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"Wherefore does the burning in my heart perpetuate?
Not by love or sorrow, not by anger fear or hate.
Yet still the watery torrents persist in pounding at the gate.
I'm frozen with confusion, all there's left to do is wait"
January 2012
As others see it: a young girl stumbles out of her dorm, runs to the cafeteria for a quick breakfast, and walks across the lobby to open the school bookstore.
As I see it: As the world slept a young woman left her house in the early hours of the morning. Her light brown bag hung over her shoulder and the ends thin scarf that covered her neck from the cold, flapped around without restrain.
She pushed her hair out of her eyes, slightly annoyed and pulled her jacket closer, snuggling under it's warmth as much as she could as she scurried down the quiet empty street. The sun had broken over the horizon only minutes before so though the air was filled with bright yellows, oranges, and purples, the sun had not yet scared away the morning chill that now followed young Belle, hand in hand, as they walked down the sidewalk together. Stopping a moment at the small cafe, Belle shook the cold away and stepped into the warm well-lit room. A few other early morning risers filled sat spread out through the small cafe. Some spoke in groggy hushed tones while others read their bibles, their backs turned so as to make it perfectly clear that they were busy. Belle found a few friends and chatted as she grabbed a warm cup of tea to permanently drive out any amount of chill that had somehow managed to hide away in her hair or clothes.
After a few minutes, Belle collected her things, grabbed a bagel, and flew out the door back into the brisk, fresh, and now completely glorious morning air.
A few minutes later and she was turning down the cobblestone road, headed for the bright green door that stood out from the sea of brown and black and grey that made up the walls
And doors of all the little shops. Belle stopped a moment to admire the small bookstore.
It was simple. A few books were displayed in the window, mounted on little pedestals that raised the books to various levels. If one stood at the window long enough they would be able to see all the way to the back of the store where an old, mahogany staircase wrapped around an old pillar that had been there longer than anyone could remember. Belle shook herself out of her reverie, and fumbled around in her bag, finally clasping her cold fingers around the even colder set of keys.
After several failed attempts to plunge the keys into their rightful place, she finally unlocked the door and entered the dark bookstore. She shivered as she was met with a rush of col air, one to rival the chill which had not yet subsided outside. She quickly slipped through the bookshelves to the tiny office where she set down her things, keeping her coat on until the cold decided to vacate the small store.
Belle flitted quickly across the store and began to tidy things up, straightening books, counting money, and restoring general tidiness to the place. She chose not to turn on the lights. She loved nothing more than to watch the room slowly fill with light, working all the while in the dimness that came before. She Knew her way around the store by heart. She sighed as her fingers slid over the bindings of the small shelf of antique books. She hesitated over one title, one of her favorites. But before she could get too distracted, an older lady burst through the door.
"Goodness girl, do you intend on living in Antarctica," the woman said as she lumbered through the store, flipping on the lights. She bundled through the store, weighed down by her own parcels.
Belle laughed, hung her coat on the stand near and set about work for the day.
The first thing she was aware of was the warm light that
filled their room in such a subtle and soft way that one would hardly notice it
was even there. She didn’t want to move from the cocoon of comfort and solitude
that she was now in. Everything was so quiet and beautiful and still. “Why
can’t every moment be just like this?” she thought, as she looked sleepily at
the ceiling. The little Christmas lights that adorned the dresser were playing
tricks with the ceiling. One moment it was miles away, the next it was about to
fall on top of her. She lay there in the silence for what seemed like both an
eternity, and yet not nearly enough time.
She shimmied down between the two beds, careful not to wake
her two roommates who were sound asleep, lost in their own realities. Not
caring how she looked she threw on a sweatshirt, grabbed her bible and glasses,
and headed to the small lounge that she spent each of her mornings in. The
lights were still out, so she could see the faint outline of the lake through
the window. With some reluctance she let her hand brush over the small switch,
and the room was instantly filled with an almost overwhelming brightness,
stripping her of any hope to see outside.
But as all things, this too passed, and as she read she
could see, just over the edge of her bible, blue. It was the most intense and
distinct blue she had ever seen. The trees were becoming more clearly outlined
against the background. Their thin branches reached for the heavens, as if they
too belonged some place much more magical than the world they currently resided
in. After a long reign of blues and purples and grays, a bright yellow quietly
burst through the sky, cutting the air with it’s rays. All it took was that
tiny ray of light, and suddenly the whole world was filled with its
overpowering presence.
The young girl, curled under as many pillows as she could,
felt chills crawling up her spine as she read how Christ, after being for three
days, rose again. She could almost hear Mary’s cry, “Rabboni!” as the sun broke
over the trees, and the wild symphony of noises outside – the wind, and birds,
and rushing water – reached a glorious crescendo. Then came the softness of the savior’s response, “Mary.” And
suddenly the world stood still as the young girl could almost hear the comfort
and love that poured from her redeemer’s voice. Overwhelming awe and love
washed over her as she sat there, mesmerized by all the promises that her small
but incredible book held.
Promises of strength for the times when she is weary
Promises of guidance when she has lost her way
Promises of company for when she feels so very very alone
And promises of love, when she is sure that no one could
ever give her that comfort.
“When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, though has taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul.”