Good Morning

I wake up this morning, and I am the only one stirring to see the dense fog that surrounds our building.  It creates  a vast blankness that I stare at as my eyes escape dreams.  Not that fog is anything new to me.  But maybe just all the weather in Ottawa amazes me.  When it snows, I'm like a child - I put on my boots and prance off the cleared path, literally leaping through the freshly fallen sparkles, grinning.

When it is foggy, I'm deeply captivated.  In place of the city that I love to watch, it gives me a blank canvas on which I can paint any world I want.

The one I choose this morning transforms the snowy park into a luscious summer.  I cover the ice with thick green grass, dandelions starting to turn to seed, colourful flowers, and trees bursting with leaves.  I erase the swimming pool and the dull cement around it with a pond and lily pads. Then I imagine putting all the colours in the wrong place.  It's not as lovely that way. Kids fly clear kites against a green sky, with purple shoes in golden grass, and they dive into pond full of blue paint.

Sometimes it is important to practice healthy imagining.

It seems like all the imagining these days is about things that are too real.  Imagining being in school again next year. Imagining living with different people.  Imagining what the clothes I'm wearing will look like after another year of use.  Imagining I had time to do all the things on my to-do list.  Imagining being studious and knowing al the answers my professors ask.  Imagining having courage to say things that need to be said.  Imagining that half of those things just didn't need to be said.  

Imaginations were much better when they created worlds with sidewalk chalk, and turned cloudy after- school playtimes into an epic adventure, spanning the real world as we knew it and twisting together fantasy time and reality time over days and weeks, until we finally completed a quest, and invented a new one.  

I want my imagination to be creative, rather than speculative.  I want my imagination to build memories, not regrets.  

I think about how God spoke things into being. Creating in His image.  Painting the world into a multi-dimensional beautiful thing that he sees, and knows, and loves. 

And it was good.

I need to learn to imagine  with His heart.  I pray that the words I say, the dreams I hold, the pictures I paint, the decisions I make would be...good.

Not good like icecream, but good like His voice when I run home to Him, and pull out of my backpack the art that I've made with my life, and He scoops me up so that we look at it together, and His eyes beam and he looks at me, saying

"Well done, my beloved daughter."

Corners on the way to the sea.

We stood on the beach and watched the horizon come to life.  Overtaken by the pull of the moon and the power of moving, rolling waves, it succumbed to a teal treasure trove, rolling closer and closer to us, until we made a run for it.  Our toes wet, we turn, erupting in a deep, cleansing, lively laughter that must have been tossed from the sea.  My eyes catch the stark white foam as it dances on smooth stones, the water swishing over them while they saunter down the shore towards the sea.  Of all the moments that could be described as “music to my ears,” this symphony of laughing with an old friend, the wind, the rocks, and the waves is more like a song for my soul, or a harmony for my heart than many things I can imagine.

In the drivers seat, I love the twisting road that brought me to an edge I can warmly call the rugged west coast.  High tide and a good wind, glossy, soaking-wet red and blue raincoats, escaping “consumering” to hike through cedar and spruce and along a rocky beach on Boxing day.

Twisting roads always seem more bearable when you are at the wheel.  Or, upon further reflection, if you can pass the time playing corners in the backseat, searching for landmarks (like the “hold-your-beer” corner) and clinging to an anticipation matched only by a child on Christmas Eve….in the Santa days.

And that’s what this time of year seems to be about, is it not? Further reflection. Every thing from news and entertainment shows to my young neighbour’s grade two class have been launched in to a time of thinking about the year gone by, and making goals for the one ahead.   I remember those times of goal setting:  I’m going to keep my room clean.  I’m going to keep my room really clean....  My room is going to be immaculate..  I’m going to work harder at school….  I’m going to do all of my homework.  I’m going to be ahead in my homework. 

The thing I’ve noticed about years going by is that the only time they seem to be impossibly long, is when you are trying to stick to a New Year’s Resolution.   In fact, with that in mind, they year could be too long by next week.

Here, sitting on my bed in the quiet early morning, with city lights seeping through the face-sized patch of my window that isn’t frosted over, I find myself in 2013.  Praying over this year, I can tell it’s going to be the twisty, wavy, rainy, surprise-y kind.  With all the transitions and decisions ahead, I fight the urge to cozy into the drivers seat, eyes peeled, fingers tight on the wheel, comfy in a heated seat.   That’s the battle that made my last graduation/transition year so hard I think.  I wanted the wheel so badly…and it wasn’t in my hands. 

So here’s to the New Year’s Resolution that seems tantalizingly enjoyable: riding in the backseat. Sure, I may not have control of the music, the temperature, or even my own window.  But I’m praying for the joy of my younger self: before the days of car sickness; before the days of considering whether or not we were safe on the road; before anxiously going through lists trying to remember what was left at home.

The kind where we wait, giggling and relaxed in the back seat, completely trusting the older, wiser, provider, protector loving father at the wheel, and embracing the corners with everything inside of us.  And when even the horizon seems to be moving, I’m praying that this year will hold us, fearless in the moment, beholding the splendor of creation, the phenomenon of change – ready to run when it’s time to run, and look back without regret. 

I want to approach this year with the curiosity and thirst of a child, hopping from tide pool to tide pool, turning over the rocks; yearning to discover.  I want to approach this year with my boots on, ready to get muddy, and a coat that makes the rain brighter.  I want to approach this year with the faith to follow God on whatever path he leads me, to whatever destination – and with the boldness to run and jump in the water, with a joy and a voice that makes others want to join me.

May this year be the kind where the graphite marks leading up the doorframe makes the growing pains more endurable.  As you reach to new heights, may this be the kind of year that plants your roots in firmer, deeper, richer soil, without worrying about the grass stains on your knees or dirt under your fingernails.  May it be filled with the Spirit, bursting forth in the smile, personality, and eyes that make you glow. 

And no matter how many bumps, hills, twists, turns, or giant, salty waves that come your way – the landmark of Christ is all around you.  Be on the look out for Him.  Be expecting Him.  Be holding fast to Him.

He holds on to you always.