our first week together

a couple couple-y shots of us during our first week together in madison.

madison musings

1.

when you realize that you have the capacity to make someone happy, i think it makes you want to do so. knowing that i have the ability to influence tim, to make his heart swell with joy, to make his chest puff with confidence... this makes me want to knock myself out to give him that.
and he, he would do anything to see me smile. and does.

2.

i'm not sure we can loosely or figuratively interpret Jesus' words about being with the poor, nor the repetitious declarations of Papa's affection for the poor. i think maybe it's literal economic deprivation that God is getting at here. i'm beginning to wonder if it's not even just about being kind to the poor and helping them to climb out of their poverty, but that maybe there's something to be said for joining them in it (to be poor without being in bondage to a spirit of poverty; to redefine wealth). that maybe there's some secret keys to the Kingdom hidden in living with and as the poor. and here in this polished madison neighborhood, what i miss the most is, surprisingly, the integration of homeless and addicted friends into daily life. there was something in those unlikely friendships that breathed freshness into my soul and into our community. and this new house, airy and still, feels sometimes more like cheap comfort than the previous gift of shalom prevailing amidst a holy chaos. i believe God's given me territory here, but sometimes i say, with longing, "oh, tim, can't we just move into the worst neighborhood in madison?!"

3.

5:30 a.m. is still-dark and hopeful. it's when i get out of bed and put the water to boil for the french press. then warm up the rice porridge whilst i take a quick shower and put on some clothes. i take my bible and journal to the cushy red rug in the living room (it was during conversations on this rug i fell in love with tim), and, coffee mugs in hand (one for him, one for me) i wait for him to come. at 5:50 he steps through the door and embraces me a few moments before we settle in to chat with our Papa. we talk with Him aloud, starting with adoration and gratitude, moving into confident petitioning on behalf of ourselves, our household, our families, our neighborhood, and our ministries. at 6:30, with our hearts so bowed and our hands so offered, we then part ways to work our days.

4.

and here is how work is working. for me, it's 7-11 a.m. on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays. it's working with grace of the glittering smile and the patient-through-pain voice. it's finding here on her anti-gravity bed, tended to by the gentle hands of randy-the-nurse and renada-the-care-giver, going through the painstaking process of getting her paralyzed body out of bed for one more day. while lindsay, who is 7 in mind and 23 in body, goes through her own routine in their shared bathroom, occasionally saying, "you dirty rat." and i have involvement in the intimate moments of a beginning-the-day routine, and i am learning to see with the eyes of a woman who can move nothing more than biceps and neck-up, and i am lending my hands and my strength where hers would have been had she not been in that accident 9 years ago. a great deal of the time she is in pain from misalignment or slow-to-heal sores that rip her flesh, and i hurt to know that as i go through my learning curve, i may at moments contribute to her bodily pain. but i do so hope that in my light-filled presence i might somehow sooth other sorts of pains.

then i go home to run my errands, keep my house, ride a bike, cook dinner for friends, snuggle my boyfriend, stand in a hot shower... and i think of how fortunate these small things are, how not to be taken for granted.

normal-er

today felt something like normal.

the sun was shining, for one thing. it was was 70 degrees.

i wore a skirt and flip-flops.

i unpacked some more more things, switched the season of my wardrobe, and took some things down to the basement to await their time.

i landed a job as an assistant photographer for primavera studio. i am really pleased about this development. i like their souls. i like their business philosophy. i like their art. i know i'll grow a lot as i shoot with them this summer.

i went to two amazing neighrborhood grocery stores - willy street co-op and jennifer street market - with rachel. (to me, these places are like candy stores).

i had an iced chai, a long walk, and a lay-in-the-sun-on-the-dock-and-watch-the-ducks-and-toddlers time with chelsea at lake wingra.

i made a thai-style dinner for some of my new friends (chelsea, jake, rachel, kiersty, tim) while tim sat perched on the counter getting caught up on emails.

we all sat on the kitchen floor, drinking tea and discussing chapter 9 of Punk Monk (mercy and justice).

we sat in the living room and responded prayerfully to what the holy spirit put in our hearts from that discussion.

i had some good quality one-one-one time with tim, which obviously included googly-eyes.

i emailed my mom and siblings.

and now i will sleep.

(it will only keep getting better).

from my friend linford (of over the rhine)

When I was younger I would often write myself short job descriptions. I was thinking out loud about what might be worth hanging a life on, a life I was willing to sign my name to:

-Create spaces where good things can happen.

-Give the world something beautiful, some gift of gratitude, no matter how insignificant or small.

-Write love letters to the whole world.

-Build fires outdoors, and lift a glass and tell stories, and listen, and laugh, laugh, laugh. (Karin says I’m still working on this one. She thinks I still need to laugh more, especially at
her jokes, puns and witty asides.)

-Flip a breaker and plunge the farm into darkness so that the stars can be properly seen.

-Do not squander afflictions.

-Own the longing, the non-negotiable need to “praise the mutilated world.”

-Find the music.

