There's a funny thing about nostalgia. So many times, I've revisited moments in the past, and thought that there's never a chance to fix them. It can never be undone. I'll never finish that project, idea, or dream. The door has closed. And all that remains with me is a faint memory of things that used to be, which may never happen again. I look at the people around me that I've been close with during any point in the last 4 years. I see how they've changed, for better or for worse. I begin to wonder if some of them will ever break free of the cycles they're stuck in, whether it be addiction, compulsion, heartache, or even apathy. I spend time thinking I'd like to "change" or "fix" them. And it usually looks pretty hopeless.
Over a year ago, I lost a sister. Most people have heard that story in some way, shape, or form by now. I've spent many nights and days in despair, anger, and countless other toxic emotions. And I've said many things that are difficult to take back, but that have caused the gap to become much wider. My deepest fear inside is that the relationship will never be mended, or that she'll hit bottom and not be able to come out of it.
But then I remember just how big our God is. It's amazing; every time I go to the mountains or the beaches, whenever I hear an amazing melody, or even when I sit gazing at stars in a town as boring as Clovis, I am reminded and stuck with awe at the wonder of creation, and how I get to have a relationship with the Creator of it all. Suddenly, the vast brokenness of everything around me begins to shrink.
We use our brokenness as a crutch too often; we sit and say, "Why?" When we should be saying, "What do I do next?" And when we are called to action, we must ACT.
I've started my list. It starts with easily manageable things. First steps. That's all I need. Laying out plans doesn't work when we're shooting in the dark. But the first step is always lit.
Somehow, it all seems much more manageable. I love the stars.