Fall: forward

It's a deliciously calm Saturday morning here...after a busy few weeks we are enjoying a day of sleeping in, coffee, chores, and catching up on projects and school work.  I find myself anticipating the coming holiday season and spent some time on Pinterest this morning looking for decorating ideas and gift inspiration.  The holidays will be different this year...our first Christmas ever which will not be spent with family...and I am already realizing that God has blessed me by giving me a work schedule during the holiday weeks that will not afford me much time to worry about being far away.

But I digress.

For now, it is still fall, and we are amazed as we look around us these days.  Headed into our second year as Californians and our third year of marriage has us stunned.  Time is flying by, and we find more and more familiarity around us each day.

Last week, we welcomed my Mom and Dad for a short visit.  They were flown out to do a choral festival with a large high school district about an hour away, and we had the joy of stealing them away for a 72 hour pass.  Unlike their last visit, when we had been here less than 3 months and barely knew the lay of the land, on this visit we found ourselves with so much we wanted to show them.  There were dozens of people they got to meet who have become part of the fabric of our lives...fellow teachers, health care providers, and church family.  We drug them to our favorite coffee shops, riverside parks, restaurants, and scenic overlooks.  And we were blessed to have them on a weekend with some "pivotal" moments for us---the first pep-band and drumline performance at a football game, and a big announcement weekend at our church.  Although we had only a long weekend together, we all commented that it felt like the longest time we have had together since Matt and I moved.  We have been home several times, but our visits have been a bit overshadowed by weddings and major family events.   This trip was wonderfully uneventful, allowing time and space for sharing, games, discussion, good food, and co-reflection.  Saying goodbye doesn't ever seem to get easier...actually I think I'm getting worse each time.  But leveling out after the emotional upheaval does happen a bit more quickly with practice.

Showing Mom and Dad our favorite local restaurant.  Hard to say if the food or the view is better. 

Time by the riverside...seeking out the few branches that count as "fall color"

There was a running joke about standing on one foot all through the weekend...yes, we sang our favorite childhood song about flamingos while mom and dad were in the middle of the river...

Matt doing his thing with the band...

Friday night lights with the folks...

The other amazing highlight of this fall so far was our anniversary camping trip to Pismo Beach. Initially, we had planned to travel to Yosemite for our first big adventure since moving to Cali. However, it has been so dry here for the past year that the falls were dry by July, and on top of it all there was a large wildfire (actually the 3rd largest in Cali's recorded history--over 200,000 acres or more than 400 square miles) that included the western side of the park and covered much of the sights in smoke about a week before we would arrive.  So we made a quick switch and decided to head to the beach instead.  I haven't been camping in over 10 years, and we don't have much gear this early in our marriage...just a tent, a lot of blankets, and enough childhood memories of great camping trips to make us feel it was worth the effort.  

"Camping" is a fairly loose interpretation of what we did...yes we were in a tent, but in a more crowded campground and with warm showers (25 cents for 2 minutes) just a stone's throw away...and while we cooked a few meals over the fire just to say we could, there were hundreds of great restaurants, coffee shops, and grocery stores within a 15 minute drive, and on more than one occasion we simply drove away and ate food that didn't involve carcinogens, burned fingers, and awkward outdoor preparation.  The benefits to this setup were wonderful-- we were a 5 minute walk to an open beach, and had parking access to all state-park land on the water during the 2 days we were there.  

Call us lame, but it turned out to be a much more relaxing and romantic version of camping.  Someday we will attempt a more legit trip, but for the time being, this was perfect.  

Trip highlights included: 

1) Sunset dinner overlooking the rock cliffs just west of Pismo Beach at the Spyglass Hotel

                                     

                                        

2) Watching the surfers and the dolphins (no pics but the first I've ever seen in real life!) over the Pismo pier.

3) Enjoying hours of beach walks, making friends with local wildlife and talking about everything

4) 2 person camp fire--this one took some getting used to, because normally a bonfire involves big groups or lots of family around.  It was a bit strange to be just the two of us, but we had some great chats and beautiful surroundings to enjoy.  (favorite quote--"when I was younger I never got to play with matches because it was dangerous...well now I'm an adult and I'll play with as many matches as I want!"--Matt)

 

5) Playing with my camera amidst the ever changing light and motion of the beach scene

6) Driving aimlessly up route 1 on our last day, stopping for anything we wanted and enjoying the sweet little towns and breathtaking views we encountered (including a seal colony!).  

We had a lot of time to talk about our past 2 years together, and so much about our future.  We both agree that marriage is a wholly satisfying endeavor so far--no matter what struggles and conflicts we face together, there is a depth of comfort and support neither of us could have imagined.  And let's face it...we just have a ton of fun together.  There is nothing I love more than laughing with him.  I love telling people about how Matt and I met...and the fact that the first 14 years of our relationship was littered with friendly pranks, frisbee games, youth group trips and lock-ins, and a strong brotherly camaraderie far before romance entered the picture.  He is simply the greatest gift God has ever given me...and his friendship, almost as much as his love, is what steadies me day by day.  

