“I am half-agony, half-hope.”
— Jane Austen
I’m nearly 30. I think I thought I would have some things pretty well figured out by about now.
But here’s the thing about being made of skin and bone and hopes and dreams on this fragile planet: everything’s prone to break.
And in the past few years, much has become broken. Or rather, much which was already broken has been revealed as such in a way we cannot ignore.
I gave up writing for a while. There was so much hurting all at once that the words to describe anything eluded me. And the dissonance inside grew to such a cacophony that I soon forgot I had words to begin with…
But now… I think I’d like to try to find the words again.
The phrase “God-kindled” leapt off the page at me in a C.S. Lewis book called Miracles. I think I knew even then it was meant for me. The one solid thing in this broken, breaking, fragile world is Him, and the way He breathes His life into the mess of our existence– even while we continue to make messes of one another. As my own world went up in flames at every corner and burned til all that was left was a pile of ashes, there He was blowing His breath on the embers. And here I grow amidst the wreckage. God-kindled…