Made Real

I must have read the Velveteen Rabbit more than 100 times as a child.  The story of being loved so completely while being unable to express/give love in return, and lacking attributes of commendation toward such love enchanted my tiny heart.  I felt an affinity with that sawdust stuffed bunny who wanted to be real because "real" meant fully loved.

I was bullied, A LOT, growing up, due to being poor. (& quiet & different & whatever excuse/ lie they told themselves)

I’m afraid of deep water.  More accurately; I'm afraid of drowning or being attacked by sharks.

I'm also afraid of heights.  Or, rather, afraid of falling from great heights. 

Much of my thought life is spent working alternate scenarios so I don't make the same mistakes again. I will still make the mistake again...

I think I have Tourette's when it comes to correction - even though its been a life long goal to just hold my tongue.

As a daughter I constantly competed for love.  Malcolm's 10,000 hour rule did not prove true here.

I'm closest to extroverts because they do all the talking and I don't have to worry about a lull in conversation.

I avoid parties (actually I avoid people).  They exhaust me.  Besides, even if I was there no one would remember me. 

I have a missing tooth, a lazy eye, and I look like a donkey when I genuinely smile.  So I don't genuinely smile, if I can help it.

I seem to be an easy person to walk away from in life.  

Hence, I operate under the assumption that I care more about everyone else than they do about me. 

I still have nightmares about being a terrible mother.  I wake, heart racing, in dread and anguish.

Working outside of my home is death for me.  It may be the death OF me.

After 30+ years of being a christian, I still struggle to not see God as another human being. Good thing He disrupts my sense of virtue. Often.  

I am a gluten free, added sweetener free, vegan who is allergic to yeast, walnuts and chocolate.  This does not win us dinner invitations.  

I've wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember, but I'm afraid to have my thoughts be harshly judged.

I struggle, every single day, with feeling adequate.  (after all I just wrote, that should come as no surprise)

Not a lot to commend me as "lovable",eh?  

Yesterday, as I drove into town alone, I rolled down my window and breathed deep of the air that billowed in.  It had rained earlier.  My drive takes me past fields and grasslands that were sweetly warming as the sun came from behind the clouds.  I exhaled a declaration that surprised me a  little.  "Life is good, Papa."  (I call Father God, Papa. Don't ask me why.  Just seems natural.)   

I told my oldest about it later while we were chatting over french fries.  "I didn't think I could be dissatisfied with so much in life and still feel that it was good." 

I didn't think I could be so insecure, so unsure, so scarred, so unlovable, so unsettled, so wanting, and yet enunciate that "life is good". 

But, I realized in that guileless moment, HE is why it's good.  

How fortunate I am to belong to Him.  

Even better - I am alive in Him who loved me to death.

Unearned, undeserved, baseless, wanton, indefensible Love.  

I am a sawdust stuffed rabbit made real. Living, moving, and being because of Love.