Meandering thoughts

Writer's block.

The dreaded constipation of coherant thinking and creative process.

I sit at my desk. Stare out the window.

I see a windmill replica in my yard. Its aluminum blades with red tips lazily turn with a breeze from the northwest. Round and round...like my thoughts.

Perhaps my problem is that the breeze from the northeast brings with it wisps of memories from my "other" life.

Perhaps that is why my thoughts are frozen in place this frigid morning in the southern hemisphere's winter.

Too much information to process. Friends from 30 years ago have surfaced lately on Facebook.

Along with those friends, memories that were buried under the ashes of time are revealed.

I am reminded of figures frozen in hot ash in Pompeii from the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. Day after day, memories long buried under several layers come back to my mind. Some are heart-warming, some make me laugh. Others make me cringe.

God does His work in mysterious ways, we are told. As a youth, I heard it. As a young adult, I heard it. As a middle-aged woman with children raised and a grandchild, I begin to understand it.

One of the scriptures that consistently comes to mind lately is Psalm 18:19, "He brought me out into a spacious place; He rescued me because He delighted in me."

The early years of my life were hard. The middle years of my life were hard bordering on excruciating, and this verse kept popping up when I read the Bible. During those hard times, I found it, relied on it, prayed for it to happen, and believed it would someday, but always with a bit of reservation in my faith because I didn't want to be disappointed in anyone or anything anymore.

But here I am, literally in a spacious place. Australia is largely uninhabited (compare the size as similar to the United States, with a fraction of the population) and very spacious. I can drive on some days near the country town I live in and not see another car on the road.

Over the last few weeks of reconnecting with friends from my youth, memories have surfaced. As a result some scars are throbbing.

But I am glad for that.

Because my scars are testimony of God's healing work in my life, and a reminder that I have truly been brought into a spacious place. He rescued me because He delighted in me.

And so, my writer's block hasn't necessarily ended...I've just danced around a few thoughts.

I hope they make sense.

If not, I'll try again later.