In the Flux.

Every time I come home from one of my late shifts, after midnight, there is always a bunny that frantically shoots out from behind the giant bush outside my apartment building and scares me to death. Now, some would say that I am doing the scaring, but at least I don't fire out from behind the shrubs at several mph. I generally am already a bit jittery because I have just closed everything down at work by myself, shut off all the lights, and walked quickly out to my car in the lonely parking lot. Sometimes, by the time I get back, I am thinking about the bunny, and sometimes I am not. Either way, every time I get home and it shoots out from behind the bedraggled bush and across the lawn, I jump and then quickly walk inside so as to avoid anything else that might pop out from behind the plants.

Also, lately, I've been sitting in a cubicle. In the last week, I've learned that office-chair posture is important so as to avoid lower back pain, I have been given my very own parking garage badge, and I have been assigned to make a glossary for a book I have never read before. A lot of things in my life are new right now, and that is all a hard but wonderful adjustment. I feel like I am just peaking the top of the transition-mountain now, and things are beginning to feel normal again. But not quite.

I also have a lot more alone time now which is strange and good. All year long I spent hours in class and hours doing homework, wishing that I had more wide open spaces of time, and now that I have more than I could ever want, I'm not quite sure what to do with it all. Well, that's not entirely true because I know of plenty of things I could do with it, but it almost feels immobilizing the way having too much to do does sometimes as well.

Something interesting: Been praying about the summer, and over the last couple of weeks, several completely unrelated people have recommended books to me on the subject of living life to its fullest or celebrating the extraordinary nature of everyday things. I literally have three books on this same topic sitting on my dresser right now. Funny this would all happen right when I suddenly have a lot of time to think about life and everything it entails ALL the time. The Lord provides.

I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a hill and God is asking me if I really want to keep barreling down it like a snowball. Always looking to the future or the next thing, picking up outings and events and days like a lint roller, merely noticing them, depositing them, and then continuing on my stampede to the next thing. Or (He's asking me this) you can sit right there, Lauren, on that red blanket, dew fresh on the grass, trees hushed and coming alive, all of them rustling with the weight of the song, and watch as I show you what the morning looks like from My angle - inside out and something like you've never seen before.

So I will be up front. I don't know what I'm doing, I feel fragile, I make myself weird lunches in a rush before work, I question my future, and I get scared by rabbits. But. I do know this: "The eyes of all look to you, and you give them their food in due season. You open your hand; you satisfy the desire of every living thing." Psalm 145:15-16

If you're feeling peculiar about the start of summer, take heart! You're not alone, and you have been given a great hope.