Our best times together in the last year have centered only around each other...and we still find this new.  We have had so much TIME here in our new home that is not occupied by family, friends, or work obligations.  And while we look forward to having a family some day and acutely miss our family back home, it is easy to see the way that time alone has bonded us together.  The vacuum on our lives this year has felt lonely at times, but it has not remained empty.  We have explored the valley around us, learned to love playing music and singing together, served in a church alongside each other, formed friendships as a couple, learned to fish and windsurf together, and grown more intertwined than I could imagine.  

This season, we are blessed for the first time since marriage to not have a life-changing event shaking us up and causing us to be on "high alert" for all the coming transitions.  This fall we are, for the most part, settled.  And it is such a relief.  Change continues to come, but it seems that we just might be moving, progressing, establishing.  There is great joy as we look around us, then ahead of us.  We are going, together, forward.

Free-falling

In my worst nightmares I'm always falling.

Sometimes I'm pushed off a tall building, or a gorge ledge gives way from beneath me.  In others, I'm strapped to the seat of a roller coaster car, staring down from the top of the first drop and realizing the tracks extend to infinity.  I think if Lucifer were to design a personal hell for each soul, something that was physical representation of eternity away from God as understood by the human mind, mine would be eternal free fall.

When we were dating, Matt and I got into an argument on this point.  He wanted to go skydiving for a birthday or graduation and I flatly refused to go.  What started as a joke ("don't you love me enough to jump out of a plane for me?") ultimately became a bit of a heated discussion.  I like to think that I would take a bullet for my husband if given the choice between his life or mine, but to this day I'm not sure I could willingly jump off of a platform into nothing.  I'm told that after the initial acceleration the jump feels less like falling and more like floating on a column of air.  At some terrifying moment, the amount of air pushing against you is equal to the rate at which you are hurtling towards the ground, and at that time you can catch your breath and look around and wonder at the miracle of life...that is until you start wondering if the chute will work when the rip cord is pulled.

I find myself these last few months in one of the longest falls I could imagine.  Among the many lessons and blessings from my Grandfather's death at Christmas has come a new wave of uncertainties and fears about our life here in CA.  I was just starting to get my feet under me, it seemed, when out of nowhere one of the most solid things in my life--my family--was threatened, and ultimately changed forever.  What surprised me was not the initial shock...for I knew it would feel like the ground had given way beneath me initially.  What surprised me was looking around 5, 6, now 8 months later and realizing the atmosphere is still hurtling past.

Changes form a line and silhouette the questions and uncertainty I still feel.

In March, changes out of anyone's control made my employment "part time" at best, with great hopes but no firm promise of gradually moving to full time work.  2 weeks later I got a call from one of the other 2 offices in town...a full time position with permanence and the chance to work with kids again.   A tug-of-war between loyalty and common sense, God's provision and my plan, smart choices and hurt feelings was fought for days, and yet it was clear: another change was upon us.

Our sweet pastor and his wife announced in May that they would be stepping back, making way for a new pastor, a 30 something and his family who were youth pastors in the LA suburbs and moving back to her childhood home to shepherd our flock.  And as much excitement as this brought, I realized I had somewhere along the line become comfortable in our church body, we had found a way to serve and felt we were growing, and now it all might change again.

Even the sudden loss of my childhood dog, Tucker, in May left a feeling of great loss, and greater injustice.  Saying goodbye over Skype to one of the great representations of my home and my childhood felt like one step too far.  When will life cease to change?  When will things be "normal" again? When will I find my way back home?

The answer, of course, is never.

It fascinates me that I have to continually learn this lesson: the only constant in this life is change.  There will never be another yesterday, and returning to the past is like holding the waves on the sand with a 2x4.  Even were I to return to Illinois, to my home, to my closest friends, change would be all the more evident.  My life, I realize, is and always will be a steady fall through the old and into the new.

And then, out of nowhere, I feel my weight come up against something solid in mid-air.  The lift of the racing, changing world is stronger somehow than my lack of control.  And I have found with some surprise recently that there are moments in the midst of it all to glance around and feel, I daresay, comfortable.  Like yesterday, when I picked up the phone at work to dial Matt and punched in the area code 760...failing to connect me to the same 217 number I have been dialing for 7 years.  Or today, when we walked into church and face after face approached with a hug and a smile and a knowledgeable question about our lives.  Or last month when Matt said "I feel like celebrating" and we knew without clarifying who we would call and where we would go for good food and great conversation.  Or early this summer when we welcomed our new pastor by unpacking clothing into drawers and said thank you to our old by moving furniture.  And I realized, suddenly, as I watched their eyes and their actions, that for the first time in a while I was the "unchanging" part.  We have become established here in Cali, and a full year has passed without us even realizing it.  My emotions still remind with frightening frequency of all that is "unsettled," and yet there are those close by with even less stability.  As my arms have been flailing about in the past months, they have met others, and we have grasped at each others elbows,  forming a falling star-shaped mass of bodies, a solid structure which has no choice but to follow gravity closer to the ground.

