Moments.

I feel like there are so many little moments that I've been meaning to sit down and write about, that just have been lost in the abyss of school, life, work, and never being caught up at any given moment.  In the rush from task to task, I think that's what I really love about those little memories: for a brief tidbit of time, I was completely caught up in the moment.

Like the moment when I was walking with Carla, and staring down at the wet pavement under my shoes, and was suddenly struck by the depth beneath me.  Stretching into the ground beneath my toes as I stepped were the coloured reflections of my shoes, purple coat,  yellow umbrella, and beside me Carla in red boots, black coat, and blue umbrella.  Sometimes the world is beautiful and elegant and stunning and captivating in black and white.  I'm thankful that when it turns to dullness, it's time to paint.  Paint the world with smiles and laughs and colourful clothes and splashing puddles and singing songs.

Like the moment of teleportation when I'm thrust from my normal place in the dining room with friends back through time and and space to my younger self, walking home from the park with Mom and Tim, licking melting cotton candy ice cream.  And the thick curls on my shoulders fade into strait fine hair blowing across my cheeks.  And my cozy sweater becomes  a well loved purple t-shirt, and I can feel sun and slightly salty air on my arms and toes.  And I swallow and am surrounded by my "grown up friends", and I smile.

Like the moment the bowl of cookie dough is placed on the ground, and we are ready with blue, green, and pink cups of milk, spoons in hand, crisscrossed on the kitchen floor.  Our friend comes over to paint our nails purple, blue, yellow.

Like the moment when I walk into the hall at church on a Tuesday night, and I hear my name - and I melt in thankfulness for the love around me.  I don't think there are or will be many who call me in such a beautiful voice as hers - I hear her week in my name, how she's feeling, if she's tired, if she's excited, if she's anxious.  I love the series of hugs that follows, and the smiles, and the excitement.  God blesses me so much through those girls.  And as I hug her, she's young and small in my arms, and I'm young and small in God's arms, and I pray fervently for her to fully, deeply, forever know how much He loves her.

Like the moment when Gracie and I are sitting across from each other in the living room, couches covered in books, coffee tables covered in dishes, epic movie scores playing in the background.  Amber and Carla are in the dining room, and even though everyone is doing their own thing, I love the togetherness.  I love the relief of sudden bursts of outrageous laughter.  I love the knowing glances of exhaustion and brain overload.  I love that Carla and Amber started serenading.  I love that this is our normal.

Trust

It's pitch black around me.  My heart races in anticipation of whatever ghoulish actor could pop out at any moment, catching me off guard, making me jump, scream, or do something else irrational without thinking about it.
 It's pitch black around me.  My eyes dart around trying to catch a glimpse of my surroundings, but I think I can see more with my eyes closed than open.
It's pitch black around me. I don't know where the walls, floor, or ceiling are.  I don't know the path we are walking.  There's noise enough that I can't hear steps in front of or behind me, but there are hands on my back, and my hands are on someone else's back, and luckily there is so much else going on that I'm not thinking about it, and we just walk.  And when I can't feel the leather coat in front of me, I'm terrified, and I race forward until my hands rest safely there again, and I'm not the one leading the way,  I'm not making decisions on my own, and I don't need to fear what is in front of me.  The hands on my back assure me that I don't need to fear what's behind me.  And we progress through the darkness in a line of trust that explodes in laughing, relaxed breathing as soon as we get out of the "haunted house."

~

It's bright outside.  The vibrant pink, orange, red, blue, and green of the blanket underneath me dance with my sunglasses and rolled up jeans, the sun beams down and my hair is hot.  Summer and Fall tango around me: the wind is not summer's gently laughing child with flowers in her hair, but it's Fall's French artist, direct and to the point, wearing red, black, and white stripes, with a piercing laugh.   I'm supposed to be reading about Canada's First Nations.  But thoughts and feelings and questions and dreams are swirling around in my head, morphing fun experiences into something else.  Twisting conversations into too much or not enough or...I dont even know sometimes.  Probably most of the time.

