It's weird when your old life chases you down.  One of my friends and I were talking about this Saturday, because it's easy to say to someone who's in a bad place that they need to get out of the cycle or move on or get new friends or something along those lines, but when it actually comes to it, those are people you're leaving.  And while there's no doubt that it would be better for you to leave, they still get hurt, they don't understand why, and there's rarely any nice way to do it.  

We're both in different positions as to what kind of environment we've tried to move away from, but the moment we step back there the feelings are the same.  And it's so hard to balance, it's like we're torn between two  impossibles, majorly hurting friends you really care about or staying in a place where you can almost feel your soul dying.  How do you handle that?  And the thing is, when you do move away from it, when you build your new life, make new friends, begin finding yourself again, the old friends come back.  They start calling again, they want to hang out, they thought it was just a phase that you're through now because you seem better, happier, then before.  And it's sweet that they care, but you can't go back

Because I'm not whole yet, I'm still in the healing process from all the lies of that place, from the world of striving and "accountability" and performance and law and fear.  I'm learning to live in grace and peace and the unconditional love of God.  I'm learning to not worry about the future, about my shortcomings, about my issues, about my faults, about why I'm here, and to just trust Him with it all.  And it's good, the small little tastes I've had of that old life recently make me feel even more okay and at peace with where I am now.  But how do you say that?  I do still love these friends, but I know that they aren't ready to understand yet.  I wish there was a way I could just say "I'll explain it in heaven" and leave it at that.  Or maybe twenty years from now, if our paths cross again, they'll understand.  

Don't get me wrong, I am so so sorry that they had to get hurt.  I wish there was a way that I could have done what I had to do with out it.  But there wasn't.  We live in a world where people get hurt, where doing the right thing doesn't mean no casualties, and where we see only the smallest part of the picture.  So badly I wish I could apologize for the pain that I caused them, but explain at the same time that I don't regret the choices I made, that they were necessary, though they caused us both pain.  

But it's not the time for that, I think.  Maybe at some point, but I know that we're not ready yet.

Reading... C. S. Lewis.  Just finished Surprised by Joy and it was so good, absolutely delightful.  And I'm currently in Out of the Silent Planet, which is quite different but wonderful as well.  (of course, I mean it's C. S. Lewis!)

I've been planning some sewing projects, drinking lots of earl grey, just watched BBC's Wives and Daughters, and managed some long neglected mending.  The sun is setting later and rising early, in fact it's light out now when I drive to work.  I'll be back at the greenhouse in three weeks and I can hardly wait.

Time has sped by so quickly, it's been over six months now since getting back from camp and my birthday, and while so much has happened and changed it also feels like there's no way we could already be most of the way through February.  It's strange.  And full.  And empty.  And slow.  And much too fast.

 There's been a lot of white lately; snow, yarn, paper, plates, pages, sky... my skin.  But the light is returning, and the temperatures rising, and I think that does something for creative juices.  Last year I was writing like a mad lady and this year it seems to be an art explosion.  It's lovely.

 I don't know if snow glitters anywhere else like it does here.  Since where I live is technically a desert (!) the snow isn't wet and pack-able, instead it's dry and crystal-ly.  Like glitter or sand.   It blows around on the roads, sparkles when the sun shines through it, and coats the trees.

There's so much chaos inside me with applying for scholarships and trying to not wonder about what I'm doing this summer, all while still wondering and praying and doing a smashing job at acting like a sea-saw.  The peace thing isn't easy to maintain.

But then there's the bits of beauty that God slips in, the little wake-up of my worries aren't that important, I will get through, it will be good.  And the beauty is free and present and ready to be absorbed, ready to heal.  Like this fantastic imprint left in the snow as I was walking into the library last week.  Life is still beautiful.  The future irrelevant.

in appreciation of tea

dear God, today
I thank you
for making
tea.

tea,yes,tea

through tea I know, I can feel, quite surely
of your very great
smile
that you are smiling upon
tea-drinking
me.

for the soul feels
warm
after drinking tea,
through drinking tea,
while drinking tea,
...and shoulders relax
...and eyes relax
...and thoughts relax

and thanks to you I remember peace through
a cup
of oh-so-lovely hot
tea.

poem by Clara Ellen, 2013
(a very old photo, from a summer long past)