Just looked back through all of my profile pictures on FB, back on photos as old as 8 years. I see a girl who wanted to be wanted, a girl who liked herself, and wanted to be liked by herself. She sought adventure in foreign lands, foreign relationships, and in nature. She had always been a child of nature, long before she even knew she was being called. She fell in love, with people, with life, with old churches, her best friend. She’s always wanted more from life, somehow she got addicted to the adrenaline of adventure and being in contact with the strange. She loved art, and learned how to express her beautiful soul. And then she tried to fit in, to belong, be accepted and loved by others. She projected an image of success, youth, potential, direction, passion, certainty, when deep inside she was torn apart, fighting for the faith that had been challenged forever. She grew wings for her own liberation, experimented, played with herself and with danger, not with caution but with an all-in defiance of reason. She had rocks, like her friends whom she keeps until now, and hope. Her everlasting hope that maybe God is there. She plunged into the dark headfirst, broke her wings. She thought it was for love, but yes it was. She broke her wings but not her soul. She found the pure. Pure loss and nothingness. She tried again.
And this is the final photo on her profile, which she doesn’t plan to change anytime soon.