Monday 2 December 2013

Immersed in Beauty

We went to New Zealand. Here is the rest of the story.





17th of November – Sunday – 2013 – entry 136

"How in the world can a massive, heavy, metal bird lift above the earth like this? My first overseas flight since I was two, and I got a good one. It was rainy and overcast on the ground; the same clouds are now under me, golden and whipped into frothy puffs of sunkissed glory. This is wonderfully impossible. This is the stuff of my imagination. Reality has hit the mark that my imagination made in the ether; now I will have to dream up new things(...)"





18th of November – Monday – 2013 – entry 137

"It is hard to feel anything but awe when you are sitting by the shores of one of the bluest glacial lakes you have ever seen. I'm here, cold, in a lovely red jumper that is comfortingly warm, and I have beside me a cup of plunger coffee. I'm on one of a series of boulders that blotch the shore in a beautifully untidy splat, and I am alone. I and God. I always thought that photographers touched up the photos of these lakes to make them look bluer. Now I know God does the touching up before they even take the photo. But you look- I look, and all I see is the arm of God sweeping over this land. Ridged, white-capped mountains edge, bold and silent, around the edge of the lake, and the peaks on the far side are all but obscured behind a heavenly curtain of cloud. How I wish more adjectives had been invented before I saw all these things that cannot – will not be described(...)"





19th of November – Tuesday – 2013 – entry 138

"It is a quarter past eight. A whole quarter past, and the Sun is still up in the sky; it is setting, but it will be nine before it has set completely. The motorhome is much too much too bumpy. I'll finish the entry later.

...

Today we walked along the Hooker Valley. This is a four-hour round trip trail that meanders this way and that towards a silty little lake, smattered with little icebergs, at the foot of Mt. Cook. The grandeur is incomprehensible, literally. I stood there and wondered, then walked for four hours staring up at the mountains (...) The peaks always looked so close, but I never got closer to them, even with all my walking (...)"





20th of November – Wednesday – 2013 – entry 139

"Lord, help me love. Campervanning is not easy. If ever anything tested my character, it was campervanning with the whole family. Who you are in a campervan is who you are. And when I forget you, God, I am the worst. I love you, and help.

Today, I opened up the window while we were driving along the top of Dunedin. I let the icy wind just whip into my face and eyes while I watched the moving landscape slope and roll all over my vision in the purest greens and further out, the nostalgic blues. I've been reading during our drives quite a lot since our first day, but it was lovely to succumb to the sheer glory of closing my eyes and just knowing that Heaven on Earth was spread before me."





21st of November – Thursday – 2013 – entry 140

"BUTTERFLIES! A beautiful, three-story green-house at the Dunedin Museum; it had a little pond on the first floor, and then steps and bridges spiralled about, and everywhere – butterflies. The room held possibly thousands of them.

I am now so in love with the greens and the blues and the sky and the grass, and the beauty, beauty, beauty(...)"





23rd of November – Saturday – 2013 – entry 141

I don't know how to explain Milford Sound. I have completely run out of adjectives to describe it; I'll try. The cruise we went on was a two-hour ride that went from a dock through Milford Sound to the Tasman Sea...Looking up, these huge, huge mountains towered over us in greens and greys, rising out of the water to heights of one and a half kilometres, and plunging 300 metres more below the surface of the water. The water was deep and dark; looming rock overhangs bouldered out metres and metres above us; spray from the dancing, white waterfalls caught us as the boat went in close. Massive hyperbolas were carved out of the mountains all around, evidence of fearsome glaciers of indescribable weight, mass, depth, channelling towards that great silky mass of water that sombrely and elegantly moves out to sea. I didn't know places like that existed; I didn't dare to hope that I would someday see what I saw today."





25th of November – Monday – 2013 – entry 142

"I got sick yesterday, and I got worse today; this is bad because the feeling of having my head tightened into a vice seems to inhibit me from enjoying and gasping at my surroundings.
This afternoon, we parked the campervan across the road from the beginning of a short but beautiful mossy, foresty track. Even in what I felt was some half-state of delirium, I felt calmed and heart-warmed and loved in the trees. Green bales of moss clung to and hung from the soaked trees, rain pitter-patted through the leafy sky onto my muddy sneakers. My nose was blocked, which is sad because I can imagine that the smell of rain in a forest is one of the best things ever, but I'm sure it will be in heaven, so I do not mind so much. I got to taste it though, when drops spilled off my raincoat onto my lips(...)"





