ready to go, oh, so very ready

Now that my bags are (almost) completely packed, I allow myself a few minutes to stretch, breathe.  It's finally sinking in: I really, truly am going home. My flight leaves in four hours. In 20 hours, I'll be back with my beautiful redwoods, hugging my family for the first time in too, too long.

It's been a crazy past few weeks. So busy, of course, with work. Add to that extra hours, extra gatherings with friends, this new thing called chiropractic, and a birthday party, and it's been much too busy. It's been fun, too, mostly. Stressful. My appetite is finally returning today after a week of barely being able to eat enough. I'm still in slight (happy) shock after Monday's turnout to my party. Add to that other twists and turns, and I'm finding myself clinging to this one certainty: Soon, I will be with my family.

I love the people here, and often they feel like family to me. They scold me, encourage me, laugh at me (make me laugh), and generally show me that they care about me. And it is a wonderment. A beautiful incomprehension. It amazes me how much of a life I have here. So much gift.

But they've only known me at most 6 years. Most have known me 3 or less. That's so little. And there's so much history, so many ups and downs and glories and wounds, that very few know about. And they don't know my family. They've never seen the absurdity, or the seriousness, that all blends together into the quiet laughing praying intensity that characterizes my family. And I always wonder how you can understand someone without knowing at least some of their family. I also feel like I don't know how to understand myself when I'm away so long. Maybe this is a silly expectation, but I expect to see myself more clearly as a result of this trip. 

Regardless of all this... I'm going home. I'm not super focused right now, because there's that one piece the swirling always finds. And oh, does it make my heart glad!

and I thank you all

Thank you, my friends.

You made last night spectacularly fun. You make my life spectacular. I feel blessed daily to know you all. My life truly is richer with you all in it.

Thank you for dressing up just because I suggested it. Your ninja costumes were amazing. Thank you for coming up with crazy skits to entertain me, just because I asked you to. Thank you for making me laugh, over and over again. I can't begin to tell you how much I love laughing.

Thank you for bringing me lovely cards and gifts. They were an unexpected bonus. Your generosity continues to astound and inspire me.

Thank you, all, for being yourselves. I love you, and am so thankful and honoured to know you and to count you as friends.

briefly, I walk through Orvieto

Italy came to me last night.

Hands in pockets, head tilted down against the cold, my rush for home stumbled as I passed Trattoria Bellamia. White lights garlanded the leafless trees, and the air suddenly sang out: 'Italia!'

All in a rush came our laughing walks back to the monastery through the quiet night streets of Orvieto. Came the puffs our breath made in the lamplight. Came the breathed-in hush of the town. Came the uneven cobbles beneath our feet. Came the wide-open expanse of starred sky. Came the sense of rightness, of expectancy, of surprise, of something I never could quite pin a word to, and still can't.

My heart ached within me as a car spun down Cabot. The streets are too wide here, too open to be Orvieto. And the cars too big. And the buildings too spaced apart. This isn't Italy. It never can be. But for a moment - for a long stretched moment that I breathed in and held as long as I could - I felt Italy. Orvieto crowded around, gently, beautifully, surely.

It has been almost one year - eleven months - since I was there. And still, when I see pictures of Rome (the Spanish steps! my heart stopped; I remember climbing those, slowly, savoring each step, trying to pour and pull it all in so that I would have them with me always...), when a flavor reminds me of that glorious food, when a smell, the humidity of the air, a word... when these things appear or flash by, I feel them. A blow in my belly, a catch in my lungs, a wild synapse bursting in my mind and down my body... I remember. I remember. I still remember.

Odd, to think how deeply Italy is in me, how below, beyond words the experience; odd, how permanently it seems those ten days are a part of me. Ten days. Much can happen, even more can linger, and happen much later from the seeds sown then. I can't help be convinced that me, as I am now, is because of Italia.

I've tried to figure what I learned in Italy, what, exactly, happened to me. I still can't pin it down. But it just came to me: it had something to do with dreams, and beauty, and longing, and glory and wonder. I saw, heard, touched, smelled, tasted things of beauty, places with long pasts. I laid my hands flat against a marble pillar, and felt years and years and years. And I could not comprehend the stretch of time or the depth and breadth of feeling. Italy has seen so much! Italy has hurt so much, has loved so much, has suffered, has hoped, has despaired, has created. The land is full - so full.

And you know what it stirs in me? I want to be full.

I want to live, and be filled, and not ever ever fall asleep to wanting more fullness. I want to live each day in the hope of being filled.

This involves dreaming; developing the hopes of things to come, things to seek, things to be desired. The idea of being willing to dream has come up over and over this past year. It is very difficult for me. How can I justify deciding I want something, especially something outrageous or beautiful, when it's just for me? But then, I wandered around Italy, and thought, how can you not dream in a place like this? And how could a place like this come to be if people weren't dreamers?

So now I've been learning to dream. It comes slowly, and sometimes I have to fight to even accept my dreams. I have to let go, to let myself want things. But it's beautiful. And it's hopeful.

Then last night, when Italia flashed across my path, and the air thickened and my steps and breathing slowed, and my hands tingled, and my mind exhaled and my heart opened wide, last night glory and wonder filled that moment.

And yes, I miss Italia. I miss it ever so much, especially in the quiet cold. But memory is a glory - Italy is still with me. My dreams are growing and flourishing in its soil.

In one of those dreams, I return to Italy.

no, humbug!

But it doesn't feel like Christmas-time yet!

All of my usual markers are missing this year. There was no Thanksgiving break and travel to indicate the end of November and the fall. I have no pending exams. We're not prepping feverishly for winter concerts, or Madrigal dinners. I'm not singing Christmas music, or playing it. And it's not cold. We aren't in the midst of the several-weeks-pre-Christmas deluge; and it isn't even close to snowing. I haven't been wearing gloves! The sun is still shining warmly.

Bah, humbug!

Why is Scrooge in my head? Why am I chafing at the cheerful Christmas songs - about snow, gifts, and love - playing in the lobby? (But enjoy the music from the Nutcracker?) Why do stories of shopping rushes and stresses make me sick? Why do I find some part deep in me rejecting all these things?

But maybe that's ok. Not ok that I become Scrooge, or live in some disgruntled land, but ok that I'm bothered by a consumer-focused attitude. Maybe what I need is some other thing to think about, to make Christmas about. Maybe what I need is some other reason to celebrate December besides that one day.

A friend of mine has been writing about Advent here (http://sittinthereoncapitolhil.blogspot.com/), and it's gotten me thinking: why don't I spend the next few weeks pondering the mystery of Incarnation? Why not prepare myself for celebrating God with us?

Because I don't know how, whispers a voice.

But I don't need to know how, I reply. I just need to do it. I need to remember, every day, about the wonderful mystery of the Word made flesh. I need to remember that Christmas is about receiving the greatest gift.

Celebration is not dependent on weather, songs, exams, or location. It is dependent on the attitude of my heart. If this Christmas is truly to be a time of glory and rejoicing, I must set my heart down, let it be vulnerable, and choose to dance away the heaviness. "If anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think on these things!"

