It’s the start of dusk and I am walking toward my car in a downtown district. The encroaching evening is beautiful, one that brings about bare shoulders and clinking glasses among friends. I am passing restaurants that carry laughter, the aforementioned glass clinks and lit candles that are also expecting dusk. I speed up my walk in order to avoid stalking feelings of jealousy and embarrassment at wanting to join their clanks and their laughter.
With my door closed and my lock announcing the victory from such feelings, I take my drive home towards a waning sun. I have so much roaming my mind that I get it out by relating to Mumford and Sons “Roll Away Your Stone”. I begin to sing with such a vigor that the surrounding society in their vehicles find that my actions are questionable whilst driving, so they drive either slowly behind or speed up and pass me. I begin to enter my thoughts without caution and start the stroll over the mountain of them. It’s like climbing Mt. Trashmore before it was made an attraction.
I am picking up the bits and pieces of how this week turned into a momentously life-changing week, which has, unsurprisingly, led me to a quiet weekend alone. I am reviewing the words that keep haunting me (expectation, rest, investment), and ever-so-slightly exposing myself more to them, trying to understand how to assign them more applicably to my life and actions. I can feel just how heavy these words really are now and how I have been using them incorrectly for the past couple of months.
It is safe to say that at this moment in my picking and parting I am coming to a recognition of how the incorrect use of these words has played a role in my relationship with God. Each word – expectation, rest, investment – has been inappropriately applied onto and into relationships with either friends or a boy. These words have not reached their truest potential, because these words have not been used in the greatest context that they should be: with God. They have yet to be stretched and challenged in my relationship with God, which has resulted in a weary heart and mind.
I find that towards the end of my thoughts, nearing the top of this mountain, I am coming across what I have been exposed to over these past couple of months. I am picking up all of the wise advice that I had half-heartedly acknowledged before and scriptures that resound with such beautiful truth, and stowing them safely within.
I put the song on repeat and sing aloud, “It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart, but the welcome I receive with the restart.” I pull into my driveway, waiting for the garage door to finish its incredibly slow open and pull in. I get out of the car and tap the button to begin the garage doors descent, and as the door meets cement, my thoughts are slowed. I walk into my house with a mind on one thing: Mt. Trashmore was eventually turned into an attraction for all; something beautiful.