The word that has become most often used to describe me is: mess. I cannot argue with this, as it is quite true. If you really knew me, or keep up with my readings, you know my scattered and rash, deeply and broken mess of a self.

This weekend, my sweet parents came into town. There are times where I love them, and times where I really have a difficult time doing that, but this was one of those times where loving them was so easy. They are dear and precious to me.

This past week, motivation to work hard has been really hard. My slow paced reading skills and inattention, and my weariness of the loads of reading received have left me empty in many ways and burned out, nostalgic for the joy and determination so easily found had in the beginning of the semester.

This particular night was really exciting. The Christian fraternity here on campus has four open parties a year that make me so happy! The theme was red, white, and blue, of which I have plenty of from summer camp!

I wore my mom’s overalls, a red, white, and blue tutu and bandana, and lei, and was really excited to dance with my friends, accomplish lots of steps, and have a really fun time! The party begins really late at night, which is really difficult for my schedule-oriented mind, but that didn’t stop me from dancing with all of my heart. It was so fun!

But as the night went on, my thoughts turned downwards, the feelings of being unnoticed began to fill up my heart, and the sting of feeling rejected by others and not being sought after by a certain someone pushed me to echoes of a darker time in my story here at Vandy.

As I walked away, most suddenly, the dizziness and heartache began to overwhelm me to the point where I sat on the sidewalk, bursting into tears, and hoping and longing for a Prince Charming to sweep me off of my feet and carry me home.

Broken moments are when you sit on the ground of the sidewalk wishing and longing to be noticed and wanting so dearly to be gone from the tires and sorrows of this world, and be in the arms of the Father, yet having hope that someday He will carry me home.

My God, He sees me in the broken moments on the streets, takes hold of my hand, and walks alongside me whispering truth to me to dwell on and being my strength to know my worth is not in my mess, but in the One who died to take on my mess and make me righteous and wonderfully new.

Truth says that “‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” (Revelation 21:4, italicized by me), and so I rest in the hope that my Father, my Abba, my daddy is coming to take me home so very soon into the eternity of His loving embrace, and such is my strength to endure.


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