It's funny how people who would never leave comments on my blog about my "In the Room" series think nothing of letting me know in person what they think about it. Makes me wonder: why are words easier to spout than to document? I suppose because if you're typing them, actually writing them down, you have to think about it first -- formulate a purpose for the response. But when you spout off, you don't need a point, you're not responsible, your name is not at the bottom of the comment. Not that it matters, really, feedback is feedback -- regardless of how it's served to me.
But me? I always need a point; I'm all about points. Coming into this room had a point -- the room with the bookends labeled "Then" and "Now" -- I had to spend some time looking through all these volumes from the past, going over things, reviewing the years. Then I got clumsy and dropped them all -- every book, every story. With the tears still fresh in my eyes, I could see that this dingy gray life had provided a necessary type of chaos to my days, a point - if you will. After the glue of His grace dried, I looked over the volumes and I couldn't believe what I saw! They had been reordered -- replaced and repaired, yes, but now reorganized.
No longer in chronological order, the stories of my life had been rearranged, converted for a different purpose other than observation and regret. Standing at the table, my soul melted with gratefulness as I scanned each new title carved in red across the volumes of my life: Hope, Faith, Love, and Mercy -- with grace smeared over every page, in every corner, in every book. The Savior had not only restored but had found a new way to tell the same old stories.
It is with relief that I step away from this room. I've been told there is only reason to ever go back into this room, and I quote, "To grow and improve current functioning." Easier said than done, but I'll try.
As I stand in the hallway with the door shut firmly behind me there is only one question for me ask, "What do I do now?" Maybe a better question would be, "What would a courageous person do?"
She would step away from the room with confidence, remembering the stories from God's perspective, with the new titles attached every time she had to mention one. She would go on to do the thing she knew to do -- just do the thing in front of her right now and never look back. "What's that? What thing?" You may ask. You'll have to come back later to find out.
I suppose everyone has the opportunity to accumulate sorrows in life. I just thank God that his fingerprints can be found in the dried clumps of grace that glaze the altered volumes of my life.
Julie



