Immeasurably More

That pretty ball of light is your head as I rip it off your body. Slash that was just a dream I had last night before commencing our 18 hour drive today.

Home. Home is exactly where I want to be.

Jesus, it was May 21st. Did You not see the signs held up on every corner in New York City or read the pamphlets all about how You were supposed to come back today? Why oh why did You not?

Random Jumble:

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You Can't Stop Wishing if You Don't Let Go

So simple, so obvious, so out of reach until Jack Johnson said it so poignantly. I have heard this song a hundred times and never heard this.

You can't stop wishing if you don't let go.

I am a holder-on-er. I love adventure and spontaneity and thrills; I despise change. It is mostly out of fear, because I am so darn afraid that I will not be able to readjust to my new circumstances. Example: I have worked the same job on and off for five years as jobs are available, and every time I am at a new location I almost don't go because what if they won't let me in or there's no parking or my boss has his phone off and I can't find them or I have, in this new setting, suddenly forgotten how to spin a crepe? I like reliability and time-proven examples to show that I am capable of something. I would rather pick up and move across the country on a whim than try a new sandwich place that is not Subway. All this to say that I hold on desperately to what I know and what is comfortable. For me. Like I said, moving across the country doesn't scare me as much as ordering a coffee at Blenz instead of Starbucks.

You can't stop wishing if you don't let go.

My memories are the same, as are plans and fantasies and goals. Easy to maintain, hard to exchange, and impossible to eliminate with nothing to put in its place. I am in the process of changing/rebuilding a lot of my dreams. Sometimes, though, I find myself caught up in the old wishes, almost out of habit.

You can't stop wishing if you don't let go.

New wish: I want my life as a whole to be an adventure. A year ago I would have told you that I want to do the same thing for the rest of my life, but now that seems so mundane. I want to spend three years in Cuba as a missionary, followed by two years working at Booster Juice to afford booster seats and cribs in Surrey, then five years at a new church plant in Winnipeg until it's time to travel around doing conferences and seminars for people who have the Bible all wrong. Or something to that effect. I don't know. That's not even what I want; what I want is to convey that I am so thrilled by the idea that I don't know. Which is strange. I am exchanging set dreams and goals for nothing, and I have never been so (scared) delighted.

I am letting go. No more wishing.

Different - Hello There, Jack - Not Even I Could Have Predicted This

There is something almost mystical about green grass growing infinitesimally deeper and cooler as twilight approaches. A person could get lost in that feeling, lost in the sense that they are suddenly who they truly are: who they have ever been, ever will be, and could ever hope to be.
You can never forget how to swing. The moment your hands grasp the cold and begin the rattling of chains, years are diminished to mere moments and not a second has passed since the first time you learned to defy gravity. My cousin turned seven today, and we went on her swing set for a little while. As I rose higher and higher, bringing the moon into full view with each pull of my arms and stretch of my toes, I was suddenly aware of the huge smile on my face. Delighted, thrilled, and full of the sweetest joy.
Who am I really? Am I the woman who puts on her face every day and is dependable, courteous and strong, or am I the one deep in behind the face who secretly wishes that life allowed re-dos so that she can blow it all off? Am I the stickler for rules and order and "right," or am I the girl who leaves a seven-year-old's birthday party early to go on her own swing set, watching for each approaching second that signals the coming night? The girl who does cartwheels for the love of them, not because she has ever successfully completed one? The girl who lays in the damp grass with her feet above her head doing the bicycle, Jack Johnson singing sweet, revolutionary nothings in her ears, all the while marvelling in the static-spangled periwinkle sky?
The dark came as swiftly as it ever does, and with it the knowledge that life is not about blogging each new experience. It is all in the moment. That second in eternity that is utterly meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but is a living testimony to my Father who knew this second of my being from the instant of creation. I am completely in awe.