Past

Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title. ~Virginia Woolf

The past is complicated.

There's only so much about the past that we actually want to dwell on; but even then, those few bits and pieces are tricky to deal with at times.

How many of us look back over our lives and wish that we had done things differently?

How often are our hearts flooded with "what if..."s and second guesses?

Is this why the idea of time travel is so appealing?

The idea that maybe...just maybe...we could leap through the threads of time and make a different choice...

For some people, the idea is intoxicating. For others, the idea has never even entered their minds.

It's all in how you look at it, I suppose.

The past is part of who we are. It's the stones that make up the road that we have passed over in our journey of existence.

Those old relationships...those moments we wish we could take back...those choices we desperately wish to re-do...it's all part of the masterplan, set in motion by the One who holds our past and future in His hands.

Is it always easy to look back?

No.

Are there times we catch ourselves standing on that cliff, looking over the mist-shrouded mountains of our future, and find our gaze drifting backwards to glimpse the past moments?

Yes.

Is the past important? More than we will ever know. It's what got us here.

The past is the tool of God to move us forward...

...upward...

...onward...

...inward...

...it's not perfect.

But it is precious.

Many, O LORD my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare. ~Psalm 40:5

Journey

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. ~Isaiah 41:10

Recently, I spent the day with my family in a small, picturesque town. We spent the day wandering up and down the quaint shop-lined sidewalks, popping into those stores that caught our eyes and spending more money than we should have.

Also, we walked. A lot. By the time 2:00pm rolled around, my feet (clad, of course, in my extremely worn out sandals that make those around me shake their heads) had reached their limit.

As I sat on a wrought-iron parkbench placed conveniently on a street corner, I took advantage of my resting place and began to consider the people that were passing along the sidewalk on their own individual journeys.

My brain and my heart began to work together to invent a strange sort of inspiration for my ever-active mind to ponder.

I started to contemplate my own heart's journey. Where had I been? Where was I going? And what sort of steps would I need to take to get to my final destination -- wherever that might be, in the long run?

I allowed myself to drift back in time -- back to those early teen years that, at times, I would just as soon forget.

I remembered my Freshman year of High School, and the dark place of despair and isolation in which my heart had chosen to lodge.

I remembered the successive years -- the journey that God and I had taken together. I remember those nights that I would stand beneath the midnight sky: no canopy save the celestial lights that passed their silent way above my head, and no companion except the One who heard the silent wailing of my broken heart.

The more I thought above these times in my life, and the years that followed, the more I realized that my travels had not been in vain. In fact, no matter how much I wished to forget those times and pretend that they had never been part of my life's story, it would be nothing if not foolish.

For, no matter how painful and devastating those moments had been, they had been vital measures in the complicated and continuous score that compiles the symphony of my life. They were the path, laid before my tired feet.

My journey is not over. I have no doubt that the road ahead of me is filled with potholes, tripwires, and roaring lions. I know that the Valley of the Shadow of Death lies before and behind me.

However, I also know that I have a Guide and a King who is greater and bigger than any of those obstacles that may lie in my path. My feet are covered in the shoes of His peace, and I have been given a map straight from His heart.

...my way is secure.

...my destination is sure.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. ~Isaiah 43:2-3

Tick/Tock

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace."

~Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Time is a strange master.

It is one of things that we as mere mortals cannot fully understand or comprehend.

There is a time for everything.

This reality has come harshly into the light for me in recent days. A week ago today, I found myself weeping as though my heart would shatter.

I had reached a point where one of the few solid things in my life had just been shaken to the core; I was falling like Alice down a strange sort of rabbit hole, and I had no idea when or where I would land.

I was, quite literally, lost.

My emotions were scattered across the map.

I was scared to death. My heart held a momentary burst of anger, which then melted into a sheer, rich sorrow.

And then loneliness.

And then...

...a strange, echoing silence.

It took me all of 24 hours to reach a strange new sort of reality.

This new existence -- however brief or momentary in the long run -- wasn't wrong. In fact, it was a long time in coming.

I'm not saying that I was suddenly okay with this sudden separation...the time had just arrived for a "severing," of sorts -- for such a resounding shaking of my so-called security in this particular aspect of my life that would leave me NO OTHER CHOICE but to run to my God.

And I did.

I promise, I do have a point to these seemingly random and disconnected ramblings.

There is a time for everything.

Sometimes, it takes a sharp severing -- an uprooting of a deep-set root -- for the beauty to have room to grow.

Sometimes, we need to just let go.

There is a time for everything. The hands of the clock are carefully moved by the unseen Hand of an Almighty God.

Time is not strange or alarming to God; it's an essential ingredient, a necessary fuel to His refining fire that burns away the impurities and leaves us grasping for Him alone.

The times, situations, and moments of our lives are not out of control.

They are not just whisperings of ideas cast about by the Fates or some unseen collection of deities with nothing better to do than meddle with the lives of mankind.

Our times are secure.

Because He is faithful...

..and He has a time for everything.

"You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in You." ~Isaiah 26:3

La Belle et la Bête

"The way to read a fairy tale is to throw yourself in." ~W. H. Auden

Every little girl has her favorite fairytale. The reason the story is her favorite is as unique and individual as she is -- a seemingly innocent glimpse into her psyche and her own brand of romance.

For me, it has always been "Beauty and the Beast."

Ever since I was old enough to pick up a book, I have been captivated by the rich romance and the sensual mystery wrapped up in the tale itself.

