hazelnut steamer

9:15 pm, the house is quiet and still.

As a young woman in my early twenties, a night spent at home was an imposition. I was extroverted, and not particularly self confident, and felt abandoned and uncool if I spent more than just a few hours on my own. I dreaded the quiet of my living room, convinced my friends were out having wild adventures without me. It did not help that this was basically true - my closest friends at that time were a group of guys who lived in an apartment that was right across the street from our favorite bar, and any night could turn into an impromptu party. I was sure to miss some inside joke or dramatic encounter. Plus, there'd be girls there. Smart, pretty, thin girls. Girls who could see the amorous potential of whichever guy was the subject of the revolving series of unrequited crushes I nurtured for the better part of a decade over these guys. Worst, they'd be Drunk Girls, which made up for quite a bit of whatever was lacking from the Smart and Pretty departments. I, of course, would be drinking too, but never Drunk. Smart and Pretty, but never Thin. I'd be the one they did not go home with, who they would call tomorrow. I told myself I was getting the better deal. I definitely thought I had to choose.

It was convenient for me to like these guys, to imagine our friendship blossoming into something more - something safe, because it came from real feelings and would hold none of the risk or betrayal of a regular relationship, but also something exciting, because there'd be secret passion, romance, and let's face it, s-e-x. We called it "friends with benefits" and acted like it was a great idea, the best of both worlds, a win-win. What a spectacular lie.

I had been falling for this lie since I was fifteen years old, when my best friend and I decided to "share" the guy we both liked, and what started as my first serious chance at falling in love became a competition to see who (me) would go the furthest (hand job) the quickest (matter of days), and nearly destroyed the most important relationship of my adolescence (her, not him) and got both of us dumped a few weeks before prom (Total Fail). My takeaways from that first experience were that, A, I should have gone further, faster to secure my place in the front of the line, and B, dramatic, complex emotional entanglements equate to Real Love. I was able to refine this view through a series of failed pseudo-relationships and hook-ups over the next decade. It took nearly as long for me to realize that sleeping with my friends made me miserable, that sex outside the protective boundaries of a publicly acknowledge, committed relationship was risky, ruined friendships, and made me feel, look, and act batshit crazy. This, I've come to learn, is not a sexy look for me.

It is 9:15 pm, ten years later, and I am sitting in front of the computer with a steaming mug of hazelnut milk mixed with honey. My children are asleep; my husband watches football and folds laundry in the other room. The house is quiet and still. I am not crazy. These are miracles.

Resolution

Resolved: That I, Lucinda Bowen, being of moderately unsound and often distracted mind, will, with due energy, humor, humility, and self deprecation, commit to blogging weekly for the entirety of 2011. That I will chronicle the nuggets of sweetness and laughter presented to me by my children and husband daily. That I will not gloss over my failings and insecurities, be they dramatic, embarrassing, self indulgent, or pathetic. That I will cast parenting, and working, and marriage, and Jesus following, and eating inappropriate amounts of cookies, and whatever else I do with my time, in their true light. That I will reveal some, but not all, of my heart, most of the time. That I will write, and write often, even it is drivel, even if I am the only one who reads it. That this year will be the year I begin to live unafraid of what might happen if I am who I am.

