totally knit together.

It’s a typical morning.  I slip back into the room as quietly as I can, which usually involves the door shutting louder than I can help it.  My flip-flops squish and squeak on their own accord as I make it back to the dresser to grab a change of clothes.  Once dressed, I push the On button and get excited as the rich aroma of hazelnut wafts around my nose.  I check the mail while the coffee machine burbles.  At 8AM, my roommate’s alarm starts to jingle.  She hits the snooze button within 10 seconds, rolls onto her side, and continues to sleep.  Another typical morning.

Lately all I’ve been able to think about are the things-I-have-to-do.  Write the paper, conclude that paper, begin researching for the other paper, revise the introduction on this paper.  Learn the voice part for this song, practice these pieces for someone’s jury.  Lead that meeting, delegate these tasks, figure out next week’s plans; study for those exams, freak out about studying for that one exam, then begin studying for it.  And while I’m at it, why not fret about my schedule in the fall and wonder what the heck I’m doing after graduation even though it’s a year away.  Not before long, a well of panic starts to rise up within me – and all I can do is to fight the urge to cry about how much I have yet to do and how much uncertainty I have…

My roommate’s alarm goes off again, the familiar jingle stuck in my head.  She hits snooze again, breathes out and rolls over again.  She goes through this routine about three times on a regular morning.  But if she’s been up an extra hour or two, it will take many more snooze-hits and bed-rolls for her to climb down the top bunk.  Not that I’m keeping track or anything…

And that’s when I notice the Verse Of The Day on top of my homepage.  I know it even before I click on it – Psalm 139:13-14 has already been inscribed on a piece of cardboard on my wall.  I click on it anyways.  For You created me in my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

I’m chuckling now, because it hits me that God is not one bit surprised by my typical morning, my mornings that consist of waking up early to hit the gym, my mornings that involve a daily anticipation of yummy coffee and a track record of how many times Shelly hits the alarm.  If that doesn’t surprise God, then my worrying shouldn’t surprise Him either.  I guess He would know every thought and insecurity that flashes through my mind: where I’ll be headed next May and what I’ll do when I grow up (which is never, of course).  I guess He would know how scared I am of running meetings and being in charge, how inadequate I feel sometimes in regard to my abilities.  Only He would know that even though I hide it, I still care about how other people perceive me, especially other girls.  He knows all of that.

My frame was not hidden from You when I was made in the secret place.  When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, Your eyes saw my unformed body.  All the days for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be.

It shouldn’t be so hard for me to believe that God is in control – He has totally knit me together.  I’m still a working creation, I am fully functional (except when I am delirious).  Junior year is finally drawing to a close.  The older I get, the longer I walk with God, the less control I seem to have; the more room there is for faith to grow.  How bizarre!

My roommate’s awake now.  It’s time for me to go to class.  No surprise there – everything will work out.  I just have to work on remembering that every day.

shadows and sunshine.

He’s sitting out on the deck. Today he’s wearing a black parka, despite the 60-degree weather and sun. The chair across from him is occupied by his only backpack. I’ve seen it loads of times–I duck behind the nearest person or tree at the mere sight of it. The usual pack of cigarettes and cup of coffee. Or second. Or third. He’s talking to himself; from an entirely different world, he drifts in and out of the system we commonly refer to as “normal.” Gesturing wildly to himself–or to an invisible person–his mouth is moving rapidly, as if discussing the latest woes of the American government. He was talking to himself when I first met him nearly two years ago, determined to tell him about Jesus, because he obviously needed to hear it; because he obviously had many shadows in his life that needed to be fixed.

His name is Louie.

I wonder what he likes to eat; I wonder who it is that inspires him to be the best he can be. I wonder where his boots have been, where he grew up, and when he had his last haircut. I wonder where home is, where he will be going this year for Thanksgiving, if he has a place to go at all. I wonder if he has health insurance (thank you, Sicko). I wonder if he has ever loved a woman. I wonder what gives him joy.

As I sit in my perch here at Brew Haha and observe my world, it hits me like an oncoming gasoline truck just how much I take for granted each and every day. There is nothing that I have in life that has not been given to me. Every dream, every skill, every memory, every friend; every miracle, every interest, every blessing, every conversation… every smile, every laugh, every lesson-learned-the-hard-way; every cup of coffee, every shooting star, every performance, every I love you; every piece of chocolate cake, every gift and every shoulder I’ve cried on. I am blessed. I have been fed and clothed all my life; I have tasted fullness and abundance in friendships. I have been loved and I have loved in return, I have received and I have been enabled to give back. I have learned perseverance through trial, blessings through curses, courage through fear, hope through despondency, joy through desperate loneliness, and grace through my failures. I am blessed.

You and I, we remember the bad days. Days when the skies are clouded with weariness and blah-dom, days when no-matter-how-hard-we-try still nothing goes right. The last few days have been like that… and there will surely be dreary days in the near future. But I look outside once more. The rays of sun shatter my internal world of thought and suddenly I’m lost in gratitude. Louie looks up at the sky too. I want to run outside and look up at the sky with Louie. But most of all, I want to tell him that the shadow only proves the sunshine; that there is hope everlasting and 10 zillion things that he and I can be thankful for this season. He glances back down and grins. Hmm, I wonder. Maybe he already knows.

My mind is swimming. But I put my thoughts away as company arrives… how nice of you to drop by and say hi. And I smile to myself as I silently say a thank-you to God for the wonderful friends He’s put in my life this year. Sunshine indeed.