I feel like a cloud stretched thin, strands of cotton candy pulled across an azure sky. Acquaintances interpret the shapes I’ve been stretched into, their own ink-blot testing. Some of the assessments are kind, taking into account the challenges of motherhood and personal life; others deal harshly in whispers heard from miles away.
I listen and try to recompose myself into an acceptable shape.
Clouds develop by gathering water in the right atmospheric conditions, whereas people amass formative experiences. Rest allows the brain to put everything in its proper place, to reformat. Life has been so hectic of late that what little down-time I experience provides inadequate rest. Unpleasant dreams jolt me awake to lie shaking and filled with worry. My composition is scattered, tumultuous, and confused.
I know to find comfort in Faith. Not once does God tell his children to stress or worry. Instead…
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