I skate around the rink by myself. Of course, I’m not totally alone. At least twenty more people are doing laps around the pond. The wind blows fiercely, freezing my exposed cheeks. I keep my hands gripped behind my back and loop around the ice. One lap, two. Three laps, four. I hop over the small patches where chunks of ice have been carved out by the blade of someone’s skate. My feet find their rhythm and go, never wavering, never stumbling. Chestnuts roasting on and open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose, I sing under my breath. Sun beams skip across the snow and shine in my face and I take my eyes off my feet for a moment to admire the sparkling landscape. I feel my hand being snatched up and my feet being yanked from beneath me.
Come on you old hermit, skate with me. Jesseca says dragging me around the rink.
Well thanks for asking, I reply with a little chuckle. There’s something about Jesseca that issues laughter. I don’t know if it’s the fact that her face is always smiling, but whenever I’m with her I have to laugh.
You just looked so peaceful going around the rink like that, I had to join in. Plus, you need practice for your impending skate date.
Oh do I now? I snicker. Well that’s quite inconvenient because I’ve sworn to be a bachelorette for the rest of my life. I think you have the wrong girl.
We finish our conversation with giggles as Leah and Morgan join us and begin chanting: Skate date! Skate date! Skate date! I cower in their love but also absorb it in my own sort of way as my whole body begins to laugh.
As we part hands and I begin to skate around the rink by myself again I count the laps. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. I watch as the pages of other’s lives are written. I feel so privileged to see these moments penned; slipping and falling on the ice, gripping the wall of the rink and panting. As I twirl around that rink the seasons change. I see the snow melt away, the trees blossom and the grass become green again. Small daisies poke their heads into the sun. A group of teenagers climb up the mountain wearing shorts, T-shirts, and sunglasses following a young man they call The Beard. They stumble every once and a while and rest in the shade. Sometimes, they try to run ahead only to stop short after a few paces completely out of breath. Then the spring fades to summer as the kids climb up a sleeping ski lift.You’d better get down from there. Just watch, the poles going to break and down, down, down you go! They say to the mischievous one. The adolescents laugh a lot too. Just laugh and laugh and laugh over everything and nothing at all. They wave their walking sticks and twigs in the air and joke on how they’re conquering the promise land, or charting the world like Lewis and Clarke.
Then summer fades to fall and there aren’t as many teenagers. They’re too busy, or they simply no longer care. The Aspen leaves flutter to the ground setting the entire forest on fire. The ground is littered with leaves and the view through the forest is so clear, some of the kids swear they can see Utah on the other side. They meander through the leaves, yelling small jokes to each other. Finally, the fall fades to winter once again. The sun sets, the leaves fade, and the night crawls in again.
I’m alone. I breathe the sorrow, joy and longing in the air. Everything around me is still and quiet, consumed in the sounds of life. Not the honking of car horns, or the roaring of police sirens, but life. I don’t think I can explain that sound to you, but I promise it is beautiful. I watch the snowflakes plummet to the ground like dive-bombers, hitting the ground and exploding without a sound. I stuff my hands deeper into my coat pockets and wiggle my toes feeling very much like Bear Grylls in Siberia. Hoooh. My breath floats away into the frigid evening and I remember dad telling me about the freezing of water molecules, and Morgan and I pretending we were rich ladies smoking cigarettes as we stood on the porch shivering in our jammies. It was never a desirable thing to me, smoking cigarettes, but I snicker at the memory. I try again, for memories sake, to make the letter O with my breath and it doesn’t work. I crane my neck to gaze at the stars, an act that’s almost instinctive. G-ma, how come we can see the Milky Way if we’re in it? She hadn’t known the answer to that, and Morgan had quickly changed the subject by asking if bats had beaks and if birds really blew up if you fed them rice.
Now though, I stand in my own type of solitude, alone in the natural sense, but I know there is something or someone greater, occupying the same space I’m occupying. The sight I see is beautiful. I see billions of galaxies that I will never visit but God knows by name. I see brilliant hues of purple and gold that seem to stretch for miles. I see the snow covered mountains and the valley in between stretching further than the eye can see. I see God.
In that moment I realize my insignificance. How small I am in comparison to the Earth, the Solar System, the galaxies, the universe. In it all I’m no more than the head of a pin, a splat on the windshield. I’m less than that. Yet I’m still known, still loved, by the God who holds the universe on the tip of His pinky. Oh God, You’re so beautiful, I breathe. The stars make me realize my insignificance, but that insignificance makes me realize my value. They bring to my attention my life and just how precious it is. Why do I disregard that? In this moment I’m ashamed. Ashamed at my naïve outlook on existence. Ashamed at my lack of awe over the miracles God performs every day in my life. Ashamed. I’m so tiny compared to all that, yet God knows my name. He died for me.
My heart swells, getting so big I think it will pop out of my chest. It reduces to tears. I quickly wipe them away, but they flow too fast and I can do nothing to stop the dam that has just busted loose. I’m overcome with the realization that He knows me and cannot wrap my mind around such an unfathomable notion. It’s as if I’ve been trapped in a box filled with self-longing, fighting to break free, and He’s taken a crowbar and snapped the hinges on the box. Go ahead, He says, come on out. You’re free now. You’re free.
Though the taste of a life left behind often lingers on my lips, I know I have been changed. Not by a Bible-thumper or cocaine. Not by money or hard work, but awe. No one can ever recreate that experience. Through all the laughter and tears my heart feels like it’s been sent through a fine paper shredder. Somehow though, that doesn’t matter. Somehow I’ve found peace. I’ve found joys that put fleeting happiness to shame. I’ve found life.
