The end of a season...

It seems as if my excruciatingly long season of ‘me’ is ending. It kind of feels as if I have been living in Narnia (pre-Aslan), where it has been endlessly winter. I’m not whining, I have had joy and delight along the way, yet the snow still fell. Everything I tried to clutch to myself, was as useless as trying to get a good grip on sand. Pointless. I am anxious to have my eyes catch fire. I am ready for what’s next. I am anxious to stand up instead of drowning in a damn puddle of my self-involved tears.

I fear expectations however. Hope usually gets buried under the burden of our unmet expectations (realistic as they may be). Believing in God’s plan for my life is something that I have not been intimate with for too long to remember the familiarity. I haven’t felt the storm and fierceness of Him. I have not felt the steady weight of his hand since my dreams and heart were shattered many moons ago. I’ve been a coward. I have hidden in the various caves of my choices born of fear and sheer abandon of what I love. I have closed my eyes, pretending he can’t see me. Times up.

It’s strange. I want to be a gypsy with a home to come back to. I want to never look behind me and not remember this journey. I also don’t want that view to make me crawl instead of run. I want to be brave, and scandalous, and vulnerable.

Spring is coming…