I write in solitude, with nightfall watching, the clock ticks and I'm almost synchronized with it. With each tick, the leaves outside my unimpressive view unlatch themselves, falling to the pulse of nervous fingers.
My nervous fingers are rhythmically tapping because I am thinking of this wrestled mess we live in. It's messy. Our sheets are tangled, interlocked by the unattainable forces determining our messiness. Mess weaves its way into my life and your life and is inherently present. The leaves are still falling and my fingers are still tapping.
I realise I am surrounded by mess and more often than not we don't get to choose the mess we are born into, or the hurt which comes with it.
Family is mess
It's an undeniably sore conclusion penetrating society in its most vulnerable state. I just can't stop thinking about how wrong everything is and how God intended everything to be so right, but He knew it was going to be so messy and He still let it all happen.
I am astounded and confused at the same time. So I'm in this 'period'. Period of what, you may ask?
Well, like many returning university students, I have moved to the city to begin my second year of study. Once again I have moved away from my family, my home, my church, my town—everything I once knew.
I now live with 50 other students in a student residence. Theoretically, I have a new family, a new home, a new church and a new city. It's real, confronting and really messy; but it's also really cool.
When you see the value in something, the sacrifice becomes bearable and all of a sudden bearable becomes enjoyable.
Encompassing goodness
It is true, I have attained something I am more than thankful for; but often it's messier than I ever imagined it to be, it hurts a lot and all of a sudden I find myself questioning why God let everything be so wrong.
In these moments I'm quietly reminded of His sovereignty and the all-encompassing goodness of our Father in Heaven. When I prompt myself to remember His goodness, my mess swiftly becomes beautiful in its own right.
With this in mind I recently wrote my own definition of family:
Family
- A group of people related by blood or marriage; all the descendants of a common ancestor; a group of related things; a social unit.
- Family is walking out of an embrace with sadness weighing heavily. It's walking into your living room and sighing, even if unconsciously. It's pancakes. Mixtapes. Paint-less walls. It's the sound of your dog's claws on your new hardwood floor, the unidentifiable smell wafting from your brother's room. It's internal screaming, some external scratch marks. It's rawness, to the bone. It's undeniably sore. Family is (occasionally) letting your sister eat your ice-cream. It's practical shoes, growing your hair after a mum haircut; growing it in the first place. Not talking in the car, flat tyres, green veggies, Macca's cheeseburgers. It's the smell of your father's famous cheese thing, blowing wishes on birthday cakes and making dishes. Family is the desire to be where you're not. It is more than a house or a room. It's around you. In that house, on that street, in that neighbourhood, in that city.
Truthfully, if I didn't share in God's heart for people I'm not sure I would be OK with any of the mess. If I didn't believe in His sovereignty and purpose for my life, I'm not sure who I would be.
Now, I still don't understand the mess, but I try to trust. I do understand the value of family and I believe there is beauty in messiness. So in the mess, I just try and write it out of my system and firmly hold onto John chapter 3, verse 16, 'For God so loved the world...' for the sake of my tapping fingers.
Emily Black is passionate about writing and seeks to write raw, authentic and timely pieces that disturb and comfort, engage justice and fundamentally empower. She is currently studying a Bachelor of Arts at The University of Melbourne and actively desires to pursue a life of untainted freedom through Jesus Christ.
Emily Black's previous articles may be viewed at http://www.pressserviceinternational.org/emily-black.html