As life moves along, layers are inevitably added to the silt of our banks.  And while we feel exposed and afraid when we are first deposited, time will slowly but certainly cover and then imbed us in the newly familiar.  What I may call a passing event, even a reminder of my solitude, today may be a cherished memory in a year.

I continue to question, I continue to ask for a calling and vision here.  I long to feel that I am rising to a purpose rather than surviving a breakneck fall.  Yet how else will my faith be tested and strengthened?  When my feet are solid beneath me and the pathway is clearly marked, there is no incentive, no need, to draw on a higher power.  But weeks and months of uncertainty, of taking another breath and another step and dreaming another dream--that is the place where God's might can buoy me on thin air.  That is a place where I will learn to value the lives he has drawn around me.  That is a place where I will see new possibilities not as lofty goals I must trudge to complete, but as exhilarating possibilities that I am blessed to experience.

For the first time in many months, I am learning to view the past year not as a challenge I have (somehow) survived, but as preparation for what is coming.  Perhaps our purpose here in Cali is not clear because I am not yet able to dream big enough, to imagine far enough.  Perhaps stepping out of the plane into the vast unknown was just the first step in clearing my head and my heart of the familiar, the solid, and the certain.

I can hear the spirit whispering, faintly audible above the roar of the wind in my ears. As I sit under the teaching of my new pastor, as I form new relationships that I realize are going to last, as I work in a new and inspiring environment, now and then I feel resonance in my soul.  A shimmering sensation of expectance which is oddly similar to that "stomach dropping" feeling just before free fall.

As if to say...the time is coming. As if to say...you haven't seen anything yet.  As if to say...don't you dare close your eyes.

As if to say...buckle in, and hold on tight.

The Way

For the first time in a long time I'm saying no.  Fridays are my "day off" and yet there is always something to do.  Endless paperwork, lending a hand at the busy hospital, putting out fires for overwhelmed receptionists.  Not today. It's time to take a breath.  There are herbs to be planted, pictures of beautiful nature to be edited, a husband on spring break to be loved, and of course 3 large piles of laundry.  Mostly there is great need for a bit of quiet.

My heart feels a bit bruised today.  It has been a challenging week at work, with potential for big changes and hurt feelings along the way.  My loyal, people pleasing, avoid-conflict-at-all-costs self has had to stand up and make tough choices.  Loneliness has ebbed again.  And above all I find myself wrestling with my purpose here in this lovely state and quaint town.

Six months later I grow impatient that God's plan for us, and for me, has not been spelled out.  For the first time in my life I am not sure where I am going.  I got my education, I followed my passion, I married a wonderful man, I started into a clearly God-given job.  And then we were called.  I remember the way I fought it, the questions and tears, and the ways I was reassured that God's will was so clear.  And I believe it still.  But I am still waiting, apparently swept along and unable to find a paddle to guide and pursue my own existence.  My sense of injustice grows as I struggle to find my place professionally, personally, spiritually.  I long for a passionate mission, for lives I can see changed or helped, for sharpening friendships, for a home full of a giving and hospitable spirit.  Instead I feel frustration and isolation and even occasional fear creeping towards the thresholds of my life.  In desperation I grab a notebook and bible and stubbornly refuse to move until God will speak like thunder, write words on the wall, or reduce my uncertainty to the ever-sought "peace."  I think of myself proudly in these moments, that like Jacob I will attach myself like a writhing leech to the Lord and come out with a new name, a clear identity, and a to-do list that I know will work.  When the thunder and the message do not ring clear, it is easy to assume that I have missed something, that I made a mistake, or didn't try hard enough.

Sometimes we don't get to know.

I feel like I should have learned that lesson somewhere around 2nd grade, but somehow the principle seems to allude me.  As I face big choices professionally this week (more on that later) I find myself desiring to know that answer that is TRUE.  And by true I mean the most spiritually fulfilling, the most aligned with God's kingdom plans, and the best suited to mold me into a girl after God's own heart.  My  motives, though I may be biased, seem to be pure.  I long to follow.  I don't mind the weight of a cross.  I can manage pain.  But first, I need to know that what I am doing is worth it.  My fears are of finding out at the end of a long and painful road that I chose the wrong fork 400 miles ago...that my struggle was not only in vain but laughable.  On the other hand, I fear the "easy" road.  If it is easy, it must not be God's will.  My circular reasoning is more than frustrating, more than hilarious.  It is truly ridiculous.   As I read and question and pray, I beg for "the voice behind you saying 'This is the way, walk in it'" (Isaiah 30:21).  What I hear is silence, and decisions do not make themselves.

