The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going. . .
The sky is a steely, depressing grey and I remember why I named this blog what I did. So often the cover of clouds make me stare out the window and grasp to find the words to explain what is–almost as though, without sunlight or happenings to distract, all that really remains are the thoughts inside of me.
There is an aching and a pining that goes along with listening to the wind. I don’t know if it is from a desire to know where the wind is coming from and going to, or from a longing to have the wind blowing always, or maybe even just wishing it was more tangible and holdable than it is.
I feel like the wind is blowing now, and like all creation I turn into the wind, trying to smell what the wind carries on it. There is movement, but what does it mean? I can’t make it happen sooner, or more slowly; I cannot control it. I cannot pretend it doesn’t exist, but I cannot pretend to fully comprehend it either.
Don’t you know that curious joy? When a storm is blowing in, and you are standing out in that pulling, pushing, pulsing wind–and you can’t stop grinning like an idiot, even though you don’t know why? It’s exciting–and kind of scary–and silly–and wonderful–and fleeting–and imprinted inside of you–and has nothing to do with anything and is the most important thing that’s happened all week.
Sometimes I feel swept along, gasping and out of control. Sometimes I feel impatient, waiting for the next gust. Sometimes, like today, I feel like I can hear the howling in the trees. It is coming, I can hear it. But where is it coming from? Where is it going to? How much of what I hear is my own echo, leaving my mouth and then bouncing back to me like new words? Or is it the fore-runners of the wind, telling me were to stand so my wings will be filled?
There is a long and a hungering for more, and that’s good and true and right and will never be satiated in this life. The tension between those two things drives me crazy sometimes. I want resolution. I want to work toward resolution. What can I do to make this happen? But the wind comes and goes without any clear beginning or end, with a direction that seems always to shift.
Am I ready for the storm? No. Goodness, no. I never will be, but I want it to come, anyway. Come, Lord Jesus.