Eternity to go

So today is a special day.

But it didn't feel like it would be last night.
To me it felt like a normal Monday leading to a regular Tuesday. Okay, normal-ish...

I got home after a good day of working out and battling the horrendous Seattle traffic, which, miraculously didn't seem so bad considering the wet rainy weather.
I took the recycling out and made myself a mezze plate for dinner. Okay that description might be puffing it up a bit... I made some tuna salad, sliced some cucumber and grabbed some leftover baba ghannouj, carrots and olives and threw it on a plate. Fancy.
I watched a chick-flick on Netflix and then FaceTimed with Ryan, my husband before heading to bed. Alone.
He's in Kazakhstan.
For 5 weeks.

He usually calls me at 9:30am. It's a 12-hour time difference.
And it was 9am.
I laid in bed, still in a dreamy daze. There's a plaster on the ceiling from a crack that once rained inside. And like a little kid looking at clouds I imagined all kinds of animals and figures.

Buzz buzzzzz.

I looked over at my phone. No emails. No texts. No calls.

Buzz, buzz, BUZZZZZZZ.

What? Where? Could this actually be my doorbell ringing? At 9am? I don't think I've ever heard my dinky doorbell ring. Ever.  

In my boxers and tank top I glanced through the peep hole expecting, I don't know... my neighbors, or landlord or maybe UPS... Instead I saw a flurry of pinks & petals.

You see it wasn't any plain 'ol Tuesday after all.

Two years ago today I made the best decision of my life.
I said "yes" to a life of adventure. To letting go of firmly fixed plans and just "playing it by ear." To diving in head first, versus wading slowly in. To travel, distance and separation rather than slow Saturdays snuggling. To campers and surfing, backpacking and REI wish-lists.

I said yes to Mr. Ryan Michael McEliece.
And my life has never been the same.

It's amazing that it's only been two years. In part it seems like yesterday, and yet so much has happened. The Honeymoon years are supposedly now over. But in truth I felt like the honeymoon years never really began. If I'm gonna be completely honest life's been a little rough for us. From endless illness, to mono, to weeks and miles apart, to knee surgery and recovery we've had our fair share of bumps in the road.
This is what Ryan said "yes" to, poor guy!

But through it all I've had a hand to hold. A strong one. A brave one. One that lifts me up and leads me onward. One that clasps mine in his and covers me in prayer. One that encourages and provides. One that's not afraid of the unknown but trusts in Jesus and His good plan for our life. Because it is now OUR life. We live it together.
And every joy now is that much sweeter. Every challenge is that much easier. And life is so much richer because I share it with him. I'm thankful for how he encourages, strengthens and stretches me - in the best possible way. And most importantly I'm so grateful for how he loves me with the love of Christ. And through him I'm better able to understand the depths of that glorious mystery.
It's the biggest privilege of my life to stand next to him, to serve him and to love him.

Yes, we've had a rough road... a challenging two years. But with each step it gets better. With every day more beautiful. And I didn't think it was possible to love him more than I had the day before. But I do.

He sent me flowers. The most beautiful flowers I've ever beheld. Dreamy.
He sent me flowers from half-way across the world. So much glory to drink in and it's overwhelming. I'm drunk with their scent; drunk with love. At 9am.

I wish that I hadn't expected it to be a regular Tuesday, wished that I hadn't made appointments galore. All I wanted to do was just sit and look at them. All day.
He knows me. Knows what I like.
And God does too. He gave me the best gift I've ever been given.

Two years down. Eternity to go.

P.S.  HUGE shout out goes to Nicorah Floral for the exquisite blooms both now and then, and to Kristen Parker of Kristen Marie Photography for the lovely photos. Thank you guys for making my day so very very special!!! Marriage is worth celebrating!!!!

Best-Laid Plans Part II

Well so much for this "writing once a week" business...

Part I was an uneventful post. Part II nearly didn't happen.

"The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry."

I actually had to look this one up. It's a phrase (or half phrase) that's often used, but like most common idioms I had no idea where it came from or what it's context was. Obviously the "Of Mice and Men," rang familiar transporting me back to Mr. Sigmar's freshman English class. Lennie. Gary Senise, not as legless Colonel Dan but George. Whoa! Rabbit trail...
The original comes not from John Steinbeck's classic novel, but a Scot poem titled, "To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough," written by Robert Burns. Try and read it. It's pretty funny.
Needless to say the phrase is pretty self-explanatory:
Even with all our good intentions, crazy dreaming, and careful planning things can go amiss.

