Part of the change in how I view my life has involved color.  Suddenly, my big-picture view of people has become this explosive masterpiece of color and design representing every story; all their pain, all their joyful moments and passions, so much of life–it’s taken me a while, but I’m finally coming around to examining my own picture, to seeing the colors in me.

I am stitched together with a multitude of colors in every shade; some bolder than others, some a light dusting, others bright streaks.

I am the color of questions–not the feather-light comforting shade, but the deep, frantic brooding hue that begs to be heard, answered, reflected upon and turned over and over until it is resolved.

I am the color of absence–a bold, heavy flavor that makes one feel its weight.  It’s not merely the absence of necessities or necessary people, it’s the absence of me–the necessity of separation, the protective barriers I keep hitting my head on, the distance between me and you and us and the rest of the world from each other.

I am the fiery hue of passion, of bold splashes of a heart that cannot be left unheard, of words that are desperate to be said and a constant cry to be a voice for the voiceless–I have the softened edges of compassion, of an untamable desire to help the helpless, of the profusely bleeding heart that wants to leave no stone unturned and no person unloved.

I am a rainbow of quirks that lights me up like a neon sign. Against the odds, the weird looks, amidst the head-shaking and knowing smiles, through the unforgettably deep and dark parts of me, I shine.

I am every color, every question, every shade–and I’m learning to trust the One who holds the paintbrush.