The Way I Am

Warning: dear Reader, the post you are about to read is incredibly Lydia. If you are the least bit weirded out by Lydia (as she herself is), you may not like it. Don't say I didn't warn you.

(photo by Caleb Hart)

I'm forever grateful to those who know my name. Those who have reminded me of it when I have forgotten or denied it. Those who stood in firm opposition when I called myself hopeless & unwanted. On days like those, it must have been difficult even to choke out the name my parents gave me, but these warriors did. They whispered out "Lydia," in such a tone that it made me feel like the very meaning of my name was "beloved." & then they went so far as to call me that, too. Laugh if you like, but when given such names, I tend to weep.

I weep a lot.

A friend once told me (after I'd admitted I had cried over something), "Oh honey ... You're you. I would have been worried if you Hadn't cried."

Alas, such am I. A crier. Another dear soul gifted me with a handkerchief for those tears, & I laughed when I realized I have never received a more fitting gift. My tombstone might one day read, "Lydia ... The girl who cried a lot." An awful lot.

I'm learning so much about myself lately ... Learning to accept what will not (& should not) change, & to protest & change what Must.

Maybe this is a part of growing. Deciding to see beauty in what was once perceived as ugly, & standing against those things that have no place in the life of the redeemed.

I learned today that I really love kiwis ... & that burst of flavor somehow inspires me. I will not apologize for this oddity.

I have discovered that I have some deeply rooted introverted tendencies (who knew, right?), & in accepting this, I am learning how to take better care of  myself. As an ENFP/J, my feelings are fully engaged when I'm around people ... constantly wondering what they're thinking ... trying to figure out exactly what they need from me in every situation. I only just learned that I fail to process my own feelings & thoughts fully when I do this. Huh. Turns out I need copious alone time to sort out myself or I get completely & utterly lost. If I wait too long to do this, & then am alone for Too long, I basically break. Having that many emotions to process without any link to someone who understands me is self-destructive.

I'm reminded how amazing it is that Jesus is never too busy or overwhelmed by my problems. What a constant. Every day I see more & more of my utter need for Him.

Springtime is magical, & I hate how short it is. I love the profound truths displayed in the renewal process. I love that beauty springs up from dirt. I love that an onslaught of water makes things grow. I love daffodils.

Fun fact: I hunt out yellow. My eyes seem never to stop searching for it. It's not my favorite color in the traditional sense (hello, I'm very offended by the way it makes my skin appear), but I always search it out. I love yellow flowers. I love yellow objects. Just because something is yellow, I might love it 78% more than I would have were it any other color. It speaks to me. It speaks of light & hope. Newness. Beauty. Sunshine that doesn't hurt my sensitive eyes. & lemons, man.

I've learned that some music just makes me feel good, & that is something to cherish. (Also, Jacob Montague basically should just soundtrack my someday wedding. Already decided.)

I discovered that cheese no longer hurts my stomach. Hello, pepperjack. I've missed you. Come hang out with me & my eggs.

I'm not very good at sitting like a lady.

I'm learning that the faults I tend to notice & despise in others are often the ones that are prevalent in my own life. How seeing my own pet sins in others disgusts me, yet I cannot seem to admit to its existence in myself. I justify. I ignore. I judge. Even in reading the oracles & judgement passages in Scriptures, it takes a dozen times of me reading & thinking, "Man, were they messed up," before the conviction hits & it dawns on me that I do these selfsame things. Basically, I am further understanding my utter depravity & need for Jesus.

I am noticing genetics. How I mirror my father when I speak out in public ... rocking back in forth a little in some sort of post-nervousness twitch. How my mama & I are alike in the ways we get overwhelmed. I hug like my Grandma Hart. My youngest older brother & I both ramble when we're exhausted. I have Mama's eyes & Daddy's prominent veins, & a nose somewhere between the two.


I love how my Jesus sees me. All of me. All my quirks, faults, strengths, & sins. & still He loves me, wants me, chooses me. He speaks blessing over the light in me, & He reveals the darkness, & by His grace, He overcomes it. Oh, for the day when all that is Self in me is consumed ... when all that remains is my Christ.