perhaps you have not lost your way, you only took a different route to the one they told you and you got distracted by what you encountered along the way. it happens. all the beauty you were told could only be found in one place, on one path, how it overtook your life and you—instead of turning back when they called you, when they told you to turn back or stay lost, you ate the sunset, and drank water straight from the skies, and you lived. perhaps it is time to let your life be what it is—a searching, and not so much a finding.

perhaps, you were never meant to speak of your truth, so sure in what you think you know. perhaps, you were always meant to show them your questions, and know this, your questions will be enough for the right people.

let others be who they are. let them be who they are meant to be.

it really is that simple. your freedom lies in knowing that you are free to live your life, to live your faith knowing that you know very little, that you are loved, that you always were. isn’t this enough? there is so much noise in the world right now, there always has been. every voice struggling upward trying to be seen, trying to feel important to themselves.

look at me! look at me! please, please like me.

if only they knew they already matter.

that everyone does. it’s not about likes. it’s not about followers. can you dwell peacefully with yourself?

as i sit here, it is dusk. there are children playing outside. my tea winks at me, hints at softness in my mouth. after i left the walls of what i was told i could never leave, i learnt that everything that i write will be the wrong shape to someone, and everything that i write will be a quilt for someone else.

i let others be what they are and i let myself be what i am.

on my desk, and on my kitchen table, in the windowsills of my little home, within my hands, inside my bones, behind my eyes, there are candles and other small lights.

i make a habit of tending to the light.

all these flames—i have made a life out of leaving them lit, leaving them out on the road.

they are always found by the right people, at the right time, and then, the road is a little less dark. isn’t this a successful life? a beautiful life?

it is not about following; it is about the road—the length of it, the travelling home, the travelling together.one ahead of the other. one behind the other.

of stopping to share bread, fingers grazing fingers, hands touching hands. helping to search for water.

it is holding a map to the light and saying, ‘yes, this might be it, shall we take a look here?’

it is being a shoulder to lean on when a pebble inside a boot has outlived someone’s patience.

it is giving what you have, giving what you want to see, in the fields, in the valleys, in the shadows-of-death.

give what you have. it is enough. you are enough.

and this thing about death? about where we go to, that new place.

nobody knows.

nobody knows.

we are all the same. we are all going to the same place. i have held new-borns slippery with blood, helped them into this new place, and i have held hands as others leave and always there was someone else in the room.

we arrive already loved and we leave, still loved. this is life. we can all becoming lighter as we travel towards home.

throw off the things that you have to keep hidden. hidden things are a weight. unburden your wings. this is about being, about knowing that you are enough.

fear will eat you whole if you let it.

you do not have to come already perfect; you are enough.

and if you believe in God, then this is for you—you are already enough, you do not have to earn it.

and if you don’t believe in God, then this is for you—you are already enough, you do not have to earn it.

you are already loved; you always have been just as you are. and if you want to see the face of God, then find a stranger, and look upon everything sacred, let your eyes caress the face in awe.

you are looking upon the image of God.

can you live your life just as it is? can you settle into what it is right now?

it doesn’t mean that you have to stop running your fingers over the map—just that you can see the bird on the wire, the rain on the leaves, the shaggy ink cap in the autumn undergrowth, and know that it is quietly and overwhelmingly good, that all the seams have held, even when they are fraying.

this is where the seed of hope lies.

knowing it is still good.

in spite of.

let them be.

let them be.

you, be the window open to the light.

come in your ordinary clothes, your tea-stained table, the crumbs, the dirty dishes.

bring all the questions you were given.

bring them.

let your life breathe just as it is.

© Liezel Graham 2021.

{Image by Erik Mclean on Unsplash}

a few thoughts from my journal entries this week.

i hope it finds a soft place next to you. x