A Story Written About Me

It is early morning, well, not too early. It's almost 7am but no one in my home is up yet. And as usual I got on my computer and to my surprise I had a message from someone containing something so very special. It was a message on FB from a once good friend of mine who wrote a short story about me. And this story she contained in the message for me to read.

And as I read it, I wept and wept it was so beautiful. She is a fantastic writer, wonderful with words. Her name is Rebecca Burch Greenidge. Someone actually took time out of their day to really think of me and write about me? Well what she wrote was perfect and I want to share it with you as well. I am lucky to call her friend. Below is the story she wrote. Grab a Kleenex, I can guarantee at least some tears will run down your cheek.... Thank you, Rebecca, for writing such a beautiful story about me. I love it more than you'll ever know. It is so very special to me.
Enjoy.

bravery


it was a while ago now.

across the digital lines.

a catch up fit for this culture we live in. i’d of much rather been across my kitchen table, sipping glass of wine or whatever she’d like. but she was on the other side of this patch of land, discovering the depths of dreams.

she lives her dream. my god she was sure and strong and beautifully brave. i was never as brave. she moved to the big city – small town girl living tall-order dreams among tallest of man-made boxes.

i looked around that day and gulped deep as my dreams had changed. from center stage to sweet friend who placed metal round my finger. and i just kept thinking how she is so brave.

i stumble upon her new story only days ago. a story that has changed the landscape of both time and dreams and her very own skin. i was struck when she said she looks in the mirror and doesn’t know the face looking back and my god how i feel like that many days but o god how i feel small for saying that as she lets me peer into her mirror.

and today. yes today. she let us look at the very landscape of her.

and i stopped cold.

what tragedy and beauty mixed all together and some say that her eyes make it impossible to see the scars and i say it’s the eyes that give contrast to the scars. i don’t miss the scars. i do see them. i want to see them. i want her to know that i want to see them. and i want to tell her how beautiful her landscape is. how it makes me look deeper and wonder with hot tears over painted cheeks about how it’s these scars that make her eyes shine in ways they never have.

i see the brave.

i see the heartbroken.

i see the loneliness that aches so deep.

i see the questions.

i see the uncertainty of her own will to keep living.

i see the smoldering of dreams she fears are lost.

i see the pain of a new self she must get to know.

…and i know a god who loves it all. i know a god who runs spirit over these wounds and knows the reason to her rhyme. i know a god who holds the answers to her whys. i know a god who reaches in to her and says “yes baby girl, come to me” and who is never overtaken by her rage. i know a god who whispers her name through scared ears and who on that night breathed a breath that kept her life for a reason and was so hot and deep, it changed something much deeper than anything you see when she lets you look in her mirror.

i call her bravery.

a name befit for her. now as before.

only she doesn’t realize. how like then, this too is her.

chasing.

hoping.

dreaming.

she is bravery. in. the. flesh.

and this is one way he made her in his likeness. one way, he calls her daughter.

one way, she too is drowning in this ocean called grace.

and she is not only inspiring. but deeper.

she shows me god. anew.

as dreams we chase seem miles away and the hurt is as deep as the uncertainty and she points me towards this life sustainer, dream giver, hope maker all over again.

the one who gives and takes away.

she is his latest gift to me.