Fresh Starts and New Beginnings

Hey, so. If GoDaddy is going to keep billing me for this domain name, I should maybe use it, huh?

I don't really know what happened to this space. Well, I mean, I sort of do.

 

I spent nine months devoting most of my energy (mental, physical, emotional, spiritual) to carrying her in a 35-year-old body that does NOT do pregnancy well.

 

And then I've spent the last five months figuring out how to settle back into a season of life I've not seen in a long, long time.

 

My days are once again full of nursing and diapers, tummy time and babywearing, walks with a stroller and troubleshooting fussing and trying to catch a quick nap. Only this time around, they're also filled with listening to a beginning reader, signing math homework, driving to piano lessons and soccer practice. It's hard to find time or space to think my own thoughts, much less write them down. Especially when I'm desperately rusty, having all but forgotten how.

Today I have a babysitter. Three whole hours of a friend's homeschooled teenage daughter entertaining my baby so I can do whatever I want. Ha. Of course "whatever I want" looks like being paralyzed with anxiety about how best to use the three hours, knowing the time will fly by. It looks like fighting rejected insurance claims, calling orthodontists, attempting to summit Mount Laundry, and stressing about whether I'm going to end up paying the babysitter to be here while Miriam sleeps.

But, at least today, it also looks like sitting down to a blank screen and a blinking cursor and trying to remember how to do this writing thing. Let's be honest: this blog was dying a long, slow death for quite some time before Miss Miriam arrived on the scene. And yet, as a much-beloved writing professor reminded me years ago: "Thankfully, we are people of the resurrection!"

Just yesterday I came across this incredibly timely and encouraging post by Rebecca Reynolds at Thistle and Toad. She concludes:

...Now and then I can write an encouraging post for five people--or I can write a post for one person who is struggling.

I can wait to post until I have something important to say.

I can let the gospel apply small. I can let God be God and trust Him to place my labors in the context that is most useful to him.

I can live small then smaller still, encouraging my readers to do the same.  

I can do all this because the gift of writing doesn't offer an identity that springs into being with a publishing contract, or with a following in the 100’s of thousands. Writing well is simply a tool to utilize in the context of an identity that was secured long ago by the work of Jesus. We have nothing to earn; we have only to wake up each morning and say, "In every small step I take, Thy will be done."

So here's to fresh starts. Here's to tiny baby steps, the smallest of efforts in the right direction. Here's to awkwardness and imperfection and muscling through the anxiety to get something, anything, on the page. Hopefully I'll be back soon.

Grayscale: A Tribute to a Beloved Professor

Today is Epiphany--and the fact that Epiphany is also the birthday of a favorite professor of mine (I remember this because she wrote a poem called "Epiphany" and shared it with us one semester), combined with the fact that all this just happened to come up in conversation with a friend yesterday morning, prompts me to take a quick break from my book roundup to share about one special book in particular.

Dr. Mary Brown was one of my very favorite professors at Indiana Wesleyan University. I started off my first semester in her World Literature class, and I went on to take five more writing and literature classes plus an independent study with her. So to say she had a significant influence on me would be a massive understatement. 

Dr. Brown retired this spring, and a couple of younger alumni solicited submissions to put together a book in her honor. HOLY INTIMIDATION BATMAN. Where do you begin in composing a poem or essay worthy of the woman who profoundly shaped you as a writer? How can you possibly convey in metaphors and enjambment the honor she is due? (Not to mention, how do you deal with knowing your contribution will be placed alongside a whole host of stellar others that will likely make yours look dumb?)

When I first heard about the project, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to come up with anything. Thankfully, inspiration struck just before the deadline, and while my poem won't be winning any awards, I was relatively pleased with how it turned out. At least until I saw all the other pieces...

