Growing up is tough. Life that is so simple suddenly becomes complicated at around age 13, and it seems like instead of figuring things out, more and more questions unravel as we get older. What does it even mean to be a woman? But more specifically, a Christian woman? Over the past few years, I’ve been on a quest for answers to that question. I’ve studied my peers, older women in my life, and I’ve read a few books. And I’ve started to find the answer.
Recently I was quite disturbed by an Instagram post by a photographer I respect and admire. This woman, who says she’s a believer, posted something of this nature: “I’m a Christian. I love Jesus. But let’s admit it, I cuss a little. I read questionable romance novels. And I want to shoot your wedding no matter what your relationship is and whatever you identify as.” (Paraphrased.)
I once read a story of a woman who anticipated her life away. She couldn’t wait to be 16 so she could drive. Then she got a little older, and she looked forward to graduating from college. In college, she met a guy and she couldn’t wait to marry him. Then she couldn’t wait to have kids. When they were babies, she looked forward to the day when she could send them to school so she could have a little freedom. Once they were in school, she couldn’t wait until they were older, more self-sufficient. And then she anticipated the day when they would go to college and leave the nest so she could have time again for her husband and herself. After they spent part of their retirement traveling, she anticipating each next stop, they came home and settled down. She couldn’t wait for grandkids. Years passed. She spent her time with them by anticipating each next step.
February went by with a breath; in a blink. Somehow, the month that usually seems to creep by went faster than ever this year. Now it’s March. The other night, I heard crickets. If there’s one thing about winter nights, it’s that they are silent. The crickets chirping; the robins perched on the bare tree branches; the tiny buds on the peach trees and the scent of living, growing things remind me of a sensation that comes but once a year – spring.
Just a little warning…this post is different from the types of posts I write, but I’m planning to write more serious-type posts in the future.
For several years, I have been obsessed with one thing. Every time I put on makeup, it consumes my thoughts. Every time I put together an outfit. The way I talk. The way I communicate through emails. I’ve gone through hair transformations, faced a fear, and pushed boundaries. And I have deceived people by twisting my words around to make them believe what I want them to believe.