August 16, 2015

The Visitor Who Might Change Everything.


It seems like a day much like any other.

You wake up with funny hair and sleepy eyes. Head to the bathroom. Try to wake yourself up.

Stir yourself into life.

Only today, there’s a little excitement in the air, because you have a guest coming over. Someone you’ve been looking forward to meeting forever.

So you take extra care getting yourself ready, because first impressions count.

You drink your coffee, a slight shake in your hand making the liquid ripple and shine. Then you’re quick to tidy up and make sure everything’s in its place.

The wait is a special kind of torture. You stand up, you sit down. You do a loop of the room and glance out of the window. Put on some music then can’t decide what to listen to or what your guest might like. You lie down and close your eyes, feeling your heart beating strong in your chest. You try to breathe deep, because you’ve heard that’s what you’re supposed to do.

Then it’s ten minutes to go, and it’s getting real.

They could be early, so you stay close to the window and throw glances outside like a kid waiting for the sound of sleigh bells at Christmas.

Then a car pulls up, of a type you’ve never seen before.

The pause before they open the car door is excruciating. So close and still so far. Part of you wants to hide, another part wants to throw up, and another part wants to jump up and down. Come on already.

Then you see them.

Oh boy.

The same; but different.

You recognize the features, but they feel more together, now.

The way they carry themselves as they walk from the car seems familiar, but there’s a grace to it. A mastery, and a mouth ready to smile. You can’t quite put your finger on what or how, but it’s there.

Your guest, who you can scarcely believe is real, is you. Not you as you are today, but you from another time or place. A you who’s been through the struggle. A you who’s figured out who you are, down in your bones. A you who knows what really matters. A you who knows what you’re capable of achieving. A you who loves fully. A you who feels deeply. A you who lives richly.

They disappear from view as they approach your front door, and you wait for the knock that tells you this is really happening. When it comes, you notice your breath stick tightly in your chest.

Butterflies like you haven’t felt in years.

You pause for just a moment, and in a split second that’s too quick to have a name you even ask yourself if you could get away with pretending you’re out. Forget the whole thing, play it safe.

But you open the door anyway.

And there they are, a smile spreading from the inside.

Eyes sparkling with promise.

You reach out your hand, fumbling with the words, “Hi, please come in.”

They take your hand gratefully, and go one step further and hug you.

It’s okay,” they say. “It’s so good to see you.”

They’re warm in your arms, but not hot. Flowing. Radiant even. How do they do that, you wonder.

You invite them through, and offer them a drink. Hot or cold? Tea or coffee? You have no idea what their preferences might be, but they say, “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” and smile sweetly.

You nervously make the drinks, wondering just what you’ve got yourself into, bringing the cups through and focusing on placing them down without spilling anything.

Thank you so much for this,”, they say.

You sit close, but not too close. Familiar, but not too familiar. They seem nourished. Heart full and mind alive.

“I’ve come a long way to tell you something. Something you need to hear.”

The message might be one that makes you feel not quite so alone. Maybe they want to tell you that it’s all worth it. Perhaps they want you know that you’re not unworthy of love. Or maybe they want to tell you that you’ve barely scraped the surface of your capability.

Whatever the message, it’s for you and you alone.

It’s a message that exists because your future hasn’t been written yet.

Possibility rains down.

So, what is it that they really want you to know?


Relephant Read:

Do this to Know what you Really want from Life.


Author: Steve Errey

Editor: Alli Sarazen

Photo: Bill Strained/Flickr


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