Celebrate... my car is all fixed up, new battery and all.
Celebrate... the weather is warm and lovely.
Celebrate... there are many amazing and gracious here with whom I get to share life.
Celebrate... for connections with people from past places and seasons.
Celebrate... there is a baby grand piano I may play.
Celebrate... I am going home for Christmas.

It is hard to explain how much this last point means to me. It's such a great big wonderful thing that I can't spend much time thinking about it, lest I burst with impatience and joy and expectation and .... all kinds of other things. I am going home. If for no other reason, I should be able to rejoice every day because of this one simple fact: I am going home.

That is enough.

No more grumbling about shallow lyrics, or crazy shoppers. No more finding reasons to say it isn't Christmas-time yet. Because it is always Christmas; it is always Immanuel, God with us. This is just the time of the year when we make a great celebration about it.

It is always Christmas, and I am going home.

Now I don't mind the Christmas music so much.

...the dove descending

...because sometimes, often, phrases ricochet through my mind, and sometimes, often, i want to hold them, soaking in them, turning them over until the flash brilliant light and i am transformed. t. s. eliot's 'the four quartets' remains one of my favourite poetic works. here are some line, from 'little gidding.' ponder, dwell, listen...

"... and what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all. Either you had no purpose
Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
And is altered in fulfillment.
...
If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiousity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying."

when inaction just won't do

I was a master of inaction.

I dedicated years of my life to learning invisibility. I watched from the edge, the corner, watched closely, but did not interfere. I didn't volunteer my opinions, advices, or beliefs. I let people assume what they would, but did not solicit their concern. If self-effacement is an art, I was an artist. Or thought I was, and pretended to be satisfied.

But now, ten years later, I regret those habits I so painstakingly formed and built, fortress-like, around my self. Because now, when I want to be known, want to be involved, want to speak, want to act, I battle not only unformed habits but also formed anti-habits. It's not just that I don't know very well how to relate with, live with, and love on people - I know very well how to cut them out, avoid them, and hold them at a cautious distance or in casual disdain.

Doing nothing is easy.

But doing nothing is neither acceptable nor desirable.

"It is given to man to lift up the fallen and to free the imprisoned. Not merely to wait, not merely to look on! Man is able to work for the redemption of the world. The work is not yours to finish, but neither are you free to take no part in it."

I always knew this. Deep inside, under all the layers of self protection, isolation and indifference felt wrong. Dissatisfaction curled in my gut, but all those noises outside were unfamiliar and frightening and potentially dangerous and it was simpler to stay alone behind closed doors and shuttered windows with a half-empty mug of cold tea, staring into a pathetic smoky fire.

At some point, dissatisfaction grew so big, and my curiosity got so strong, and all my little dreams begged so loudly to be let out of the stifling room, that I started opening the windows. And sometimes the doors. Then stepping outside to breathe, to play, to explore.

Now I've gotten so far away from that little smoky hut that I'd have trouble finding it again. Yet I still habitually look for shelter. I flee loud noises. I hide from people. I sit, knees pulled up, back against a wall or tree, wondering if life ever feels stable or secure. And always, always, there's a running discussion in my head over whether I want to explore alone or with someone else, and whether I can trust people or not, and whether anyone will want to go to the places I want to go, or find interesting the things I find interesting (which is almost everything), and how in the world will I manage finding my friends in this great wide life if we step away from each other for a moment.

The habits of fear, of doubt, of second-guessing, are strong. Retreating is still easier than pressing through.

But it just won't do anymore.

I've seen enough love, heard enough answers, enjoyed enough spontaneity, received enough encouragement, and felt enough life, that I can not - will not - back away. I know what it's like to get this far - how could I stop now?

I have felt myself grow, deepen, strengthen; I feel more alive, more complex, more full than I've ever been. I have tasted freedom, joy, trust, abundant laughter, and fun. And I want more.

I want to become a master of action. This doesn't mean some uncontrollable, undirected wildness - doing things for the sake of staying busy. Rather, the one who is a master of action knows when - and how - to be still as well as to be in motion. It is the comprehensive attainment of balance.

I want to be one of whom it can be truly said "she is never shaken or dismayed." I want to be one who persistently explores the depths and potentials of goodness and strength, in myself, in others, in communities, in this world. I desire consistency among my thoughts, words, and actions. I desire truth in the inmost parts. I desire peace, and joy, and health, and strength. I desire challenge, stretching, development. I want to be a different person yet again next year than I am this year. I want my actions to be thoroughly directed by the conviction that there is always hope, always growth, always a future.

Let there be life; and let that life be abundant and free.

rainy day

And so it rains.

Today, my day for walking errands: post office, bank, grocery store. And it's raining. And will be dark soon. And I still need to take my car up to the shop, take the train back down, walk home from the train...

I should have gotten going earlier. This is my day off. I could have scheduled it much better. I could have actually scheduled. But I didn't. And now the rain falls.

But these things must be done. I must drop my car off. I could - and probably will - stop by the post office and grocery store on my way home from the train station. The bank will wait. The food can't.

And then? I will still have several hours of day. All to myself.

I will have to choose to do what I wanted to do. I hate the pre-choice moments, but I know I'll be glad I made them - afterwards. When I get home from the store, I will make dinner. And render lard - a new process that I hope I won't screw up.

Then, in my Wednesday evening apartment all to myself time, what shall I do?

What should I do?

What do I want to do?

Does what I want match what I should?


I wish it weren't raining, murmurs below my breath. Or that it gets dark so early now. I'd go watch the sunset. And be refreshed.

Because refreshment is what I truly want. Refreshment and rejuvenation. How will I find those, alone in my apartment, on a dark, rainy Wednesday night?

But my angle is all wrong again. So I deliberately pick up my viewpoint, turn it around, and resettle my head, my heart.

I'm going to have an evening alone! (For introvert me, alone time is a blessed thing. Remember that, self.) And the rain will patter its feet outside! (I'm the one always telling people how beautiful the rain is! Why would it bother me?) And I will be able to do whatever I choose! (Again, such a glorious thought! I can do something I love, and nobody can stop me or mock me.) This is good. I have so many choices. Opportunity will join me with a slow, encouraging smile.

Again, I ask myself: what will I do tonight?

But this time, I ask with expectation.

(So, it turned out well. Unexpected, but well. I didn't leave my car at the shop, so I drove to the grocery store - in the rain - and drove home. I rendered a batch of lard, and exercised, too! The lard turned out well, and it felt so good to work out!

Blessings followed me.)

Looking for the Celebration

As we approach the "holiday season," most people think about the food. And by think, I really mean worry. They're plotting all those extras - extra helpings, extra desserts, extra everythings - and also plotting how they will go on a strict diet at the end of the "season" to make up for what they ate.

