I’ve been absent from the blogosphere for a while now. Every time I’d sit down to write something, I was blocked by this massive brick wall. I couldn’t see past it, move beyond it, or ignore it. I couldn’t write about anything trivial, but I also couldn’t write about this brick wall because it would be “inappropriate” to do so. So I sat with my back against this brick wall, knees in my chest, just waiting for something to change. Months passed. Sometimes I’d stand up and fight against the wall, punching it over and over as though I could make it crumble and go away. All that did was leave me with bloody knuckles and a broken heart. So I continued to sit at the wall, waiting. One day I finally realized that the wall wasn’t going to change, I had to change. So now I’m going to sit and write about this brick wall in front of me, staring it down until it no longer has any power over me.
WARNING: Members of my family might find this post offensive. However, writing is the only way I know how to cope.
A handful of extremists were able to shake the world on November 13th. They attacked without warning and without regard for human life. They turned a peaceful, happy night out on the town into a night of horror for thousands of people.
So much life. So many hopes and dreams. So much vibrance stolen from the world in one night.
So what do we do? We watch the news. We light candles. We reflect on the value of life and how thankful we are to be alive. We worry. We wait for them to catch the bad guys. We get angry. We wonder how this could have happened. And, eventually, we get numb.
Some of us immediately point the finger of blame at God. How could God have let this happen? What kind of god would allow this? If this is your God, I want nothing to do with him. So many people, even Christians, find themselves asking these sort of questions. Why, God?
Today, day number two of my makeup-free week, I decided to be a big girl and take off my glasses. I went to work with nothing but a smile on my face, and everything went fine. Customers chit-chatted with me just as much as usual, I still made a lot of sales, and nobody said anything about my naked face.
But I still felt ugly.
I felt ugly, plain, and rather ordinary. When I got home from work I cuddled with my fat cat and wondered why I felt so ugly and dull. This is my face, the face God gave me, and I felt ashamed of it. And then I heard a thought like a gentle whisper saying “You are beautiful.”