I believe in ribbons and bows

Today was an odd sort of day. Somehow He pushed right through to show me glimpses of delight and hope.

I was late heading out to work this morning - a slow start at home as I struggled to convince myself I could make it through the day. But once I managed to get going, a strange series of events made me realize that hope does not die without a fight and that she fights with an incredibly beautiful sort of strength.

After having sent my little cry of despair into Cyberspace last night, a sms from my Lucy-friend greeted me this morning, quite simply sending love after having read my blog post. The first whisper today, of His love for a rather wobbly heart.

On driving out of our estate into the main street, I was greeted by a long row of primary school children, clad in clusters of brightly coloured T-shirts (per class, I assumed), making their way to Woodlands Mall. I cried as I watched them skip along holding hands, linking arms, hugging. A reminder of a God who knows each of us so very well, for there is little that brings me as much pleasure as children delighting in life.

A quick stop at Seattles for a cappuccino (working on the irresponsible logic that I was late anyway) saw me ending up with a hugely discounted cappuccino in hand. A third ribbon in a day which had only just begun?

The rest of the day continued somehow to be laced with splashes of ribbon, gently beckoning me to dare life's dance again:

• I was actually given a sneak peak into Facebook stats (I cannot explain the delight this brought heart and mind)
• A perfectly-timed visit to Impact Radio's birthday celebration resulted in a brief connect with Celeste Amy (which made my heart feel as though it might just burst!) and
• What could potentially have been a frustrating flurry of last-minute prep for cell tomorrow, ended up being a collaborative team effort (the folks, Rocco and even Christie) resulting in a beautifully planned Driekie-cupcake and much family fun (dad proved to be the cupcake maestro).
• And on the way back home, after opting for the longer route to allow my song to reach its end, I kept the window down between our estate security gates and smiled as that decision resulted in the smell of Jasmine filling every part of me - almost as if He thought it good to seal the day with one of my favourites.

And so, in response to my rather weary post of last night, He laced my day in ways that seemed to say, ‘I see you. I hear you. I know that you’re there. I’ve got this one, Michelle. I’ve got you.’

An apt response is surely this: to put on my dancing shoes again and head tentatively back to the dance floor. The irony didn’t slip me by, that the act of putting on those dance shoes (at least those of the balerina sort, as in this picture) involves the tying of a ribbon.

And with that, I choose to believe in ribbons and bows. I choose, again, to believe there’s more to life.

Fighting the urge to run

This dance is tough! And I find myself fighting the urge to hang up my dancing shoes and 'call it a day'.

Dreary as this may sound (sorry, pink happiness blog), it wouldn't feel authentic if I pretended to be feeling any other way. 

I'm struggling. My heart is struggling to manage the number of disappointments it's being called on to contend with, and it doesn't quite know where next to step.

I recently read a quote, Life is not tied with a bow, but still, it is a gift. - Regina Bret.

I understand that life seldom turns out the way we anticipate it might and readily agree with the fact that even when it doesn't, the mere privilege of being alive is indeed a precious gift. Absolutely so! The snag is, I really want to believe in bows. I want to delight in finding ribbons along the way. I want to believe that there's more.

My heart's struggling to hear the melody.

I'm struggling to dance.

My August Rush_2012

Walking the line

Today marked the instilling of a tradition that is now officially in place. I've settled on a name for the idea I blogged about a while back: My August Rush - that time, between 5 and 15 August, during which I resolve to do something that feels insanely scary, unnervingly out of my comfort zone and almost impossible - to serve as reminder of His undeserved grace and unwavering faithfulness. An 'active altar', as it were, of celebration and praise for the difficulties He has safely seen me through.

My August Rush for 2012: Braving the Burma Bridge. And what a significant crossing it turned out to be.

On arrival, we discovered that the valley over which the bridge crosses is called King’s Kloof, which added to the significance of making it from one side to the other safely in the hands of The King. 

Last month I found this image and felt it indicative of the next season in my life’s journey: A season that might feel much like walking a tightrope. He was the rock beneath me in the valley (the place of deepest despair that, over time, became a place of rediscovery and nurtured growth) and He shall be the rails during the tightrope season.

With this image in heart and mind, imagine my delight when Rocco (without being aware of any tightrope analogies) suggested the Burma Bridge as an option for my first August Rush! It was a done deal – instantly.

And as I crossed over King’s Kloof, precariously swaying every time the wind blew, the exhilaration and satisfaction I felt is almost impossible to explain. And though rather frightening an experience… I was doing it!

And so, at the end of today, I’d like to remember last year's trip to Willow Creek USA and thank Him for going ahead of me to prepare things in such a way that enabled me to make it 'there and back' during a time I felt convinced it was humanly impossible.

How apt, to have 'Braved the Burma' on the very day that GLS 2012 was launched in Illinois.

The Burma Bridge is a hanging bridge, consisting of a 4- cable system, 120m across the King’s Kloof Valley and approximately 60m high above the ground. It consists of a bottom cable which you walk on, connected to two cables which are ‘hand rails’ and wearing a harness, you are connected to a cable above your head. Even the slightest breeze has you wobbling precariously over to the one side.The famous words ‘don’t look down’ are totally negated here, as you have to concentrate on placing your feet neatly on the bottom cable, while staring wide-eyed down at the potential plunge.

Snow's delight

Captured by an obviously-brilliant photographer: Snow | Johannesburg Zoo

It snowed in Gauteng yesterday!
                ... and I almost forgot to record it.

Heavier snow in Johannesburg than Pretoria, but we were delighted with a few happy flakes of our own. As expected, the snow magnetically pulled us outdoors (spot the South Africans ;) and we found ourselves happily huddled outside for a wee-while, delighting in the dainty flakes that quietly settled on our clothes.

Though my heart has danced in snow before (sledging in Devon, skiing in Germany and braving a braai in the gardens of Lee Abbey, London) it somehow seems a little more magical experiencing snow in South Africa. Perhaps the uniqueness of it makes the wonder ever-so-much more beautiful – a welcome visitor to a foreign land.

I was just under six years old when I last experienced snow in Gauteng. I remember dad and mom excitedly gathering their trio and rushing off to Jo’burg with the Dorans (records have it as 10 September 1981). There’s been snow since (apparently June 2007) but I missed that one, for some reason.

Facts aside though, yesterday’s splash of snow certainly managed to delight the heart. And surely that alone, makes it worth recording.