On Flying

All I can see is white, wisps of grey, the occasional hint  of blueish colour filtering through.  Nothing is visible.  Trusting that the pilot knows his way.  Resting in the knowledge of what is beyond the mist.  No matter the challenges.  No matter the tears.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 
I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
 your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

It is the words that are sung to me as I ponder the helplessness and beauty of the moment.

Then suddenly, we break through, and snow-dusted forests come into view, interspersed with ribbons of white, and framed by still and quiet clouds.  The rivers meander below.  They have calmly remained.

Like my life.  Seeing only wispy grey, completely without power to see beyond, learning to rest in the expertise of the Pilot.  And from time to time, the breaking through, the snowy mountains visible, as beacons of hope.  They have always been there.  And now I see.

A Day.

Can't fall asleep.  Still can't fall asleep... and sweet rest and then the jolting awake of a body only accustomed to 6 or less hours of sleep.  Well hello Sunday.  I'm awake!  Time enough to breathe deeply.  A few scrolls through the various interweb locations and then a hop to the shower.  Beautiful water pouring down, refreshing, rejuvenating.  Moments to think, alone.  Moments to pray and hum praises.

'New' thrift store dress, hair painstakingly pinned up, brushes and powders and the painting of black lines where none existed mere moments before.  Red lips.  Matching cardigan to cover the sinful shoulders.  'New' heels to complete the outfit.  A snap for my Mama.  A flurry of beautiful smells, and out the door.

Breaths of glorious, sun-filled air, cool, clear, crisp.  The sound heels make on stairs.  The balancing act, feigning ease.  Some glorious aromas fill me up as my Christmas-y coffee meets my lips, and a few passages of Scripture slide across the screen before my eyes.  Pondering God's glory and grace and perfection.  My need of Him, His perfect provision.  And off to church, listening to the Word again come forth, alive from the front and all around me in the pews as God's people gather to celebrate their Creator and His work.  I'm in awe.

My campus awaits me, and I wander across it, perhaps listlessly.  Vancouver Island seems much closer as I hold my phone to my ear.  Sweet voices!  A snippet of their day fills my ears as I listen to those dear ones at home.  Such love.  Food found, wandering back amid golden sunbeams.  Slight moments of chaos, minor crises averted.  The daily tumbling tragedies of salad dressing and cloth met as one.

Discussions of future and possibilities.  Dreaming a little.  Tummy filled.  Books awaiting.  The note cards find their place, and the multitude of coloured pens.  Sheets of information stacked to the side, grand music beginning its encouragement for the task ahead.  Words and laughter from a sweet friend.  Studying.  Learning.  Laughing.  Writing copious notes to study.  Sprawled across the floor in a cascade of university life, I learn.  More friendship in this space.  More music.  More smiles.

We all laugh together.  We all study, things so different, each one, yet all learning.  Choosing to love amid the differences, and to revel in that beauty.  Such joy.  Music floods from wise fingers, and my voice chimes in because I cannot sit and listen alone.  Yet my fragility has been awakened.  My confidant joy has been set aside.

This broken mind slips quickly to another world.  A fragile place.  A tender moment.  And grateful for friendship and encouragement and a loving Christ to enfold me in love, I succumb to peace.

For I have no words to speak to fix the moment or my self.

Except Grace.