"[Poo] happens." 

 Another common phrase but I don't know if anyone can be (or would want to be) attributed to it.



We finished our season at Pacific Northwest Ballet the beginning of June and it was a rush to the finish line.
Between our final Rep of Carmina Burana and Concerto DSCH and our Encore Show that was live-streamed for all the world to see, we had our hands and schedules FULL. And if that weren't enough, for the 2nd half of our Encore show we re-staged all of Balanchine's Serenade- a ballet we hadn't performed in nearly 2 years.

© Angela Sterling Photography

By this time (as per usual) the number of names scribbled on Boyd Bender, our physical therapist's sign-up whiteboard had reached an all-time high. I actually don't know how accurate that last statement was, but it seemed like the list of walking (or dancing) wounded kept rising with every passing day. I was no exception to this - my right knee was weirdly swollen and no amount of Advil or icing seemed to help... it only got, well, worse.

© Angela Sterling Photography

But the point is that everyone was hurting in some way or other - we all were just trying to finish the race and claim our prize: 8 weeks off, and during the best summer Seattle's seen in decades!
Plenty of time to rest those aches and pains, get out of shape and then get back into shape before the season resumed in August.  At least that was my plan.

While I'm neither a mouse nor a man, my plans most certainly went awry.

MRI image of my right meniscus.
It should be solid black like the right most portion...

To make a long story short, I injured my knee Friday, May 15th. I finally received an MRI Thursday, June 25th. And the diagnosis was confirmed Monday, July 6th that I indeed would need arthroscopic surgery to repair and/or clean up my "macerated" meniscus.
The surgeon's words, not mine.
So much for this "getting back into shape" part - at least with regards to anything that required my knee to twist, torque or turn-out. Yep. That's basically all ballet.

Miraculously, my surgery was approved by Labor & Industries within a week and there was an opening in my surgeon's schedule for Monday, July 20th.
And I hadn't danced for 6 weeks.
I wouldn't dance for many more...

It's been three weeks since my surgery, and while by all other standards I'm doing amazingly well - walking, swimming, climbing stairs, riding stationary bikes, all without a brace or much pain - I can't help but struggle with feelings of frustration, of fear and of doubt.


40 days of Mono was nothing compared to this.
I find myself walking. Constantly walking. And while I convince myself that it's good for me, good for my knee, I feel the gnawing, the grinding of my soul.
If I'm honest, I can barely even sit still to write this post. The anxiety builds and I need to do something, anything to soothe the burning itch.

They say for every day of dancing you're off it takes two to come back. And I keep counting the days. 42. 84. 63. 126... mosquito bites to my heart-itch.
Both surgeon and physical therapist have said it'll take me 3 months to be fully back, but what exactly does that mean? And are they accounting for the month and a half that I was already off prior to having a portion of my meniscus cut out?

Plan? I feel paralyzed to plan for anything. The first question I'm asked by pretty much anyone these days is, "When will you be able to dance again?" But I have no clue.
And yet in this restless state I keep groping for any sort of plan that I can devise. Workout and therapy schedules. Exercise regimes. Anti-inflammatory diets. Striving. Controlling. All-consuming fire of Fear.
Can you relate?

But He asks me to trust. To rest. To recover. 

To remember His promises. That He will bring me back. He will!
That He has plan for my life. A good one. A great one! To prosper and not to harm; to give hope and a future.
Not cliché. But real. True. For me, right now. For everyone who calls, who prays and who seeks with all their heart.

So I call. I pray. I seek. With all my heart. Because this is no way to heal. No way to live. Endlessly wandering. Striving. Pushing too fast, too hard. Held captive by anxiety. Paralyzed by fear.
I remember what I've learned before (because I've had this lesson oh-so many times!). I remember what I've experienced before. His mighty miracles worked out in the world, worked out in me. How can I forget?!!! How utterly shortsighted I am!

Nothing is impossible for HIM! 
Jessika just rest!

So I stop counting days and a I start counting blessings. I let go of control. Of plans. And I make a conscious and concerted choice to relax the white knuckles of my heart and commit to Him these struggles that have consumed me. I lay them down and ask Him to establish my steps. One at a time. And with my now empty hands I grab His strong ones, and ask Him to lead me in the way everlasting. I want to walk by faith, and one day dance by it too. Whenever that may be. No pressure. Just patience.

