A Space Between

This is the same lake I stared at the moment I was pursued.  Nearly a year later the lake is as divided as the borders I was summoned to rest my fear with.   From opposite ends, the river is frozen hard with layers of ice from a season that won’t quit.  Yet, right there in the middle lies a small and narrow space of free-flowing water.  I watch it as streams of water wrestle with blocks of ice as if it’s fighting to break free in a fight to drift forward.  Not quite sure how far the lake will allow it to move, but it keeps moving anyway.

A white canvas replaces the view of what rests on the other side of the lake.  I’ve stared at it for hours hoping to catch a familiar glimpse but it looks as though it is not ready to reveal itself.  And the trees.  The trees are frost-bit with the sting of a cold season while the weight of the snow is causing the branches to bend.  I hear chirping sounds of a bird that sings for the rebirth of spring where the bitterness of winter makes way for everything to come alive again.

This very lake speaks to me each and every time I am pursued to be here.  Never without intent and never without a message to send me off with.  Fear creates jagged edges around us like layers of ice built off of storms of pain, grief, loss and sorrow.  Yet in the middle lies a space where movement promises the belief that there is a pathway forward.

What we hope to see isn’t always what we’re supposed to see.  The weight of the snow and ice may break off branches in the end, but the eventual melt will bring beauty to its new formation.

The next time the lake and I meet again, I believe fear won’t be wrestling in between moving waters.  Spring will have arrived as it always does and fear will have evaporated through the silhouette of what is ready to be seen.  Fear and faith will melt together and allow a free-flowing movement so the birds can rejoice in a life renewed and alive again.

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