I still crave the extravagant gesture, the woman spilling a year’s wages on the feet of Jesus, the rarest perfume, washing his feet and drying them with her hair, a gesture so sensual it left the other men in the room paralyzed with criticism, analysis, theoretical moral concern - for what - the poor? Or was it just misdirected outrage in light of the glaring poverty of their own imaginations?...

Music and art and writing: extravagant, essential, the act of spilling something, a cup running over…

The simultaneous cry of, You must change your life, and Welcome home.

saying goodbyes at the SBR

(a slideshow by Michael Newsted)

small

my dear friend,

i think you will understand what i mean when i say that i feel small
how i felt small from that moment at
the counter beside my knight in shining armor
at the foodsmith, looking out over south division street
the truck loaded with all my earthly possessions in view
for the first time just the two of us, alone
with the image of all of you standing
on the porch of my recently left home
waving until we could no longer be seen
and i felt small
that is the only word i could come up with
to explain to him the tears
so he gathered me into his arms and kissed away my tears
even though everyone walking down the sidewalk could see
and he spoke over me words too private to write here
but they were the best words
and he is the best man

so now i have been in this new house approximately 36 hours
and i have this room with blue walls and an over-zealous heater
but i've been so very sick, almost from the start
with intestines turning themselves inside out and all my body aching
so that for all of yesterday i was in bed and couldn't nest a bit
(but, oh, how i had wanted to nest)
instead i laid there, sleeping, thinking, feeling numb
rachelann came and laid hands on me and prayed
she said that my spirit is warring with a great grief
that the sorrow of leaving home is taking on a bodily form
and i guess maybe she is right because i haven't been able to cry
haven't been able to emotionally connect with the enormity of
this uprooting

it is uprooting, but it is being replanted
it is goodbye, but it is hello
it was lasts, and now it is firsts
and when he came home from work yesterday
bearing applesauce, dried mango slices, kalmata olives
(food of for the sick) and flowers
then he just stayed by my side and rubbed my back
he reminded me how glad he is that i am here with him
and his presence is the best of all medicine
but coming into this new family sick, feverish, depeleted
with all my possessions scattered across the flat
(i just moved my entire life here, minus the bike, which would not fit)
and me too weak to be able to do anything about it
i feel small

i am not afraid like i used to get
not of being loved like this, nor of being committed
i have not had cold feet
i have not wanted anything other than this
than him

today i feel 80% better so
i got up and began a bit of unpacking
until the sadness slipped in
and i wondered where i was
where are my people
and he who is my home is not home
so i feel so very small

jenn had a word for me a while ago
to always remember that
God is my home
this three-fold family of Papa, Jesus, and Spirit
and wherever i go and whomever with, they are
home
and here everyone keeps telling me,
"welcome home"
but i have never left it

i am small and weak
and in that place He reminds me that
His grace is sufficient
and tenderness is a good stance for
encountering joy

it's tomorrow

it's no longer in the distant future; it's tomorrow.
tomorrow he comes for me, readied as he can be.
we'll pass brown boxes and rubbermaids, boxsprings and bookshelves into a trailer and truck.
we'll receive blessings and prayers of from the people of my Michigan life.
and monday morning (following a special breakfast and probably tears) we'll drive away.
into the sunset, as they say.

what will await me on the other side?
an emptied bedroom (it has pale blue walls; it is off the dining room).
a house full of jovial, godly people who already love me, and who are sitting down to dinner.
(that's all i know so far).

Hearing God's Voice

this is a wonderful teaching about how to hear God's voice, really practically and simply.
it is so much worth checking out that i'm putting the link here for all of you to hear.
the teacher is Juli Cox from the Kansas City Boiler Room.

a few thoughts on the last days

so we're down to the days of "lasts" -- my last trip to meijer, my last intern breakfast, my last burger at the cottage bar, my last 24/7 prayer week. the countdown has begun.

and what is on my mind in these final days? seems like a switch got flipped on wednesday and now i'm in this sweet spot of simultaneously being deeply present and affectionate with my here-and-now while also being absolutely ready to for tim to come take me home. it's teaching me some things about waiting for heaven.

so i've been thinking about things like learning how to quilt, about the role of information and books in my life as a disciple, about what it means to minister to Jesus like the women who followed him from Galilee to meet his needs, and about summer in madison with tim. i'm savoring meals with the tenderos and the interns (what wonderful food we eat!), and loving the heck out of the hobos. i'm patiently watching salmon jump up the fish ladder, taking photos of my friends and family playing together, shopping at vintage stores and staying up late with my housemates, and listening to adam cox's teachings on the KC boiler room website as i begin to pack. i'm seeing and seizing opportunities to pass on whatever small bits of wisdom i've gleaned to those who will come/continue after me here. and most of all, i'm just walking around with this quiet certitude that He is very very near to me, and that He is smiling.

in lots of ways i've been less present to tim. there's been many days when i've had to cancel or rearrange our rhythm of nightly phone conversations, and i've been writing him fewer emails. but though on the surface i'm giving him less of my time and energy right now, my heart is quietly but surely becoming more completely his, more and more readied to go. with him.

so these are the last days. and i am quiet inside.