The editors sent out a PDF copy to all contributors, but after reading the lovely preface and the first couple of pieces, I immediately ordered a hard copy of This is Just to Say: A Collection by Mary Brown's Students. The collection is wonderful. My former classmates--and those who came before and after us--are so talented! And the editors did such a great job putting it all together. I was compelled to look up and contact several people on Facebook just to say how much I enjoyed their contributions. So much powerful, poignant writing--it is a beautiful tribute to a beautiful woman. I laughed out loud, I "wow"ed out loud, I cried...I can only imagine how moving it is to her. Fun stuff.

Not gonna lie, it was also fun to see my name in print. It's been a long while since I've had that privilege. 

 

My poem, "Grayscale," was an attempt to capture the way I entered college as a very black-and-white thinker and the way Dr. Mary Brown forced me to grow--in uncomfortable but necessary ways--into a more expansive way of seeing the world. I see so much more gray now (much more even than I learned to see in college). That's not to say I don't believe in absolute truth. I do. But my capacity for empathy has grown tremendously, and I am a lot more willing to hold a lot more opinions loosely. SO many of my views have changed over the years, which means I've had to admit I was wrong before (which means I could be wrong again). It would be easier to see things as black and white, for sure--but I've had to embrace the gray as I've realized how complicated and nuanced people and events and systems are, and how limited we are in our ability to see and comprehend reality and truth. When I look back on college, I see that Mary Brown was instrumental in sowing some of the seeds of that growth.

I've been vulnerable a lot of times on this blog in the past, but for some reason, sharing my poetry makes me feel extra vulnerable. Which is probably one of the reasons I haven't posted this before now, despite the fact that it came out months ago! But...without further ado [except a quick note: if you're reading on a phone, you'll want to turn it horizontally so the narrow screen doesn't mess up the line breaks]:



Grayscale


I arrived on campus secured in stripes:
bold blacks, wide swaths of white.

She spoke, and her words were thin filaments,
the spun silk of a spider,
delicate threads holding the heaviest ideas in tension--
strong enough to suspend unbelief,
expertly woven to capture poem-ghosts.

Her green pen tap tap tapped at the weak joints
between stripes, coaxing cracks across the lines,
inserting splintering questions,
scratchy ink smoothed by the curves of her letters,
the gently piercing murmur of her words.

She tapped, until the black and the white
shattered in a terrifying
and thrilling cascade of noise and shards
tinkling onto my shoes,
a thousand million shades of gray.

I was startled to discover such a world without color.
Endless gradient in the light and shadows,
how they bounced off each other, blended into one another,
highlights and lowlights so much richer
than a stark two-toned diorama.

                                Still, I sometimes wish
for the safety of those stripes,
solid lines clearly defined,
sharp contrasts far simpler than
the contours that blur into
a dizzying gray haze.

Yet as I peer through the gray mirror, dimly,
I see the beauty in the blending of black ink and white paper
and know one day, when I see face to face,
as grayscale explodes into the entire spectrum of color,
all those shades will have prepared me
for what would never be merely black and white,
but an endless revelation of gray-turned-grace.

Multitude Monday, Take 353

This fall has felt eerily just like a year ago: in the space of just a week or two, a brother-wedding and a "Broken + Beautiful" women's retreat!

Two weeks ago, we were in Ohio and Michigan for the wedding of Steve's younger brother. (Sadly I did not get any good pictures of the bride and groom, much less us *with* them...there were so very many professional pictures being taken that I did not want to ask them to smile for one more :P Swiped the one below off Facebook and am eagerly anticipating the pro shots!) Then this past weekend, I traveled to Cincinnati to speak at the women's retreat for New City Church. Both events provided countless opportunities to give thanks to God for His gifts. To name and number a few:

7542. handsome boys in pink shirts, so well-behaved on a long day

7543. their taking it very seriously when we told them to look out for Uncle Ben because he was NOT allowed to see Aunt Bridget before the wedding

7544. my in-laws' '65 Lincoln, the wedding car for all three brothers

7545. a new sister-in-law!

