The year was 28 B.C. (Before Cleveland), and Jake and I took a trip. We left the girls with my mom, boarded a plane, and flew to Cancun to celebrate our break-up with medical school.
Now, in the year 1 A.D. (After Des Moines), I keep thinking about this picture I took during our decent into Mexico:
I've never been much of a poet though, so I went straight to the metaphor and have been thinking about it since. I love a good metaphor, see? (Augustus Waters and I would have been great friends.)
I can't stop thinking about the horizon line, and I can't stop feeling like I've been walking it. The place where Before Cleveland meets After Des Moines is thin, but it feels separated by a line nonetheless.
Therein lies the problem. Before and after.
I've been going back to the blog archives recently. There's the one where I first started talking about stories and the one where I reflected on the lie that I deserved something different. There's the one where I had an identity crisis, the one where I was feeling isolated, and the one where I vowed to "season the season."
Technically they are words from "before", but they're all (and countless others) so pertinent to the now that I am reminded of how thin the horizon line is. There isn't really a "before" and an "after." There are chapters, of course, but as any good novel would tell you, they are connected by the thread of a larger story.
And, wouldn't you know, the themes of this season of my life were introduced into my story long ago.
I appreciate a good reminder every once in awhile that life is not a series of coincidences. That everything is connected and that, if I listen and let Him, God will equip me to face each new chapter with knowledge from what I have seen and been through before.
[insert a tacky line about expanding my horizons. that's all I've got.]
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