Sunday Thoughts (15)

It’s reached the point of winter when the light reaches a bit further. Rises. It’s bright for longer, reflected on the snow.

And I was sitting in my room the other day, listening to a preaching about how important it is to let the light in.

The preacher was talking about how we design conference rooms with thick walls and doors, so that noise can’t get in or out, and we can have certain conversations in private. And sometimes we do the same in our brains. We have some things in our lives that we have built up walls around. Maybe it’s something shameful or secret, or just something in general that we feel like we have to deal with by ourselves. And by keeping those walls up, we can let God change us, and be in our lives, while some parts still remain unchanged. There are some parts where the light doesn’t reach.

But of course, that is not true. There’s no place where the light doesn’t reach. There’s no corner God doesn’t see. In the winter, when the sun is low, it actually reaches further, pierces the eyes. We’re allowed to live in the light, and we need to change our mindset and know that we are. We are whole people, and God deals with all of us.

Notes from Here, from Home

January. The bright, white cold. Minty enough that I feel it in my teeth. I sleep on my loft, right under the angle of the beams, where the heat has risen to. 

Climbing down the ladder feels like dipping your feet in ice cold water. Like a summer lake that’s only warm on the surface. I stand up straight and stretch my hands back up and feel it in my fingers, the heat that’s risen and left the floor boards cold.

I’ve been enjoying running. When I come home I’m overheating and warm to the bones, and I can sit out on the porch as I cool down. I get about ten minutes to look at the stars before I start shivering.

A Swedish Christmas.

Like always. I keep thinking that I won’t make it home for Christmas, but this year – again – it just happened to work with my travel plans. Nice, but at some point I also want to be dramatically missed. Sweetly told somewhere that ‘is it not difficult being without your family?’ but also surrounded by good enough people that it isn’t, not really. Maybe next year.

(But to clarify, it is amazing being home. I have an amazingly amazing family. Here we are on a frozen lake my grandma later told us not to walk on.)

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And now, writing this, it’s the dark evening leading up to the new year. My head is pounding and I want to sleep sort of, but I think I’ll read some poetry and stay awake the way you’re supposed to. I’ll wait a bit longer. That’s been the theme of my whole year.

(Does it sound like I’m not happy? I’m happy. Just on my period, ya know girls. I’m good.)

Winter

Went cross country skiing today. Then I drank hot chocolate and ate waffles and got really emotional about this place I’ve been visiting for as long as I can remember.

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(The thing about skiing is that it’s in my blood and bones, it’s what my dad and grandpa and great grandma did, it’s old and Swedish and the forests are dark and the views beautiful. It’s freedom and being out of breath and so much pressure. It’s me as a little girl. And it’s weird to think about the people working here, the guy preparing the tracks outside the window right now, or anyone else who’s been here. Weird that this place could mean even more to any of them.)

The Storm

I walked through a storm today. It’s sweeping over this dark country, we call it Helga like the girls name, like the old Swedish word for holy, like the songs sung at christmas and it makes the trees feel tall and loud. The sky throws things at us. There’s inspiration making my veins itchy. Why? Why now, when I’ve had a self absorbed no thoughts – all thoughts day. When I’ve forgotten to tell myself I’m brave ages ago. I walked through a storm today and it TORE THE BREATH FRom my lungs and I only ever scream when I’m silent.