I’m sitting at the same park as before, when it rained so hard. The sun is out today and it’s hot – beautiful enough that this Sunday afternoon the parking lot is full of families enjoying what could be the last afternoon of summer. School started last week. Teenage boys with fishing poles in hand, children laughing on the playground. A small sailboat crosses the even smaller pond. A couple walks their dog. The nearby highway barely intrudes on the picture-perfect afternoon. Sun reflects off the rippling lake like a million sequins, or diamonds. Sitting alone in the shade of a large acorn tree on my blanket, I do not feel alone, for I am surrounded by life and, strangely, involved in it, too, as part of the scene. No one bothers me and, for the moment, all I worry about is if someone will steal my unlocked car. It’s so hot that it too deserves to partake in the summer, breathe its air and absorb one last piece of it. Acorns keep falling from above. A daddy-long-legs spider tries to cross my blanket but I shoo him away. In this moment I do not even wish for another to share it with – perhaps some but spray (I’ve killed several mosquitoes already), but nothing else. The insects of summer all cry out their last calls. There was a party here earlier – remnants of it remain, but do not taint this place, only add to its charm. It’s humid, but not stifling so. The sailboat is stuck in the shallow rocks near the shore – its crew struggles and breaks free, heading out again towards the center where the waters are cool and deep and full of mystery.

What is at your center, where you are deepest? If I did more than wade in your banks, if I dared to swim out to the mysterious parts, what would I find there? Have others dared to go there? Have you let them? The shore is beautiful – clean sand and smooth rocks, lined with leafy trees that whisper gently in the wind but do not bend. Small waves gently beat upon the shore, hinting of what may be out there, in the deep parts, where your heart lives and soul resides.

What if I were to row out, and in a moment of bravado, jump ship in one smooth and calm movement? I’d dive down as far as I could go in one breath, eyes open to see through the clear waters, before returning to the surface, gasping for air. It is cool and refreshing and my whole body is aware of my surroundings. Taking a deep breath, I again go beneath the surface, exploring the mysteries that are beneath appearances. It is much of what I expected, and much not. There is no resistance to my being here – you have been wanting and wish and hoping against reason for this. It is scary, makes us both uneasy – I can feel the waters chuckle nervously around me. I swim tentatively, slowly, enjoying each new discovery, and you know you are safe. There are places that are beautiful, full of life and creatures and sights and stories. I marvel in it all. And there are dark and cold places, where remnants of others are, bones and shells of long-dead creatures, tears and hurt and pain. I proceed cautiously but do not turn away, for these places are part of you and so they are beautiful too. Exploring further, I reach a current of fresh water. I follow it to the source and find the most beautiful and amazing place of all, your soul. Here I can see your true beauty, knowing all your stories and how they’ve shaped you, understanding the dark places, feeling what you’ve felt, knowing your character and the person you are. It is at once too much and not enough. In this place I feel my love for you confirmed and overwhelming, spilling out of me, becoming part of you.

Swimming towards the surface again, I take the air in not in gasps or gulps but sighs, as if it is no longer what I need to survive. My rowboat has drifted and a bird is perched on the edge. I see my meal sitting on one end, and realize it would no longer be satisfying. I want to stay here, in the calm and deep, floating on my back looking up at the sun, swimming and kicking to make waves, and exploring more of you. The shore is no longer desirable, and wading will not quench my longings. Even to row out every day and spend all my waking hours here would not be enough. I want to, I need to, be here always.

My vision jumps into focus and I see I am standing, toes in the sand, looking out over the lake. There is a choice to be made, and I waver. It’s been a long time since I last went swimming – what if I forget and drown? The water brushing over my feet feels cold, maybe too cold. It’s not a swimming lake and the others would look at me strangely if… but my heart cries out for the journey, the adventure, the mysterious. So quickly, before losing nerve, I shed my clothes and dive in.

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Things I dream about but dare not hope for:

• Passionate love affairs
• Deeply intimate relationships
• First kisses
• The electricity of a touch
• Declarations of love
• The knight who pursues

How… blissful, and absolutely terrifying! I watch on TV when a couple has their first kiss, and I think, it’s so slow! I could never handle the uncertainty for that many moments before it happens, when faces are close and hearts are wildly beating and eyes dart about shouting out their questions.

I much rather prefer the comfort of sitting on a couch snuggled close enough to feel each other’s breathes and watching a movie. My head longs for those moments, when everything is “warm and fuzzy.” But my heart cries out for the other stuff. All that is within me protests against its cries. The uncertainty, unknown, tension, uncontrollable torrent of emotions, these are not what I desire. And so I live my life without them. I’ve set up rules and guidelines and a situation for myself that is safe. I still allow my heart to dream, but stifle its longings and silence its pleas for more. And I wonder why I’m unhappy. If only I could get past… myself… to the passionate life my heart was meant to live. How do I get there? Where does one begin to pursue such a journey (path?)?

