On Memory and Crayons

I have found myself suitably drenched in memory this week.  The best part about it is that I feel good. I certainly did not feel good on this day two years ago when I wrote:

"Feeling uneasy. Can't help it. I tried to fix the mistake and I couldn't...sent the final farewell. Cried in the shower so no one could hear my sobs over the rush of water or question why my face and hair were drenched. I want to feel at peace but I feel completely dejected. I want to forget. I want to start over. I want to move to a new city. I want to stop thinking about how much it hurts to have someone be so angry at you.  But I am going to forgive. And I'm not going to forget or give up because I'm not the kind of person who gives up. I was entirely restless last night. I am glad God forgives...my body is weak from shaking. I tremble because I am sad. What happens next? I just want to move on and forget about the hurt this...brought. Feeling uneasy."

I am not quick to believe in "signs," but I think I stumbled upon one this week. In "My Utmost for His Highest," the April 3 page says:

"Never be afraid when God brings back the past. Let memory have its way. It is a minister of God with its rebuke and chastisement and sorrow. God will turn the "might have been" into a wonderful culture for the future."

I truly believe those words were meant for me at this time. I used to want to forget so badly because I thought that losing the memory would make me feel better: happier, less anxious, and less guilty. But now I have a kind of divine acceptance of the bad memory and I find myself rejoicing in the correction that it brings.

In a sense I feel like the psalmist in Psalm 73. I was a "brute beast before God, yet [He] is always with me." Today I feel like the happiest girl in the world. I feel comforted and loved and I like who I am. Not in a vain way, but with a peaceful, assured confidence of my worth because of all Christ has done. Confession: I was so happy today that I listened to One Direction and had a dance party. It sounds like an all-time low but believe me when I say it was cheesily amazing. I hope you don't think less of me for it.

On a mostly unrelated topic, I figured I would post one of my favourite quotes.

"Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8 color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64 color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64 color box, though I've got a few missing. It's okay though, because I've got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8 color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation. So when I meet someone who's an 8 color type...I'm like, hey girl, Magenta! and she's like, oh, you mean purple! and she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, no I want Magenta!"
-John Mayer

Maybe it is wrong of me, but I do fancy myself to be a 64 color box. If you know any other 64 color boxes or magenta thinkers, let me know. :-)

Love,
E.