screen time?

I can start writing about all kinds of scenarios, but deep in your heart, you know what your interpretation has been of your own home and family choices. I woke up this morning and the first question that came to my head was “what’s my intentional interpretation?” And right there, I just knew the Holy Spirit wanted me to write about it. So, this one is for you, if you haven’t been seeing your life the way God wants you to see it. Continue reading