Foggy Minded

This morning I awoke early - earlier than I wanted to, and later than I needed to.

I showered, dressed, brushed my teeth - seemingly preparing myself for the day.

It was raining when I stepped outside, already running late.

By the time I turned onto the highway, the rain was pouring. Cars splashed through puddles and semi trucks were followed by a mist of rain being kicked up from under their tires.

And then the fog hit.

I could already hardly see through the rain, and now fog was taking over the rest of my vision.


Do you ever feel like that sometimes?


Everything appears clear to you, and then the fog sets in. And you try to do your best in the milliseconds between your wipers swishing to make sure you're still in the correct lane, and you pray to God that the guy behind you can see your lights and knows you exist.

But you keep driving, and hope that the clouds will part.

Autumnal Lessons

 My fiancé and I love taking the scenic route. If there's time, it's always the first option. We love turning on some good music, dreaming about the future, or asking each other thought-provoking questions and admiring the beauty of a clear country road. 

I've never been much of a fan of the fall season. I enjoy it for the two weeks it seems to last, and as soon as I become cozy with a light sweater and a cup of tea, winter winds sweep away my autumn enthusiasm. 

I've never been much of a fan of change. I like being comfortable with what I know. 

This season, everything is different. Eric and I point out to each other on our drives every tree that is beginning to change color. (We especially like the red and orange ones.) We can't help but notice the change that is taking place, and revel in its beauty. 

I think we seem to be taking special notice of it this year because we are so desiring of change in our own lives. 

We get married in less than seven months, and I think we both realize that means a lot of change - including change in our lives presently. Having someone else in your life that you love so much is exhilarating and encouraging - it makes you want to be a better person for their sake, not just your own. 

Eric and I want to have a good life together. We want to make a welcoming home, hold steady jobs, and more than anything, bring glory to God through our life together. And that means consistently changing for the better. 

We long for God's touch on our lives to bring about the golden hue of change. And the trees we see on a country highway whisper a reminder: God is still working. 

God is still working. He is not passive. Even if we can't yet see what He is changing, He is still working in us and for us. Our God is faithful to provide for us, and we must trust that He will give us all we need in His timing. 

In the meanwhile, we'll take the scenic route and trust His guidance. 

Nunca Solo

The door opens and I look behind me, even though I know it isn't you.
Dismayed, I turn back to my book and wrap my hands around a chai tea latte. Even its warmth reminds me of you; your strong hands holding my cold fingers and bringing them to the warmth of your lips.

Class begins without you, and my gaze drifts beyond the window to other places. I glance at the professor and she smiles at me as though she knows.

I try to focus as we begin an activity in the book.
Senora flips through note cards to call on students.
"Eric," she pauses. "He's not here."

"Wrong," I think, and settle my thoughts with the sound of my heartbeat.

Just Breathe

I stare down at the rusty pipes of the bridge and wonder how long it will stand. Orange life preservers wait at each wooded interlude - a reminder of the brevity of life.
We have faith that when we sit, a chair will hold our weight.. Yet when God says, "Come to me, and I will give you rest," we decline a seat at his table.
Do we not realize that life is but a breeze in the palm of our Savior?

Homesickness

I can't even put my finger on what it is I miss.
The rustle in the trees, the sounds of the crickets at night -
Even the coyotes would seem welcoming right now.
The full night sky seems a world away from me as I look up and see black.

I remember that shooting star, the hooting owl -
Your promises to me.
"Never will I leave you.
Your home is with me, child."

Still I lie in wait for You;
Your words bring life.
I hold onto the quiet whisper You give
And breathe with anticipation.

"Great is Thy faithfulness, Oh God my Father.
There is no shadow of turning with Thee
Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not
As thou hast been, Thou forever will be."

Abnormally, I can't sleep tonight. Not that I tried for long, but I couldn't get comfortable. Something kept tugging at me to get out of bed and write. So here I am, in the hallway with my blanket and iTunes and blog. We've become good friends the past two years.

It's so odd to realize that I've completed half of my undergraduate career. Two years down; two to go. I feel like a completely different person than the scared girl who moved into this dorm two years ago, afraid of what was to come the next year, or even the next day. I would like to say I'm more mature, more friendly, stronger, smarter, and more carefree, but I don't know that I'm best qualified to make that assessment.

My roommate moved most of her things out of the dorm today. We put her top bunk on the floor and moved the furniture to its proper places. When she left, and the door shut behind her, all I could hear was the echo - the slam of the door, the click of the lock - and my anxieties, my girlish fears suddenly swept in with the rush of air from the door.
Alone, packing more of my things, I flashed back to that first day in the room, two years ago. I was suddenly eighteen again, unsure of myself and my future; so overwhelmed that I could only focus on unpacking clothes and books, ignoring the thought that my parents had left me in this strange place, not for merely a week or a two, but for the next nine months.

Two years later, my little sister is graduating from high school, with some of the uncertainties I had and a lot more spunk. I have no doubt she'll go far wherever God leads her.
As for me, two years after graduation I'm still unsure of what I'm going to do with my life. I remember writing my future plans for the senior edition of the high school newspaper - "I will laugh, I will cry, I will sing, and I will glorify God." Without a doubt I have done plenty of these in this past two years, and I wouldn't change that statement at all for the next two. Of course, I hope for laughter and singing more than tears, but God shown me so much this year through the tears, and I wouldn't take back any of those lessons.

Trust. Have faith in the God who knows you. Worry does nothing, but prayer does. It is good to wait for the Lord. Endure discipline. Resist temptation and fight the good fight. Believe that everything happens for the good of those who love God, and act accordingly. 

In a few months, I will be living in an apartment. I will turn 21, and appear to be 76 from the burden that 19 credit hours will bear on me. I hope to be an example, and a leader. No matter what happens, I pray that above it all - the laughter, the tears, the frustrations, and the victories - the glory will go to God alone. Not by anything I have done or anything I am, but by what He has done and who He is, will I find success and satisfaction on the journey. I pray the same for you.

"You are the Savior and You take brokenness aside, and make it beautiful, beautiful."

Strings and Deadbolts

Don't you just love conversations that remind you why you are where you are?
I asked for reminders, and God surely gave it tonight.

We. Don't. Work. Period. I doubt we ever would.
It's hard enough to carry on a normal conversation without misinterpreting each other and ending in an angry argument.

There really is no point in continuing the endless argument that was a futile attempt at friendship.
Even normal conversations end in my emotional "craziness" and your masked fury.
There is no point, there is no reasoning, there is no longer a rhyme for the tune that we used to sing so beautifully.

I am sad that our feeble attempts at friendship ended in shatters. I am sorry for hurting you, if I did, by my words. However, I am not sorry for standing up to you and speaking my mind. Telling you that you insulted me is not "crazy"; it is human. It is a very small attempt to construct a conversation with civility. Obviously, that did not work, and again, I'm not sure that it ever will.

But for tonight, at least, I can say this: I have closure. And when I say closure, I mean deadbolt.

I am who I am. If anyone plans on changing that, it's God. You have no power over that. So don't tell me I'm wrong, don't tell me how you think I am acting or reacting. Because the reality is that you don't know me, and you never really did - you never cared to learn.

And for that, I am partially grateful. I wasted two months on you, and I'm not about to waste any more. While grateful for the lessons I learned, I am also grateful that I no longer have to argue with you, or worry about misinterpreting you, or worry that I'm giving you too much affection.

The past happened for a reason.
The past is in the past for a reason.

Thank you, God, for this sure reminder.