the wet heat of july

ah, the familiar feeling of change. The winds are blowing again . . . this season of rest and release has filled me up inside and now the clock is calling my name. To aspen. a new paragraph in this new chapter. But the old is still there and I am battling without ever drawing my sword. This is a turning point: to walk ahead and pretend or to look back and begin to heal. Either is possible, but only one will build.
Yesterday I sat surrounded by concrete and heard what I thought was an answer to prayer deteriorate before my eyes. I should have known - concrete never supports life. The rest of the day was deflated and numb. Where is the right place?! My heart just doesn't know yet.
Later that night I leaned against an old oak tree under the stars and listened to a familiar voice from a chapter of hell in my past. It was beautiful to hear the calm that met me half way back then, now, in the new pages. I think it was good for both of us, to speak again and laugh like we understand . . . still. He is going down the river. The amount of irony in all of that is shocking. The river holds me humming in it's waters. I have left all that wet, and been baptized anew. But so much is still there and I need Him these days. I need Him.