Freshman year. Freshman year! It doesn't matter how you say it -- you know the connotations. Freshman year is lonely, freeing, uncontrollable, and most of all, a time when you decide how you're going to react to adulthood.
In Massachusetts the impermeable clouds would somehow end up in my daily footsteps. Snow came on Monday and again on Tuesday but on Wednesday, a far heavier weight fell in the persistent cage of clouds. It's April and everyone says it's going to snow again. But I'd believe them if it were July. I'd rather brace for the splinters, the knives, tearing at me than expect them to give up only to be left with sickly knees and palms mixing gravel and blood.
I binge on carrots and taste hummus. The Oreos don't tempt me but the home-baked cupcakes seem to be closer and closer to me each time I reach for another carrot. Why can't I just forget the voice that rides along with me? Being five pounds overweight and mentally free would be so very much better than wearing a thin, sleek body and hearing this voice. I hate the voice. But I need the voice.
The scale tells me "115". I don't think it's correct. I'm not that girl who loses twenty pounds in three months.
But maybe I am. The voice plays its cards well until I start speaking first. I start reading before it can bring me to the mirror. Those who look on him are radiant; their faces shall never be covered with shame (Psalm 34:5). Comfort me, Lord. Bring me joy.
But the clouds are winning. What has it been, 179 to the clouds and 1 to the sun? Maybe not quite. 120 to 60? But even on those 60, I still didn't have any friends. Still, I thank you God, For you equipped me with strength for the battle. (Psalm 18:39).
My counselor asked me, "Emily, what do you want?"
"I want to be happy. I want to laugh."
I work to find something funny about the sour, ironic clouds: they make me need you, God. I work to find something funny about my social life: I suppose I'm actually far ahead of most other kids. I work to find something funny about the ice cream I just had to buy: it is tasty.
These days, they punch me harder than I've ever felt. But I am safe. We are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:37-39).
I've come home now and just realized that the summer heat I've greatly anticipated makes me sweat. It makes my face as red as a tomato. 40 hours a week doesn't seem so great anymore either. BUT I'm going to seek joy as "the lives of believers are in the great drama at the focal point of universal history" (Grudem)
In Massachusetts the impermeable clouds would somehow end up in my daily footsteps. Snow came on Monday and again on Tuesday but on Wednesday, a far heavier weight fell in the persistent cage of clouds. It's April and everyone says it's going to snow again. But I'd believe them if it were July. I'd rather brace for the splinters, the knives, tearing at me than expect them to give up only to be left with sickly knees and palms mixing gravel and blood.
I binge on carrots and taste hummus. The Oreos don't tempt me but the home-baked cupcakes seem to be closer and closer to me each time I reach for another carrot. Why can't I just forget the voice that rides along with me? Being five pounds overweight and mentally free would be so very much better than wearing a thin, sleek body and hearing this voice. I hate the voice. But I need the voice.
The scale tells me "115". I don't think it's correct. I'm not that girl who loses twenty pounds in three months.
But maybe I am. The voice plays its cards well until I start speaking first. I start reading before it can bring me to the mirror. Those who look on him are radiant; their faces shall never be covered with shame (Psalm 34:5). Comfort me, Lord. Bring me joy.
But the clouds are winning. What has it been, 179 to the clouds and 1 to the sun? Maybe not quite. 120 to 60? But even on those 60, I still didn't have any friends. Still, I thank you God, For you equipped me with strength for the battle. (Psalm 18:39).
My counselor asked me, "Emily, what do you want?"
"I want to be happy. I want to laugh."
I work to find something funny about the sour, ironic clouds: they make me need you, God. I work to find something funny about my social life: I suppose I'm actually far ahead of most other kids. I work to find something funny about the ice cream I just had to buy: it is tasty.
These days, they punch me harder than I've ever felt. But I am safe. We are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:37-39).
I've come home now and just realized that the summer heat I've greatly anticipated makes me sweat. It makes my face as red as a tomato. 40 hours a week doesn't seem so great anymore either. BUT I'm going to seek joy as "the lives of believers are in the great drama at the focal point of universal history" (Grudem)
