This feels so strange, yet so beautiful. I haven't blogged for real in...well, it has not even been a month, but I haven't really done this, this strange vulnerability, this unexpected honesty, in a while.
I wish I could say that I was sitting in Caribou, but my favorite coffee shop fled Columbus, to my dismay and deep disappointment. I suppose a far, hidden corner of the library will do. There is a nice view of a little blue sky, though. Perhaps this change is for the better. It is certainly easier on my wallet. Perhaps there is purpose even in this.
Those of you who know me, will figure out that I am procrastinating a bit--procrastination is the busy bee who makes the honeycomb of my thoughts. Which has nothing to do with anything.
Now I am in my room.
There is something about Sunday afternoons.
The sky is grey, but the wind is sweet, full of autumn, dancing with the leaves that wither on the ground.
I keep describing things, and not really going anywhere with this. I am sorry to those of you who get bored with that. It is just my way I suppose of getting my thoughts straight.
I am so blessed that the grey isn't affecting today--I mean my mood. I suppose I am very moody--I can go far up and far down within a couple hours, even one hour. Sometimes I feel too sharply, sometimes I feel too dully. Yet no matter what, I trust.
Even when I am not even sure He is there, I choose trust. Even when the sorrow can't be explained I trust. Even when I am alone, I trust. Trusting is the hardest thing--why else would we have made a game of trust falls? If it was easy, there would be no game, no challenge, no victory. And that is with people we can see. God? I can't see Him. I see reflections of Him, tastes of His presence, the promise of His word, but I won't see Him "til He returns or calls me home." I remember dark nights, nights full of unanswered questions, choosing this God who seemed a stranger to me. I remember summer mornings, full of peace that surpasses all understanding, choosing this God who seemed my closest friend. How? Because of His work in me, because He is who He is, and I am not.
Because I write words in the midst of turmoil and darkness that are full of light, and they are my words but they are not my words.
They are His words, but they are my words because they were His words first,
and it is mystery,
and it is hard,
and it is trust.
Of all the struggles, the wrestlings of life, this one is the most important. On the dark days, I won't go down without a fight.
But "Hallelujah we are free to struggle."
Tenth Avenue North