Last month I did something very rare for me.  I picked up a book.  Not a reference book, not an old physiology notebook, not even a medical journal.  A real book.  Actually, one I've had on my shelves for years.  Through Painted Deserts is one of those books I was supposed to read long ago.  Self-aware conservative Christian girls who didn't want to get too painted in were supposed to pick up edgy, hip words from the likes of Don Miller alongside their CS Lewis and Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul.  It was how we proved we weren't scared of "the outside."  It made us feel sexy and relevant to be dealing with a more angsty and unsettled version of our faith.  And of course it stroked our intellect to be able to refer to this mainstream-unorthodoxy.  By the time I got around to reading it I expected something quite cliche and perhaps without much substance.  What I found was a soul, searching, and leaving some words behind.

"It strikes me as I think about it, how beautiful we find massive structures, either man-made or organic.  I wonder if we find them amazing because they make us feel small and insignificant, because they humble us.  And I remember feeling that way back in Colorado, that I was not the center of the cosmos, that there were greater things, larger things, massive structures forged in the muscle of earth and time, pressing up into the heavens, as if to say 'the story is not about you, but for you'...as if to remind us we are not gods."

Donald Miller

Through Painted Deserts

His documented road trip leads him through AZ and then CA...through MY desert, over highways I can identify and through desolation and beauty I have seen.  Maybe I am drawn to the fact that his journey had no other purpose than to experience something new.  He discovers people, hikes natural wonders, has car trouble, eats weeks of black beans, and develops friendships.  He does not "figure it out" or "arrive."  There is no giant guidepost to his future found by the side of the highway or in the deepest depths of the grand canyon.  Yet there is beauty and joy and pain which somehow clarify his existence.  He does not fight the answer like a fish pulled along by a hook.  He allows grace and frustration, failure and revelation to be equally relevant.  Mostly, he questions the world from a position of curiosity and desire for intimacy with God, rather than from a cowardly human fist being shaken at the sky.

In my own search for "the way" this week, I have not been given the answer.  I have come to a crossroads, and leaned more into common sense in the absence of divine intervention.  And I am not sure this is wrong.  In fact, it requires every bit as much faith as a down-from-heaven message.  No matter what I do, I long for it to bring glory to my maker.  That is the only thing that matters.   And as I do so, as I experience all that is around me, as I watch and question and live among the mountains, I hope to feel small.

Happy Friday, everyone.  May you find joy and blessings as you walk your way today.

In Memoriam

That Christmas morning began differently, but only because of our age. We slept in, chatted in the bathroom with my sisters-in-law, and told Christmas eve tales. Our celebration with the Holmes clan was full of singing, food, twinkling lights, and the spinning of memories. And while gifts are not usually defining to these holidays for me, my grandfather's offerings of some cherished family relics, bequeathed to the newly-weds in Arizona and California, left a feeling of tradition and of blessed connection with the generations in my mind. Our family service that night was full of old strains. Lyrics and chords that out-dated the men beside us who had stolen our hearts and replaced our last names. Grandpa chimed in across the room, resonant bass notes joining with those of my 6'2” little brother. We sang, we worshiped, we laughed. We proclaimed glory to the newborn king, born again in our hearts, a fresh reminder of the Peace he brought between God and man for all eternity.

Peace, peace, bearer of peace
Men of goodwill receive Him
Holiest of nights, oh most wondrous of days
Shepherds and kings lift their voices in praise
Join in the chorus His praises sing
Glory to God, to the newly born King

It's a cruel thing for a Christmas celebration to be interrupted before it begins by your husband's deep eyes and solemn tone with a phone in his hands. “Let's go sit down” never implies coming peace. The heart races a bit as you take in the words, having difficulty comprehending their meanings. “At the hospital with Grandpa.” “Went for a walk...” “Unconscious...” “heart is beating on its own again.” We chew on delicious cinnamon rolls and attempt to direct the conversation away from the hospital for a half hour, but soon realize that there is no hope of a normal day. We climb in the car somewhat resistant, as if arriving on the scene would make the situation real. The roads pass slowly, the hallways are long, and the faces are tear stained as we enter. The doctors speak with compassion, even pain behind their eyes. “I'm just so sorry, we are going to do everything we can.”

The next few days are a blur. There is a strange thing that happens to time in the ICU waiting room. You sit and stare at the wall through every agonizing minute, making small talk with cousins and munching on food brought by thoughtful friends, and yet the hours speed by. And you discover the great mercy that worry and tears seem to flow fluidly into memories and gentle teasing, which give way again to silence. There seems to be no emotion which fails to express what we feel, for each in it's own way is true...and necessary.