So for now I rest in and enjoy the Now, receiving the gifts He's giving me Today. Thankful for what I can do. Tomorrow will take care of itself. Because if I'm following Him I have nothing to fear.
After all, He is the Master and He's got the best plan!

Best-Laid Plans... Part I

I've had so many good intentions.

So so many.
And for so many different things.
Obviously this blog is one of them.

And it's not for lack of good writing material... On the contrary, life feels like it's been moving at the speed of, well, take your pick: light? a high-speed train? the growth rate of an infant?
Side note: I went off on a very long tangent about how my Facebook newsfeed is at least 50% comprised of people's baby's photos... I'll spare you the rant. Needless to say, babies grow really really fast. But I bet you already knew that.

And I can guess what some of you may be thinking... No. I'm not having a baby. Although I'll admit I do feel a bit like a mom, frantically running around trying to keep up with things. Especially this blog.
Actually that's a lie. It's been pretty low on the priority list these days.

Well it's time for a change people!

It's summer and I have 8 weeks off.


Okay well I had 8 weeks off. Now I have a little over 3...
Like I said, time is just streaking by.

Originally my plan was to blog once a week. And I thought I was setting the bar pretty darn low with that one. Apparently not. I guess that means I owe you (myself? the Lord?) 4 posts. It is, after all, His gift that I'm burying in the sand.
Mmmm... sand.
Clearly my summer mind has set in.

Well I was gonna go real deep with this one. I really want to (surprise, surprise...). But I'm afraid if I head down that path this post will become a novella. And lets be honest... When resurfacing from a serious hiatus you don't bombard your dwindling (nonexistent?) readership with the deep stuff.
You keep it light. You keep it fluffy. You keep it short.

So that's what I'll do. The deep stuff will keep for Part II.
Funny... My plans usually never include a part II or plan B... what have you. But, well, it inevitably follows. God's grace in my Part II.

Till Part II.


just Jessika

It's pronounced "Vees"

So it's been a long time since I wrote about this particular subject - it involves passports and suitcases and swimsuits (usually)...
And this.
This post.
Wow. So long overdue I feel silly even posting it.
And yet as I contemplate our upcoming adventure to France and Italy I just have to post it. I'd be doing a serious disservice to the world by keeping this hidden paradise to myself.
The remote, the rustic, the rapturously beautiful island of Vis.
But it's pronounced "Vees." Get it right.

Situated in the middle of the Adriatic Sea off Croatia's Dalmatian Coast, up until the 1980's it was a military base for the Yugoslavian army. Because of this it's one of the most unspoiled (yet inhabited) islands in Dalmatia - more for those desiring a quiet adventure than a lively night scene. An island full of vineyards, family farms (i.e. amazing food and wine) with hidden beaches you hike down to, Vis had our names written all over it.

From Split we took a morning ferry to the island. They have a huge car ferry as well as a high speed passenger one but it wouldn't have got us to Vis until much later in the day and we wanted to make the most of our "island time." Unfortunately just as we set sail so the rain set in. For almost the entirety of our Vis visit. But not to worry. We made the most of it... as you'll soon see.

As Seattleites we're used to ferry rides. In Croatia they're not so different - just a little bigger, a few more people and everything's in Croatian. But we made the most of our 2 hour sea voyage. I wrote. He read. A beer and a book. His mini heaven.

We arrived in the harbor of Vis and pushed our way through the hoards of people the ferry seemed to vomit out in order to secure a rental car for our stay.  I felt like a soldier ready to brave a fierce battle in a foreign land as the ark-like door to the car deck descended. I'm sure there was a way to reserve a vehicle in advance but, well, we went with the "fly by the seat of our pants" strategy. Thankfully it worked out for us. 

The guys at Ionios were super friendly and got us all set up with our quirky Crayola-yellow convertible, along with a map and directions to the nearest grocery store so we could stock up on breakfast items before we headed off in search of our VRBO villa. 

The narrow roads (which seriously look like alleyways or really generous bike lanes) wind up the steep hillsides providing ridiculous postcard views of terra-cotta clad harbors and wild hills rolling verdant and lush.

My go-to guide for dining while traipsing through Croatia was the oh-so-reliable (and amazingly international) TripAdvisor. Before we departed from Split I did a little dining recon. A TripAdvisor must was Lola Konoba & Bar. And just an FYI "konoba" means tavern... you'll run into that word a lot if you're traveling in Croatia. 

