Sometimes I wonder if I ever have a, one thing.  All of my life, I’ve been the ‘she’ of a million words and numbers, I thoroughly loved reading the dictionary and encyclopedias that my family had.  I was that girl, that one that does it all.  I raised my hand in class more than it sat on my lap. Ever since I knew how. I’ve been working, plowing a strange sort of burrow that seems to have grown around me, trying to find a balance and figure out all the new things that He’s showing me and teaching me.

And then as all my things surfaced up and out, they were all twisted and tangled and strangely beautiful but all too close together, I sat and sighed. because it was beautiful and perfect, but it felt so very foreign.  Like something you go and look at that another has done, without the personal connection.

Like watching yourself going through something from overhead and wondering what happened, where am I, but I’m here and I feel the tremendous pain, I see it, but I don’t think I can feel anything. is this me?  What is happening and what did I do that brought me to this…

I whispered, 

won’t you help me please, Father

i need you to get me through this… 

And then i find myself in the darkness under the light of the beaming supermoon, and the lyrics of the song I’ve been singing for days flows in, it all makes sense now:

now you do, now you do.

this is the one thing, the racing and spinning

the running and twirling of skirts long ago

and i start to realize that maybe i do have a one thing. a trend that has followed me all my life.   


all these words aren’t about me

they are who i am,

who i am to be for Him… 

not just any words,

Those words of pleading and surrendering to Him

That endless night without much fear, just unaware of what was brewing

within me and not knowing what I was to do, I chose trust and held onto that.

and I think I know what I’m doing,

some of the time. and then something inside me slips, like a cog tripping out of line, and I start with the assumption, that actually I have no idea.  I used to get scared and scarred and I pick up my skirt and I run away, because shadows whisper too much of the unknown.

And this thing of the unknown, is unsure and viciously uncomfortable. and I told a friend, the kind of friend that grips your heart and gathers close to your soul, that it was an awful example of ugly beautiful, and such a blessing. I dare not ever forget that memory of what I call “my resurrection”… this friend knew because she’s been there too…calling the words out and above to the Master.

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