i sat in the orange chair in what we called "the upper room". looking out the window, i found myself mesmerized by the slow and steady falling snow. flakes bigger than i have ever seen before, which is saying something having spent all of my 18 years in michigan. i knew this place was special, a holy ground of sorts. a place where my soul felt free, felt peace. a peace i have felt in no other place. i didn't know what the future would hold, what adventures lay beyond my high school years.
five years later i returned to that room. a room which had previously represented peace now brought confusion. i sat in that orange chair again and poured my heart out on paper. the snowflakes replaced by raindrops, a relief from the heat of the august afternoon. everything i thought i had been working towards was falling apart. or so it seemed. i know now that it was a gift. protecting me from a future i didn't know i didn't want.
another five years has come and gone. i haven't seen that orange chair since. i long for it though. for the familiarity. for it's comfort. even in the confusion that room brought comfort. physically of course, but mostly emotionally. i often wonder if i will ever return to that place. but then i'm reminded it's not the room that matters. it never has mattered. what made that room so special was the community surrounding me. the great cloud of witnesses along my path, helping me to fight my battles.
and then i remember i still have that community. the face are different, as are the stories behind them. but an evolving story needs evolving and changing characters. new faces with new stories to help fight new battles in new places. here's to the next five years.