I, too, am thinking about the food. But my reasons are different. You see, so much of what fills standard table for Thanksgiving and Christmas is food that I can't eat. This isn't in some I-know-it's-better-for-me-if-I-don't-way - this is serious. No gluten, no dairy. And, in addition to those strict restrictions, I know from experience that I feel and operate much better if I don't consume very many grains or much sugar at all. So, without gluten, dairy, or sugar, what does one eat when groups gather to celebrate?

That is why I'm thinking about food. I don't want to be thinking about it. I'd like to be able to go to parties and eat whatever was offered, but I can't. If I do, I'll get really sick. Seriously. And be unable to function. And be miserable, and go crazy, and, in short, be SICK. So I HAVE to think about food.

Next week is Thanksgiving, the first of the upcoming celebrations, and the one that, due to my upbringing, is the biggest deal of them all. Thanksgiving is the time to be with people, and be thankful, and enjoy good things. But I won't be with my family this year. I am undecided regarding where I will be - thankfully, I have options - but in making a decision I am plagued with this question: will I be able to eat what I am offered? Who but family would readjust their entire menu so that I wouldn't have to double-check the ingredient list for each dish?

Thankfully, there is one option at a gluten-free household. I wouldn't have to worry there. I can trust their sources of meat and eggs, and all my concern over the details of food would evaporate. I trust them. Most of what I know about food I learned from them.

Then I have another option, one with more concern, but with a group of people that I see less often. Right now, I'd prefer to be with them. But is it worth the potential hassle? I know if I ask, they'll be willing to try to accommodate, but I hate asking so much, and it's hard for me to not be wondering the whole time what is in my food.

And later, there's Christmas. This year - finally! - I'm going home. Gluten-free is even more necessary for my sister than for me, so that won't be an issue. But there are other questions... Other things I have ideas for... I'd rather have more veggies and less grain... and so I'll probably be bringing my own recipes, looking for ingredients, and trying to find ways of baking good things without dairy (for me) and without coconut (for my sister). Tricky. Very tricky.
And since my dietary habits have changed a LOT in the past two years, I don't know how much I'll have to buy and prepare my own food while I'm home to avoid falling back into relying on grains to fill my stomach and sugar to give me energy.

The other tricky part of going home will be seeing friends I haven't seen in... a long time. Going out to eat may not be possible. Hanging out at someone's house, snacking and talking, may not be possible. And since food is such an integral part of the social experience, how do I show my care for my friends when I won't eat with them? They won't deliberately be offended, but unconsciously, we are bothered when people won't accept what we offer them.

But here's the thing: I don't want to be thinking about food, and seeing people, and celebration, from the point of view of concern over whether something will make me sick. I don't want to be worrying constantly. I don't want to have to explain, over and over and over again, why I'm not eating their food. I don't want to be sitting on the negative side.

I want to celebrate.

I want to rejoice, to laugh, to smile, to relish the flavour of a tasty dish, to sing, and to be filled to overflowing with joy. I want my Thanksgiving day to be overflowing with gratitudes, with thanks, with praises, with an awareness of all those good things, however small, that add up to make this such a wonderful world. I want my Christmastime to be a time of celebration, of love, of catching up, of walking by the Pacific, of fun, of challenges, of being with my family in a real and powerful way.

And, yes, I want to eat. I want to eat food that tastes good, looks good, and is good. I want to feel nourished, strengthened, and rejuvenated by my meals. I want to eat large portions. I want to eat blackberry pie again. I want to enjoy the food that is such a marker of our holidays.

And I want to eat without worry or fear.

This is what I want this holiday season: free and jubilant celebration.

afire

"Man is made so that when anything fires his soul the impossibilities vanish."

'But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name,"
his word is in my heart like a fire,
a fire shut up in my bones.
I am weary of holding it in;
indeed, I cannot.'

Fire.

I've always loved fire. Not the smoke, but the flame. Now, as the trees in New England burn and fly off their branches, and a bright round moon holds sway in the night sky, I feel a fire inside. This fire is yet a few sparks, some smoldering wood - enough tinder and matches but not enough air. Not yet a full, roaring bonfire.

But it wants to be. Yes, this fire has its own desires. It wants to be a big one, a flying all-consuming one, the kind that burns but does not consume: a glory fire.

A few of the giant logs waiting to burst into flame I can identify. I see their shapes, and know what they are, where they came from, how seasoned they are for the burning, but I do not know when their glowing ends will breathe into full fire.

Other pieces of wood, some twigs, some giant quarter-sections, I don't recognize. But they're waiting, too. And I hear the footsteps of the wood-gatherer in the forest, and know that as this gets blazing, more fuel will be added - much more.

I don't want to ride on somebody else's passion.
I don't want to find I'm just dry bones.
I want to burn with unquenchable fire.
Deep down inside, see it coming alive.

I long to burn. If I don't, I shall explode instead, or go stark mad. I've got wood ready, and my matches, too. Now I simply wait the wind to set me afire.

Soon...

Bibliophilia

Signs that you may be a bibliophile:

Number 2n+1 = a book is one of the ONLY things that can keep you sitting still and fully occupied for more than 2 hours.

Not even most movies can do this. I get antsy watching movies. I tend to pause them somewhere in the middle to get up and go do something, get something, say hi to someone, or at least make snarky comments.

Books, on the other hand... Granted, it depends on the book. BUT, books DO have the ability to keep me in one place for four hours straight (barring the necessity of a bathroom break... which I sometimes put off a painfully long time because I DON'T WANT TO STOP READING).

Ah, books. I don't always understand them, and sometimes a voice in my head mutters that I could be better spending my time, but when I find one that snatches and grabs and won't let go, and I spend a good portion of my day reading it ALL THE WAY THROUGH... 'tis one of the joys in life.

I am truly grateful for books.

it begins

FIRST SNOW!

Lovely. Driving down 128, we exclaimed when it started, and our driver was so excited he honked the horn. We almost stopped by the side of the road, too. Snow falling through headlights - glorious.

Winter has opened its eyes. Still groggy, it will close them again before it is ready to be wild. But its gaze cooled the air just enough, and its yawn breathed just enough moisture that its first awakening dropped snow.

Autumn's dancing has tired her. We've watched her losing bits of her cloak, leaving them plastered to the pavement by her rain. The warmth of Summer is gone, and Autumn hasn't much of her own heat left to keep her going. I wonder: which comes first, the sleep of Autumn, or the waking of Winter?

Either way, the snow whispers of stillness, and silence, and rightness. And so I smile.

eclectic being

I be an odd one, methinks: my Amazon order arrived today, and it consisted of The Count of Monte Cristo (complete and unabridged, Penguin Classic edition), Tramp For the Lord (Corrie ten Boom), and two albums by the band RED (a rather loud, intense band). And I was so excited for all of it.

Now, my dress needs to be finished, so in all likelihood, I will be handstitching a Renaissance dress while listening to symphonic screamo. While drinking white tea. And wearing my Dr. Horrible tee-shirt.

And I like this scenario, very much.