27th of November – Wednesday – 2013 – entry 143

"This morning, we woke up on the side of the road to the almighty noise of a coal train roaring past our campervan. Dad says I mumbled, "I thought for a moment that it was the end of the world!" before rolling over to snore a few times.
We went to the pancake rocks today and got mistaken for locals by asian tourists. They started taking photos of us as Dad confusedly stated, "what...are you...doing?" I played along with peace signs and exaggerated smiles. What they don't know won't hurt them, and hey, all us white folk look the same, don't we? (...)"





29th of November – Friday – 2013 – entry 144

"...We have come to rest at a place just short of Akaroa called French Farm Bay, (and speaking of rest, Jesus promises it if I come to him heavy laden. Where have I been today when I should have been with Jesus for goodness sake?!) The tide is out, leaving a plain of exposed, grey rocks. There are so many shells scattered amongst them and there are crabs underneath that dart back into the ground like shadows if you turn them over, but it is so lovely just to stand at the grey and blue centre of this broad funnel of luscious green landscape and breathe; and then; if I close my eyes gently and be still, I can hear the sound of a thousand little shell-dwellers moving, breathing, opening, closing...I hardly know what to compare it to, except perhaps the sound of rice bubbles when the milk has just been poured in. This God I serve; he creates beautiful things and these beautiful things give fleeting respite from the hard parts of life..."





1st of December – Sunday – 2013 – entry 145

"We are going home. What has been our house for the last two weeks is ours no longer and I will sleep in my own bed tonight. Oh joy. I believe that I will understand now how big and spacious our house is now that I will have something to compare it to. I will not be living out of a suitcase anymore and that is wonderful.

I have loved New Zealand. I will come back one day."




 











Saturday 16 November 2013

Drive, Darling


It is sundown. Sunlight is wistfully dancing in golden floods of deep warm hues on the leaves of the evergreens outside. Clouds scatter across the sky like a tearing blanket, dousing it in colder purples and blues. I am not feeling well. Mind and heart have taken a beating and I'm wearing it; on my face, on my sleeve, in my heart, and I hurt.



I want to drive.





I can drive now. It took a while, but now I am on my own, window down, engine roaring in a pulsing rhythm that comforts me in a world that has gone a little mad. The wind swishes past my face and I let the cold air bite my nose and ears and cheeks; I let it tangle my hair. I love this; the freedom of knowing I am on my own. I am part of this incredible engine, I control it, I am powerful. I can drive. And for the moment, driving makes everything seem alright, even though some things are not, and I am home. 
 

Monday 4 November 2013

Opera

We made fruit mince today. Christmastime is soothingly melting towards us over the horizon, so we prepare with citrus peel and brandy. November. Perhaps it is not yet time for carols, but maybe for Pavane and Christmas-flavoured adagios? We know a few good ones. And so they play.

They play the way the flavours of fruit mince mingle in your mouth. Tossing and turning in a sea of colour; reds and greens and golds, mixing, folding, wrapping into one another. I put a spoonful of raw, pungent fruit into my mouth and it turns into something extraordinary:

OPERA.


I can almost hear the voices swelling in a vibrant, incomprehensible language that somehow doesn't need translating. Dried fruit swollen in butter and brandy numb my tongue; warm it down the throat; settle it inside me. Christmas is coming. Just wait a moment while I calm the flood of '!!!' that has risen, unbidden, into my lungs and heart. Opera in my mouth. Strong, dramatic, exquisite song with a sharp, gorgeous stab of nostalgia. This is the land-ahoy moment of Christmas. Somehow, it is also opera. But don't ask me how. It just is.






Wednesday 23 October 2013

Be-ing

We are change. 

In books, the plot moves, the characters develop, in science, the variables change and warp, cells live and die, and in reality, things are changing at infinite rates. Things age.  Reality is in constant flux.
 
At the essence of being human is change, affecting how we live, where we go, what we do. Don't breathe on me, I will get a cold, don't go there, you'll get an arm chopped off, don't slide down the banister, you will hit you head and get a concussion. Most of the warnings we give or receive arise from the urgency to protect someone from unfavourable change.There is no way we could be human with being succeptible to change. It is how we were made. 

We are change.


