Thursday, November 10, 2011

The In-Between Places

The in-between places are the hardest. My heart longs for home soil to put down roots. Instead I’m here. Its home for now, but it’s not my final destination.
My heart wanders but I am not a wanderer. I wander because I am searching for something specific, a place.
The place.
The place where I belong. I have faith that the place exists and that I will arrive there. I know that’s true. But I also know that I am called to be here right now.
And what do I do in the time that I am here. It’s not really home. But I am planted here right now. And roots grow in soil. But how can I put down roots here when I know that sometime soon I will be moving on, tearing them up with me and leaving some behind.
What does it look like to live in a place that is not my destination? How do I live in a stop along the way, a place on the map? How do I dwell in an in-between place?
My heart is stirring for home. My feet are itching for the road that will lead me there. The wind seems to blow the fragrance of the place across my face. Under the sky I feel closer. When I see open grass my heart dances, when I stand under a tree my soul reverberates with echoing still. There are pieces of home scattered about. I ache for it. But still, I am here.
I am here.
I am here, I am here, I AM HERE.
Why am I here? How can I inhabit a place that isn’t home without ripping my heart in two when I leave? I guess that’s the real question. How can I live and grow here and be safe from the heart ache of moving on?
I can’t. It isn’t possible. And I know I will move on. And I know if I put down roots so that I may bloom it will hurt to leave this in-between place. The question is will I risk it?


Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Do You Ever Look at the Clouds?

Do you ever look at the clouds? I have never really noticed them much. But this summer it seems like every time I am outside the clouds are just gorgeous. They truly take my breath away. It’s as if when God was making the world he was creating a giant ice cream sundae. He’d heaped the bowl full of ice cream and covered it with more delicious toppings then you could imagine. Then, just when it all looked too good to be true, he added the whipped cream. And not just the kind that you squirt out of the bottle that’s so full of air it barely has a taste. The clouds are more like the kind that you spoon out in heaping delicious dollops that wreath the bowl with their creamy delightfulness.
I think that part of the reason I’ve been noticing the clouds lately is that I’ve spent the past year living on a mountain. This is a little odd because when you are on a mountain you are surrounded by the clouds, I have been literally living in them. And yet, it wasn’t until I was driving home from school that I began to notice them. I think that I was almost in West Virginia when a swirl of lavender grey framed with shining gold caught my eye. My heart leapt and I knew that this cloud was a gift, a blessing. The cloud seemed to follow me the rest of the way home, sometimes gleaming in the sunbeams, sometimes simply a quiet haze of soft color. As I was crossing the Susquehanna the sun was setting. Its rays lit my little cloud on fire and it became a blaze of pink and orange in the evening sky. I could barely tear my eyes away to drive. Such beauty is in the clouds and I had never even noticed.
On my mountain I was so surrounded by clouds that I ceased to perceive their beauty. I had to step back, become removed to really see them again. And now that I am seeing them I am amazed at how I could ever have grown accustomed to them. Each one of them is a special gift from the Creator and my weak eyes sees them as commonplace, ordinary. This is such an accurate picture of how I receive God’s blessings. He has surrounded me with them. Blessings are being poured over me ceaselessly. And yet I hardly notice.
This past month I have been looking for a summer job. I don’t really mind working but until recently it never occurred to me to actually consider a job a blessing. A job was just something I needed, something that I’d always had before and something that I rather assumed that I would always be able to get. But a month of frustrating and seemingly fruitless applications changed my perspective completely. For a short time God withheld that blessing from me and it wasn’t until that time that I realized what a beautiful and good gift it truly is to be able to work. And the most beautiful thing about it all is that withholding this gift for a time was another blessing. He was simply making me wait so that he could offer me a gift  far better than how I originally planned to spend my summer. His blessings are beyond my comprehension.
And so when I think of the phrase “count your blessings” it strikes me how absurd it truly is to even contemplate numbering the gifts I have been showered with. They are so numerous and precious. From the wag of a dog’s tail to the joyful time spent with a roommate; from the laugh of a little girl to the smile of each of my dear friends; from the gift of a job to the clouds that wreath the dusky sky… These blessings, so abundantly given, fill my heart with awe and wonder at my Father’s goodness. He loves me. This thought fills my heart with a rejoicing which overflows. A rejoicing that makes my feet want to dance.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Inchworms and Comfort