The restaurant was, well, totally my kind of place. Perched above a building, the entire restaurant (as far as I could tell) was alfresco with seating areas situated in different terraced portions of this secret garden. The ambiance and decor made me wonder if I'd stepped straight into the pages of an Anthropologie catalog. And when we arrived it looked like they'd just had a wedding there (I spied a seating chart still leaning against a wall). I can only imagine how perfectly wonderful that reception was... 

The service was impeccable, especially considering we were literally the only people eating there that night. A note on dining on the island: since most rentals run weekly with Saturday as the turn over day it tends to be the quietest one of the week. We also came just before the peak season hit so yeah... we had the whole place all to ourselves. Not gonna lie... it was a little awkward. 

But the food was anything but awkward! It was exquisite! This was most certainly the finest dining we experienced while on our Honeymoon, and the meal was more akin to something we'd see in the states. Croatian with a twist. I'd highly recommend Lola Konoba & Bar - especially if you're wanting a romantic evening out on the island... or a destination wedding?

After our delicious dinner we decided to explore a little more of Vis Town- one of two cities, ok villages, on the island. The place is littered with beautiful old stone buildings, their painted shutters either white or green - faded from sun and storm. The patterns and texture they created in the evening light captured my inner photographer. So I did what any artist would do... I stole Ryan's camera. 

Okay maybe I stole it one too many times... It is his camera and he is the photographer after all..

I bought him some gelato thinking that would smooth things over. 

It didn't really work. 

After a scolding I handed the camera back to him and all was well.

Now that's the work of a real photographer!

The sunset was glorious and we ended that first day excited for the "Part II" of our Croatian Adventure - Vis!!! 

Swan Song

I've run out of words.

I know, I know... You're probably wondering how that's possible, since I haven't written a single thing for this blog since... I don't know... February?

Well get ready! You're about to be inundated by posts.
Feast or famine, people, feast or famine.
Man I really need to get myself out of this "all or nothing" mentality. And I don't just mean in my writing habits... It seems to be my default mode in nearly every area of my life. But that's an entirely different post.

At any rate I'm talking about words for what I'm about to do. What I'm about to dance.
The incomparable and exquisite Swan Lake.

©Angela Sterling Photography

This ballet and I, we have history. A lot of it.
I think it's my fifth or sixth time dancing this gem. Every time it feels new. And yet every time it feels like coming home. My arms, my back, my body, my soul they thank me. My hips and feet not so much - they get a bit abused by all the running and standing, but, well they can suck it up... The rest of myself is utterly rejoicing on the inside and out at the privilege and delight it is to dance this, my most favorite ballet.

©Angela Sterling Photography

And today marks the beginning of the end. Actually that would've been yesterday - our last weekend of shows. But today's the day when I get to start "crossing things off" - roles I won't be performing again. Quite possibly ever - or at least until I go Home...
It's bittersweet these endings. On the one hand, my hips and feet are excited about the upcoming rest they'll receive (a 3-week break in 3 long days). On the other hand, my soul is sad at the thought of having to say goodbye to this beautiful ballet - a ballet that is so very much intwined with my heart and soul.
I've run out of words because I've already written a piece about Swan Lake for 4dancers - a dance blog I contribute to (quite possibly more frequently than my own blog - yikes!).
So I'm not gonna try...
Please, click here to read the piece - Searching for Swans. A piece that came from the depths of my heart and soul.
My "swan song" to Swan Lake...

I hope it inspires you and tugs at your heart too.

Photo by Lindsay Thomas

Time

The blue bar has been stuck at about an inch across my screen.

Waiting.

More waiting.

This is not why I made the trek to a coffee shop… for the internet to NOT work. I mean isn’t that the primary purpose of going to one anyway? To get a side of coffee with your free wifi? That’s what the $5.00 Americano pays for right? That, and keeping my hipster barista clad in his expensive hobo-chic flannel and torn jeans.

But apparently Whistler, B.C. hasn’t caught on to this current coffee shop requisite.

Oh well. The view - a towering snow-covered mountain peak set against a powder blue sky with wispy slate clouds hovering here and there - makes up for it I suppose. I mean when there’s such a view to be had it seems almost criminal to be staring at a Facebook news feed.

Yeah, the internet's down.

