Portraits

I was turned down for another job today, though, of course, I was a most impressive candidate.  I was offered part time work, and even forty days of work one year from now.  But I was not offered a consistent paycheck, or a way to pay rent, or a community to invest in for more than a few days here and there.  The harbor was attractive; I was denied entry.  I am preparing the main sails.

Sunset over Quito

A good friend recently wrote and asked me to share some things about my recent experiences.  He was feeling disconnected from me, he said, which is understandable as we have not seen each other in years.  He also said he felt disconnected from himself.  I’m not sure what that means, but I think I can relate.  I began my letter as such:

“How do I write to you all the things that have passed?  How do I dip words into my heart to paint a portrait of who I am?  We are constantly changing, being made and unmade like sand or swirling leaves.  Our portraits are outdated before their paints have dried.  Still, there must be something constant in you and me.  Some piece of God.  I hope this writing shows with any sort of clarity that Piece.”

I wrote to him about Ecuador, and I wrote in a vague way, about my recent experiences in the wilderness.  I wrote that I've recently been learning to "dig down into my beliefs and find Bedrock shallower than expected.  To brush off that Bedrock and stand upon it with my arms crossed and eyes closed, refusing to move." I wrote to him these types of things to tell him where I'm at.  It occurs to me, once again, that this blog is a similar, mass endeavor.  I hope it shows pieces of myself, sometimes shattered pieces, that if held to the light, cast kaleidoscope images against the wall.  Portraits of who I am.

I leave tomorrow for another two weeks of courses.  I’ll be heading to Santa Cruz, then up into the mountains again for two more courses.  I’m waiting to hear from potential employers and frustrated by not being available to answer emails and phone calls.  The wind has died.  My compass is spinning.  The sea is glassy.

I finished my letter to my friend with this paragraph:

“And now I’m packed and ready again.  I’m ready to go out again.  I’m ready for God to use me if He will.  I’m even ready if He doesn’t want to use me.  I’m packed.  But I’m tiring of packing.  I’m tiring of sleeping in a truck bed, of lonely nights, of watching Transience bubble up and overflow and cover people I value.  I’m weeping for the loss of consistency, of knowing and being known.  I’m tired of goodbyes.  I’m tired of phone calls.  I’m becoming ready to unpack, but I’m still adrift and land is not in sight.

Still, I've found that Bedrock floats."

S.S. Boat:  A portrait drawn for me by a friend.