Gradually, the pieces fall together. Grandpa had gone for his daily 2 mile walk that morning and never come home. When a jogger spotted him she ran for the nearest house and called paramedics, who revived his pulse-less body on the scene. Every test was run, every scan performed, history questions came in waves every few minutes. No stroke. No heart attack. No blood clots. In fact, his only true physical irregularities seemed to be residual. 8 fractured ribs, 2 displaced fractures of his c-spine, and a low potassium level. For 36 hours the doctors tried to keep his body cool enough to lessen or reverse the spinal damage, while attempting to control blood pressure and pulse rates. We took shifts watching his bedside, speaking to his body, squeezing his strong but limp hands, watching Grandma attempt to perceive this shocking reality, and listening to her quote to him the scripture she repeats every night before she falls asleep.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures
He leads me beside quiet waters
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies
My cup runs over
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life
and afterward I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

As the hours stretched into days, the doctors confirmed what we already knew. Seizures and posturing showed evidence of irreversible damage, EEG's showed no normal brain waves. Mercy shown again as all test results conclusively gave us answers. There was to be no playing God, for the sovereign decision had already been made. That morning, we gathered around his bed, closed the door to his room, and sang every old hymn we could think of. Tears flowed, generations locked arms, eyes met and locked and fell again. There were no need for words to describe the significance of this moment, even to it's youngest member. To see the end, to glimpse the portal that spans time and eternity, to worship in relatively miniscule sonar as the number in the heavenly chorus grows...this is what man was made for. This is the presence of holiness. This pain is the passageway to completion. What we left behind us that day was mere flesh. Who he was is now a memory. What we are awaiting and striving for in this life has never been more clear.

This weekend, I found myself home again, 2 months to the day since Grandpa's home-going. I found my eyes often drawn out the window where the bike trail is silhouetted against the snowy ground. My mind returns to his joy while we sat and talked together in this very room, to his tears as he said the blessing before our evening meal, to his efforts to downplay one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever been given. I curl up in the bed where he spent his last night on earth, and closing my eyes, years of science experiments, twinkling eyes, and spiritual guidance come rushing back to me. And singing...there was always singing.

Family friends bequeathed my mom with the most lovely set of wind chimes, from which hangs an etched sign that reads “In loving memory of Robert James.” As the invisible breezes engage the instrument in dance, its tone haunts and illustrates both our grief and our joy. The soundtrack, it seems, should not settle so well into both stories. But life, both the living and the ending of it, houses the same truths universally and eternally. Mercy and pain are tools of equal value, and analogous purpose in the hands of a loving God.

Change will follow. As will new life, and true love, and tragedy. And death will find us again. What ebbs and flows in and out of this life is as unpredictable as it is beautiful. Without it, our time here has no meaning. May our eyes be more and more open as the Day approaches.

Peace, peace, wonderful peace
Peace to the world is given

2012 was a huge year for our family...I wanted to post a photo documentary of some of the highlights from our year, as an addition to the Christmas letter we sent out.  Enjoy!

I have loved every minute of being a new Higgins.  Here I am with my wonderful siblings-in-love (we did a photo shoot for Pat for Mothers Day)

Matt got a new car!!

TJ graduated from high school and started college as a Freshman at Millikin University

Here we are in the Sierra Nevada's just after being offered a position at Kern Valley High School.  What then seemed like a crazy dream is now our home

Nana and Gramps aren't the only ones who can't get enough of Asher David. 

We LOVE being an aunt and uncle.  

In July, my baby sister got married...

And I got a few more siblings!

Family vacation in Colorado just before Casey and I (and our respective husbands) moved west to our new jobs and homes. 

There are no words to express how much I love my family!

My time with my Grandparents this summer is even more precious since Grandpa's home going.

One of the first activities in our new homeland has been learning to windsurf.

Our hiking adventures at the Sequoia's "Trail of 100 Giants"

Sibling time during Thanksgiving break

Our sweet, sweet nephew is growing up!!

Our sweet friends, Jake and Maddie, who are wonderful people and awesome pumpkin carvers!

A beautiful shot of our new home

Much love to you and yours!  Have a great 2013!

Turbulence...and a year of flight

I've been needing, desperately, to blog all day...but my heart has not had the strength for it.

Today has been tough.  Maybe the most difficult day since we arrived. It's little things mostly...meetings for Matt in Bakersfield two nights in a row, car trouble (his tail light detached spontaneously on our way down the canyon yesterday...my car is in the shop with a check engine light), a crashed hard drive on my computer (with questionable ability to recover my prized possessions--my pictures), and the wait to hear back about a job interview and shadowing from last week.  The house is starting to look more like a home and less like a refugee camp after I have finally given it some attention: a vacuum job, some pictures on the walls, and a pantry where I can finally find the baking soda.  Perhaps because the immediacy of getting our stuff out of "survival mode" has passed I am starting to sense some emptiness again.