7546. cousins being silly and laughing together at the reception

7547. my own hubs, more handsome to me and more loved by me than on our own wedding day ten years ago

 

7548. the opportunity to dance some East Coast Swing with him

7549. kiddos watching the festivities and getting down on the dance floor

7550. Elijah's crazy dance moves (and the video I captured that he'll hate me for in about ten years)
7551. Jude dancing with his new aunt

7552. reunion with an old friend I hadn't seen in eleven years

7553. her inviting me to speak at her church's women's retreat
7554. sweet times of worship in the car by myself on the way there and back
7555. the way He restored my joy and renewed my own soul as I spoke to the women
7556. eyes to see His beauty in the women, opportunities to hear their stories
7557. the lovely ladies I got to be in a discussion group with

7558. dear friends lifting me up in prayer as I prepared and spoke
7559. the privilege of being a vessel of truth and grace and hope, speaking life-giving words and pointing women to Jesus
7560. deep conversation with my friend after the retreat
7561. her hospitality
7562. getting to worship at their wonderful church on Sunday morning

7563. the delight of surprising a friend on my way home
7564. an afternoon walk in the sunshine, catching up with her
7565. her persevering, confident trust in His love and sovereignty and provision through trials
7566. reunion with my guys on Sunday night
7567. safety over 1500+ miles on the road
7568. powerful reminders of His love for me

If You're Needy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands (Or: A Tribute to My Amazing Mother)

I wrote last month on Ungrind about the beauty in helping and being helped--how important it is to be honest about our needs and let others demonstrate Christ's love for us. Then I had opportunity to take my own advice...and oh my goodness, I am here to tell you it is good advice, if I do say so myself :)

They say that God does not give imaginary grace. He distributes it like manna; He provides what we need for this moment and asks that we trust it will be on the ground to meet us tomorrow. So I suppose that when I say, "I cannot even imagine being a military wife or a single mom--I could never, ever do it"...the reality is that if I had to do it, God would give me what I needed.

But I am thankful that to date, my worst solo-parenting challenge has been a two-week business trip. And I am not afraid to admit that His grace to me has come not in the form of supernatural strength and patience to push through on my own, but in the form of humility to ask for help and an extended visit from this beautiful, servant-hearted woman:

When Steve made plans to be in Europe for 13 days, and it became clear that I would not get to tag along, I emailed my mom. My parents were due for a visit this spring anyway--so, "please," I said, "could you come for part of the time I am on my own?"

Her response was to fly down for an entire week.

Grammy landed in Nashville on Wednesday, March 25, a lovely belated birthday present. And the number of mournful "I miss Daddy"s I heard from the mouths of little boys decreased exponentially. She took us out for lunch at Chuy's...

 

...and, as I rolled my eyes, bought Lego Bionicle sets the boys had been drooling over ("For Easter! Just let me--I don't live close so I don't get to do this very often!"). She played ball in the backyard, picked boys up from school, washed dishes, babysat, even vacuumed my floors. She read countless books; she helped me work on a project for the house; she took us out for frozen yogurt. Perhaps most valiantly, she let wiggly boys take turns sleeping in her bed :)

We dragged Elijah and Jude to a "GIRL movie" and took them on a field trip to Cheekwood.

In between all that, we chatted about everyday life; we delighted in the boys together and laughed at the funny things they say; we exchanged eye rolls at their drama. One night late in the week, after a particularly trying bedtime, I came downstairs, hugged her, and said, "THIS is what every night would have been like for the last week if you hadn't been here. And I would be institutionalized. THANK YOU."

We also spent an evening listening to Vietnam-era recordings of her parents and siblings, which I recently had converted to digital audio files. (The family sent cassette tapes back and forth with my uncle when he was in the Army in Vietnam, as apparently the quality of phone calls and/or opportunity to make them was terrible.) I'd never heard her dad's voice before, and it was fun to hear really young versions of my grandmother, aunt, and uncles.