But I’ve managed to beat the rush. I sit perched in my corner bar seat (definitely the best seat in the house) and watch the skiers and snowboarders make their way back from the mountain, all their gear in tow. Maybe some day that’ll be me again. Man I loved skiing when I was a kid!

But for now I’m content with the buttery-smooth coffee and jammin’ tunes of Mount Currie Coffee Co., the fact that I get to wear shades (the sun finally came out!!!), and the 5+ mile jog I took today in this alpline heaven. It was by no means record-breaking even for me, but a pretty big milestone- all things considered.

And Monday is the big day. The day I finally return to work since mononucleosis.

40 days of rest.

Full of sleep, long walks and time to reflect. Reflect on my recklessness and God’s hand of intervention and provision.

Time. Lots of time. Without pointe shoes. Without ballet. Six weeks and four days to be exact. I haven’t taken that much time off since I was twelve. No joke.

Time. Time to worry because too much time has passed.

Will my body still remember how to do this? How to tendu? How to pirouette? How to dance!? Will I ever be able to get my body back into shape?

In my BSF study we’ve been making our way through Leviticus – not exactly a page-turner if I’m gonna be honest. But when we hit chapter 25, when the anxiety hit an all-time high, well wouldn’t you know the Lord, He met me there.

In the worry. In the Word.

Sabbath rest. Sabbath years. No work for 365 days. No planting. No sowing. No pruning. Just rest. For the people. For the land. Sounds great at first but then… yes… just let it sink in a bit. The sneaky whisper of anxiety bubbles up - woven within our human nature.

No work’s great and all, but where are you going to get food for today? How about tomorrow? And what about next year when you haven’t planted a single thing? Where’s it going to come from then? If you don’t do it, who will?

The voice of worry. The voice of striving. Not the voice of a loving God who provides our daily bread. Not the voice of a gracious God who allows us to glean from His goodness. Not the voice of a sacrificial God who did not even spare His only Son.

In light of this – of His good and faultless character - how can I doubt?  “ How will he not also, along with him, graciously give [me] all things?”

Sabbath rest. A time to trust. Trust that He. Will. Provide. Period.

Sufficient for each day; no more, no less. He promises He will. I can choose to listen to the lies of Worry or I can trust and thank Him for providing my daily bread, choosing to live “daily” – right here, right now in Today. Easier said than done, but, well, that’s for another post…

Harder than waiting, harder than running 5 miles, harder than dancing is resting - trusting. That’s the real work that I’ll be doing over the coming weeks and months as I step back into the studio. Trusting that He is with me through all of this. He will strengthen my ankles and help my muscles fire. He will restore my stamina and endurance. He will get me back on my leg and toughen my toes. All I need I can find in Him.

So ready or not, here we come. It's time!

Choosing to trust. Choosing to thank. Choosing to believe and dance.

"The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary they will walk and not be faint." Isaiah 40:28-31

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you; I will hold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10

 

Vantage Point

The gray light filters in through the north-facing windows of our apartment like molasses passing through a sieve.
I guess if you're looking for sunlight, northern exposure definitely isn't ideal... then again if you're looking for sunlight Seattle isn't either.

The large newish apartment complex next door, along with the thick blanket of clouds that hovers over, as far as I'm concerned the whole of Washington state, don't help my quest for Vitamin D and a lower energy bill.

It's definitely winter.

Sitting on my couch, my computer on my lap, I feel indecisive. Should I face the windows and the thick oyster sky or my wall of sea and mountains? The one, a monotony of gray scale and glum; the other of stormy seas and mighty mountainscapes. No matter what vantage point I choose I'm confronted with my lot.

Mono.
As in mo-not-o-ny  noun - tedious sameness.
Mono.
As in mono-nu-cle-o-sis  noun - a disease that makes people very tired and weak for a long time.
Mono.
As in the prefix meaning one; single.
At least that's what Mono's supposed to be... a one time virus; highly unlikely you'll ever get it again.
Guess that makes me "highly unlikely."
Somehow I'm not surprised.

When I think back on the past month and a half... wow. It all seems a bit incredulous. The mind, the power of human will is a force to be reckoned with. It might almost be in contention with the behest of the body. Almost.

---

Nutcracker is never an easy season to get through, never mind when you have 10-ish different parts and there are only 10 other women dancing in the corps de ballet. But it is what it is. We band together as a team and push through the marathon of nearly 40 shows. And well, you just get used to functioning in a perpetual state of exhaustion. It's just how it is.
So I didn't think much of it when I started feeling achy and run-down on Thanksgiving.

