faith unfaded

Today was a planned marathon writing session. I had a 12-hour block scheduled, followed by a relaxing evening eating takeout and watching gymnastics as my reward.

But first, I had to set the tone. With pigtails befitting a writer poring over her childhood, Bluey pajama bottoms to feel the love of her grandchildren, and just enough makeup not to scare the stray cats, I headed to the front porch swing with a cup of hot chocolate to start my day.

I had a plan. (All Type A multitaskers do!)

I was going to listen to a worship song and write a Media Monday. It would be my faith warm-up writing exercise, quite like those typewriting warm-ups before our daily speed typing quiz in high school. I’d listen to the birds, let my heart sync in rhythm with the stillness of a spring morning, and store up a little extra peace before tackling some of the harder chapters.

I’d been on the swing for exactly 0.8 seconds before the train whistle broke my reverie.

Mere yards from what is arguably the busiest railroad in all of the Western Hemisphere, I rolled my eyes at the intrusion. But even that was growth.

I’d been warned about the trains and — in my naivety — declared they wouldn’t bother me. I truly thought they wouldn’t. I love the sound of a train in the distance. In the distance. Not feeling like it’s heading for my bedroom window at midnight!

I jumped so much that first night. Coupled with the creaks and groans of an unfamiliar house, I even called my mom. “If I start hearing the beating of a tell-tale heart underneath these floorboards, I’m out of here!”

I might have cursed my junior high friends and their slumber party ghost stories a little bit too. 😉

By Night 3, the evening sounds were familiar, even comforting. The blaring train whistle had gone from startling to merely annoying, and I no longer had to blast Asian spa music to drown it out as I slept.

But today — after rolling my eyes at its impeccable timing — I realized how much I enjoyed the rumble of the train after the initial interruption ended.

I also realized how it hardly fazed me anymore.

I couldn’t help but notice what a perfect metaphor it was for life.

Trials, troubles, attacks from the devil… they come in unbidden, breaking our peace. At first, we are frozen. Fearful. Sidelined.

But then we adjust. We learn how to keep going. We notice — of course we do — but we are no longer paralyzed.

After a while, we are so rooted in our own purpose — and so protective of our inner peace and joy — that we simply roll our eyes.

What’s even better is that we learn to appreciate the aftermath of the storm. The low rumbling of the train is the journey after the valley, the strength it builds and the gratitude of the victory.

Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain. 1 Corinthians 15:58

Basically, we’ve just learned how to play chicken with the train…and win.