No Longer Am I There, I'm Here.

I lay there, gazing up at the sky, just as evening was overcoming the day.
I went, fleeing from the busyness of day, out into the yard to catch a little moment of silent serenity. "Two days, two days, two days until I leave." And then an airplane spilt the sky above me, slender and white with little lights all over it. I watched it slowly make it's way across, and it seemed but a moment, and I was on it, or another one quite similar. Suddenly my two days were gone.
I didn't realize saying goodbye would be so hard. The act of leaving was bad enough-- but when it came time to hug siblings and parents and make all the proper 'farewells', I could only seem to manage a murmured goodbye and a tight hug as the tears rolled down my cheeks and my throat closed up a little and wouldn't let me do much of anything. I didn't realize goodbye would be so hard. I couldn't even say it properly, and oh, I wanted to say so much more!

But I'm here now. And all that is becoming more and more like a distant memory. The current is grabbing me again, taking me with it. People are everywhere now, and I talk to them. I work hard, and I hope desperately that I'll be able to get all my stuff out of storage soon so I can unpack properly. Already this life is greeting me with surprise after surprise and most of them terribly pleasant.

I think I shall survive. And more that that- I have an odd suspicion I shall enjoy it.

I Have A Feeling.

I don’t know why, but I have a feeling I’m going to be sad when I return.

When I give the house one last walk-through and say a silent goodbye with my eyes (tear-stained already most likely.) When I pull my over-stuffed suitcases from the vehicle and double check I have everything. When I feel a current of movement pulling me back against the airline seat, gripping the arm rests and making one desperate prayer we don’t crash. When I watch the naked hills lumber solemnly by on our way from airport to destination. When I walk the old familiar hallways, eat in the same old dining hall, see the same old people.

I can see (almost feel) it all happening now. And my heart beats a little slower inside, and I heave an involuntary sigh.

I have a feeling I’m going to be sad when I return.

It's A Soul Thing.

Rain is a soul thing, never convince me it isn’t. I woke up this morning to the pitter patter of rain outside my window and a glowering sky full of moody and dark thoughts. And yet there’s such a sweet serenity and warmth about the pale glow cast around the room by the pale light of sky. Everything is so thoughtful, so pensive. My messy hair flowing around my shoulders and my makeupless face grinning to greet the day. Yes, grinning… Because I can never help but feel when it rains that somehow, someway God is doing this for me. Yes, perhaps He has a million good reasons to bless the earth with rain today, but maybe I’m one of the million reasons. And maybe God smiles a little and thinks of me and says something like “Renae will like this rain.”

There’s just something about drizzly, dripping days of grumbling skies (aka rainy days) that remind me I’m incredibly blessed beyond measure and God- loves- me. And I think sometimes He says it with the rain.

I ache right now to be deep into the pages of some book, an old classic like Louisa May Alcott, or Charles Dickens, or one of the Bronte sisters. I want to turn up some jolly Christmas carols, let some candles blare on the kitchen counter, and cocoon myself up in my fuzzy blanket with the adorable kitties on it.

Rain is a soul thing. It’s a my soul thing. Maybe that’s the weather in my heart… It’s raining in my soul, always. So that’s where I get this strange wonderful feeling of kinship with days like this.


I’m so (sosososososososo) thankful and glad and ecstatic that I have a God who cares about me, in little ways (like rain) and in humungous ways (like having a perfect and beautiful plan for my life).

I’ve been thinking a lot about that plan recently. What does God want me to do? Some people are so dead-set sure about what God wants them to do. They’re going to preach, they’re going to teach, they’re going to be a missionary to some tiny village in the plains of Africa. But I think I’m finding out that whether you know what God wants you to be eventually or not… there’s still a boatload of trust involved. Maybe I do know what He wants me to do! But how? when? where? with whom? by what means? (and a million other ‘wherefores’) I have absolutely no idea.

But that’s okay. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. I’m a foolish, selfish, messed up person with a brain and fore-sight the size of a raspberry.. so yeah, letting God take care of the details is totally okay with me. Instead I’ll just inch forward, grasping at what I do know and praying everyday that God would take care of the rest.


Days like today lend themselves generously to writing too, you know. I could sit here and make rhythm with this keyboard forevermore. But there’s this little (big) place down the road called a greenhouse where they’ll be expectantly waiting for me at 9:00 sharp to come and sweep some dirty floors for a while.

And so, a-due till next time the mood strikes me!

Adult-ing.

So it's somewhere abouts 11:30 PM on a Saturday night and I'm sleeplessly searching my pinterest feed for "30 ways to challenge yourself" and "20 things women should do in their 20s" kind of lists.. You know, the one's that challenge you to be a better person and all that stuff. Should I be asleep? Yes. But sometimes sleep is a lost thing that I can only yearn for-- and laying here in the dark isn't as productive as many other things like yours truly (writing.)

So here's to late-night pinteresting and late-night blogging and here's to an over-tried myself and the fact that I'm turning twenty in just about three short weeks.

I was asking the other day why 21 is the oh-so-big number instead of twenty.. Apparently pretty much all the more that happens when you turn 21 is that you can drink- "well, whoop-de-doo!" This knowledge not really applying to me, I must admit that 20 itself is the cute little, awesomely-humongous number that sends shivering thrills up and down my body. T-W-E-N-T-Y, friends. That number sounds so incredibly adultish (perhaps because it is, in fact, adultish- and I shall have to adjust myself soon enough to adultishly match the number).. and every day I find my self adult-ing more and more in a rather alarming fashion. I can't say that's a wholly bad thing though. Actually, despite the terrifying-ness of it's existence, this adultish-ness in me I have to admit I rather enjoy.

