It’s a dark night.
And I wonder what’s been wrong with me, as I sit here swaying in a hammock, staring up at the blackness. The same thing can look completely different, if you’re a different person when you look at it.
Take the sky. The expanse of black. It has been heaven. It has been promise, potential, and tonight… it’s disappointment. Like an old friend reduced to one dimensional color.
What is this crankiness in me, this roiling deep-down discontent? Who am I to lie here and hate the sky?
I have been so many things. So sure of my own glory, so sure of my own obnoxiousness. I’ve been the friend of mankind and a hater of mankind and I’m wondering tonight what makes the difference.
I’ve hit on it. It comes down to a simple truth: whether or not I believe I am loved.
If I don’t believe I’m loved, I curl up and snarl and hate the sky for not holding beauty for me. I doubt myself. I panic. I question that every move I make is the wrong one. I’m afraid of those moves taking me somewhere where I can’t get out.
If I know I’m loved, I trust. Life becomes like a dance. The sky holds beauty. My mistakes hold potential, and I don’t feel worthless the minute I make them. I am free to be imperfect. Perfect love casts out fear.
I’m an adult woman, now, 23, and I’ve been trying to be perfect. I’ve been trying to become the woman I want to be, the woman I know the world needs, and I’m falling painfully short. Running out of breath, skinning my knees, bewildered.
The world doesn’t need a woman who tries until she cracks. It needs a woman who knows she’s loved and extends that love.
I’m glad to be the friend of God tonight.