It was such an odd feeling. I was sitting at my desk this past Monday and felt as if I was truly awake for the first time in a while. It was as if I had been sleepwalking, living an echo of who I am, and I was aware that life had passed by but it felt like the fog of last night’s dreams. Where’d the time go?
I was seeing it all like new again. The scattered moments of feeling awake culminated into one space and my senses were simply overwhelmed. I could taste the sweetness of sitting with Jesus even when everything else felt unreliable and not promised. I could feel the ground beneath my feet, planted in this season, planted in truth. As girls came through and said goodnight, I felt like I was seeing them for the first time and wanted to cry at the sweetness of their friendship, the sweetness of their hearts as they spoke to me.
It was incredibly surreal. It brought me to my knees in worship to have experienced such an ordinary day, but to feel such a vibrancy of life in me that no mountaintop has been able to shock back into me during this whole year. I was finally awake! The metaphorical alarms of these past few weeks, the moments I would be awake for just a moment and feel life so tangibly, held nothing to the peace and joy I felt in the clarity of this moment.
I will hold fast to this moment, to the truth it held and the truth that spilled out from it, and what it has spurred me on to do and be as a woman of God. I don’t have the luxury of forgetting, of writing it off as nothing more than a notion. Even if it’s only for me, I am writing it down and I will remember. Because doubts will come, tiredness will creep in, and I am so prone to forget the goodness and sweetness of such obvious moments of meeting with my God.
So dear Emma, do not forget the feeling of closure, the feeling of newness, the shalom peace that spilled from head to toe that night. God sees you, He knows you, and He is working redemption stories with such magnificence. He is still holy, still good, still sovereign. Remember this. Remember being wrapped in your sunflower blanket and that epiphany; how it felt like coming home to a dwelling place you thought you’d never come back to. Remember. Hold fast.