the view from the top

I recently had the privilege of traveling up to Arkansas and spending some time getting to know the people and places of my boyfriend’s childhood. Beaver Lake was cool and clear and some of the trees were just beginning to blush. However, though our time in Arkansas was so sweet, I needed my traditional day of rest afterward. I slept late the next morning before padding downstairs for my cup of coffee and woke up on the porch, amid the sights and sounds of Texas. Here, summer was still king. Temperatures and humidity were high, the sun was mighty and later that day, my nephews would don their undies and go for a swim. And yet, something had definitely changed in my absence.

One of my little sisters pointed it out and I wondered I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it myself. It was quiet. Well, quieter. Much, much quieter than the morning I had left for Beaver Lake. The cicadas, which spend about four months making a deafening din, had disappeared. What begins each year as a real bother quickly turns into the sound of summer itself. Thousands of male cicadas producing a sort of high pitched rattle can make it difficult to even have a conversation out-of-doors on an August day. It surprised me to find that their absence almost went unnoticed by myself after all that racket and, er…romantic drama of the past few months. “Huh,” I thought to myself. “Suddenly silent, kind of like me.”

I can’t tell you how many times someone, usually older and wiser, has said these words to me, “Never stop writing.” I always reply the same way, “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t!” or “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” Writing has been something I’ve done, in one way or another, since I began to journal in a lime green notebook in first grade. I never, ever considered quitting. I never planned to quit. I never decided to quit. But I did quit. The same way I quit working out after that month last spring when I logged thirty straight days of exercise. The same way I quit eating my daily bowl of oatmeal after I bought bagels for guests last Christmas. I just didn’t write today…every day. For a many days.

There were a few reasons for this. For one, I was suffering and it wasn’t time to publish anything about that yet. I processed those trials in a private journal, with friends and family and, eventually, a counselor. For another, I was overwhelmed by my struggles. Writing wasn’t put on the back burner, it was moved into the attic with lots of other things I used to love to do. The past couple of years have been an uphill battle, but the cool thing about hiking up a hill is, if you don’t give up, eventually, you get to the top. Now, it’s probably just a foothill in a mountain range that will take me a lifetime to explore, but I feel like I’ve made it to the top of this particular hill and I am loving the view. In other words, it’s time to clean out the attic. (My trusty 2012 laptop was literally dusty.)

I am looking forward to sharing some of the things God has been gracious to teach me during my silence here. I’m learning that it’s good to look back and see how far I’ve come, even though the journey isn’t over. I have started exercising again and eating oatmeal again, now I need to remember how to write. I’m excited to think that new things are happening, and excited to feel excited! For a while there, my primary feeling was…wooziness. But that’s what’s so wonderful about journeys, the view is sure to change. The pain of the past may still sting, but up ahead, at a short distance, I see something refreshing coming.

“You direct me on the path that leads to a beautiful life.
 As I walk with You, the pleasures are never-ending,
 and I know true joy and contentment.”

Psalm 16:11