Mmm... Mornings

The warmth of a down comforter as I slowly stretch under the covers...

...the smell of coffee brewing as I step out of the shower...

...leisurely contemplating some Pauline literature...

...eggs rising to golden, fluffy perfection in my breakfast casserole...

...a phone call from a dear friend...

...the golden rays dancing on my face through the window...

There's just something about Saturday mornings.

Emotional Release

There's something about writing which, for me, provides an intense emotional release. 

I began writing "Elsa" over the summer.  It was, at that time, not exactly about me and most certainly not intended to be a story.  It was a sketch; the tale of an hour of time, of an experience supremely significant yet hardly memorable (this was true for both the reader and Elsa, the character). 

When I received the assignment to write a short story, I immediately thought of Elsa.  Could I write anything better?  But it was not a short story.

With the things I've learned about short story in class and through additional dialogue with the professor, I began to see the potential to alter "Elsa" from sketch to short story.  But could I do this without compromising the effect which it was written for?

So I began to write... And "Elsa" is becoming more and more about me; a picture of my life.  And, although I am still not finished, I am drained.  To commit myself to paper is exhausting.  It is vulnerable and intimidating.  It is also both beautiful and spiritually beautiful.

What I should be

I should be crushed; I’m optimistic.  I should feel discouragement and a lack of hope, but instead I find myself eager to see what tomorrow brings.  Disappointment eludes me.  Am I avoiding something inevitable?  Emotions unavoidable?  What I do not feel, I cannot force myself to sense.  What is not within, I cannot place into existence.

A fear begins to creep – am I numb?  Have I grown unfeeling and insensitive?  No, this cannot be.  For I feel.  I feel love; a desire to nurture and to care.  I feel compassion and sympathy (though not pity).  My heart feels.  It feels for another more than it feels for itself.  And it trusts.  It hopes.  It believes.  God has Another in His hands.  I trust.  I hope.  I believe.  I am not outside the protection of God's hands.  I should be crushed; I’m optimistic.

The Lens of Grace

In friendship, especially those deep friendships which suffer trial, there is a need for continual grace and forgiveness.  I am the lucky recipient of such friendships.

Over the past month or so, I have had one friend drop everything to sit and cry with me.  Another friend has been on her knees to such an extent that I feel her prayers carrying me.  She also stayed up until nearly 3:30 one morning with me, chatting and giggling like schoolgirls at a sleepover. 

In expressing my gratitude to the latter of these two friends, I said "I don't know why you love me so much."  To this she replied simply, "The Lens of Grace." 

It is through the glasses of God's forgiveness, love, and - yes - grace that we are able to stand side-by-side after seven years of friendship.  We've both hurt one another.  I failed to be there for her during a time of great need and she has wounded me as well.  But we've pledged to be faithful.  Our friendship has gone through ups and downs; I don't doubt that more challenges will face us in the future.  But I am eternally grateful for her love and forgiveness.  It is a love unmerited and a forgiveness unearned.  I simply pray that I can be as great a friend to her as she has been and is currently being for me during this epoch.