Dear Achie...

OK. So. Right.

I looked at my last post and realised that I have a lot to blog about. And I'll get to that eventually. What this really is is a comment on a certain someone's blog that kind of turned into a blog in its own right. The excessive length would've made it a bit of a strange and I would have probably been forced to stop myself at some point. Here I'm free to go on and on and on as I see fit. And so, I will proceed to write my very first blog-answering-blog. I apologise for the lack of structure of any kind.

I'm proud of you. For many reasons. Some of which I will proceed to list:

You went for it. You wanted to do something completely random for yourself and you did.

So, it didn't work out the way you hoped it would. You shrug, put on a beanie and deal with it. So many people can't do that. Instead they whine and whinge and make everyone around them feel miserable and prone to violence. You do your own thing and don't give a rat's ass about what people might think about that. To me you're real and natural, no matter what the colour of your hair may be.

Blonde want brown, straight want curly, long want short. Whatever. It's hair. We've moved past that now I think...

We always think we know what's best for ourselves. It takes a lot to admit to ignorance. But there really is bliss in knowing that you don't know. It feels a little scary to let go of that sense of control. OK so maybe it feels a lot scary. It reminds me of those trust exercises we always used to do in Personal Development classes. 

You're falling backwards, your eyes screwed shut. Your arms are outstretched and you can't stop your hands from trembling, just a little. You can feel the ground rushing towards you. There's that moment of panic when you think no-one's going to catch you and you're going to hit the ground...hard.

Except you don't.

The hands that catch you are hands that will never let go. Never let you crash to floor. We just refuse to realise that sometimes. We spend our energy hoping we land on a mattress instead of enjoying the freedom in the fall.

We all need reminders. The rant wasn't pointless.

Oh and thanks for the phoqo. Let doooooon? No. I was not.

One mooooore thing: Uncle rocks my socks.

Simon: learn how to spell prefer please. It pained me. You know I love you.

You know what? I don't really care who has more fun. I am neither blonde nor brunette and I think I do pretty well for myself...

Working backwards.

The pebbles slide out of my hands. I hear the noise they make as they hit the stones already in the basket. 

I look at the red marks on my palms where I'd clutched too tightly. Even as I stare they begin to fade.

They're cooler than I expect. That's the first thought that crosses my mind. Some are sharp. Others have had their edges worn away by the relentless sea. Some are small, almost forgotten as they slip through my fingers. Others are bigger, coarser, more stubborn.

I look at them and I see bits of myself. The bits that scare me. The bits that make me want to run and hide. If I let them grow, together they build a wall around my heart. Trapped by my own sins.

That's what I see, right there in my hands. And then I smile. 

Rubble. That's all that is left. A love greater than anything I could every conceive has broken that wall. 

Blood and Sacrifice.

Hosanna.

I am saved.