Wind Blows Deeply

Expect. Anticipate. Await. Look forward to. Hope.

Your unborn child.
The library request.
An online order.
That job offer.

I know about waiting, expecting, anticipating. The feeling of holding your breath to see what happens. To hope beyond hope that something will occur. To know in that deep place of knowing that any news is better than none at all. To live between right now and a time to come. It is hard to wait.

So why doesn’t God fit in with all this expectancy? Why don’t my thoughts of God come with an inherent sense of urgency and longing? Sometimes they do. Too often they don’t.

it was said: Would it be okay to say that you being [there] seems a lot more ‘right’ than you being [here]? That’s just my personal view… when I think of you being back [there], it just seems to fit somehow. Not because of anything you say, although that does confirm it for me.

it was said: It makes me so sad that you have to endure such exhaustion at work everyday. I wish that wasn’t the case. Living and working when you’re not content is not how your life should be. I understand the exhaustion part but [my work] still brings me joy and is rewarding. I know that God will make it clear.

it was said: I was on campus today and it felt so right. I never even [attended there as a student] but seeing all these students socializing and being passionate about their studies… wow. I just felt today that, if I could, I would be a lifelong student. I just love the atmosphere and the feeling of community… like everyone has something in common. [Here] is so different.

it was said: Nice to hear about your experience. Try not to forget about that. I think it’s important to remember those places or moments when all things seemed to align. Maybe it’s that something in them resonates with God’s calling for our lives.

Work it not, primarily, a thing one does to live, but the thing one lives to do. It is, or it should be, the full expression of the worker’s faculties, the thing in which he finds spiritual, mental, and bodily satisfaction, and the medium in which he offers himself to God.
Creed or Chaos; Dorothy Sayers

Hear me asking where do I belong?
Is there a vision that I can call my own?
I’m looking for a reason …
I need your light to help me find
My place in this world
Place in this world; Michael W Smith

It’s a balmy -15C (+4F) outside. Quite a drastic improvement from -45C a few days ago.

I went to the theatre tonight, a production of Peter Pan. I made my way home with thoughts of the ever-mothering Wendy who hopes for a thimble from her beloved Peter, of childhood imagination, of parents awaiting the return of their children, of memories that fade only too quickly.

Yet there are some stories that linger. Other stories that you remember them only by the retelling. Still others that only bring a flicker of recognition but catch you off guard.

The balmy air made me linger before going inside tonight. I looked up into the clear, black sky. A gloriously dark night, devoid of moonshine. And there were the stars. I stood, head tilted back, blissfully ignorant of the noisy neighbours, and searched out the familiar: Cassiopeia, the big dipper, Orion, the seven sisters (Pleiades).

The balmy air and the the stars above reminded me of a story from many years ago. A time and a place where the Northern lights would dance every night for me. And in this time and this place my father took me outside with an adjustable star map. We matched this disc with the orbs floating so far yet so close. And he told me the story of the seven sisters, of a father’s love, of protection.

The balmy air brought reminded me of a moment. I paused, I gazed, I remembered.

In that moment, all was calm and the stars were bright.

Mornings are rarely leisurely in this household. Sleeping a fraction past the last possible moment. Rushing through the bathroom, the closet, the fridge. This time of year, forgetting that another moment is needed to brush the snow off the car and let the engine warm a minute. And then off to another day.

Last weekend my mornings, the whole days actually, were a little different. Moving slower. Plenty of time to drink coffee, visit with friends, let the tears pass, fit in another afternoon of doing nothing, watch a baby learn to crawl. And it did wonders for my soul.

Except I started to attribute my peace, tranquility, and feelings of connections to the physical location. It was as though my soul knew I would be better if I could only be in that place. But instead I am here. I am here longing to be there. Because being there will solve everything, will make all my dreams come true.

Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn’t.

I am here. I am in my kitchen. Stuffing in the slow-cooker for an event later today. Fresh coffee in my mug. Jame from Stella’s Cafe on my toast. Delightful new holiday music from Straight No Chaser.

I am thinking about Monday. A day of starting something new, the great unknown. How is one to know if the right decision was made except in retrospect? I am learning that I am not responsible for the plan.

For some reason, my time machine has gone missing so I can’t go back to last weekend, back before the interview, back before moving, back before Africa, back before university. I can’t go back a day, a week, a year or a decade. All I have is this singular moment.

In this moment, how will I live. With enthusiasm? With fear? With regret? With great expectation?

As I have slowed down for this moment on a lazy Saturday morning, what will I choose to do? How shall I live?

Two ideas from my archives resonated today. The first was a quote from Erik Benson: Next time you think you’re trapped somewhere, or wish you were somewhere else, just tell yourself that the only reason that you’re trapped is because you want to stay. The second was my own comment on making decisions: I think I can boil up my hesitation into the concept that I am now facing an inevitable deep sense of loss.

It is now five years after making “Decision A.” Five years of gaining familiarity in a new place. Maintaining old friendships and making new ones. And, yes, there certainly has been improved job satisfaction.

Five years ago I would not have anticipated the opportunities that I have encountered. Five years ago I did not anticipate that my career would become so precious to me.

I have never made a honest-to-goodness five year plan. Maybe it is time.