Crushed

Holy snap, crackle, pop.

I'm going to teach a creative writing class! And I can't tell you how exciting it is! I dream! I dream of filling the world with literature: mine, yours, everyone's!

It's amazing to see the difference between being outside of something and being inside of something.

In other words, before I made a proper draft of my class series, it was a vaguely nice idea. As I started putting the pieces into place, I realized: I'm living the dream! (One of my many, many dreams anyway.)

Now, don't worry; I had begun planning this class before today. Goodness, I tell you truly: I have been dreaming of teaching such a class for a long time. I've been plopping notes here and there for years. Finally. Finally! It is within my grasp!

I mean, what else can I say? The world: the world is so tremendous, and I often cower inside such a small corner of it. True enough, its vastness is intimidating, overwhelming, even crushing — but what diamond was formed without being crushed?

Sometimes, I feel like trash: just this heap of coal underneath tons of dirt, blocked away from air and light.

Sometimes, I feel like a diamond: a sparkling gem that has been uncovered and brought into the prismatic splashes of the sun.

Sometimes, I feel the battle raging inside: bloody messes in almost every corner.

Sometimes, I feel the victories resounding: the clapping of my flag waving in the clean wind.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm the same old failure I always have been: returning to my vomit endlessly.

Sometimes, I feel God's light shining through the crap-curtains I and others have hung up.

Sometimes, I feel so tired, so despondent.

Sometimes, I feel utterly unstoppable.

And what the heck do I do with all that?

I discovered a song recently. I went to a talent show at my church, and a young lady did a ballet routine to She Used to Be Mine. The music is melancholy and beautiful. The lyrics strike me right in the heart:

She's imperfect, but she tries
She is good, but she lies
She is hard on herself
She is broken and won't ask for help
She is messy, but she's kind
She is lonely most of the time
She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie
She is gone, but she used to be mine

I've been listening to it over and over again since this past Friday. I appreciated how the writer of the song embraced the paradoxes.

I feel like a mess of contradictions most days; I used to be more ashamed of them. Slowly, I'm learning that my messes aren't so important. I used to think my failures would mount up and consume me. They don't. They tense me up on the inside sometimes, but, outside, things keep rolling for the most part.

What am I trying to say?

I'm trying to say that I'm a mess, but my story continues to unfold. God has weird plans for me — but exciting plans. Shoot. There was this movie, a great movie.

I forget its title, but the premise was a guy who could travel back in time — but only in his own life, his own experiences. The lesson he was taught at the end was to go back each day and do pretty much exactly what he did. This next time, however, he was supposed to pay attention to the things he missed, the people he overlooked.

The big lesson he learned at the end — and that he offers to us — is that he stopped going back in time and decided to live each day as if he had already lived it!

I'm learning to trust God, learning to trust that He's already given me a beautiful inheritance that I simply get to live, to explore, to learn, to battle, to enjoy, to taste.