Spare Oom

Where am I? What is the rain doing here? Why is everything so gray?

Where is California? What are palm trees? Whoever needed a warm beach, anyways?

How long has it been since California? I don't even remember half the time. We drive to the bus stop (the Bus Stop? What is this Bus Stop?) every day, by pastures and cows half invisible through the mist. Often it rains, and all one can see is the asphalt playing with the rain.

We return to our house--it's a pretty darn big house--and I can't remember if I live there, or we are intruding on another man's home.

And the trees...Oh, the trees! Everyone admires them in the summer, and then forget about their beauty when it's raining, even though it's the rain that keeps them green. So vast, so intricate...My English teacher would chastise me for using such lofty language for a mere tree; but when you are as small as I am, it really becomes a matter of perspective.

But really, trees? Aren't those the skinny tall things with leafy pom-poms at the top? The universal sign for In-n-Out? Since when have trees been something grand?

Sometimes, it feels as if Aslan has pulled us through the wardrobe. It feels as though we are traipsing about in another world, another story, another life. Mr. Tumnus shall bustle nervously out of the forest, the Dawn Treader will lazily drift across the pond in our backyard, and the Penvensies will be sitting down for tea in the kitchen.

But I know this isn't Narnia, even if I can't remember if this is my world at all.

We have a different sun, a different moon, a different sky. Most of my days are spent feeling lost; more in a physical, locational (is that a word? :S) sense than anything else.

What does one do when they are lost? Wander? Wait to be found? Do their homework? Pray?

"Lord, you have been our dwelling place
in all generations.
Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

You return man to dust
and say, 'Return O children of man!'
For a thousand years in your sight
are but as yesterday when it is past,
or as a watch in the night.

You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream,
like grass that is renewed in the morning:
in the morning it flourishes and is renewed;
in the evening it fades and withers.

For we are brought to an end by your anger;
by your wrath we are dismayed.
You have set our iniquities before you,
our secret sins in the light of your presence.

For all our days pass away under your wrath;
we bring out years to an end like a sigh.
The years of our life are seventy,
or even by reason of strenght eight;
yet their span is but toil and trouble;
they are soon gone, and we fly away.
Who considers the power of your anger,
and your wrath according to the fear of you?

So teach us to number our days
that we may get a heart of wisdom.
Return, O Lord! How long?
Have pity on your servants!
Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,
that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
and for as many years as we have seen evil.
Let your work be shown to your servants,
and your glorious power to their children.
Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,
and establish the work of our hands upon us;
yes, establish the work of our hands!"

-Psalm 90