We label our time as if it needs an identity, as if it won't go on until we have given it a name. But our lives, these fragile honest lives, they are not meant to be compartmentalized, they are not meant to be tucked away into sections, into folders. I do not want my hours in file cabinets. I want them all over the place, I want them messy, I want them finding people in the corners of town, wondering how my time got to them.
I want my minutes to be hours to someone else. I want to leave them behind me like well worn jeans, like spaces I filled well. I do not want people to leave knowing me and wish for more. I want them to leave full, wiping their feet on the doormat as they leave, because they know that I do not mind if they leave their mess here.
I have given up the silly irony of being fully understood by everyone. I forfeited in the game of being impressive. Instead, I think I will just be here. Here, where I fill the body I exist in with transparency, slightly off center, very giddy. I do not wish to be everything to everyone, but I do, most days, wish to be seen instead of looked at.
That is something we've gotten really good at, isn’t it? Looking at each other. We love to do it. We ooh and ah at every exterior, but a heart? Ish, don’t show me that up close, that’s messy stuff.
I make plenty of enemies looking at people. But the honest truth is, I could not tell you one single time I had an utter dislike for someone that I really saw. Once you see a person, you come face to face with their mess, and that is when they become human, the kind you want to sit down with.
The unfortunate thing about being a person is that we’re all inherently lousy. And on the outside, we simply can’t cover all of that lousiness up, it’s bound to shine through in one way or another. But the inside, tucked with grace inside the thin layers of who someone is, that’s where God’s doing the screenwriting. And when we brave the unpolished outsides of who someone is to get to the grander story being written within the details, that’s when we see them. Really see them. What a shame it would be to miss out on an entire story and only get someone else’s peer review.
I don't want that. I want to dive into the thick of the mess and read every misspelled word. Because we all deserve someone who reads our unfinished parts and sees us without just looking.