Tug

Time is moving by so quickly.

Most days go by in a blur and I cannot account for them. Same routine. Lack of inspiration.

Other days I am shaken awake. Reminded that there is more. That there are decisions to be made. Art to be created. My body aches for laughter and my hand wants to be held. I become aware, painfully aware, of all that rests on my next few moves.

And how little control I have over it all.

My options are laid out on the table.

I feel like I should play like the apostles and throw dice, draw straws, flip a coin. Leave any and every huge decision up to Divine Intervention. Fate. Chance. I don't want to be responsible for messing it all up... for choosing poorly, for making a bad move.

There are a few things that have been a part of my soul since my early high school years.

And the moment of truth is approaching. There are deadlines and applications and plans to make.

What I thought I was sure of, I no longer am. What I am certain of, seems to have crumbled in my hands. What was secure has loosened and weakened.

I am in a state of transition.

In Death Cab's world of Plans. Shedding skin, seeking a place where soul meets body. Where I reassure myself, some day I will be loved. But these days my heart feels like an empty room...

An empty room that is ready to be filled.

I tend to see my world in "either/ors" and "if/thens". Either I do this, or that. If I don't do it this way, then....

I give myself two options.

The red or the blue.

The black or the white.

Here or there.

New or old.

Safe or daring.

But in this world, there are rarely only two options.

And my Father has given me a creative mind. A problem-solving mind. It would be a sin not to use it until depletion...

Alan Cohen said,"It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power."

There is so much wisdom in that.

Something has to change.

The cards are out on the table... it's time to play a matching game. Who I want to be with what I want to do. How I will achieve it with the amount of energy I will need to expend. My creative sweat and tears mixed in a salty cocktail with hard work and perseverance.

And the greatest truth I have to learn is that I don't have to figure it out immediately. Or, better yet, what I figure out may not last forever.

...

Back a few months ago, I was listening to the radio and the DJ announced that city council was meeting one last time to debate the destruction of a historic block of buildings on Main Street. In the place of the buildings, someone would build a huge hotel. Having heard of this development for months already, I was disgusted. But a spark of hope ignited in my heart at hearing the block was receiving a second chance. One last time, the existence of the brick buildings would be contemplated, weighed, analyzed.

And my mind went racing. As it always does.

I had a vision.

Of every church in Lexington joining hands.

Buying a block of historic buildings in the heart of the city.

Renovating. Pooling money, time, and resources so that no one church knew whether they owned a nail or a doorknob.

Renovating into a coffee shop. A tutoring center. A music venue. Small efficiency apartments. A soup kitchen. A youth center. Run by volunteers. Decorated by amateur artists. Filled with the youth of the city. A safe place. A place it would be permissible and acceptable to be yourself, to express yourself, to play... without fear or reservation.

Redemption Block.

A place, a structure, taken to the very brink of destruction. Brought back to glorify the Lord. Redeemed.

Just about two months ago, the block of historic buildings was torn down.

And in a while, a prestigious hotel and shoppes and restaurants will rise up on Main Street. Overshadowing a park where, tonight, men will sleep on benches.

...

I haven't considered this idea since.

...

Last night I sat on Kat's front porch, bare feet cold in the October night air. Emily, Kat, and I were laughing and taking pictures. We all looked up when we heard voices, hollering and laughing, and then saw five little bodies racing toward us with arms outstretched.

Five little boys came barreling towards us, wanting to get in the picture.

Wanting some attention.

They sat down on the porch and didn't leave for half an hour.

Wrapping their arms around our shoulders. Arguing about who could beat up whom, whose brothers were still in Africa or in jail, which one of them were still virgins. They danced on our sidewalk. Tried to guess our ages. Told us tall tales of running from the cops and how they don't hit girls.

The youngest was twelve.

The oldest was maybe sixteen. A quiet boy with his hood pulled over his head. From Liberia.

When they started getting too rowdy, we sent them home. Home. A twenty minute walk down High Street. Past the pretty fountains and the high-end hotel, past the last Starbucks. We could hear them jumping around a yelling for a while.

Five little boys who knew far too much about the world and its harsh realities... heading towards home in the dark.

And Kat, Emily, and I just sat on the porch. Wondering, really, what had just happened.

Broken hearted.

And I heard it.

How He wants to redeem His children.

And I remembered.

...

I have a lot of decisions to make. A lot of problems to solve.

And I may never see such redemption in this city. But I am praying for it.

I've felt a tug.

I've been reminded.

That there are more options.

That what I do now, may not be what I spend the rest of my life doing.