I’ve been spending a lot of time with Instagram lately. I’ve decided I needed to focus on something besides the chaos that is my everyday life. To look for something positive. To find the extraordinary in the ordinary moments and share them with others. I’ve been making a conscious effort to look for the beauty in the everyday. Sometimes I will write a description or a snippet of poetry to accompany them. At times a title is as far as I get and sometimes that’s enough, hence, Under Amber Skies.
Instead of seeing beauty, I feel as if I am drowning under those amber skies.
An apology twisted and wrung out to hurt. A fractured relationship. A financial crisis. A letter ripping an already uncertain future right out from under us.
Standing in the face of that uncertainty is a difficult thing to do. Watching the life you thought you had, the life you always wanted, slip away so quickly it feels like you never really had it. It feels like a betrayal. Yes, mistakes were made that have contributed to where we find ourselves. But where is the God who promises all things work together for the good of those who love him?
In the midst of the chaos those are empty words that offer no solutions.
Why has he abandoned us? Why doesn’t he swoop in and rescue us from this difficulty? Oh, I know there are lessons to be learned. Trials are supposed to make us stronger; show us how to trust unconditionally. But how much can we take before we break beyond repair? When does restoration come?
My already shaky faith waivers almost to the point of non-existence. All of the legalistic, name it and claim it theology that was used to beat me over the head and heart come back to haunt me. I’m at a loss as to how to reconcile a God that loves me yet allows every security to be ripped away. For this black and white, need all of the answers girl, this is a precarious place to be. It’s uncomfortable.
And scary as hell.
Even as everything falls apart, I’m still drawn to finding and actually seeing the extraordinary moments. In the play of light and shadow. The intricacies of design and color found in flowers. The curling bark of a Birch. The acorns clustered on the Oak. Lichen finding life in the boards of a fence.
And maybe, in capturing those moments, I’m seeing a glimpse of hope under those amber skies.
Yet, more often than not, I become so focused on the disaster happening around me that I can’t, or more honestly won’t, lift my eyes long enough to take notice. I am held captive by my fear. Fear that I won’t be loved. Fear that I won’t be rescued. Fear that this storm will never end and I will indeed drown. And in trying to fix things, holding on to the ever wavering control I have carefully constructed, I make things infinitely worse. Holding on so tightly that hope slips through my fingers.
But in that small glimpse, I have to believe that God is there. That he reaches in to those deep, dark places and lifts me out of the sinking. That when everything is failing, he meets me at my lowest and heals my wounds. That at the end of darkness a new day awaits with the promise of new beginnings. That the same God who creates the beauty in the ordinary, loves me enough to always be there. Without that small glimmer of hope, what would be the point?
I have to believe that if I will open my hands to receive the grace that hope brings, I don’t have to be afraid any longer.
“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
The “All that is required of you is to be in the now, in this moment which has been given us.”