I really want to say something profound here. I mean, look at this picture! Doesn’t it just feel…ethereal? and hopeful! I chose it because this is how far I feel I’ve come since my last (very depressing) black and white “road to nowhere” picture (below).
Trust is an odd thing. When you actually do trust, you feel it. You can breathe more easily, know that there is a reason for everything, know that no matter what – in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. (Romans 8:28).
————————–
“Afflictions are but the shadow of God’s wings.” George MacDonald
Every morning we wake with hope- this is the day! Problems we face will be solved and the pain of our circumstances will be treated with soothing assurances of relief on its way.
Every evening, disappointment, but hope remains. A prayer of faith is lifted in spite of circumstances. Waiting is the hardest part…but in waiting much is learned, and much is remembered.
We are commanded to walk along the cliff’s edge. When we look down, we see the face of despair. The question is, do we really trust God? A cliff’s edge is a bad place to fake it.
A funny thing happens when one’s dream dies…suddenly there is room for the previously unimagined. A whole world of possibilities becomes visible.
You don’t get the dream job you’ve been working so hard for, perhaps you’ve gotten the training needed to help an orphanage in Africa instead. Maybe you won’t have the ideal “American Dream” house and childhood you hoped to give your children. Perhaps you’ll give them the greater gifts of compassion, gratitude, faith, and empathy…things that aren’t necessarily attainable within the confines of selfish living.
The truth is, the dream must die, otherwise how can we see the dreams of God when our own dreams stand in the way?
Photo Credit: Daily Dose of Imagery
I stand here, ready, patiently resolute, with my satchel packed, just waiting to be picked up and carried away from here to…where? Why is it that I want so badly to be away from here? What do I think is so much better somewhere else? I have no idea but I‘m sure it must be better than here.
Perhaps it is the fact that I am standing still while the whole of the world moves not just around me, but away from me…leaving me…behind. Perhaps it is the fact that I am unable to move no matter what I do.
Every now and again I feel a need to step away from things and just breathe.
I’m not sure where this feeling comes from, but it seems to just insert itself in such a way that all I can seem to do is pull back from everything. It pushes me to recoil into myself. It makes me seek refuge within the confines of silence. It forces a distancing, especially of technology which is far too invasive as it is, and inspires a desire for simplicity in its truest and most unpolluted form: a quiet observance of nature.
When all else fails, go get a hair cut.
There are few things in life that can boost a person’s spirit better than a new haircut. You see, I’ve actually spent the last couple of years trying to grow it out, but it’s been getting to be more of a hassle and so finally, one day last week I said to myself, “why am I doing this again?” And that was it.
Three nights and 7″ of hair piled up on the floor later, I’m free. Nothing much else has changed, but I certainly feel better.
Pumpkin, oh pumpkin, ’tis your season of death.
How I weep for you during this month of torment. The stabbing of the knives, the innards ripped asunder…how horrifying to sit in the field and watch the approaching hay wagon loaded with “customers” looking to cut you from the field and fill your insides with a burning fire for their own sick amusement.
Oh that the torture would end for you and your kind. Oh that man would understand the depth of despair you feel as he carves a smile in your anguished face.
He whispers in the dead dark of night, “Honey…listen…”
I turn my ear towards the window that has been left open just a crack so I can feel the cool breeze through the night, and I hear in the far distance a low rumbling echoing down the valley.
A few moments later I look over at him and see, as lightening flashes through the window, a smile at the corners of his mouth – he is five again and giddy with the excitement of the coming storm.
I smile too and we both wait for the next thundering boom.
Have you ever walked past an art shop only to look up and see a piece of art that is so striking it stops you cold in your tracks?
It’s happened to me twice. Once with Ansel Adam’s “Mt. McKinley and Wonder Lake” (currently hanging over my fireplace) and once with a blown up photo taken from the deck of a sailboat riding on stormy seas (likewise, hanging in my bathroom).
I’m not sure what it is about them, but I never get tired of seeing them. They show such conflict and yet hold the promise peace somehow.
For as long as I can remember, puddles have been a source of naughty delight. As any child, I too was told “stay OUT of the PUDDLES!!” Of course, this made me want to do only one thing…jump straight in creating the biggest, drenching-est, most splashy-est splash I possibly could. What I didn’t want to do though, was to actually get muddy myself…well, not beyond my ankles anyway. Talk about a serious conflict of interests!
Two inner desires competing for dominance; to splash big but stay clean in the process. Such is my turmoil.