The most obvious way in my mind is to begin a romantic relationship. Alas, those are not easily come by. And my heart, too, protests the casual fling, disallowing me to participate in such activities, or at least not engaging itself in them and leaving me… lacking what I need to engage myself and making the experience a failure. And so even more hopelessly than casual flings, serious romantic relationships are even harder to find. This leaves me without answers. How else does one do more than appease the yearnings of the heart?

There must be a way. There must be more than this.

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I went for a walk today. It rained – poured, actually, a glorious feeling. It’s still raining, and the thunder is so loud it causes me to jump. The lightning illuminates the whole sky. I am soaked to the core, my hair dripping. Not ready to go inside yet, I’m sitting under a pavilion at the park. I’m starting to get cold – should have thought ahead to bring a dry sweater or something. A stray raindrop runs across the bridge of my nose and down my lips – it tastes clear and fresh, unpolluted. The wind, though cold, awakens every part of my body and reminds me that I am alive.

The week was spent indoors. In my depression (due to lack of job and money and housing at the end of the month, and no time spent with Jesus), I stayed in my apartment, slept a lot, and went on the occasional job interview. I ignored my roommates. I haven’t been to a store in what feels like forever. I’ve done a lot of writing, but not a lot of interacting with people. Not surprisingly, I don’t miss people that much. The outdoors – the wildness, freedom, the pieces of nature that beckon to be explored – these I miss.

I’m wrapped in my blanket now, the one from the trunk of my car, and it keeps me slightly warmer. I’ve decided I must stay at least until I finish my latte. Vanilla today. I really wanted a mocha, but didn’t have the money.

Had a long-overdue conversation with Jesus today. We talked about my situation, how I’ve messed up everything, how I’m super-stressed about finances and jobs and places to live, and I really need to trust Him. We talked about my friends and family, things I think I need and things I want, ways I want to change.

I can’t see the path in front of me – things were so clear six months ago, weren’t they?

If You Want Me To by Ginny Owens

The pathway is broken
The signs are unclear
I can’t find the reason why You led me here
But just because You love me the way that You do
I will go through the valley
If You want me to

Now I’m not who I was
When I took my first step
And I’m clinging to the promise
You’re not through with me yet
And if all of these trials can make me like You
I will go through the fire
If You want me to

It may not be the way I would have chosen
‘Cause it leads me through a world that’s not my home
But You never said it would be easy
Only that I’ll never go alone

When the whole world turns against me
And I’m all by myself
And I can’t hear You answer my cries for help
I’ll remember the suffering Your love put You through
And I will go through the valley
If You want me to

I don’t know what I want anymore (does it matter, really?). Urban ministry? The church? Missionary? Single? Married? Kids? Worldly standards of success? I don’t feel strong enough right now to be a maverick, but everything within me rebels against being “standard,” “status quo,” “normal.” I am a dichotomy and I confuse even me most of the time.

The rain is letting up a bit. Another huge crack of lightning, making me jump again. I am safe and protected here. The raindrops were huge and round earlier, rolling down my arms and neck and forehead. I’m barefoot now – my socks were soaked anyways, and the wet grass felt good under my feat. It was a nice walk, through the woods, around the lake, even over a bridge. And I didn’t see another soul while out, probably on account of the rain.

How can I describe ? He’s… wonderful. Compassionate and funny, shy yet brutally honest. He has a good heart, even if he doesn’t share his feelings well. Kind. He makes me feel safe. I love the twinkle in his eyes that he gets (or gives) when the situation is just right. He’s super laid-back, loves the outdoors, and loves people though he’d never admit it. He’s the youngest of four, which says is a lot better than , who was the oldest. said she could see how was my type, how he would have been a good match for me. And is a lot like , but different in some key ways as well. And the way I feel for is very different from how I felt about (past tense for sure finally). It’s not this overwhelming slosh of emotions that renders me stupid and out of control. I didn’t jump in feet first and drown this time. I don’t feel like I’d go overboard. And I’ve already spent more time with in three months than in four years with .

With , I always felt sure that he was “the one.” I’ve felt that way about other guys too – , , MZ, to name a few. I like the not-knowing, the uncertainty, the yet-to-be-explored. I like that my heart is unsure (especially since we are, after all, just friends and there’s no reason to think he feels anything towards me but friendship).

It’s starting to get colder. I should finish my latte so I can go home. I had such high hopes to read and write. Oh well. The weekend’s almost here.

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