Feelings are difficult to ignore, but sometimes we must do just that to deny ourselves what may be good, in order to have instead what is actually best. I wish I could say with certainty what is best. I don’t know. When it comes to God and his Glory I know I want him, but how I achieve that and through what people and circumstances he is allowing me to enjoy him and his creation and his creatures…I can’t say what the best route is to get there. I suppose the best rout is to believe in choice and grace to fill in after any mistakes that we may make along the way.
We Ignored It
We journeyed out into the silent midnight, bundled up in extra layers, seeking a serene place to behold. The muffled sounds of the city fell soft like snow on our wind reddened and wool capped ears. We plodded along through the frozen city tundra—white-capped buildings, manicured bushes polished by ice, post holing slightly through the streets, trekking under snowy brides and up slippery glaciers covering concrete.
Dim orange light illuminated the walk. Endless rows of faded moons held up high on gothic style lampstands. We walked. Fracturing the plastic surface of the snow, creating cracked stained glass window fragments beneath our feet. We talked—wondered—about that sound our feet made as they punched through the thin freezing layer of frost that slept on top of the powder below.
It was a wordless sound. Impossible to name. We tried but metaphors and onomatopoeia failed us. We didn’t know what to call it…like our walk. Like our talks, or the hand holding, or the kissing—we didn’t know what it was.
But we walked. Through the silent midnight, slowly and in stride, filling the soundless air with other words as we broke through the solidified snow beneath our feet.
My gloveless hands sought shelter inside my coat pockets, leaving a sleek, inviting, sliver of space between my arm and my body. Maybe it was the momentary need for stability while walking the slick streets, or maybe the instinct to seek warmth, I will never know, but her hand and arm slipped with subtlety into that open crack and settled comfortably there.
And now I wondered—wondered what holding on meant as we continued in silence through the streets. The silence—I let it stir in my mind sleeplessly for days and it shouted loudly nothing but my own thoughts back at me. So, I shut it off. Then and there, while plodding along, our own footsteps following close behind us in the lamplight, I shut it off and fought for the silence—the sweet and silent sound of ignoring myself.
That is how we continued through the midnight. I wondered and ignored. I felt in my pocket the small oily coffee beans, the half-frozen hardness of dark chocolate, and heard the squeaky sound of plastic wrap covering a mint. All three secret ingredients ready for me hide beneath my tongue, creating her favorite seasonal drink—a peppermint mocha Latte—and on this snowy evening a perfect seasonal kiss.
But I ignored the want, the want for more than a mocha kiss on her soft, pink lips.
I ignored the want for a long-term kiss, the kind that lingers in your stomach and your memory, but pushes you to wonder about all the future kisses that could be. I ignored it.
I ignored everything that I knew would be better than creative kisses. Walks like these, late at night. The holding on meaning something more than stability and warmth…but desire for stability, desire for warmth. Fingers intertwined instead of arms. I ignored it. Talking until the sun comes up. I ignored it. Plodding along, journeying together. I ignored it.
Then, before we stepped back into the warmth of the apartment, she smiled at me.
I wondered—and then I ignored that too.