Here's something I like:
I like that no matter how screwy things get in my head, there is One who likes me a lot. One who is not concerned with the failures and successes that get me so entangled and pinched. Not those failures and successes. One who looks on me with love-- who asks me to look with my heart and not my eyes, and who whispers back, "Look-- I'll show you how. Like this," He says," just the way I am looking at you now-- with my heart, not my eyes." This One, He sees me as the fruit of His fingers. That crack there-- He designed me to be able to withstand it. My ear? He tuned my ears perfectly, He adjusted my hearing to detect just...that...note... and to sigh at the sweetest minor chord (sweet? you say, that's not sweet-- but your ears were tuned differently).
A boy asked me last week, trying to pull me off topic (any student of mine would inform the child that he should not think himself so talented to succeed in this area within which many, many students have succeeded in many and varied spactacular ways), "Mrs Swaney, do you think that people see red all different ways? I don't mean color blindness-- shut up, Denise, that's not what I mean-- no, I mean, there's no way to know, is there? How you see red, that is, and how I see it. But somehow, we both figured out that whatever that is, we both call it 'red'. That's weird isn't it?"
It is. Every part of me was made by an Intelligent One who had the creative ambition to wire me in such a way that certain jumbles of words make my eyes burn with tears. There's a trigger in me that loves oranges and doesn't know what to do with it-- it hardly ever works in my painting, but there was this one time with one of my prints... that orange teapot that my colleagues know so well. And you and I see things...even the Him that sends every chord in my musician's heart into heartbreaking loveache... so differently. You and I see red differently. I suppose we hear Him differently, too, then. Hm.
I don't know. Just thinking about how glad I am to have His friendship. Sitting in front of an assignment that I am struggling to conquer, I want to bloom here, to blossom out, and to feel-- really know-- that sense of being liked by my Muse/Creator-- not just loved, but truly, honestly liked the way my best friends like me. It breathes inspiration and confidence into my fingers and eyes, and opens up pools of creativity that seem to sometimes lie locked up in dungeons inside me-- He leads me with a lamp, down mossy, wet steps toward a locked-away place where ideas I had no idea about are waiting to be released...
Melodrama, thy name is Samantha, but still. Sometimes His presence just sends me and I can't help but want to write it down.
**I thought I should share that i have this amazing candle: soy pumpkin and spice from Target-- these candles are pretty amazing. and it's orange. which is nice.