Things like being a Sunday school teacher for the first time- planning out games and fun songs to teach the kids// preparing a lesson and baking cookies to treat my class. We even had a missionary guest in to teach the lesson and it felt so odd afterwards to be the one saying "Thank you so much for teaching, I think the kids really enjoyed it!", shaking hands cordially and trying hard not to betray how misplaced I felt (Aren't I still a kid? Wasn't it literally yesterday I remember sitting in class too?)

Being a legal driver for the first time. Turning the wheel with giddy excitement and feeling astonishingly easy with the movement of the wheels under me. Isn't this just Midtown Madness once again? (An old driving computer game we used to play- going 150 miles an hour and crashing into streetlights and mailboxes everywhere.) No, this is real life.


And yet, it's not an all at once thing either. I'm not all of the sudden grown-up with no warning. (Neither am I wholly grown up yet) I can trace the ever-widening streak of changes and changes in my life back through this summer, through my freshman year of college, through my jobs before that. Each tweak to my existence pulling me further and further from who I used to be-- and bringing me closer and closer to who I shall become; am becoming. The night before the funeral of an old-old family friend of ours, pretty much an adopted grandmother to my siblings and I. Surely I bid goodbye to a piece of my childhood that night through the tears?

And college? College broke me to pieces sometimes! How shockingly different from all I had expected in some ways... I didn't know I could make such amazing friends-- I didn't know friendship could be so confusing-- I didn't know some people would be so easy to influence. I didn't know I could make such a difference. I hardly realized the parts of me I would see mirrored by the friends I chose- parts of me I didn't even know existed.

Each fear I've faced, though I didn't see it then and I'm not sure I see it yet, must have molded me. Each foolish happy thing I threw myself into must have opened some little bit of my personality, never again to be contained.

I was crazy you guys. Undeniably, blissfully crazier than I've ever been before in my life. We may or may not have sat with our feet dipped into water fountains (along public walkways), gone ghost-hunting around an abandoned campus an hour before dawn, ran barefoot in the rain on a drizzly Sunday night after church,  danced our hearts away to Christmas fairy-lights, and a million other clandestine sparkling activities.

I've felt my heart stretched out to the accomplishing of things I never thought I could do. Through a bus ministry and children that I cried for// prayed for// laughed with// sang with// and even now the pictures of those times break my heart into a million pieces. How do you see such hurt and confusion in lives and leave them still the same-- trying, but feeling you could do nothing?

Being nineteen years old has surely been an adventure in many many senses of the word. And adult-ing? Yes, I've learned a whole lot of things about adult-ing this year. And in 3 weeks I'll be twenty and my adventure will continue. But a new adventure this time, different. Terribly different.

And now the clock is screaming to me that I've been an hour at my keyboard hammering- and perhaps now sleep will resign itself to blessing these eyelids of mine. If not? there's some stars outside my window that could always use a little gazing-at. So I bid you all-goodnight.

And don't think me too weird for all the rambling. I'm a slave to the fingers that let these thoughts out of my brain. (Or something like that. FORGIVE ME- I'm slightly tired.)

A Touch of Thankfulness.

Have you ever felt the sky above you, really felt it? The rugged rocks beneath your feet and the trees spinning by in a wild dance of leaves and shadows and haunted winds holding secrets they'll never tell you. Have you ever gone hiking? There's something akin to music that seems to spring from the scents of the undergrowth and the rhythm of snapping twigs under your feet.

Yesterday I relearned a lesson I've long forgotten this Summer. I guess sometimes it's just so easy to forget- to miss the fact in all my busyness of living that I'm not doing much more than that. Living, but neglecting letting the life around me -the emotions and beauty and energy- be much more than just a gage by which I can adjust my outward reaction.

I've forgotten to feel. In the craziness of coming home for the Summer and leaving my adventure and working at the greenhouse again... It seemed easier almost to gloss on an "I can do this." face and ignore a heart inside me that was asking for a moment of peace here, and prayer of thankfulness there. Instead all I could remember was that I had left my adventure and these days must be endured before I could return. If I had only realized that even being home was it's own kind of adventure just waiting to happen!

You see, I've relearned that joy is a thing entirely independent of our circumstances. It really is. I believe it's a thing we capture with the eyes through which we are looking at the world around us. Remember that every little wonderful thing in your life is an abundant blessing from God-- and if that's not enough, remember that you have a God who knows you and died for you and loves you so deeply and fully that He's continually orchestrating your life in a perfect symphony of pain and goodness to make you more like Himself.

How can stoicism or dissatisfaction or frustration exist in a soul in which such a wonderful truth resides- spilling over inevitably into extravagant thankfulness?

Yesterday we went hiking. And speeding our way past rocks and trees and forest upon forest I turned my face to the window of the car and watched it all in a rapture. "This is the Canada I love.. This is my Canada." I thought. I cradled a Tim Hortons coffee warm in my hands and let the music coming through my earphones make it's way into my smile, a dance of happy thoughts coming into my silly overthinking brain.
There's nothing much incredible about any of this, it was just a little happy moment, and for it I said a prayer of thankfulness to God.
In fact, I said a lot of them that day.