Louisiana Chicory

Even as a newborn, my mom said that my eyes were dark brown. I get it honest, a majority of the Watsons and Arringtons have dark hair and dark eyes. We also have some Native American blood in our veins, so it makes sense.

She recalls people always commenting on my big, brown eyes. Of course, that was the pronounced thing about me. I was basically bald until I was two. She had to pierce my ears to keep people from constantly thinking I was a boy.

When my sister was born, she had the most beautiful blue eyes. She was only one of maybe a handful throughout four generations in our family to have blue eyes. I was so jealous. She had the unusual eyes in my family. I just had plain, old, boring brown.

In 2005, I was working as a cashier when Hurricane Katrina came through. Even in North Central Florida, we had people flocking in from Louisiana. Some of their homes had been destroyed. Some were not sure of what they would find upon returning. My heart was breaking for them.

An older man, walking with a cane, walked in one day. I rang him up. When he opened his mouth, the sweetest Creole accent came out. He said, “You have the most beautiful eyes. They’re the color of Louisiana Chicory. They remind me of home.”

Never have I been so thankful that my eyes were brown.

Jumbled Thoughts

I’ve had an internal struggle lately. In trying to explain this today, I got more and more frustrated. My words were jumbled and I couldn’t get my thoughts straight. Thankfully, when I voiced it to my best friend...in a slew of poorly constructed text messages...she just GOT it. Some days, you just need that.

This is what I was trying, and failing, to convey today:

I love my church. I love the people at my church. And this has no real bearing on them whatsoever. My struggle is totally an internal one.

I am a very flawed person. My past is littered with things that many would deem “ugly.” I have a TERRIBLE potty mouth. My life is messy. And you know what? I LOVE it. I love even the ugly things in my past and present...because they have gotten me exactly where I am today. I love my messy life.

Hiding those sides of myself seems insincere.

To boot, as a writer, as a blogger, as a creative person (with many creative outlets), by hiding the messy parts, I feel like I do a disservice to anyone who reads my posts or follows me.

I never want to feel like I need to conform to a certain image or feel like I cannot talk about certain subject matter. I don’t want to feel censored. Or feel like someone is going to scrutinize me...or worse, go tattle to my mom (which seems ludicrous, as I’m 33...but it HAS happened).

But on the same token, I never--in any way--want to cause someone else to stumble. I know that I have people looking up to me...and thus, the struggle.

And as I’ve said...this is very much an internal struggle, not one placed upon me by anyone in the church. This post has served really as just trying to gather and organize my thoughts. In fact, this evening, I received some very sweet, encouraging words from a member of our Pastoral Staff in regards to this.

As I’ve said a million times. I’m trying. And this hasn’t been an easy process. But I’m trying.