restoration

Sometimes I wake up and I long for more. There are days when my normal life suits me just fine… when mundane tasks and normal schedules are fine with me, and sometimes refreshing… Yet there are other days-- days like today-- when I say to myself, “Charlotte… you have to do something with your life”… and the “something” can’t just be anything ordinary. Although I’ve always felt that passion has been an integral part of my personality since the day I took my first breath, living this summer for the first time as completely an adult and for the first time in isolation has taught me immeasurable lessons...lessons that I plan to write about over the next month out of fear of forgetting them but also out of joy in sharing the contentment that I have found.

Anyone who knows me vaguely well knows that I find great enjoyment in coffee shops, not only for the fact that they have coffee, but mostly because of the atmosphere. My favorite coffee shops are in Hillsboro village in Nashville. I like them so much because they provide an atmosphere that I find myself most at ease in; I kick my flip flops off, sink into a comfy chair, and lounge in the tranquil summer heat, reading, reflecting, writing, sipping on something delicious, and lavishing in the sights and sounds and smells that are the wonderful city that is Nashville … cars whizzing by, music always playing in every direction, the candle waxy sun melting down on me, the light breeze teasing my hair. I’m not hard to please. I miss my home for these reasons, and I plan to spend some time doing these things when I go back to visit next week.

Today is Saturday, glorious Saturday – the day that nothing is required of me and the time is all mine… and I was thinking Borders. Not only does Borders have coffee, comfy chairs, and big windows with sunshine streaming through, but they have BOOKS! Lots and lots and lots of them! Honestly, what more could I want? Although I came with the intention of studying, that intention quickly faded as I walked past the magazines. I love magazines simply for the pictures.

I would say that six months ago, had I walked into Borders, I would have made a beeline directly to that section. You know… THAT section… the one with Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan, Glamour, Redbook, Good Housekeeping, Lucky, Elle, Vogue, InStyle… THOSE magazines that tell me how I’m supposed to define myself… what I’m supposed to look like, dress like, act like, how I’m supposed to flip my hair as I walk, apply the correct shade of lipstick, and make a man fall in love with me. Six months ago, those things mattered to me... those things defined me… and every time I didn’t “measure up”, a tiny piece of me would die inside whether I acknowledged it or not.

Today, I walked into Borders, took one look at that section, and walked past it, uninterested. Instead, I picked up a literary magazine combining photography and writing, a craft magazine, and southern living (just for old times’ sake). I flip through, fingering the pages tenderly, relishing the beauty on the page as my mind slips into the photograph, my heart washing away with the ocean and my soul lying bare on the page.

I am a passionate, courageous, strong woman because I serve a god who teaches me that true beauty is found in the simplicity of His creation… that I am loved beyond measure even as the world shouts at me that I am worth nothing, I deserve nothing, and I am nothing… He teaches me that I am beautifully broken, which allows Him to make me perfectly whole… that I suffer because in my suffering, I find rest with Him in the knowledge that I share in His sacrifice for me. Because of my God, my ability to love far exceeds that of this world… and I continue to pour myself out on this bleeding world that He made, that He loves so deeply, loving and loving and loving and giving until I have nothing left to give…. And then turning my face to Him, feeling Him shine on me and hold me close, healing me, restoring me, nurturing me, and whispering softly in my ear… “You are mine. I will never let you go. I love you."

unsafe

i am an emotional fugitive… a running a wandering traveler. safety is an unknown ideal for me. i have no safe home. my house in tennessee was never a safe home. it wasn’t even a home. when I go back there to visit, i feel the same old feeling of shadowy isolation and confinement creep over me… and I’m reminded oh so clearly of the eighteen years i spent hiding my heart under a rock and fighting (physically, emotionally, literally, and metaphorically) to keep my head above the flood.

i miss my orange leaves on the autumn trees, popsicles in the park, coffee and spirituality, bluegrass and the friends to sing it with me, breezy summer nights, tea and blankets, walking barefoot down the country road….

I miss my tennessee.

yet, I do not miss it. how I can I miss a place so unsafe? all it takes is one day back, and everything is still the same as it always was… heartache chasing me, a fight around ever corner, and longing for a freedom I will never have there.

that cannot be my home.

and yet, this place cannot be my home. after living my whole life in bondage to fear, i finally embraced the long-awaited day that i could find healing, justification, and acceptance in utter honesty… in stunning vulnerability… in quiet grace…

yet, this place is not safe for me. my friendships are devastatingly unsafe, my feelings bleed steadily, and while all of this is happening, I am expected to maintain the appearance of a carefree woman, sewn together neatly at the seams with the standard white thread.

i’m supposed to be “fine… how are you?”

i have slowly come to the realization that I will never be safe anywhere… with anyone. i will be running for the rest of my life.

and right now, all i want is just to run away to somewhere else… messy hair, mascara-stained cheeks, bare feet…. i don’t even care this time. just let me run.