I skate around the rink by myself. Of course, I’m not totally alone. At least twenty more people are doing laps around the pond. The wind blows fiercely, freezing my exposed cheeks. I keep my hands gripped behind my back and loop around the ice. One lap, two. Three laps, four. I hop over the small patches where chunks of ice have been carved out by the blade of someone’s skate. My feet find their rhythm and go, never wavering, never stumbling. Chestnuts roasting on and open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose, I sing under my breath. Sun beams skip across the snow and shine in my face and I take my eyes off my feet for a moment to admire the sparkling landscape. I feel my hand being snatched up and my feet being yanked from beneath me.
Come on you old hermit, skate with me. Jesseca says dragging me around the rink.
Well thanks for asking, I reply with a little chuckle. There’s something about Jesseca that issues laughter. I don’t know if it’s the fact that her face is always smiling, but whenever I’m with her I have to laugh.
You just looked so peaceful going around the rink like that, I had to join in. Plus, you need practice for your impending skate date.
Oh do I now? I snicker. Well that’s quite inconvenient because I’ve sworn to be a bachelorette for the rest of my life. I think you have the wrong girl.
We finish our conversation with giggles as Leah and Morgan join us and begin chanting: Skate date! Skate date! Skate date! I cower in their love but also absorb it in my own sort of way as my whole body begins to laugh.
As we part hands and I begin to skate around the rink by myself again I count the laps. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. I watch as the pages of other’s lives are written. I feel so privileged to see these moments penned; slipping and falling on the ice, gripping the wall of the rink and panting. As I twirl around that rink the seasons change. I see the snow melt away, the trees blossom and the grass become green again. Small daisies poke their heads into the sun. A group of teenagers climb up the mountain wearing shorts, T-shirts, and sunglasses following a young man they call The Beard. They stumble every once and a while and rest in the shade. Sometimes, they try to run ahead only to stop short after a few paces completely out of breath. Then the spring fades to summer as the kids climb up a sleeping ski lift.You’d better get down from there. Just watch, the poles going to break and down, down, down you go! They say to the mischievous one. The adolescents laugh a lot too. Just laugh and laugh and laugh over everything and nothing at all. They wave their walking sticks and twigs in the air and joke on how they’re conquering the promise land, or charting the world like Lewis and Clarke.
Then summer fades to fall and there aren’t as many teenagers. They’re too busy, or they simply no longer care. The Aspen leaves flutter to the ground setting the entire forest on fire. The ground is littered with leaves and the view through the forest is so clear, some of the kids swear they can see Utah on the other side. They meander through the leaves, yelling small jokes to each other. Finally, the fall fades to winter once again. The sun sets, the leaves fade, and the night crawls in again.
I’m alone. I breathe the sorrow, joy and longing in the air. Everything around me is still and quiet, consumed in the sounds of life. Not the honking of car horns, or the roaring of police sirens, but life. I don’t think I can explain that sound to you, but I promise it is beautiful. I watch the snowflakes plummet to the ground like dive-bombers, hitting the ground and exploding without a sound. I stuff my hands deeper into my coat pockets and wiggle my toes feeling very much like Bear Grylls in Siberia. Hoooh. My breath floats away into the frigid evening and I remember dad telling me about the freezing of water molecules, and Morgan and I pretending we were rich ladies smoking cigarettes as we stood on the porch shivering in our jammies. It was never a desirable thing to me, smoking cigarettes, but I snicker at the memory. I try again, for memories sake, to make the letter O with my breath and it doesn’t work. I crane my neck to gaze at the stars, an act that’s almost instinctive. G-ma, how come we can see the Milky Way if we’re in it? She hadn’t known the answer to that, and Morgan had quickly changed the subject by asking if bats had beaks and if birds really blew up if you fed them rice.
Now though, I stand in my own type of solitude, alone in the natural sense, but I know there is something or someone greater, occupying the same space I’m occupying. The sight I see is beautiful. I see billions of galaxies that I will never visit but God knows by name. I see brilliant hues of purple and gold that seem to stretch for miles. I see the snow covered mountains and the valley in between stretching further than the eye can see. I see God.
In that moment I realize my insignificance. How small I am in comparison to the Earth, the Solar System, the galaxies, the universe. In it all I’m no more than the head of a pin, a splat on the windshield. I’m less than that. Yet I’m still known, still loved, by the God who holds the universe on the tip of His pinky. Oh God, You’re so beautiful, I breathe. The stars make me realize my insignificance, but that insignificance makes me realize my value. They bring to my attention my life and just how precious it is. Why do I disregard that? In this moment I’m ashamed. Ashamed at my naïve outlook on existence. Ashamed at my lack of awe over the miracles God performs every day in my life. Ashamed. I’m so tiny compared to all that, yet God knows my name. He died for me.
My heart swells, getting so big I think it will pop out of my chest. It reduces to tears. I quickly wipe them away, but they flow too fast and I can do nothing to stop the dam that has just busted loose. I’m overcome with the realization that He knows me and cannot wrap my mind around such an unfathomable notion. It’s as if I’ve been trapped in a box filled with self-longing, fighting to break free, and He’s taken a crowbar and snapped the hinges on the box. Go ahead, He says, come on out. You’re free now. You’re free.
Though the taste of a life left behind often lingers on my lips, I know I have been changed. Not by a Bible-thumper or cocaine. Not by money or hard work, but awe. No one can ever recreate that experience. Through all the laughter and tears my heart feels like it’s been sent through a fine paper shredder. Somehow though, that doesn’t matter. Somehow I’ve found peace. I’ve found joys that put fleeting happiness to shame. I’ve found life.