Then on one of her last days here, when both boys were in school, we did a Stray Boots tour in Nashville! We loved the ones we did in New York a couple of years ago, and we each independently had the idea to try one of the Nashville ones. We had a perfectly sunny day for it and so much fun being tourists.

The only thing I regret is that I didn't do what Jude is inclined to do to me: grab her hand while walking together and say, "I'm so glad I have such a nice mama." :)

So I'm saying it now: I'm SO glad I have such a nice mom. She is an extravagant display of God's grace to me and my family.

Multitude Monday, Take 340

Thanking God this Christmas season for so many wonderful gifts, including...

6914. "We are not just given pardon and freedom but love and delight" (Tim Keller, Encounters with Jesus)
6915. friend texting me a photo of her little guy enjoying the dinner I made them
6916. boys playing surprisingly well together while Elijah is off school
6917. long, thoughtful, vulnerable emails
6918. my husband's beautiful heart and desire to glorify Jesus

6919. cute Christmas coloring pages
6920. mercifully dismantling idols, not letting me vainly seek happiness in frivolous things
6921. Christmas: "God's great confirmation of all His promises" (John Piper, The Dawning of Indestructible Joy)
6922. extended early morning quiet time while school is out
6923. Jude baking with me

6924. pretty red filling in cranberry crumb bars
6925. Steve loving me in the midst of my mess
6926. his vision for God's glory in the midst of struggles
6927. the way his hope and determination are contagious
6928. the way I feel safe with him

6929. Jude helping me put stamps on Christmas cards
6930. best Christmas Eve Cornish hens ever (brined in Steve's homemade apple wine)
6931. roasted marshmallow-y sweet potatoes with Thanksgiving on top

6932. family dinner by candlelight, Advent wreath blazing
6933. Steve making coffee cinnamon rolls for Christmas morning

6934. boys excited about their new footie PJs

6935. gas under $2
6936. Emmanuel: God has come to live with us!
6937. the joys of giving and receiving gifts
6938. Christmas cookie decorating traditions

6939. honeybaked ham
6940. the way my aunt looks and sounds more and more like my late grandmother
6941. the inspiring growth and hope I've seen in a cousin this year
6942. family gatherings
6943. time to sit and read for pleasure all day long

6944. Daddy building epic train tracks for the boys

6945. Daddy playing games with them

6946. Jude frequently inviting adults to play trains with him
6947. my aunt making grasshopper pie for me after I mentioned missing an old favorite

6948. a lunch date with Steve

6949. the Word became flesh
6950. the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it 

For My Grandparents, and Veterans Everywhere

Given how needy I am during labor and in the first weeks postpartum (not to mention how having his babies has made me fall more deeply in love with my husband), I can't imagine not having my husband present for the birth of our children.

Yet it's a reality military families have always faced. This Veterans Day, those families and the magnitude of their sacrifices are on my mind: families like my friend Lisa's, whose Marine husband missed the births of *both* their babies...and families like my grandparents.

My mom's parents, high school sweethearts, got married in September of 1941--hardly able to fathom how their lives would change less than three months later when Pearl Harbor was bombed.

My grandfather joined the Army in early 1943, and he was in basic training when his first child (my beloved aunt) was born in May 1943. The Red Cross notified him by telegram--failing to mention whether it was a boy or girl.

He was allowed to come home for a brief visit when his daughter was about six weeks old before deploying to England that summer. He wouldn't see his wife and daughter again until my aunt was two years old.

***

I never got to meet my grandpa; he died just two months before I was born. And the more time passes since my grandmother's death in 2012, the more I wish I'd asked her more questions, listened to more stories, preserved more memories. I have just a couple of letters and cards she and my grandpa sent to each other while he was overseas: a letter she wrote on their third wedding anniversary; a Valentine and a Christmas card he sent. They are precious beyond words; I remove them gingerly from yellowed and torn envelopes, greedily wishing there were more.

