hello again

I have written and rewritten a post called "hello again" almost every week this month, and it never seems to say what I want it to say. This post is going to say none of those things whatsoever.

Tanner and I visited Wisconsin for Thanksgiving, and I had the chance to talk to his Aunt Jody. She talked about his grandmother (her adoptive mother) and how she poured her heart into her grandchildren. She talked about the deep sorrow that always seemed to be present in Grandma's heart, despite the space it shared with a love for God and and joy overflowing from family. She told me that I have Grandma's spirit.

Now, obviously, she doesn't mean reincarnation, because I was in my late teens, early twenties (I think) when she died.  She meant that our souls were made of the same stuff. We are both proof that sorrow and joy are not opposites, that both can thrive in one's heart soil, that love has nothing and everything to do with grief. Grandma was a poet, an amateur artist, a strong heart with perhaps not the thickest skin.

Aunt Jodi asked if Tanner and I want any of Grandma's things before she gets rid of most of it. We asked for her poetry. I want to understand the woman everyone says I remind them of. I want to know the woman that poured so much in the man I married, so maybe I can understand him more. I want to know her, because maybe she will help me know myself.

leaves fall down

Another week of online class, another week close to shorts season being over.  The nights are cold enough for flannel and wool socks; the afternoons retain enough summer for shorts and sunbathing.

I started this post over a week ago. 

Almost all the leaves have fallen. We have had class in person for almost a full week now. It's shocking how swift seasons shift.

Here's a poem that sums up some of my thoughts lately, in case you missed it on my Instagram story:

the good life you know

might not be the good life you have.

i remember

(a phrase i overuse in poetry)

i remember

in the trailer

we didn't have much,

but always enough

for my parents and their friends

to have fondue and play uno

at night

and i

thought, "this is the good life,

the one i'm supposed to chase."

but that belonged to them

and even then

just for a season.

that's the good life i knew,

as opposed to the one i have,

neither meant to last

more than a season.

 

apartment 60 C

 Six months ago, my roommate and I were several weeks deep into mandatory quarantine. Today, Tanner and I are only a few days into yet another forced isolation.  We, thankfully, remain healthy, but our reality feels like a strange limbo.  It seems like every day we are hearing from missionaries who deeply desire to be overseas to begin or continue ministry and they can't go. Travel is apparently virtually impossible in light of Covid. In my small, human mind, the present and future of overseas ministry feels impossible.  People say things like, "When this is over..." but where is their guarantee that this will ever truly be over?

And then our house fills with the light of the rising sun, and a friend tells us that we are going to receive a financial support from their parents this month, and the coffee tastes amazing, and there are so many blessings pushing us forward into ministry that I have to call to remembrance what I know to be true. God has called us to be trained now, not five years past or future.  He cares for every "little picture" detail I notice and controls every "big picture" stroke I cannot fathom.

It is time to be comforted by my inability, rather than pretending I am able on my own. It is time...and yet this change of perspective is overdue. It is time, though I wonder if I will remember tomorrow? God is able to hold me in a place of dependence, I am not.

we look different now

Tan and I recently had the privilege of going to Iowa for our friends’ wedding. Still rocking the buzzed hair.

The combination of mine and Tanner’s hair off of our heads.

My friend Molly and I went on a walk and snapped a selfie.

a billion trillion lights

the stars

are

a billion trillion points of light

visible only to earth at night 

while the sun is not 

and God 

made it so.

the church 

is 

a billion trillion points of light 

visible over thousands of years of time 

while the Son is gone 

and God 

made it so.

so why are the lights flickering?

maybe because it’s darkest before dawn 

maybe because the Son won’t be gone 

much 

longer.

how much 

longer?

new perspectives

 when new people speak into your life, new pathways or connections need to be made in your mind. new realities need to be accepted and considered. new ideas need an opportunity to brew, to be mulled over.  here are some of those thoughts over the past few weeks:

"sometimes God uses people to draw our hearts out, so we can learn, in time, to allow the Holy Spirit to that, just the two of us."  a question that I have carried since childhood is, "why isn't praying enough? why does it feel like I need to talk to people, even after I talk to God?"  the reality is that there are two truths. the first truth is that God has created us in community. the second is that God created our most core desires and needs to be met in Him and Him alone. those two truths together are what make that opening quote to this paragraph relevant. God uses His people to work with each other in the process of becoming totally reliant on Him. that answers my question, but it takes time to mull it over and accept it.

"everyone has been wounded by someone else, and everyone has wounded someone else. no one is an exception."  that reality is devastating to me.  at the very core of who I was made to be, I am disgusted and horrified when faced with the reality that I have wounded others and will continue to do so, accident though it may be, in the future. that's a truth, too, but is God's intent with showing me the truth for me to get stuck on devastation? does He want me to spiral downward in despair?  no! the hope, the purpose, the intent is for me to recognize how and where I wound others and to stop, to apologize, to ask God for help in healing rather than hurting.

i am learning, and it is still a process.

homesick and hospitality

Homesick and hospitality are two words tumbling around my mind quite frequently these days.  I’ve thought about homesickness and I’ve wondered if it’s just the adolescent term for nostalgia. I miss home. I miss the old pattern of inviting people into my parents’ house, where the food is always good (by my estimation) and, while I was technically the host, my parents were largely responsible for the welcoming atmosphere. Even though this does not conclude my thoughts on homesickness, it is a rather seamless segue into hospitality.

A book I’ve been reading recently defines hospitality as providing a place or home for strangers, and the reality is that I want to be the stranger welcomed in. I am nearly crippled by the fear that, if I were to invite strangers in, my home and heart will be rejected. My heart is already home to so many aches (both homegrown and borrowed), the anticipated rejection is lodged in my throat like a stone - incapable of going up or down.

So you see, these two concepts circle each other like cat and dog around my train of thought, the ache for safe familiarity and the fear of being an unwelcomed stranger or an undesirable place for strangers to rest their feet. Jesus, you promised all things would be possible in your strength. I think the problem I’m running into is that my strength seems more accessible. Abba God, I need you. Ruah, spirit of God, move from my heart and mind through my mouth and arms in the strength I only possess through you. Use me to strengthen the people around me. I love you. Your will be done forever and ever.