We all love to stand at the edge of things
and look out over an open space that seems to promise every possibility.
This is the feeling I recall from my twenties, from my thirties---and it's been an
ongoing shock to live in the complicated rat's nest that is middle life--every hour spoken for,
details and demands growing faster than the blackberry vines crowding out my roses, so that
change appears impossible--or, at least, impossibly difficult. This summer I want to return
to a faith that all doors open to bright air, that every road leads to a place I can love.
How about you all?
While the edge is not always promising, it certainly is enticing: feeling the lulling breeze rise up from depths unknown; hearing the gush of waves as they crash around your feet; watching the expanse roll before you in beauty and deliverance. It seems that the busyness in my life - more the routine of busyness - has drained me. I, too, will be in search of a faith that has eluded me for too long, hoping for open air and bright roads. Beautifully written!
ReplyDeleteThank you Karen---so nice to hear from you! Yes routines are made to be broken, it seems. : )
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