all grown and facing giants!

i had opted to leave my hair salty and my skin still freckled with sand that evening. i applied coral-red lipstick and half-tucked my white lace shirt. en route to the night's festivities i talked to myself, of course. i talked to those i expected to see. i weighed words and juggled phrases and cut my language with precision.  i prayed that change would have a voice and a body in me that night. that fruit would be tasted of. integrity. wholeness. honesty. confidence. peace. it is one thing to perceive yourself changed. it is quite another to be confronted with the past, faces and environments with which you clung to only a year ago, and to feel the change that took place. this was the test of that change. did a year provide the time to get my bearings straight? would i lose them in the presence of the past? i wondered what i would feel. if i could handle it. aprehensive, i parked near a car i spot everywhere. but only because it was the closest parking spot - and still, it was far far far from the house.  the image of that grey truck is knotted to memories. i am a visual person. and images are what i see when i close my eyes. are what i see when i read or sing.  without looking i see that truck, though owned by others, and know the past has a say in my future, but is not the authority within whose power it is to decide my future. i walked briskly to my dear friend's home that i have ate, slept, and showered in. this time round, the grass would have fixtures of my past, the air would be filled with an old familiar murmur. past these fixtures i walked into the home to help with an item for the party and to confide my hopes and fears of the night to this friend who is more like a sister. yes, i walked briskly but turns of heads and first looks were not lost on me. images and pictures and all things visual stick, remember? there was shock. my presence was obviously unexpected. [i had a personal invitation from the one going away, but not the official event invite on facebook.] the shifting and uneasiness was, well, understandable. it had been a year or so since i had been with ninety-five percent of these people. after sharing in confidence my hopes and fears of the night, i headed to the yard. and i passed you who i knew at one time. and you were a stranger. there was only the conversation of acquaintances not deep dish pizza sharers or late night callers or entangled desperate lovers. because we are not that anymore. freedom. release. walking away without wondering, i felt it. we are separate people, living separate lives. and it is better this way. and i would not change the way things are for the world.  other people filled me in - they had moved out and have roommates, they want to do administrative work, mothers are moving closer, brothers are living with aunts, they want to move from performance to sound work.. on and on. i was honored to listen, to be trusted - if only for a night. and they asked about my life. actually interested. and i, freer than i've ever felt, could answer for myself, for the life i chose, for the only one i am responsible for. i could be happy and proud of it, for it. He has brought me to a spacious place. the boundary lines have fallen in pleasant places. surely, i have a delightful inheritance.  for the first time, i could engage with those i once felt threatened by. i could look in the eyes of those speaking without my periphery curiously reaching for evidence of berayal.  there was none of that. ah, freedom. we didn't speak again and i didn't hang by your side. and i didn't even cling to my dear friend. i was confident. i held my own.  and it was wonderful. years of horrific confusion and constant sadness. and, today, i am a wholer, healthier person. restoration came. is still coming, mind you. but it came! driving away, i was aglow. each time i recount the events, the subtle nuances to the evening and what they mean, i become light. content and grateful. alive and awake.

the transition from one life to the other was much too quick in some ways. the decisions made about a year ago set me flailing and circling and in a completely different - better - direction.  but there were questions. there were doubts. can she be alone? she hasn't taken time to be her own person. i think i wondered too. but that night provided me with assurance that i am my own. i don't need someone by my side to know know know i am somebody. i can take ownership of my life. i know that if things fell apart again, i could handle it*. i am strong. i am rooted deeply. i know who i am. and i'm pretty damn awesome.

before i pulled out from that evening my dear friend said goodbye, that she was proud of me. it meant so much to me to hear that. thanks, lex. and that evening as i got home and laid down (after already falling asleep on the fellers chest while watching a redbox and sleepily driving home), she sent me a text:

"look at you all grown and facing giants!"

i am glad to face giants with her by my side. with other dear friends and family. with the feller. all by my side. i am glad to have faced the past. and to have come out of that experience feeling sure that yes was the right answer a year ago. 

