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?