The Now

I'm sitting at a Tully's cafe right now, attempting to post some pictures on Facebook with a teeth-gratingly-slow internet connection. This was supposed to take ten minutes; instead, I'm already 30 in. I'm sitting here, thinking about all the things that I could be doing instead. There are people I could see, preparations I could be making, errands I could be running.

Instead I just stare at my computer.

And I wait. I wait. I think about all the things I have to do next.

And I wait.

And I think about Now.

I struggle with the Now. So much, I struggle with it. I often tell people that I should have been born a century ago; I am enamored with past centuries and stories and eras. I indulge in nostalgia the way other people do in wine, or chocolate. I drag up past selves, and converse with them, advise them, sit with them and remember-- I call ahead to future me's and implore them to answer my heart-felt questions. I look ahead too-- I've already made firm plans to be an eccentric old lady, and have planned future 80-year-old outfits with outrageous hats and pom-pommed shoes. One of my most fervent hopes for Heaven is that I will get answers-- that I will have all the questions answered, that I will KNOW where everything goes, and where it comes from. I want that knowledge now.

But Now?

Is a slippery beast.

It's fog, and pot-holes-- it's a mirage, and a wide open field. It can be as simple as I want it to be, but inevitably I make it more complicated. Eve ate the forbidden fruit because she wanted to KNOW, and I admit, I might have easily given into the same temptation. I want the knowledge that isn't mine to possess.

How do I let that yearning go? I don't honestly know. Earlier this year, I remember feeling like life had put me in a river up to my chest, and I was being pushed by the strong current. I felt like the rocks were turning beneath my feet, and the clouds above me were racing to unknown destinations beyond my view. I wanted to CLUTCH the world, and hold it still until I had attained full comprehension. Instead, it pushed and pulled at me, dragging me forward with its force. My efforts to control this wild world were as effective as halting a roaring river. I wanted to hold water in my fists after it had already run through them.

The Now is this table before me. It is the water beside my laptop, and it is the crumbs from my scone in a small paper bag. The Now is boots on my feet, and Caedmon's Call in my ears. The Now is a bolstering email from a dear friend. The Now is lots of information to process from my grad school director, and some particular information to process from someone who has recently become important to me. The Now is Tuesday. It is just. Tuesday.

I'm not in France yet. I'm not in grad school yet. I'm past work. I'm past a fun weekend. I'm past the girl that was silly a week ago. I'm not yet the woman that faces the world with trust and peace, regardless of what it throws at me.

I am just this girl, in this moment. And I don't know. I don't know what that means tomorrow. I don't know how Now was influenced by yesterday. I really don't know.

I went for a walk earlier this year, and at one point walked up a hill with bright, glaring sunshine right in my eyes. I closed them, and continued to walk forward blindly, trusting that I would find the next step on the sidewalk ahead of me; trusting myself to walk essentially straight ahead. And I did.

Is that what living Now is? That may be the closest thing I can think of. I remember walking with my eyes closed, and thinking that that's maybe how God wants us to move forward with Him-- to be so blinded by Light that we have to shut our eyes to follow it. Blind trust isn't such a bad thing if we have a trustworthy guide.

I do have a trustworthy guide. And He will take care of tomorrow, and He is with me in these slippery Now moments. He never goes away; He hems me in, behind and before. Praise the Lord for that.

Now is posted pictures, and a finished blog. And Now is getting going. Pray for how I deal with Now after that.