i am a dreaded, pierced, tattooed artist, soon driving across country in a vegetable-oil car with man and boy… to live in a small Dutch farming community in northern Alberta.
i’m terrified. excited. dreaded. dreading. what?
not knowing… how to be.
how to fit in, amongst a people who sees what i am, not who…
but i trust, they will. with time. look past.
my dreads are a year and a half old. maturing.
i am 29 and 3/4. maturing?
sometimes i think i paint and write to find myself.
sometimes i know.
what is there to find? he asks. my pragmatic math-speaker-teacher of a man.
he looks to Christ. i need look there more.
he is Christ to me. i lean dreaded head on husband’s shoulder and we touch baby’s hair and it’s smooth. sometimes i miss the swish. the pantene-moment. but then i feel the knotted grooves and i know, i’m being me.
the ‘me’ i was born to be.
and that me will stand tall before a Dutch community and say, here i am.
dreaded, tattooed and pierced.