birthday

It is May 21, and in a few hours my daughter will be born. Amped up before my surgery, I am wakeful early today, the sky is still grey, the house is quiet, and the air is cool coming in the windows, a morning pleasure I rarely get to experience. I am grieving the end of my pregnancy, of this special time where the more my stomach sticks out the prouder I am, of being awarded seats on the bus and train, of fertility, of God's obvious blessing. I am looking forward to relief from swollen ankles and feet, heartburn, constantly having to pee, the waddling walk, the dull backache, the uncanny sense of being host to a 9 pound parasite. I am anxious about the surgery, about the pain of the IV, the spinal anesthesia, the catheter, the resulting wound. I am harboring a low level fear of the worst - hemorrhage, infection, cancer, infertility, plus a whole host of unnameable concerns for the baby, all in varying degrees of ridiculous. I worry she will have trouble breathing, that she will be deformed or imperfect, that she will have a cleft palate, that she will be a he, that she has a disease or birth mark, that she will not be pretty, that she will be a difficult child. After 6 months of trying to get pregnant followed by 40 weeks and 2 days of living with this baby in my body, I am surprisingly unprepared for life with two children, and, even worse, at a base level am still not quite sure if I really do want to start this child rearing process again from scratch. Nathan's infancy was so long ago, we've come so far since then, and this feels like a lot of back pedaling and regression. I am excited, looking forward to hearing her first cry and seeing her face, only hinted at in shadow over these last few weeks of ultrasounds and monitoring. I am looking forward to holding her body curled and warm against my chest, smelling that spicy newborn scent, feeling that vast ocean of love and vulnerability open up inside my heart and gut. God bless this child. God bless this birth. God bless our parenting. God bless Nathan as he adjusts and makes room. God bless my body in the next few weeks of sleeplessness, lactation, supplementation, nurturing, healing. God bless my marriage, fill it with strength and mutual concern, compassion, and kindness. Give us so much slack to cut for each other, a supernatural inclination towards partnership and forgiveness. God bless this baby, give her health and beauty, let her thrive, Jesus, in every way. I am grateful for this pregnancy, for the gift of it beginning and the gift of it ending. I am grateful for my family, just now starting to wake up around me. I praise your plan for us, Lord, and agree with it. You are God, your love endures forever. "Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever."

Second time is not a charm

Today I am thinking about second pregnancies and how different they are from first pregnancies. Of course, I only have my own experience to go on here, but lets just pretend I am everywoman and can speak with authority for all moms everywhere on this topic.

It makes me sad how unspecial my second pregnancy seems to those around me compared with my first pregnancy. In my first pregnancy one of my major struggles was with people - strangers, friends, family, friends of friends, coworkers, everyone - who were constantly touching my belly, especially before I was really showing. It freaked me out and felt invasive, especially when it was people I did not have a relationship with. Bleh. And yet this pregnancy, I have found myself twice asking my husband to try to feel the baby kick and him generously complying, though it is clear he is uninterested, and after about 90 seconds he removes his hand because "it hurts" to keep holding it on my belly in that expectant position. My son is totally and completely uninterested and too impatient to wait for any more than 2 seconds. The only person who wants to feel the baby is my mom, but my interactions with her are too infrequent to fill that void. At this time in my last pregnancy, I had just had a wonderful baby shower, my parents were calling once or twice a week to check in on how I was feeling, my husband was rubbing my feet or back just about every night, we were taking pictures of my big pregnant belly, we had already decorated the baby's room and set up all our furniture and packed our hospital bags, and we were taking a 6 week childbirth class one night a week. I can say with authority that none of that is happening this time around. In fact, my husband has committed to being out of the house 2 nights a week for something with church, I am leading a church class 1 night a week which keeps me out until midnight every tuesday night, and i can count the number of foot or backrubs I've gotten in the last 7 months on one hand. Quite a bit of this revolves around us moving in 3 weeks and not being able to prepare the baby's stuff yet, so I may feel very differently in our new house. And some of this sounds pretty pathetic and whiny when I read it back to myself. Good thing I'm the only one who reads this blog. But it is difficult, at least for self-indulgent, needy me, to recognize that this baby will enter the world so unceremoniously compared with my son. Especially since I plan on this being my last pregnancy. I still am trying to "enjoy" it as much as possible but I feel really alone in doing that. And it just seems like such an imposition to feel like I have to ask people to want to feel the baby kick or to force my exhausted, begrudging husband to massage my swollen and tired feet, that I just don't do it. I have a hard time receiving ungenerously given gifts. I wish I was better at that, I wish I could just feel satisfied if my need was met regardless of the mindset of the person meeting the need, but I can't. I should pray for this to get better, I only have 9 weeks left.

