Disappearance

It's Saturday night. My Big Fat Greek Union is probably full swing in the gym. The VonTrapp family singers are performing in Omaha. Numerous movies are being watched. And I am doing laundry.

I haven't figured out why.

On the way to Wilderness Park this afternoon, I asked myself what has changed. Where am I? Or, where has my sophomore self gone?

I used to come up with things to do with other people. Now, I end up driving to the library alone, walking by myself at the park, or (horrors) doing laundry on a Saturday night.

I like solitude. But when did I lose the desire to be part of a group? I miss it. I want it back. But I don't want it back without first realizing what's happened.

Tap Dancer

Vanessa stood on my kitchen floor, a little embarrassed at all the attention. The rest of us cheered convincingly.

“Come on, show us!”

“Yeah, you can do it!”

Grinning, Vanessa agreed. Her feet began to move across the floor, and even muffled by her socks, I heard the rhythm of a true tap dancer, soul-dancing, uninhibited and free.

Grapefruit

I love grapefruit.

I like citrus, and I like pink. Grapefruit are perfect.

The best way to eat a grapefruit is to cut it in half and scoop out the fruit with a spoon. My roommate has grapefruit spoons, spoons with sharp metal teeth on the end made for scooping.

This is beginning to sound redundant, but--like a thirsty man without water--I can't stop thinking about grapefruit.

The problem is simple: I ate my last grapefruit on Monday. And I'm hungry. And SuperSaver is too far away when class is in ten minutes.

Shaped

"Yet, O LORD, you are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
we are all the work of your hand."
Isaiah 64:8

How is God shaping you?

Autumn

At home, the sumac bushes burn with color. I take a walk in the field behind our house over school break, trying to capture fall with a camera. But my lens can't hold autumn.

The acrid smoke, the cold, the crunch of leaves under my feet, the foggy puffs of my breath: my lens fails.

I love fall. I like to watch Nature stretch as God tucks her in for the night, lowering His voice to the whisper of winter. I see her bare and break and freeze, and I hear her rustling as she settles under the covers, trusting.

Frankly, I'm a little envious of autumn. It's a struggle for me to trust so simply. It is hard to die each day in want of rebirth. I don't like baring my soul.

But I want to be broken more than anything. And I see the leaves, falling.

It's time.

Creator

How do you see God as Creator?