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Thrift Store Emotions.

If I’m being completely honest:

(marked by free, forthright, and SINCERE expression).

You’d see a lot.

And I’d hope for you to be the blind man who, with all his knowing and seeing, never grasped understanding. It was good to know and to be in the know and contentment was quite easily attainable from there. Your melancholy desire to actually grasp at understanding would protect me, because you would not actually know me. Although, you would know very well of me.

Then I’d let you “see”.

You would see all those sentences that float around in my head. The ones I want to say but politeness (maybe a form of deception?) grabs me and the sentences fall from my head, bypassing my mouth and entering into the gates of my heart. Sentences that are now filed away for that day when maybe I’ll just say what I want to say because I want to say it. Because I want you to hear it.

You would see all those terrific and homely struggles that keep my mind going. The suggestions and remedies I am coaxing up, testing them with the Truth then trying to hand feed it to this parade of a brain.

Of course all these equations befriend one another to form this procession of faulty self-righteousness. So I actually start to think that I am protecting you from me: a mess. A territory not only dangerous to map out but one that may not lead to the proper and agreeable outcome.

But that’s if I’m being honest.

You would see that this mostly joyous young lady that, “lifts her skirt up to her knees and walks through the rose garden with her bare feet, laughing” at times is gripped by such inwardness, such penetrating and colorful silence (sometimes you really are alone in the room). You would see my burden which is also my hope and let’s not be cordial here-the weight of hope is sometimes more severe than the most threatening sorrow.

I have a heart. Eternity is planted in it. A root hidden deep. The root now discovered, embraced and is transforming the way I do life (which sometimes I suck at. Some people aren’t good at sewing or maybe soccer but many times I am just not good at life).

Past my rebellious flesh, my tired and overworked mind – can you see it? Look closely. Past it all is eternity. Eternity. Planted within my very being. Sewn in as it were the binding of the book, holding it all together.

Honesty, that nagging companion, would push me to say that I am homesick in a way that cannot be confronted and the root is maintaining this longing, facilitating the way I am embracing this life. Will it (the root) not simply be lulled into a comma – just a comma! Most temporary.

But no, it sticks the way my tongue does to the roof of my mouth when that dentist man puts that suction thing into my mouth (I hate that feeling).

Homesick? Could I use a more under-whelming word? As if I were some college student that misses her mother and father after the first semester (and how I know the ache of being away from home for the first time), but this is not that. This is a more precise kind of sick, yet still dealing with home. My soul, my being is being purged, my mind bedridden, my reasoning infected with that abominable craving.

A protective heart lashes out, knowing this is not my home, not my way. Knowing that I didn’t want to do that at all, in fact I wanted to do this – but instead I did that and now I am dealing with it. “It” being the “that” I did not want to do.

The curtains open as I wrestle with my disobedient (but yearning to be obedient) self. The root churns within me and the absence (temporary) of my unseen home leaves me fragile.

There are those rare moments when I am scavenging for the shovel to eradicate eternity out. Out! To destroy all traces and make this longing dull, maybe even pitiable. To numb the ever-present fascination and desire for His gaze – steady on me, reassuring me of His love and slaughtering all the lies. A deleterious massacre of all the ways in which I think I am so unpleasant, so unkind, and most times so awful at figuring out the proper way to even lift the cross (and I hear we are to be carrying it as well).

In the same breath (because my mind is quite untidy, with debris laying around from wars I’ve already waged concerning who I am and what I’m here for and what He’s going to let me be) I’d protect and guard with fervency this root (as if I had the power to burn it anyway). Eternity makes this life real…makes me real (I’m not a wooden girl after all). I have purpose, I have a destination. I have the Embrace to keep me moving.

It reminds me I’m still known and you can’t take that away. My lies can’t take that away.

Honestly (a kind of grace?), I don’t want you to be blind. I want you to see me and say you hear me, that you know me and you have chased after understanding. That with those two, your seeing me and knowing (understanding) me, you see beauty. You would see that I am not protecting the world from ugliness but that I am hiding the light under the bowl, and how impolite of me! You would see (and please, help me see) that there is immense beauty I have to offer and therefore up the hill I should march, the light will shine bright.

But, that’s if I’m being (honest).

“I told you I would never leave you. I told you I loved you from the start” -Pedro the Lion

“I feel like Carolina, I split myself in two. My friends said, ‘Stick to your guns!’ But instead I just got stuck. And I’m walking backwards looking forward to getting done but that ain’t enough, no you want me to run.” -M Ward

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end” – Ecc 3:11 (NIV)

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Welcome! I'm Bri! Accidental home cook. Lover of gathering people around a table over a meal. Author of Come & Eat (September 2017). What I really want is to pull out a chair for you at my table. But until then, I hope you stay awhile and enjoy my stories + recipes! 

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