This morning, first thing, the repair shop called with a bad report on what we thought was a small problem.  It remains to be seen whether the car really WILL ultimately need $2,000+ of work done...but needless to say, we need a second opinion.  These are the things that are tough to know about a new place.  It's hard to find a mechanic you trust to not charge extra and to do good work.   And until you reach a certain level of familiarity with your surroundings, there is a sense of foreboding, that you must be doing something wrong.  Logistics, too, play a part.  Cars must be registered within a month of moving, but before registering in CA you need a "smog test" to make sure you are under emissions standards...and no smog station will even see you if a check engine light is on.  I want a library card and a bank account, but first we need a California driver's license, which means a test on rules of the road, tons of paperwork to prove residency and employment, the endless line of fees, and a 3-4 week wait for the cards to be sent to us...from Mars perhaps?  This stuff makes me crazy.

I've listened to a sermon from First Christian in Decatur online (oh, how I miss their worship and Pastor Wayne's words...), made a batch of soup with some leftovers about to go bad in the fridge, did some aerobics to work out my angst, hung a few more pictures, and still find myself roaming about the house without much purpose waiting for the phone to ring and hoping no more expenses or problems pop up before Matt gets home.  There are always things to fill the time and the space...but filling my sense of security and of purpose...therein lies the rub.

Last night while I was chatting with my folks, I was able to put into words something that has been mulling in the back of my mind for several weeks.  They were asking me what is different about living here in terms of my relationship with Matt.  I can say with great confidence and joy that being here together has been REALLY good overall...very unifying for us and we relish the good times together so much more fully because it really is relationally all we have.  We also have lots more TIME on weekends and evenings to adventure and be together.  But I will also say that on the hard days it is harder to be all alone here.  For some reason, learning to summon the strength to support each other is a different process here than it was at home.  It shouldn't be, I know...leaning on the Lord to supply our needs and then giving away all we have to the other ought not to have changed simply because we lack family and familiar surroundings.  But it has.  My husband is incredible...and I can not imagine my life without his tender care and humor and encouragement.  But on days like today, I question my ability to bring anything of value to the table.  Compared to his challenges today (crazy schedule so far this week, first formal evaluation without much prep time) I should be flying high, full of energy and joy when he walks in the door, ready to kiss away any of his problems and be a source of restoration for him.  Perhaps more than my frustration on the hard days, it is my fear that I will be a burden to him that ties me in knots.

As I was rifling through still unpacked boxes in the guest room looking for a fulfilling project, I came across an unmarked manilla envelope shoved between some bubble wrap and an old picture frame.  Inside was a little miracle.  It was a letter written to Matt and I from my dad...composed the day after our wedding and delivered on our 6 month anniversary.  My grandfather orchestrated a mass delivery of encouragement and wisdom to be mailed to us 6 months into the marriage adventure, and this was one such letter.  We read it at the time (though we have been slowly opening and savoring many of the others along the way) and it had been haphazardly filed away in the move.  It was what my heart needed today.  The letter was really just dad's reflections on the wedding experience from the perspective of a father...using a metaphor which has become so strong in our household.  When mom and dad launched into homeschooling they chose Psalm 127 as inspiration:

"Unless the LORD builds the house, they labor in vain who build it.  Unless the LORD protects the city, the watchmen awake in vain.  It is useless for you to work so hard from early in the morning until late at night, being anxious, for He gives sleep to his loved ones.  Children are a gift from the LORD, they are His reward.  Children born to a young man are like sharp arrows to defend Him.  Happy is the man whose quiver is full of them!"

As kids, we were coached to memorize this and other verses (with accompanying actions) as part of our school day...and our school was named after the text.  "AIM Academy" was to be a place for Arrows In the Making.  Through our childhood we were reminded that our real purpose was not to be kept in the quiver, but to be launched into the world at the proper time.  In the meantime, they took it as their burden to shape and sharpen us for the appointed time and mission.  One of my most memorable moments during the wedding weekend was standing next to Dad after the flower girls headed down the aisle.  He leaned over and said, "So...this is what it feels like to look at a target and send your arrow into the future.  No wonder my heart feels so stretched."  The way he dissolved me to tears just before the doors opened was so worth the feeling of great depth and purpose while walking that aisle.  I knew that Matt was my future, but he reminded me that my entire past had also been preparation for this launch.  Maybe it's because Dad and I are so alike that his words resonated with me for weeks.  But it's been a year now.  This afternoon when I picked up his letter, I read his version of the arrow's release and his marveling at the great mystery of God's hand working on him--the bow.  His last paragraph was balm to my frustrated heart today.