Okay... maybe the sheet-soaking night sweats, and the 102˚F fever should've tipped me off. I just thought it was the flu. For two weeks... No biggie. 
And then those tonsils. The size of golf balls, they looked like peetree dishes. Nauseating. I chalked it up to strep throat and started taking antibiotics immediately.
Through it all I danced the double show days, the Peacocks, the triple whammies - I didn't miss a show. I couldn't, I wouldn't miss a show. Not this year. Not this last year. Of my Nutcracker. 

So when I sat there, barely able to swallow, feeling the white paper crumple underneath me on the exam room table of my dad's doctor (who miraculously fit me in before the Christmas holiday), all I could think of was whether I had time to go back to my apartment before the evening show or if I'd have to go straight to the theater. Not dancing was not an option.

So when the slender man with the sympathetic face told me I had mono and my spleen was enlarged I was ... agh ... He could've been speaking Russian... my brain couldn't comprehend the words exiting his mouth. The minutes were ticking away and I had to tell artistic if I'd be dancing in the show tonight. 
Okay. So what are we looking at here? How long till I can perform again? A day? Two days?
Try 4-6 weeks. 
Little did I know that was being optimistic.

---

I took the Christmas tree down yesterday. It stood in that now vacant space next to the windows bleeding bleakness.

I was supposed to do it the day before but I just laid on the chaise and stared at it. Not in the wide-eyed I-wish-Christmas-would-never-end kind of stare. More in the telekinetic if-I-stare-hard-enough-maybe-the-tree-will-deconstruct-itself. I should use less ornaments next year...

An abrupt end to my Nutcracker run. A CT scan of my abdomen revealing an enlarged and slightly dysfunctional liver. A distractingly lovely New Years trip to NYC. Tonsils receding. Hope returning. A new year.

And now the fatigue decides to set in? 

Taking down a Christmas tree never felt like such an accomplishment.
The gray monotonous days drift along and I try... try to keep trying.

Feels like the rug just keeps getting pulled out from underneath me.

---

The red rectangular icon in the top right corner of my laptop screen resolves my indecision. I face the framed and painted wall as I plug my computer in to the only power source in my vintage living room. And staring at my decided vantage point I can't help but feel that I'm looking at my life ornately framed. 

Stormy seas.
And it feels like I've been weathering these rough waves for much longer than just the past few weeks...

I'm reminded of an account. Some men and a boat.
Those disciples, experiencing that mountain-top miracle of loaves and fishes, they must have felt so full - full of food, of confidence and promise, of life - as they were shoved-off, sent alone, sent by the Lord into the big blue beyond. I get it. I've felt it. All of it. The rapturous joy - feeling strong and trusted. Then the confusion as the sky turns. The determination and perseverance as wind grows and time goes. Doubt and fear birthed from spent strength and a weary hearts. Sent into a storm. Sent into the dark. Straining at the oars. Rowing and going nowhere.
Oh I'm so tired of rowing... So tired of trying.
I want to chuck those stupid oars out of the boat and scream,
"I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE! Not by myself. Not without you, Lord."

Rest. 
Stop rowing. Stop trying. Stop striving.
He's coming. He's watching. He's walking. On the water. In glory.

Rest.
My word for the year. The hardest word I've ever had.
Because in truth I don't know how to rest. I don't know how to stop. To "give up." Am I even supposed to do that?
Yes and no.
Give up on myself - my ability to prove myself, to do it myself, to row across the lake?
Yes. Absolutely. Essential.
To give up on God - Creator, Savior, Friend?
Never. 
It's in my giving up that He's revealed in glory. It's not my might but His miraculous, omnipotent power. I let go of it all so I can cling to the One who has done it all.

Rest.
Carried by the Everlasting Arms. Where fears are stilled and strivings cease. Where I can just be. Be still and know that HE IS.

"In rest and repentance is your salvation; in quietness and trust is your strength."

Rest.
Mono. God's tool to teach me. God's unexpected gift to me.
Overcoming it feels a bit like scaling one of those snow-coverd peaks painted before me. But, well, I don't have to worry about that, do I, if I'm resting in Him?

"Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill made low - the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain. And the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all mankind together will see it. For the mouth of the Lord has spoken."

This is my new vantage point.