You Can't

Dear whoever reads this,

I'm not gonna get up on my glorified soapbox and pull an "I have a dream..." speech from my back pocket and change the world.  

But I do have a dream and I suppose this is kind of my soap box.  

I guess I just want someone out there to know - I don't know who you are or why I want you to know this - that I understand you.  Because I know someone out there is probably wondering if anyone does.  I wonder that too - all the time.

So I just want to say that it's okay.  That you'll find your place and your people and your purpose.  And that maybe it will take time.  Years, decades, maybe your whole life. 

What's the fun in knowing exactly where you're supposed to go and who you're suppose to be?  The fun is in the not knowing.

If you're still reading, I'd like to give you just one piece of advice.  One thing to carry with you on your journey to who knows where on this road that seemingly has no end. I want you to know that people are so much more complicated than we'll ever know.

You can know someone for years and tell them everything and know all their secrets, and you still won't know the depth of their person completely.  

We can't say we hate someone when they've hurt and cried and felt all the same things we have.

We can't hate that tangled mess of humanity. 

We can't understand the things people do and say until we've understood everything they've seen, heard, and been told.  We can't know them.

I want you to know this because I've found, thus far in my short life, that the most beautiful people are sometimes the ugliest souls.  And the outcasts, the hated, the rejected, the lonely, are sometimes the most beautiful. 

I can promise you that if you look, if you try hard enough, you will find

friendship in the strangest of places,

hope in the most desolate tears,

beauty in the greatest of pain,

strength in times of struggle,

and love in our most beautiful Savior.

I can promise you that 

friends disappoint you,

sleepless nights of thought 

leave you void of reason,

dreams you thought were concrete plans

tumble down and leave you broken,

places where you used to find refuge

will turn their back on you.

But in all of this, I can promise you that

if you hold onto Him,

if you keep praying,

even if it's lame,

even if it's tears and no words,

even if it's once a year,

and you feel like He's left your side,

and you feel like you've fallen too far,

I can promise you that

you haven't

and you can't

and you won't ever

fall or flee or fly or run or sink

far enough or long enough or deep enough

to be removed from 

His love

and His grace

and His forgiveness.

So whoever you are, and for whatever reason the Holy Spirit prompted me to write this,

I pray and I hope and I believe that you will understand

and be understood.

Love,

Anna

The Fall

The last time I stopped by to say hello, outside my window there were brightly colored leaves.

Now I sit looking out the window at near-bare trees with sprinkles of dead brown just hanging on for dear life, waiting, it seems, holding their breath, almost, until the wind picks them up and carries them home.

And I sit here thinking, well isn't that just what we do?

We bud, we bloom, we blossom into green.  We absorb the rain, reject the sun.  We change, slowly, slowly, to new hues.  To red, to orange, to yellow.  We grow tired and decay.  And then we hang on, trembling, brown, to the tiniest of branches, until we

fall.

Until we blow away.

Isn't that just what we are?

Brown shaking leaves on brown decaying trees, drifting, one after another, to the earth.

What's the beauty in that, you might ask?

What's the beauty in holding on?  What's the beauty in falling?

I think the beauty is not in the new green of spring, or the steady vibrancy of summer, or the brash rebellion of autumn.  The beauty is in those fading days of fall, when the night gets darker and the sky grayer.  It's in the barren months of winter, when the once fully-clothed trees are but skeletons.  It's in the hope of another season, of new life and new rain and brighter sunshine.

Because as we hang on, dead leaves on gray twigs, God is whispering to us that we needn't be afraid to fall.
Because, He, who knows so much more than what we understand, promises to make us new.  Promises that His mercies are new every morning.  Promises that this life and all its troubles, will pass away.  And promises a new life for all those that trust Him enough to

fall.