Annie Pliego Photography

It is a foggy day, just the way days have been lately.  The sun-rays come and go through the clouds, but most of the time there is fog.

She puts on her pretty dress, the one that swirls beautifully when she spins around.

Over and over again, she dances.

She spins with wide open arms in the fog. 

She stops. 

All is moving inside of her, outside her, all is unstable. At least that is the way it seems to be. 

And I look from the window, standing where the sun rays appear and disappear behind the clouds, the fog. All is moving, all is swirling inside my head, my heart. Thoughts. This, that. The next. The book, the girl, the man.

The fog won’t rise.

The girl is spinning again.

What matters, what doesn’t? What fights should I fight and which ones are not for me? All is swirling. This, that. Poetry. Calvin. Luther. Chesterton. Analogies. Fog. Love. Unity. Division.

She stops. 

Her legs are firm in the ground.

Her arms still opened wide. 

I stop. I press my Bible to my chest. Hard. I feel a hard lump in my throat. Words are hidden in the fog.

A sun ray shines on her and she starts spinning again.

All these terms, these theological questions. This, that. The passion for one or the other. The songs we sing. The books we read. The words we write. The conversations we have. The lives we live in the open. In the secret.  They all matter. They do. Even when the fog won’t rise and all is moving inside us. It matters. It does matter. I am what I believe.

She spins.

It matters what I believe.

It determines how I will respond…

In the days of darkness.

In the days of joy.

In the days of trouble.

In the days of health.

In the days of sickness.

In the days of trials.

In the days of peace.

She still spinning.

All the days I will live

Under the sun,

Under the fog.

Today, tomorrow,

The time in between.

They all matter.

It does matter!

She stops. She grabs her dress as if by holding unto it she won’t fall. 

I am still holding my Bible. Tight. I do not want to fall.

The sun rays are now coming back through the glass, this time shining on me. All is moving inside of me and tears have found a way to escape through my eyes. I have tried to hold them back but they won’t stay in.

She is tired of spinning. Dizziness has overcome her.

I look at my Bible. The Word of God. It has never been moved. It will always remain. Firm. It never changes. Every word in it has been spoken by the Author of Life. The Alpha, The Omega, the Great I Am. I press it hard to my chest.

O how I love the Word that sustains my life in the midst of all the fog!

Oh how I love the Word of God!

He spoke and all was created.

He spoke and darkness was removed.

He spoke and the Devil did not overcome.

He spoke my name and I lived.

She is holding her dress and playing with it. 

She is content in the fog, and dizzy no more.

I try to smile, to remember what I have learned. How to be content. What I believe. Who am I. I know what it takes not to faint. It is not what I can defend with logic and arguments that sustains me when I am dizzy. No!

It is not that.

It is deeper than that.

It goes beyond that.

It is not what I believe in my head,

but in my heart that keeps me going,

and keeps me still.

It is His love burning in me.

How can I explain with logic and rhetoric, in English or Spanish, this, that, éso, aquéllo?  It is His love that captivates my heart, that sustains my life. It His light shinning through the fog, through tears, and the uncertainties of life that holds my life tight.

To be loved by the Great I Am.

To be known by name.

To be able to respond to that amazing love.

The Spirit  within me,

My cry: Abba Father!

The song He has put in my heart.

That He rejoices over me with singing.

All that undeserved grace.

All that has been forgiven.

How can you possible explain this, that?

And yet that is what sustains me.

That is what strengthens me when all seems to be spinning around.

I come out and hold her hands.

We smile and spin together.


And then we stop.


All is moving inside of us, outside of us, all is unstable. 

At least that is the way it seems to be.

 

Becky