Working progress

I’m still figuring it out

I am a working progress

My reasons for anger have turned into conquered fears

Tears that once burned the flesh around my eyes now tumble in slow motion along the sides of both corners of my mouth causing me to smile sincerely

I am by no means perfect

I am a working progress

He is beautifully sculpting

I am triumphantly submitting

Again, I am not perfect

In between some molding, I cringe

Sometimes I harden but his fatherly discipline caters to this child’s specific needs

I am a working progress

What a journey this has been and continues to be

I pray to continue being so, a working progress I mean

To imagine the arrogance with nothing to back it up behind the opposite side which states, I am now perfect

How ridiculous.

I delight in knowing his heights always provide an infinite amount of bars to climb

Bars that climb none other than upwards

He delights in securing my path

Like any child, I seek the puffed out chest of a proud parent

I am a working progress and will continue to be

These next few days leading up to a brand new year

Continue to be a working progress

 

Did I somehow know?

I was about nine or ten.

She kissed me and said goodbye.

As I watched her from the porch, a few strides closer to her destination, I had the biggest urge I’ve ever felt and could ever remember to this day to yell out I love you to someone, to her. I did. Turning her head back as she adjusted her work purse, she replied back, “I love you too honey.” We smiled at each other and she disappeared into the hedges that blocked the remaining few houses from that angle.

Perhaps it was the hue of the early morning light or the way that dawn sky created a somber atmosphere in the eerie time of morning but as I closed the door quickly behind me to grab a glimpse of her in the front window, leaving pass those prickly hedges, tears ran down my eyes like someone caught up in the emotions conjured up in a movie.

There was no premise for the tears or the overwhelming feeling of abandonment I felt. My mother would be back after work, per usual, later that evening. By that age I knew enough about myself to know that this was too emotional even for me.

I love you. I love you too honey. Tears. Really?

Could it be I was overly swept with emotion or could it be that even then my inner self knew she wouldn’t be with me as long as I’d like in this life? I thought those things to myself, even then, not about loosing her in the future the way it happened of course, but being overly emotional and why I felt so strongly about her just then. Did I somehow know?

I never told her about the tears that escaped me. I wonder if she would think me emotional or connected to her inner spirit as I did?