Project 31 Day 5: Write a blog thanking someone who has made your heart come alive.

I remember it so well: the way the late afternoon sun poured through the slits of the blinds covering my parents' bedroom window; the exact spot on the foot of the bed where we sat, myself between my parents; the way I was so absolutely sure I really wanted you to come live in my heart (even though at that time, I wasn't really sure what that actually meant quite yet).

Since that day, we've had an up and down relationship, haven't we? More ups than downs, but still--I haven't always held up my end of our relationship with the same resolve I had that first day, and for that, I'm sorry.

When I was younger, you weren't a question. You were truth-- accepted without reservation, deeply convinced as I was of you. You were in the songs I sang, the prayers I said, the books I read, the flowers I picked, the stories I told, and the sunsets I watched. I knew who you were, and I was absolutely certain that like the songs said, you did love me--but looking back, I'm not sure that I really knew you. 

When I got a little older, you were woven into my history, so much so that there was no me without you. And then my heart got hurt pretty badly. Instead of running to you for help, I questioned you. I didn't understand you. I wondered why such a thing could happen to me. I don't know that I ever said that I blamed you, but I think deep down in my hurting little heart, I did. If you loved me, certainly this wouldn't have happened to me.

I remember crying out to you in a way that I hadn’t ever cried out to you before. But that’s all it was: crying. In bed. In my car. In the shower. Wherever I happened to find myself alone, I cried. But I didn’t feel like I ever got a response, really. Or if I did, I didn’t hear it; at that point, my complaints and hurt and frustration and anguish were too loud.

Eventually, my heart closed down. Sealed itself off from you. Cringed when I heard your name. Got
angry when good things happened to other people. I eventually began to believe that either you forgot about me, or you just didn't care much about what happened to me.

And then, you showed up. You met me in my basement, the lowest place I’d ever been, the place where I’d been hiding for so long that it had become my new normal. When I finally got quiet enough to hear you, I heard your voice right next to me in that dark place and I realized you had been with me all along. And on that day of recognition, you turned on the light, climbed the stairs, opened the door, and asked me to climb the stairs and walk out the door with you. You didn’t force me; you invited me. You didn’t yell; you whispered. You didn’t scold; you comforted. You didn’t shun; you embraced.

You spoke to my heart in a way that made it come alive. You gave me a reason to live, a reason to love, a reason to take chances and to dream and to desire again. And you still do, every day.

Thank you for sitting in the dark with me. Thank you for urging me to leave that lonely place and for challenging me to take the first step. Thank you for holding my heart in your hands, and thank you that I can trust you to do that. Thank you for your love. Thank you for the dreams you have for me. Thank you for the grace you’ve shown me. Thank you for the life that flows from your heart into my own.

I love being your girl.