Sight Over Speed

      I was driving home from work this evening, the world turning blue as darkness descended. As I sped down roads with houses and fields blurring beside me, it felt oddly familiar. 

     You know those dreams where you’re running yet not getting anywhere? That’s what I feel like sometimes. I feel like everyone passes me by, and even though I’m trying to keep up, I’m stuck in slow motion, floating over the ground, unable to be anywhere but here. I feel this way as I see people four and six years younger than me speed into relationships and marriages and zoom into parenthood without ever stopping to catch a breath. There they go. I’m still hovering right where they left me; watching, observing, but unable to move. 

     Sometimes I watch them longingly or curiously, just wanting to experience the speed and feel the wind myself. And sometimes, I love that I’m floating. It feels safe and special, like it’s just me and God in this bubble and we’re here for a purpose. I often feel like an observer. I observe big-deal after big-deal happen to other people, but those same things don’t usually happen to me.  

     The passing of time in my life isn’t marked by anniverseries and children’s births, or by bridal shower after bridal shower after baby shower. At least, not my anniversaries or my children’s births or my showers. I observe those, sometimes host them for other people, wrap gifts, and always show up. I love the people who have them and try to enter into their joy, although my ability to do that often feels limited.

     No, my passing of time isn’t marked by those things. It’s marked by what I’ve learned and how I’ve changed and what God shows me. 2017 was the year my heart shattered and hope left. 2018 was the year that was numb and then God showed me Himself. 2019 was for finding out my life purpose, and 2020 was about acting on it. So on and so on. I don't have invitations, pictures, or parties to show for these things, but I know their significance. They're written on journal pages and each tear along the way has been bottled by Him. They've shaped me into an almost entirely different person than I was five years ago. Maybe I look the same to people, but there's very little that's the same inside. I thank God for that.

     I sometimes wonder if I’m meant to float for the rest of my life, or if my feet will ever hit the concrete and start running alongside everyone else. I'm torn between desires. Yes, it's lonely being the only one floating and watching people fly by, sometimes calling out to them and hardly getting a glance back. But, it's also meaningful. The different pace allows for different cares, different priorities, a different view. God has me here for a reason or many. Sometimes I'm convinced that I can see better from up here, and I think that I value sight more than speed.