This post is a part of Micro Blog Monday’s. See more here: Stirrup Queens




The cursor blinks at me.

An aptly put writing prompt stares back.
Inviting me? Or challenging me?

“Share your story here…”

It is the story that I wrestle with. And yet, how much more beautiful if I could simply write instead: “It is the story I embrace.”

I embrace the hard with the good. The tears with the joy. The letting go and the taking in. The seasons of change that just keep on changing.

I embrace myself. The girl who is more than what meets the eye. The one who loves the ones she loves. And grieves the ones I grieve.

She is my constant companion. And the only one who fully understands every nuance of feeling, every moment of experience, every glimpse of hope as I do.

It only makes sense that I love her.

And yet how often instead I sit in judgement on her.

I know her every mistake. I know how weak she can be inside … How frail. I know her moments of laziness, and her lack of control. I know the doubt she faces, the fear of rejection — I know it all.

Perhaps the challenge in God’s command to love others as ourselves does not lie in the loving others part.

Perhaps the challenge is loving ourselves enough to know how to love others.

While I judge, I watch her wilt away from beneath my scorn. I watch as she shrivels in condemnation instead of rising to the challenge in front of her. No one does their best under careful critical eyes.
Certainly not under my own critical eye.

All the while, the truth of what could be calls to me.

What if I embrace her … This woman with lots of possibility and lots of faults? What if I extended grace after grace. Told her she had done her best, picked her up off the floor, dusted her off and pronounced, “I know you can do this. I know you can.”

If I could love myself as I already show love to others?

Maybe my struggle has not been so much with my story as it is with who I am.
And maybe if I embraced her more … Embraced all the good and not-so-good together … I’d find myself embracing my story.
Her story.
Our story.

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