Sunday, March 20

Spring.
I can feel it in my bones.


Seeing the earth shake off winter leaves me breathless.  excited.  ready.

Classes.  Writing.  Missions.  Internships.  Graduation.  Travel.

My plans have been falling apart lately like a worn patchwork quilt.

At first I was frustrated and a little disappointed.

But now I am finding great joy (and I don't use those words lightly) in watching God bring pieces back together.

Not in the ways I expected.
Not in any fashion that I can predict.
Not in any way that makes sense to me.

But slowly, intentionally, needle and thread are coming together to mend and make things that I could never dream up.  And as I sit here thinking about timing, I'm struck with a resilient hopefulness.

The same God that creates the seasons
-the leaves and snow and rain and sun-
knows the seasons of my life.

And I feel small.
humbled.
grateful.
and excited.

Snippets of my week:

-The way tree branches reach towards the sun.  Growing, arms open, strong and yet beautiful.

-Replaying encouraging voice mails from good friends.  Hearing their voices was the best medicine.

-The story of a strong and honest stranger, poured out to me when I least expected it.  Being caught off guard by his honesty and authenticity.

When he spoke of struggle and pain and freedom-
when he shared his story-
I felt like I had been entrusted with an extravagant gift.

-Being covered in paint.  Joining my classmates for a service project.  Getting messy for something worth believing in.  Feeling convicted of my own selfishness.  Remembering how much my life is not about me.

 -Stained glass windows.  Exploring downtown by myself.  Walking in the sunshine, wind in my hair.  Taking off my shoes and watching the sunset.  Feeling loved, taken care of, alive and not alone.

-Turning on Mumford and Sons and dancing wildly, arms flailing, voice loud and unashamed.  Realizing that my windows were open and my neighbors could both see and hear me.  Not caring.

-Going to the bookstore and feeling itchy.  I've never, in the history of my entire life, felt uncomfortable in a bookstore.  So why now?  Why couldn't I shake this weird feeling?

I ached inside, right where my ribs connect around my heart.  And for an instant, I couldn't help but wonder- do I have a story that belongs here too?  Maybe, in its own time, I'll find it.  But for now I rejoice in the promise of spring.

What's your favorite season?

1 comment:

amyellison said...

YES to a resilient hopefulness.

"I couldn't help but wonder- do I have a story that belongs here too?" Mmm. That could explain the itching. ;) Powerful thoughts.

My favorite season? I've always said it's Fall. windy. crisp. fresh. mostly dry. wearing a jacket again. But truly, I love so many things about each season...