Laura Heming, Editor-in-Chief
At the beginning of my time as Editor-in-Chief, I found myself wondering about the nature of what my letters would be — would they be eloquent, poetic revelations from my everyday life? Perhaps humorous anecdotes from my interactions? I didn’t exactly decide, per se, because if I am honest my writing is often spontaneous. Ideas will come to me at the most curious of times — whether it’s in my grumblings while going to school through -20o weather, or in the times where I am suddenly hit in the stomach with a sack of sand wondering what my life will sprout in the next few years. And I have no doubt that there is a reason why these ideas always come a few days before the long awaited publication nights.
And so, without a doubt, my March idea came to me the same way it often does: in the midst of my grumbling — when God seems to speak to me loudest.
During a spontaneous day trip to Niagara on the Lake, my friends and I ran (quite literally) through the streets in the crazy manner we often do when we are together. From taking pictures of horses pulling buggies to singing Pocahontas in an outdoor park stage, to tricking each other into memorial jail cellars in city halls (again, I emphasize we are crazy when together).
We got to the lakefront at the end of our antics, where a glacier type ledge stood by the edge of the water, covered with murky grey snow. I stood at the edge, breathless, looking into the vastness of the newly born spring water — a water body celebrating being free from a hard, fought winter.
I was there, looking down into the dark waters and my feet inches away from quite possibly falling in, where I had my “moment” — the ‘aha!’ connection, electric shock kind of moment writers experience from time to time.
My time of crazy antics, presentation prepping, paper writing, and newspaper editing are about to expire. I am finding myself standing on murky ground — not hearing direct instructions from God any which way. The answers to the questions I ask are not black and white, and I am standing looking into this huge, unchartered mass of water wondering how on earth I will ever find my direction.
What I am learning, however, (although it is truly a daily tussle between me, myself and I) is that some things in life will never be black and white. Rather, it will be a sheet of post-winter slush. What is important is not that God puts me on a black or white space on a massive, human race chessboard. The key is the seeking of him in those times where it feels like we are about to cannonball into a crisp well of water. Our comfort, growth and strength are found in the times where we can’t hear answers. I somehow think that is not the point of our lives in God. I think it is the journey, and whom we are speaking with through it.
If you are finding yourself, as I’m sure many of you are, standing on grey snow — on a ground covered in uncertainties and unclear answers, take comfort in the fact that underneath that snow remains a solid ground, a firm foundation, and as long as we are standing on it, we cannot be led astray.