Big.

I just keep thinking about this line, in the new Superman movie.  It keeps on replaying over and over and over in my head.

"The world's too big, mom."

That's what today feels like, lovers.  The world feels too big.  No amount of mountainous drives lined with evergreen trees and back-splashed with golden fields will make it any smaller.

 I spent my day giving my time to other people- people who really needed my time much, much more than I did.  This time looked like wrapping dishes and glasses in newspaper and putting them into boxes and placing the taped, marked boxes in neat piles by the door, waiting to be loaded onto a large U-Haul truck.  This time looked like delivering food for those familial few who were there to help as we were. This time looked like smiling and hugging beautiful little children, whose lives and rooms were currently being shifted and rearranged and packed up into more neat and tidy boxed piles while they giggled and spun in many noisy, glittering directions.

This time looked like getting strikingly lost with Nat as we made an hour-long coffee-and-packing-tape run to Fred Meyers in the middle of the afternoon,  in a small town at the base of a very large mountain which neither of us were any good at navigating. (That specific time involved a lot of exhausted-by-the-weight-of-life sighs and frustrated expletives, often followed by a short outburst of overwhelmed, hysterical laughter.) This time looked like sun-dusted crop-fields, very old farmhouses, and very windy roads.  It looked quiet.  My eyes swept over the wild countryside, and I silently wondered to myself how best to take care of my friend who's so busy with the important task of tending to her own priceless loved ones in a time of unforeseen need.  For once, I didn't have any words.

Clark Kent is right.  Sometimes the world is just too big.

On the hour-long drive home, I thought a lot about that line.

Do you know what I used to do whenever the world felt too big?  I had a coping mechanism for days like these, once.

I used to park my car on a knoll right above the ocean, roll down all the windows and open my sunroof.  I would lean forward in my seat, fold my arms in front of me and rest my chin on my steering wheel.  Watching the pelicans and the surf scoters flying, diving, floating on the restless waves, and the harbor seals cresting with their faces on the surface of the water didn't make the world seem smaller and myself seem larger, though.

Sitting by the ocean is never going to make you feel big.

But it made the world seem less impending under the mighty force of the waves.  I felt like whatever the world had to throw at me couldn't be matched by the vast power of the seas. It made the ocean feel bigger than the world, and that was comforting.

There is no ocean here, lovers.

There are mountains like the one I traveled today, and there are valleys like the one I currently dwell in.

There are rivers, like the one half-a-mile from my house- and there are fields, like the ones I drive past everyday on my way to work.

All of them are stunning in their own right.  The heron's nest on the top of the telephone pole in the field a block past my backyard.  The waning light cast onto the mountain by the setting sun turns it a purplish sort of pale pink.  The scent of the surrounding hay fields on a balmy Summer night, while I ride my penny board down the streets of my neighborhood.

Though they are beautiful, they only make the world seem bigger.  My eyes can't rest on one thing- -and they move from sight to sight at an increasingly rapid pace until the patterns of contrasting light and color make my head hurt. I feel puny.  Insignificant, tiny, helpless, waif-like and weak.

I have no ocean here- and I began to grow anxious without the scent of the sea constantly on the air.

Softly, I whispered to myself this afternoon as I traveled homeward to my valley and my maple trees and my wide neighborhood streets, desperately toying with the idea of instead driving all the way to the beach for the 3rd weekend in a row, just to get my fix- just to feel healed one more time- Hannah, this has got to stop. 

Suddenly the world felt like it was breaking in two. I took a long, shaky breath- and on the exhale I shot up one equally shaky prayer,  God, forgive me. 

I no longer have the ocean- and I must learn to be okay with that.

I have to stop needing the ocean at some point.  It's been almost one year since I moved home- and I need to move forward with my life.

The ocean can't fix my problems- it can't fix me the way I want it to.

The world is too big, lovers.

Maybe instead of trying to make it small again, I should just let it be big.

Maybe instead of making the ocean bigger than the world, I should just stop trying to alter sizes and implications altogether.

Maybe I should just remember that I'm not the one who's in control, here. And maybe I should remember how blessed I feel by the opportunity to help others like I did today- and maybe God can teach me how to help other people more often, because otherwise I grow selfish and anxious and reliant on an earthly element which cannot heal me no matter how desperately I want it to.

So the world is too big for me.  God is much bigger than the world. 

Sometimes, we can't keep our hearts from hurting, but maybe what we don't understand is that our hearts were made for hurting.  Our compassion makes us strong- our sorrows change our direction. Our Savior breaks our hearts for what breaks His heart- and that makes us precious to the Great Creator who sent His one son to die in order to save the world because He loves us. Oh, how He loves us. 