I have hit the wall tonight and am barely keeping my eyes open, but I wanted to blog quickly about the miracle that happened today at work. Last week I had a difficult conversation with one of my staff, in which he announced he was moving his retirement date up 2 months because my incompetence was driving him out. He was right in that I had made a mistake and could have handled a situation with him better than I did, but he was also totally overreacting. I tried talking to him last week and tried taking responsibility for my mistake and making amends, but he would not accept my apology. I wrote him a card reiterating my apology, but he refused to come to work until this morning so he did not get the card very timely. I had been praying all weekend that God would miraculously change his heart and heal the damage between us, and this morning he came to my office and actually apologized for his overreaction, accepted my apology, and took back his "your incompetence is driving me out" comment and put his retirement date back to May 31 as previously planned. This is not someone who is known for their conflict management skills, and he is definitely someone to hold a grudge, so I was pretty impressed with God's ability to soften him up and work healing between us. I am trying not to think unhelpful things like "One miracle down, 246 more to go!" and just be grateful for his blessing on my staff, my development as a manager, and the fact that Jesus heard my prayers and delivered. Praise you god!

Listening

Today at church I felt like I was able to pinpoint my major difficulties lately, both spiritually and professionally, boil down to the fact that I am just really, really struggling with listening. Partly, I just feel really distracted by my own life right now. I guess that is part of being 7 1/2 months pregnant, in a new job, and about to move to a new house, but it is still not a great excuse. I used to be a good listener. I would say in college I was someone who was known for my listening skills. That, and my ability to talk a belligerent drunk person into going to the hospital to be treated for the multiple pieces of glass lodged in their hand. Everyone's gotta have skilz. But lately it is all I can do when someone is talking to me to keep my mouth shut while I wait for my turn to speak again. This disgusts me on a personal level - I mean, I hate being on the other side of that conversation, when you know that someone you are talking with is basically just waiting for you to shut up and let them go. And yet I am doing that to people on a regular basis. Yuck. Also, I notice that I'm having a hard time making space for God to speak back in my prayer times. This was particularly apparant yesterday at Holy Spirit Saturday when we were praying for the Seek folks to receive from God's Holy Spirit. I did hear stuff for people, but I had a very very difficult time dialing my own internal dialogue back and just listening for the nudge, that still small voice, so much wiser than my own. It was frustrating, and continues to be frustrating. I need God's resourcing so much more than usual right now, and yet I have this tremendously difficult time actually letting him talk. So dumb. So not acceptable.

I went and got prayer today at church and that felt helpful, partly just because I was allowing myself to receive without feeling obligated to nurture or provide for anyone, an experience that I find is more and more rare in my life lately. The lovely lady who prayed for me did so sweetly, and one thing she said struck home. She prayed for God to give me times to listen and times to talk, and people to listen to and people to listen to me, and she asked for more balance in that. I am definitely out of balance, especially in my time in relationships spent where I nurture people in (90%) versus the time spent in relationships I get nurturing out of (10%).

So: tasks for this week. 1, Listen well. Pay attention when people speak to me, both to their words and to what they are actually saying, or asking for. Ask God to help me dial back my internal voice. 2, Set aside time with nurturing friends who can feed that need to be listened to. Let God be one of these people too. 3, Let go of some of my focus on productivity and live more in the moment as well as living more intentionally towards something bigger. 4, Get enough sleep, eat meals on time, and arrive/leave work timely. Act like boundaries on my time are important and possible.

lessons learned

Apparently if you don't log into your blog for 3+ days, google logs you out automatically. The fact that I learned this tells me I need to do a better job with my daily blogging endeavors.

I had such a difficult day that I don't want to be reflective or self conscious for one minute, but the guilt about not blogging basically all week has made me log in for these few sentences. Lord let my work week end tomorrow more of your spirit. Fill me with your presence, Father, and give me the exactly right recipe of self control, generosity, gentleness, and joy that only you can. I pray for your will not mine. Amen and goodnight.

