It's a grey day, and it's raining hard.

I sit here in this warm coffee shop, vacuum cleaner buzzing in the background.  Girls at the counter informed me that they're closing in 30 minutes....just as I arrived.  Thwarted again in my attempt at an uninterrupted afternoon of deep thought and lengthy writing.

Have you ever had one of those days, one of those weeks, when you can literally feel yourself growing up, and growing older, and not per-say in the typical sense? 

This week there were no sudden moments of realization, no tremendous losses of someones dear to me, not even any scenarios where I had to act particularly responsible, but all the same, I felt changed.  The sort of change that starts at the core and so quietly and gently wraps its way through your existence that you scarcely know it is even there, until the change has already happened.

And you're left feeling slightly bewildered, and very much different. Curious where your old self could have gone to so quickly.

Perhaps it began a Saturday or so ago during a cup of coffee with 3 friends, all of them 30 years.  Realizing the gap of ages has narrowed, to a point of not mattering any more. 

Or perhaps it was the notice of the white and silver that is now beginning to streak through the blonde in my hair.  Tiny shimmers that pay homage to stresses, worries, and not trusting my Creator in as childlike of a way as I should.

Or, perhaps more than any of the other things, it truly took hold over this past weekend.  My brother graduated from college.  My younger brother, whom I love in a way words cannot express. I watched him wave amid the throng of robe-clad figures.  His smile alight and his confident way of walking...me and my younger sister waving back and blowing kisses.

We left him in Virginia, excited to pursue his life, his dreams, his music.  We drove back in the grey, and the rain, much like today.  Our parents exhausted and sleeping in the back seat of the minivan.  Me driving, drinking more coffee... Aimee kind and helping me stay awake.

The drive was quiet, fast, and we watched the clouds shaping, twisting, sun shining through in patches across the road.  Then suddenly, without warning, a traffic jam.  Just a couple of miles of slowly winding cars with frustrated faces in the windows.  I figured the issue was construction, or perhaps someone's car had skidded a bit by the side of the road and they had caused a slow down.  I wasn't expecting what I saw.

Amid everyone else and their busy lives, the blue police lights pulsated - and I saw the car.  Utterly crushed.  And I heard my Dad's voice from the back seat, "they didn't survive". 

I knew he was right.  I wanted to believe it was just scraped paint covering the hood of the car, but it wasn't. It was blood.  And the red marks stained the entire front of the vehicle.

Eyes brimmed and tears stung and I was trying to pear through fogged glasses while wrestling with what I had just seen. The abruptness of a life halted.  A life that could have been very much like mine.

We were driving through Charlotte now.  About 15 miles beyond the tragedy and blood.  An old-town trolley was merrily shooting down the interstate, with a wedding party standing by the back railing.  Waving giddy and all smiles, the bride in her perfect gown, her new husband with an arm around her waist.  We waved back.  Happy in their happiness, and my mind reeling from the contrast of the moments before.

Days later, I am still reeling, still grappling.  This paradox of the beauty and the gore.  Fairy tale moments and shattering calamities, all within a breath of each other.   Yet, more than anything, I've been reminded of a God who makes all things to work together for the good of those who love him.  Somehow, some way, He is working, restoring, bringing this upside-down world back to its rightful state. 

Oh how I wish that it were already so.