We sadly turn on our televisions and hear stories where a child is taken from an abusive home covered in dirt and grime. They’re bathed and nurtured then out comes this amazing, resilient being whose heart is still capable of love, trust, and purity. Belief… They grow up to be not only survivors, but protectors. They fearlessly share their stories with the world, so others can know it’s ok to be broken and there is redemption. We admire those children and commend their strength. Yet, we judge ourselves and others for being fallible. We don’t give ourselves a break from imperfection, struggle, and hardship. We blame ourselves “It’s my fault!” we say. Then we punish ourselves with self recrimination and vice.
Too often we say we have faith, and quietly crumble. I hold on to the child inside me b/c the adult is too cynical and not as strong. My “inner child” lets me see the world without being jaded. It allows people I love to hurt me and I instantly forgive them and allow them to make things right. It lets me laugh when I fall or make a mistake. It enables me to find joy in little inane things. It allows me to share because I love. It makes me unafraid to receive love. It keeps me from worrying if I get too dirty or banged up when doing the things that I love. It makes me brave enough to go out in the world each day to try to succeed again. My childishness is the best part of me because without it, I’d be hopeless and prone to despair…
but here I am, coloring outside the lines and using all the crayons that I treasure in a shabby box.