Sun streaming in the window as we lie on the floor laughing...
I'm so looking forward to the surprises of Spring.
Don't forget to change the clock!
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Keeping in the Kelp.
A memory of a specific moment, outside of EMCS in the covered area by the teacher's parking lot floats across my mind. I've just come out for lunch, and we are all awkwardly, semi-silently standing there as usual, when a gust of wind comes through the trees and we look at each other, smile, and our voices leap out of us: we smell the sea.
That moment was sometime between me realizing how much I love the smell and taste and texture of the ocean air, and realizing that one day I might move away from it.
Undisturbed, the golden brown ropes of kelp sway slightly in the water. They are enormous underwater forests, strongholds of life that reach effortlessly towards the surface, but barely touch it. They become safe havens, anchors and sanctuaries. Or, they are filled with creatures that lurk through the slimy murky darkness and take advantage of its thickness. Undisturbed, the giant leaves and stems weave themselves together in a world that from our boats and our beaches, and even our bodies holding breath under water - is mysterious. It dances and sculpts and acts: art unhung, uninterpreted. Unexperienced expression.
It's the wave; a little bigger than expected, or the waves; constantly pounding in one after another after another after another that draw up the kelp. The wind blows, the waves crash, and in a conglomerate collage, seaweed sticks the salty smell of the water to the rocks on shore.
Sometimes when waves hit me, I feel quenched, washed, renewed, refreshed. Sometimes I look at the tangled weeds that have been pulled out of me, and left on shore, and I praise God as I taste His freedom and anticipate the new growth he has in store for me.
Sometimes I feel the water beginning to toss around me. I brace myself for the storm, scared of what it will bring to the surface for anyone to see. I feel like I'm going to explode - I feel like I need to explode, but I search for a quiet shore, where maybe only God will see the aftermath of the storm inside of me. And with no other hands around to pick up the pieces, I'll lie there entirely broken in His.
I picture Jesus, walking on the beach, collecting broken glass and bits of shell and jagged rocks. I'm not the only one who thinks they've broken alone here. He feels the broken edges against his skin, but he sees the beauty in changing what they were into what they are meant to be, and he places them gently in the Father's hands. I picture the Spirit, exuding from the fingertips of each, swirling through them as slowly the shards soften, the stones become smooth.
I picture myself, my fingers feeling the softness of Grandma's hand through her turquoise gloves that she's put on my cold fingers. I carry a little navy bucket that once held red jam, and now holds my treasures. We walk up the hill from the beach to her house as the sun gets ready to go down.
Bigger, I smell the same yummy aroma I remember seeping through her door, as I look at the driftwood and shells and glass we collected years ago, still arranged there.
That moment was sometime between me realizing how much I love the smell and taste and texture of the ocean air, and realizing that one day I might move away from it.
Undisturbed, the golden brown ropes of kelp sway slightly in the water. They are enormous underwater forests, strongholds of life that reach effortlessly towards the surface, but barely touch it. They become safe havens, anchors and sanctuaries. Or, they are filled with creatures that lurk through the slimy murky darkness and take advantage of its thickness. Undisturbed, the giant leaves and stems weave themselves together in a world that from our boats and our beaches, and even our bodies holding breath under water - is mysterious. It dances and sculpts and acts: art unhung, uninterpreted. Unexperienced expression.
It's the wave; a little bigger than expected, or the waves; constantly pounding in one after another after another after another that draw up the kelp. The wind blows, the waves crash, and in a conglomerate collage, seaweed sticks the salty smell of the water to the rocks on shore.
Sometimes when waves hit me, I feel quenched, washed, renewed, refreshed. Sometimes I look at the tangled weeds that have been pulled out of me, and left on shore, and I praise God as I taste His freedom and anticipate the new growth he has in store for me.
Sometimes I feel the water beginning to toss around me. I brace myself for the storm, scared of what it will bring to the surface for anyone to see. I feel like I'm going to explode - I feel like I need to explode, but I search for a quiet shore, where maybe only God will see the aftermath of the storm inside of me. And with no other hands around to pick up the pieces, I'll lie there entirely broken in His.
I picture Jesus, walking on the beach, collecting broken glass and bits of shell and jagged rocks. I'm not the only one who thinks they've broken alone here. He feels the broken edges against his skin, but he sees the beauty in changing what they were into what they are meant to be, and he places them gently in the Father's hands. I picture the Spirit, exuding from the fingertips of each, swirling through them as slowly the shards soften, the stones become smooth.
I picture myself, my fingers feeling the softness of Grandma's hand through her turquoise gloves that she's put on my cold fingers. I carry a little navy bucket that once held red jam, and now holds my treasures. We walk up the hill from the beach to her house as the sun gets ready to go down.
Bigger, I smell the same yummy aroma I remember seeping through her door, as I look at the driftwood and shells and glass we collected years ago, still arranged there.
Sometimes I get so frustrated not knowing
how God is shaping me,
where He is taking me,
who'll be on the journey along side of me.
I lose sight so easily of His bigger view.
He doesn't leave me.
He didn't pick me up, put me in a bucket, and forget me when it was time for dinner.
He still sees me. He still knows me. He still has a plan for me. He treasures me.
All the things and all the people I'm worried about - he holds them too.
So much closer and so much deeper than I can. He knows what is going on in my heart.
He knows what is going on in yours.
And it's His breath that stirs or calms the sea.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)