"Take time today to recognize that the flight is long, the target elusive, and the elements harsh.  But that's just an arrow's perspective.  In all that surrounds you, God has ALREADY determined a purpose.  He has taken into account all the variations of the weather and is adjusting you toward His goal.  Yours is to remain one in Him, supple to the winds that redirect you, and thankful for the path chosen for you.  Give God great praise today for the wonders He is doing in you both...together.  God is so good."  

Lord, thank you for my parents.  

One week ago, Matt and I celebrated our first anniversary...and marveled over apple crisp and honeymoon Moscato at how a whole 12 months had possibly flown by.  In some ways, I think we both feel like we have started all over again since moving to California...and it feels a bit unfair...like "hey! we just about had this figured out!"  But of course this is a lie.  We were just starting to wade into the learning waters that are married life...and I have learned a few things along the way. 

~ Matt and I are different.  Seriously.  He loves mornings, I am a night owl.  He is comforted by routine (he eats 2 apples and a ham & cheese sandwich EVERY day for lunch), and I take inspiration and joy from doing things differently every time.  His ideal thermostat setting is 78-82, mine is 70-74.  I love traditions, his favorite celebrations are those with no pre-planned constraints.   He loves caramel, I love chocolate.  He loves crunching numbers and analyzing, I love feeling and soaking in the experience.   I love giving gifts and doing things for others, his favorite way to show love is quality time and encouraging words (we make a good team on that last one).

~ Matt and I have a lot in common.  We love games and cards.  We love hiking and being outside.  We love water sports (he is good...I am not).  We love spending long days with family.  We love singing together in the evenings (he also has to play guitar, piano, or uke...I should really learn).  We love popcorn in the whirly pop during West Wing.  We love to travel.  We love being a part of a church that is seeking and worshiping the Lord.  We love hot drinks...sometimes in excess.  We love watching videos and looking at pictures of family.  

~ Support is important, listening is essential, respect is a necessity, advice is optional...and sometimes dangerous.

~ Being Uncle and Aunt is a BLAST.  We love the connection we feel to our new nephew.  

~ Praying together is the best way to handle sadness, conflict, change, and joy...and is the quickest way for me to remember the great respect I hold for Matt.  Watching him follow the Lord in faith, especially in the last 3 months, has changed the way I understand faith so dramatically...and has made me ready to follow both he and God with more abandon. 

~ My emotions are not always the best indicator of what is really happening, or even how I really feel.  Matt has an objectivity that I long to learn...though I know my heart will always be a bit unwieldy.  

~Finding a way to laugh at ourselves is a far better use of energy than trying to be perfect all the time and fix every potential pitfall.  

~ Matt doesn't always choose the way or the timing I would...but when he decides to speak or act, he does so with great intention, wisdom, and kindness.  When I am able to release my expectations, I see his incredible selfless actions so much more clearly, and am able to fully see the many ways that he cares for and nurtures me.  

~ There is nothing more deeply satisfying than finding something I can do which blesses my husband.

~ Conflict is a part of loving.  The first few fights were terrifying for me...plagued by "what are we doing wrong?" and "is this normal?"  I've begun to be more confident in the fact that valleys ultimately become mountains again with time.  I've learned to focus on asking forgiveness and rebuilding hurts rather than dwelling on frustrations.  I've realized that sources of conflict don't get erased after a fight...they return almost cyclically to draw attention to our flaws over and over again.  I've started to view conflict as my opportunity to have my flaws gradually changed by the man I love most in the world.  I've also realized that bringing up "issues" after 9pm is a big no-no...good never comes of it.  :-)

~ Common experiences are the greatest joys...whether a beautiful sight, a funny TV line, a conversation in passing, a wise lesson, a quiet night at home, or a life-changing challenge.  Experiencing real life together creates unity that lasts so much better than any of my attempts to "get closer together."  

~ I am so very blessed.

My love will return from work in just over an hour but my heart is far more ready for him now.  With my mind set again as an arrow, I resume my flight--with my seatbelt securely fastened for unexpected turbulence.  

Weekend in Wofford Heights

It's a sleepy Monday morning here in Wofford Heights...I fought with my snooze multiple times today and felt genuinely sorry for Matt who left around 7am.  We had a packed weekend and probably not quite enough sleep.  One of the wonderful things about Matt's new job is the FREEDOM he enjoys on the weekends.  I think at times he felt a bit lost not having a band competition to go to on this September weekend, but we enjoyed the productivity and play time tremendously.  

