Trust Me

It seems so long since my post on the 14th. I have learnt so much more since then. I read again a letter a friend wrote when I blogged that post, and it still makes me cry. Thank you for caring - those who read my blog and those who don't. I didn't mean for it to be a pity-party but I think I was really confused then. I have actually grown since then - LOL I know anyone who says that immediately sounds immature even to their own ears but hey this is my blog. So if I can't think aloud here - where else am I supposed to go...

Besides I've rehashed the issue a few times - I'm not sure if I had to hash it first in order to rehash, but that's a tiny detail of morphology - until the two people I was talking to about it seem to have gotten tired of hearing it. So I'm gonna blog. I find I have to analyse things right down to a bare minimum and arrange things satisfactorily in my mind before I lay it to rest. I do this tidying up so often in my head, that I have an adverse reaction and consequently never clean my room... Everything has a price tag. That's my story anyway - and yes, I am sticking to it!

But I have put my finger on some of the causes - and to my disgust, my analysis came out rather revoltingly. I ought to say don't believe the fairy tales, but I'm going to say do. Because you get hurt, but you like yourself so much better that way.

To quote SD: 'Though it is hard work for me to do it, I could do so much more for Him'.

NB Most times it's not hard work... Most times I have to keep myself from grinning while on my bike because passers-by will no doubt think I am an Oxford regular round the bend. Like the woman who sings opera at the post office and at stop lights. Or the well-dressed man who talks to himself with vehement expression, and sane smile! Or the lady at the weekly market who overdresses and wears her mascara fanning down toward her cheeks... I could be the regular who hums to herself all the time, and walks around charity shops compulsively, and lingers uncertainly outside Directors of Studies' rooms because she cannot think of a graceful way of interrupting the conversation, or who acts either too young or too old for her age.... But of all the reasons, the least likely that I could be certified is the fact that there are moments in the day when I can't stop smiling because I know He loves us. So much. When we're scared or lonely or hurt or angry or confused or shocked... Trust me, I know. He'll take it as it comes. He thinks you are wonderful. You. You know who you are.