I'm definitely not a proper young lady. What would Jane Austen think of me? I have yet to find a fictional character with such varied interests who somehow remained a convincingly sane person. Shall I judge myself insane according to fiction's lack, or count myself sane regardless? Rather than decide, I will sew. Tiny, evenly-spaced stitches, until the zipper is firmly in place. The dress WILL be done by Saturday, I declare.

A New Goal to Work Towards...

My goal for this year:

Memorize Ephesians. ALL of it.

I'm operating based on the school year, so I'm giving myself through next June. Starting now. So by the end of October, I will have Chapter One memorized. 

My goal for this week: verses 1-6:

"Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God,

To the saints in Ephesus, the faithful in Christ Jesus:

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the spiritual realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will - to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves."

Think I can do it?

And this hope does not disappoint us.

A friend of mine recently told me about Wheatstone Academy, and their blog, The Examined Life. So now I am reading their articles, and they hit me squarely and encouragingly.

From the article "Maranatha Ministry," by Chad Glazener (http://examinedlife.wheatstoneacademy.com/2010/12/maranatha-ministry/):

"This is the lesson of Scripture: all of our acts of service must be directed toward “Maranatha.” Our continued obedience and faithfulness in our vocation is grounded and fueled by our hope that Jesus Christ is coming to reign as the one true king. As those who have been called to leadership in whatever context we find ourselves, we are to help our brothers and our sisters practice living lives that are blameless and holy in the presence of God. We are to expose that this world of shadows is not as it ought to be, but will soon be made right.

To minister in the hope that Christ will come again, our ministries must be marked by fortitude, zeal and joy. In the relentless onslaught of disappointment, frustration and confusion that Christian leaders inevitably face, we are able to rest in the knowledge that our efforts will bear fruit. Whether or not we see the result of this effort immediately, we are assured that our acts of service will continue to multiply into the kingdom. That word of encouragement, that truth shown, that love demonstrated, that grace freely given, will ripple into eternity. With this hope that all of our efforts to proclaim the gospel will be vindicated when Christ returns to His kingdom, we can minister now–right now– with passion and courage, rejoicing that even though our vocation may sometimes seem unnoticed or underappreciated, all of our efforts to love our neighbor are seen and will be used for the glory of God, for He wastes nothing."

Summer Sleeps

I chased sunset today. But I was late - or, rather, it keeps starting its flight earlier. So I only caught its footprints fading across the sky.

Over two hours later, I got home. While I was gone, sitting on a bench under pink cloud-fingers, this happened:

Summer has chosen rest,

and not even Autumn in all her splendour

can persuade him to linger.

He is too weary now

to dance,

to stay up late,

to start adventures -

even to make love.

Autumn touches him,

and he looks up, warming today,

then rolls back down to sleep.

On the day she can no longer awaken him,

Autumn will clothe herself

in fire

for her lonely dance,

then drop her robes,

let the wind carry them away,

lay herself down next to Summer,

and cry herself to sleep.

Friendship & (Mis)Communication

I've been thinking about friendship lately. And about communication. Turns out, the two are connected. Who would've thought?

Friend. What does it mean to be a friend? Why do some friendships last, and others fizzle, or still others break? How do two people end up on opposite ends of the seesaw regarding their friendship? I'm not thinking about this because of Facebook and its phenomenon of online 'friends' that we sometimes barely know. I'm thinking about this because of the friends that I have - and do not have - here, nearby.

I have friends with whom I (almost) immediately bonded - you know the ones, the ones with whom you had one crazy enthusiastic conversation that started your friendship with a fun bang. Then there are the friends that I sort-of, almost knew for two years before ever considering considering them a friend. There are ones with whom I have almost nothing in common; others seem an extension of myself.

What does it take to make a friend? To build a friendship? To keep a friend?

I'm still thinking through these questions. I'm forming hypotheses, and watching how they play out. But of one thing I am fairly certain: lasting, deep friendships require time. Time spent in communication - time talking, playing, laughing, walking, sharing an activity, or eating together. This is not to say that knowing someone over a long period of time automatically relates to an increased level of friendship, but simply that becoming and being good friends requires time.

It requires input - effort. You can't put nothing into your relationship with someone and expect it to be something or go anywhere. Some friendships seem to come naturally, easily, but guess what? Once you're in an environment where you don't see that person every single day, you have to make an effort to maintain connection. You have to call them, make plans, follow through on plans. Your schedules will conflict, and you'll have to make that friendship a priority. Sometimes you can see someone once a year and still have an amazing time together - I don't mean to devalue those friendships. They are wonderful miracles. But when it comes to the dirty living, you've got to make an effort. So you really like hanging out with that person? Call them. Make plans during that one time a week you see them at church.

Dang it. It's hard to do all this. At least it's hard for me. I'm not an initiator - I'd rather other people call me. But the reality is this: if I consider you my friend; if I enjoy spending time with you, talking with you; if I think you're a really awesome amazing person; if I think all this, but I never reach out to you, how is our friendship going to flourish? So I'm working on spending more time with people. And I'm working on figuring out what this friend thing looks like.

Communication. Mostly I've just been realizing - again - how extremely important communication is. This should be obvious, right? And perhaps its necessity is obvious. But how do we do it well? How do people who think completely differently communicate? And in a community, how do we help each other communicate well and honestly and lovingly?

I've been noticing a lot of miscommunications. And I've been noticing that I notice them. I'm in a group of people, and Person A makes a comment. Persons B and C don't get why they said it. There's a pause. Person C says something else. This drives me bonkers. I catch the disconnect - I can tell that some people didn't understand why or what was said. I can tell what the person meant, and also why it wasn't understood. Sometimes I can tell how it could be made understandable.

I wish we talked more about the responsibility of the speaker to try to make themselves understood. But again, it's easier to just blame the hearer - just say they just don't understand. It's crazy to me - how little we're willing to try to change what we say to help others. Maybe, though, it's just crazy to me because I've spent the last year learning - against my expectation - to be able to communicate with people who are drastically different than I. They think differently, hear and interpret differently, yet I can say what I mean in such a way that they understand me.

This surprises me - how I notice the miscommunications - how I can tell why - how I feel like I know how to reword things, get past the interpretive distortion. But what do I do? It feels an impressive thing, heavy with potential. And with responsibility.

But it's important. I know it is. I've watched friendships fail because of a lack of understanding. I've watched discontent grow, spread. I've heard of worse problems. It makes me sad. It makes me want to do something, anything, to alleviate this. I just don't know how.

And, of course, there are still so many questions. I'm pretty sure there are times I think I get it when I really don't. But I can tell I'm getting better at understanding people. I still can't see all this in my own conversations. Not yet. But. Slowly, the light rises.

Answers take some form. They aren't clear, but it's enough to continue. And more will come. Of that I'm sure: things will continue to make more sense.

A Poem From A Master

'Hurrahing in Harvest'
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks rise
Around; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behaviour
Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavier
Meal-drift moulded ever and melted across skies?

I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes,
Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour;
And eyes, heart, what looks, what lips yet gave you a
Rapturous love's greeting of realer, of rounder replies?

