With the first couple weeks of school under your belt, you are probably past the point where everyone wants to know your name, where you are from, your major, and, of course, one fun fact about yourself. If you are like me, you probably dread coming up with a fun fact, because let's face it, there are not many things about me that are extraordinary. You might even have a go to fun fact that gets less fun every single time you share it; I know I do! Knowing that I would need to provide fun facts about myself on syllabus day, I started thinking early. We are all made individually and uniquely. We all have so many gifts and talents that we are afraid to share or do not see in ourselves. So why do we keep allowing ourselves to stay at the surface when we share with others instead of getting to the depth of who we really are and what we really excel at?

So this is my challenge to you: Get to know yourself. Try new things; you might find something new that you are really good at! Search for what makes you happy and allows you to use your gifts, and then share them! Within the last several years I have found that I really enjoy writing poetry, and believe me, it was the last thing I ever thought I would be good at. Like anything else, it has taken practice and lots of patience. Before I share with you one of my favorite poems that I have written, I just want to remind you that each one of you have a special gift and talent. When you are feeling like you are not good at anything, just remember that God has something great in the making coming your way. You are a masterpiece!

What was once a blank canvas is now painted with the bruises and scars of your past. With the heartbreaks that shattered you into a million pieces. With the blood that you watched drip from your wrists. From disappointment, abandonment, and the broken promises that filled your childhood. The labels you gave yourself or the ones from the people who told you they loved you but forgot to show you. Ugly. Stupid. Worthless. Bitch. Not important. Phrases that you shake off on the surface but cut flesh deep when no ones looking. Phrases that play through your head as you fall asleep like a CD stuck on repeat or the silence that should have been filled by the voice of your mother singing a lullaby. The canvas sits on top of that old wooden desk in your room. The one with the broken drawer that now barely hangs onto the rusted metal track after that night you lost it. That night your dad came in screaming. That night you had to put your mom to bed after she took too much medicine. That night you felt so alone that all you could do was cry. That night you lost sight of who you were and why you were here. You see the canvas day after day as you escape to your room for some quiet just before the voices inside start rushing in to tear you apart just as much as everyone else did that day. You walk by it time and time again, but you don't always notice it. You don't notice the details. The way the colors mix..the reds, the oranges, the blacks, and the blues. These colors smeared across the canvas tell a story; Your story. The tell the story of your pain, your hurt, your anger. They tell the story of each scar upon your wrist, each bruise upon your skin, each crack in your fragile heart. You've seen it so many times that all you see is the hurt, the pain, what pulls you under even deeper when you already feel like you're drowning. Darling, step back. See the way each color fades into the next. The way each stroke was delicately placed before the other. You see, this canvas is not a mess, its a masterpiece. You are a masterpiece. Maybe all you can see is the red, that day you relapsed. Maybe all you can see is the orange, that day your mom told you about her cancer. Maybe all you can see is the blue, that day you found out that the "little girl" who's dad told everyone she was dead was actually your mom whose dad ran off when she was born. Maybe all you can see is the black, that night you just couldn't do it anymore and you swallowed a bottle of tiny white pills that were supposed to make you better. But have you ever looked at all the white? Yes, your past is broken and painful, but your future is still so bright. You are a masterpiece, but you are not yet finished. You see, your story isn't over yet. White is bright. It is hopeful. It's yours to fill with color. Now pick up the paintbrush because you're the artist. It's your story, and it's time you make it your own. Fill it with colors of happiness and success. Fill it with the colors that pull you up out of the darkness, your friends, your family, that movie you could watch over and over. But some days those other colors will creep back in. Some days you won't be able to escape. The red will consume your thoughts and the black will try to pull you back under, but remember, darling, step back. You are not yet finished. You are not a mess. You are a masterpiece.