ramblings, Spain g42

and the fog rolled in

When I was younger foggy day schedules were the best. My mom would shake me awake to tell me that I didn’t have to be up for another hour because school was starting late. To some that sounds crazy;to stop school for fog, but what you have to know is central California fog is no joke. There would be mornings when I couldn’t see across the street to the grape vines on the other side. Foggy day schedules meant watching TV on the couch and sleeping.

As I got a little older I started to dislike the fog more. There were too many accidents and too many deaths that took place. The fog started to be less like a blanket and more like an invisible roadblock.

Apart from all that I still like the fog. When I’m inside curled up by the fire and the fog rolls in; it still feels like a blanket, it still feels comforting. Fog tells a story of what’s not there.

The fog rolled in, in fierce ways in Mijas. As I walked home down cobblestone roads fog intermingled through the buildings and lingered outside of doorways. I turned the corner to head up  to my house I noticed that the fog was stopping at the base of the hill. My home sits higher in Mijas so it make sense that there was no fog at our doorway.

As I walked down the stairs to my patio I watched the fog, white and billowy, pour down the mountainside and cover the Mediterranean. Anything the fog didn’t touch seemed clearer, more defined, more colorful even against the white. In all this I thought of the phrase “having a foggy brain”.How a foggy brain makes thoughts seem murky or unclear and how after the fog subsides every thing is clear because you can actually see without searching or straining.

But what if instead of focusing on the part that is foggy we focused on the part just outside of the fog? Instead of looking to what we can’t see why don’t we look to what we can. So often, we choose to try to search through what we can’t see. We try to look for the unseen and forget to see what we can actually comprehend without hurting our eyes. And as we understand what is seen, the fog rolls back we see even more and we don’t miss the first part.

We’re doing prophecy activation this week at g42 and so many pieces of my life that I dubbed foggy are slowly being uncovered. It’s not quick or all at once, but I’m beginning to realize that the fog is fading and things that weren’t clear are beginning to be covered by the light.

Fog isn’t a bad thing. It keeps the ground from freezing and holds in warmth. It covers. Fog hold onto things (like oranges) so they don’t get ruined in the weather,so it doesn’t go bad before it gets picked.

The fog in my brain has been holding revelation until I was able to connect the dots. Until I was able to accept. A lot of those dots were connected today. But truthfully there is still fog. And if I’m being honest…it’s a lot of information that hasn’t all been made clear. A lot of information I haven’t been able to fully sort through.

But watching the fog roll in and out and uncover mysteries in my life has been a theme. Yesterday, the fog rolled in and out to physically show me things were about to be revealed.

To show me that what I didn’t think I had, I have now. It was just covered in fog, being protected, so when the freeze came the fruit wouldn’t get ruined because it wasn’t ready to be picked.

I’ve lived my life in different states of fogginess. But I’m choosing now to see what’s above or outside of the fog. Because eventually it will roll away and I will be able to see for what I’ve been waiting.

I’m not going to stand in the fog and search eyes strained. My vision already bad enough without forcing myself to see what is not ready for me to see.

hope is a verb, Spain g42

do the damn thing.

I’m ready.
Or at least, I think I’m ready.

When I had two months to go on the World Race last year I was in the middle of Cambodia in a village, hand washing my clothes and taking bucket showers, battling Small Eye, teaching little children English and for a season being a vegetarian because no has time to accidently eat dog.

I had a countdown chain that was counting the days until I hit the United States. I was ready to go home. Ready to be done. I had to firmly plant my feet in the rice fields of Cambodia and pray for so many aspects of life.

This time is different.

I’m not ready.

I am finding ways to superglue my feet into the soil of Mijas.
Ways to soak up every minute around these people I love.
I don’t want to leave this place. The people, the heart, the DNA.
There were parts of last year I didn’t want to leave.
But there is nothing really about here that causes me to retreat.

And that is why I am ready.
I have two months left and I am going to take all I can and infuse myself with this corner of the south of Spain.

And then to quote my friend Patty Reed “I’m going to go do the damn thing”.

I’m ready to step in the river; not test out the water, not stick a toe in, but go and DO and BE.

So this is why I am so utterly grateful that I still have two months to sink my toes into the sands next to the Mediterranean. Two more months to grab hold of all that this place has to offer.

Two more months to live in this place I will always call home.

My vision and dreams feel more real, more part of myself then they EVER have.

I’m ready to plant my feet and build, speak and create life.

As I sat in class today this is what I came to terms with; I realized I’m ready, but I’m not.

So let’s go do the damn thing.