I stood with my face an inch from the cold glass pane that spanned the entire length of the wall, my hands wrapped around the steaming mug of hot chocolate.
I breathed into the white cup and watched as a cloud of steam instantly fogged over the glass in front of my skin, raised a finger and drew two dots for eyes, and a rainbow shape below.
I watched the snow fall in slow motion, like feathers from the clouds onto the pine trees surrounding the 4 story cabin I stood within.
Such a quiet beauty.
I raised my finger and changed the frown to a straight line.
Laughter floated from the room behind me, and I turned halfway around to glimpse the group of people on the couches, their feet propped up on each other, animatedly telling stories.
The sound of a guitar came from my left, quickly followed by piano notes. A djembe kept time with the down strums, and a song rose through the air to mix with the laughter.
I turned my body back towards the window and glanced across the roaring fire to three figures approaching the window on my right.
My eyes lingered for a moment.
Then another.
I raised my finger and changed the straight line to an upside down rainbow, and joined them.
Something has happened.
When the two 15 passenger vans were pulling away from the parking lot as we began our journey up the mountain on Friday, the larger half of my heart wanted to jump out and be left at home. Home, to be alone with my thoughts. Home, so as not to make conversation for 3 days. Home, because I didn’t have the same relationship with the others that they have to each other. Home, because I was simply in a bad mood and knew I’d have to hide it.
But no, no, no – I kept telling myself. These were just excuses.
The old you would have gone.
The happier you would have gone.
Don’t let him win from across an ocean after all this time.
And so I packed my suitcase and I went.
And something happened.
In the span of 3 days, I felt my heart beginning to breathe in a way it hasn’t in a year. Every morning and every night, we’d raise our blended voices together, we’d have deep discussions together, we’d spend time in The Word. I’d sit by the window, trying to translate the waves of colors and emotions I felt into words for my bird spangled journal – though some things are just too difficult to capture with mere letters on paper.
The couch surrounded me like an embrace. One afternoon she sat beside me there, and we began to talk…this woman I’d never spoken with one-on-one. People came and went around us as my mug grew cold beside me, and my heart sprung a leak as words began to flow from my mouth at her gentle prompting. I raised my hand to find my hot cheeks wet, and saw that they matched her eyes. Her quiet spirit touched mine with her understanding, and when she gave me the window of opportunity to speak with her, I was surprised that I wanted to take it. But I did.
Writing has always been easy for me.
Talking has always been hard.
And yet I did.
Then there were the nights…things that lasted until 3:30, 4:30am. It all started at the window when I came in from the deck to get out of the snow, laughing, screeching, because I’d been locked outside in nothing but my thin gray hoodie. The conversation began around the fire. It didn’t end until morning.
In two nights guitars were shared, phones were passed around, ping pong battles were fought, bad jokes were told, videos were filmed and ridiculous games were played as we hunched over a table until nothing made sense, my eyes began to burn and words began to jumble from lack of sleep.
Still, we stayed, and something happened.
My chest rose and fell as it trapped that beating thing that seemed to be growing stronger within the fire lit room in the darkest part before morning, and a single thought rose above all others.
I was happy.
The next morning, I watched as people packed up their still wet snow gear. Sleeping bags were rolled. Blow dryers were hastily shoved in suitcases and backpacks were slung over shoulders.
A bright beanie walked out the door.
I felt a sadness that it was all ending.
This past year, God closed a 6’4″ door for me.
But sometimes, sometimes, He opens a window to give you a breath of fresh air, of hope…right when you need it the most.
Leave a Reply