thirteen

She had that spontaneous quality of aliveness which illuminates people who have already done a lot of their dying, and I think I am beginning to understand the truth of that.- Madeline L'Engle (The Summer of the Great-grandmother)

there are a lot of things i want but would rather not pay for. things: dresses, scarves, character traits, motherhood, approval... i have a mental and emotional junk drawer full of fragments of hope for things whose price i'm not sure i'm willing to pay. mostly i linger; i pick up, i ponder for a while, and i put back again, unwilling to exchange what i must give for what i could have.

as a thirteen-year-old, i spent a summer in greece pruning olive trees for a mission on the side of a hill. we were trying to give them a residual source of income, an olive orchard that would fund the vision of a mission base for groups traveling through the area. days were long and hot, but at night the other groups traveling through would worship in a cool tiny building on the sea at the base of the mountain. this night i came in late, sneaked in the back of the room, and was instantly captured by the presence of a not-beautiful girl i had seen earlier that day. she was leading worship in a dim room with a voice that brought a lump to my throat. sometimes she swayed, occasionally brushed her short blonde hair out of her face; her eyes never opened. she was clearly oblivious to the rest of the room; i had never to that point in my life been oblivious to anyone was watching me.

i still want to be her.

i think it just takes a lot of dying to be that beautiful, and many days i am not willing to pay that price. it takes an absurd amount of faith to put to death all the approval-seeking behaviors and the small obsessions that bind my heart to things that don't matter, but i am counting the cost. this is something i really want, something i believe is worth the exchange.

i think i'll take it.