And I know I need more faith.  Faith when I can't see.  Faith that's firmer than feelings.  "The one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind." (James 1:6) I need to trust that God' in front of me, behind me, beside me, over me, under me, in me...living, breathing, speaking, shaping, moving, loving.


I need to move by His calling and leading, and not be driven by feelings, led by hope and faith at one moment, cowering in uncertainty or doubt in another.

My anchor is down in His love.  My heart is filled by him.  He's with me whether I can feel him or not, and as I learn to trust more, the walk through the dark becomes more of an adventure something to be scared of.

Heart Beating Truth

So I wonder if I can see the future.
Because there are just some moments when I look at people as they are, and I see them full of this incredible potential.  And there are some moments when I just know, as I sit eating my dinner wearing three shirts and a sweater and a toque, that ice cream is for dessert.  Moments when doubt doesn't even cross my mind that this person is going to have a huge impact in the world, or that person is going to be an incredible parent, or this one is going to be a strong leader, or that one is going to be a lifelong friend.

Six months into life as a single 20 year old, I sit on a school bus surrounded by friends, driving along a bumpy road in the dark, laughing hysterically.   These are people I live with, go to school with, and love my community with: and in the effort to breathe, to sit up, to contain myself, I think about the friendships forming.  I think about the things we are learning about each other, the things I'm letting slip about myself.

I always wash my feet before bed.

I've butchered a rabbit.

I love airy singing voices.

I love opening a new tube of toothpaste

I drink tea that's been in my cup for a few days.

Sometimes I'm a terrible sister.

I have terrifying nightmares.

I love to stand on busses.

I love the closeness that I see developing.  And I'm scared of the closeness.

I wake up one morning, tired.  Sad.  Because that dream with the vintage motorcycle and the artsy pottery and the homey storefronts had way too much to do with my heart.  Because the touch, and smiles, the words, the tears held-back, and the butterflies  in it were way to real.

So I pray that I can't see the future.
Because there are just some moments that I look at things as they are, and I see them full of an inescapable stagnancy. Questions surge through me: am I ever going to learn this language? Am I ever going to have clear, grown up skin? Am I ever going to move past this ache? Am I going to get in to teacher's college? Am I, am I, am I, am I....

If I take the punctuation out I 

am I am I am I am I am I am I am....

If I let the circle go on long enough,

I come back to 

I am.

I am a child of a God who knows every part of my heart.  Who knows how many hairs are on my head,  who spoke and created the universe, whose voice calmed the seas, who says

I AM the bread of life, I AM the true vine, I AM the good shepherd, I AM the door, I AM the way the truth and the life, I AM the light of the world, I AM the resurrection and the life. 

Yesterday, a friend was over helping me eat some beets. Beet tangent - beets are beautiful.  I love their deep rich magenta, purple, red colours, and the delicate pattern unique in each one.  Their shape reminds me of a soft, precious jewel or stone... something of natural value.  They have a full, lovely roundness.  Almost an emotional shape.  If there was a vegetable that was a happy tear...I think it would be a beet. End of beet tangent.  So, I'm sitting in the living room with friends, talking after we finished eating the beets, and the conversation carries forth to French, to teaching, to my fears of inadequacy or just not being able to do what I want to do, and then being lost.  And my friend looks at me, and says something along the lines of "do you seriously think that God would bring you all this way, and then just leave you here?"

Thanks for your wisdom, Jared. And for encouraging me to finally try eating beets.

I am the child of the master planner. He knows all the cards, and he knows every bend in the path, and he is the destination.  Why should I worry?

~

(That was the official end of the post...here's the P.S. part....)
Some tidbits of what I haven't had a chance to post in the last month...
My apartment in wonderfully full, fun, and lively with 6 girls living in it.  We have lots of bunkbeds, it's kind of like camp.  Kind of.
School is off to a quick, crazy start
I received a package of blackberry goodness in the mail
I went to a corn roast which combined so many great things: forest/country, church potluck, campfire, and some great friends.
At Summit with c4c on the weekend, we jumped in a lake! (That's where I was going on the school bus, and where we had icecream for dessert.)  This is the first time I've been swimming outside since leaving home last summer.  WAY too long.