There's something stirring in me. Like the swirl of wind and color in the rise of October, there stir the beginnings of something new and different in me. The browns and reds of the familiar are falling way to something foreign to my soul. Something colder, like the winds of first December. It's a comforting cold, a stretching cold, a welcomed cold. Like a dive in the pool after a hot day. It's shocking, different, new. And exciting.
What? I don't know. There is simply something colored on the horizon. It's a color that I've never seen before. Something subtle, that has no prior emotion or memory tied to my heart. And yet my heart beats on, like ever before, as if the colors on the horizon are something it's been yearning for all along.
There is a constant pull in me, to know the colors that dance before my eyes. To know them and give them names. To put edges on the smudges of sunrise. But that is not my job.
There is another pull in me, just as constant, but of the opposite. To love the moment of presence. To love my days in the heat of the sun and the screams of wild abandon that follow children to the ends of the earth. To love the exhaustion of the day in and out. To know the temporariness of now, to take breaths and love the moment in which I find myself every day. Every moment.
There are blessings all around me. And the colors of what comes next are truly something beautiful. But I know not what it is, and that is good. It's in the heat of now where I can see the eyes of my God staring back at me. The hands of my Savior shaping me for the next bend in the road. The heart of my Father embracing me, encouraging me, loving me so deeply.
And yet, there is a noise in me. It's a dark, heavy cloud that sits just on the horizon. Encroaching on the deep colors of the sunset I seek so desperately to embrace. It thunders, flashes of light pulling the center of my attention from the beauty in which I long to reside. The violent light threatens to pull my gaze instead towards the darkness that trembles within the distant clouds.
They are there. They are always there. The clouds. They come and go with veracity, violence, subtle whispering lies. But they always serve the same purpose, the same call; to pull my gaze from the sun in the sky, and fill my head with the worries of lightning and thunder.
But the lightning and thunder are not what define me. Or my God. Or anything. They come and go with the shifting of the wind. They change, they grow, they diminish. They are only here for a moment. It's the colors that sit so elegantly on the floor of the sky that define the world. They change, yes, but they are always there. Every day. There is not a thing in the world that can hold them at bay. After the storm calms, no matter what havoc it may have wreaked, the colors remain. Elegant, present, calming.
They are where my gaze belongs. They are where my attention, my heart, my love lie. Because the wind will shift and the worry that clamors for the attention of my soul along with it. And at the end of the day, I will have learned nothing from watching it but that it cannot be controlled.
May we choose instead to watch the colors as they dance in the sky.
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