*the feller and i talked about this. we are far from falling apart. and even though he chants momento mori and even though we visited a cemetary on his birthday, he was unsettled by my cheeky but truthful phrase "darling, i am pondering the end of us." the end. oh! the end. i don't want it. but, finally, i am sure of myself. of who God says i am. and it is liberating. so much so that i can ponder the end, knowing full well that i will be okay if it does end. the first time around i was sick with fright. the feller and i - we don't want the end. we can handle life alone. but we are choosing each other. the sharing. the tears. the quiet nights. the discussions. the kisses. the sacrifice. the laughter. life is good with him. he thinks life is good with me. we make meals together and spend days off with each other. we go on walks and make cards for each other. we know each others families. and we treat each other well. we point each other to truth, even when it necessitates change. we argue and discuss and worry . but we treat each other well. we have been through a lot but, i suppose more than treating each other well, we love each other well. he is quite the catch. :)

p.s. i hope addressing you doesn't upset or confuse anybody. the only reason for addressing you is because you were involved in the horror, the change, and (once we both relented and abdicated our place in the other's life), the good. thank you for relenting, for leaving, for releasing me. for living your own life.  you live so near and i don't know you anymore, but thank you - to be frank - for going away. it has been the best thing for me and by the looks of it for you - i think you would agree. 

place a fan

sweltering. i feel like i only hear this word on the news when they enlighten concerned viewers about the oncoming weather. days are referred to as scorchers. "well, folks tomorrow will be a scorcher!" to describe the current weather as such would be accurate but too close to cliche for my comfort. too close to the overused language of weathermen and women who aim at our laughter only to suffer the changing of the channel. regardless their language, they are right.

it's hot, friends. minus the cool breeze we all expected. it's the breath of a dragon after a fiery expulsion. it's the circus-mirror heat waves when you eye the concrete. it's white wine without the sweetness. and it being week ten of summer day camp - i am suffering. and so are the children. most of my days are outdoors. messy monday activities? outdoors. activity time? outdoors. water play? outdoors. team challenges? outdoors. i love summer. i mean, i love summer. bare shoulders and legs (aside from shaving. but, seriously, who does that anymore?). dresses and skirts and shorts and tanktops. and the beach. i am a summer girl who is doubting her love affair with the heat. i leave work exhausted and i come home and immediately place a fan in front of my face. for a girl who shivers at the slightest breeze, this is pretty ridiculous. the upside is that this is the last week of summer day camp. week ten might kill me but only after i've been beat to the ground by the heat.

boundary lines and a busy week.

i shall not be in want because i have not been left wanting. i've said this before. i will continue to say this. because it is a reminder that i have everything i need. that i actually live in abundance. because it points to truth. last year i did not have this vocabulary, this conviction. last year i had tears and headaches and a quiet yes, a wriggling obedience. my recalcitrance was confronted by scripture.

 

lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup;

you have made my lot secure.

the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;

surely i have a delightful inheritance

psalm 16:5-6

last year my ill-behaved wants terrorized every good thing. destruction would come, i was warned. the matter, the stuff that held my life together - those miniscule binding components - shook in violence. my portion and my cup could change. but i know the Story. sometimes the cup is suffering. sometimes the portion is blood-sweat. and being in one place necessitates not being elsewhere. and having one life necessitates not having another. my lot would change and my home, my dwelling, my land (and all the things within) would be on the other side of the fence. then and there my yes and obedience hinged on my belief that the new home, dwelling, and land would be good. that the cup and portion would be good. 

there is the promise and then there is all the time before the promise becomes reality. the time before - the changing and moving - would follow the Story. and the only way to experience the reality of things hoped for but not seen was to go through with it. and i did. safe pasture (green pasture!) was found within the loveliest of fences. and what lies outside of the fence is not of importance, is not mine to consider. 

today - all week - i have been a busy girl. i made a centerpiece. i cooked zucchini boats. i cried in the presence of the dearest of friends. i discussed a book. i made plans for the next book. i prepared a surprise, of which the feller was the recepient: took a train, explored shops and buildings, contemplatively walked through a cemetery, napped on grass, interacted with strangers and ate too much. i was number eight in laser tag. i had expectations of friendships. i doubted they would be fulfilled. i feld cared for and cherished because they were. i talked through things. i exercised honesty. i had multiple tiffs with my father. i moved in the direction of reconciliation. i understood he must want it too. i swam in a pool with new(er) friends. today - all week - i have dwelt in the land that was the product of a quiet yes, a wriggling obedience. 

i am tired but 

i am thankful for 

my lot, 

my cup, 

my portion,

and for the One who initiated it all.

therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; 

my body will also rest secure,

because you will not abandon me to the grave,

nor will you let your Holy One see decay.

you have made known to me the path of life;

you will fill me with joy in your presence,

with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

psalm 16:9-11

and smile.