Unfocused

I am not feeling very focused so far this week and though it is only Tuesday morning at 7:15 I'm already getting tired of it. Yesterday's conversations with my staff did not go particularly well, and I struggled to stay engaged and listen to people all day. In nearly every interaction I had, my deepest drumming thought below everything else was "Need to make them stop talking. Need to stop wasting time. Need to go back to work" punctuated with self admonishments for not listening well and then half hearted rededication to my goal of listening, engaging, and being present. Not exactly, I think, what God had in mind. It did not help that my usual 1 hour staff meeting took 2.5 hours yesterday, and nearly every other interaction I had was unbearably longer than usual, including my commute. I also felt particularly disconnected from God yesterday, which was a let down after Sunday's cool experience in worship and hearing him speak directly about my week coming up. I ended up staying at work past 7, missing dinner with my family, coming home to a surly 3 year old who was not pleased with my lateness and punished me for it the rest of the night, and then, after all that, having a full on panic attack about money right before bed.

The good news is that there is basically no way today can get much worse than that, so really small improvements could still have a big impact today.

Today I felt like I heard from God that I need to make my interactions with my managers this week all about them. Too often, my mental participation in my conversations with people, especially people at work, focuses almost entirely on what the conversation means for me, about me, and what I need to do as a result of it. I think this is a natural default for me, especially when I am in a new role like I am with the AVSCM job. But today God put in my heart that I need to really be listening to and focusing on each of my staff this week, and that he will be present and working there this week too. Of course, my first instinct was to question - great, but who is going to cover ME and MY NEEDS if I'm all about them? and I really felt like God said "I got you covered." Which would be great - he is much more likely to do a sufficient job keeping my shit together than I am anyway.

This all reminds me of a TAL I listened to a few days ago, where they were talking about how bad behaviors can ruin group dynamics, and the only demonstrable leadership technique that can counteract that is listening. If part of my prayers for this little management team this season is for us to be remarkably transformed by, say, Easter, then just listening to people and paying attention to who they are and what they need as we interact could be simultaneously one of the easiest things I've done in this role yet, and also one of the most revolutionary. I will keep you posted.

Call me

Here's the thing about finding your calling. It seems like to really reach convergence, or afterglow, you need to be called into something God is already doing, that is close to his heart, and that is happening at the exact right time to match up with your life and your efforts. The calls I've read about in the Bible - Moses for one - match up a person with a passion to a huge agenda God has at the exact historical and social moment that change can happen. This three way matching strikes me as pretty rare.

On one hand it seems like God does give us passions and dreams that match our own culture and placement in history - for example, I was not born with the dream of being the one to free the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. I am like five thousand years too late for that one. So it is nice that I'm not passionate about it. But on the other hand, doesn't it seem very special, and almost coincidental, that your passion would match something God is already doing in the world at the exact moment of your life? I am thinking of people who spent their lives working against slavery, apartheid, civil rights - and died before the fruits of their labors were socially and historically realized. Can they have reached convergence on a personal level if the historical scene around them did not get "fixed?" How much of our own ability to attain afterglow is based on the circumstances around us?

What about my own leadership prayers about work? I don't even know what exactly I'm praying for, but if blessing and building up the Boston VARO is not something God is actually doing, how likely is it that I will be successful in my attempts to? And if God is not doing it, but I am passionate about it and think my calling has something to do with it, my chances of reaching convergence seem so so limited. Or is convergence more like that centered-set idea of constantly recalibrating yourself towards the center point, and the specifics of what and how we do it are actually less important than the direction we are pointing in? Maybe the calling is actually not about what activities you pursue at all, maybe it is just about constantly connecting and reconnecting with God, and in doing that you will become more fully yourself, and more fully connected to his purposes for the world.

I had been thinking of calling as what you do - your work, or maybe more generally your mindset plus your activities. But maybe I am way off. Maybe what we do or accomplish is a detail that comes out of our real calling to be deeply connected with and passionate about Jesus.

What do you think? Is it encouraging to think of "calling" as ultimately being connected with and passionate about Jesus, and the details of what you do and how you do it work themselves out, probably in some pretty great ways, but they are not ultimately the point of what you are doing? Or is it a cop out to say that you can become someone who reaches afterglow without having a real passion that can play itself out in your life and the world, aside from your relationship with God?

