Wednesday, September 24, 2008

waitingwaitingstillwaiting





We are all waiting--living in the space between the BIG moments. I spend most of my days dreaming about the THESE colorful instances. They are between the times I'm waiting around for something utterly wonderful to sweep me off into another world. FANTASTICTHINGS make me press onward for even more FANTASTICTHINGS. This space between is like a Wednesday at 2:34 beneath an overcast sky. A sandwich.

BIGMOMENTSwaitingwaitingstillwaitingBIGMOMENTS

And the big moments are in the fine cuisine or a talk with God beneath a tree or the way birds explode from the top of buildings as the bell tower peals in the distance or in clean socks and deep conversations or leaves falling weightless on the wind or crying so hard you can't breathe or recognizing yourself in a mirror and smiling because you are still you in there.
take a breath.

And the waiting is positioned in mid-air on a swing when you are neither back nor forth yet pumpingpumpingpumping your legs in the motion of falling head first into a cold pool or in a striving you can't name or understand yet it defines the way you smile at people as you walk along parting the golden sun-soaked air with your body and stretching your hands out and trying to feel that God is in fact not so far away as He seems.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Just Monday

The times I used to dance across the kitchen floor were all provoked by afternoon light- The piercing, clear shimmer of momentous joy. 

I remember it well. Blue sky, billowing clouds tracing each other...So high. We picked apples up out of the grass, the too-sweet end of summer making us lazy. Dad would pass by on the lawnmower, urging us on, beckoning with one finger for us to move to a forgotten patch of cool grass. The light was hazy, and the apples were soft beneath our fingers. Pale green, brushed by deep red - an autumn color. 

I've come to another beginning. Ironically, this will take the same sort of bravery I needed on the first day of fifth grade. I was late and ridiculous in my Mickey Mouse skort, approaching my classmates in the gym and then sitting off to the side like an outcast as mom and dad peered in the doorway waving. I cannot remember that evening, or any other day of school as well as I recall that moment. A heavy outside door was propped open, and as I watched my parents disappear, the leaves of a new tree shook violently with a sudden blast of late August wind. Maybe that same wind moved the hair from my eyes. Maybe it touched only me, sitting so far from the others. Maybe I was instantly comforted, and did not look out the open door again that day. Maybe...Suddenly alone, I became brave. Since that day I have not needed that wind so much as I need it now. 

I look at my hands, thinking that they hold the secret to understanding myself. Every time, and just so long as I start to even think that I may be completely, finally, totally right, I realize that in fact I am still ineffably undone- a constant whirring of brokenness that is incomplete or made up of disappointments-piles of them. And every time I begin to believe that I may be finally wise-finally righteous in a right, Godly frame of mind, I am bombarded by great fancies that float around me like thick smoke. Intoxicating reminders that I am weak, and I am a fool, and all of this world's pleasures are crumbling beneath my feet. 

Only God stands perfectly still. Only He can cover my eyes and turn my face from the commotion around me- This hapless, spinning drunkenness in the worked up dust around my feet. Only He can fill me with the strength and impenetrable hardness towards the things of this world. It whispers to me and craves my attention. It's begging, pleading for my soul-my mind. Always gripping at the seams of my emotions, toying with my weaknesses and laughing when I stumble- blinded and confused, the noise around me a great and ceaseless siren. 

But when I call... When I open my mouth and with a panicked breath cry out to be saved- the wailing, the whispers and the mocking, the raucous, horrible laughter is killed. Quiet. 

These days are dotted with sweet, unforgettable moments that I can't shake away.  And He remains.