‘Aua le galo
Courage is not easily lived as it is said. Grace is not easily held in disagreeable moments. Integrity is not easily seen in dishonorable times. I can hope that my life will be displayed as REAL on and off the screen. Social media will try to convince you that the most relevant thing in life is your “brand” and not your people. The flex in the face of technocracy: my relationships and friendships are deep in real life. It is ironic because my entire instagram has become my brand. My writing. My work. My art. These days I have become very particular in sharing all of my joys. I have kept some of those moments hidden for my enjoyment or for the people I think deserve those tiny pleasures of my life. At 34 life has been humbling me. Everytime my ego feels the tension of showing somebody who I am, I remember my name no longer fits in those spaces that give it no validity. In order to protect my heart I must always be willing to give the courage of releasing grace so that my integrity is held in place. I’m ten toes down in my choices and older now. Some of those choices I’ve had to sit with for a long time; some of them I am always bringing to the feet of Jesus. Oh, I promise you, I’ve been reframing the shadow work within my life. I’m in the part of my life where I am attempting to reprogram my mind to respond, act and love but especially obey the word of God. It hasn’t been an easy task. Especially when the world keeps trying me. I have to stop nurturing my fallen nature. My bark is loud and angry. The daily labor I must plow within the inner work of my life if I choose to build my faith in God's solid truth. ‘Aua le galo! (don’t forget) My grandma would say this over the phone to me when I called her. She reminded me of my name— don’t forget. It has been a season of trying to forget. And if I am being honest I have been wanting to forget the last 2 years as this one ends. The regret held me in remembrance to my disobedience. I thought if I could forget everything…. everything—God would just give me back my heart. It has been the hardest 2 years of my life yet. And yet God is doing something interesting in me. God is reminding me I am right where I need to be. At 34. Alone but never lonely. Companionship is on the other side of the altar of His love. If I write everyday as an act of emptying myself— what have I filled this heart back up with? ‘Aua le galo! (don’t forget)
This altar is dirty and smells of earth. The dirt is on my hands as I face the ground. The dust around me fills my lungs. Is this what I am made of? Altar, dirt and dust. My heart and body are a sacrifice. When I am angry. When am I being talked about. When I am unnoticeable. When my beauty is debated. When my worthiness is called into question. Even if I am the bad thing, as I sure I am, sometimes. Even when I burn with shame. I am human. Neither sick nor hungry, just broken. Don’t forget about me. God. Don’t forget about me. ‘Aua le galo! Leigaloimoe! ‘Aua le galo!
But Zion said, “I don’t get it. God has left me.
My Master has forgotten I even exist.”
“Can a mother forget the infant at her breast,
walk away from the baby she bore?
But even if mothers forget,
I’d never forget you—never.
Look, I’ve written your names on the backs of my hands.
The walls you’re rebuilding are never out of my sight.
Your builders are faster than your wreckers.
The demolition crews are gone for good.
Look up, look around, look well!
See them all gathering, coming to you?
As sure as I am the living God”—God’s Decree—
“you’re going to put them on like so much jewelry,
you’re going to use them to dress up like a bride.
Isaiah 49: 14-18 (msg)
‘Aua le galo ‘iā te ‘outou ‘ona agalelei ma alolofa Atu; auā o taulaga fa’apenā e fiafia ai le Atua.
Eperu 13:16
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.
