As a writer, I am easily distracted. As this year has removed any sense of normal and structure from my life, finding a “writing spot” has been challenging. One of my goals this fall was to enjoy the ease of using Western internet again by resuming regular blogging (it’s hard to stay motivated when posting a blog requires several tries to load the webpage and a half a dozen refreshes to get the edit button to work). And yet, now that this fall has arrived, I still am in an “in-between” with no routines beyond go to work and go to sleep.
I find myself looking to the past for perspective and reminders of truth. Today, determined to resume a writing life, I reviewed my unpublished writing from this year and stumbled on this post I wrote for Easter: At first, when I tucked myself away inside for a presumably brief isolation, I secretly relished having unlimited, guilt-free alone time. Time to reflect, write, feel, think, grow, heal. Eighty days later, I still appreciate this time in the in-between, but I am aware of the consequence of passing time. A few weeks ago, a friend asked me whether we were going to have to go through culture shock again when we re-emerge from isolation. A disheartening thought. But she’s right. Reintegrating with society, rebuilding routines—we will have to remember parts of the foreign culture we have forgotten; we will have to adjust to parts of that culture that have changed. As with most experiences in the in-between, a new normal awaits on the other side. And a new normal, of course, means change. I’ve experienced many transitions in life, but this prolonged in-between is unique; I’m not in the process of changing locations or jobs with clearly defined parameters. At times, I feel like I’m paused mid-scene and waiting for the viewer to press Play again. But we aren’t really paused, so when He presses Play, we’ll jump to new scenes without finishing the old ones. Usually, I view change with antipathy, odd considering how often I see the flaws in the normal and try to fix it. But during this in-between, I have been musing on two ideas: the comfort of His immutability and the mercy of my mutability. In the midst of constant change—moving to new homes, gaining and losing friends, colleagues, and students, switching jobs—He remains steadfast, a sure anchor for my soul. That comfort of His unchanging nature often deludes me into wanting everything else to stay in the familiar safety of a broken normal. As I stare out the window at a world slowly unpausing, wondering what it will look like when this interlude is over, part of me fears the changes that will be. But today, Easter Sunday, we are not just celebrating God’s immutable love, justice, and grace. We are celebrating the new normal He brought us—the gift of change. Now, as we wait in the in-between, we are made new, changed from glory to glory. Those changes, though difficult and gradual, are possible because we are mercifully mutable. No matter what life looks like next, I can and will change with it while He remains the same. Even better, we look forward to a far more blessed new normal that awaits us.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWho is Eleanor Lane? Categories
All
Archives
October 2020
|