I still have a lot of reading to do before classes start in the morning, but I was reading a book that's required for one of my classes...and it simply threw out this "Beloved Visitor," and I couldn't stop my mind from wandering.
Therefore a blog post is due and rather than posting something that I scratched up the other night when I couldn't sleep, and rather than finishing my articles for English, I will instead marvel at this concept of "Beloved Visitor."
I've had Timshel on repeat the last 3 in a half hours, the cover that my dear from Kacie Williams made. This song has weaved around my soul this past year in a half in a very significant and deep, deep way.
How rich this past year of my life has been.
I am constantly reminded of how significant stories are by those around me, by simple things, by readings, by writings. By the lives unfolding and blossoming right in front of me.
Stories blossom connectivity. They truly do. Which, as a result produces something meaningful. Something with valued meaning. And it takes route. And it grows and grows.
What if people aren't alive to their story, to their connectivity because they haven't felt it? What was there to be connected to? What was there to effect? Community is so essential. The lack of produced the feeling of not feeling connected to something larger. To something much, much deeper. There was nothing to invest. Nothing to owe ones care to.
I think we're all supposed to be awakened to this...reality, if you will. There's this unshakable mandate within a community, you know? Something so massive. And I think it is this aspect of "Beloved Visitor." What if each of us took on this role. Believed in it and just dove right in?
You. Are a Beloved Visitor. Let that sink in and let that take route. And let it grow. Let it flourish. And chase it with all of your might. Don't suffocate it. Embrace it and live.
It just contains so much beauty---you are beloved. And you were crafted for something far beyond comprehension. Your life is a glimpse of it. Your life is a thread of the fabric. Your life is a fraction of time spent on this earth. But you are worthy. Deeply beloved.
Why not run after it? Why not clutch onto and never stop? We are not our owns. We're not. It's that simple.
Every morning I wake up to the chirping of birds in the lemon tree right next to my bedroom window. Although I share my room with multiple people, I get the joy in sleeping right next to the window---where the sun, shining through the lemon tree, wakes me.
I love this tree. Especially on rainy mornings. The rain drips off the leafs and the lemons, and I go outside to pick the lemons to make lemonade. Open the balcony doors to hear the rain and turn on Bon Iver's album.
I can't quite capture the significance of this tree to me just yet.
But, I enjoy the breeze that moves it, the lemons it provides me with, and the nesting of birds in harmony.
A post is long overdue, but I want my words to be precious as you glaze over them.
As music flows in the background of this coffee shop through my ears, I am trying my hardest to not retreat in my exhaustion.
How beautiful it is to know that you're exhausting yourself for something you're running after, especially alongside an army of individuals. Individuals with names, smiles, laughter, heartache, tears, character, and joy.
Part of me feels entirely insane for going back on the road, but why does our comfort lie in relaxing and not stepping over our limits and our boundaries? Who am I to step down because the work is hard and exhausting? How liberating my life has become to poor out my soul into something.
I've come to realize that I do not believe in a life lived too short. It's not tragic. Painful, but not unfortunate. What an honor it would be to know that the One who supplied you with life was awaiting your arrival. Had taken you home because the love within you was used to His glory.
Sometimes this is hard for me to remember, to cherish, and to even believe.
How patient and all encompassing is His love though. I just forget to return to it sometimes.
A lot of the times, He fills me though regardless.