I remember

It’s noon on a Tuesday. June in Seattle, and the weather has still yet to decide that it’s really, truly spring. Right now the sky is a mottled gray with hints of blue. Hints, mind you- not patches of actual blue, heavens no.

This morning was a different story. This morning I awoke to sun streaming through my windows, bouncing off the hall mirror and into my bedroom where I couldn’t even enjoy the last two presses of the snooze button. “Daytime is here!” the morning shouted at me. Wakeupwakeupwakeup!

An hour and a half into the workday, I took advantage of my morning break and headed up Edmonds’ Main Street to fetch coffee for the crew. I had to first run back inside for my sunglasses. Yesssss. This was going to be an awesome walk. There weren’t any clouds back then. (Already I mourn for the morning.) The sky was obscenely blue, the sun violently bright. For fifteen minutes there was nowhere to hide from my memories…

I remember working the opening shift at the garden center after high school. First duty of the day was always to water. Waterwaterwater. I can still hear the squeak of the valve, the hiss of the water as it rushed forward, can feel the way the hose writhed as it woke. I can hear the crunch of the gravel under my work boots as I dragged the hose down to the far end of the aisle, pausing every other table to undo a kink.

I remember the way the light would hit the spray of water, how it would sparkle and obscure everything else. How the marigold heads would bob and nod to thank me and kiss the droplets off their neighbors. I remember the soft, fragrant air filled with petunias and heliotrope- how wonderfully the scent of their petals mixed with the earthy smell of their leaves and soil. I remember the humid warmth radiating from the sunflowers as they guzzled their morning drink. How warm and damp and beautiful the whole world was within those few acres. The rest of the workers would filter in slowly, and I’d grin because I was luckier than them to have been given this task.

Drifting back into Edmonds, I crossed a narrow side street. Birds nesting in a crack in the stucco above cried out for their breakfast. I was back in Boston in springtime, on any number of days, a strikingly familiar bright morning with just a slight chill still in the air. Somewhere in the region of Back Bay and Symphony and the Fens, wandering among Northeastern University dorms and apartments filled with musicians. And the sun beat mercilessly down on the brick, but not a single one minded except the ones that still huddled in dark shadows beside front steps or behind garbage cans, envious of their friends who were already twice-baked in the sun. And just beyond whatever street I was on, I could feel the rest of the city breathing, rising and falling and rising and falling and waking. The birds flew overhead and never once dreamed that there was a place three thousand miles away that was also home to birds just like them.

Life happens

This blog has been languishing. I'd feel bad, except I know that a) no one really reads this, and b) the real world has been full of so many good things that my neglect towards my internet journal can be excused. Nevertheless, I have missed writing. I miss the order it gives to the thoughts in my head. I miss the ease with which words and sentences arrange themselves when I've taken the time to write. One of the most stunningly accurate third-party assessments of myself is that I choose my words carefully. I like to write them down so I have a vocabulary to draw from. I don't do so well when my tongue is left to its own devices. So while this first-writing-in-a-while might also be fumbling and a little awkward, it's a good mental stretch. I will feel the effects of it in the days to come.

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When people ask me these days what is new, it's hard to grasp at an answer. I feel like day-to-day, week-to-week, not much is changing. Little events crop up here and there, but again, in the spur of the moment, my brain can only manage to grasp at work, church, and time at home as big nebulous ideas.

The truth is that things have been changing, all (or at least mostly - I will hedge my bets in case there is something I'm forgetting, lest someone call me out on it) for the better. It's just hard to express in conversation. When people ask me how I've been over the last few months, how do I work in that my life continues to be transformed through God's grace and my love for Jesus? I've been calling myself a Christian for the better part of a year now, and yet I see a marked difference between my faith circa December and my faith today. I hope that when I get married I get to feel a similar continuous increase in love.

The truth is that everything stems from that. This has been heavy on my mind lately. I have a hard enough time telling this to Christians who are supposed to share these emotions and experiences. So how am I supposed to communicate this to my non-Christian friends? If I could time travel back a year and have a conversation with myself about submitting to God, Past Me would think Present Me had gone crazy. Past Me would shut down and not want to continue the conversation. Past Me would write Present Me off.

For me, the problem is trying to convey how much positive change I've gone through since becoming a believer, since God called me out and instructed me to put my faith in Jesus, without coming across as having an agenda. Of course I want all my friends to experience this too, but if any of them are anything like I used to be, there's no argument I could possibly make to change their minds if their hearts haven't been changed by the Holy Spirit. Yet I'm supposed to be called to share the gospel. Maybe I'm just not being called yet. I hope when the time comes I will be given the right things to say.

So until then, life continues. To the casual observer it will look the same as always. To me it will continue to increase in all things good. It's not that the details change, it's that the big picture morphs around it. It's like a Magic Eye puzzle. When you start out looking at it, you see the details, then as you move away and let your eyes relax, a whole new image becomes apparent. Those same details are still there, but a larger picture has revealed itself.

That's where I'm at right now.

About the Weather

Pathetic fallacy is so obvious when it comes to the weather. I try to avoid it when I write. But I couldn't avoid it today as I walked out of the house into a world of fog. Nothing in the past 10 days has made any sense at all. I was really hoping for a ray of sun. Instead I got more murky gray dampness surrounding me. Low, thick clouds that I can't see through. Cotton in my ears. Everything sounds far away, like when the airplane descends. The whole world banks left, then right.

I am waiting for the haze to lift. I can't explain why I expect it to. I am just trying to have faith that a blue sky awaits and not storm clouds.

Maybe then I can string together a congruent thought. Maybe that's where the story turns.

No real wisdom...

Just musings.

Endings are inherently sad things, even when they're good. I've been on an emotional rollercoaster the last few days, and now, on this side of it, I'm left feeling light, like I left gravity far behind me. But I also want to cry or scream or laugh or vomit, just to be rid of the tension that tied my muscles in knots and hasn't let go yet.

I remember nights as a teen, stepping out of the rollercoaster car. At some point during the ride the sun set, and now the lights are on all over. I didn't notice it when it happened. (Sudden memory of Dorney- watching the pink sunset sky flip upside down as my stomach jumped into my throat and tickled my insides). Just a few brief minutes before, there was that terrifying climb up the track. It seemed to take forever. That's the part I'm really scared of. And then you reach the summit, and the car comes thundering down the track, and that's the part where I laugh. The ground comes up to meet you so fast. That part, that's the last couple days of my life. Now it seems so easy to just walk off into the warm night air. On to the next ride. Not looking back.

I never contemplated that I might never ride that one again. I might never have that same thrill. Maybe that coaster I was just on was the best one I'll ever ride (I used to be a bit of a connoisseur, you see). So I'll look back, just for a second, and feel something I can't quite name. But I also think of what a shame it would be, to spend the rest of the evening riding the same ride over and over when there's still so much to see.

So yes, it's really finally over. And yes, it's a little sad. But I feel excited all the way down in my toes for what's next.

Don't you?