Being safe, being risky

I am staring at a cup of coffee someone else bought for me. The steam will fog up my eyeglasses when I start to drink it. I feel at home. The people in other tables are alive. We all are. Even if we don’t feel like it—

On ordinary days I try to avoid thinking about old things, like driving without ever glancing at the rearview mirror. Sometimes I force myself not to think about it. I see my silhouette in an old comfort place and I squeeze my eyes shut until that Krizia I see evaporates into thin air, leaving an empty table and empty chair—

Tonight I sat across a person who felt like home, like a sister I could have had, like a sister I would have chosen.  I told her about the men who bought me coffee. Men, who remembered me when and only when they were trying to forget certain things—

I remember deciding to stop talking about those men, because it made some people uneasy. I guess some people don’t like it when you show them the wounds under your bandages—
She said loving people meant risks, and I remembered; yes, people meant risks. Though I’ve never been one to gamble, I remember letting my guard down and not wearing my poker face; and I guess because I did not know the rules, I always lose. And I tend to lose a lot—

She said it’s not good to act so safe, and it is just as dangerous as taking so many risks; I found myself agreeing—

I drink my coffee, I think about Jesus, I think about my old dream of living out a good testimony, and failing, failing, failing. I think about Jesus—

I take out my mental weighing scale and begin laying out each choice on top of the other. I realize that these yeses and nos do not equal one Krizia. I realize that following Jesus will bring out the best and worst in us, and He is present in all those things, He has seen all those choices—

Following Jesus is freedom. Being Christlike is not living in a mold. Christians are not mass-produced. Tonight I thought about how He lets us make our decisions—

I’ve been foolish, terrible, despicable, crazy. I’ve been good, exemplary, note-worthy. I’ve been lovable. I’ve been not. I have loved and I have not, and in all those things, under all those things, He sees the Krizia He created—

I am not expected to live like the next woman. We are free to live. Free. And I am renewed, shaped, growing day by day. The other day I made a few foolish decisions. Today I made some good ones. All of them are okay. All of them are clay in the hands of a Master Potter—

It’s not good to act so safe. To live with a giant wall around all the time. There are new places to see, new thrills to experience; and if living the full, abundant life means having bruises every now and then, it’s okay. To love is to be completely vulnerable and because we are broken, we will wound each other. But — why do we have to be afraid of hurting if we follow a great Healer and Redeemer—

I think about the way Jesus let Peter be his full self whenever they walked together—

I drink the coffee someone else bought for me. I have done this a hundred times already, in a different situation each time. This time the steam fogs up my glasses. The fog dissipates just as quickly and my vision is clear again. I think about Jesus and all these people around me and how last night I found it hard to sleep because some wounds were stinging—

He has created us in His image, and His image cannot be contained in a mold. Today I am closer than I have been yesterday. I praise my God because He loves us in ways we will fully feel and understand- and He allows us to love Him in the way we know best. How liberating.

3 thoughts on “Being safe, being risky

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