Jesus don’t want me for a sunbeam
Sunbeams are never made like me.
-The Vaselines, sung in my head by Kurt Cobain
I think I must be part plant.
Because when it is morning time, and the sun is out, I blossom. My limbs stretch and my mind awakens, and all is right with the world.
I used to think it was the beach that sparked some kind of happiness in me; but now I see that the beach is a friend. It commiserates with me: whether I am pensive, giddy, or sad. It acknowledges and affirms; but that is it.
It is the sun that I need. I need it near as much as I need air.
And I have become needier these past few years.
Those are my three keys. I need to see them, breathe them, touch, write about them, bask in the light and richness.
I told my husband that I think I photosynthesize, like plants. He does not believe it is possible, but he is no botanist, so what does he know?
photosynthesis: putting together the light
Is that not one of the loveliest chemical reactions ever to be described?
My body, no, my soul, needs light; my soul needs to put light together, to be put together with the light. The light puts me together.
I need life that makes me thrill in its wonders. Pink blooms on glossy stems with light reflecting in all directions, being courted by a breeze. I need drops of rain dancing on grass in the light of day. Waves crashing in salty motions, coarse plants matted in the grainy sand, and a golden orb mirrored in the water.
I need life in motion.
When I cannot see the sun I search for it. I purposely seek it out: I need it, desperately. I need the reassurance that it is there, though it hides on occasion. I need to know that it has not disappeared forever, that it is still setting its sight on me, too.
It is likely that I am a sunflower in a human disguise.
And some days, I am like Kurt Cobain, and I believe that Jesus don’t want me for a sunbeam. That Jesus don’t want me.
When the sun hides its face, I withdraw, and cower into myself. When it seems like Jesus hides, I retreat, too. Because it is on those days I am not certain he wants me.
But that is a lie.
I am a sunbeam. Or, as a sunflower, a representation of the work that is done by, and with, a sunbeam. Even on those days the sun rejects me, I have enough. I have enough light to be put together until the sun shines in its full glory.
I wish I could tell Kurt Cobain he was a sunbeam. Somehow, his lyrics moved and stirred something in me in my adolescence. They gave voice to my emotions when I had no voice of my own. Since I can not tell Kurt that he was a sunbeam, and Jesus wanted him very much, I will tell you.
You are a sunbeam.
You are significant.
You reflect and utilize light in a way no one else does; and we need it.
And, more than needed, the way light is put together in you is wanted.
Sunbeams are made just like you.
Need more reassurance or want to talk, or whatever, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org
You are precious to me, dear sunbeam.