Honesty Pants

Expectation is the horizon of lazy fog that makes truth hard to see.
And at this place,
Diamonds are the anticipated flowers that bloom in spring but
You’re stuck in winter while everyone else is
Snagging their M.R.S. degree

And I know we live in Mennonite mating country
But I don’t think your smile was supposed to just grace this tiny spectrum of the globe so
When you’re sad because this Tabor shoe factory isn’t producing your kind of kicks
Remember that
Life is better lived barefoot anyway.

And when you’re teetering on the edge of giving in
Just to go out
With good instead of Godly
And when you’re holding hands with forgetfulness and hopelessness
Remember that those things are the children of deceitfulness

Because the truth is
There’s beauty in the blank canvas of your porcelain skin
Pride in your ponytail, swagger in your sweats.

And an honest hope in your heart that not just someday, but someday soon, a man will jump instead of fall into love

With
The joy that breathes life into your lips
The empathy deep within your eyes
The kindness in your convictions
And the heartbreak that has been held in your hands

Because once your hands know heartbreak
They also know something worth holding
And I know you feel beyond repair but
The cross already took care of all your healing so

Maybe every Cinderella should stop waiting to be rescued
And start praying to be redeemed
And stop asking for what she wants
And start begging for what she needs.

Because even though this place and these people
Tell you that there’s something wrong with you
The only thing wrong
Is the lie we’ve all failed to argue
Because

Your laugh will be the alarm clock that will wake up his smile
And his smile is the sunrise that will sweetly whisper away
This lingering fog of naïve expectation

Making a way to see that
Yes, we’re all broken
But God is really into glue
Making a way to see that
Yes, we’re all used up and washed out
But God is making all things new
Making a way to see that
Yes, we’re all impatient
But God is eternal and the author of time
And He’s the creator of that man
Who will someday point and you and say
She’s mine