a night off

I sit outside on a small flight of tall wooden benches, polished and modern, under halogen light with rock music prominently streaming from the speaker above my head. i just finished a spinning class and am now back at the coffee shop (finishing the coffee from before). my muscles are exhausted. my mind is awake.

A new man comes and sits at the other end, sipping his coffee. Something it seems only city folk do at 8:00 in the evening. I like the city. In the city people readily sit near you and go about their lives.

A small spec of a bug travels the wall to my right. It twists and turns as it navigates the rough terrain of grey-blue paint. I like how this insect is not affected by gravity the way I am.

I look at people as they come and go; i watch them, not self-consciously. And I think about how God loves them. Flesh and blood and heart. He loves them. At each moment of the day someone is lying down to sleep, to rest from the journey. They surrender to the night in bitterness or in peace.

Some collapse heavy.

I’m almost thirty. I’ve survived city life and love it.

People. People are hard and beautiful. Beautiful to consider. Hard to live in the close company of. But worth it, for God pursues people and His spirit dwells in many.

It is LA cold and I shiver. But I stay until close because this is a moment of worship.

My feet are dusty. There is dirt under my nails. I drink cold coffee. I am at rest.

I like being here. alone. I wonder when the day will come where I get too lonely and cry for want of company.

I wonder about the man from earlier. I wonder if he’s gone home. I wonder what he’s thinking about. I wonder if he’s still writing. Still trying to say something.

….

I’m now in my room. sorrowful. my tissue box looks like a blue volcano exploding thin white paper. i wish sarah lived next door. i’d invite her over and let her disregard the do not disturb sign that hangs permanently from my door knob. we could listen to the police sirens together.

untitled

all paths of the Lord are merciful and true.

i forgot where i first read this. probably in an amy carmichael book.

…i’m writing at the end of a short and narrow table at the venice intelligentsia. i wanted to make enough room for a stranger to sit next to me. rankin was preaching yesterday about how God loves people. and, yes, we hear that and say that without even assessing whether or not we actually believe such a true assertion.

but…God loves people…and i wanted to leave room for someone to sit close. and it worked. i’m actually intrigued by the man that is now sitting in the space i intentionally left available. he is busy writing. he was writing facing forward, which left me facing him semi-dead-on as i typed at my computer. he has since turned the other direction. i understand. i would have likely done the same thing. it’s not comfortable for a stranger to be in somebody else’s line of sight for an extended period of time.

i think i’ll pray for him…

it’s sweet to pray for strangers in coffee shops who have no idea you are petitioning the God of the Universe on their behalf.

…

of dark nights: In Christ, has not God brought out of the most hideous dark night surpassing glory and hope?

of color: leaves are more colorful when they are dying and on the verge of departing from their tree.

on unity: Father, you know what will meld beautifully for Your kingdom. In due time would you make it plain?