Wednesday, May 20, 2015
It's like trying to grab a seed floating in the breeze just out of reach. If only I was a little taller.
If only I could jump higher. If only the air would be still. If only I could understand.
There are those days I talk to God, searching for a glimpse of the lesson. At least, there is a lesson I am supposed to learn here. I'm reasonably intelligent, right? But I feel utterly at a loss to figure it out. I search and ponder and wait. I stay still and quiet. I move and scream.
I plead. I ask if there is really a lesson at all. Am I looking for what is not there?
Of course it's there. Maybe not getting it is really getting it. Maybe I'm not supposed to have some epiphany. Maybe it just happens so slowly that I won't comprehend it while it is happening, but only after it is done.
To everything, there is a season.
Source is an old friend, an email I received this morning.
And I wondered on my way to work, What happens if we fall in love with a season? What if we don't want the seasons to change?
Tonight I received a call from a guy who today left a city he loved, and I wanted to tell him that this was not the end of the world but I didn't because tonight I needed to let it be for him. It was the end of a season, of remember when I hit the road, went to school, got a job and a life I could call my own. I had to convince myself that he could be sad and be okay.
Of course he can. Being sad means you loved what you had.
Today I am grateful for how an email can feel like a hug. A bag of peaches and a tray of cherries. I am grateful for seasons and cities and lessons and living. I am grateful that guy knows what it is to love.