From the Emerald City to Oz

Sometimes God’s grace comes in the form of a hot air balloon on a foggy Saturday morning.

“It could sort of be related to the Wizard of Oz,” Laura hints as I try to guess the “birthday surprise” that’s been booked on my calendar for a month.

“Flying monkeys?!” A solid guess, right?

I’ve been studying impatience lately. My impatience. Reading through a devotional book with a good friend—a book on change, a book on hope. My focus is impatience. It’s my big weakness that leads to other weaknesses. It hits fast and hard, and before I know it, I am standing at the end of the bridge crying that I have no control over my life. Thank God I don’t! The funny conundrum is just that I won’t stop having these moments until I fully recognize my lack of control and stop trying to gain it.

Friday morning, I came in from walking Pickle. A bouquet of flowers awaited with a card that read, “Here is your hint: We live in the Emerald City; somewhere over the rainbow.” I had a guess, but it seemed too crazy, too extreme.

We woke up at 5am. On a Saturday. Dressed, drove, and arrived.

“Pull into the McDonald’s on the right,” Laura directed. McDonald’s? wha-? Then I saw them—two vans, each with a trailer pulling a large basket. My wildest guess was true! Hot air balloons.

The other passengers’ conversations purred in sleepy excitement. We arrived at the site, and the pilots sent a balloon up to check the wind. A few minutes later, the pilot came back, “We’re going to have to bag it, folks.” My heart sank. All of that excitement for nothing?!  The sky was heavily cloudy with a light drizzle of rain.

Disappointed, we drove back to Seattle. They called us later that morning to say they had flight openings that night. Laura had plans with Kyle that were really important to him. Impatient Natalie wanted to say, No! This is our only chance! But instead, I told Laura that was how I felt, but I knew that I was just being impatient. So I prayed about it and asked to trust that regardless of what happened—if we flew or not!—God’s plan is good, way better than I could plan. And it was the fastest answer to prayer I’ve ever witnessed.

That afternoon, they called again—we could fly the next evening when we were all available.

I have to admit, I felt pretty silly asking for God’s good plan to work out with something as inordinary yet first-world as a hot air balloon ride.

We arrived, watched them inflate the giant canvas, and climbed into the levitating basket. Soon enough, we were floating. In a simply smooth lift, we started going up. At first, I felt a panicked excitement: what is this that we are so high yet bound by nothing? What if I fall?

Once we reached our peak at 4,000ft, we were used to the feel of being in the basket. The evening was bright and clear with a SouthEast wind. Mt. Baker stood to the North of us; Mt. Rainier lay across the South. Seattle was like a little row of jelly beans sitting next to the water. We could see more islands than I could name. The sun was nearing dusk, displaying creation’s best colors.

We landed smoothly, safely—after our pilot patiently searched the upcoming miles for open land among the trees.

The pilots drove us back to our meeting place—not McDonalds this time, but Matthews Winery, where we enjoyed a complimentary tasting. Sipping Syrah and still envisioning the survey of land  & sky when I closed my eyes, I thanked God for such a beautiful day and for the patience to wait and the excitement that goes along with it.

So much better than a foggy Saturday morning. 

(Did I mention that I'm twenty-two. I think all of my fears that came with that number feel recovered by staring my own mortality in the face in the form of a 4,000 ft. drop with nothing to hold me in. Numbers are nonsense. When Derek turned twenty-two, we celebrated, not knowing it would be his last birthday. I'm celebrating too; here's to being twenty-two.)

death, i think, is no parenthesis (cummings)

books and plans and HOPE

“Are we…dead?” I asked Laura as we smoothly rose upwards.

“Because this is ‘heaven’?” she responded.

“I sure hope heaven is a lime green escalator in a giant room of books with sunshine as we rise into clouds,” I mused.

You’ll never guess it—we were in the Seattle Public Library downtown for the first time. After promptly picking up our “Discovery” library cards, we took to the escalators to explore the block-wide building of windows, books, and steel.

 Like teenagers getting their drivers’ licenses for the first time, we giggled and held our new library cards in awe.

We spent the afternoon sitting on the top floor, gazing out of skylights and writing at the tall desks on square stools. Laura dropped her pen, and we both looked down at it. “It’s so far!”

Two letters and two postcards later, we started towards home again, managing not to check out any items with our library cards.

I’ve been thinking a lot about timing—how right it feels to be in Seattle. Even something as simple as going to the library can feel like just what I’m supposed to be doing. Yet I have no plans. Sure, we have events going on this summer to attend. We have the usual cadence of community and DG and all. But I have no plans.

I used to have plans. I used to have it all figured out. At any point in time, I could pull up a Word doc that listed out my five-year plan. In college, it was always, these are the classes I am going to take or these are the clubs I am going to run. I’ve finally reached a point where I have no idea what the next five years will bring.

I used to want things: to get an MFA, to have a boyfriend, to have a designated place that felt like “home,” to travel internationally often…the list goes on. Of course I still want it all. I will never stop aspiring to be all that I can and do all that I can and absorb all that I can.

But I am learning that life comes in seasons. The weather is not in our hands.

By some mystery, I have been pulled to this small (feels so now, anyways) city on the West coast, and I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else. Not even my childhood dream, not even Arizona.

When I think about how much I love this city, I start to question: could I ever actually leave here? I can’t say I’ve ever actually wanted to stay in a particular place. I’ve always been gogogo; where to next? (I’m not sure this is entirely accurate, considering I’ve always lived in PA until now, but it feels so in some way.) When I moved here, it was with the intent that I would stay a year and then move on to somewhere else. Since my whole one-year plan was tossed out the window within two or three weeks of moving here, every new step has been a blessed surprise.

So maybe I won’t be going to grad school in Pittsburgh or Missoula or Tucson anytime soon. Maybe I won’t even be leaving Washington in the foreseeable future. Maybe I won’t get to go to Europe or Asia in the coming years. Maybe Pickle & I won’t ever get to spend a year in France.

I’m learning to accept that timing is perfect, and we must go where we are called, even if we don’t know why we are going there or what epiphany may follow a loud boom in the middle of the night on a weekend alone in a big red, creaky house.

So I have no plans because I do not know where I will be called next. And I might not know for sometime. And I might not know until just then, just before I am to go.

Until then, I will live actively and with intention. Until then, I can only have HOPE.