...a handsome yet arrogant prince, cursed to bear the visage of a beast until he can find someone to love him for his heart and not for his looks.

A dreamy and intelligent French girl who finds herself in an enchanted castle with a moody, romantic creature because of her father's careless mistake.

I don't know what it is about the story of the melancholy beast and the beautiful young bookworm that captivates me so strongly.

In fact, no matter what version or retelling of the story, I have yet to find one that does not capture the unspeakable essence of the story.

Perhaps it is the dramatic emotions of the story...maybe it is the elegant intensity found as the tale progresses...it might even be the gripping and beautiful truths found wrapped in this breathtaking package...

...the idea that beauty is more than just the outward appearance...that the heart is more important than the skin...

...the reminder that pride should be tempered with grace and elegance, and that books are doors to a vast world of imagination and romance...

For even in our adult world, filled with real-life problems and sorrows more than our hearts can bear at times, sometimes we need to remember a few basic truths from the fairytales that whisper to our youthful hearts.

Perhaps we need to take the time to crack open the long-forgotten spine of a familiar story, inhale the sent of leather and dust, and allow ourselves to find that place again...

...that place where roses are magical and castles in France hold our imaginations spellbound.

Diary

The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it. ~James Barrie

Visiting the library is like stepping into another world. Shelves and stacks of books line the room from ceiling to floor...

...the rich aroma of ink and dusty volumes whisper of worlds yet hidden in bindings of leather and paper...

...but yet, between these seemingly innocent pages, is danger and mistrust and anger.

For these books are more than just words...more than stories...more than records of fiction or fact...these are the thoughts of an author laid bare before our eyes.

Their secrets are no more.

For I have not yet met a writer who was able to strip all hint of personal emotion from their work.

In fact, the thing that makes an author great is their ability to step into the pages and let their hearts do the writing.

For it is an unmistakable truth that, for a writer to allow another to read their work is to expose their soul.

It is as if we have opened the pages of our most private diary, held it out to the world and begged them...

..."come and read my soul. Feast your eyes upon my hidden mind. And please...be gentle with me."

This may be why so many of us struggle with allowing the world to read our work. It is nothing if not a terrifying idea for someone else to take something that we have poured our hearts and souls into and bring it out into the light.

Pieces of the writer themselves have become lost among the words. It's more than just a fairytale or a retelling of a historical event. It's part of our story, a scrap of our legacy, wrapped up in these fragile pages.

The work itself might be perishable, but the dreams, hopes, and fears that are represented there are enduring.

So please.

Be gentle.

Butterflies

The other day, as I was driving down my parents' driveway, something caught my eye.

A small cluster of yellow and white butterflies were darting around the wildflowers growing in the ditch.

To most, it might have been small and insignificant...a mere trifling speck on the bigger picture of my life.

But at that moment, it struck me as a more powerful, more dramatic thing than a range of mountains or a grove of redwood trees.

Why?

Because, in so many ways, I am that butterfly. Or rather, I yearn to become that butterfly. In fact, I am currently trapped in the state in which this winged flower had once found itself, perhaps only mere days before.

I am trapped in a cocoon -- a chrysalis -- of my own selfish heart and emotional whirlwinds...I am bogged down, overwhelmed with a sense of foreboding and guilt.

There is nothing I want more than to break free from this prison of self-destruction and broken dreams...

...to spread my wings and spread my fragile wings towards the warm sunlight, and fly as if tomorrow was nothing more than a whisper on the wind.

And it's then that I fall to my knees, lost in the realization of who I am and how far I have fallen from the purpose for which I have been created...

...it is then that the King of the Universe reaches down and lifts me up from the ground.
He breaks my prison.

He sets me free.

He makes me beautiful.
And He gives me wings to fly.

As the God man passes by / He looks straight through my eyes / The darkness cannot hide / Do you want to be free? / Lift your chains / I hold the key / All power of Heav'n and earth belong to Me...~"Set Me Free," Casting Crowns

Belong

If I find in myself / desires nothing in this world can satisfy / I can only conclude / that I, I was not made for here / If the flesh that I fight is at best /only light and momentary, / then of course I'll feel nude / when to where I'm destined I'm compared. ~C.S. Lewis Song (Brooke Fraser)

Every one of us wants to belong...

...wants to have a place to set down our baggage and hang up our hearts on the coat rack.

It's more than just finding a comfy apartment or a suitable house to accommodate our current needs.

It's about opening the door, stepping inside, and realizing that this is where we fit...that we have finally found the place we have been searching for our entire lives.

And for so many of us, this place will never be found here on earth.

Of course, there are those earthly places that call out to us and catch us by surprise. They are as close as anything on earth could possibly come to filling that overwhelming void.

These places have something so intrinsic about them...some small detail that captivates us, or a memory that brings us back to feelings of acceptance, perfection, warmth...

...but even these places of sheer delight -- as wonderful as they are -- cannot fully meet the needs of our hearts.

There is something missing...some sort of minute imperfection that reminds us once again of this moral coil upon which we dwell.

It's not until we stop looking down and raise our eyes heavenward that we discover what it is that we've been looking for all along.

We cannot just stand on this side of the wardrobe door, allowing ourselves to settle for this second-best reality. We need to reach out, close our eyes, and remind ourselves that something so much greater...something inexpressible...awaits us on the other side of the door.

One day, these shadows will fall away in a beam of the ultimate Light.

We will no longer have to search for where we belong...the aching feeling will disappear.

We will enter.

Further up and further in...

...with Him is where we belong.