As I sat on the metro riding home, I had a moment. I often have these "moments", mainly because my mind is wired like a five-year-old's finger-painting class. But anyways.
I had a moment.
Because of the seat I chose on the metro, I sat in such a way that--as the metro moved forward--I watched everything that we passed, as opposed to seeing all that we moved towards.
And (because of the five-year-old's finger-painting) I realized that this was my life. A quote from church yesterday: "The old must to die, in order for anything new to come." You can't sit in between one place and another and hope for change; you cannot. It's not only unhealthy, it's unproductive.
Many times, we walk through life on "auto-pilot".
Whether we're in situations that are healthy or unhealthy, full of contentment or full of indifference, many times, we live life without thinking; without changing; without being willing to get off "auto-pilot" and make a change, or a difference, for what needs to be fixed or for what isn't working.
But what happens when things like sorrow, suffering, or loss come along?
They snap you out of "auto-pilot". They, in fact, give you no choice. Because when the ground gives out, you have to ask things like "What was I standing on the in the first place?"
These kinds of hard questions can be put off when life is blissfully sound (or just plain bland); what is my calling; how am I serving the Lord; am I being honest with the Lord--or myself? In "auto-pilot" these questions are ignored. But The Lord won't let us sit, suspended in dead air, for long. He wants us to grow, progress, become better servants, better lovers, and better leaders serving in the fullness of our identities as Children of God.
All that to say, I've been snapped off "auto-pilot", and at first it was jarring...who am I kidding; it's still jarring. I'm that foreign tourist on a strange-language country road, and this is that "hold your breath" moment. This is the breaking before the rebirth.
But even as my face turns purple and people start staring, I'm realizing we all need to let the air out at some point; we all need to breathe and let go of the tension. And as I learn to breathe, I am (again) being awoken to hope. And that hope is this truth:
I am here. I am building something with the Lord, alone. And I've never felt more full, or more empty--because I'm not a half-glass kind of person, and I can't do life in "half's".
So I'm jumping all in, all over again; I'm feeling the sun burn my face, and learning what it means to run the race anyways. I sat on my couch tonight and prayed; "Lord, I literally have no idea where you'll take me." And this is the point of faith; "I literally have no idea where I'm going." I'm shaking and anticipating all at once. My hands are sweating and trembling, but I'm listening for directions (while I watch much of what I loved be put to rest).
I am learning to build better fences and better foundations and discerning--with shaking hands and scared ears--which doors will open.
I am off auto-pilot. I repeat: I am off auto-pilot. And I'm feeling everything so damn acutely. But we aren't meant to live dazed or bruised lives. We let go to rebuild; we let go to make way for the "new".
So let's rebuild. Let's figure out what makes our hearts jump and play tag and sing. Let's recognize that we are worthy of love. And let's shout some expletives when necessary, because sometimes it's therapeutic to do so (while eating freshly-baked cookies). Let's surround ourselves with those who give life, and those who want life. And let's surround ourselves with those who hold us accountable; tell us to shut up; cry with us; bake; watch movies and dance and sing and run around streets while most people sleep.
Let's stop looking at what was, and find hope in what can be.
And this, by no means, is easy. But when life offers no other option, you cement yourself within the foundations of faith, and you step forward. Even with heavy feet. And even while you're shedding memories or pain or fear. You step forward. You live, one day at a time.
You are here. So am I.
Let's step forward now.
Because we are here.
Because we choose to be here.
Because He loves us.
Because He loves us.
Because He really really freaking loves us.
You are here, and so am I.
Let's build something now, together.