I have never understood the passing of time.

Sometimes the day feels so long it's as though I have experienced a few lifetimes before sunset.
Other times I am caught up in life and responsibilities and relationships that I miss sunset after sunset, after sunset.

And so it has been two years.

Before:

it feels like time is crawling, creeping, dragging by.  It's as though the sun sees right through my tanned skin to my tender heart and promises to slow down time.  It feels like the sun is my enemy, refusing to set and let another day start.


I beg for months for the promise of Psalm 40 to be fulfilled in me.  But instead of finding a firm place to stand, I only feel the ground beneath me give way, plunging further into the earth.  Some days I begin the process of stitching my heart back together.  Then the memories come flooding in and I drop my needle; The stitches come out, failing to mend my broken heart.  The pit grows deeper.

Finally darkness comes, but sleep doesn't.  It's that terrible feeling of desperate desire to be in a different world, yet dreading the moment eyes open to a new day: twelve more hours of antagonizing sunlight.

The fight to sleep or not takes all night.  In the morning I refrain from looking out the window, from hearing the ever-so-regular thought of today will not provide relief. I swear that today will not be as bad as yesterday. I swear that the pit will not get deeper.  That I will climb to solid ground. I swear that the stitches on my heart will hold. I smile at the thought of stability.

Then I look in the mirror, at the gaunt, hollow girl with sad eyes and a too-thin-waist.  Climb, girl.  Find solid ground.


It's impossible not to look out the window.  I remember when sunlight meant warmth, playing, joy.  Now I have the ability to only see shadows.  I see the sun and cringe at the nagging, angry, forceful voice that chides at me.  I look at the ground.  Climb, girl.  Find solid ground. 

By evening I am exhausted.  With every moment my mind is elsewhere; on what could have been.  I look for messages.  I glance towards the door.  Still, nothing has changed.  My stomach churns with the realization that this might be my new reality.

I look at the window.  The sun begins its deep-chested laugh.  Starting as a low and quiet growl, ending as a loud, fierce scream that pierces my heart.   I do not feel the dull pain of a sprain.  I feel the sharp, pointed pain of a fracture; I am broken.  My heart is broken. Climb, girl.  Do not lose your footing.  The laughter stops.

I close the blinds.  Climb.  I shut my eyes.  Reach.  With each inhale I cry, I need a song of Praise.  With each exhale I cry, I need a song of Praise. Climb.  Reach.  Hold.  Please, give me a song of Praise.  Climb.  Reach.  Hold.  Climb!  I can't climb any longer.  Reach!  I don't know where to reach.  Hold!  I'm too weak to hold.  Lift me out of the pit, O God.  


I open my eyes and darkness has come.  For the first time in too long, I did not hear the sun fighting its way through sunset.  The stitches of my heart had not come undone.

After:

Sleep came that night without a second thought.  In the morning the girl in the mirror was still gaunt, still too thin.  But after a few minutes the corner of her mouth twitched up into a soft smile.  Courage that hadn't appeared in months suddenly surfaced.  I walked to the blinds.  Slowly, I turned them open.

I peered through the window into the daylight.  I heard only the sound of nearby cars.  I stared at the silent sky.  For the first time in too long, I did not say climb.


I said hello. 


And so it has been two years.

At first I could only barely utter a one-word prayer and each day felt like eternity.  Then one word turned to two, then a sentence, then a paragraph.  And eventually I stopped noticing the sunsets.  It took awhile to notice, but He did hear my cry.  When I couldn't climb or reach or hold, He lifted me out of the pit.

I am at a place where I can see the beauty of sunsets and sing a song of Praise.  My feet now run on this solid ground.

I turn my face to the sun and drink in its warmth.

When is it the right time to make a big deal of something?
When is it proper to begin stressing out?
When do you start saying, "in reality, this does not matter that much."

How about now.

I just...I don't understand midterms and homework assignments in the same week.

Don't worry, mom. I'll still do my homework.  I just won't be that happy about it.

My life will mean something.

Whitworth University:
We are students, faculty, staff and family 3,000 in number.
We are educated.
We have a wide variety of passions.
Don't tell me we won't make a difference.


Diva Planet:
We are 34 bold, fierce, passionate, growing women.
We have the ability to make a difference.
We are almost three times bigger than the apostles.
Don't tell me we can't make a difference.


I have goals, dreams and intention.
I am alone, I am surrounded.
I have an intentional call from an intentional God.


Do not tell me I won't make a difference.


For those who call upon the name of the Lord will be saved.

You know you're excited to see your dad and sister when you rearrange and clean your room, spend a few hours watching the clock, do laundry, fix your nails, and shower. So much excitement!!