episodes 1 + 2.

i’ve been coming to this same spot now for a few years— a cabin nestled in the north georgia mountains where the cartecay river runs through. i have Lived some Life here in this cabin + on the private riverbank it sits above. many a long talks with Papa. sunrises + even a few sunsets. surrender.

/ cut to entirely different scene. perhaps a black + white still of a writer’s pad + pen; to visually indicate introspection.

no, no. color. it has to be in color. bold color. adjust vibrancy to 77. yes. right there. /

i have a newly discovered metaphor that revolves around the time it takes for the human brain to process new data. so much of our existence begins + ends before we really even know what’s going on. little, teeny blips on the radar of eternity. some so infinitesimal they barely register a vibration.

/ now go into storyteller mode. /

i started watching a new show with a new person in my Life. for those of you who know me well, teevee does not play a huge role in my routines or habits. i don’t think it’s bad or anything. i just find there is much more fun to be had adventuring outside or uncovering new layers of philosophy or dancing. always dancing. so to get me to sit down + actually pay attention to whatever creative propaganda is out there on the boobtube these days is nearly impossible.

unless you’re really cute, of course.

but moving right along… this new person tells me about this show, + from the description, it has all of the nerdy appeal needed to pique my interest. like sci-fi. + multiple seasons. + available to stream immediately.

but the person also warns me: “so hey. this cool show that i think you’re gonna like doesn’t really get going until the 3rd episode. in fact, the first 2 episodes are kinda slow + you won’t really know what’s going on. so you hafta stick it out to episode 3. then you’ll kinda see what’s happening.”

so i dove in— appreciating the fair warning.

now i may or may not have fallen asleep in the final minutes of episode 2, but i was mostly determined to be a good sport, looking for ways to connect. intentionally engaging my mind with the storyline. so much so that at our next viewing session, we moved seamlessly from episode 3, straight into episode 4.

at which point new person says, “welllllll. i mean— maybe it doesn’t start really making sense until around episode 6.” insert winsome smile.

/ i giggle as i hind-sightedly appreciate this new person’s cunning at keeping me engaged in interaction.

sly fox you. /

so here’s where this gets good—

this whole “how many episodes does it take to understand what’s going on in the show ” is my new metaphor for all experiences in Life.

for example— at a brand new job, you really have no earthly idea what is going on for the first handful of “episodes.”

or at a new destination spot— zero idea what is happening until a few episodes in.

or even in dating. absolutely no idea what is going on in those first few episodes. just lots of moving colors + sounds + smells. + prayerfully, not bad smells. please, Jesus, please.

/ go back to original photo of the pathetically deflated purple innertube pictured at the top of the story. /

so now that i’m on episode 7 or 8 of this mountain river cabin show— i can tell you that i’ve gotten to know the setting. i’m familiar with the nuances. i understand the general plot of how things go’round here. + i even know the list of characters. or lack thereof.

i’ve been here when i did not see one other human being for an entire 72 hours. for those of you who aren’t aware, utter seclusion is rather terrifying + enchanting, all at the same time.

so now let’s get to this purple plastic piece of discarded, forgotten, abandoned refuse that has been in my riverbank scenes from as far back as last december. + maybe even longer. but i know, for a fact, it was here at least 37 weeks ago, because i have video evidence. + i just so happened to watch the video the other day, refreshing my memory of that particular episode. interestingly enough, i even commented on the trash in the video.

so as i sunk my barefeet down into the sandy-muddy riverbank yesterday, ready to dive straight into episode 9, i looked across the river at the still-there purple trash + knew it was time to clean it up. not right then, of course. i was in no shape to tackle a fresh obstacle course at that moment in time, but i assigned it to my tasklist of things to accomplish during the weekend— this weekend retreat of solitude + healing.

that moment of inner dialogue sounded something like— note to self: you can’t leave on sunday until you wade across this river + go get whatever that purple thing is that’s been stuck on the other bank for as long as you can remember.

seems easy enough, right?

. . .

i want to tell you the rest of the story, but the sun is just emerging from her horizontal nest, + my skin is vibrating with anticipation of her medicinal rays mixed with the joyful melodies of music i’m about to start playing out on this riverbank. because dancing. always dancing.

so i guess i’ll save it for the next episode. you know— when you figure out a little more of what’s going on.

until then, i have a challenge for you today, sweet Friend— when you see a mess, + it bothers you to look at it, clean it up. it does not matter if you made the mess. it does not matter who made the mess. what matters is that it gets cleaned up.

this is literal, figurative, philosophical, theological, + relational.

thanks for letting me stretch your mind.

please join me for the next episode.

. . .

Love you. mean it.