the rightness of things.

by epi

Some moments feel right. Or, at least, more right than others. And so today, I sat beneath trees, behind a lake, and stared at a color of blue man can’t capture no matter how hard he tries. And I realized in that moment, because it was the right moment, that I will have the desires of my heart. Home. Love. But more than either of those, a faith that drives a desire to follow God. And maybe I’ll have the first two because I’ll have the last. Or maybe, the first two will finally allow me to accept and live out the last. But who cares?

(I know enough of the world around me to know that I won’t be understood. I thought it was just lately. I thought that lately I hadn’t been understood, and I believed I’d lost the ability to speak. Now I see that lately, I’ve just gained the ability to see. I’ve either always, or never, had the ability to speak [clearly]. I want to share though. I want to shamelessly share the God I love. And what He’s doing. And who I’m becoming in Him. Listen? Even if you don’t understand, listen. I’m tired of not speaking out of fear I’ll be misunderstood. I might be. But I’m placing a lot of stock in myself, and little in the world, if refuse to try. Fear is no longer my God.)

A year from now, I’m not supposed to be here. And it doesn’t matter PhD, or Peace Corps, or whatever else I do trying to get closer to, or escape, God. I’m not supposed to be here. Or Tulsa. Or Indiana. (I actually don’t know about the last two, just…). If I leave it doesn’t mean I won’t come back for good, I might. I’m hoping not. I hope that the next place I go (or the next next if it’s Peace Corps) is where I’ll end up. It’s hard for me to understand, but I’m not supposed to just pick a place and stay there. I’m supposed to go where and when He tells me, and stay where and how long. But I know that eventually I’ll end up at home. He told me.

When I was 13, I was scared. A foster kid, about to endure soverymuch. I’d be beaten and scorned and raped and mocked and blamed and discarded and disregarded. I’d feel little in a room filled with my peers, and lost even from God, at times. And had I known, it might have seemed too much on top of everything else. Because we all imagine that one person can only take so much, before they break. That’s not true though. One person can take as much as they’re given, if they’re willing. I was 13, and I thought the beating and attempted murder and homeless nights and anger and hunger and loneliness was the worst I’d ever face. That’s not true, though. I was wrong. The worst a person can face is always whatever is in front of them. And I’m not afraid of what’s in front of me. Partially because I know I survived my past. I hope that there is not worse in my future, but even if there is, I’ll survive that too. And if I don’t… If I don’t, I find peace in my salvation. I am not afraid to walk blindly towards my future. It’s dangerous. I think that might be what is hard to understand. In my bones, I only truly fear a loss of God. And probably the only thing I won’t believe about Him, is that He’d leave me. This world could take everything I have, and I’d still have everything. Because, I know (I have known since one night when I was 13) that everything will always be okay. Because that night, I heard God tell me so. Four words. Four, life changing, fear-covering, anger-abating, words. “Epi, it’ll be okay.”

And today, not as clearly as four words spoken {but instead in the way the sun shone through the trees, and the way the breeze touched my skin}, I realized… God. I can’t explain any of it. I just… one second I knew, that all of this is for something. Someone. All of this is for Him. And I’ll be home someday. And I’ll recognize love for what it is, someday. (I would never say I am unloved. I would say that love is something that I haven’t ever been able to grab a hold of. Something I am too afraid to trust. Someday I won’t be.)

That’s all. Just… a moment. A moment is all it took to remind me. It’ll be okay.