Oh, how I wish this post were about a real fair. Rides, an array of life-shortening fried foods to choose from, bright lights, cheap thrills.
Instead, tonight I'm being vulnerable.
It's been awhile since I've posted. I have to say honestly lately my heart hasn't been into it. I whined some earlier this year when I was SO busy. 3 wedding showers, a baby shower, a wedding. Lots. Now that all of that is done it's time to decompress.
It's my favorite season.
My favorite month.
Waiting for my sister to go into labor with my favorite nephew.
My favorite fall flavored coffee by my side tonight.
And yet I'm incredibly sad. Is it okay to blog when you're sad? I would hope so. I love reading the blogs on my favorites list and soaking in all the greatness and motivation, but sometimes I get overwhelmed feeling like I need to rearrange my life and get it together so I can be happy.
Lately, I've been alone with my thoughts more. That's especially dangerous when I'm moody.
You see- I always had big dreams for myself. Huge dreams. And God placed incredible people in my life that helped me feel like I could achieve those dreams. As I grew and matured those dreams began to change and take more shape.
When I was a youngun in high school, I had big plans to become a Christian motivational speaker. I had it all planned out- I would have awesome hair with blue and red and purple and green streaks in it and I would have a rad wardrobe and be madly and hopelessly in love with and betrothed to a gorgeous punk rocker with a raging love for Jesus. We would tour the world and I would share my story with it; a story to help others who have struggled with feeling inadequate and ugly, a story to heal hearts and point to a Man who loves us more than we could ever fathom.
In college, those dreams changed slightly. Instead of being a part of some flashy music tour, my studly husband (oh yes- Mr. Punk Rocker was still there. Except at this point I decided
he would have deliciously scruffy facial hair and a British accent) and I would instead be missionaries living on prayers and the things we carried around with us; sharing Jesus in the most destitute and desperate of places.
Well, Piedmont isn't Beverly Hills or anything; but it's not destitute. There is some red in my hair; the summer sun turns the ends a lovely auburn shade (that I can get away with now without dying because of this new 'ombre' trend. Take that, you dark roots!). My husband is from Taylors, SC and isn't a famous punk rocker. In fact he's just a humble servant for the Lord, doing his best however he can to help us survive. He does have some pretty sweet piercings and ink, and he can grow a sumptuous beard. There is a little punk rocker with a crush on me at school- I find it precious because when I was in school I never got a second glance. Now I'm old and married and middle school boys are always vying for my attention. :) I guess the part where I'm the teacher is the main reason, but still- puts a little more bounce in my step to know I'm admired.
My dream did not come true in any way but this- I get to share my story. Looking into the eyes of children desperate for an ounce of identity and recognition, I see a lot. I've been desensitized to a lot of heartbreak. I deal dry-eyed with things that my younger self would (and did) weep over. But I do get to share that someone cares. Someone sees the treasure inside the eyes that have seen beyond their years and will be there to cheer for their A in Math or their art project that won an award. And some days I go home ashamed that there's not more I can do for these children. I wish my home were big enough. I wish our bank account was big enough. I wish my arms were big enough.
The point of my sadness tonight- I feel the weight of life not being fair. As a child we dream of the days we are an adult- free to choose our own paths and to knock on the doors of our dreams and finally receive an answer. As an adult my heart cries out desperately for a shred of the magic I felt as a child, wide eyed and thirsty for this world full of wonder.
My life did not turn out like I expected, and while most of the time I feel blessed beyond measure that God would allow me to live this one wild and precious life, I can't help but tonight to be disappointed. To be sad.
It makes me long for things that used to bring magic to my life- making leaf piles, climbing trees, my nose running because it's cold and I don't care one bit because the sun is setting and I want 5 more minutes outside, sandcastles, secret emails, late night walks, catching snow flakes on my tongue, making up wild fairy tales to put Ashley back to sleep, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that red light I saw in the sky was Rudolph and I needed to get in bed and to sleep fast so Santa would visit.
I guess I'm mourning for the person I thought I would be; and grieving for the loss of the liberating innocence I had as a wee one.
Maybe one day I will find this magic again. Maybe my heart will soften. Maybe God will hear my prayers and allow me to make my husband a father. Maybe He will allow me to be a mother, because to give my children even a sliver of the magic my mother brought to my own life would make me deliriously happy.
I'm sorry I'm sad tonight; and if you read this entire thing- thank you. And please know if you ever want to be sad around me, my hugs are warm and my door is always open.