I am a chameleon.
Not that I am a scaly, slithery lizard with a long tongue. But rather, I adapt. I change colour with my surroundings. More specifically, I adopt the “colours” of people.

Those who know me well will testify to this change.

When in the company of my very flamboyant, eccentric friends, I tend to adopt their enthusiasm and dramatic tendencies. I indulge in the opportunity to be loud, silly, care-free and expressive. Sometimes to the head-shaking embarrassment of my friends or family.

When I spend time with dry-humoured, sarcastic people, that sardonic edge laces my comments and expressions. At times, this snappy shift in how I communicate with people, though often humorous, is regretful.

When I surround myself with people of a gentle, sincere nature, I tend to adopt their gentleness, to be more watchful of my words and expressions, and to be more sensitive to the emotions and reactions of people around me.

Now, this chameleon-ness presents for me a complex.

Who am I really?

I would venture a guess that I am a combination of the above, and other unmentioned, personalities and characteristics.
However diverse and amusing such a seemingly contradictory concoction may be, I don’t know that I like it too much. It speaks to me of insecurity, conformity, fear, and even hypocrisy.

It also brings to mind this idea: how much have I “chameleonized” to the character and personality of Jesus Christ?
I wonder if it is evident to other people that I have spent time in His presence.

And even more….how much time am I really spending there?

If time spent with friends is so evident in my behaviour, do others — even those friends with whom I apparently spend so much time — see Christ in me?

If I am not adapting, or rather, being transformed by the presence of Jesus, maybe I need to rethink where I am spending my time.

I don’t just want to be an ever-changing chameleon. I want to be a caterpillar transformed into a butterfly.
I want to be “a new creation” by the redemptive power of Jesus.

May my life be evidence that I have been with Him.

A cup brimful of sweetness cannot spill even one drop of bitter water, no matter how suddenly jarred.

~ Amy Carmichael ~

reflect: (verb)
to think, ponder, or meditate

It is a good practice to reflect.

My own reflections of late have produced this realization: I am incredibly, abundantly, undeservedly blessed.

It has been so wonderful being at home again. I have experienced peace, rest and refreshment in ways that I did not expect. I have laughed heartily and frequently. The retreat from the busy-ness and noise of the city to this small, quiet and familiar town has had a calming effect on me. To be under my parents’ roof, to be in their strong protective presence, to process and receive their wisdom in daily doses — has enabled me to slow down mentally and emotionally. Breathe. I do not feel overwhelmed by my thoughts. They are not so noisome and numerous and exhausting. My mind and heart have submitted to the tranquility that graces my parents’ home. My heart is quiet.
Thank You God.

I am thankful and humbled by the blanket of prayer that covers me. Friends and family have for months supported me with intercession. Even now, being at home, I see and feel the prayers that are being offered on my behalf; petitions that I might receive and abide in the peace and shelter that I have craved and anticipated in coming home.

Who am I, that I should be so loved by people around me? that God should see fit to give me so much grace through them? What have I done to deserve the love, prayers, grace and friendship that is offered so freely to me?
Truly, I have done nothing to deserve this.

But. Greater still is this mystery: whom am I, that * ALMIGHTY GOD * — the Infinite, All-knowing, essence of Love, Creator and Sustainer of the Universe — should know my name?
And not only this; that He would love me? bring me freedom? rescue me from the kingdom of darkness and invite me to be His bride?
This I cannot comprehend. I am increasingly, and eternally, humbled in gratitude.

He has delivered us from the power of darkness and conveyed us into the kingdom of the Son of His love
~ Colossians 1:13 ~

Life comes and goes in seasons.
There are the vibrant, active, busy seasons; times when you have a seemingly endless list of to-do’s, more social activity than you can keep up with, and eighty-two percent of the time you are running off of adrenaline and the cognitive necessity to get things done. Keep going…
And then there are the slow, introspective seasons. These are always post-busy season, and have a tendency to catch me by surprise. But just as autumn always follows summer, and winter tails autumn, the periods of deep reflection and processing always follow the periods of fast-paced activity. You would think that I would recognize the pattern by now…

Such has been summer.
A time of reflection, introspection, deep thinking, analyzing and processing. It is kind of like debriefing. The experiences, decisions, learning and accomplishments of the time between September and April (where did that first year go?) are processed, connected, revisited in the quieter hours of the day. The noise and chaos and go-go-go is but a memory, a distant mental image in which I often see myself in third-person.
Quiet, silence, stillness. Sometimes it seems like the very air around me has settled to wait, watch and listen.
And then I realize again the steady, gentle, unchanging presence of my Father. During those busy seasons, I often forget that He is there. He is not the obnoxious, attention-seeking type. He quietly waits, with perfect patience, for me to take notice of His presence. And then, when I acknowledge Him, I sense the question, “Do you have time for Me now?”

The reflection season is not over just yet. But it is the beginning of the end. Much of the internalization of the season before, the analyzing and conclusions, the realizations and coming to terms with what was, what could have been, what ought to have been; allowing God to chip away and strip down some of the fallible concepts I had been building on…much of this has already happened. But it’s not over just yet. The leaves are still green, the sun is still warm…

Begin the song exactly where you are.
Remain within the world of which you’re made.
Call nothing common in the earth or air…

Become an open singing bowl, whose chime
Is richness rising out of emptiness,
And timelessness resounding into time.

And when the heart is full of quietness
Begin the song exactly where you are.

~ “Singing Bowl”, The Singing Bowl: Collected Poems by Malcolm Guite