Remnant: 15 Aug 2018
I sit in this room that I now call mine, and even with it’s brand new freshly painted smell: it feels familiar. I look at these crisp white walls, almost fluorescent if the sun rays hit them at a certain angle, and I feel light. Light as a feather. Light like break of day when yellows and oranges and pinks paint the skies. You named me Dawn. For years I convinced myself I was that dark girl with the black clothes and the fresh red scars on my arms. The bags under my eyes from sleepless nights. The heavy clouds over head and the dried up tear ducts. Even then I was made out of light. Even stealing my innocence as a youth or beating me blue or my thoughts turning my body into a mortuary of dead things; not even that could erase what You formed in me. Soft- heart. Ethereal. Your beloved. Doe I sit in this room with its fireplace to keep me warm. Just the image in my mind of burning coals remind me that You’ve put me in the furnace. You didn’t just leave me in there, I am never alone. Your hand on me watching as all my impurities melt away. Ever gentle even when You turned the heat up. I cursed Your name. I cursed the day You made me. Sometimes I get blinded by the pain. But You create new things in light, in fire. I focus on the shadows, the dark, the heat, the pain. I’m so obsessed with the symptomatic. You look to the root; the essence of a thing; the heart. Oh to have Your eyes. What would I see? How would I see me? It’s funny how this house could feel like home when I don’t know it yet. I haven’t even spent a full day in it. I’ve spent over 10 220 days with myself but I don’t know that I feel like home to me. I can’t seem to get comfortable. I keep re-arranging the furniture in my heart. Repainting my soul until some colour feels familiar. The unbecoming of the becoming of me. The unlearning of lies taken as truth and the relearning of truth that feels like a lie. Wash, rinse, repeat. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. But You are so patient with me. This picture of me that we are painting together, this forever poem, this song you have given me to sing: it’s only mine. It’s only ours. And I sit in this room and I feel You here. You wrap your arms around me when I push You away. You hold me so close and I hear You say: Tetelestai. Rest. You are enough.
