There are pieces of me scattered everywhere.
Scattered parts of myself I dropped along the way. Some in fear. Some from lack of use.
Deep breath, Sweets. You know this feeling, don’t you?
It is fitting on Easter, when in my faith we celebrate rising from the dead, that I am being asked to resurrect some pieces of me I thought were lost or dead forever.
I am the teensiest bit elated. And overwhelmingly scared.
These are the vulnerable bits. The light-hearted, devil-may-care, trusting bits.
The bit that likes to dress up and feel pretty.
The bit that can accept a compliment without brushing it off in a no-nonsense manner.
The bit who believes someone will love her with all the wobbly bits that now come with the package. That probably always came with the package.
Some of you make this look so easy.
You rise from heartbreak or betrayal, not thinking too hard about any of it. Or maybe just making the thinking bit simple.
I am wired differently. I’ve said this before.
So, as I muddle through this in my own way, the bandages get ripped off one by one.
I am hoping that what I find underneath is healed and beautiful.
There is a chance I will discover some open wounds still.
As I tell my kids when they face something scary, the only way through it is through it.
Here I go. Scared. Delighted. Tentative. Brave. All at once.
It helps me to know some of you have gone before me. Because I see you now in all your glory, your joy, wobbly bits and all.
Now that’s resurrection.