I'm better, thanks. And a lot of precious things have happened lately, firsts if you will.
I sat in on the recording of a song that helped me exit the Charisma pool. I went to a crawfish throwdown and suffered accordingly: guts in my hair and on my clothes - gory, fun stuff. Attended a wedding for fifteen minutes in a fancy star dress (pictured below). Went to my first concert - Mat Kearney's Crazy Talk Tour - with my best friend and ended up being hoisted aloft by him to get in the crowd selfie. I met Andrew Belle and jumped around in a gentle moshpit with Mat Kearney. We met an urban witch ("Raise your hand if you've ever felt personally victimized by Regina George."). I got over my fear of sushi, crab, and shrimp all in one bite ("What's on this?" "Crab!" "!!!!!"). Crawled around in the loft of a tiny house, and planned where I'd put a table and how to overcome limited counter-space. Even admitted I use a microwave. Did laundry at a laundromat that felt like it hadn't changed since the 80s, regardless of the flat-screen tvs playing strange movies starring bears, high-waisted jeans, and actresses that look like Barbara Streisand. Submitted some sweet 80's piano shmaltz to a remix. Helped film a faux VHS. Saw a strange flying thing, and saw something dive toward earth.
|prim & proper |
(and then, we split)
I got sick and stayed sick for a month (the usual).
Inciting incidents have been crashing into me and the people around me. Difficult decisions are pressing to be made and still, time has to be carved out to sit in front of the Lord to ask for direction and answers. Yesterday, for me, that turned into sitting silently in the middle of my driveway in the perfect liquid-gold heat of the sun after sorting through the junk mail taco we get everyday. The sky was clear, November blue, not a cloud (or chemtrail [winks]) in sight, and the wind pushed through the tree branches so loudly, it sounded just enough like the ocean. My breathing was slow and steady, as if my body was determined to take a nap once I went back inside. Then I talked to Him.
It ended up being a productive day, and in the morning, my nephew will be here again. He's getting so big so fast; it feels like he was just a baby baby a few days ago.
It's getting better. Not immediately, and there's still so much to learn. Ted, our resident florist and firebrand said during Cell Group when I admitted that I'm trying to establish adult habits, "Set your alarm for five in the morning and call me to tell me that you're up." He turned 61 yesterday. "Once you get good at that, then we will initiate you into the adult world." Thank goodness!
In keeping one's eyes wide open about people, and being realistic about faults, I have to remember that I love these people. Yes, they irritate me, sadden me, even anger me at times. My church has the strange and unique love language of razzing THE HECK out of you, sometimes unaware of the last straw they may be obliterating with their jokes. But sitting with my birthday Bible resting over my legs, listening to the playful, holy chatter of people I consider family, regardless of blood, I remember: I love them.
No one is certain what will happen when we move. We've become a motley handful of saints, unsure where our shepherd wants to go next. But there is still a sweetness, a hope lingering in the bated breaths. Still laughter in parking lot talks. Still someone on the front row to say, "Probably so."
Everything in the distance is so uncertain. But there is peace to be had, too. There really is. Promise.