I’ve been thinking about breath recently.
I’ve been thinking about breathing in life, breathing out, fully alive.
I’ve been thinking about the way breath wakes me up, makes me feel alive, actually keeps me alive.
I’ve been thinking about how it is such a small action, how I do it without stopping, how I need to breathe again as soon as I’ve exhaled.
I’ve been thinking about the way the air pollution in Antipolo actually hurts my body and I wake up aching. I’ve been thinking about the metaphor that that holds for my spiritual life: breathing in death does not come without consequences, all of which are harmful.
My lungs have not stopped asking for air since the moment I was born. My body has not been able to go longer than a few seconds without oxygen for my entire life.
Isn’t it strange that 99% of the time, you aren’t thinking about breathing, but you always are and you always need to be, and without breath your entire life would be over? Yet you don’t need to think about it?
There’s one thing in particular I’ve been thinking a lot about:
The amount of time between breath is so small. Almost nonexistent.
I’ve been thinking about Joshua and the transition he went through when Moses died and he became leader of the Israelites. There was no hesitation when he was passed the baton and was expected to follow in Moses’ footsteps. Gracefully, he picked right up where Moses left off and took the entire nation of Israel across the Jordan River exactly the same way Moses did at the Red Sea.
It was like a breath. One right after another. Together. Smooth in transition.
I’m about to transition home after nine months of a radical life.
Radical pursuit of the Lord. Spending more time with him than I ever have. Hearing his voice more clearly than I ever have. Chasing his will, LOVING where he takes me, enjoying little things I’d never noticed before.
Radical community that fights hard for one another, that loves well, like Jesus, that is ready for crazy adventure, hard work, and vulnerability.
Radical ways of serving people. Creative and intentional ways, different than anything I’ve ever done before. Babysitting for young married couples in our church in South Africa. Planting basil and strawberries in a greenhouse sustained by fish water in Botswana. Playing hours and hours of Jenga with a 13 year old boy in the Philippines. Creative love. Sweet friendship. Seeing Jesus in people’s eyes.
I’m going home and I know it’s not going to look very similar to my life right now. It’s going to be really really different. I’m going to be home for the summer, then I’m going to be on a college campus, home to 30,000 students, who are able to afford one of the best educations in the world.
Transition.
There’s a lot to carry over from this season. Everything I’ve learned. All the ways I’ve changed. All the friends that have become family. I feel like my hands are so, SO full and I am terrified of dropping anything because it’s all so sweet to me. I’m scared that I’m not going to be good enough or strong enough to hold it all close to my heart. I’m scared it’s all going to fall out of my hands when I make my bumpy landing into Denver International Airport.
But I really want to be like Joshua. I just want to breathe. Breath deeply and slowly and gracefully carry over this season into the next. To take up the challenges that today holds, not worrying about tomorrow’s difficulties.
Breathe in, breathe out. Staying where I am at each breath.
I want to be thankful. Thankful in every single moment over the next several weeks.
I’m saying goodbye to this season, this community, this lifestyle. But not the Lord. I’m not saying goodbye to my closest friend, my wisest counselor, my strongest protector. I don’t have to leave his side. I don’t have to let go of his hand or lack his still, steady voice. I want to be thankful for that.
I want to be thankful for whoever I end up at coffee with. I want to be thankful for the bed that I may want to trade for a sleeping pad and a tent for a while. I want to be thankful for the fruits and veggies I’ll get to eat, even though it means I don’t get to be with the former street boys that have become friends, eating pounds and pounds of rice. I want to be thankful for the education I’m getting, even when I don’t get to be teaching Filipino kiddos Bible verses.
Thankful. Making moments go slow because they’re heavy with blessings. Not anxious about anything, but laying my cares in the hands of my father, always giving thanks.
Breathe in all I’m learning here, breathe out all I’ve learned at home. Breathe in all I have to learn and be thankful for a home, and breathe out grace.
Colorado, I’ll see you in two weeks.
-k
