It has officially been over a month that I’ve been making space. Making space in my life for big dreams and consolidation of ideas. I walk through my home, room by room with my camera. There is not a single room in perfect order. The laundry is piled high in corners and each bed carries the imprint of the sleeper.
However, with the sun shining and the day at mid I wish to see my life as it is.
I want to see it all. The whole big goodness.
I’ve exercised this morning, eaten 2 flax eggs, hung up my parka and ignored the sandy entrance. My giant DSLR sits in the drawer with my many full memory cards. The shiny black piano in the living room waits for a song. SO MUCH GOODNESS.
This cluttered up full life has me brimming and spilling.
Tension between loving my stuff and life and fullness, to the desire of that which has no image. That which is only felt with the soul.
I have had success with an orchid re-blooming only once in my life. Usually when I get them from the store I get one flower out of the plant, it lasts for a month, and then I chuck the whole dang thing away because it just looks so ugly without the dainty slippers or the white butterflies.
The last time an orchid bloomed for me we lived in Saskatchewan on a ‘temporary’ farm while we were waiting for our forever farm. I loved the acreage. It had gardens galore and barns to run through. Our cat had her kitties on 3 year old Waverly’s bed. The orchid sat in the large dining room facing south west and the white butterflies kept blooming out of the green stem.
We had moved 2 provinces, 2000 km to the prairies like modern day pioneers, praying that a farm would come available for us to buy and move our young family on. Daily I would look out my bedroom window and remind God that we were here. Waiting. A year went by, I got pregnant again and Wes now had to work up north.
I continued to look out my window, casting my prayer past the hawthorn trees and through the lilac sky that our farm would appear.
Finally our farm did come. It didn’t look at all like what I expected. It was ugly and barren. The soil was sandy, the gardens overrun and the house with only half windows. I cried to leave the home I loved.
It wasn’t what I expected. AT. ALL.
I had our fourth baby there and the orchid gave up its flowers. It stopped instantly after the move. The sunlight couldn’t reach inside far enough to coax the buds.
Turned out that farm was more than we imagined. Gave us more memories than my scrapbooks could contain.
So here I am again in that moment of waiting. This time looking out at the valley of peach trees and the land of the lakes. I cast my prayer from my home that holds different dreams. The home I’ve called a safe place. What if God will give me again what I don’t expect? What if it doesn’t look anything like my imagination?
15 years go by and I find myself in the same place of my soul. Peace and tension of surrender. It does not come easy. I wrestle each day with flying the coup and taking matters into my own hands.
But still I wait. Anticipating the bloom.