Merged

I woke up this morning with my worlds completely merged. 

Eyes still closed, my legs traced the outline of my soft sheets in my cushy college bed...something refreshing after two weeks in the hospital and my first round of chemo. I opened my eyes to see the remnants of my childhood room... a hodgepodge of old memories and photos. It feels like an odd dream— the kind where two different things are at the same place even though they don’t naturally belong in that setting together. Yet this morning it is real and oddly comforting. It is like I am looking around at where I have been and where I am going. 

I see these two shadow boxes from my first trips out of the country to Brazil and China. I grew up a lot on those trips and God opened my eyes to what poverty and need are. 

I see class photos of my sorority on the back of my door from freshman year of college. I so longed to fit in, and now some of those girls are the closest friends I have. 

I see a picture my sweet little brother drew for me back in the days where it was scribble, but I taped it up anyways because it made him so happy. I wouldn’t be who I am without him. 

And right in front of me I see the word “Beautiful” in hot pink Chinese letters. Yep, it was a phase. Somehow it stood the test of time in this room longer than almost anything else. Last night we even all laughed at how stupid it looks. Yet this morning it’s like I needed my walls to scream that there is beauty in all of this. Beauty in my chemo filled body. Beauty in this new season that was thrust upon me. Beauty in how, one day, I will look back as I am now and see the distinct purpose of God’s hand in this very moment. 

And lastly I see my huge mirror on my wall. It has a ballet bar attached and used to be where I would spend hours and hours of my time. Practicing. Dancing. Dreaming. Next to it is taped a statement that I wrote and signed in early high school committing to take care of my body and use it to glorify God. Mom read it last night and cried. I read it and smiled. To me it resembles how I tried to hold up my side of the deal. I did the best with what I had and for a divine reason God still let me get cancer at 22. It is dripping with purpose.
The best part is at the top of my mirror—it reads, “The Lord redeems my soul, lifts me up, makes me whole.”
I don’t remember when I wrote that on my mirror, but I liked that I saw it every time I walked by. I found comfort in the reminder that my soul needs redeeming and I know a guy. That I am weak but God lifts me up. That I am incomplete but my creator fills that void. It felt powerful to read that. Still does. 

So for every person out there, whatever today holds for you. This day has never happened before and it will never happen again. Even if it is as mundane as me driving to Vanderbilt to get a shot and labs drawn, think about where you have been and where you might be going. Don’t miss the preparation God is doing in you even as you drive to work. Every moment is making you who you are and it is a sweet thing because God wastes nothing. 

The Lord redeems your soul.
He lifts you up, and makes you whole.