I just turned 22 (YIPPEEE I’M ACTUALLY AN ADULT MUHAHA) but, there are times when I feel like a child again; when a woman twice my size nearly bowls me over in the street; when my longboard somehow gets eaten by a storm drain and I have to crack a silly smile at my neighbor as he cocks his head and laughs at the conundrum I’m in; when my dad tells me to dress in a certain way because I need to start being a lady (man, how I detest that word).
I suddenly feel very, very small, and very, very lost and I realize I am still, still a child, ever in need of Jesus.
“I’m scared,” I tell the Lord and it peeves me to say it but I repeat it over and over again because it’s the truth and I have been successfully running away from it for a while.
I yell at my mother in frustration as she tells me to pack this, store that, be careful of that breaking, remember to put this away, etc. She verbally spits out her mental checklist for my move to Philly and instead of appreciating her foresight, I scream, “I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING AT ONCE, MA. YOU NEED TO STOP TALKING AND LET ME PACK.” In multiple fits of rebellion, I plop myself down on the couch, turn on the TV, and ignore everything she says.
When I finally find the motivation to get up and start packing, I discover that she has already done everything she instructed me to do. Unable to voice my thanks and ward off the guilt, I scramble to do something else so she wouldn’t end up doing it. Alas, the cycle keeps repeating itself the entire week before I move.
“Feel sad after you left the home. It is good you like the city. Be safe. I love you.”
I read the short text from my ma and promptly burst into tears in the middle of Staples. It is the first time I have received an “I love you,” from my mother.
I want to be half the woman my ma is when I become a mother (God willing). To be anymore would require too much heartbreak.
I have fallen in love already.
For a large part of my life I wondered if there was any place on this earth that I belonged. I didn’t find my place until I found my identity in Jesus.
As I pray to the Lord, half out of excitement, half out of pure desperation, I ask Him to make me a place here. When I step outside (hurricane passed, rain gone, sky still cloudy but day still bright) I feel it.
I belong here. I am meant to be here.
Thank the Lord for giving me hope, purpose, and life.