i know why the caged bird sings

I spent my day on Saturday having some quality time with myself. It sounds odd, I'm aware, because there is no point in history (past or present) in which I am not with myself. But always being with myself—whether alone or with others—doesn't ensure that that time is quality or meaningful. 

So yesterday I set out to do just that—I spent time alone doing things that were worthwhile and that made me happy to be who I am. It wasn't a special day of pampering and glitz. In all actuality, it was a pretty normal Saturday. I did approximately nine hundred loads of laundry (give or take eight hundred and fifty-five), folded and put away all that laundry, cleaned, ate a lot of spaghetti, made some quick sewing repairs to some items in my wardrobe that needed a little face lift, colored a picture or two, read a book, watched some Psych, edited various documents, and wrote three letters, choosing my words and stamps very carefully (I got Harry Potter stamps! Thank you United States Postal Service). 

But most importantly, I reserved a large block of my afternoon for studying and pondering the scriptures. I opened my heart to heaven, and did everything I could to block out the rest of the world, so I could focus on learning. And it was powerful. It's not to say that I had profound insights or had visions of how the rest of my life should be, but I felt the Spirit strongly reaffirming truths that had scampered away to the back of my mind to be forgotten. Truths about my Savior and the Holy Ghost and the gospel. But mostly truths about myself. 

I realized that I've spent far too long making myself the enemy. The powers of negative thinking and insecurity led me to believe that who I am isn't good enough and that I'll never measure up. I lost sight of who I am in the eyes of God and who I can become with his help. I am not my own enemy, and thinking that I am only perpetuates unhappiness and stunts growth and healing. 

I am a daughter of a loving God. I have purpose and meaning. I can do hard things. 

About a year ago I read The Freedom Writers Diary (I highly recommend both the book and the movie). A few of the entries in this book mention Maya Angelou's memoir, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. The title of that book took on profound meaning for me. As a white, twenty-one year old female, I'm not caged by the things that Miss Angelou and the Freedom Writers were caged by. Poverty, gang violence, racism, and broken families are all very real, but they've never played a direct role in my life. But that doesn't mean that I've never experienced the feeling of being caged in. 

Some cages are the result of factors out of our control. Some individuals  are caged by circumstance, opportunities or lack thereof, mental and physical illnesses, or oppression. Others are caged because of the bigotry and intolerance of other people. All of those cages seem more real, more concrete. They are more obvious, their bars seem thicker and stronger and inescapable. These cages seem legitimate because they are the result of things you can't control.

But there are other cages. Cages we put around ourselves. Cages I put around myself.

Every time I think I'm not good enough, I put up a cage. 

Every time I say I can't, I put up a cage.
Every time I treat someone unkindly, I put up a cage

Every time I let myself believe that I'm inferior or worthless, I put up a cage.
Every time I forget my worth, I put up a cage.

I've never read Maya Angelou's memoir, so I don't know what her explanation as to why caged birds sing is, but I know mine. Caged birds sing because they know there is something better out there. They know there is hope and beauty and love in this world that's just out of their reach. They sing because sometimes their hearts are sorrowful and burdened, but they believe anyway. 

I know why the caged bird sings, but when you remove the cage, the song will change.

My song has been changing over the past few weeks, and I plan to continue to change it as I learn more fully to be who God intended me to be. To be who I really am. At times it's hard to accept that who I am—broken, weak, ugly parts and all—is enough, but those moments represent life without acknowledging a loving Heavenly Father. When I turn to Him and truly trust in Him, I see glimpses of who I can become. I can see how my weaknesses and flaws and shortcomings are all intended to teach and humble me. 

When I turn to Him, my song sings praise to His name.