176 miles, two hours and two minutes, of back roads, after a weekend of football, reading old texts, laughing until crying, and sleeping a lot gives you too much time to think. Guitar chords and raspy voices through the speakers, your own playlist of The Family Crest, The Lumineers, John Butler, The Spill Canvas, Lucero, City and Coulour, Kings of Leon, Third Eye Blind, Blink 182, Of Monsters and Men, The Civil Wars, Ed Sheeran, and The Killers. Windows down and 76. The sun warms your skin, while the shade gives you chills. Your heart is heavy, weighed down by that small town you're driving away from, your head cloudy with thoughts from every direction. You see a lot on those South Carolina backroads. A father playing with his daughter on a side street, a church for every mile, people traveling by bikes, people walking, people laughing, daughters playing in the front yard while moms chat nearby, a softball game, homes for sale, homes being built, homes run down. Open fields, a cow or two, picket fences. But most of all, you see butterflies.
They flutter into your lane, making you swerve a little to be kind. If you're like me, you'll worry about those butterflies. Dangerously flying into the road without realizing the danger. They weigh only a gram or two and your car at 65 miles an hour could easily cause them harm. As I blow by, I always look in the rearview to make sure they're okay. Almost always, those graceful butterflies are fluttering away behind me, unharmed by the draft.
Butterflies make me think. Somehow, my spiritual gift is thinking, I think. How do they survive that? Gusts of wind that threaten to take them over are seemingly nothing for them to handle. Unhurt and unafraid, my checking on them is useless because I know they'll only be fine.
Perhaps it's the grace that makes them fine. If you ask me, there is next to nothing more graceful than a butterfly, delicate and sensitive, but strong and fearless. So in being filled with grace, the winds are no battle for those butterflies.
I wish I was more like that.
I wish I was more aware of the grace I have that I didn't fret when the winds came. I wish I could fearlessly step into adversity, completely and wholly/holy ready for the threat approaching. I wish I would wander without abandon, going to places unknown, seeing everything.
Grace is important. And being aware of our grace is a billion times more important. Grace makes us brave, lets us love, it builds us up, it gives us strength, fights for us, and steps in the gap. Without grace, butterflies, and we, would be without a prayer.
I'm not totally sure what I'm trying to say, but I have this theory going and if I'm lucky, someone will catch on. Words are hard sometimes, especially when thoughts come easy. Thank God for grace. Thank God for being infinitely big enough to create, but lovingly intimate enough to know.
"Brenna, you're a great girl. By far the most intelligent, understanding, passionate, and caring person I've ever met. God really did create an angel when you were birthed."
How weird life is. Always changing itself and always changing us. Shaping us. And as we explore life, we learn. How weird is that? We meet people and we make relationships and we grow together and we learn, learn, learn. We learn about ourselves, about others, about the world, about ideas, about morals, about the One who is greater than us.
Thank God that we learn and that He gives us the opportunity to learn. To learn about grace and love that knows no boundary and about hope and about assuming the best in others and about being strong and about being weak.
Obviously my head is all over the dang place. I'm not sure what to think or type (very obvious, I'm praying for you if you've made it this far in the post). Jesus is just really good. And really big and really small. And for some reason, He chose me.
I didn't become a Christian until I was fifteen, but long before that, God put the traits of a Christian in me. How peculiar is that. He made me a Christian much before I could ever call myself a "Christian". He knew who I would become and He chose to simply shape me for fifteen years. Those fifteen years are so, so precious to me, almost as valuable to my testimony as me finding Jesus. Grace is what made those fifteen years. Thank God that He had grace on me and that He wasn't done with me after my fifteen years of running.
Life is hard and life is easy. It's beautiful, so intricate and marvelous.
I tell you what. I need to look at some stars soon. I always get to thinking that my problems are big, but I need to have a come-to-Jesus where I realize how silly I'm being. Jesus made all of this for us--the stars, the skies, the sunsets, the grass, the mountains, the valleys, the oceans. He has made us a whole planet to enjoy and love. And He still searches my heart. He still convicts me. He stills shines through me. He still chooses me. And I'm on my knees in awe of how He loves me.
You see a lot on those South Carolina backroads. A lot of brokenness, but so, so much beauty. You think a lot. About where you're headed (literally and futuristically) (disclaimer: I don't think futuristically is a word) (disclaimer 2: I don't care), about where you're coming from, about who is going with you to that place, about Who will always be with you through that trip, about that small town that is Home, about the Home you're going to, about your eternal Home, about love, about hope, about forgiveness, and about grace
My hearts swells with these things. I thank God for all that He has made my brain able to handle. How one person can think as much as I do has got to be some sort of spiritual gift (also the answer to my headaches). I don't know what I'm trying to say and maybe I never will know, but thank you for reading. Thank you for growing with me. Thank you for giving me the chance. Thank you for grace with me.
And thank you, God, for butterflies and backroads.
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