I Am Mine

“Then one day, in his own good time, Leo bloomed.”

 Robert Kraus, Leo the Late Bloomer

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I am different.  I am behind and always have been.  What constitutes as a storm for me is fair weather for most.  I can handle drama and heartbreak and independence and being alone, but getting a haircut? Making a phone call? Hanging out?  All these are inexplicably difficult for me.  While in many ways I have always been mature for my age, I’ve also always been a late bloomer.

• When the other girls were discovering boys, I had the perspective to see how ridiculous middle school “dating” was, but was also too behind to care at all.  And so I picked up the explanation that Naomi does not date.

• When they were buying makeup and nail polish and experimenting with how to present themselves, I was still too busy playing in the woods with my stories. And so I reasoned that Naomi is not feminine.

• When the others were becoming intensely and self-consciously aware of the outside world, I tried my hardest not to fit in.  And so I accepted that Naomi is just weird.

• When friends cried during cheesy movies and experienced the turbulence of emotion, I felt nothing.  And so I concluded that Naomi is a rational, rather than emotional, being.

Now, years later, as I am blooming in these areas, I am finally becoming unshackled by the explanations and identities with which I have clothed myself over the years.  As I write this, my toenails are painted bright pink.  I recently went on my first ever shopping trip of my own volition, and there was a solid two week stretch a while back were I showered every single day!  I am growing in ways I never thought I would.

Growth takes time.  It is unpredictable and full of surprises.  And that is the fun of it.  Sometimes I long to be on the same timetable as others.  But in the end, I am happier being me.  Funny, little ol’ Naomi.  Naomi who wore a terry cloth turban to school to celebrate “Towel Day.”  Naomi who feels sick to her stomach about things that make most girls giddy.  Naomi who is different, who has so far to grow, but is enjoying the innocence and ignorance of her slow process.  “So never mind  I will not pine, for I am mine.”

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Falling

There’s breaking in the landing

There’s terror in the leap

But it’s the

Falling,

Falling

Falling

That robs my soul of peace

My heart fears nothing as much as exposure.  There is a physical sensation that comes over me when I find myself suspended with no answer.  It’s like drowning; being tossed about in the water without knowing which way is up.  It’s like falling and not knowing where the bottom is.  I don’t even care what awaits me when I hit the ground, I only long for an end to the fall.

I am Adam.  I find myself naked, so I hide behind anything I can find.  I hide in logic, in well thought out plans, in people, in busyness, in peanut butter milkshakes.  But even when I hide myself in the Mighty Fortress, even when my deepest self knows that I am secure, I still feel exposed.  I still plead with God to feel solid ground under my feet once again.

But if I learned anything in the past several months, it’s that growth is found while trusting in the waiting.  God took the Israelites into the desert for forty years of wandering.  But in this time of waiting, a nation was formed out of a ragged group of slaves.  Waiting is vulnerable, and it is in vulnerability that we are most pliable in the hands of the craftsman.  It was in the desert that God revealed Himself to Israel.

God doesn’t always give us answers, but he always gives us Himself, and that is better by far.  I long for resolution, but I prefer relationship.

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Crafted by Confusing Love

I delight in few things more than trees.  And my favorite time for tree-watching is right now.  There are just enough leaves left to give the light a green or golden glow, but the branches are bare enough to expose their intricate beauty.  There have been several times in the past weeks that I have stopped in my tracks with my jaw literally dropping as a familiar trunk takes on new wonder.  Just this afternoon I was laying in a meadow gazing at trees with a friend.

“What’s your favorite thing about trees?” I asked.

“Ah, that’s tough.  But I’d have to say the random, asymmetrical, whimsical, uniqueness of the branches.”

I smiled my agreement with her assessment.  “You know what I like? I like thinking how every little twist and turn of each branch is a direct result of so many factors- of sun and shade and wind and rain…”

◊

Go back a few days.  I’m sitting with an older friend who has become a great source of mentorship and insight.  Over dinner, we talk about music, about writing, about life.  When all of a sudden, she brings up the thoughts that have unknowingly weighed on my mind.  “So, Naomi Brown, let’s talk about how you’re going to be in a relationship someday?”  I slowly shrank back into my chair as we discussed the ins and outs of my least favorite topic.

It’s not that I’m afraid of loving, on the contrary, loving people deeply is almost second nature.  And I don’t even have a problem accepting love from others.  But the vulnerability, the pressure, the unknown of something that requires my all is terrifying.  I like to have a plan before I ever set out on something.  My mind constantly has several outcomes and escape strategies for every situation I’m in.  So to ever embark on such an unpredictable journey is hard for my mind to accept.

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These were the thoughts scampering around the back of my mind in the meadow today.  But it wasn’t until several hours later that the connection was made known.  As often happens, it was words from a song that brought the clarity.

“Life is a branch and it is a dove, handcrafted by confusing love.” 

Despite what my strategic mind may tell me, life is unpredictable.  It is confusing and ambiguous and full of hurt no amount of planning can avoid.  But all these uncontrollable factors, all these tough and frustrating aspects of love, are shaping me.  You know what I like? I like how this random, unsymmetrical, whimsical, unique world is crafted by confusing Love.

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