I Am Free

...And in the distance I heard thunder, felt the dark; then the first, fat "Ppt." on the pavement. The darkened circle on the ground heralded the rest, falling, pouncing on the ground in a determined stampede of heavy drops. I lifted back my head, reached out my arms, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply. Heavenly, earthy smells of hot pavement, old earth, and steaming relief of the water surrendered into a petrichorical symphony playing into the clouds. Oh, the clouds. Like a pulsing, energetic, fluorescent glow...strength in the sky; fear, wonder, beauty, all at once, I am in awe, I am in awe. Light, glowing aquamarine reached through the clouds with evanescent fingers, and swallowed the sky whole in its glorious light.

I was in it. With it.

Hope

The first rays of sun die into heavy morning; a tired morning; a morning devoid of great expectations. Blank faces and lethargic bodies mill onto the platform as the trains come and go in a blurring whirlwind of noise and dull metal. I have joined the ranks of part-time nine-to-fives and I make the most of it. Short-lived. Smiling at others for several moments in my fresh-faced naivete, I feel like a fool when my attempts at beauty are met with vacuous stares that reach beyond me though they look at me, through me. The Train comes.

Ours is a holocaust of a different kind. Hitler is known for packing precious humanity onto cattle cars and sending them to their deaths. Cramming onto the train full of distracted, aching, numb souls, the semblance between genocide and mass soul-death at the luminous hands of mobile media sinks into my stomach like a steel ball. Why won't anyone smile back? Please, somebody. Smile back.

Drowning.

Swaying.

Drowning.

Choking on the apathy.

Light.

I remember light. I was reading Isaiah today, and now I understand something a little better: my role in this. 60, verse 2. "For behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will be seen upon you." I see this darkness on the platform, on the train, in the vague stares of the crowd, even in my job, where I had hoped to find hope.

No, not here.

Jesus is my hope, and this is yet another heavy reminder that only in Him is light. And now in me. The Lord has arisen upon me. Now, Oh Lord, let your glory be seen upon me. This world; this train needs glory and beauty. Make it yours.

I am not drowning anymore. Jesus pulls me into light and I become it. I am not used to daily blankness, cattlecars, or the numbing monotony in between, but sweetly, I am not used to Jesus either, in a way that surprises me into a fuller relationship with Him over and over again.

Being light in a thick darkness is extremely difficult. There is no easy way to be so, and yet in Christ, it is impossible to be blotted out by the charcoal smears of apathy either.

"You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden."

The Lord is My Strength

I am going away for two weeks tomorrow, and yesterday my 'to-do' list was long...longer than I was pretty sure I'd have time for. I was panicking badly, a sickening whirlpool was drowning icy stones into the pit of my stomach and I worried. I made the decision to worry and then I lost control of it. I wasn't getting inward sanity back anytime soon.

Dramatically rattling off my checklist to mum made my worry excuseable. It sounded longer when I said it out loud. But the more I said it out loud, the more I felt weakened and beaten inside, unable to control anything, incapable of making up time, helpless to change deadlines and keep records. Repeating my weaknesses to myself was making me weaker. They were pummelling me into the dust and taking away my strength, confidence, and so much more importantly, my joy.

Then the sweetest thing burst out of my mouth, all but unbidden.

"The Lord is my strength."

The sudden appearance of the phrase made sense. I'd been reading the Psalms; the words were caught in my head-- but I did not call them into my mouth.

What does it matter that I was feeling weak and overwhelmed? His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

Lean on him. Lean on him. His power is made perfect in weakness. The Lord is our strength. The Lord is my strength, and I am not worrying anymore. Make Him yours.

^

This embodies the kind of calm strength I get from Him.

P.S. It is my blog's anniversary on the 2^nd of February. It has been such a great year. Great, like God is great. Not always comfortable, not always safe, but most definitely a roaring storm of challenge, beauty, necessary fortitude, and love. It has been good.

Ungentlemanly Gentlemen and a Vague Old Lady

It is pouring. The grey drops have become one huge drop and the world is in a flood of wet tones, mixing somewhere between white and black, saturating everything. I am driving home.

Pop!