The only being not subject to change in all of reality is God, so much so that even his goals, his character, his attributes, his desires, his loves and hates, do not change. He is perfect be-ing. As humans, we are fallen become-ing. Though God remains constant and steady, always the same, always as true and righteous, we are ceaselessly becoming something, someone else. What is that end? What are we going to become? Will we ever stop?
 I think perhaps we might. 
When in heaven, I am sure that time will not be. Eternity will be our clock. We will not age, grow weary, get angry. We will always be honouring God in all we do. I have no idea how we might change physically, if at all, but I do know that our hearts and souls will not change in one aspect at least. Thye will not become dark again like at the beginning of time, and they will not depart from God ever again.
Becoming, changing. These are the themes for our very lives. They are visible in books, movies, reality; in the play of children, in the interaction of work colleagues, in the 5:00pm clean-up times of families. They are obvious in every aspect of our lives, highlighting the incredible God who is not subject to fickle fluctuation. This stark difference between Him and ourselves should make us want to cling to him, because he will not change his mind one day, nor leave us when we most need him. 

He is a constant, the best thing that could ever be hoped for in this universe. 



The best that could ever be. 




Wednesday 16 October 2013

Merci

The last few days have been a string of ughs and uhhhs. Eyes heavy, distressed, a combination of misfired shampoo, rubbing eyes with chilli-covered hands, flies flying into my face , and a sticky lack of sleep. Lids refusing to stay open far enough to see. Arms useless, shoulders tense. Ribs aching with too much something.

Hhhhhh. . .


I wrote three letters yesterday, before I had to teach a score of young things. Two of the notes were thank you notes, and the other was a three page complaint. I felt the difference of thanks and complaint acutely. I muttered and stormed my way to the letter box at 1:40 in the afternoon, knowing I had to come back to teach piano, and I just didn't want to. I had 20 minutes of freedom. So I continued on, huffing, puffing, scowling.

Now, here I will mention, it is often in these moments that I pray for beautiful things from nature, or a little helpless animal to be placed divinely in front of me so that I have a release for my tension, or some sort of catharsis.

Yesterday, I didn't pray for that. Often they don't show up anyway. And I'm a grown-up. I was going to sort this out on my own. I wanted to grumble.

And then.

From somewhere in my peripheral vision, my eyes-- those hurting, aching, worn-out eyes-- stumbled on the most beautiful thing I'd seen for a long time. Upside down. A nest. I went over to it, half-crying with it's perfect wholeness, turned it over, and found myself standing there with my letters in one hand and the most beautiful bird's nest in the other. A few moments passed. Still there. I had to teach. Sshhh... The complaint went away. Relief and release replaced it. The rest of the walk to the post box was thankful; thankful for the nest, thankful for God's sharp knowledge of where I was at and what would graciously, lovingly heal that moment for me. Thankful that I am not alone in those moments where I lose my sense.


Thank you. 





 

Tuesday 1 October 2013

Blur

 
October.

Arm up, in the air, watch it dance across the sky, to and fro, to and fro. Let my fingers twist and twirl in the air; let them glide. Both arms out; up; background of blue and white, bundly perfection. Close my eyes, breathe in. Feel the sweat on my back and the burn on my shoulders – distracted; the jacaranda has burst into purple flame. The still air wills the little flowers to the ground and they drop – amethyst falls out of the sky. The grass is yellow and plays a warm symphony to the sun-drenched earth. It is a frantic, heated polyphony. Still, quiet, loud, ever moving, all at the same time, somehow, someway, and not slowing enough to be known through and through. It is a blur.


It is Summer.


There is no Spring here. Summer simply has attributes of Spring, and here, we must be content with that and watch the season turn on a dime; hairpinning its way from Winter in a fleeting instant.


Summer. Golly.

October.


In eleven days, I will turn seventeen. I will get my Ps. I will finish school. I will pretend to be a responsible adult for a year before becoming one; officially. I cannot hairpin like this warm season, into a more beautiful, loving, obedient woman. No. I will continue on slowly, learning always and never stopping, until I am made more like Him every day. And one fine morning-

One fine morning I will awaken with a clean heart and a renewed spirit. But I will beat on, boat against the current, through 'life', bearing always toward that one, radiant moment.

And then forevermore.










