Season Maker

I love being trapped on trains or planes, especially without the internet or television. It forces me to stop, to breathe and to focus without giving me another noisy option to distract me from pursuing my greater purpose. I actually lament the announcement informing us of the approaching descent or the arrival of my metro or train stop. This is especially true of this trip where I have been engrossed in the Brothers Karamazov, cherishing every spare moment I have to spend time with the crazy Russians who have so much to reveal to me about my heart, my purpose and my unbelief. Some of my most enjoyable moments of this trip has been just sitting at cafes inhaling the fresh Parisian springtime while I inhale Dostoyevsky’s masterpiece. In these moments, everything slows down and I find solitude and communion with God despite the hustle and bustle about me.

It’s funny; Papa will go to great length to get my attention. I’m prone to complain about all the things that I would change about my life, my health, my heart’s desires that have yet to be fulfilled and the list goes on, but in moments of clarity, I recognize that I don’t want some weak substitute of God’s perfect plan for me. I don’t want to be Saul and have the crown thrust upon me only to melt under the weight of such power and stature. David was forced to endure 13 years of trial and suffering after Samuel declared his inheritance before God permitted to ascend to the throne. Those years formed and shaped him and equipped him to handle the favor which God desired to place upon him. The three Karamazov boys appear to be diametrically opposed to each other in a way that requires Non-Euclidean geometry, but in this milieu I recognize great strengths and weaknesses in each brother that is very present in me, both good and bad. Suffering is a huge part of the story, but the reader is invited to witness the difference between arrogant vane suffering and a purging suffering connected to Christ and calling forth Hosanna and our earthly Resurrections.

Oh for moments of solitude, but they are so heavy upon us that we avoid them at great length even though deep down we recognize the power and purpose in enduring them. Ivan beautifully portrays this flight from freedom that Christians flock two because it is frighteningly overwhelming. He echoes Paul’s words to the Galatians calling them to abandon their regression to live under the law b/c it is comfortable and doesn’t overwhelm them the way that living by the Spirit forces them to surrender, to lay down their self, their choice in order to fully live. What a glorious paradox. I’ve had a good number of conversations with others and internally regarding the nature of spiritual spring versus winter. The Parisian springtime blossoms, buds and breezes beckon me to spring, and the sunlight of this shift brought me joy that I have not experienced for some time. In the midst of this joy though, I realized that seasons don’t matter, because I know the season-maker and I trust his goodness!

Who could ever predict a massive volcano eruption bringing all of Europe to a halt? Again, I’m presented a mandatory respite requiring me to change my own plans and to listen to my divine season maker. Last night I was planning not to sleep b/c I have a lot of work to do, wanted to finish my book, didn’t feel like spending 20 bucks on a dependable alarm clock to wake me up for the early morning train, and I didn’t trust the hotel staff to walk all the way up the six flights of rickety spiraling wooden staircases since my phone wasn’t working. Well I was watching the Wire as it has been compared to a modernized urban Brother’s Karamazov and next thing you know I’m waking up in a panic at the light outside. I must have dozed off around 3:30 and I have the capacity to sleep for 13 hours or more given the opportunity and so I panicked assuming I certainly slept beyond my necessary wake-up time. I couldn’t believe it when I looked at my computer to see that I essentially woke up at the perfect time to reasonably collect my things, grab a croissant and espresso strolling through the streets one last time before embarking upon the next legs of my adventures.

I grabbed a seat near the middle and we were shortly off. (Pointless aside: The first thing that struck me was the series of seven illustrations detailing the emergency window smashing procedures. I laughed, it was terribly complicated and required you to perforate the glass then by puncture with the hammer and repeat both steps three times and then voila, you are free! We are screwed if anything happens)

You’d have thought that I’d have learned from Milan that I should always double check the destination of trains in Europe, but I didn’t. I was relieved to get to Strasbourg, our first stop and hear the announcements for Zurich on my current track. Well, unbeknownst to me and not adequately addressed in the announcements was that the first half of the train would continue on to Zurich while the rear remained there. Of course I find this out quite late and the train is long gone. Unreal, I can’t believe something like that happened again and I can feel the stress rising up in me and the fury. Well a friendly chap from the UK did the same thing and upon inquiring about our course of action, we were told that the next train to Zurich was in two hours and we would be fine to wait for that train. Bearable. Well I grabbed another coffee and walked outside toting my two massive suitcases, backpack and camera bag. I would just sit in the plaza in front of the monastery turned transportation hub.

After I calmed about, read some of Dmitri’s trial and took in some sunshine. I decided that I would explore a bit and within a five minute walk I found myself at the meandering banks of the Rhine assaulted on all sides by an advancing spring. I chuckled as I recognized what a fortuitous blessing to be so foolishly detained at this station. I sat down in the fresh air at a quaint riverside café, enjoyed a sucre glass of vin blanc (reminded me of the delightfully sweet wine we shared in Napa!) with delicious croquettes aux tres formages and the company of Dostoyevsky’s ghosts. It couldn’t have planned it this well, but I just don’t have the foresight to trust completely in the one orchestrating my life and enjoy without fear the incredibly intimate and perfect journey he desires me to travel in spite of my own intentions to go off-track. After a relaxing and nourishing lunch, both in mind and body, I strolled back to the station and sat for ten minutes reflecting on God’s perfection and my immaturity.

I pray that I have the strength to step aside from myself and marvel at the divine season maker and his delightfully perfect plan for me, volcanic ash, confusing trains, riverside glasses of wine and heartbreak included. In sorrow there is joy, in joy there is sorrow. May they equip me to handle his favor and honor him fully in the plans he has for me.