Earlier this year I thought that starting was the hardest part for me. I said it was. I always had to put more thought into it. It just seemed that it was more work, but I always did it with no problem. As much as I tried to pride myself by saying it was hard it wasn’t. Starting never was. I just didn’t want to admit my faults.
The beginning of the story is perhaps where the most thought occurs, but it is also the easiest thought. I said that starting was the hardest part and then proceeded to not finish at all. Starting may be hard, but at least I can do that. I can’t end at all. Maybe the beginning is difficult sometimes, taking new steps and not knowing where your feet might land. But the end is even more terrifying. The end is the moment you realize that a new beginning is on its way. It’s the way my mind races as I attempt to figure out what to do next, where to go, how to seek hope – how to seek life from its very creator. It’s learning how to move on, how to let go of the old and wondering what the new might bring.
The end is the moment you take things away, when you’re supposed figure out what you’ve learned, when you realize that you can’t always do that. It’s seeing what has been set in front of you the entire time. Starting is thought, it floods my brain but it doesn’t matter nearly as much. Thinking about being vulnerable is not being vulnerable. Thinking about seeking my Savior is not the same as actually seeking Him. And, in truth, that’s what will always be the hardest for me, what I will always need to be reminded of over and over. It’s what will make me start again and again. The end is the hardest part to believe – that there’s nothing more I can do, nothing more I need to do.
It is finished.
And sometimes I just don’t know what to do with that.
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