She’s tired from the moving. It’s one of those things where her body is just like, “what are you doing to me? Find a place to rest other than an airplane.” And she just responds with, “I can’t hear you.” Her leaps of faith cross timezones and people say, “wow, you’re brave. You’re adventurous. You’re life is amazing.” But really she just feels like a girl who’s going to great lengths to find a place where she fits. No luck so far. She’s tired of talking about herself, of the sound of her own voice. She’s hears herself say, “hi my name is _______.” And it makes her cringe. There’s a cloud somewhere with her name on it. It will take her any where she wants to go for free. And it won’t ask her her name. And she won’t need a passport.
She’s not a traveler. She’s a dweller of coffee shops. A collector of coins. A grocery shopper who takes an airplane for the best breads. You can’t fall in love in a week. You can’t really know in a month. You can’t be an expert in a year. It takes a lifetime. But it’s hard to commit to a lifetime.
There are not walls in he middle of your path, there are forests. And often, the only way to go is up, so you climb the tree and see what’s at the top, and you just sit there because you have time. It’s then, that God meets you. But it’s not just then. It’s before that too, when you’re at the bottom of the tree looking up. And it’s also after, when you’re sitting tired at a broken desk left on the side of the road and you’re trying to write, but you don’t have a single word left to say. I once wrote about words dripping from my fingertips and leaving puddles on the surfaces they touched. What a gift it has been to be heartbroken. Everyday ending with a poem. God filled the cracks and crevices and made you feel everything deeper. What happens when you go numb? Where do the words go? What makes your fingers dry up?
I’m waiting by the side of my path for the words to come. But even if they do not, the waiting is worth it. Because God will meet me here when my fingers go numb. And he will be closer than I realized. And He will remind me quietly that love is better than a recited dictionary.
Photo by Mary Claire Photography