And the azurous hung hills are his world-wielding shoulder
Majestic--as a stallion stalwart, very violet-sweet!--
These things, these things were here and but the beholder
Wanting; which two when they once meet,
The heart rears wings bold and bolder
And hurls for him, O half hurls earth for him off under his feet.

Looking At

And fall stumbles in again, knocking leaves down as he follows the geese south, fleeing winter.

A strung-out, emaciated Wesley teeters down the sidewalk. Left arm propped on a bicycle, his right dangles across a large shoulderbag. When did he last wash his black shirt, and when did it start looking sketchy instead of swashbuckling?

More bike clusters. Sleek, colorful, hard-headed and beetle-eyed, they string along to dodge parked cars, but pay no attention to driving ones. Slowing behind them, I wonder what they do for exercise the rest of the year. And why they travel in packs

Four purple balloons bounce and bend. This street funnels wind, and they spend much of their lives talking to the flowerbox. Today, none of them pop. A group of boys stands by them, bopping them. We watch, hoping they don't steal our balloons. They don't. We sit back down.

Glinting sun catches geese settled on the water. Land curves around them and the solid blue surface. Leaves appear prematurely red in the light. All is shining and still. My breath slows.

Your kindness, Lord, leads us

Down at Independence Park a bit ago, dusk leaned, and a little boy ran up the path, stopping each person to announce:
"The mosquitoes are out!"

He said it with gravity, panting from the urgency of his message. We all needed to know this most important fact. "The mosquitoes are out!" I smiled the whole way home, each time his words replayed - his words, and the seriousness of their delivery.


Earlier this week, the 451 bus stopped on Cabot St, near they YMCA, and rumbled there. Cars lined up behind it. Then started honking, but the bus just sat. Then a woman, dangerously thin, unsteady, stepped out. She was turning back, to talk to the driver - she seemed confused - but the honking continued and the bus pulled away. As I passed, I felt a sadness, and the phrase we must be kind positioned itself at the front of my mind. The impatient car-horns hurt me. All I could think was what kind of difference will an act of kindness instead of frustration make?

Yesterday at the tea shop, a couple came in. One of them bought a whole pound of a tea he's never tried. The other bought good amounts of several other teas - also unknown to him. When they told us that they'd been married three years ago, there was uncertainty and challenge in the older one's voice. They were both friendly, and open, and that now how will you treat us? saddened me. After they left, my co-worker and I talked about it. We both noticed the challenge, and we both were not quite surprised by the statement, and we both felt that we hadn't started acting differently because of it. What good does it do anyone, we agreed, if we treat people unkindly when we disagree with them, or are challenged by them? Or if they look differently or act differently than we anticipated? How can we expect to be a positive influence if we will not treat people with kindness?

I am reminded of the fruits of the Spirit so often recited from Galatians: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.

Do we remember all of them? I forget the middle few. I remember love, joy, peace, and patience. And I remember self-control, because I spent my teen years forming rigid boundaries for myself. But what about kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and gentleness?

These four deeply concern our relations with others, with strangers and friends. And I forget them. I try to learn how to love people, but then get lost in the details of how to love. But isn't kindness a display of love? Doesn't true gentleness come from a heart that is dwelling in peace? How about faithfulness - is perhaps our ability to be faithful a corollary to our patience? Then I must ask: is goodness connected to joy? Whether it is or not, if I treat people with kindness and gentleness, they will feel loved. If in all my dealings, I exhibit goodness and faithfulness, people will see something rare.

As Irene blows towards us, much more peaceful than predicted, I can't help but think that there's more to a diminished storm than God's mercy. We've been praying for that - for mercy - and there will be much less damage than we originally thought. But God knows better than we do what is good for us - mercy could have included a hurricane. Instead, mercy is gentleness. He gives the East Coast less than we expect, less than we arguably deserve. Maybe we need to pick up on this.

Maybe we, as the people of God, need to focus more on kindness and gentleness than on argument or annoyance. Maybe we need to learn to cultivate goodness instead of loudly decrying evil. Maybe we need to be faithful in the relationships we have, and in how we live our lives, instead of shifting our stance or availability when the weather changes.

How kind am I?

How gentle, how good, how faithful?

Not nearly enough. I want to be better - I desire more kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and gentleness. No incident is too small to be significant - am I kind, or rude? Did I act in accordance to the way I speak, or is there discrepancy between who I say I am, and who I seem to be?

Father God, in Your kindness and faithfulness to me, help me to become more kind and faithful. Out of Your goodness, teach me to be good. With Your gentleness, lead me into a more gentle life. Give me a kind life, a good mind, a faithful heart, and a gentle spirit.

Northfield's Promise

I ask again: how is it I know such amazing people?

Today was our annual Wisdom Way family meeting - and family they all are. From a few months to many decades old, they are such beautiful, encouraging, light-filled people. Who also have tremendous sense of humour...

I arrived early, and strolled barefoot through diamond-damp grass up to the hilltop behind Hibbard Hall. Its lovely familiarity refreshed me. I prayed a bit, sang quietly, and concentrated on the grass between my toes. I breathed in the coolness, and remembered promises, dreams, hopes ignited in the place two years ago.

The beginning was here, I thought.

Northfield showed me the glory of a community of praying people. It introduced me to a more active, charismatic, joyful expression of worship than I'd seen before. These people spoke wisdom. They encouraged my spiritual discernment, they helped me see truth, they loved me. And I dreamed of returning. Every time I revisit the place, it feels like home. It stirs up a longing, too - a longing for great, glorious, beautiful things.

Longing for heaven and home...

I long to see wholeness, to see joy, and life. I long to watch people become real. I long to be not only involved in the development of minds, but in the development of the whole being. In many ways, this summer has been a time of pieces starting to fall into place. More than ever before, things are making sense. Much remains to be seen - many pieces are unknown, unclear. But it's so much more clear now.

Standing by a marble bench, looking out over the campus, I remembered all I heard then, and all that has been spoken at 10 Days of Prayer since. Dreams...

Dreams of teaching, in some capacity. Dreams of watching people discover the joy of learning, of books, of finding expression of reality and truth and goodness in all things. Dreams of music, of singing, of playing many instruments, of writing my own songs, and singing my own words. Dreams of food, of cooking creatively, healthfully, and eating with people, drinking in the friendship that naturally builds around the table. Dreams of knowing others, and being known by them, and complete, genuine love for each other. Dreams of the body of Christ actually being a body, united in love and purpose. Dreams of prayer... of praying becoming a natural thing for any group of believers to do. What would it be like if we automatically prayed together any time we saw each other? And dreams of God - of knowing Him more and more deeply every day.

So many dreams. I stood in the shade by D. L. Moody's headstone. He, like so many others, lived always in those hopes, those dreams. Every bit of grace, every answer to prayer, just leads to desire for more. If we can have this little bit of glory and truth, why not more? God is not stingy. But we tend to dream and ask so small. I tend to dream to small.

