Waiting on Washington

What does that mean? 

I was thinking about that yesterday as I cycled in circles in the dark and cold. 

The only voice I heard was the GPS telling me the next turn and I followed it blindly trusting it would take me where I needed to be.

Since moving to DC I have felt the rootless existence. There is no warm light to come home to. The comforting voice of your mother or friend. I don’t know the streets like the palm of my hand. I do not know which store to go to when my shop is closed. 

I am a stranger.

Couples walking the streets in the familiar pockets of their neighbourhood, not known to me.  To grow I have to push myself out into deeper waters. To expand my circle of familiarity I have to plow through the ice around me. There are no warm streams to roll with. 

To grow is an effort.

Sometimes I don’t want to. I just want to stay at home in the house I now know. The one street I have walked down. Stepping into the unknown can be bliss or bane.

Cruising in a champagne coloured car.

High above the asphalt and far away from the cold. 

I see a man walking with his hands in his pockets.

Is he digging for change?

Is he looking for his key?

Has he got nothing to do and is just strolling around?

The steam on the car glass tells me another story.

I have been there.

On cloudless nights.

When the cold pours through the black velvet sky like icy syrup.

Hugging my neck and biting my hands. 

When the wind chills your temples.

And leaves you with no choice.

I know why the man has his hands in pockets.

I have received so much when I was here.

The lady I am staying with had prepared a beautiful room, has provided me with meals. 

When I arrived I felt uncomfortable. I do not deserve this. I try to tiptoe through the gifts as if my light footprints will make the cost less. But it doesn’t. The truth is the lighter the footprints the greater I scorn the gift.

Don’t we all love to give children a present they love. They rip open the gift wrapper with such expectance in their eyes. 

When they receive the gift they have looked forward to, there is no restraint. 

They open the box, throw it away, and before you know it they are playing with the toy as if it had never been new.

But not so with me, or us today. With age we learn to be cautious. As if the gift is thin ice. It could be a trap, we could fall through. But what the giver wants is not our bondage. The gift from parents to the child they love is to see them happy, enjoying a good gift. Likewise the woman I am staying with has given to bless.

Let us be thankful for the gift. Let us enjoy the rest and respite. Gifts are not for the deserving but because of the love of the giver.

So little is about us. 

So, thank you Ann. Thank you God.

A painter perhaps.

A secretary she’d been.

With small brown teeth 

to fill the smile she had

And to chew the chips, 

she kept in her bag.

Five dollars for a sketch of my face,

A con-artist?

I do not know.

But all I gave 

was perishable,

Instead of sharing about 

a Saviour who saves.

Like her dollar ring

Which she admired on her hand,

It could never buy whatever she lacked

She spoke to me with dignity

Did I see her as my Saviour sees?

Will the bus arrive? 

My head calls out.

Take me from this place

I cannot set things right.

Will I  allow myself to relate

Doing practical things first and hating my life.

Flashback to my past, 

When I sat in my chair by a computer screen and watched the day pass.

But somehow I didn’t let it win. 

It was on with my helmet and out in the wind.

Oh the freedom of cycling on and on.

Never knowing when the road will go wrong.

Just the wind in your hair and the sun in your face.

Your physical effort takes you soaring to another place.

The ups and the downs. The going arounds.

You can never stray too far with the wheels on the ground.

Your goal always in sight along the way 

Starting my internship has been an exciting and daunting process.

Having such a will power to do something, but not knowing what or how or where to begin. 

In my office the people all work so hard. I find I just scrape by. It is easy to be intimidated instead of just doing what you can.

This Proverb I read encouraged me. Wisdom is not something that just comes. We need to seek her out, our lives need to pursue her. The result: we will find her, if we will value her.

“My son, if you will receive my words 

And treasure my commandments within you, 

Make your ear attentive to wisdom, 

Incline your heart to understanding; 

For if you cry for discernment

Lift your voice for understanding, 

If you seek her as silver. 

And search for her as for hidden treasures. 

Then you will discern the fear of the LORD 

There have been days when I have felt a litte lost and lonely. And it was when I opened my Bible that I really got refreshed and encouraged. To God we may continually come. Whatever the hour, whatever the day. 

The Psalm 71:3 continues “...You have given commandment to save me, For you are my rock and my fortress.”

I cannot start my blog without mentioning my commute.

It runs my day. It ruins my day. It makes my day. 

From my 5AM alarm clock to my cycle back home, at 6PM in the evening when I’m ready to roll. The commute has woken a side of myself I have never known.

I love it. I hate it. I cry through it.

Somedays the uphill is a welcome challenge. Sometimes it laughs at me. Sometimes I laugh at it.

Then my bus ride. The bus that comes. The bus that waits. The bus I miss. My patience all depending on how much sleep I got the night before. But it is amazing how a kind word can change even my most solemnest of moods.

And through all weathers. Rain. Sun. Wind. Even the drab days when everything seems grey. 

Some days I sit on the bus pondering how I will ever have the strength to make it home and then once I have mounted my bike I feel revived. I swish down the hill. I embrace the wind. I sing to myself.

STOP.

The traffic lights. The uneven beat to my swift ride. The green, the yellow and the red.The white pedestrian or the hand that is red.