For me, growing up was a lot like the ocean.

I was born and raised in Florida and the salty air still hangs in my memories.

The waves were much bigger then.

I can still remember…

I am small and looking up.

I am anticipating that which is greater than me.

The foamy water breaks over and around me, swallowing me up.

Taking me in, carrying me out, cradling me in it’s arms.

I am a child.

And I can feel that. And it scares me.

Everything fits in cardboard boxes. We are moving again. I am the new girl.

But I don’t feel new. I just feel strange.

People are looking-

the neighbors, the teachers, the kids in my classes, the parents of the kids in my classes.

I am a little girl in a big place.

And their looking feels more like watching.

Their curiosity feels more like suspicion.

Their questions more like an investigation.

I am a criminal.

I have done nothing wrong, but I am wrong.

And they all know it.

Or so I think.

The waves were much bigger then.

But I grow and I stretch and I lengthen.

 I dig my toes in the damp sand and stand tall.

I look up and anticipate that which is greater than me.

High school.

Boys. Friends. Am I good enough?

One boy. One best friend.

No.

The truth breaks over and around me, swallowing me up.

And I am drowning.

I am walking down the mile long hallway and I see them.

The teachers, the kids in my classes, the boyfriend, the best friend.

We are all underwater. And none of us know how to swim. We are all drowning.

We are all dead.

I look up at that which is greater than me.

Taking me in, carrying me out, cradling me in His arms.

 I am a child. I am not a criminal. The answer is yes.

And I can feel that.

 And I can float.