I was wanting, earlier this weekend, to write a post full of light and silly things: small happenings from around our home, funny things said, and silly annoyances (such as the small, gravel-sized rocks that make their way, by the hundreds, from the playground at my children's school through their classrooms, through car rides home, to . . . my tile floor – where they are slowly becoming the bane of my existence).
But my thoughts changed over the course of the weekend until they feel like they are all jumbled and crowded together on the edge of a cliff – the ones behind -- not quite realizing where the front thoughts have lead them -- pushing and crowding into the jumble of halted thoughts in front of them (nearly sending the front ones right over the edge) where the wind whips wildly and almost beckoningly. I feel like if I let my thoughts leap, there is a chance they won't utterly fall. They might soar with an amazing new freedom upward and forward. They might find views and possibilities that will expand them unimaginably. But . . . they hold back . . . all crowded at the edge of that cliff – looking down, their pulses racing . . . afraid and not quite ready to become whatever they might.
It feels that way because I feel so close to so many big things right now. Endings and beginnings. Some of them perhaps tied more beautifully than I can guess. I don’t mean to be illusive or mysterious. It’s just . . . I don’t know even what my own thoughts are; much less how to express them. Still . . . I want to express something of what I am feeling. And I can only speak in these metaphors because I can't quite wrap my mind around the reality of everything. I don't understand it. I don't know how to process it. It all feels too big . . . in good ways and hard ways. It feels like I am about to learn things and feel things that I have never had to learn or feel before . . . and I don't trust that I am ready. I'm afraid it will be too much, or . . . I'll miss the greater meaning, the greater growth, the deeper understanding.
I sense so often just . . . the bigness of life, the reality of eternity. It is sure and real for me. There are so many things I trust and have confidence in. And yet . . . I'm here – stumbling along unsteadily -- in the middle of it all. I know I quote Neal A. Maxwell perhaps a bit too often, but he knows how to say the things . . . that I feel and don't know how to express. Like this for example:
"You can have clear faith in the ultimate outcomes at the end of the trail but still find vexing uncertainties in the steps immediately ahead. The Lord knows the end from the beginning and everything in between. You, however, function in the muddled, mortal middle."
Yes. I surely do. I function in this muddled mortal middle . . . with all its vexing uncertainties.
And, . . . because I don't really know where else to take my thoughts from here, I will add a few pictures. I was messing around with a technique called freelensing just for fun the other day. It’s something that tries to imitate what fancy tilt-shift lenses can do . . . without fancy tilt shift lenses and involves actually taking your lens off your camera while you shoot. Most of the pictures were a blurry disaster, but, here are a few. For some reason I especially adored this first one of Anders after a good cry over not being allowed to play with our Tablet. Poor little fella. Life is rough. (And uncertain. And muddled.)