Hey!
How are you??
No, really: How are you?
Just wanting to check in with y’all (yes, gonna stick with “y’all” since the majority voted against a nickname. sigh.)… I’m wondering how the week has been for those of you who may have typed it all out here last week. Wondering how our hearts are, and if those blood-stained hands were able to do some work.
So, in five words, leave it anonymously or claim it. But tell me: How are you?
The phone rang in the middle of my smoothie-making evening: ”Mandy? We’ve been meaning to ask y’all something. Do you have a second?”
“um… yeah… But, this is making me nervous.” (How else am I supposed to respond to a question like that?!)
“Well, we’re going through our Will, and… there’s no pressure… but we were wondering if you and Drew would be willing to take the kids if something were to happen to us?”
Suddenly, all smoothie-making stops, and I stand expressionless at the kitchen sink.
Because I know the significance of her words.
I remember that long-ago surge of crazy-making maternal instinct; I know that it can take over a woman and make her manic to protect her child. I have distinctly and clearly thought: “I’d give my life for the sake of this life inside me.” And, here she was, thinking of the “what ifs.”
I know how important this question was.
And, she’s not the first to ask us this question.
The irony leaves me nearly breathless. The irony of knowing that others would trust Drew and me, as inexperienced as we are, to raise their children if something were to happen. But, God hasn’t given us that entrustment yet…
In that moment–when I hang up the phone, my heart wide and bare and questioning–I imagine myself shaking my fist at God and screaming “See?!!? We’d make great parents, damnit!!”
But I don’t.
Instead, I sit down and type out this blog post. And I wait for the day when we will be the ones saying to trusted friends: “If something were to happen to us...”
It just occurred to me that there are two more days in this week – this week of quiet and nothingness… We’ve done a lot of reflecting, thinking, and listening. We’ve done a lot of evaluating, clarifying, and maybe even some deciding.
I’ve been thinking about spiritual breathing this week – thinking about how God is the giver of life, by giving us breath. By lowering Himself to a very intimate degree of presence, and breathing life into us. Maybe that’s why the infant cries the most important cry of his life in that first breath- maybe it’s because his baby lungs have just been filled with a God-sized inhalation. Maybe it’s more than he can take in. And so he cries.
I think life does that to us sometimes. In order to truly live, we are taken through different God-sized moments. These moments usually come with intense emotion and discovery. And, well, sometimes the only way to react is to cry – to exhale with the deepest intensity of emotion.
So, in the last two days of this Selah – this pause to take a deep breath – I think the proper ending is a moment of exhale. Release what is in there. Journal it out. Talk it out. Blog it out. Cry it out. Whatever it takes for you to process the God-sized inhalation we’ve experienced this week.
Selah, friends.
Yesterday I sat still with her 5 month old boy hunched over my forearm, fast asleep amidst the noise and music and distractions that come with a post-church lunch at a semi-fast food burger joint. And we laughed. And I got to hear bits and pieces of her heart – of her life and what God is doing – how she’s changed and yet is still the same old friend I knew in highschool. And I was quiet – and I listened - and I learned.
Later that night I spent hours on a new friend’s back porch- from the heat of day ’til well-past sundown… Talking. Telling stories. Telling secrets. I was quiet again. I did a lot of listening, but I got to know my friends so much better. And I learned about life, and parenthood, and college stories, and world travel, and all sorts of random things.
All from sitting.
And these days, I’m blind to reasons why I’m not as introspective now as I used to be. Why I’m not as self-aware. Why I can’t tell you what I think or feel about certain things.
Maybe I should just sit more. Away from the laptop or cell phone or to-do list. Away from productivity and information overload.
Sit.
And listen to my own soul tell me its secrets – tell me stories that I haven’t heard in a while – or stories that I haven’t heard told before. Maybe then I will know myself again. Maybe.
What do you do to know yourself?
My contribution to You:Create – desktop wallpaper.
Download:: 1280×800 1024×768 1024×640
I had a hard time deciding whether or not to post this today. To most of us, this little picture above is just that: a picture. But, there’s a story behind it. One of my dear blog-friends is hosting a creativity challenge on her site right now – she started it a few weeks ago.
She is an inspiring young woman of faith. She is full of strength and beauty and compassion. She’s wise beyond her years, and has challenged me to take whatever is handed me in life, whether I want it or not. She is a blessing to those who know her – people from all across the world. She’s an amazing writer. And beautifully creative. And her heart is full of nothing but love.
But there’s something else about her… Something that will leave you speechless.
See, Sara (or Gitz, as we all know her in the comments around here) suffers from a degenerative disease that has rendered her homebound. Ankylosing Spondylitis. She’s in chronic wincing pain. Her immune system is very weak. She can’t leave her apartment, or see anyone who has any hint of sickness. I don’t think she’s left her apartment in well-over a year.
We — the hundreds of other internet junkies that love her — are her community. We are a part of her world. And she is a part of ours. And she plays a huge role in this network of Christian (and non-Christian) creative fun-loving social media enthusiasts.
And, this weekend, a thick and heavy shadow was cast over her world. In short, her father quickly and unexpectedly passed away. The funeral was yesterday. But, because of her illness, Gitz was unable to be with her family. Through the blessing of technology they sent an internet stream of the wake and service to her apartment where healthy friends had gathered.
So what does this have to do with Gitz’ story? It’s all in that quote. Creativity is, in some ways, like a birthing. Like a spark of Light and Life. Like a release of a small part of me to go out into the world and become its own entity of hope and faith and joy and freedom. I didn’t know about Gitz’ father when I created this little piece of art, but I knew Gitz’ world. I knew that she too creates out of darkness and would understand it.
And, here again, in the imprisonment of her disease, Gitz has seen another shadow fall on her heart.
A desktop wallpaper may seem trite to you. But, to Gitz, stuff like this decorates her “door” to the rest of the world.
For you, Gitz, and for Light,
mandy
