At the edge of consciousness...where the lines they start to fade...where the spirit goes undressed...of all malice and brocade...
Sometimes, I don't handle things well...last week, I reached a tipping point. Frustrated with how hard things are sometimes, frustrated with professors, angry at reckless taxi drivers...everything seemed to be piling on top of me.
Our flight to the south to Puerto Varas (Northern part of the Patagonia) was almost cancelled due to volcanic ash in the air from Volcano Puyehue. Well, actually, we thought it was cancelled, but it wasn't. And, we missed our flight.
So, after I yelled at a taxi driver, cried because we missed our flight, and had a meltdown, we packed our bags in a hurry and rushed to Santiago to catch a later flight that we weren't even sure we would be able to get on. We waited on standby, and against all odds, there was space.
Sometimes, I don't understand why things are so hard...and then, other times, I don't understand why things work out. That shows how much I don't know.
As I sat on the plane, I was so humbled. You know those moments when you shake you head at your own ridiculousness? I don't know, maybe I do that more than most people. I thought, There are worse things than missing a flight. Would I have chosen to be thankful anyway even if things didn't work out?, shaking my head at the answer I knew was true.
Well, everyday in the lakes region of the northern Patagonia was phenomenal. Everything was so green. I just wanted to gather all the green hills and trees in my arms and take them with me.
Gulf of Ancud in Chiloé.
There was a lot of yellow too...
The town of Ancud on the lakes, full of churches, hills, and everything green.
Climbed a volcano.
We went rafting, visited the German settlements (Southern Chile has a huge German influence with German settlements sprinkled all around), drank German beer, and drank in the mountains, volcanoes, rivers, the green, the waterfalls...all of it.
Some things are hard and some things are beautiful. Sometimes they're both. My dad tells me, "Sweety, that's life." true, true, so true.
At the edges, silvery edges...where the mirror, it bends and stretches...Past the edges of this world...where the waters crash and curl...
I always thought the more I see, the more I do, the more I learn, the more I would know. But, I only realize how much smaller I am, how little I know, and how much more I have to learn, how much more God has to teach me.
I'm not even graceful, I don't have everything together. If it ever appears that way, I am kidding myself. It seems like sometimes all I can handle, all that I can process is, "Cling to what is good..." (Rom 12:9) And, I just say it over and over.
crashing, curling, clinging, clinging, clinging,
Sophie
P.S. If you see my mom, give her a hug. I'm going to be 22 years old in less than a week, and I still call my mom crying. She deserves a medal for being my mom. She listens to me cry when I'm stubborn and inconsolable, and she's so patient.
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