Pink Spoon.

I collect little things. Key word being little. I'm not a horder, or a pack rat. I don't need someone to make a reality TV show about me. I just like tokens. momentos. memories. I tack them to my bulletin board: a concert ticket from one of my favorite bands. a name tag. a hospital bracelet. the bib from my first road race. an address scribbled on a piece of paper. a button. a tassel. a note. a key chain. a sticker for the first time I donated blood. a change of major form. a necklace. a lift ticket. a package for silk and steel guitar strings. a luggage tag. Tonight I'm adding a spoon. The spoon is of little significants. In fact, most of these items are. But I keep them because they remind me of something much more important than their physical existence. Each of them carries a message, a lesson learned, a turning point in my life's direction.
So this little spoon, is so much more than a spoon. Aside from the fact that it enabled the consumption of the most healing serving of frozen yogurt I've ever eaten, it is a beautiful representation of today. It's a reminder of what real friends are. They are people that you can tell the truth to, and they'll still love you. Hey, they'll even taken out and buy you a condolence frozen yogurt and sit there and giggle with you as you let it melt down your little pink spoon.
That little pink spoon embodies excitement, excitement for the future. Anticipation of a brand new beginning, a new adventure. It establishes strength, a strength I've been longing to posses for so many years, a strength to show who I really am, to share what is more dear to me, and to become something greater than I once was.
A pink spoon reminds to remember all the little things that make me happy: retelling bizarre dreams at six in the morning, walking in a blanketing snowfall, singing christmas carols in the car, dragging your roommate out of bed, putting your favorite song on repeat, crawling under a comforting quilt, and texting your big brother.
Sometimes, even when we have good intentions, there's something better we could be doing; there's somewhere else we are suppose to be. And so today I learned to trust. Trust myself, trust my friends, trust my Heavenly Father. Because ultimately, He'll lead me right where He needs me. There are a lot of places I would want to be in the world, but no where more important than where He wants me. Thank goodness that He wants me home in Vermont in 48 hours.