                                tumblr


Saturday 21 September 2013

Swirling Swell

I have been at the beach; the glorious, pounding, grey and green, swirling swell. Heaven. I have a confession, though, I cannot deny. I am chilled by and scared of the beach. The tossing and crashing of that chaotic beauty is slightly more than I can bear. And yet, when I swim out, fresh and scared, I settle. I find the peace that I was desperately searching for on the foamy shore in the cool, blue, rolling hills. The waves are behind me, the sky is ahead. Heaven. I love coming back, digging my bare, pale toes into the sand, down, down,down, and then letting the incoming tide wisp more sand around my ankles and up, up, up. The water goes to my waist. Laughing, my head goes back as the next wave splashes into the clouds above me. Euphoria bubbles out in an expressive expanse and flail of the arms; in the shake of my head as I blink the salt out of my eyes; in the uncontrollable giggle that escapes- loud and full- into the air. Heaven. Heaven, heaven. Beauty and freedom surround me and soon, become me. Beauty. Freedom.












Thursday 12 September 2013

Journal Entry One-Hundred-and-Four

I have drifted. Again. It is as if my heart has collapsed for a moment. A long moment, sure as heaven I'm not feeling clearly. I can think marvellously, but my heart- oh, me. This is strange. It is not a bad state from the looks of things. . .I mean, I'm utterly fine.

But that's just it. I'm fine. I don't want to be fine, I want to be an extreme. I don't want to 'fit' into this apathetic suburbia-scape. I want to be head-over-heels in awestruck love for God, or deeply angered; enough to know the release of forgiveness when- if- I accept or receive it. I want to be wracked with sadness, just to grasp the peace that would wash over me like a cool wind off the ocean. I don't want 'fine'. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. . .and I suppose, in a funny way, I want sin so that I can understand glory. I have an insatiable appetite for 'everything'. I want to swallow it whole. I want to be rich in soul-filling growth and goodness.

Perhaps that is it.
Perhaps I am poor in spirit.

Yes, I suppose that is me.



Oh, look. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 5:3) What hope. Certainly, though, we can be poor in spirit and not do anything worthy about it? Perhaps the kind of 'poor in spirit' that Jesus promises to reward is the kind that starts with the emptiness, but continues with the search-- the search for God.






I don't want fine. I want God.








Sunday 25 August 2013

Friend.



The idea of a 'friend'- a good friend- makes me think of storm clouds; boiling, churning, moving from the horizon towards me. It reminds me of huge fields of wheat, bending, swaying in the wind in one golden dance, deep, cool water on a Summer day, yellow flowers. It makes me remember the things I love.

A friend. Honest and open with you. They communicate with you, whether it be with words, actions, or by letter, email, or text. They let you know how they are, and ask how you are. They speak honestly of you to others, but do not slander. They use a measured amount of discretion in every relationship.

A friend does not leave you alone when life happens. And life will always happen; friends ride the peaks and troughs together.

The most beautiful parts of us cannot always disguise the blackest, but having a trustworthy someone there to confront us about it is often what we need, though not ever what we want. All of us should be prepared for that, to accept it with humility and grace, two qualities that do not get enough use in my own life.

Friendships can survive, even when both people are flawed (we all are), but both people need to see that the flaws exist, or else no healthy relationship exists at all. A friend is loyal, but not exclusively. They stick with you, but not at the grave expense of others. It is possible, always, to have more than one friend; even more than one good or best friend (though that term itself is exclusive), but these friendships should not be able to maim or dismantle others, nor hinder any from beginning.


The very best friendships are ultimately those that are directed and guided by God, and which answer to his teaching and authority. These are always the best, because He himself created friendships. . .he is the author and sustainer of each.



P.s. I have many good friends, which makes me a very blessed girl. 







Friday 16 August 2013

Oh, How I Love Them v: Fleur

Fleur is the youngest member of our family, a cheeky and beautiful nine year old. She loves friends, loves dogs, and loves her freedom, while hating to clean her room, make her bed, or get dressed in the morning. This causes some friction between the hours of seven and nine o' clock am, and is rather funny to watch. . .if you are standing at a safe distance from the unravelling catastrophe. In the midst of it all, though, Fleur is a gentle girl with a spark of spunk in her. She is a gift-giver, often wrapping up an old possession or drawing a picture to give to a friend at co-op. She has gorgeous blue eyes and a smile to die for, and this reflection of a little quiet soul is part of what makes her an absolute treasure.

Oh. Oh, how very much I love her.





