The sun beams over my head, and I feel the heat radiating through my hair.
My pink Prada sunglasses hold the sweat from between my eyes.
My AirPods are blasting "Keep It Real" by Loure.
The phone remains in my back pocket. I have no interest in looking at the black mirror.
I'm surrounded by roses blooming and bees jumping from flower to flower, their pleasure ritual continuing.
The cement feels uneven under my Sambas, and I've walked this path so many times that my feet brace for the cracks.
I relax my shoulders and close my eyes. I drop my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
The grand privilege to be alive in this exact moment,
where the world is at my fingertips.
Suddenly, being alone doesn’t feel so lonely—and the 20-year-old girl who never felt like she was enough is shocked, yet so extremely healed, to hear those words.
The walks are a cup tied to a string in connection with God himself.
He responds with a whisper, and I feel it graze my face.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
He reminds me to open my eyes.
"Look at the world I gave you. I built it brick by brick for you."
And the rose-colored glasses fade clear.
God is walking with me.
Curiosity consumes me, and soon I am no longer asking God to heal my broken heart; I am now asking about philosophy and astronomy. I am searching for meaning and depth.
I am no longer asking God to give me love; I am giving it.
I am no longer asking God for wisdom; I am diving right into it.
On this very walk on a random Friday in April.
And I am reminded of free will.
And I am reminded of who I am and who God created.
"I created you in my image, and you are perfect."
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
And again, I feel complete.
No longer searching, but so deeply receiving.
Free from the chains of things never meant for me.
Free from the binds of narrow-minded people.
"I am going to teach you of things you could have never imagined."
And I am not doubtful.
My God, I am excited.
Because for the first time in a long time, I am so excited to dive so deep into my solitude.
No comments:
Post a Comment