My small voice is timid, "God, may I please, maybe, someday, help people learn? And, if You're ok with it, I would like - though do I deserve to ask? - I would like to not be alone. I mean, I want friends. I want sisters and brothers... But I would like something deeper, more together, more permanent. For instance, maybe a husband?"

And I can almost see Him shake His head. Why so small? Why so doubtful? If I am a Father who is good, and if I know your depths, and if your dreams and desires are from me and good, will not I answer? Will I not fulfill what I have begun? And are not my hopes for you even greater than what you could imagine? Ask BIG. Dream BIG. Expect much from Me, and I will delight in giving you much.

Already, He has given me much. But He wants to give more. Today, several people spoke this during our prayer time: we're thinking and asking too small - He wants us to ask for more.

I touch birch-bark, look into the sky. I hear stories of God's faithfulness, and how He's weaving pieces together for so many. I hear the thankful expectation in their voices, the passion for their land, their friends.

I eat fresh peaches, watch the nine children laughing and playing train on the low rock wall. I hear more about the new college being planned for this campus. I learn that there are so many more than I realized gathering those around them to pray, and to seek unity. So much is happening across New England, in so many little, powerful ways.

More is going to happen. Simple devotion and obedience are required - how could we deny that? So many promises have been given, and much seed sown. That which is sown will bear fruit.

Driving home, a rainbow's edge touched the North Shore.

On this last Bout of the River Syndrome*

(Warning: this is rather a long post. *the River Syndrome: my name for the kind of craziness exemplified by the character River Tam in 'Firefly' and 'Serenity'.)

I’ve had a lot whirling around my head recently. Trying to make sense of it is like… well, it’s like something really difficult. I can’t find a tidy simile at the moment.

It all started almost two weeks ago… actually, this isn’t where it started, but I’m only able to go back that far right now. I got gluten. I’m not sure which exact circumstances (out of two possibilities) provided the poison, but there it was. I crashed late Friday morning, and Saturday, Sunday, and Monday were miserable. By Tuesday, the worst was over, and the rest of last week saw slow improvement. But that crash, and those days, triggered a LOT of introspection and frustration, on several different levels.

Firstly, it wrecked me physically. I’ve been exercising regularly since the beginning of June, and it’s been making a HUGE difference. I’ve been getting stronger, more energetic, more flexible… but after just four days, I felt like I’d lost at least two weeks of work. While my body’s glutenized, I’m fatigued. My muscles are just plain weak and tired and achey. I have trouble sleeping, so I’m exhausted too. But once the gluten wore off, my muscles still felt weak. They’re still not back to where they were before, and it is such a fight to push myself through exercises that were easier before. It also didn’t help that during those days I wasn’t able to think clearly, and my eating suffered. All that added up? I lost muscle. At least, it felt like I did. And that is incredibly frustrating, when my body has finally been gaining strength and mobility.

Secondly, mentally it’s a struggle to re-calibrate. Gluten always affects me mentally – if that’s all it did, I would avoid it. It wrecks my ability to concentrate, to follow any train of thought (or even any complete thought), and it deadens my memory. Short-term memory – gone. The result is that I live in a mental fog. I can’t think, I can’t remember, and coming out of it, I still can’t remember.

The interesting thing about this bout is that I was somewhat prepared. Funny. I had just been re-reading old blog postings, and my attention was caught by the difference in tone before and after I stopped eating gluten. Especially that last year before I stopped, I was increasingly unstable, manic, confused. So I was thinking about what it tends to do, and how it shifts my emotional-mental state into such extremes. When it hit, I was able to think: I don’t want that. I don’t want to be crazy. I don’t want to feel destructive or depressed. I don’t want to be lost in those extremes. So I put all of the little energy and ability I had into trying to keep myself mentally stable. That meant forcing myself to be thankful – to verbalize blessings – when I felt my thoughts turning down. It meant running song lyrics, or short phrases of Scripture, or something else I could focus on through my mind whenever I started going crazy. It meant shutting all the whirlwind of thoughts down, pinpointing one little thing to get stuck on so that I didn’t super-ball bounce in my head. And this was hard. I forced myself, on occasion, to join my flatmates in the living room, even though I had nothing to contribute, simply because trying to follow the conversation pulled me out of myself enough to keep me from curling up into a corner and rocking back and forth. I refused to let myself make decisions based on my emotional-mental state, about me, about others, about potentials. And I was less crazy than I’ve ever been with gluten.

But I was still exhausted. I’m still reeling from the effort of it all. I had a FULL week of work last week, so I had no time off, no significant time to rest, or get away, or anything. And I was still living in mud and fog. I tell people that I lost several days of my life, and I still feel that way. Nothing happened. I was elsewhere, I didn’t exist, nothing made sense, nothing made anything. I lost almost 5 days of my life, and coming back after that is not easy. Trying to get out of the mud and fog is not easy. The sun slow burns through the haze. I tell myself not be blame myself, not to be frustrated with myself – that will only make it worse. I tell myself to think about food – make sure I’m eating enough, and eating well and very very carefully. I tell myself to let go, to forgive myself, to not cling to what it was like. I tell myself that yes, it is good to process this – it’s been awhile, so yes, think about what happened, and how you dealt with it well, and how you dealt with it poorly – but it is not good to accuse. I remind myself: you didn’t sit in a corner, knees to chin, rocking back and forth; you didn’t go around punching walls; you didn’t talk nonsense for three hours straight; you didn’t cry yourself to sleep; you didn’t skip work; you didn’t… This was SO MUCH better than before! Maybe I’m learning how to live around the madness. In spite of it. Maybe next time I’ll be even better able to deal. Maybe I’ll tell my flatmates sooner, have some kind of support in place with people helping me remember to eat, helping me relax, keeping me more stable. But enough of the maybes.

The other tricky thing about dropping again into the craziness is that my mind still remembers what it was like. In some ways, it’s like a drug, and when it’s recalled to strongly, there’s a temptation to give in to it, to twist my mind into that shape again, to act manic just because. There’s a fine line for me between simply thinking about the craziness, and thinking like the craziness. Because I can. The neural pathways are still there – are reawakened by my recent bout. But I won’t. I don’t want to. I hate it. I’d rather be sane, even though insanity is fascinating. I’d rather not have mud sucking at my feet. I’d rather not feel like someone with a creepy cackle is using my heart as a juggling ball. I’d rather not my mind bounce crazily, uncontrollably. I’d just rather not.

And there are so many random pieces that I may have noticed before but don’t understand: why do some people’s mere presence stabilize and calm me? Why does loud heavy music reduce my emotional extremes? Why does it tend to make me cry, and afterwards feel better? Why is it so hard to read? Why do I find myself walking and walking, far past hunger and tiredness, until I’m ready to drop from exhaustion? Why do I feel like if I’m alone, I have to keep moving, almost running, keeping one step away from… something? Why do people make such a difference? Why does rain make it better? Why is it so hard for me to prepare food – why do I just want to grab and eat, sweet and salty things, mostly? Why do I prefer liquids? Why chocolate? Why does touch make such a difference?

