Enough Space

It’s snowing right now in Colorado. That’s right, suck it Portland. You may have great coffee and great beer and an amazing city, but you do not have snow. I think that’s what I miss the most about Colorado. The snow. The last two weeks I have been back in Colorado visiting friends and family before I go back to school in the Northwest. I just got back from this small town called Gunnison—where I went to school for about a year and a half. I have moved around quite a bit these past few years, but I still think some of the greatest people and some of my best friends come out of this town—which is strange because it is a small, cold town in the middle of nowhere with lots of hippies and snowboard bums.
Yesterday my friend Lauren and I drove back through the Western Slope and we drove over Monarch Pass where the aspen leaves were yellow like the sun and orange, like freshly picked oranges from Florida. The sun was setting and streaming through the wispy clouds, bright and illuminated, as if Jesus were coming back.
I was feeling kind of tired because for the past three nights I had stayed up way past my bedtime talking with old friends, catching up until we could practically see the sky get lighter and knew that the sun was approaching.
I thought about my friend Jamie (that’s what we’ll call her) and how she was going through a “crisis of faith” as she called it and she asked me how I got through mine and I said, “I’m still in it.” To which she replied by saying,
“Oh.”
And for a second I realized it was true and that I was still in it, and contemplated banging my head onto the green grass where we were sitting and screaming, “I’m still in it!” because that’s how I felt. But I didn’t, because there was a cute girl sitting next to me, and I didn’t want her to think that I was crazy (I already looked a bit strange, what, with my beard, Mohawk and tattoos.) Instead I got up and smoked a cigarette and I tugged on Jamie’s white jacket and asked her to stand up with me.
I didn’t exactly know what to say to her, but I wanted her to feel alright about life, even though I knew it was barely possible for me to. She asked me a couple questions to which I responded with, “I don’t know.” And I think she might have been a little bit disappointed, but I told her that I thought the best thing she could do was just be honest and that God was big enough for that.
Lauren and I were now heading into South Park and it was one of the most beautiful sights I have seen. South Park is a wide open plateau with mountains all around and at the very tops you could see a light dusting of snow that looked even whiter with the sun shining on it.
And Lauren and I, we were talking about faith and she said this very profound thing to me and it went like this, “There’s a lot of space.” I was kind of freaking out about things and she said that I should relax and not worry because there’s enough space for us to move around and God is not in any hurry.
“Hmm.” I said.
“It’s like at the football game the other day.” She said. “Did you see those tiny girl dancers?”
“Um, well, yeah, some of it.”
“The most interesting girl to watch is the one who has absolutely no clue what is going on. She is sort of paying attention to the adult teacher and the other minuscule girls, but she is really just flailing and falling down and not really sure what’s happening, but she is smiling and dancing her all. It was probably the best part of the entire game.”
The opposite sunset was just as beautiful and a pink-red sky was a backdrop for the blue and green mountains to the right of us.
“And I think God is up there, you know, in the stadium, watching us dance our lives and he is shouting, “Yes! Yes! Yes! You are failing so horribly but trying so hard and man are you cute down there failing around with your skinny arms!”
Because there’s enough space and God is not in a hurry.
And I thought that was a beautiful thing, and for the first time in awhile I felt okay about things.