Tuesday morning when I went on lunch I had a text from a friend who challenges me in immense (good) ways. The text read: inside cover for new journal–all the pieces are beautiful.

I grimaced. 

Here’s the thing: last weekend I attended a conference (that I am about to not really talk about at all) but what I will say is that I had time and space and safety to sit in and push into some things that I’ve never really made time for or wanted to make time for.

And the word that is probably the most scribbled through my journal after the 3 days?
Ugly.

All of it felt so very ugly, it felt gritty and dirty and something I didn’t want to be attached too. It felt off balance and off putting and if I am being honest the thoughts and realizations felt selfish and self entered.

The complete and utter opposite of beautiful.

I am a supreme advocate that every scrape, bruise and wound adds to the story. Something happened in your life and to get to the other side you had to walk through a thing and maybe got a little beat up in the way.

But you got through. 

And even if you are in the middle of something right now, if you try really, really hard you can maybe find even one thing that is the sunny day in the midst of the rain.

I also believe that, that sunny day looks different for everyone. Everyone’s beauty and truth is different. Which, of course is what leads me back to myself grimacing at the statement “all the pieces are beautiful”. 

There is a limit to the things in my life I deem beautiful, and I found said limit this weekend. 

(I wish you could see how many times I have gone out of this document and tried to distract myself from writing these words.)

It’s because of that, my need for distraction from my own words, that I know there is more to the story. If it was finished then it would be easy. When something is finished you see the beginning, the middle and the end. You see every part and you know where every path lead. But man, when you believe you already made it to the end of the path only to realize you are in the middle?

Woof.

I’ve been fighting the truth in my life that doesn’t seem true.

One of my favorite movies of all time is “The American President” and at the very end of the movie when everything has gone awry and his girlfriend left and his popularity is down, the president makes a speech, a beautiful speech. You see through the whole movie he was silent. He said no comment a lot. So the opposition spoke for him. He ends that speech  with a declarative truth:

“My name is Andrew Shepherd and I am the president.”

The opposition speaks so much for us that we don’t even know what’s true even though is it true. Completely and utterly true. We have to speak it.

I am relearning truths right now, because I’ve said no comment for so long. 

So, My name is Meg Reeve and all of it, every piece, is beautiful.