It always comes back to Flowers.

Oddly enough, the familiar stiff lines on my cheeks from the emotions that have been locked away brings me solace.  Music and wine pull everything else still stuck out into the open. Laying here, weeping quietly incase the kids are still listening, I realize I believe I am gonna be ok.  More than ok.  I have survived much worse.  I've already been through these mental hoops before.

I was twenty-two, living in my first apartment by myself.  I had broken off things with a man I thought I was going to marry.  I had moved back to Cincinnati and tried to regain my footing. I hated being alone because I was faced with all the missteps I had made to get me to that spot on my carpet.  The faint smell of cigarette smoke will forever remind me of that moment on my knees when I cried out to Jesus that I was empty.  My bank account was empty.  My heart was empty.  My mind was completely void of ideas on how to continue.  That tiny child had no idea the storms that were about to come.  That girl couldn't have guessed what the next fifteen years were about to unleash on her.  Moving to a foreign country.  Losing her daddy.  Losing her dignity.  Losing love again and again and again. Nearly ending her life multiple times because the light was out and there was nothing left to give. Silent grief.  Debilitating anxiety.  A smile to hide it all and a heart unwilling to deal.

Last year I posted something and a dear friend replied that I was highly favored.  I swam deep into those words.  Every single time I was in the thick of the storm, Jesus showed up in this way that surely swept me off my feet.  Like a suitor pursuing a bride, he wooed me. I had to start writing them down because it felt absolutely unreal.  It wasn't just a peace that I decided to have.  It was flowers. Flowers delivered.  It always comes back to flowers.  

This year I have been on a journey to love myself.  I've been low-key dating Alysun Ogilby, and I gotta say...these past couple months (quarantine time soul searching has given this ride a boost) she has finally allowed herself to start being fully known and fully loved.  A couple of birthdays ago, my sweet sweet sweet friends gave me a beautiful cup filled with slips of paper. Each one was scribed with things they loved about me.  I buried my head as they read them to me and I wept, not out of the beauty of their love, but a painful cry.  It physically hurt to hear these things because I simply couldn't believe they held any truth. 

To imagine just a few years later, basking in their love. Their truth. Their compliments.  It's lead me to this moment.  My emotions, overwhelming.  My anxiety rising.  What's next?  Doesn't matter.  I'm fully confident that we will be ok.  My life has never had a straight path (or one I would pick from a list of options), but it's been a ride that's lead me to this next crossing.  I've been working hard on myself...mentally, physically, emotionally.  I've learned to have hard conversations.  I can apologize when it's appropriate, not when I'm just being me. I'm figuring out what I actually like apart from what shame has told me to avoid.  I love me.  More and more each day. I can cry tonight because I'm sad and unsure, but it doesn't stop me.  My emotions and concerns project my actions instead of stunting me. 

What if....WHAT IF this is the best thing for us?  What if I look at this through the lens of possibility? I can cry about it and be inspired by it.  They can exist together. I wrote a piece that I never published because it emptied me out.  I found myself prostrate on the ground after reading it (I type like a madwoman and then go back and read what my mind typed). Every time I came back to write something else, a fear gripped me.  I couldn't be laid out like that again. My emotions hid away to protect themselves from such deep exposure. Last week I was hired by a friend to write a couple of pieces and the money (and her sweet love) inspired me to try.  And I realized how much I loved it.  And how much I missed it (hence the 18 page blog post).  So, world...or my 18 readers...I'm back.  At least for right now.  And I just wanna say...I've missed this. I've missed how you relate. I've missed being honest and open and I hope this is just another beginning. To the flowers, grown from this broken pot, I'll sing my song to watch you grow for the rest of my life. And we'll dance until we can dance no more.