My hands were full: a tote of papers in one, my purse and a tumbler of coffee in the other. My dress heels took turns sticking in the sidewalk cracks as I focused on getting to my vehicle without taking a tumble. I made it. A small victory. (I count them all.)
Once I pulled into my parking space, the narrative changed. The same two hands held the same belongings, but this time the tote slipped from elbow to wrist as the sun blinded my eyes. I used my other hand to grab the tote to minimize the damage. I was left with a street littered with work papers, a tumbler that had rolled underneath my vehicle, and one shoe that went completely rogue. My purse and humiliation were the only things that remained intact.
I shook off my other heel to have a better footing as I gathered my tumbler from beneath the car. Coffee spills appeared as oil pads on the hot concrete as I noticed the lid of my tumbler had broken. My knees burned as I picked myself and my empty tumbler off the ground. I took a hard look at the street. The scattered white papers bleached the road and stung my eyes under the sun.
So many papers. There was a moment in which I entertained returning home and starting over. But the mess had been made, and I had to clean it up. The hot pavement teased my bare feet like a poker. I jumped upon the papers for refuge; as if they were lily pads, I maneuvered my way to avoid the sizzling concrete, gathering my mess as I went.
Putting my shoes back on and filling my hands once more with my tote, purse, and tumbler, I turned to make my way to the office door. A car came and went, kicking one paper I missed into the air. I gave it a half wave and went inside. “You win,” I told the 8.5 x 11 inches of rebel wood pulp. “You win.”
Turning on the Keurig, I waited in the lobby for the water to heat so I could fill my tumbler. Through the office front windows, the sun looked comforting. It no longer appeared to be a menace as it was just moments before. Even the street looked calm. No signs of litter. No clues of prior chaos and clumsiness. How quickly the terrain had changed. From this vantage point, I was hidden from the eye of the sun and the pain of the pavement.
Hidden. This word brought me to another time I was barefoot under the sun. But this time was well before I wore heels and when my favorite drink was a frosty glass-bottled Coke instead of a tumbler of hot coffee.
Camping with my family in East Texas as a teen, I would journey about and take walks underneath the pines. As I went, I would hear the peripheral sounds of horseshoes being thrown against stakes and mamas rallying their children. I smelled citronella candles positioned as centerpieces upon picnic tables and dinners being cooked upon charcoal grills. And I felt the temperature change under my feet as I entered deeper beneath the canopy of trees.
The further into the pines I went, the less evidence I found of any human life other than my own. I was hidden, only seen by the occasional nod and wave of the Piney Woods. Moving amongst the trees, even my footsteps were silenced. It was magical. There were breaks of openness that appeared like mini stages. I recall stepping in the center and twirling, finishing my routine by taking a bow. Branches applauded above as the wind stirred, tossing a bouquet of fragrant needles at my feet. I waved to the pines and whispered, “Thank you for sharing your space with me.”
The sounds of families slowly returned as I made my way back to camp. I looked back once more to my enchanted forest… miles of softwood that was as gentle to my soul as it was to my feet. “I already miss you,” I said, unsure if I were talking to the trees or to the girl who danced among them.
There are days I wish I could start over, but the mess has already been made, and I do what I can to clean it up. There are emails to tackle, problems to unravel, and differing opinions to sort through. And so many papers.
Even still, I am thankful for it all. For a community that I love working for and living in. For the messes that show me I have the agility and adaptability to bring order from chaos, even self-imposed chaos. For the problems and opinions that challenge me to brainstorm solutions, learn something new, and grow my skillset and patience. And even for the bits of trouble that get kicked up and blown out of my reach… even these rebel waves gift me the opportunity to let go, step back, and see things from a different vantage point.
And after the chaos, I am so very thankful for the calm. For the refuge of silence — the sanctuary of being still in the presence of something greater than myself. For resting in the power and peace of Christ, twirling beneath the canopy of His love and being held safe under His wings.
“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart” (Psalm 91:4).
Friend, however your day has begun or ended, and with whatever level of chaos or calm, may we be reminded and encouraged that landscapes change and are temporary backdrops to a greater existence. An existence born from the sacrifice and love of Christ Jesus. In this knowing, we can withstand whatever the day brings and celebrate the victories, big and small.
Celebrate them all.
Tiffany Kaye Chartier
SGLY, dear reader.
(Smile, God Loves You.)
Tiffany Kaye Chartier, Author 