All those versions of me I won't be able to be, weight terribly on my soul. Billions of words from thousands of stories I won't live, add up heavily burdening my tiny restless soul. This is how I feel today, tomorrow and yesterday.
Maybe it will be ok in the end.
The life I currently live is not at all the sort of life I imagined or expected when I was a bit younger.
The Truth does not magically erase her suffering or cure her disappointment. It does not negate her struggle or invalidate her sorrow. It does something even better—it leads her into relationship with the One who made her and makes her new, the One who is greater than all of these.
My whole body is full of joy and grace and how very thankful I am there are no words to explain.
I don't want to draw over an already made picture. I want to start a new piece of art, on a new page, with new colours and new pencils and new everything.