a letter for 35
more like a rant for 35——
It has been 9 months of island living. I have reveled in all of its wonder. It is not hard to find God here. It is not grand or dripping in extravagance. It is a strike of ordinary. It is a quiet luxury of a whisper. A spectacle of blue and green. A dark sky with shooting stars layering the vault of heaven. It is the nonchalant sound of coqui frogs. It is the 9 to 5 embrace behind a dreamy backdrop. It is not about looking perfectly polished but the human act of loving what is right in front of you. In times of unrest, we become more aware of the privilege of ease. These days I am a little greedy with my life. I do love this space of the internet and the courage it has given me. I always want to share all the things I am writing about but lately God is showing me how to be patient with the release. I have arrived at chapter 35. Sometimes I don’t think I know anything about anything. I am doing all this growing and sometimes I think it is unnecessary but then I talk to someone who is 22 or even 25 maybe even 30, I leave the conversation and think— oh yeah, I’m grown on the outside but I’m really grown in my mind too! haha! Thank God for clarity and the renewing of my mind. They say that comes with age but I think it comes when you realize who God is. I really hope that comes through in my writing too. Every birthday I write a journal entry. I ponder on the endless joy of what I’ve found and write my birthday lessons in pretty poems. I do not have a pretty poem for 35. I am truth down right now. I am 35, single, and I have a 14 year old daughter. There’s soccer practice, games and guilt on why I didn’t drop her off for youth night. I live with and help my grandparents, while working full time. I have been writing another book about the joy of waiting, yet I don’t have a single bone in me that is patient. I should have named my daughter Onosa’i, she is the reminder of why I need patience. I am writing about all the anger that has been passed down. I am writing my grandmother’s story and it is full of honor and horror. I am starting a new career and still think damn, I need to finish school. I am no longer waiting for a man, but did I ever?!? I want to write about my culture and my malu in full truth without offending the people I come from. I am full of hope and so much doubt. I am constantly grinding the gospel of self out of me so that the gospel of Jesus Christ lives. I wonder if I sound trite. If my words have become redundant. If my thoughts have wore itself out. On days when no one applauds me for obeying, I’ll keep my eyes on the Lord and my heart robust with contentment. I realize at 35 the idea of being “most beautiful, and fairest of them all” is a demonic lie to keep women unsatisfied with the work of our Creator. It only cultivates self-hatred and self destruction and strife among other women. I love every inch of His work on me. Not in vanity but I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified. (Corinthians 9:27) I’m still balancing and overcoming and learning and working out my own salvation at 35 and please know it has been very humbling—
My life isn’t a brand. My daughter isn’t content. My creativity ebbs and flows. My most influential platform is the sacred square footage I call home. My life is not my own, and I thank God for that.
I am writing you love letters from Hilo.
I pray you read this with hope and love. With joy and expectation— knowing Jesus loves you but more importantly He needs you to grow up— in your word reading, praying, believing, hoping, looking for His return.
All my love,
G.
