A Magical Moment

            There was a slight breeze in the air that night. Not enough to make the leaves fall off the trees, but enough to make them rustle. The air was cool. It was a chilly fall night and the moon was high in the sky. The school had lights on inside, probably trying to fool people into thinking that it was still in use. The school was abandoned, and everyone knew. The parking lot was almost always empty, unless two cars were there to meet up and exchange questionable materials. There are no lights on the parking lot, only the gentle light of the moon to display any activity that went on there.

            Off to the right there was a small play structure, from a distance it looked like the parking lot was empty, but with a closer look it was plain to see that there were several middle school aged kids just hanging out there waiting for something to happen. They must have seen the headlights because as soon as the car was parked, they started walking away. The parking lot was empty, the only sounds were the cars on the street and the rustling of the leaves. It was perfect.

            We parked the car, rolled down the windows, and cranked up the tunes. Not the kind of tunes that would play at a rave or exciting concert, these songs were romantic, old timey, and happy. They were the kinds of songs that take you back in time, to a place when simple romantic gestures were commonplace.

            My teeth were chattering uncontrollably. He said, “Would you rather get back in the car?” I said “no”, because I knew that what was about to happen would be worth any teeth chattering and shivers that came my way. He took my hand, placed his other around my waist, and we danced. They were not extravagant, graceful dance moves by any means, but they meant everything to me. In the past I had thought that this kind of thing only happened in storybooks and movies. But this happened, it was happening, and I was in love.

            I can’t remember how long we danced, several songs I presume. Somewhere in there he picked me up and spun me around. I guess you could say that was when I knew I was the happiest I had ever been. People kept driving past the empty abandoned school parking lot, but I was lost in the moment. Every once in a while, a pair of headlights would shine like spotlights on a stage, and we danced all the more. The breeze continued to blow, and the leaves continued to rustle. The moon hung in the sky like a chandelier, and the empty abandoned parking lot became a beautiful, dazzling ball room that only the two of us could see. People say that enchantment and magic aren't real, but I know I was part of a magical moment that night.

                       

Something That Matters

            I want so badly to write something that matters, something that makes an impact. I have such a desire to put words on a page that cause a stirring in one’s soul. I want to cause somebody to think differently about their world, or about themselves. I long to find the words that will come together and change a life.

            I keep taking out paper to write but I never find the right words to say. It used to come so easily, the ability to pour my soul out on paper. Once upon a time I could pick up a pen, write something meaningful, and hardly have time to even blink. But now, it’s so difficult to decide what to write that I have resorted to writing about not knowing what to write.

            Maybe it’s not about the topic of my writing, perhaps all that matters is that I write down something, even if it’s just a sentence. I’m probably out of practice, but I’m also a different person than when I began a year ago. I can’t write like I did then because I am not her anymore. I’m new, and so is my writing.

            I used to write about my internal wounds and my broken heart. I used to write about my insecurities and my fears. I used to write about my unhappy and afraid heart. I looked at writing as a way to get those feelings out, and to let people know that I needed help, that I was struggling.

            But life is different now. I don’t have to write about my broken heart any longer because my wounds have been healed. I don’t write about my insecurities because I have found that seeking God’s truth about me works better. I don’t write about my unhappy heart because I’m the happiest I have ever been in my life.

            Maybe I’m having such a hard time writing because my subconscious is making me feel guilty for sharing joy. Maybe I think that the only writing that matters is writing about pain and suffering. But my subconscious is wrong.

            Writing about joy is just as important as writing about sorrow. In fact, it may be more important. People need to know that even though suffering happens, joy comes in the morning.

            The joy and happiness I feel today is a testament to God’s faithfulness. He brought me through a storm and has filled my life with peace.  People need to know that their pain has purpose, that God will turn their ashes into beauty. People need to know about the hope of Christ.

            Writing about pain matters. It lets people know they are not alone, it lets people know the depth of human emotion, and it makes an impact. Writing about joy matters, too, especially if its joy that comes after a tough storm. Writing about joy and happiness shows the love of Christ, and shows just how much we matter to God.

            Writing about both sorrow and joy is a beautiful way to display the work of Christ, and one day when I walk through another storm, I will be able to go back and read of how faithful God has been in the past. I will have no doubt in my mind that He will be faithful again.

            I think I have been having so much trouble writing because I couldn’t figure out what God wanted me to say. Today, he is telling me to share about his abundant joy in my life. He wants me to write about how much he has changed my heart. He took my heart of stone and turned it into a heart of thankfulness, and that matters. Transformation matters.

            So I will write about my sorrows, and I will write about my happiness. Through every high and every low, Christ is there with me. I hope my joy impacts others even more so than my pain. I hope my new heart displays Christ more accurately than my broken heart ever did. I hope this joy of the lord will be my strength when the next trial comes my way. Both pain and joy matter, and I will write in such a way that proves it.