Once upon a time,
When women were birds,
There was the simple understanding
That to sing at dawn
And to sing at dusk
Was to heal the world through joy.
The birds still remember what we have forgotten,
That the world is meant to be celebrated.

-~Terry Tempest Williams

I promised myself that when this was all over- either the pages of my current journal filled or this season of life- I’d burn it. I’d set fire to the laments and pain and messy words. But I think I take it back. There’s actually a lot of beauty in the mess. I re-read old entries and look at the way my pen angrily hit the paper or the slow, thought-out drawl of cursive. Of course I didn’t see the beauty and the honesty and the freedom at the time- hell, I struggle to see it even now- but it’s there. I don’t think messiness gets the credit it deserves. I think we’ve succumbed to the lie that confining our mess and stuffing it into a box in the back of the closet is the way we’re supposed to live. But can I tell you a secret? Messy doesn’t work that way. If you had the choice to be absolutely perfect, would you take it? Would you sacrifice the beauty of your story- the mess, the struggle, the rising victory- for perfection?

~Sarah Baker