this day.

It's a beautiful hot coffee, overcast sky, drizzling rain, I might just be in England, sort of day. The kind of day that would willingly envelope you, holding you close, blocking out the rest of the world and all the voices screaming that nothing will ever be the same. The kind of day when the black words typed out across a white space where a blinking cursor waits, is all that matters. Music lilts and for a moment, for the tiniest second in the vast expanse of this life, I'm simply writing words that I hope will make space and loosen the vice that squeezes down, trying to convince my heart that beating is the hardest thing in the world. I wish I was one of those writers who could go one writing, not allowing my emotions to catch up and dance about with the words that come out. But I'm not. I'm not interested in writing what isn't really the truth, or trying to convince my readers that I'm perfect and my life is perfect and nothing ever goes wrong because I have it all together. That's so far beyond the truth it makes me want to burst out laughing right here! I definitely do not have it together, my life is far from perfect, and I hurt, because life just hurts sometimes...but, I know who holds my days, I know who catches each tear I cry in a bottle and stores them in Heaven, and so beyond the pain and hurt and feeling helpless, He is greater still. And the knowing doesn't make the hurt less, but it does make the joy greater.

In this moment though, when the pain is great and the hurt tries to silence the joy, I write because if I don't, I feel like it might drown me...the words that don't come out. And I have to have perspective. I have to know that breathing in and out, listening to the rhythm in my chest, tapping out the dance of my fingers across black keys, painting the words across empty space, this is enough. Jesus is enough. Beyond the hurt that twists like a knife, He is still enough. And He has created a day that is like balm unto my soul. When the quiet is deep and the clouds above deeper still.

Surrounded by the low hum of voices, coffee is sipped, cups and saucers sing out a familiar song as they are brought back together again, laughter, books are lifted to faces to be examined and judged, being set down again. Row upon row of colorful faces, their covers beckoning and speaking of nothing that is truly within, poetry and fiction, classics and biographies, all speak a small portion of what they may or may not really hold within their pages.

Today...today....today would be a good day to stumble into Narnia. Today, I would like to walk through the deep of Aspen groves, listening to the stillness that only comes after the rain. To hear the drip of water left behind on emerald green leaves, running from one to the other, clear and clean in the heart of the trees. To walk along creek banks that gurgle and laugh, dancing through tall grass, singing with the pebbles and rocks in their path, pushing and pulling, wearing smooth and shining bright, despite the low clouds above. Rambling along deep in the woods, mountains surrounding every side, the world would fade away, a distant memory caught up and its lines blurred when in the midst of beauty not made by human hands. Perhaps here, deep in this place, Mr. Tumnus would wander out, and he and I would go back to his little cave, talking of wonderful things, eating toast with honey and toast with sardines and of course cake, over steaming hot cups full of tea. And he would not try and lull me to sleep and turn me over to the White Witch, because winter is gone from our mountains, and we both know the White Witch has been defeated. Instead, we would talk about Aslan and how wonderful He is, how He has changed our lives and of how excited we are for adventures with Him in the future. Yes. This is what I would do if I possibly could today.

For there is something about that, about leaving behind the world if only for a time, and becoming lost in all He has made. Lost in all that proclaims who He is. There is something about knowing Him as Aslan and then coming back into the reality that surrounds me, knowing that just as Aslan defeated the White Witch in Narnia, Jesus has saved me from the enemy in the world in which I truly live. And this is truth and not a story made up. This is what my life depends on. It especially depends on it in times like these when the pain is still great. My heart hurts, its beats protesting the pain that can hurt but not kill, and here, now, in order to keep beating the way it should, it must know the one Who has saved it from destruction and all it deserved. I must know that there is a deep and abiding joy that is found deeper still beyond the pain, for this is life abundant. 

Ah, and my soul knows it well. For I have gazed into the face of the One who has saved my soul, and that is beauty and life beyond compare. And caught up in all He is, the pain fades and hope is restored that He will work all things for the good of those who love Him.

"For You, O Lord, have made me glad by what You have done, I will sing for joy at the works of Your hands."  -Psalm 92:4