Flighty Little Birds, Jagged Around the Edges

I have this candle that smells like one of my most favorite people in the world.

I'm not sure how it's possible that this came to be.  One day, about a month ago, I was milling around Sesame and Lilies, the home decor store I used to work at when I lived in Cannon Beach, and I picked up a large candle in a grey, hobnail jar. I brought it to my nose.  I wondered for a moment what "Ambergrass" was supposed to smell like, and then I took a whiff.

Instantly, familiarity washed over me.  I knew that scent very well.  It smelled like wishes, right before they are granted.  It was the same smell that used to follow me around while grocery shopping, or riding in that car.  It smelled like being held in a warm, tight hug.  It smelled mildly like peaches, but earthier than that.  It was the same smell that accompanied the voice which soundtracked my Summer, to quote that crazy-good Boys Like Girls song from 4 years ago.

I don't know if I bought the candle because the smell reminded me of this person, or if I bought the candle because the familiarity of the smell was comforting- but somehow, it ended up coming home with me that day.

And right now it's perched next to me, lit.  One small beam of light to combat a world of darkness.

Lovers,  sometimes we forget how precious life is.

Sometimes, we forget that death is a constant and inescapable part of our lives.

One of my dearest friends, Natalie Trust, writes about this very topic in her blog.  It's titled, "Death's Waiting Room," and you can read it here. Please do so.

Lovers, there is a story behind all of this to share- but it is not mine to tell.  And so I will not tell it today. But I will write a few vague sentences- even if just for the sake of personal catharsis.

There are many thoughts in my brain that do not align in a logical pattern.  Mostly they are whirring around like flighty little birds, jagged around the edges.  They are afraid to settle in one place for too long, because they might become stagnant.  They might become flightless, and by loosing their wings, they might grow even more scarred.

Memory, that rose-tinted creature, flies from one branch to another restlessly bringing up images and nostalgia with every fluttered movement- Fact, that cold-hearted mistress screeches from the tops of her tiny little lungs unforgivable curses as she flies in endless circles- Hope, that bedraggled white dove, coos softly in the midst of the squalor.  Often her voice is overpowered- but it is still present. Her patient heart is still beating steadily.

What do you do when someone you've always known as a permanent fixture in your life suddenly becomes frighteningly temporary?

All I have floating around in my brain are words- and words are so blatantly empty today.

Words have the power to break people- and yet, rarely do they actually possess the power to bring comfort.  Where is the comfort to be found in a violently angry murderess that lives and grows within our very bloodstreams?  Where is the hope to be found in a pungent blackness that devours from the inside out?

My words are muted, today.  My arms are tired from wrestling with angels, like Jacob in the book of Genesis.

My heart is heavy. This small hammock of tragedy in which I sit today is cradling me so carefully, so effortlessly.  I wonder if I could just lie back and let it carry me, how far would we travel together?

It's strange, watching your beloveds go through the motions of realizing they might loose someone beloved to them. It makes that person, while still a familiar, cherished, loved and more-than-welcomed part of your own life, all that more special and precious to you.

I realized today just how sacred every breath is.

Sacred. 

Every breath.

Human life is the most priceless thing on this planet, my own best friend reminded me today.  How careless of me to have forgotten.

Through it all, I continue to ask my Heavenly Father where He is in all of this.

Father, God.  Where are you?

I know your sovereignty.  I know your omniscience.  I just don't have the Kingdom eyes to see your plan; I am made of bone and sinew and my weak heart is full of doubt and I lack understanding.

Still, Lord- I stand.  Just as all of those around me and all of those involved and all of those grieving alongside each other tonight are standing.  In the light and hope of our God and Savior- knowing that He is also standing for us.  Knowing that He is not absent, or removed, or uncaring, unfeeling.

Knowing that He is full of healing, and mercy and miracles and undying love for each one of His earthly children, and that His heart is also breaking under the extreme weight of this recent news.

How blessed are we.

To have a Savior who's heart breaks over the tragedies which befall His prized children. To know that not only does He have all control of the situation, but He also understands and comprehends exactly how these tragedies make us feel.

He is breath-taking, and we are all made in His image.  When I envision the face which this tragedy belongs to, I see the beautiful Imago Dei bursting forth from those grace-filled features, clothed in dignity and righteousness.

So tonight, the tears may fall.

But the Almighty is still good.

This grief-laden hammock is comfortable, but it is not permanent.

Tomorrow is a new day, and for those of us who live to see the morning light- there will be so many moments in which to give thanks throughout the day.  Don't let the opportunity to thank God for the sacredness of breath pass you by.

I love you.  I love you.  I love you.