Optimistic Air

Waiting for the large car bombing down the street to pass by flipping through her keys, she checks both ways as the vehicle hurtles by and crosses the street behind it. Swiftly approaching the house with a fresh coat of purple paint hiding the mildew and weakening structure, she holds onto her keyring only by the key she needed to enter. Yanking open the outer door, she sighs, knowingly catching the free-flying screen before it can crash into the house proper. With a gentle huff, she inserts the key, turning the knob and opening the door with it, adeptly clicking the lock back into place as she crosses the threshold. Stepping through the doorway, she steels herself and breathes deeply.

What is that… scent… hanging in the air? Something… fresh… something… new.

Cautiously closing the door behind her, she slowly paces up the stairs. Her shoes drag on the carpet as she ponders where the novel smell is coming from. It isn’t even spring yet, so even the outside air doesn’t carry that whiff of optimism this crusty house currently shares with her. As she climbs the stairs, the scent fades. Yet it catches her focus, lifting her heart, albeit leerily.

Good news has been beyond difficult to come by as of late. She spent extensive time knocking on all of the doors of opportunity she could find, yet the answers were few and far between, and the invitations never left the welcome mat. There were a handful of things arising from the strangest of places to tap on her shoulder from behind, but those tended to fall through as well, so she grew to look at such occurrences dubiously. Nothing comes easily any longer. At this point, even air is suspect.

Yet, she knew that something would come along and happen just the way it was meant to in just the time it was meant to happen. Her patience may be wearing thin, but she trusts that something will come of this struggle – if only she will allow herself to grow in it. Whether or not she grows is a decision for her to make, but the struggle will not cease simply because she refuses to grow with it. Rather, she cannot decide that the difficulties end, but she must decide whether and when to use them to her advantage.

Thou hast kept count of my tossings;
put thou my tears in thy bottle!
Are they not in thy book?

– Psalm 56:8

There is a reason for every obstacle. Just as God permitted Job to be tested, so, too, may He put my feet to the fire to render my strength. She glances back down the staircase before turning to her own locked door. And sometimes God greets us with sweet scents to remind us we are not alone.