Thursday 15 August 2013

Oh, How I Love Them iv: Jonah

Jonah is my younger brother of eleven, rambunctious, random-noise-making, but kind and pleasant. His great passion is Lego, a skill which surpasses all those of his mates and which he is pleased to prove. Always calling for a game of this or that, a jump on the trampoline, or a play date with a friend, he is active and fun-loving, while remaining a rather down-to-earth character, task focused and rule-oriented. This side of his character can annoy the rest of us, but at other times it helps keep us on track. It is an attribute that guides much of what he does from playing to working. His lightning-fast fingers are put to good use in front of a computer screen. Few AI can stand in his way. I admire mostly his perseverance. This quality sees him accomplish tasks of huge dimensions. It is also one that inspires me to accomplish my own.

Oh, how I love him.





Wednesday 14 August 2013

Oh, How I Love Them iii: Annie

Then there's Annie. She's nineteen months younger than me, but we share a bedroom, refuse to share clothes, share living space, share our lives, really. We're mistaken for twins, our voices are extremely similar. Sometimes I think we're almost the same person, or two aspects of one. At fifteen, she does not lack in talent what she does in age. Guitar riffs stream out of our room every day, her photography skills on less-than-competitive cameras are incredible, she writes songs, creates cards, draws to rival the best, is eloquent, lovely, ah. Near-perfect as a beautifully accomplished woman. But what characterises Annie most perfectly is this: That she loves wholeheartedly and faithfully what and whom she loves.

Oh, how I love her.



 P.S. The above photos were taken by the incredible Lara Arkinstall, whose blog is wholely winsome, and can be found here.

Tuesday 13 August 2013

Oh, How I Love Them ii: Mum

My mother adminsters our education, feeding the thirst for knowledge that is partially provoked by Dad, and doing so with enthusiasm, whatever form that takes, and with an earnest desire to have us learn. She's awesome. There is no woman more in touch with the poignant wants and needs of the next generation, nor any more honest and real with people her own age. Her laugh is loud, contagious, beautiful, and charismatic. Her singing is the same. I've always been of the belief that those who think likewise are correct, and those who disagree are not entitled to an opinion. She never had a university education, but does it matter? Does it show? No. She's educated herself spectacularly, reading, pondering, conversing. . .observing my mum makes you wonder if you need a university education at all.

Oh, how I love her.





Monday 12 August 2013

Oh, How I Love Them i: Daddy

My father is a software producer; five and half feet tall and solid.
He is a rather guarded man, but not rude. He's quiet but personable.
He has a unique sense of humor; a strange hybrid of dad-joke and sarcasm that amuses me while it confuses and scares my peers.
He thinks a lot, reads as much as he can, and when he has completed a thought or ten, he lets them seep out in conversation so that I am left in a quelled kind of awe, my brain provoked to do some thinking of its own.

Oh, how I love him.



Monday 5 August 2013

Untitled




Shut your eyes. Breathe...in....out...whisper a prayer, a hurting, comfort-seeking prayer...in....out...There it is. Fragile, but sure.







Peace.










Sunday 28 July 2013

Life

Dashed. The hurting has stopped and then a new blow comes, though I thought the storm had passed. It hasn't. The awfully overpowering temptation is to wallow in self-pity, or fall into my little safety net- the one I only use for emergencies- of apathy. I don't care. No. Shan't care. Won't care. Won't ever, ever care.

But we can't live without caring. Caring is human, beautiful. We must care. But it hurts.

I've been here before, and I know what this chapter is. It is a lesson; always a lesson. I know one thing in this and that is that there is a plan, and this will work out for my good and for his glory. Always. I know this, because I have learned that he is forever faithful.

I am learning how to grow when it appears that there is nothing to do but sit tight and ride it out. Obedience, dependance, patience.


God is the only way through. There is no way around, over, under, or out of it. I must be prepared to go through in obedience; peacefully, lovingly, hopefully, without anger. This is life. I need to learn from it. I need to grow.

It cannot be done alone. Dependance on God for the obedience we need is so difficult to obtain, and yet, the relief that comes from sacrificing self with the profound knowledge that Jesus is better is full and rich. It is right, feels true, and gives us peace.
Obedience will always call for dependance on God, and dependance on God will always call for obedience. One cannot fully exist without the other, and both together create one of the most beautiful spiritual enigmas ever to be found in the wide space of humanity. And furthermore, they are caught up together, fastened with patience.

It is actually the enigma of patience that led me to think about all this in the first place.

Waiting patiently is an art that I have not mastered, nor ever will, I think. But I believe I've struck something majestic when I say that waiting patiently is almost never passive. Obedience, dependance; they are the 'doing' part of waiting. . . the vital part of waiting.

Life will move us along on its own. Our response to that movement is the important part of the story.