Wise counsel

Had two very difficult work days in a row, and I'm doing just about everything that I can do to be kind to myself and not descend into misery and self pity. This includes the time honored traditions of taking hot showers, going to bed early, and eating numerous double stuff oreos. I also called my mom for some wise counsel tonight and she came through like a champ. This does not always happen, and so I was so grateful when her advice was to the point, helpful, specific, useful, kind, loving, and encouraging. Plus, she made me laugh, which was the best medicine. Twice she tried to get off the phone because Nathan was whining that no one was playing with him (I was sitting right there playing play doh, but he can get jealous when my attention is not fully and only on him, not unlike certain other people he may or may not be related to) and both times I was firm in telling her that I needed to talk to my mom and I'd like to stay on the phone. That is not usually how it works with us - usually she tries to get off the phone because she is worried it is imposing on my life, I get all rejected and hurt because she doesn't want to talk to me, and then we don't talk as frequently or as openly for the next few weeks. I was glad to bypass that unhealthy cycle tonight and just assert my need more plainly. She met me very well and I was grateful.

I am wondering if this approach could be applied to more vulnerable relationships than mine with my mom - perhaps even to this work situation that has me all tied up in knots. What if I was honest about asserting my vulnerabilites and just asked for help when I need it? What do you think? When we are talking about challenges you are facing at work, is honesty the best policy, or is it better to just suck it up and deal? When does accepting help, or asking for it, qualify as wise self care and preventative action, and when does it start to negatively impact your reputation, performance, motivation, or success? Does learning to ask for help have anything to do with leadership, and calling, and God?

Wading in

I had some fun insights while reading the Bible yesterday. I love when my Bible reading gets re energized, especially after a long period of drought, and that is what seems to be happening now. I was reading Mark 1 in preparation for Tuesday's SEEK Class (we gave them Bible reading homework last week) and I noticed that when John the Baptist says "I will baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit" he is referring to an act that does not happen until after Jesus' crucifixion, death, resurrection, and ascension. We focus so much on Jesus' life and his teachings from his lifetime, and yet John's focus was really on what happened after he left us, what his death and sacrifice allowed to occur in the world. Jesus supports this himself, when he says "It is better for you that I go" later on, but this kind of strikes me as amazing considering so many of us spend so much of our time talking and thinking about Jesus's life and words.

Also, I noticed that Jesus' own baptism mirrors exactly what John predicts. When Jesus is baptized in water, immediately he is also baptized with the Holy Spirit, who descends like a dove, and God speaks love and calling over him - "This is my beloved Son, with him I am well pleased." I had never noticed that in Jesus's own baptism, God does for Jesus what Jesus will do for humanity much later - baptizing him with the Holy Spirit. This kind of confirms that Jesus is God, since they both do the same powerful thing with the HS, while also confirming that he is his Son, and he is somehow also separate from the Holy Spirit, which is also God, and himself. I love when I see layers like this in the Bible, it makes the words I've read so often seem so rich and new.

Considering this Leap of Faith season's theme of calling, I was thinking too yesterday about God's name - YAHWEH - I AM WHO I AM. It seems to me that naming is big with God. Naming has a lot to do with what your calling turns to be. Having the right name allows people who may have been on the wrong track to reorient themselves towards calling, convergence, and finally afterglow. God's own name strikes me as the ultimate name that personifies convergence. I am who I am - could you be more self actualized than that? This is encouraging to me - that God personifies what most of us yearn for - a calling or destiny that is fully realized and fully played out in your life and your spirit. I also like thinking about God's name in relation to the trinity. How does "I am who I am" layer in with my understanding of this triune God who has three fully realized aspects of himself, which are separate and yet the same, and all inherently relational with each other? How does it help me understand my own desire for balance between my work self, my spouse self, my parenting self, my daughter self, my faith self? How do my passions, or my calling, fit into this idea of reconciling different aspects of myself to all fully be me and yet be separate, and yet unapologetically revealed - made in the image of "I am who I am." It strikes me as the most revolutionary and encouraging thing ever to think about each of us as someone made in the image of a God who is, at the core of his own self three persons, all relational, all revealed, all converged, all perfectly exactly who they are.