One is a "Wish for the New Year" card he sent her in December 1944. He signed it, "With all My Love and may we be together to celebrate the next one." I'm grateful that his wish came true. My grandma was one of the lucky ones; her husband came home from the war (making my own existence possible, when my mom was born nine years later). Still, I can't imagine what she went through as a young, new mother, with her husband fighting half a world away--especially before the days of Skype and emails or even easy access to make international phone calls!

***

Over the last few years, especially with living relatively close to an Army base (Fort Campbell), I've developed friendships with a couple of military wives/former soldiers, and I'm frequently in awe of how they do what they do. Most of them downplay it as no big deal, but I don't ever want to take it for granted: because they give up their husbands, mine gets to stay home. Because they sacrifice to serve our country, my little boys can be free to wave flags at a Veterans Day parade totally oblivious to what it is like to have war in your country, or even to have your life touched by war in any way.

So this Veterans Day post is my feeble attempt to honor the memory of Ed and June Wise, members of "The Greatest Generation," and to say to veterans and their families everywhere, with the most inadequate but sincere words I have: Thank you.

Gifts From Coming Home (Take 333)

Another 700 miles on the car over the weekend--that makes three out of the last four weekends spent out of town!--but so worth the exhaustion and the hassles. I got to go to Indiana Wesleyan University for homecoming again this year and sing with the chorale again! It's become an every-other-year event. The first year, I was out-to-HERE pregnant with Jude and was so disappointed I couldn't go. In 2012 they put together an alumni choir again, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. This fall, we were slated to sing with Michael W. Smith (instead of the Gaither Vocal Band as in the last two times), and I was all over signup as soon as I found out!

We had originally planned to go as a family, but at the last minute, Steve decided he'd just stay home with the boys, and I think (especially given the not-so-nice weather) that turned out to be for the best. So I drove up on my own Friday night, arriving at a dear friend's house at 12:30AM, and packed it in over the next 48 hours. The weekend's blessings included...

6568. Steve's willingness to stay home with the boys and let me go
6569. family members taking our extra concert tickets so we didn't have to eat those costs
6570. standstill traffic = opportunity to practice my music in the car :)
6571. a sweet old friend waiting up until 12:30AM for my arrival and hosting me

6572. a walk around campus, seeing my old dorms and townhouses
6573. extended time to catch up with a dear friend and hear her heart

6574. a brief chat with my wonderful thesis and newspaper advisor
6575. lunch at an old, beloved Mexican restaurant whose name I still don't know how to pronounce
6576. the harmonizing scale in D
6577. Prof's hilarity, and the impact he's had on my life

6578. third sweet friend and second-soprano buddy

6579. the way I can still sing "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" after years, with no struggle to remember
6580. all of Prof's familiar conducting gestures, like the way he points upward in glad worship at "Were not the right Man on our side..."
6581. current chorale members swiping us into the dining center for a free dinner
6582. a chorale table full of old friends and laughter, like old times (except now we're old!)

6583. hugs and familiar faces

6584. the opportunity to come "home" and sing with the chorale and Michael W. Smith

6585. Steve putting the boys to work while I was gone and sending photos

6586. Prof taking a photo with Michael W. Smith when he came over to give us a pre-concert pep talk

6587. a fantastic, worshipful concert
6588. Michael W. Smith unexpectedly asking us to sing one of our own songs during the concert

IWU Chorale singing "A Mighty Fortress"

6589. his response: singing "Friends Are Friends Forever" with us! so funny.
6590. my voice holding up through way more singing (and oversinging) than I'm used to

6591. another dear friend hosting me at her house Saturday night

6592. the way we can go deep and be real after so many years of friendship
6593. safety on the road
6594. Paige Benton Brown preaching so powerfully to my heart in the car (seriously, download these! SO GOOD)
6595. a big hug from Steve
6596. kisses for sweet sleeping boys