Wednesday, May 6, 2009
My life is perfect.
When I was five years old, I conned a neighbor into removing my training wheels, since my father had refused.
It was perfect.
Later that day, my friends Big Sister, Christy, took me to the top of a hill, and let me go. She was teaching me.
To take my time…the scar on my knee is my constant reminder.
It really was perfect.
I am perfect.
My hair is dry since the second Baby was born, and the cancer came and went. Oh, yes… and the ass of my pajama pants tore open after a stressful few weeks. (Beer has more calories than you’d think, and they add up quickly). Also, I can’t find my cleavage.
It’s sitting politely here in front of me…just below my belly button…good to know where THAT came from!
I am now more approachable than ever before, and the people in my life love me exactly the way I am.
It’s so perfect.
This life is perfectly mine.
Your life is perfectly yours.
The entire thing, for all that it is, all that it was, and all that it has the potential to be…are perfect.