fire

Tonight our next door neighbor's house caught fire. Everyone is ok, thank God, but it was quite dramatic and scary. We didn't even notice anything was happening until one of our neighbors started frantically ringing our doorbell to tell us to move our car, minutes before broken glass started raining down on our driveway. The fire was in their attic and the flames were shooting tall and orange, about 15 feet in the air above the roof, as we watched two firefighters climb onto the roof and begin to hack at it with axes to break in. Immediately, we started to pray - what else do you do? It was all I could think of - that and pack a few pieces of clothing, Nathan's Dog, some cash, and financial papers in an overnight bag to be ready in case we had to leave in a hurry. There was a ridiculous moment when I stood in front of the closet trying to decide which outfits I wanted to put in the bag in case we had to leave quickly. How do you pack for evacuation and possible homelessness? My husband has not stopped making fun of me for those few moments of deliberation - yet I didn't see him making a move to put anything in the suitcase.

For the first time tonight Nathan heard me pray in my prayer language. He was fascinated, and kept asking me to pray to Jesus again and again so he could hear me. I realize I have not been practicing my PL around him, or anywhere really, for a long time. I am not sure why - perhaps no "imminent need" for God to act powerfully? Like daily life is not imminent or needy enough. But, I was glad that it flowed so easily in the moment - I didn't even think about it, it just started to happen. Makes me feel slightly better about holy spirit saturday coming up in 2 weeks. I feel like I've been out of practice with many of my faith habits for awhile, and I'm enjoying the chance Seek gives me to polish up my toolbox.

I am supposed to be using this blog as a reflective time instead of a food or media fast during this Leap of Faith season, but tonight I admit I'm mostly feeling tired and distracted. The fire, the TV, the ice cream in the fridge, all of these things call to me to pay attention to them instead of engaging with myself and God here on the screen. I will pray tonight for tomorrow to be different, and for the embers in the attic next door to be fully extinguished, and for the embers of faith in my heart to catch, ignite, blaze.

Something really incredible is happening. Last week, I was absolutely heart broken about the possibility of selling our place, and we almost decided to take it off the market. In talking with my husband, I started to feel myself shifting away from total despair, so we kept it on. We woke up the next morning at 5 am, which never, ever happens, and both felt moved to pray together about the sale of our house. It was a great prayer time, and both of us felt energized, excited, and hopeful. We also felt really strongly that God would use this house to bless the next family that moved into it and it would be a place of faith and answered prayers for them. That day, we got the offer that led to the counter offer that led to us suddenly being under contract to sell our condo at just $4,000 below our original asking price. I spent a few sleepless nights wondering if we were doing the right thing and if God would be mad at me if I broke my good faith agreement and decided not to sell after all. Then I remembered my beautiful friend, Faith, who moved her 7 member family to Arizona basically sight unseen because her husband got a job there, and how brave and joyful she was about this new opportunity for them. Somehow in the face of that, it seems a little melodramatic to be so twisted up about basically moving across town.

So I settled into the idea that we would be moving, and the quick descent toward panic started soon after, culminating in compulsive round-the-clock internet searching for the new place for my family to call home, over the weekend I was supposed to be relaxing at my parents' house and celebrating valentines day with my sweetie. After about 5 days of this, I had concluded that there were absolutely no 3 (or 2, or 4) bedroom apartments that even remotely resembled places my family could reasonably live, at least none within a thousand dollars of my monthly rent budget. Despairing again, I started posting my woes on my Facebook page. An old acquaintance from church, who recently moved to California, emailed to congratulate me on our sale, mentioning they still owned their home in Somerville and would be needing new tenants in June. No dice, I said - we close April 23 and I theoretically give birth on May 19. Seems like a bad month to be homeless if you ask me. We dropped the issue. And then, a few days later, he wrote back and said "Funny thing - I just talked to our current tenants - and both of them have been praying that there would be some way for them to get out of their lease early - say April 1?" Immediately everything started falling into place. Rent? Exactly within our budget. Timeframe? Perfect. Neighbors? Friendly folks from church, paired with a super awesome and very responsive landlord with a total heart of service. Cat? Welcome! Parking? You got it. Storage? Is 400 square feet enough?

