this past week, within 120 hours, I rode on four different airplanes.
over the last week, I went to five cities, watched at least 50 episodes of tv (hello, Fixer Upper and Grey’s), slept for hours on end, ate delicious food, saw my sweet momma, cried a bunch of tears, and smiled more than I have in months.
I flew from Greenville-Spartanburg to Charlotte to Minneapolis, drove into Fargo (which is a much cooler place than anyone gives North Dakota credit for). then we drove back to Minneapolis to fly to Charlotte to fly back to GSP.
it was a blast. it was so fun. it was such a special thing to explore a city with my mom. this morning, I was thinking how tragic it is that I have to go back to school tomorrow because I would give a lot to be back in Fargo with my mom. oh, my mom. not enough affectionate terms could explain how sweet the time was.
the Charlotte to GSP flight was literally only fifteen minutes in the air, I have no clue how that happens. the flight kept my eyes glued out of the window. I was lucky enough to have the window seat on every flight and I’m still counting my blessings from that.
and yet, all I could do was stare out of that little window. normally, my mind wanders to places that I love (even when they’re tough places), but for the majority of the plane rides, all I did was stare.
“there has got to be something here”, I thought. there was no way that I could look out over (what felt like) the whole world and not have any words to write about it. there just had to be words for me to write about it.
and then it finally hit me, on the last flight – a 15 minute one, who would have thought?
I had watched the way the sun glittered across frozen lakes, reflecting so blindingly that even from thousands of miles up, I had to close my eyes.
and yet, I am known.
I’d seen the intricacy of highways and mountains and subdivisions. I’d seen shopping malls and had to wonder what they were because they didn’t look like shopping malls from 17,000 feet up. and yet, I am known.
I’d witnessed the complexity of runways and planes and hangers. I saw microscopic cars and semis. I saw our giant plane cast house-size shadows on houses, baseball fields, tennis courts, and freeways. and yet, I am known.
I think that it took some 35,000 feet for me to realize that I am known. that even though there are literally a million, bajillion things happening every moment, God sees me and knows me. what a tender thing it is to be known. that nothing could make me not known. that nothing could change the intimacy of being crafted and cared about.
because, friends, this season has run me to the ground. and I know I say that often and I am sorta trying to make the most of it, but it has been much harder than I like. my soul so needed to know that it is known. that it is cared for and seen. that there is a plan much more intricate than highways and subdivisions – one of insurmountable glory and joy and life.
in the headaches, I am known. in the spinning and stress and hopeless planning, I am known.
in the relationships that suck, I am seen, I am known. in the heartbreak and the dreams about ex-boyfriends and in the sin that so easily entangles, I am seen, I am known.
in the future, I am known. in my yesterdays, I was known and am still known in spite of them. in my annoyances and my frustrations and my exhaustion, I am known.
that, that being seen and known, is better than anything. it is better than life. it is special and sacred and deep. I cannot express how deeply I needed that.
and still, I am known.