On Vision

We’ve been digging out the hole to the foundation of our new home. We’ve got a Chilean man working for us who has worked on and off for the Bustamante family since Rodrigo was fifteen. He suffers from Glaucoma.  Leave it to us to hire a carpenter who can barely see what he’s doing.

The ground is hard and it’s difficult work.  He’s not complaining.  Victor’s thankful for the money.  I pick him up every morning at the flower shop and drive him to the land.  Rodrigo picks him up in the evening and drives him back to the flower shop where he takes a bus home.  His days are long and cold.  He carries coffee in a thermos and talks to me about his sheep and chickens.

Currently, I’m working on the final stages of my edit for WATERS. A novel I started about five years ago because I saw something in my mind’s eye.  I saw a girl trying to tame a crazy dog.  And I saw a lighthouse.  I wanted to know how they were connected.  I wrote to know more, and eventually dug out the foundation of a story.  I was blind digging it out, day by day, feeling for the pieces, unearthing images that would show up in my mind’s eye one by one.

Eventually, I met the girl.  She needed to find a way to survive a terrible loss.  Five years later, I’m at the final stages of my novel.  I’m painting the trim, putting up the curtains.

Yesterday afternoon, we trekked to the backside of our land, across the bridge, through the meadow, over the short hill, to the wetlands, which we haven’t yet explored. The kids climbed up on the trunk of a fallen tree. Birds chirped and squawked around us, Gibby pranced and raced, got stuck in the bushes.

“What in the world are we going to do with this land?” I asked Rodrigo.

He shook his head, stared off at it. “I’m just trying to get the foundation done for the house. I haven’t even thought about the backside yet.”

The vision unfolds over time. Yes, we have a dream percolating in our minds, in our hearts, but we can’t see yet what will be. We have a hole in the ground where we hope to build a house.  We feel a call that makes no earthly sense.  We yield to a voice who gives direction one step at a time.

In about thirty minutes, I’ll grab my car keys and drive to the flower shop to pick up Victor.  I’ll ask him about his day off.  He’ll tell me about his mother, his daughters, his chickens.  I’ll unlock the gate and leave him for nine hours to dig up the ground for my new home.  We’ve laid out chalk for him to see where he’s supposed to place his shovel.  He’ll sweat, dig, and breathe in the clean, cold air.  While it would be so wonderful if his vision came back, if the clouds covering his eyes cleared up, he doesn’t have to see clearly right now to do his job.  He needs to trust the chalkline we’ve laid out for him on the ground.

Vision isn’t about knowing every single detail of your journey, of the undertaking.  It’s trusting that what you see right now, today, is enough.  Give us this day, our daily bread…

Now, five years later, I understand more of what the lighthouse and the dog are all about.  If I had known everything all at once, I would have missed out on all the fun, the joy of the journey.

We see what we need for today.  One day at a time.  And if we’re faithful in the day to day, after some time, after sweat and tears, of letdown and frustration, of some valleys and some peaks, of tired legs and glorious meadows, you’ll look back and realize you’ve become part of a story.  A big story.  The biggest one of all.  And yours fits perfectly inside it.

Have a wonderful Monday.

Much Love,

Tina