Friday night was the first home football game in the valley...which truly is a region-wide event.  As with most small towns the general populous finds its way to the bleachers each week...whether from a sense of town pride, a need for entertainment, or simply habit is hard to discern.  Matt was on "watch duty" for the back of the stadium, so we sat and kept people out of trouble while visualizing half of the field and enjoying the small town commentator immensely.  I enjoyed getting to meet many of Matt's students and a few fellow teachers, and just getting to be in a crowd.  The week has been lonely, and feeling a part of a group was wonderful. 

On Saturday we visited 8-10 antique stores, an estates sale, and a "swap meet" aka flea market in several towns in the valley...besides meeting a few of the local merchants we were also able to procure a few small pieces of furniture to help us make our kitchen more useable and to release our bookshelf from it's duty as a pantry and put it back in the living room where it belongs.  The house is finally starting to come together and in another few days I hope to have some pictures on the walls.  Our tired feet got the chance to relax through a west wing marathon Saturday night...what a great show.  

Yesterday we went to a small Baptist church in Kernville, and had a wonderful time.  The sermon was challenging, the music was heartfelt, and the people were so genuine and kind.  We had several offers to help us in any way we might need and a few dinner queries for this week.  The pastor and his wife are laid back 30 somethings and seem like dear people.  The worship leader and his wife could hardly contain themselves...after meeting Jake and Mattie, she said outloud to her husband "They are our age! right in front of us.  The community as a whole is largely retirement age, and we know that we aren't the only ones hungry for interaction with peers.  It was exciting to meet young christian leaders who were also so approachable and fun.  

After attending the early service we headed home and changed and made our way to the beach of Lake Isabella. Matt found a windsurfing group on Facebook last week who were having an open house for beginners and we decided to try our skills.  It is incredibly nerve wracking to approach a private looking camper with 10 people around it and not feel just silly.  We were greeted immediately by a 60+ spunky lady with a thick German accent, who proceeded to introduce us to her group of retired friends, most of whom were very fit, environmentally concious, and vegan.  The group has formed spontaneously in the past 3-5 years as they kept meeting each other on weekend get aways to the lake...many of them have now retired to the area and see the lake as their home.   Eva, our host, is passionate about helping beginners discover that water recreation need not use fossil fuels.  She is an avid wind surfer, kayaker, hiker, and swimmer, who collects old gear from friends in the valley and makes it periodically available to those wanting to learn the sport.  We spent some time on a surf board mounted to a lazy susan to get the feel of it, got some instruction and then....waited.  Perhaps for the first time since we got to the area there was absolutely NO WIND!  We were ushered under a small canopy for shade and had paper plates thrust into our hands...our polite declining was overrun by insistence that we join them in eating delicious salads and zucchini bread set out for the occasion.  By the time we finished lunch a small amount of wind was present, which steadily increased through the afternoon.  

For those who don't know, wind surfing is done essentially on a surf board to which a sail is attached.  The mast of the sail is attached by a flexible rod at the base, which allows it to lean in any direction.  Standing with your back to the wind and the sail in front of you, you manipulate the sail to catch the wind and propel you perpendicular to the direction the wind is blowing.  After 5-6 falls into shallow water before even getting the sail fully in place (balance has never been my strong suit), I managed to start moving...but the truly great challenge is turning around! The board must rotate 180 degrees to tack back in the direction you came from...but in order to maintain any movement you and the sail must stay as you have been: perpendicular to the wind.  This challenge of footwork and muscle coordination was never quite mastered for me even on the wide "moose" board, but Matt was looking quite coordinated by the time we left the water 3+ hours later.  

(If you are interested in seeing some of the "pros" do their stuff, visit http://kernvalleywindsurfing.com/ and watch the video at the bottom...it will also give you a feel for how pretty our lake is!)

More than the joy of a new sport to learn, we loved getting to know this older generation full of life and passion and new pursuits.  We were surprised as we continued talking with them to learn that many have actually lead very difficult lives.  Eva, forinstance, ran away from Germany as a 24 year old and never returned due to a series of events...she has lived in 5 countries including China, Chile, and Austrailia.  She was married for a short time and is now divorced...she homeschooled her only son who is now estranged.  She has no family close by and travels to Germany 3-4 times a year to care for her aging mother.  She is a self proclaimed protector of the lake and the town, speaking frequently of her disgust at the way that noise laws, pollution, and right-of-way are not reguarded by the "motorboats and stupid jet skis" despite her efforts to volunteer for the lake patrol and other enforcement agencies.  But despite her frustrations, she has chosen actions which serve, give life, and allow her to connect meaningfully with others.  She told me "some people think that a church is the only way to change people and give to others...for me, this lake is my church."  Her understandings may be misguided, but her heart has discovered the truth: giving yourself away is the only way to live a full life.  

After Matt and I had tired from fighting the ever-strengthening winds, the professionals rigged their sails and showed us how it is done.  Impressed is the understatement of the century.