seth and jason mraz

our soon-to-be-5 year old seth continues to hone his dance skills and has added some new moves to his repertoire. friends and family, enjoy.

p.s. jason mraz is coming to charlottesville next month--woohoo!

disorientation, phase two

disoriented: having lost your bearings; confused as to time or place or personal identity. ~www.dictionary.com

my friend juli, who recently moved to nashville from clemson, blogged yesterday about the impact of moving to a new place. while she was blogging (eloquently and beautifully, i might add) about what she termed phase three, i was reflecting on my personal phase two of disorientation. this is one of the reasons juli and i are great friends--we are often on the same emotional page, which helps both of us feel a little less crazy and alone.

her phase three and my phase two are similar in that both include utter and complete exhaustion. phase one for me was the chaotic internal flailing around that began the day we moved here. phase two, as far as i can tell right now, is sheer exhaustion and the search for daily and weekly rhythms and routines. also, walking around with a soul that bruises as easily as an over-ripe georgia peach.

as i was leaving phase one and entering phase two a week or so ago, i hit The Wall (juli calls hers The Crash). i ran smack into this wall of intense fatigue so hard that i was sure something was medically wrong with me. am i anemic? did i suddenly develop hypothyroidism? serious hormonal imbalance? (well, scratch that one. it's a given.) has the brain tumor i've been anticipating for years become reality?

my mom moved past my hypochondria and gently suggested that perhaps the simple task of uprooting my entire household and family of four and moving to a new city and state and house and getting two boys adjusted to two different schools was enough to cause a girl to be a little tired. huh. maybe she's on to something. add to that my being a "highly sensitive person," and you've got some issues.

two things have helped in the last several days. one was sitting in a roomful of people on sunday night, noise and voices and distractions swirling around me, and being inexplicably, wordlessly reminded of who God created me to be, what he designed for me to offer in this world.

the second was sitting in a little pocket of quiet yesterday morning, thinking about how foggy and fuzzy my mind is right now and how much energy i've been fruitlessly devoting to trying to clear those mental clouds away. the internal voice that i'm learning to recognize as God's spirit asked, "why are you trying so hard to think your way out of this place? to process all this new with your brain? stop. move from your head down into your heart--that's where your clarity comes from." oohhhh. right.

somewhere inside, a little gate opened up, and the tears came back to the surface where they usually live in me. i hadn't cried since i've been here, and you know that's strange, weeping woman that i am. i cried in the afternoon when i talked on the phone with my mom and she told me a story of how God was speaking to her, healing her. i cried when i talked to winn at the dinner table after the boys had run off to play. i cried while winn and i watched a movie on tv (the holiday--have you seen it?)

i think that yesterday i gained a little of the ground i've lost in the excruciating process of moving. i reconnected a bit to my (raw, messy) heart. there's more to come, i hope. after all, this is only phase two.

new day

i just dropped seth off at preschool. today is his first day, and he could barely get to sleep last night for all of his eager anticipation. his running dialogue this morning consisted of statements like: "i'm so excited to go to school today, mommy." a couple minutes later, "i know i've said this lots of times, but i'm so excited to go to school today, mommy." "i love my new backpack ... i've always wanted a backpack." and about five more times, "i'm so excited to go to school today, mommy." and when i finally said it's time to go, he said, "all right! let's hit it!"

much to his chagrin, i would not just drop him off at the front door of his preschool. i took him to his class, hugged him goodbye, and watched him walk into his room. he didn't look back. you gotta love that about seth, all that openness, the way he walks into something new with the expectation of good things.

now i am sitting in the mudhouse, a coffee shop on main. i have two more hours before i pick seth up from preschool, and i still don't know quite what to do with myself.

i want to be quiet. i want to listen and pay attention, to my own heart and to God's. but i've been so wound up for so long. (this is my way--to flail around, dramatically, chaotically, for a while in the face of change, great or small.)

i can feel that i'm in the latter stages of the flailing. i'm starting to settle down, settle in. and what's starting to bubble up in me is deep gratitude. i am in this city that i've dreamed of for months and months. my kids are adusting, slowly, but they are adjusting. winn is stepping into his place here with his trademark faith that is bold, humble, raw and with a heart that's alive and hopeful. we have a home that is beautiful and filled with light. i'm finding some friends, people whose eyes i can look into and see something familiar that lets me know we might just have something here, folks. one new friend invited me to be a part of her book club, one that is very exclusive and intellectual. (ok, i made that last part up, but a book club! how great is that?)

this was the concluding prayer this morning from the divine hours: Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought me in safety to this new day: preserve me with your mighty power, that i may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all i do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord. amen.

amen. he has brought me to this new day.