So many times the path curved, and she couldn’t see past the trees. She lost count of all the moments she had to believe in and trust the road ahead. There were so many times she had been terrified of screwing it up and ruining everything.
How many times she had feared the turn, the drop, or the risk. How often she’d been left with no choice but to have faith that the universe would have her back.
She did most of her growing in those moments — at the very bottom — than she ever did at the top. Every time she slipped and lost her balance, they were there. God had blessed her with hands to help her up and dust her off. Those hands formed the foundation where she stood.
She had always had what she needed, because wherever she had been, she was there. With strength inside of her, and others in front, to mirror back the beautiful qualities this life had marked her with.
Those marks looked like scars to untrained eyes, but she had learned to wear them with pride, because they were the only proof of what she had survived. Sharp tongues and closed fists, the emptiness of everything and the everything of nothing.
She had not been broken by the beatings of her heart, but rather somehow pierced together by the magnificent thread that wove itself through every bit of it. These difficult moments had not been in vain. They had molded her into exactly who God had intended her to be. And no one could snuff or dull the light that shined inside her.