I don’t know yet.

And I’m still fatigued. I’m tired of being exhausted. My strength is returning, though. My body is demanding even more food than normal, trying to regain what it lost, I suppose. The fog is lifting. I’m relaxing more. I’m family-sick, though. Having my brother around would help me. (Hah. One reason I can’t go through my entire life alone: people are necessary for full recovery from glutenization. More specifically, guys are necessary, but only certain ones help. There are those few, of which my brother is one, whose very presence is a stabilizer for me. And I need them when I’m coming off gluten! Another unexplained oddity. Hrrmph.)

Things will get better. They already are, and they will continue to. I need to be extra careful. I need to keep practicing and choosing trust. Keep breathing, Suzanne. You have much to be thankful for, and much to look forward to. You are still discovering how all those seemingly disparate passions and desires and skills actually fit together. Be patient with yourself. Be patient with the picture – it will not always be incomplete, and it is already so much more complete than it ever has been. Rejoice in what has been. Rejoice in what is. Rejoice in what will be. For that is trust – that is hope – to rejoice before.

Good-bye again, crazy self. Over destruction and senselessness, I choose life.

Remember Intently

...and it was good.

After a slow wakening, yesterday bloomed, danced, rejoiced, rested.

By noon, I was emptied and filled, convicted and encouraged, my mind turning over and over remember, remember, my fingers pouring out music over, onto, into the keys, my heart bursting with something I couldn't - and can't - pin down with words. In a nutshell, the sermon was powerful, and the worship awesome. I never could've imagined playing with such worshipful, talented musicians. But I am so thankful.

My afternoon was spent with the lovely Kate. Business was slow, sadly, but we talked, happily. We talked of communication, relationships, hosting, growth, and God's love. Nourishment to my soul. I had heard much of Kate, from many people, before ever meeting her, and it is a treasure and joy to be able to work with her. So I am thankful.

Driving home, the sun setting to my right, restlessness stirred. Not because I felt unsettled or unhappy, but simply because the world is so beautiful. After our crazy heat wave, the temperature was finally below 80, and with scattered clouds decorating the sky, sunset beckoned with promises.

So I ate a quick small meal, and stepped out into refreshment. The leaning light rendered white sailboats bronze, bright shapes resting in clear blue water. Trees across the way spoke golden-edged of peace. A cool breeze poured off the sea to remind me that the whole earth breathes deeply, in and out, and I should breathe, too. Clouds began pinking, and I hurried at an easy pace to the other side of town.

My park was completely empty. Over the water, the sun settled towards the treetops. I sat on a swing, closed my eyes, and went higher, higher, higher, until I opened my eyes and the sun kissed the trees, and the clouds burned, and the sky's blue deepened to infinity, and joy overflowed.

I watched the sunset with Jesus, and it was beautiful. Just like Him.

On the way back, those still-pink clouds kept catching me. The railway overpass caught me, too - those tracks always do, glinting on and on as they do. The flowers nodded, leaves waved, and all these distractions only reminded me the words replaying all day in my head: remember, remember.

I unlocked my front door two hours after I left it. Two hours, wandering town with myself and God. Two hours, to breathe, to see, to remember. Two hours, to implant streets, trees, views, colours, into my memory. Two hours to be so fully alive that I felt like a walking contained explosion. Did you see me glowing?

I will remember, not as one who looks in the mirror and forgets what they saw, but as one who looks intently, and does not forget. Please remember, I tell myself, remember how beautiful the sky is. Remember the feel of the tree trunks. Remember the smell of the roses. Remember that moment when, flying, Someone touched your heart and you opened your eyes and the whole world was vibrant and changed.

And I recall that word from college, that held me through a whole year: Meminisse. Latin, a command: remember.

Yesterday was glory-filled. There is too much to say. There is much still in wish-form, unformed, not happened yet. Much I want, but do not have. But what of those things? What of my changing desires? What of what could be, might be? That which is now is so good, so beautiful, so full, that I will not remember my unfulfilled wishes. That which I remember is that which I live by, and I don't want to live by doubtful dreams. I will live by the worshipful music, the words of Truth, the moments of beauty, the conversations of encouragement, the refreshment of cooler air, and over it all, the One Who loves and gives.

Meminisse, for He is very good.

bumblebee

Bumblebee lit
on my finger, antennae
whispering against my flesh.

Six feet landed,
soaking sunshine's warmth
from my bare skin.

Circled once,
did Bumblebee, circled twice,
and rested for full minutes

then circled more,
as I lowered my tiring arm to
table's edge.

'Please,' I prayed, 'please
may he leave without stinging me,
but he doesn't need to rush.'

In the heat, all things
move ponderously, even tiny
yellow-and-black bee hairs,

and delicate black
wings. Bumblebee stayed near
my ring for a while,

apparently
satisfied with his new resting-place.
He tickled a bit.

Then, as my watching
gaze drunk in the details of him,
he quadruple-stepped,

and departed
as unexpectedly as he came.
And the hot sun blinded.

actually, i don't want to know

If someone told me, "I can explain everything," I would laugh in their face and walk away. If they tried to start explaining it all to me anyway, I'd loudly recite Jabberwocky, put my hands over my ears, and generally act loony until they gave up.

You see, I don't want to understand everything.

I was thinking about this as I brushed my teeth this morning. Too often, I get frustrated by how little I seem to know, by how dimly I see, and by how uncertain everything is. I get annoyed by my lack of foresight and control. Not that I want to control your life; I want to control my life at least a little better. And so, in that moment, I throw up my hands and blurt out, "I just want someone to explain this all to me!"

I just want to understand, because if I understand, I'll know how to act, react, respond. If I understand, it'll all be better, right? My life will improve, my relationships will improve; in general, everything will get better if I can wrap my mind completely around it all.

But all this just isn't true. Nor is it what I truly want.

When I step out of that moment of frustration, when I've had a decent night's sleep, when I'm honest with myself, I recognize that there are other things I want more than an explanation.

I want a life of surprises. I wait for new things, and watch for new joys, every day. I long for adventure, for discovery, for growth. Joy comes not in the known, humdrum, expected things, but in the unexpected, the bright brilliant bursts of light, the inexplicable wonders. And I want that joy. Next week's plans won't go how I imagine. Even this week's plans are threaded with unknowns, and I relish that. I enjoy having only a framework - tentative, incomplete - on which to hang the daily joys as they come.

What would living be if I knew it all already? Where would the fun be? Where the adventure?

I'm glad I don't know. I'm glad that I don't know where I'll be or what I'll be doing in 2 years. With my track record, it's quite a toss-up. So I fling the coin into the air, and keep going. I don't need to wait for it to land (and if it doesn't land, because a bird gulped it down, where would I be? stuck there, not moving, waiting...). Even though sometimes I wish the puzzle were just a wee bit more done, that's ok. It's a puzzle of a life - it'd be a bummer for it to be all done so early. What would I do with the rest of my life if there were nothing left to find? So with all these questions, big and small, that plague me, that pressure me into demanding answers which I have no right or reason to demand, I will set them aside.

