woody woodpecker and alice in wonderland are ballers.

i sprawl out on the floor and drink hot tea, listening to old throwbacks on pandora.
songs from my childhood.
songs i remember fondly.
they streamed steadily, endlessly, always. streamed from the speakers in the suburban my mom drove.
streamed from the radio in the family room.
well, "the den,"rather.
we never called it a family room.
(actually, the first time i heard the term "family room" it confused me. i wondered why the family unit would denominate a room after itself in the family's own home.)

i remember the den.
it was all wooden: wooden floors, wooden bookshelves, wooden panels of wormwood.
the wormwood panels had lots of little holes everywhere...holes about the size of a wormhole you'd find in a red shiny apple.
i convinced myself as a little girl that a woodpecker must've gotten loose in our house,
flown wildly on a rampage,
ruined our walls.

and that made me mad.
so i didn't like woodpeckers much.
not only because of the walls, but also because they would wake me up early in the morning.
a lot.
i remember opening my window and yelling at the noisy birds pecking vehemently on the nearby tree.
i remember watching them fly off when i yelled; they were bewildered.
ah, the sweet nectar of victory! euphoria.

but then............. i couldn't go back to sleep.
thus,
i would go downstairs
to the den
and watch cartoons.

..although i must confess i avoided woody woodpecker. usually.

it's funny the things i remember, if i try. i remember i felt
safe,
secure,
snug as a bug in a rug.


i was snug alright. and i liked it that way.






until one day-- i don't exactly know when --things changed.
yes, things changed.
suddenly, the snugness overwhelmed me.
it constrained me.
i couldn't breathe.

i began to outgrow my surroundings.
the process? painful.
i outgrew the wormwood.
i outgrew my bed, and the many pillows with it.
i outgrew my window, the serendipitous urge to open it and scare the birds away.
i outgrew my mother's music.
i even outgrew my mother.

i outgrew it all, and FAST. it happened just like that, like when alice drank the DRINK ME bottle.

i outgrew it.
all of it.

i outgrew my home.
so i left.
i came to a place where i knew no one.
it was hard.

at first, i failed.

failure.

in failure, i got to know our god: he at his strongest, me at my weakest. ..from a place of complete and utter dependence.
i had a thirst and a need for him. for the first time, he was real.
i was humbled, i grew strong.
i am strong.
i don't know how i missed him all that time; he was there all along.
i guess i just finally heard him; not just listened. there's a difference between hearing and listening.
i felt him there, i think.
i sought him, leveled with him and wrestled with hard thoughts and shortcomings and failures and the need to control and hide and live insatiably, restlessly.
he embraced me and lifted me up: prized, full of joy and love. forgiven.

victory.

i am the reverse alice. she grew small first, then returned to her normal size at the end of it all.
i grew big, too big for my own good.
but i've taken a sip of DRINK ME potion, and i'm back to normal size.
things are not the same as they were; this is good. life is different. different in a good way.
and now, looking back, i remember.
i remember my home, and i smile.

i remember.




philippians 33- everything i've gained is worthless compared to the value of knowing christ. simply knowing him, living him.
i'm trading my life.