Tonight, we went to see this place, and without being too dramatic, I have to say that it was amazing. So much more than I could have hoped for. From the 800 square foot furnished attic playroom space, to the guest quarters available in the furnished basement, to the under cabinet kitchen lighting (with dimmers! have you EVER?), to the huge, flat, fenced in yard, to the laundry room and 3 season porch, etc., etc. It was fantastic. Places like this don't really exist in Boston. And the landlord doesn't want a security or last month's rent deposit, which means this place is $4K cheaper than anything around. And that is the thing - technically this place is *not* around. It is not on the market, it is not advertised anywhere. We have no competition. It is like God pulled this beautiful home out of thin air just for us.

But that is not all, either. Both the tenants feel like this is God answering their prayers and blessing them to move on, one to a new church and one to a new marriage and family. My friend the landlord has in the last 3 days had three offers of interviews after months and months of joblessness with no bites at all. The whole thing is such a multi-layered web of blessing that it is actually a little difficult to conceptualize all of it. Who am I, that I should be so richly blessed, and that my needs being met would also bless and meet the needs of these other people who until last week I had no idea I was even linked to at all? Who is this God, who loves so abundantly and provides so radically? I feel so blown away by this, I don't even know how to begin to receive it. But I am sure it is God. SO sure. And I am sure, more sure than I have ever been, that if he is for me, who could be against me? He is good. He is holy. He is faithful. He is powerful. And I am his.

over the river and through the woods

My son loves his grandparents' house. He is so self assured here that it almost hurts your heart to watch. He has been walking around the house and picking up knicknacks - sea shells, little ceramic boxes and bowls, matchbox cars, sculptures - and bringing them to me. He will say "Look at this, Mom - isn't it beautiful? Gramma made this for me." He is so sure that everything in this house is for him, was made specially for him by someone who knows him and knows how much he loves sea shells and ceramic boxes and matchbox cars. He feels so personally known, and blessed, and provided for. I wish I could navigate like this more often (read: ever), but I cannot shake my habitual suspicion, inclination towards annoyance, and blindness towards what is small, and beautiful, and because of my love for it, may as well have been made especially for me.

JZ Smith

In college I took a class that touted "relentless self consciousness" as the only effective mode of study, or living, for that matter. I remembered that phrase wistfully tonight as I was ruminating over my day. I sold my house today. The whole decision making process just kind of snuck up on me, and before I knew it, the counter offer I never in A MILLION YEARS thought would get accepted, was. The process was definitely not relentless - it was barely self conscious. We close April 23 and I now need to find somewhere new to hang our hats, build our train tracks, and where I can once again unpack those textbooks that told me how to live this well.

Add 5 years and stir

I posted a comment on a friend's blog tonight and one way or another discovered my own long lost blog, a city deserted after all. I chose that name out of Isaiah 62:12 - "They will be called the Holy People, the Redeemed of the LORD; and you will be called Sought After, the City No Longer Deserted." I remember the day I first read that passage and had the sense that God was pointing it out. I had the impression that City No Longer Deserted was me, was the new name he was giving me. I so wanted that. I wanted to be sought after in every sense - by God, by my boyfriend, by my friends and coworkers... And now it is half a decade later and I am trying write this one silly short paragraph while my son calls me incessantly from the bathtub. "oh MOOOM! I NEED YOU!" Being a mom is the definition of sought after, I am learning. And it is a wonderful and difficult blessing that I struggle with receiving and enjoying as such. If I have a chance, I'd like to write about it. Maybe here. But not just now, I have a 3 year old in the bath who NEEEEEEEEEDS me.