I do not need to know what my "career" will be. I do not need to know when or where I will go back to school. I do not need to know how many children (if any) I will have, nor who I will marry nor when. I do not need to know if a book of my poetry or essays will ever be published. I do not need to know how many pull-ups I will eventually be able to do. I do not need to know when I will return to Rome. I do not need to know if I will ever record as part of a symphonic rock band. I do not need to know so many things. I do not need to know, because there is one thing I do know, and that is sufficient.

The one thing I know is: God is for me.

This is one thing that I know, even though I do not understand. My mind cannot wrap fully around the mystery of God, and even though logic trips over this, yet I know. Or at least, I know enough. And I choose to live based on that partial knowing. I choose to believe that God gives good and perfect gifts. I choose to walk with a profound certainty that He is and will be doing wonderful things for and in me.

I don't know what will happen tomorrow, but this I do know: when I wake up, make breakfast, brush my teeth, I will rejoice. I will give thanks for the lively potential in every moment; I will praise my God that He works in all things; I will choose to be thankful that I am alive, that I am increasing in health, that I know such wonderful people, that I have food to eat, and work to do. I will rejoice always, because "I know whom I have believed," and I am "confident of this, that he who began a good work in us will carry it on to completion."

So, in the words of those greatest of comic philosophers, I say, "It's a wonderful world, Hobbes, ol' buddy. Let's go exploring."

My God and I, we're going to have a grand adventure!

beginnings...

The beginning of a (mostly) fictional blurb inspired by my recent time in India. More writings from India will follow, I am sure, but here is just a piece.

One thing led to another, and I found myself suddenly outside of the city. A lonely windsock rippled over an empty airfield, and on the other side of the curling road trees shielded laughing children from my curiousity. Underneath the crumbling bridge I stood on, water sidled more than flowed - sidled and stunk. But then, all the waterways stank here. That was just one more thing I had learned to deal with.

My feet were tired, too, tired, dusty, and hot. It would have been refreshing to rest on the bridge, sitting on the edge, enjoying the wind... and breathing raw sewage. So I kept going, keeping to the shady side of the road. Surprisingly, there were few travelers here. It always surprises me, in cities, how one block away from scuttling crowds will dwell silence. No cacophonous autorickshaw horns, no shouts, no hacking motors ran this street. Occasionally a lone biker bounced past me, but other than that, I was alone.

I wasn't supposed to be by myself - the standard procedure was to go out in pairs at least. "Don't wander off by yourself," our leaders warned, "it's not safe, especially for women." One part of my brain knew this - and knew that an isolated, quiet path was the perfect place for something terrible to ruin my trip. But another part of my mind, and most of my heart, revelled in this - in the green, the distant laughter, the silence, just me, the sky, and a bit of country in the middle of the city.

Unexpected (Glory)

I double-checked my email just now - and with the gift I was given last night, I need less than $100 for India. And I am amazed.

It also turns out that I will be going over un-vaccinated. This is mostly due to me waiting until too late to take care of such things, but the odd part? I find myself less freaked out by the idea of going over "unprotected" than I was by the thought of getting all those vaccines. Unusual. But I'm remarkably unworried. I trust God's protection and my discretion more than I trust the drug company's concoctions. Hm.

And I feel strong(er)! Last Saturday I joined with many many other people doing 100 reps of an exercise a day... this will last 100 days. I'm not exercising with anyone else right now, and I'm mixing it up, doing somewhere between 10 and 20 reps each of several exercises, mostly because I'm not strong enough yet to do 100 of anything. But I WILL be. Oh, yes, I will be. The piece that is most unexpected is how quickly I'm noticing change... on Day 5, boy, did I feel stronger than on Day 1! Five days! If five days can make such a difference...

This is especially encouraging since I've spent the last 5 or so years of my life feeling weaker and weaker. At first, it was simply a lessening of activity. Then, with all the crazy health problems, I just felt muddy, and while the long process of changing and refining my diet has done wonders, simply eating differently doesn't help regain muscle. So in all these drastic changes, in all the process of trial and error, I have been slowly but surely losing muscle mass, and losing strength. It's been bothering me increasingly since last fall, but I haven't known what to do. Where does one start? If I've never had a work-out regimen, never been an athlete, and have generally very little strength, how do I start building my body back up?

Then I heard about this 100 Reps for 100 Days challenge. And it's enough of an external impetus to help me get going. Even though I'm not vocally a part of it, I read what others are doing, and take ideas from them. I know that it's do-able. And I can already tell, less than a week in, that it's making a difference. My body is saying "aha! finally!" and it feels good. Now, I recognize that I need to not overdo it. I tend to push myself too hard, too fast, and hurt myself enough to discourage or break the pattern. Don't want to do that here. Not going to do that. Not this time. But I AM getting stronger!! And this is amazing.

Our new apartment finally has gas, too. This morning they turned it on, so I cooked my first meal (eggses) in my new place, and it was wonderful.

My aunt contacted me yesterday, asking "would you like your great-grandmother's sewing machine?" Umm, yes! She's visiting Boston later this summer, and will bring me a not-too-terribly old, barely-used sewing machine with its very own beautiful table. Family heirloom of sorts? Yup. And I'll have a sewing machine! Rather unexpected.

Last night, we had our last prep for India. After going over logistics, we prayed, both in our Rickshaw teams, and all together. And it was glory-filled. It's hard to put into words how I feel about these people, and their compassion, and their faith, and the excitement that's building among us. What will it be like? We don't know. But there is so much freedom and encouragement in the group, so much love and patience and thankfulness. I'm just glad I'll get to spend time with them!

Daily more puzzle pieces become clear. A year ago, I remember being frustrated by how unclear and undefined everything was. I couldn't figure out what any of the pieces of my life were, much less how they might potentially fit together. Maybe much of what needed to happen was shifting in me, so that I would be the right shape to hold the right pieces. But over the past month especially, every week it seems more pieces turn up. I can see their colour, their shape, some of the edges. Some of them have been lurking, undefined, for years, and only recently have been allowed to breathe and dream. Some are more recent. But it's exciting. I'm looking down at my hands, and they aren't empty any more! I look around my feet, and there are objects, dreams, hopes, passions, just waiting to be picked up and made into something beautiful.

When I get back in two weeks, how much more will have fallen into place? Or be ready? How quickly is it possible for things to change? To shift, settle, and build? How do I handle this stirring in me, the unbearable excitement of being, of desire, of wholeness and becoming? How do I keep still, keep quiet, when I want to dance wildly and sing at the top of my lungs that my life is starting to make a little more sense, and I am starting to be genuinely healthy, and I am learning how to love people and love myself, and this life is a beautiful, wonderful, glorious thing, and how, oh how, can it keep getting better at this rate without something exploding?!?

You break every chain,
and mend every heart,
You hold all my pain,
and take me apart,
and then when I'm weak,
and broken left falling down,
You reach down,
take my hand,
and say: Dance with Me, My love.