Time is such a weird thing. It goes by SO fast. All of the sudden, another month is gone. Another year. Five years. Is anyone as baffled by this as I am? Probably everyone is. Or no one is. These things are hard to know.
This summer has been weird in a lot of ways. And hard. Lots and lots and lots of alone time. Broken relationships. Sadness. Lots of studying. I had surgery. And I'm writing a book.
Writing a book is HARD. And strange. Some days you feel like a rockstar. Some days you're so sure of things. The story is awesome, the characters are awesome, and you are awesome. Invincible, really. Then there are the other days. (Most of the days.) Things are disjointed, and putting words on the page feels like pulling teeth. I know that's cliche, but that really is what it's like. It take all the concentration in the world just to write a paragraph. (A really really really sucky paragraph, too.) How am I supposed to write a book that way?!
The only consolation is that in most books on writing that I've read, even successful writers feel the same. Writing is not some glamorous life of inspiration. I thought it was that for a long time. If you'd asked me, I would have denied it. Oh no, I would have said. I know writing is really hard work, and if you only write when you're inspired, you're never going to accomplish anything. Deep down, though, I thought I was an exception. Newsflash to me: I'm not.
Surgery was also extremely HARD. I'm still recovering and will be for another few weeks. I wasn't expecting to have a difficult recovery time, so that has been frustrating and sad. I had been in unexplained pain for a long time though, so hopefully this will be the solution. I'm believing that.
I learned a lot about God this summer. Isn't he so awesome that way? There's always more to learn, more to discover. He really is infinite.
I've learned lessons about loneliness. Waiting. Emptiness.
Those aren't really the fun things to learn about. God has really fun things about him, like joy, and celebration, and dancing. He has really powerful things about him, too, like salvation, and deliverance, and victory. I think I, like anyone, would rather learn about any of those things than the things I had to learn this summer.
Summer is always an extremely difficult time for me because there's nothing more that I love on this earth than camp, and I can't be there anymore. It's so emotional for me that it's even hard to type out on a blog that no one will read but me. For eleven years, I lived and breathed for camp. I started a count down the second I left the property every summer. Seriously, I have vivid memories of counting the days on the eight hour car ride back home. I begged my parents to spend more time there year after year. I made memory boxes and collages and wrote to all of my friends about how camp was my true home, and how I couldn't wait to be back with them. I told Jesus the same thing. Every. Single. Day. I still feel more at home there than anywhere.
But that's very painful to me now, because I can't be there. I'm too old, and I'm married, and I'm supposed to live in Colorado. So now I fill my days with dreams of building my own camp here. I really do believe God has that for my future, because I have BEGGED him to take that dream away from me if it's not from him. But where does that leave me today? Before that dream is a reality, and while I have no time frame for it coming to fruition?
A lot of days, it leaves me feeling horribly sad and lost. But God taught me that's not what he has for me. I love camp so much because I feel closer to God there than anywhere else. I feel more accepted, more loved, more secure, more of everything good.
But God doesn't work like that. He doesn't change from one place to the next. Yes, he reveals himself in different ways at different times, and sometimes he feels far away. But he is the same God here at my house in Colorado as he is at any camp, retreat center, or mountain top. Worshiping him differently in this hard season is not being the faithful servant he's called me to be. Emptiness is uncomfortable. But I'm learning to praise God in it anyway. So often, all we can think of is how we can't wait to feel full again, how we would do anything to move from the state we're in to a better one. But that's not what we should be longing for. The solution isn't to feel full again. It's not a feeling. It's not a future time that will be better than the current one. It's Christ himself. He lives and breathes in the brokenness just as he lives and breathes in the wholeness.
There are still so many things about God I don't understand, and so many things that I never will until we're in heaven. I know he doesn't want us to be broken and that restoration is a huge part of his purpose. But I also know that he doesn't promise restoration to look or feel a certain way, and he breaks with us. I know that because I experience it.
Hopefully there's a time coming soon where I won't be so empty, or confused, or lost. But God is with me and he's as powerful as he's ever been and that's not going to change. Hallelujah for that.
This summer has been an awesome one for discovering new songs. (PRAISE! I LOVE NEW MUSIC.) Here are some lyrics I've found:
"come out of hiding, you're safe here with me
there's no need to cover what i already see
you've got your reasons, but i hold your peace
you've been on lockdown, and i hold the key
'cause i loved you before you knew it was love
and i saw it all, still i chose the cross"
(steffany gretzinger, out of hiding)
"the tune resonates in the open space
to show us how emptiness sings
glory to God, glory to God!
in fullness of wisdom
he writes my story into his song
my life for the glory of God"
(christa wells, how emptiness sings)
And some inspiration from middle and high school:
"i'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
and climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
but dipped its top and set me down again.
that would be good both going and coming back.
one could do worse than be a swinger of birches."
(robert frost, birches)
"i know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
when his wing is bruised and his bosom sore, -
when he beats his bars and he would be free;
it is not a carol of joy or glee,
but a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
but a plea, that upward to heaven he flings -
i know why the caged bird sings!"
(paul laurence dunbar, sympathy)
