This past week I was in the Caribbean as part of a graduation present. At one point, I was standing on the sandbar swimming with stingrays. As we got back on the boat that would take us to land, I really saw the sea. Different colors of blues and greens depending on the depth of the sand hidden below. It was so beautiful, and I had somehow been blinded to it while I was swimming in the middle of it. As I was caught up in wonder, the thought became, “there needed to be some distance to see the full beauty.”
It’s so easy for me right now to write off this whole waiting game. College, check. World Race, almost. It’s three and half months of waiting, and I’m not sure what I’m suppose to do. It’s awkward. I know I’m in a season on preparation, but what does that mean? What does that even look like? And what the heck am I suppose to be doing?
I think that’s my issue. I believe that lie that I need to be doing. Processing. Analyzing. Reflecting. Working. Sitting seems passive, and prayers don’t seem to count unless it’s written in a journal.
Swimming can look like anything: racing, floating, sinking, splashing, whatever. The point is to be emerged in the water. If we’re so focused on what we are suppose to be doing in the water, then we’re going to completely miss the point of enjoying the water.
“As you stare at the stone of the hoped-for souvenir remember the deeper work happening within you, where your life is hidden with Christ in God.” -Emily Freeman
I’m going to get the souvenir in September. Each day last 24 hours, and they’ll pass by week by week until it’s time for the adventure set before me. In the meantime, I sit. Which can look like nothing, but actually mean everything. I’ll grieve the passing off the last season, and I’ll wonder about the coming season. But that means this is a season all of its own. And I don’t want to miss it. Whatever it looks like.
The reality is I’m in the middle of beauty and I have no idea what it looks like. Some days I’ll look for it hoping to catch a glimpse. Some days my eyes will be closed, and I’ll be forced to trust that it’s there. And I’m sure some days I’ll forget the beauty exists at all.
Right now, I’m experiencing that split second when running where both feet are off the ground. I’m freaking out because I don’t know where to put my feet, but I think the point is to enjoy the time in the air. I hear, “Do not try to do anything. Perhaps later you will do much.” And while that sounds lofty and I like the tangible, I think it means to sit and remember the deeper work happening that I don’t get to see just yet. What does that look like? I think it looks like a human being instead of a human doing. I think it means sitting with him knowing that he sits in me.