At church yesterday the man in front of me had an inchworm on the back of his jacket. It was a very ugly worm, not just one of those little ones that aren’t actually even an inch. This was a sort of sickly green color with a strange orange head. If you have ever watched an inchworm move than you know how disconcerting the little creatures are and this particular one was determined to climb up to the collar of the man’s jacket.
As I watched it climb, I realized I was now faced with a decision. Should I reach out flick the worm off the man thus freeing him of the disgusting little thing? That seemed to be a good idea and it was my first thought. But before I could raise my hand I began to contemplate how awkward that would actually be. What would I say when the man turned around shocked and confused by what would come across as rude and unsightly behavior? I could explain it to him of course; tell him about the worm crawling over his neat pinstriped jacket. But that would require an awkward whispered conversation with a stranger and he would probably still think that I was some weirdo even after I convinced him of the presence of the little green worm. I sat back in my pew. Nope, not worth the effort or the discomfort. After all, the worm wasn’t hurting him or anything.
But unfortunately it was a determined little thing, that worm. Before the congregation had given our tithes and offerings it had reached the gentleman’s collar. Where could it go now? I watched with bated breath as it raised its great ugly head and swayed back and forth, surveying the greying hairs at the back of the man’s neck. Slowly it inched forward once more, getting just the right angle… But the hairs were slipperier than the fabric of the jacket. The worm couldn’t get a good grip. I exhaled slowly as the worm finally gave up. But my relief was premature. That worm really was determined. What it wanted with that man’s hair I have no idea but it certainly seemed to have a plan because a few minutes later it was back at it.
It took quite a few tries. The worm would manage to grasp a few hairs but never quite enough to pull itself over the man’s collar. Once the man reached back and scratched his head, missing the worm by mere fractions of a centimeter. Finally the worm succeeded. I watched in horror as began to roam across the gentleman’s head.
What could I do? I could hardly reach out and grab it off, he would think that I was petting his head or something… I had spent a good five minutes debating my course of action (or lack thereof) when finally his wife noticed the horrid thing. She scooped it up easily and laughingly showed it to her husband. I calmed myself and finally gave my undivided attention over to the pastor.
This whole thing was rather unnerving (and, as I look back on it, kind of hilarious). But the most unnerving thing about it was that it forced me to recognize something about myself that I don’t really like to admit. So often I decide whether or not to do something based purely on how it will affect my comfort level. If I think that something will make me feel awkward or embarrassed, even something as small as brushing a worm off a stranger’s jacket, I won’t do it. I put my own comfort so very high on my priority list that I couldn't even perform a simple act of kindness. And sadly, I feel like that is generally something that people in our culture view as okay. I think that most people consider comfort to be their right and the optimal state of being. But really, where are we ever promised that?
In the sermon, one of the things that the pastor spoke of was the horror of Christ’s death. It was humiliating and excruciating, the worst of all human atrocities. Yet my Savior willingly denied himself the comfort which I cling to so tightly and humbly received pain beyond anything that I could ever imagine. The most beautiful thing is that through the sermon I was also reminded why Christ suffered such extreme discomfort. He sacrificed himself to secure for us a life of eternal rejoicing in his presence. If we have assurance of such a life than how can we not be willing to sacrifice our own comfort for the short time that we are here in this world? Surely I can live my life on earth as a sacrificial servant because I am looking ever forward to the unceasing joy that I will receive when I am welcomed home by my King.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Thunderstorms and Rejoicing

This morning I was awakened by a thunderstorm. I love thunderstorms. They remind me of my King’s majestic, mighty and overwhelming presence. I don’t think that I always loved thunderstorms. In fact I have some distinct memories of being a little girl and lying in bed, shivering with fear, desperate for the storm to pass.
The first time I remember feeling any sort of awe or wonder was one summer when I spent a week with my grandparents. It was the summer after their house had burnt down, so I guess that would have made me around eight years old. My grandparents spent that summer living in a trailer on their property as they rebuilt their house. They live in a valley so they are surrounded by mountains. Every evening after supper my grandmother, my little brother and I would sit outside on the porch of the unfinished house. One night we sat watching as a storm approached. I watched the grey clouds move along the mountain tops, rolling closer and closer until the storm was upon us. That night I lay awake, listening to the thunder rumble and the rain hammer off the metal roof of the trailer. For the first time my fear was mixed with an exhilaration and that crazy ache of longing that always fills my chest whenever I experience something truly beautiful.
So... I have finally decided to start a blog. I’ve toyed with the idea off and on for years now. I’m not exactly sure why I finally sat down and did it today (maybe waking up to such a storm was more inspiring than I realized), but I just feel so full of things to write. I’ve been thinking so much this whole week. My mind has been traveling at such a breakneck speed that I can barely keep up. Actually this form of thought process is a rather frequent occurrence for me, but the speed at which my thoughts have been churning these past couple of days really is alarmingly close to record high. I have so much to think about and one thing that God has really been placing on my heart constantly this semester is the call to rejoice in him no matter what circumstance I find myself in.
At first I was discouraged and frustrated by this because I couldn’t understand how God could call me to rejoice even when I just felt like sorrowing. I hate when people are fake and I wasn’t just going to act happy. But then I was reading through the psalms and it hit me how pretty much every time rejoicing is mentioned (and it is mentioned a lot) it is prefaced with a call to praise the present and mighty God. It’s a hard thing to do for sure. Praise does not come readily to my lips but I found that once I began to praise him even for the smallest of things, a spirit of thanksgiving would enter my heart and joy would fill me. True joy that is totally overwhelming and exhilarating yet altogether peaceful. It is complete contentment with where God has me now and a swelling desire and expectation for what he has promised is yet to come. Joy is still something that I struggle daily to hold onto but God is so gracious to fill me again and again. He pours rejoicing on me like rain, watering me down to the roots.