A quiet little rabbit hole
Come hear His Name
Sweet truths proclaimed
War preparations you’ll see
Defenses for those who can no longer fight
Through the darkness to see the light.
We’ve been deemed insane, once or twice
“There’s no battle coming
The only fight’s inside your mind”
We’ve been told times before
The veil is tearing, revealing
Monsters hiding behind
Seemingly beautiful smiles.
Darling, come in!
There’s room, always room
Let Him hide you
Let Him heal you
The war’s been waged
And you find yourself caught
On the wrong side
He’s reaching, reaching
Will you let His children
Help carry you out?
It will first take a leap
Recognize the cave you’re in
Beloved, it’ll be worth it
To escape those chains
Will you be carried out
Or remain in the miry pit?
We’re used to extremes
There’s no pain you can bring
From which we will shy
All we can do is turn you to Him,
The only One who heals
This is not a song of self-praise
This is a statement of faith
We are more than is seen
We are the quiet underground
Working to save lost and lonely souls
Caught in the raging sea.
Lately in my life things randomly and bizarrely disappearing has become commonplace, to the point where my dad has seriously considered buying a hidden camera for the house to see where it all goes and how it vanishes. I have learned that even of my personal belongings, I have no real control. Only God does, but in that there is so much peace. But these disappearances are merely a part of a hidden painting.
It’s a season of gentle interludes. Clock in, clock out, typewritten prayers and telephoned memories. Perhaps one day the future will come, but for now it stands a hazy mirage in this desert land. My words feel mediocre. Do I have what it takes to go pro, or will I ever remain an amateur? Clock in, clock out, sip the coffee, make the copies, and pretend to myself that one day I’ll be an honest artist.
I don’t know what the future holds. Perhaps one day the work will pay off and writing will become my full time job, next to ministry; or perhaps it’s just a little girl’s dream along with unicorns and rainbows made of lollipops. All I know is that the Lord is holding it, and if I can let go, there is so much beauty and adventure in the unknown. He will make me into the artist I am designed to be, in His perfect way and timing. While this interlude is meant for rest, my mind insists on pushing on into worry. How often is that the case? The Lord blesses us and we do everything in our power to distort it into something vile. No. Not today. Today I will curl up in my terracotta sweater, sip the coffee, make the copies, and breathe, always breathe. The most perfect God of the universe is holding me and these dreams. Life is haywire, but darling, isn’t it beautiful?
Photographs taken at Panther Coffee (Wynwood, FL), the Old Florida Bookshop (Hollywood, FL), and the Florida-Georgia Line.
I wish I could make a movie capturing the essence of this place. Perhaps someday I will, recording Miami’s quiet song, playing out of pavement cracks available only to those earnestly listening for it. Tales of travelers now settled down, local artists the world will never know but we will always worship. Coffee so sweet it turns your soul to syrup, handed over by the barista whose name will forever be a mystery, but who always remembers yours. It’s the song of rainy summers, jeans torn to shreds so you can pretend it’s fall in the ostentatious heat; it’s breaking waves and poetry yelled from street corners. It’s flat roofs and sun-bleached walls; trends’ voices mingled with jazz of ancient days.
One of my favorite guilty pleasures is that of eavesdropping during solitary cafe sittings. Perhaps it’s part of this writer’s curse: the need to observe people not only from the outside, but get in their heads, to hear the thoughts hidden humans share in times of supposed anonymity. I am but a bystander then, glimpsing for a brief second the unfolding of their lives; lives I will never again encounter, stories I’ll never know the ending of.
I’ll be leaving soon to follow my Lord into unknown nations, and as the departure days draws nearer I’m realizing just how much I’m going to miss this town where rebels come to regroup, artists to be inspired, and lonely souls to find solace and society. My prayer is that when I return I’ll be better equipped to share the love of Christ with the citizens of this cultural melting pot. This is not the happiest of cities, it’s true, but we are a passionate bunch, and I would rather have it said we were full of life and honesty than had pretty pastel smiles plastered to dead lips. I would rather be among the fighters, searching truth out from under every corner, helping show them the path to the Kingdom. For in reality, that is all any of us here are after; the Ultimate Satisfaction only Christ can bring. No amount of Colombian brew or Fleetwood Mac records will do it; no finishing of the perfect painting or finally cranking out the novel you’ve always said you would write but never seemed to be able to get around to will soothe the ache of living without the light of Eternity shining upon your face.
Lately I’ve been in a restless season of in-betweens. Graduation is right around the corner, yet part of me still feels like a freshman on her first day. Every waking moment, I grow more and more anxious for Hawaii, to where my bones ache for it, while in the same breath home’s love song pours out of me. How could I ever leave this precious city who shaped me so completely?
I suppose what I’m trying to figure out is the art of growing where you’re planted, while not losing sight of aspirations or roots. At eighteen, I am well aware that my entire future lay before me, yet I’m also aware of all I will be leaving behind when I take that first step. So today, I will choose to celebrate “these happy golden years,” as that is where I am now; tomorrow will be here soon enough. I refuse to let hope steal the joy from today’s adventure, how ever small they may seem in comparison.
Because from the midnight drives with your best friend, just because you need to get out, to those morning discussions over coffee, to revisiting the statue we claimed that freshmen year, this is a golden time. So I suppose this whole post just stemmed from a need to share my thoughts on where I’ve been lately, and to share my love for the season of quiet interludes.