mini essays..if that

At the start of a new year, last year seemed to simultaneously go by in a flash while holding a million different things within it.

I don’t have pearls of wisdom for myself or so anyone else as we enter another round of lock-down, confined to our own homes waiting for this to pass.

I re-arranged my flat, another symptom, I believe, of my never ending desire for movement and change, but within my own control. My reaction to the Prime Minister announcing another lock-down was to find the cosiest looking pajamas and joggers online and order them, and then find a bird of paradise plant, inevitably too big for the flat but its always been a dream to have one….put that and a black pot, a cute watering can and some plant food in the basket and press the checkout button. My flat is slowly growing leaves as these lock-downs multiply and one day I may end up living in a man-made jungle, rather than the one all my friends seem to believe I grew up in.

I’m scared of settling, while desperately desiring the deep comfort of a good mattress, heavy duvet covers and windows that look over across trees; seemingly wanting to settle. I am tired of growing in so many ways, and tired of life moving quicker than I can grasp it.

Especially as dreams do not come true, and a life at 30 looks so different to the one I thought I would have. Different, not bad, but missing things that bring a ting of sadness.

I am reminded, it seems wherever I look, that the faith I declare to have in Jesus is not faith unless I am willing to trust Him with this life, to lean on the truths I declare to know and trust that He will make it all good in the end, and that His way is better.

Imagine a life where I had married that guy, or chosen to ignore the pull of that place and gone to London and planned all the weddings. (Another story, another time my friends.)

For now, I will wait for my plant to arrive, to bring a new bit of green to this tiny space and to give me a hint of my past- of where I came from and how it all got me here.

In my head is the rhythm of Sarah Kay’s poems, the ones that got me through my twenties, listening to her process life experience as she spoke.

The place has become my journal of my life, mini (very mini) essays on my life, a life no-one asked for essays about. But maybe one day I can look back and see all that I have been through, and these random words on pages about my life and see the hand of God in each moment. Maybe that is why I have urges to write and why this feels like the only space I can process, unashamed, my life.

R/