Black.
Besides, I liked black. And with my black shirt, gypsy skirt, funky boots over hose, I wore it all out black. One day some high school girls giggled with a, “Are you going to a funeral?”, like something was funny. “No, I just like black”, I shrugged, because they wouldn’t understand because I didn't really understand either.
And I didn’t care.
Some days I’d wear only one, long, dangling earring. Just one. Or several bracelets going up my arm, anything other than normal, to be different. Because truth be told, I cared, I just didn’t want to care.
But then we moved to Georgia and my hair wasn’t allowed to defy gravity and my clothes were forced to tone down. But I still used them. My clothes were a weapon as a way to say “I’m still angry!” And at first I was, but secretly anger slipped out the back door.
Funny thing is, I didn’t know exactly why I was angry. One minute things seemed fine until there it was. Irritated. Grating my nerves. Angry. And the world seemed right jilted and skewed.
Anger and angst required energy to fuel it and I eventually grew weary of it. But I wasn’t ready to give in. I wanted to "win" the battle, whatever the victory was supposed to be, I'm sure I'd know it. When I won.
I didn’t tell you about the best friend I left in Dallas. Or her Mom who seemed the coolest. Or my friend and I's secret names. Mine was Destiny. I had sketch pads and would draw or doodle thoughts.
And my soul had a battle which raged in my heart but in hindsight it was a spiritual war. All out armor denting, war.
And the thing with souls--they're strong.
My family and I fought and they seemed to think it was my friend's fault but I knew how I was part of it. How I had my own mind and will and used it, against them, against the world, against myself. We fought over clothes, how I dressed, how I looked and I raged against it. Escaping the battle was a strong draw which pulled me, always away. Always apart.
The hardest part isn't the battles, the who's of it, the people faces but recognizing how it's a spirit behind all things.
How it's a matter of walking with a Lamp to impart night, how dark storms need heavenly Reign, how crooked paths are made straight, how I needed to exchange earthly lures for a Glorious cure and I only needed to quietly search out Light.
I walked the crooked path many years past punk until it ended me, so He could be.
There's a way to minister, to seek out the wounded, look the outcast in the eye and bring Light near to flicker a flame in darkness. And how the way of overcoming is by way of Life and choosing the Way to conquer the night.
"In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." John 1:4
"You, LORD, are my lamp; the LORD turns my darkness into light." 2 Samuel 22:29
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