"miss r, you look like an adult."

this was the confidence of a fourth grader at the end of her 2011 school year - 

despite my tussled hair tightly secured in a messy bun and my bare face. despite golden feathers the length of my pinky nail hanging from my ears and the feller's least favorite shirt, incidently one of my favorites at the time, her eyes widened with admiration and discovery - i was an adult. something magical and to be desired. 

i felt the change but could not name it then. she was perceptive enough to take note and say something. and i knew, then, sitting on mustard lunchtables that i would remember her words and her face. thank you, mckenzie for noticing. and for saying so.

nothing is more adult-ish than knowing oneself. my twenty-first year was one of the most difficult for this reason.  to know oneself is to see oneself clearly. among other things, i was selfish, deceptive, a contradiction, and deeply, horribly insecure. the process of knowing myself, which is on going and never quite sufficiently completed, revealed good things too. tenderness. creativity. the ability to care. i digress. as i was saying, knowing onself is a sure marker of adulthood. scrutinizing oneself is invaluable. scrutinizing with gentleness and graciousness. never the mean kind that cynics and unhappy people do.  that day at the lunchtables i knew who i was. the terrible and the terribly good. i looked at the trajectory i would soon be headed and was at peace.  i could sit across from myself and smile. knowing my worth and knowing my strength and knowing my beauty. knowing i would not go at it alone.  of course, i doubted all these things. and sometimes i still do. hello, human condition! you are a predictable one. but in those moments i sink myself in the truth. i do combat with truth. i come up breathing with truth. and in the process i am becoming a young lady. an adult of sorts. how adventuresome and peculiar and mysterious and wonderful to be taking shape, to become.

p.s. tomorrow is twenty-two months with the feller. eeks!
p.s.s. i bought a bathing suit today and had a wonderful experience. this week i will write about it i promise.
p.s.s.s. book club is this week. brave new world. hoorah!

invite them both.

dear little ones,

i do hope you aren't holding a grudge because of the silence between this letter and the last. look over it, please. i said some things about being brave and change and about my job with children - daycare kids. i am going on my third year at this school. i don't get paid as much as others but i enjoy it so. i am in the thick of my second summer day camp (theatre camp included) and will be running the whole daycare sha-bang with alexis next year.

i wonder if you know her. if she knows you. i hope.

one day there will be a time when you experience a spell of stillness.  as if the future is painfully bashful or playfully hiding or proudly ignoring you. and like most things, you will be both thankful and worried at once. thankful because you need a break. worried because you wonder what comes next. invite them both. let gratitude loose you to learn new things and forge good friendships and know who you are and what you like and what you, quite frankly, don't like. but never let thankfulness slip into entitlement or complete frivolity (i say complete, because sometimes to do lists must be left unchecked for the sake of your own humanity). and let worries motivate you to be responsible and practical and frugal and wise. but never let them immobilize you 'neath the weight of impossibilities. the bills will be paid. things will get done.

*

truth be told, i am tucked so tight in this lull i wonder if it might ever pass. if you get these letters, it is proof that it does (if only to interrupt my life again in a few years). in grade school you press towards middle school. in middle school you aspire to high school. in high school you plan for college. and sometimes the schooling continues. and sometimes definite long term plans unfold. but i have no masters program in mind. and there is no full-time career beckoning me any time soon. and so i am, in some eyes, plodding forward for no good reason. i am aimless, in the worst sense. the lull is a euphemism for doing nothing. this, of course means being no one. but can i let you in on a secret? i run at a canyon three-four times a week. and this saturday i am officially learning to ride a bike. and i might just take up swimming too. i am in a book club with friends and loved ones. people i share meals with and couches with. people i watch redboxes with (do we do that?). and i am committing eighty percent of each paycheck to loans. i am paying for my own voice instruction. oh! and since i've graduated, i have become quite the cook! i plan services and lead intermitently on sunday mornings at a church i can walk to. and i am learning about life from these people. about being generous with your home and time and money. and i still play mancala with children. uno. shark attack (duh). hide and go seek tag. sticks and rocks tic-tac-toe.  jenga. i still cook with them and make books with them and organize relay races. i still diffuse conflict and teach them about forgiveness and kindness and about being a good sport. and for the first time, i get to teach them specific bible lessons. i get to pray with them. i get to walk them through lifting their hands and kneeling and dancing and worship. i get to see them close their eyes. and know whatever is happening in that room between them and God is real.

there are times when i am convinced that i am doing nothing. because, shocker, there is no goal to be fulfilled in the near future. but, little ones, i am building a life. with thanksgiving and worry. with bravery. and with joy.

sincerely,
a twenty-two year old who enjoys reading and writing and singing and the local church and children but has no idea where she will end up.

*i think the spell looks like this. do i play? do i sit? do i walk? and if i do, to where?