Yeah—I guess I should have expected to be a little bit upset.

Actually, though, I wasn’t just a little bit upset—I cried so much that my eyes are still puffy today.

I felt…despair. I felt…tired on a deep, deep level. And, sure, I guess it could be a touch of the post-baby blues or, more, just the sheer lack of sleep making my insides feel like a hot, frayed nerve, but, equally, life isn’t always easy.

There are periods of life that we just move through, all the while enjoying the process as much as possible, but, simultaneously, knowing that there are better, less challenging times waiting ahead.

I don’t like to fast-forward through my life, even these less than stellar moments, but sometimes I do need to feel that hidden spark of hope. Of light. However small.

And then I get back on social media after a day of not caring or being physically able to care and I see so much, from both sides, about Ferguson. No matter where you stand, this is a historic moment in our country, but, being an empathetic feeler, I see this as a pivotal moment—a crucial moment—when the universe is asking us, will we stand together in our sheer common humanity or will we divide?

Will we be Republicans or Democrats?

Will we be black or white?

Rich or poor?

Or will we be mothers?

Will we be siblings and sons and daughters?

Will we just be people who all, generally, want the same things?

I told my sister recently that the reason many parents aim for their children to get married and have kids of their own is because there’s a built in safety net of love that comes with having a small, loving family to call your own. At the same time, there, really, are no safety nets in life.

Marriages fail. Children…die.

Life is not simple, because people aren’t.

But we all have days of projectile vomiting. We all have days when we want to curl up in the fetal position in our beds sobbing violently (or we do, like I did yesterday). And we all have those little sparks of hope. Of compassion. Of change.

So, as I scroll through my social media newsfeed, I become less interested in people’s black-and-white, cut-and-dry, intellectual responses to this groundbreaking moment in our country’s life and more interested in how we humanly respond.

I was holding my daughter before I put her in bed last night and, after such a rough day, it felt physically painful to love her so much. To need her so much. But that same love also inspires me to be a mother to everyone I meet—and I want those who come into contact with me to remember that, some days, I’m just a little girl crying on her pink and turquoise bed.

So, yes, some days—some periods—of life are full of challenges—and full of opportunities to share our hearts, our empathy—our kindness.

I’m taking my terrible fall yesterday as a mother and a wife—trust me, I was not pretty to be around; again, probably the projectile vomiting—to remind myself of why, most days, I try so hard to simply be nice. To smile. To speak gently. To remember that not everyone is like me—that, truly, no one is—but that this doesn’t mean we can’t share respect. And hope. And generosity of heart.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

Photo: Flickr/Gustavo Medde.

The post “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.” first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

Chapter 32.

I can always tell when I’m just about to fall asleep.

I get this tingling sensation throughout my entire body.

It’s not uncomfortable or scary, but it’s distinct and something that occurs for me only before sleep.

I love it, actually, because I know I’m about to drift away…and rest…

Her heart felt muted by the colorful beauty that surrounded her. It was hard for her to tell whether or not she, too, possessed such miraculous shades of joy and vibrancy or if her typical dream-world state of grey was saturating her waking self too.

She dreams in shades of grey.

She knows that life is a palate of colors and shades and offerings—and choices.

She chooses life.

Over and over again she chooses it, even when it’s distressing in its grief and sorrow and it’s heavy with a profound sense of meaning that no one seems to agree upon.

We spend—no, we waste—waking hours and minutes and years arguing about what God is and about the best way to govern a country and a family. We tell other people how we’ve done it and how our way is special, although we often neglect to properly convey our mistakes and imperfections when we share our recipes for a life of overwhelming success.

So she decided to share her foibles—her flaws, her quirks—the things that make her human and that maker her special.

She wakes up before the sun, in the middle of a dream. She’s not sure, but she thinks she dreamt in color—fiery, dynamic visions that her mind came up with while she slumbered.

She rolls to one side and plants her feet squarely on the cold, hard wood floor. She sits, slightly slumped at her shoulders, for several beats before pressing up to stand and walking lazily to the bathroom.

She looks in the mirror, at her still tired face.

Her eyebrows aren’t smoothed down and she has a tiny patch of dry skin near the corner of her mouth. Fine wisps of hair stick out at nearly invisible angles around her jagged part-line .

She gazes steadily into her blue-green-yellow eyes and sees something—a spark.

She gains momentum as she hurries to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee and some toast with almond butter and honey. She takes her simple breakfast into her bedroom, where her busy fingers take this spark and ignite her thoughts and dreams and hopes into words that she wants others to share with her—that she wants to share with you.

Because she has a feeling that it’s these tiny embers of raw, human blemishes that start fires that will change the world.

Photo: Eneas de Troya/Flickr.

The post The Caged Girls: She’s on Fire. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.