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.

Choosing Happy

It's a glorious thing to see that even with some lingering pain beneath the surface, I can choose joy, choose to be at peace.  Some days my mind is so broken that I can't pull myself through, but the Lord wraps my mind and heart in His comfort and love, and as I rest and find my body refreshed with sleep and my heart refreshed with prayer.

So today I am choosing happy.  The joy is deep-seated, and present even in the pain.  But today with the absence of too many academic pressures, and the sun streaming through the branches outside, the glimmers of joy through the faces of tiny, precious babies, the mix of orange and green leaves inviting me outdoors...  I can choose Happy.

So I am.

Choosing Happy.

Feelings.

Writing feelings.  Writing depth.  The pain and heartache weeping from my frustratingly dry eyes.  On this day of celebrating gratefulness and enjoying time with friends and friends who become family, I find myself numbed to the world around me, only observing the warmth around me.  It's strange how quickly the feeling goes away when the cracked part of my mind allows the feelings to slip through.

It's pain, but it's the absence of feeling.  It's heartache, but lonely abandonment.  It's too full to feel, yet absolutely empty.  A little laughter frosts the top, sharpening the tips and edges of my sensitivity... maybe I can feel again?  After sleep.

Holed away and comforted by solitude, overwhelmed by the love and family.  Pleasant fear, familiar and tired.  The shivers in the warmth, the silence as the chatter abounds.

And the voices of loved ones on the phone, a little joy in the middle of my tenderness.

I'm grateful.

Grateful

Sometimes it takes the most terrifying things to make you realize the many blessings you've been given.  That the tiny things are not to be taken for granted.  Today was a day like that.

After darkness swirling around my head and heart and soul for a night, I awoke to the wonder that life still is, that my chest still fills with breath and my heart still beats.  The trials of studies, the wonders of the soul, the failures and learning to count them as stepping stones.

"'It' only goes away when you face it and put it away."

Throwing it up doesn't make it go away.

But when you awake to your terrified self simply mired in a haze of incredulity, and stare out the window to see only... fog.  Ten million tiny drops of water suspended in the air, and the early morning light lost inside it, caught, unable to find its way out.

Dressing methodically.  Eyeliner.  Eye shadow.  Mascara.  Shirt.  Skirt. Shoes.  Down the stairs and out the door to the misty world, and no umbrella.  I briefly considered counting 40 steps up again and finding the tiny tool, but then I decided that with time and raindrops I could do better, and stepped out into the world, showered lightly with water from the air around me.

Grateful for the misting, even as I contemplated grumbling.  Grateful for moments of being dry as I walked beneath some covering.  And as I felt the last pieces of darkness, I reached out, thankful I have a God to speak with.  Who hears all, who knows all, who feels every piece of my existence even as I live it.

Grateful for phone calls, and stories and coffee and the chance to learn.  Grateful for existence on this planet.  For people to smile as I pass them.  Grateful as the sun slips from its shroud, that the yellow trees are now lit up and bright with fervour and joy, intensely lived.

I cannot express the depths of gratefulness in my tired heart and soul today.  For I still find fear in the mirror, in the eyes of others, in the ends of my days.  But I also find hope there often.  And in the dark I cling to that.

For my gratitude is not some unreality of fate, grateful to the fact that something is, but it is, in the chaos of life, a gratefulness to my precious Jesus, Creator, God.  My Truth.  My Rock.

So I cling, in gratitude, grateful He Is, and that by His sufficient grace, I breathe.

The Chasm

It's one of those moments where I know there are a million thoughts and words inside my mind and heart and soul, but I'm not sure exactly how to access them.  There is a chasm within me, one that for eons of my life has been empty and vast, sprawling lifeless, waiting for that brief breeze to whistle through it,  refreshing its barrenness for just a moment.  Yet somehow, I feel a rushing of something, not only fresh air to blow away the stagnation, but also water, clear and full of life, to bring actual growth to the empty place.

Not every refreshing is easy or simple.  Sometimes there are complexities and challenges that come.  The parched, cracked ground takes time to heal.  So do I.

There is a joy, too, in common battles.  I had some lows this past week, some times where the triggers I'd pushed to the side for days on end came piling all on me at once, leaving me breathless and broken.  Yet it is another opportunity for me to see my brokenness, and as difficult as it is, it brings me closer to my Lord Jesus, because all I can do is weep at His feet knowing that He understands better than any human, even those who have experienced these trials.  And then He sends humans from out of the blue who understand too, and my tender heart is warmed.

I have no more words, for the rest of that in my soul is too rich to find human words to write.

Counting

Have you ever felt the pressure?  The numbers closing in from every side?  Have you ever fought to keep them from haunting you, following your every move, your every bite, your every hour or day?

The pull of knowing.  The terror once you know.  The sickening glee if the number is 'right', the pit of triggered agony when it's 'wrong'.  Oh that agony!

Or maybe it's the theory of numbers - the feeling of increase or decrease, the reflection of 'goodness' or 'badness', 'success' or 'failure'.  Yet no matter how hard you try, how low the number gets... you've always failed.

Calories.  Pounds.  Days.  Steps.  Reps.  Inches.  Grades.  Curves.

Those little numbers are the death of us all.  And I refuse to die.

That's why those numbers are scribbled out - and I promise I ate more that day than 800.  Because I caught myself slipping, I caught myself counting, and I knew if I counted, I would fail, and I would, figuratively, die.

Because living is about more than counting, it's about experiencing, it's about joying.  It's about feeling and hurting and giving and loving.  It's about gracing other with your presence, learning to say no, but also sometimes, to say yes, to give freely, yet to indulge in rest when it's needed.  It's the freedom to say "That wasn't perfect, but it was good."

... or even ...

"I'm not perfect... but I'm okay."

Because ultimately?  It's not about counting.  It's about living, and living well.