Watching Dust Settle

my creativity seems to be at a halt, so this is mainly going to be straight experience. If you are lucky, I will throw in a metaphor or two.

I am in a half full Starbucks in the middle of Kingwood, Texas.
In a little less than an hour, I will head over to church and start setting up.

I feel caught up for the first time in give or take six months.
I am not procrastinating with schoolwork
I am not suppressing feelings
I’m not impatiently waiting to get to the next place.

I am here.
Settled, not just physically, but overall.
the irony is that of all of the places I will live this year,
this will be the most temporary.

I feel that I am at a standstill.
watching all this dust that has been kicked up float in clouds back to the ground.
most of it I kicked up myself.
out of surprise, anxiety, and my tendency to jump the gun.
and unfortunately, sometimes out of straight rebellion.
Now that the picture is a bit clearer
I’m reevaluating some of my actions.

Yesterday I was at a cookout.
There was a two year old there.
Very sweet little boy.
He was eager to swim.
Naturally, his parents kept a close eye on him and frequently reminded him that he was not to go towards the pool until Daddy was there to get in with him.
As we were all sitting and eating,
after a few denied pleas to get in the pool
he squirmed from his moms lap and made a b-line for the water.
his little feet had barely hit the water before his dad scooped him up.
His dad informed him that he was to sit in timeout with mom for a while.
In agony, he waited for what seemed to him eternity,
he cried and got angry, he tried to squirm out again.
Then came time for the daddy talk.
Although I do not know the content of this conversation,
I watched it from afar and contemplated on similar conversations.

This dad loves his son dearly.
dearly enough to keep him as far away from getting hurt as humanly possible.
deep enough to keep him safe even when the son is angry and doesn’t understand.
enough to take time to discipline him.
and despite misbehavior, that I’m sure is happens everyday,
(as with all toddlers)
Dad loves him.
Dad provides for him.
Dad even gives beyond need and blesses the son with what he wants.

God and I have a similar relationship.
as I cannonball into forbidden water,
God continues to provide.

and as the ripples smooth
and as I get older
the more it makes absolutely no sense to me why he would do this.
the more I wonder why he isn’t taking everything away.
the more I hate my own sin
the more I am in awe of unconditional love.
the more I come to the conclusion that there is no conclusion that will make sense to my finite mind.

as much as I would like to squirm out of my fathers lap,
out of shame and guilt,

it is impossible to escape from the love that I am wrapped in.

dust settles around me.
and the mess blows somewhere east.
If I sit here long enough,
He will eventually show me what He intends for me,
I just need to be still enough to see it.

in the midst

When I think back on things
I usually catch glimpses of in betweens.
where my mind had the time and space
to capture moments and store them for later
as reference points.

in between classes, in transit, often hurry
catching details: leaves, squirrels, purple shirts
walking, sometimes running, upstairs and downstairs,
and getting turned around in a building I should know by now.
Time filled with reminders, library books,
and to-do lists on the palm of my hand

in between lines of scripture
in the turn of pages and the smoothing of creases
where a pause became unexpected, but much needed stillness
in the throws of flesh and spirit,
with fatigue and hunger for a God
whom I know I should have listened to more often.

In between places
with maps and hand written directions
204, 59, 69, 20
where the sun rose and set on Hawaiian seat covers
where I sang loudly and cried occasionally
because sometimes travel felt more like home.

In the middle of afternoons
between meal schedules I never could follow
where time was judged by the light through windows
where coffee was welcomed
where moments of tension didn’t quite match the scenery.
Holding chapstick, car keys, and sometimes my breath
waiting on a chance meeting, or lunch date, but wanting a nap

In those few hours where days overlap
where 1am felt more like 13pm
where conversations were longer
beckoned by moonlight, rolling through stoplights.
and laughs with silly, tired, friends were deeper,
because everything was funny and no one knew why.

And here again I approach another
this may be it,
I’m almost certain.

Another time in the middle of then and now:
missing people who haven’t left
loving ideas that haven’t quite developed
dreading struggles not yet identified
placing objects where other objects still lie
reclaiming territory piece by piece

my heart is making a leap towards Summer,
ripping away from a Spring that I don’t even remember,
because I spent so much of its time deciphering a long Autumn.

because this is my life
continually split into thirds
little room to breath or remember
but, alas, I move on

I collect these moments
and pocket them for later.