Time to write...but not flowing yet.

It seems like it's time to write again.
Because it's something I can do on the go
Because it's something that stretches past whatever gluck is attempting to weigh me down, and cleanses my soul.
Because there is something deeply encouraging about seeing my heart in letters, and being able to see God's faithfulness and work in my life.
Because, like four years ago, when I stepped off the plane to Ottawa, I feel like I'm getting ready for a new adventure - and perhaps a story worth writing.
And I guess because some people I love check my blog every day.

School has started.

 I can tell because my back and shoulders are tense from the weight of my book bag, loaded each day with hopefully everything I need, tossed over my shoulder with the cringe that considers when in life I'll regret wrecking my back for the sake of feeling comfortable in my skin and organized and (perhaps only in my mind), cute.

I can tell because in each moment of the day there is this clock, rattling back and forth like an ignored old-fashioned alarm, bells clanging as I begin stacking up the list of things to do an things to buy and places to go and people to talk to.

I can tell because at the end of the day, my brain is tired, and once I am able to tune out the aforementioned clock, it's so much easier to fall asleep.

This time it's a little bit different.  It feels so strange to be in the same physical space: the same room, the same apartment, the same church, the same school, the same city....but have almost entirely different people in my life. And in the whirlwind of building relationships with everyone from my new roommates to my new classmates to my new...students... it is so delightful to be feeling closer to the one constant, deep, unchanging love in my life - God, and to be surprised by the ways in which I'm finding myself drawn to him.

August (Unfinished)

I walk carefully over sun-bleached driftwood through the white pepper rock-speckled sand to the quiet sea.  These suede city shoes weren’t built for the beach.

For better or worse, my toes were.

I woke up this morning thinking about how strange it felt to be an adult in my teenage bedroom.  Wondering if it will always feel so strange coming to sleep in this room at mom and dad’s house. 

Perhaps I only write now when I’m far away from Ottawa, or when I’m dreaming about a place that speaks so much more clearly to my heart than the city lights and sounds.  The music of the west coast is softer, slower: artsy.  And somehow it feels so much easier to rest here.

Even in my quick break from zipping around the city to see friends and family, fitting visit after visit after visit into one short day, now comfy on an ancient log, toes sifting through soft cool sand, smelling the salt and gentle waves…it feels like I can actually sit down and stop here.

How do I learn to do that at home, in my different faster world of school and work and church and life in ministry? 

May (Unfinished)

They remind me of tulips. Vibrant and stunning,their vivacious colours are almost ironic as they are splashed across delicate precious petals. Its in their nature to withstand the impossible with a kind of bold and awe inspiring grace as they stretch toward the sun, perched on dainty stems that have shot up from the earth just when Spring seems to be a long lost dream. There is an unmistakable truth in the smiles that bursts forth from the painted lips and rouged cheeks of the ladies in the red hats.