more things i'll miss. . .

• corey's bigger than life, wide open heart. he's also the only person i know who cries as much as (and maybe a teeny bit more than) me. i like that in a guy.
• juli's artistic funkiness, our cry sessions in starbucks, and her muppet laugh. plus, she thinks i'm funny.
• suzanne's unfolding, courageous beauty
• knox's eager posture toward life
• shannon's vivacious presence, sense of humor, and that glorious red hair
• stuart's generosity
• jeromie and liz's deep desire to love and serve their community well (which they do!), and their sweet dog molly
• amie's rich warmth--and boy, is she a great mom!
• nathan's love of metaphor and our shared affection for/addiction to the bluth family
• carin's selfless love for dcf's kids
• amy sawyer's radiance and her poet's eyes
• michael's unassuming genius and such deep, deep kindness
• erin's sly wit, feistiness, and her tears
• justin's wild and unself-conscious keyboard playing. also, the way he looks at me like i've just recently escaped from the looney bin.
• ed's gentle strength, big teddybear heart, and the way he knows something about everything
• curt's refusal to say anything with fewer words when it can be said with more words plus some good metaphors thrown in
• andy's commentaries on pretty much anything
• melissa's way of seeing what's most important
• brittany's brittanyness
• ryan's muffin creations
• lindsey and john's journey into parenthood and sweet little henry who's scheduled to arrive at any moment
• the dcf band's amazing music and heart that leads me into worship each sunday
• dave's keen understanding that i have a built-in bs detector and i'm not afraid to use it
• jen's bravery
• rachel's attentive spirit
• monica's voice
• brandon's wide knowledge of and love for film and music

and oh, so much more. . .

clemson

some things i'll miss:

• our house that holds so many memories
• watching the woods behind our house change with the seasons
• bowman field
• ancheaux's
• dcf (duh)

some things i won't miss:

• the infernal heat of late july and august
• the half-assed winter
• the extremely limited selection of restaurants and stores
• the picture of me at walmart

posturing

lately, as i've been cleaning out the unnecessary things we've accumulated over the years and packing up the necessary ones in order to move to charlottesville, virginia, i have felt the urge to either (a.) burst into hysterical laughter, (b.) burst into hysterical tears or (c.) hyperventilate. it seems i am on the edge of a full blown panic attack.

i am deeply attached here--to this place certainly, but more to these people that i've shared so much of life with during this long and beautiful and heart-wrenching season. the thought of detaching from them and being uprooted leaves me feeling like i can't breathe.

as i was driving to church this morning to inaugurate what can only be described as cryfest '08, i remembered the last time i stood at a crossroads and felt some panic. i was pregnant with my first son wyatt and was saying goodbye to life with just winn and me, almost 5 years of intimacy and harmony and freedom to jet off for the weekend or stay out late or sleep into the mid-morning hours, and preparing to say hello to life with another soul, a little human being solely dependent on winn and me for care and nurture and provision. panic seemed an appropriate response to such a daunting task as parenthood.

i was re-reading c.s. lewis's perelandra at the time, and ransom (the main character) and the green lady had an intriguing conversation about the foolishness of "clinging to the old good instead of taking the good that came." that idea hit home, and i thought, "i want to open my hands and let go of what has been so that i can receive the new gift that God is about to give us."

last week, a dear friend of mine reminded me about the importance of having an open-handed posture--that to have open hands to receive, we have to be willing to let go of the things we've been holding onto.

i find that my natural inclination is to cling with a death grip, but i know that deep down what i truly want is to pry open my hands, to let go of this season so that i can receive the good things God has for me next.

it's been pretty clear that God wants us in a new place, and in only a matter of days, i have to say goodbye to these precious people who have loved me and whom i have loved. this morning, when i thought about my inner posture and what i want it to be, the panic subsided a bit. something loosened up in my gut and around my lungs, and i could breathe a bit more freely.

there were still tears (this was our second-to-last sunday at dcf), and believe me when i say there will be more (possibly accompanied by the renting of garments and gnashing of teeth), but hopefully, there will also be the grace of releasing and the free fall of trusting in a God who has knit our hearts together for the long haul, no matter where we are geographically.

we will always be family.

the invitation to fly

He found my Being – set it up –
Adjusted it to place –
Then carved his name – upon it –
And bade it to the East
~emily dickinson

mine is not a unique story in its over-arching theme--finding out who i am, who it is that God had in mind when he made me—that quintessential search for identity. we are all grappling with these types of questions, are we not? The difference in my story and yours is in the details.

for reasons better left unstated here and some of which i don’t even know, i am only in the last 9 years coming to a sense of my own personhood, my own sense of being. do you know what I’m saying? first, that most basic sense that i exist, and second, that it’s okay-- and not just okay, but profoundly good-- that i exist.

being and well-being.

these past years have been full of this struggle, this coming to be, this slow and painful and continuous unfolding. learning to lift my face up to Jesus to feel the light of his face upon me, learning to hold my space, learning to use my individual voice, learning to believe that what i have to offer this world is beautiful, learning to stand upright to face the pain of life, learning to be the mother of two beautiful boys while still being my own self, learning to live in freedom and hope, learning to be alive in the deepest sense.

so much of this has been played out against the backdrop of my beloved spiritual community here in clemson where i’ve lived for the past 6 ½ years. i harbor no illusion that the struggle is behind me, but i do have the sense that the bulk of it is behind me. Jesus has called me into being, and here i am. here i am. and now i am leaving this cocoon of sorts. i feel the invitation to fly.

i am a great fan of commemorating those things worth commemorating, and this exact point in my life—just turning 35, moving away from this place and all that it’s held for me, and moving into a brand new season—well, this seems like one of those times, don’t you think?

i love images, too. so much meaning, so many layers, so many unspoken words packed into one simple picture.

well, you know what i’m getting at, right? my new tattoo. it’s on my foot (which has a personal significance all its own). it’s a butterfly in profile, beautiful to me in its bold simplicity. the outline is colored in with red, a brave and passionate color.

i look down at it, and i remember. i remember it all.