Rubberbands can only stretch so far...

I was the white girl on free and reduced lunch who ate peanut butter off a butter knife for a snack. I did my homework by candle light for a couple of days and didn't mind. My parents were divorced. My mother's paycheck barely paid (and sometimes didn't pay) the bills. I didn't even know I fell into the category of white trash girl.

I  just loved my mommy. Ya know blood runs thicker than water...I am blood and I still wanted to belong so bad in my family...to feel like my loyalty to them would pay off one day.

 It never really has.   

I survived being stretched then...even though I didn't even know what that meant...what it would mean later.

I have always been the person who felt like a polka dot among the stripes...out of sorts, out of place and not sure which upholstery would best manufacture a striped me. I have fought hard to create a version others would like and compromised...and it cost me a different kind of stretching. The kind that stings from consequence.

All the while struggling to accept God's whisper, "You are significant because I made you. You are my child. I have better for you. Listen to me, trust me."

Me: "I do God, but I feel I am about to snap or break off...ya know a rubber band can only be pulled so far."

His response in my life has not been to stop stretching me. All the pulling, tugging, rearranging has brought me closer to understanding Him...closer to Him, period.


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