sacred geometry
I sang today in church - a song called "Heirlooms," originally recorded and performed by Amy Grant. This prophetic lady told my mom and I that she physically saw God's anointing on me as I stood in front of the congregation. The two of them talked as if I wasn't there, discussing how genuine I am in worship and how the sweetness of God's character is illustrated through my vocal tone. Not to say I wasn't flattered, it just came as such a shock to me. I didn't feel genuine. I felt awkward and overly critical of my pitch as usual. Then I was torn between letting them go on with their thinking I'm some instrument of God, and telling them that I'm simply good at looking sincere. Not that I didn't like the song, or agree with the words, or even enjoy myself. Of course I did. I love to sing, and I always love to hear when others enjoy listening. I guess what bothered me is that they think of me as someone I am not. In fact, my relationship with God has reached a sort of indefinite, spiritual fermata - a small glitch in the scheme of things, but at the moment it seems like a trench I can't dig my way out of.
But enough of that, I have much to tell. I've become aware of a major shift in my self-image. When I was younger, I had a number of different sides to my personal taste - ones that often conflicted with one another drastically. This included shopping at the Beso Boutique one minute, browsing through a display of decorative aprons; and then looking over masses of spunky band tee-shirts at Hot Topic in a pair of polka-dotted converse knock-offs the next. One part of me wants a tattoo and a turbo-charged, Japanese sportsbike. Another wants her own Mr. Darcy for every rainy day she spends inside putting on dresses for the show of it. Once I never wanted children, now I can't imagine a life complete without them. Something is happening to a large part of me, a part that I can hardly identify with anymore. On the wall above my bed in my dorm room there are three black and white pictures - one of the eiffel tower, one of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's, and one of the empire state building taken from the street. On top of that in black script is a quote that reads, "Sit Long. Talk Much. Laugh Often." (or something like that). On my reading lamp I have tied a dainty pink ribbon into a bow. On my bookshelf I strategically placed my pointe shoes in a resting position beside my books. In summary, I've tried very hard to maintain one distinct side of my personality: the classic, elegant young lady. Sitting on my nightstand now is a ball of rose-colored yarn (my two knitting needles sticking out in opposite directions), and my Vera Bradley-styled tote bag beside a copy of Jane Austen's Emma. I've just committed myself to learning Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune on the piano, and yesterday I went to see "a Christmas Carol," at the Weinberg Center for the Arts with a friend. My mom and I walked through Target today in search of rocking chair cushions, and I found myself in a bedding aisle, gawking at a collection titled Simply Shabby Chic, which, could only be described as pastel, flowery, and greatly feminine. Usually this would bother me, but lately I've become prone to suprising myself. Maybe this is me maturing, though that would be a slight shot to my ego, seeing as how I had assumed I was already as mature as I was going to be. Whatever it is, I'm happy with it. After a good deal of consideration, I've come to the conclusion that this is the woman I want to be. A bit old-fashioned, maybe, but rightly suited for the life that I've only now just realized is best for me.
And that is all I really wanted to say. I know it doesn't look like much, but to me this shift illustrates a defining period in my life. Only good could come of this. Perhaps I am to find a soul-mate next. That would please me beyond words, to be sure. I suppose I can only hope, but you can bet I'll be hoping until I hardly have the energy for it anymore. :)