It shows the world how big we believe our God is.










Saturday 20 July 2013

Silence

Quiet.


I love silence. I love stillness. Invariably, I go outside and climb up the ladder to the tree platform that has recently made a home in our front yard, just to get away from the noise and ache and strain of living on the ground. There is something so poignantly relieving about escaping to a little sanctuary three metres above humanity. I lie up there, quiet. Maybe I read, maybe I write speeches that will never be spoken, or compose exquisite songs that voices will never sing. Or maybe I stay, speechless, thoughtful, soundless, listening; for a moment; for an hour; for an entire day...Life goes on without me and I am content to let it.







Thursday 11 July 2013

Safe and Snug

It is Winter, and the cold has set in; still, frigid, indifferent. The air is white, and the ground is hard beneath the soles of my red wellies when I venture outside. The once swirling cocktail of Summery colour has evaporated. . .now the brilliance of the evergreens and the lately defoliating maple is precious and spare; heaven against the pale. It is all delicious. When I sit at my desk, I think to open the window in front of me; to feel the icy stillness on my face; to let it be, and work in front of that glory for an hour or so. Sometimes I do. Then I freeze, and my nose goes shiny and pink. My breath gets warmer as I get colder. I will shut the window then and revel in the knowledge that I'm sealed behind a thin, transparent, warming sheet of glass, safe from a shivery, cutting landscape. I love to experience the stinging slap of sharp air; to be involved in the majesty for a short while. But I love more to view its lovely intensity from a distance; retreated; safe in the embrace of a thick quilt, holding a mug of tea, perhaps reading a book or letting my snug surroundings lull me to sleep with their soporific comfort.







Saturday 6 July 2013

Learning To Walk

Teenstreet, 2013. 

Having been to the previous year's camp, I was eager. I knew that I would get excited about God again, be refreshed from my dull and achey life, and be able to go back to the real world, prepared to continue being a light for Christ in it.

It was a five day camp, and on the first day, I got sick. I was feverish and confused. I stumbled to my camp dorm, nearly blacking out several times along the way, and once I found my bed, slept for 5 hours. It was dark when I woke up. I felt as if I had missed something colossal- the first day of camp. That day was special, I thought, and I had missed it. The second day was better, but I was still weak from yesterday's shakiness, so I wandered through the day, trying as hard as I could to get enthusiastic the way I remembered I had been last year, but failing miserably. The third day, I woke up late. I missed breakfast, and nearly missed the morning's main meeting. I quelled my temper, doing my best not to let out my disapointment and frustration. That was treacherously difficult. But as I learned later, well worth it.

It got easier that day, because I started leaning on God for the strength I realised for the umpteenth time that I did not have. I didn't have it in me, and once I realised this, the strength seemed to flow out of nowhere. I was not excited. But I was strong. I was tired, but I was strong. I had God, and he was being the person that I could not be for those five days. I found myself encouraging people, and loving them in ways that they found so powerful. God was making me beautiful, even when I knew that my weakness and frustration could have made me callous and ugly.
This was an immense realisation. On a camp, I expect to flow into a 'God-high', an ethereal feeling, but one that only lasts a few days or a few weeks after the end of camp. I didn't get it this time, and I was initially disappointed. However, I've found that I do not need it to advance my relationship with Christ. God does not always teach us through hype and excitement. Most of the time he teaches us in and through our pain and apathy. I'm allowed to let him use my weakness to teach me how to walk.

The art of 'walking' in Christ is an intriguing, difficult, and yet oh-so-simple thing to learn. It doesn't rely on the emotions. It relies on the Word of God. It recognises that the truth of God is solid, no matter how our feelings sway us. It recognises that just because I am 'feeling' alone, does not mean that I am. It recognises that a sense of excitement or particularly, 'hype' does not determine if I am saved or awakened. 'Walking' is based on the firm, unchanging truth of God, and not on our unstable and ever-changing emotions. And realising this actually produces one of the best emotions to be found in the universe: peace.

As there has been no emotional high to come crashing down from, I have found that I was simply propelled forward into real life since coming back home. This has been a beautiful, if short journey to now. I've only been home 24 hours, but I have been content in that time. I've been at peace knowing the truth of God, no matter how my emotions batter and toss me about. I am learning the incredible joy of this peace: that which transcends all understanding, and which is guarding my heart and mind in Jesus Christ (Phillipians 4:7).

I am learning to walk, and this is a lovely thing.