I felt the hot tears welling up behind my eyes. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.” I said to myself. As the the woman told her testimony, my heart burned within me and I dropped my head into my hands. It was too late, the dam broke and tears fell down my cheeks and within seconds I was ugly crying in church.
Every morning I woke up and went through the motions, floundering from devotional to devotional. Why? Because that’s what good girls do, right? I read my Bible, searching for something that I could practically apply to my life. As the years went on, I grew more frustrated with my walk with the Lord.
I held the remote in my hand and scrolled through the new releases on Netflix. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon and I had just woke up from a nap. I shuffled through the mediocre list of movies until I saw the image of a man with a giant afro standing at a canvas.
The night air was cool against my face as I escaped the hotel. Each step took me further away from the loud laughter and the yellow glow of outdoor tiki bar below the hotel. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat and widened my stride trying to catch up to my sister and her boyfriend .
I juggled the two dog leashes in my hand as I went off for our morning walk in the neighborhood. The sun was shining, birds were chirping and everything was going my way. I smiled as I waltzed down my street and admired the adorable craftsman style houses. I thought to myself how blessed I am to have found such a gem in the brick-box factory that is Texas. As I turned the corner, I came upon a certain house.
For a majority of my life I have had no respect or understanding for mothers. When all my friends started quitting their jobs and becoming moms, I pitied them. I thought their college careers were wasted on kids. I even mentally wore a badge of pride in the fact I hadn’t settled down and started a family.