>"…only diamonds remain."

>I get in this specific mood when I am listening to John Mayer. In one of my favorite novels, The Special Topics in Calamity Physics (hint: it’s not about the subject of physics), the main character, Blue, describes these certain moods as “Bourbon Moods” in reference to her father. Although my veins are not pumping bourbon – it’s usually water – I do, however, feel that I am pumping with some kind of liquid. One that leaks nothing but words full of prose – sometimes poetry – and can only be shut off when I am brought back to the reality of what John Mayer is singing through my speakers. I am typically hooked to the beat; typing in furiosity with it, attempting not to lack in rhythm. It is only when that specific mood peaks and tips, I can get out what I feel or am aiming to feel.

My aim on this specific night, in this specific mood with John Mayer playing, is one that creaks like a footstep in an old house. That type of house that creaks only at the top of the stairs, and somehow every other step, so when you’re trying to make your escape, you are given away before you hit the front door. Most of the time, someone in the household will flip on the lightswitch, ask what the heck you are doing and tell you to go back to your room. Then you will either:

A. Methodically think of another way to escape.
B. Try again in two weeks when it is no longer fresh in your mother or fathers mind.
C. Probably not attempt that again.

Granted, maybe you’re an option “D.” and you may conjure something beyond belief to escape. I do not know. I think I was more of an option “A.” person back in high school. You know, that time before Jesus. That time where a moral compass was non-existent and logic was always emptied somewhere between my tripping in high heels that I was crazy for wearing or when I was covered in makeup too heavy for my face. It is this “beautiful” time in high school that I learned that I never was defined by anything. I instead put my definition into such things as alcohol and boys who would never remember my name unless they were bored and/or heartbroken by some other girl (I believe that is what one calls a “Rebound Girl”).

To put it plainly, I was a messed up, trainwreck, lame excuse for a 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 year old.

I did not care about my image… or maybe I did. I think I cared in a way that Hollywood or Sunset Boulevard or “Who’s who” cares. I honestly believed that my self worth was set into my group of friends who did the “cool” thing by getting a phone call of a local party or being able to get into a club VIP – when I wasn’t even of age. These “friends”, however much they listened to my venting, provided a good laugh, had great style, were not “friends”. And I mean, honestly, who did I think I was? Given my body type even at the age of 21, I was even smaller then. I know I looked like a seven-year-old walking in high heels with poorly applied makeup speared upon my face. I was the Dollar Tree princess, trying desperately to be the one, with enough conformity, would become one of those who fit right into the Sunset Boulevard of the high school hallways.

I never did and crap… it was hard. It was hard to make these futile attempts and to never see the path I was following; the hole I was digging for myself. I was becoming the dead that would bury the dead. I was the epitome of everything I never wanted to be… it went so unrecognized. The incredible part in it all was that God was getting my attention through a lot of it. Of course, I did not see this through the blurred vision or through the blaring music of a party or through a stupid boy’s pretty, petty, meaningless little words. I’ll give you examples:

Getting caught sneaking out, wrecking my car, nearly losing a toe (not kidding), lies the smell of sulfur floating to the surface (my poor mother).

That is only to name of a few. I guess those are the more intense ones, and honestly, I do not know why I never picked up on them then. He was constantly trying to stop my footsteps (literally… that whole toe thing was terrible), and I never once considered that fact when I’d be sitting there every Sunday morning in church. Not once in the two years I had been there. It wasn’t until graduation rolled around and my “friends” failed at making phone calls in my direction and my weekends were spent holed up in my room. I was alone. Utterly alone.

The Sunday morning it all finally hit can be described as that feeling you get during a Math problem or putting together some furniture with one too many bolts and screws – you ignored the instructions the entire time. I literally was like, “Oh, yeah… this is it.” I finally received Jesus into my heart, but not only that, I literally wanted him to transform me. I wanted this to be real, and He did, too. Sure, I still messed up along the way. Being part of the world for those past 18 years was extremely hard to break away from. I had to cut ties that suddenly wanted back into my life and God really had to continue to work on me. I just had to be willing, and majority of the time I was. I started to feel real conviction. I started to understand what a moral compass is and God being the one direction, it was fantastic. It was a relief. I was so tired of doing it my own way. I was worn out from digging and never finding anything.

I think the worst part and the longest thing that had to work itself through was learning how to forgive myself. First, I had to have God work on that, then I had to cut out the people that kept wanting to remind me of the wretch I was. It took a long time… a very long time to forgive myself. But now, now it feels so amazing to not do this on my own.I know now the mistakes in my story have now turned around to glorify my God. He truly works everything out for my good.

As for the creaks in my house and constantly trying to escape, my repetitive and failed attempts in escaping were supposed to happen. God will be your creak when you’re trying to get away, and He will always be the one to turn on the light and to tell you to go back. Don’t resist. It is a beautiful thing. Even if you don’t recognize it now.

One of the best ways to describe it is as John Mayer sings: “But this morning, there’s a calm I can’t explain. The rock candy’s melted, only diamonds now remain.”

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