The Writing On The Wall

When I was young I lived in a big lovely house, on a big lovely hill, with a big lovely view.
It was very amazing.
And in this big lovely house, on a big lovely hill, with a big lovely view I had a very special room.
Because I got to make it up and I got to plan it.

It was pink and green. Hot pink and hot green. With white cabinetry and a built-in desk.
I had a white, four poster canopy bed and fluffy pillows. It was a basement room with no windows, which made for kind of dangerous, but very sound sleeping. My brother and sisters had special rooms, too. With weird things like carpet on the walls, and funky murals. It was very fun!

But I had something that made my room the best ever...

Double closet doors covered in a material that I could draw on.
With marker.
And then wipe off and draw again.

Since I don't really draw... at all... it was mostly about writing for me. Sometimes I would fill both closet doors with writing. Words I liked, things I wanted to remember, stuff to think about, feelings, ideas, goals, dreams, who I wanted to be.

And when my friends were over we would spend hours in my room drawing, or coloring, or writing, or scribbling whatever we wanted and then wiping it off and starting again. We played Hangman, and Tic-Tac-Toe, and any other games that you draw out. We planned our lives, our boys, our kids, our houses, and our spaces. There were lots of initials and plus signs. But no math beyond Me + My Friend = Very, Very Best Friends Forever. Or Me + The Boy = True Love Always. In a heart.

And when I was feeling especially brave I would practice my first name with the last name of the boy I liked. You know, just to see how they might fit together if Once Upon A Time ever came. Then I could erase it and no one would ever know. Everything was accompanied by crudely drawn pictures of flowers and sunshine. It was magical in all the right ways.

But as life happened, my family eventually moved from that house. And I began to grow up. It wasn't long before the writing, the coloring, the scribbling, the words, the ideas, the dreams, the school girl math, and the flowers and sunshine began to fade.

Until one day the memory of my magical closet doors was tucked deeply away.
So deeply that I had completely forgotten about them.

Recently I moved into an apartment.
With double closet doors.
That I can write on and then erase.
Because they are mirrors.

I didn't make the connection between my childhood closet doors and these closet doors right away. In fact, I didn't tap into that part of my brain for months. But it happened.

It started one day when I came across a quote that was really meaningful to me. A quote that I wanted to reflect on. Every day. So I wrote it at the top of my mirror:

"Communication with Heavenly Father is not a trivial matter. It is a sacred privilege." 

It sits there. And I read it every day and am reminded that I want to pray more meaningfully and deeply.
And more importantly, I want to always listen.


A few days later I needed a positive affirmation to remind me of my worth. So at the top of the other side of the closet I wrote:

"I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father, who loves me, and I love Him." 

(I see it every day and remember that no matter what anyone says, I am valuable.)

Then a few days later I revisited some scripture passages that have have become personally significant to me over the past year. They had started to fade and I didn't want them to. So on the mirror I wrote their references and little reminder clues about each one.

God knows my needs; He will be my light in the wilderness; He will not give stones if I ask for bread.

(I see it every day and remember that my Father in Heaven in acutely aware of me and my struggles. 

He will not let me down or forsake me. And He is very involved in the details of my life.)

Shortly after that, while praying, and trying very hard to listen, I had some thoughts come into my mind. I knew I needed a way to remain focused on them. So I added some key words to my mirror.

Do not worry.    Trust.    Faith.

(I see it every day and remember that God plans better for me than I plan for myself.)

Another week or two later I heard some things I really needed to hear. And remembered some things I really needed to remember. So I made myself a little note to add them to the mirror. And I did.

More doing.    First observe, then serve.    Leave people better than you found them.

(I see it every day and remember that I need to take action. And care for others.)

...................................................................................................................................................................

And then the flashback came.
Like a flood.
And for a few brief moments I was a young girl again, back in my room, with a marker in my hand.
Dreaming, hoping, planning, wishing.
And writing on the wall.

It was powerful. Because I had accidentally and naturally stumbled on a part of me. A part of me that I had forgotten.

I don't think I ever meant to forget writing on the wall. In fact, I'm pretty sure I never completely did. Because for years I have written notes to myself. With my finger. On shower doors covered in steam. I have written my name, kid's names, friend's names, business names, quotes, ideas, and deep thoughts and feelings that have only come in the solitude of a hot, steamy shower. All notes easily erased with just a splash of water.

But what I had forgotten was the connection. The connection between how I was writing and what I was writing. The connection between the me I had become and the me that time and experience had obscured.
The learning, thinking, dreaming, planning, creative me.

...................................................................................................................................................................

By now my mirrors are getting pretty full of little things like,

     Rejoice and be glad in today.    Shine.    Strength to overcome; Courage to become.    

And there is still one side of the mirror that has a big empty space in the middle. 

So I can make sure my outfits match.
And fit.

But the other side? Well, it looks like this... 

Every day I see things that keep me focused on where I am going. Instead of where I have been.

Things that keep me remembering who I have been all along.

And in a corner, near the bottom, is this...

A crudely drawn flower.
Just like I've been drawing since I was a young girl in a big lovely house, on a big lovely hill, with a big lovely view.
Hot pink and hot green.