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.

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.

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.

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.