I could swear that is the smell of burnt rubber. The car in front of me on the cramped and slowing roundabout is limping forward at a tortuously dwindling pace and I all but stop. I have been praying for this moment for days; I've been praying for a moment to help in an adventurous, slightly daring way. Only when I follow the tyre-less car into the conveniently close fuel station and park on the opposite side do I realise just how adventurous and slightly daring this is. Water is falling out of the sky as if a gargantuan jug is being emptied onto our little piece of 7-11 ground. The leak in my car has already rendered me quite damp...then again, I could still be minimally dry...

I don't let myself think twice. Out I bounce with an inordinate amount of frantic energy, closing the car door quickly behind me, but heaven knows that the rain has already moistened every dry patch that existed on the right hand side of the car. Whatever. That is beside the point. The point is that I am now standing in the pouring rain; beautiful, blue dress saturated in a matter of seconds; patent point-toed heels filling; sock bun appearing beneath my hair. I fling off the shoes and dash for the other car. Standing in a vague shambles beside the delapidated vehicle is a woman with a glazed expression on her face. I've never changed a tyre before. I immediately make a mental note to learn. Over the sound of the rain I yell, "Can I do anything?! Are you alright?!" to which the reply is nothing but a stunned, "...my car..." okay. This might be harder than I thought. I look up and realise that there are four capable-looking (and very dry) young men inside the station, and start beckoning them towards us. No more than one moves towards the door, and even he stops just inside the lip of the entrance. Oh heck. Ungentlemanly gentlemen are not what I need at this moment. After yelling for him to help change the tyre, he blinks his eyes in an extremely aggravating way and smugly states, "Call RACQ".

WELL. Fine.

"Excuse me Ma'am, do you have RACQ? ...yes?" I decide to take control if this spineless creature will not. "They're right down the road," The ungentlemanly gentleman cuts in, irrelevantly, before the vague old lady all but screams, "I can't drive there!--"

"Do you have a phone?" I wrench the conversation out of his grip into my more focused hold. "...yes? Do you have their number?" "Umm...no." Right. I turn to the ungentlemanly gentleman, still standing in his dry haven, surrounded by his magazines, lollies and bubbly drinks. "Do you have RACQ's number? ...yes? Would you please call them for her?" The passive, glazed look has remained on his face. He resembles a dead opposum, but that comparison lingers in my mind for a second only. I want to get out of the rain. He nods in his self-congratulatory idiocy. Thank goodness. With one final look of encouragement to the vague old lady, and one final flash of the eyes to the ungentlemanly gentleman, I leave, running back through the flood to my car. The shoes have filled with water. The car is damp. My hair is a mess. However, a ridiculously wide grin has appeared on my face. I just braved the rain and a dead opposum to help an old lady. This is how I want my life to be. I am living, and it is brilliant.

But I am going to learn how to change a tyre.

Revolution

Perhaps you have felt it too. New years have always held inordinate amounts of promise for me. Waking up on the first morning of the year is like turning to the first page in a new notebook; it is a clean slate ready for writing; ready for stories and lessons and wonder.

I honest-to-goodness rode on the back of a motorbike for the first time in my life that day. I took a swim in the wonderfully weedy and muddy dam at the bottom of friends' property. And I sailed around two different lakes in the same day. I cannot explain what helium rises to my lungs when I remember it. It is an amazing, twirling confusion of weightlessness and evernescent breath that empowers beyond the limits of imagination-- that harnesses the soul in all the adventure it has experienced and pushes it to more greatness. I want this year to be lived that way with every step. I want a life that thrives off this: the deep loving of others and the harsh fervor for contagious adventure. I want to pull people along on expeditions to the unknown and laugh at the time to come as I boldly walk into the can't-see-beyond-my-nose fog of the next year. This year must be full of exciting change and exploration. It must shake me up in the best ways. It shall. I will not let this year be anything other than that which will glorify God in the ways that he has for me. I will take joy in beauty and sorrow alike. I will love the unloveable. I will wear beautiful dresses. I will be seventeen. I will love the One that created me, and I will love the life he gave me in all of its imperfection.

Perhaps it is not a simple coincidence that the completion of our journey around the Sun is called a revolution? Go on out and change the world, one glorious moment at a time.