A few things.
First, it has been so hot. The classic Virginia hot, the air so thick and wet that, as they say, you could cut it. With the dullest of knives.
Second, we moved. This should probably be the first bit of information as it is certainly the most important. Almost everything is in the new apartment. And, its all starting to come together.
I love it there. The place just makes me smile. During Mission Year, I realized that counter space was very important to me. Clutter stresses me out. Trying to prepare food without ample space sends me over the ledge of sanity. No worries now, though. Ol' Ebenezer has counters.
It also has this tiny back room, technically a laundry room, that Jordan and I have decided to spiff up and use as a quiet/prayer room. This evening, I discovered that it provides a perfect view of the sunset.
When we signed the lease, I gave the landlords a card with sunflowers on it. I love sunflowers. Their meaning is one of faithfulness, because they turn their heads in order to follow the sun as it moves through the sky each day. While cleaning the kitchen yesterday, I realized that there was a mug sitting on the kitchen sink. At first, I thought it had been left by accident. Then, I realized that Ayuko had left it there for me. It has sunflowers on it.
Pray for us if you get a moment, will you? Pray that we can be as faithful as those beautiful little flowers.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
today
I'm sitting in what I know is the calm before the storm -- the storm of upheaval and displacement that is inevitable when moving. I'm surrounded by open, half-full boxes, the apartment is starting to take on a slightly more bare appearance.
The last few weeks have been incredibly full. We've had a stream of visitors from PA, the Flyers have been in the Stanley Cup final (one cannot downplay the importance of this in our home), Jordan has been working a lot, there have been social events of all kinds, we've been trying to prepare for a move... Along with the unforeseen and unavoidable necessities of life, we've encountered some other bumps. For example, our folly of a couch won't fit into our new apartment, so, less than a year after buying it, we went on the search for a new couch. This has been a lesson in holding things loosely, and, perhaps, a lesson in generosity.
In short, Jordan and I haven't had much alone time, and the time we have had has been generally focused on preparing for the next thing or addressing spats that have popped up along the way.
Last night, though, we had both reached a breaking point. In our relationship as a couple, at almost every significant event, personal pains and problems have bubbled up from their deep, dark resting place and threatened to drown the joy and excitement that comes with such moments. They're the kind of issues that we will always carry, because they are a part of us now, a part of our story, and, in a way, a part of our identity. At times, they seem to wake up, to snap to attention, and to loom over us like the giants of old. Other times, they creep behind us, crafty and stealth, begin to drape the shroud of darkness over us, only to vanish the moment we turn to see if we are being followed.
For a while, they had been content to remain ghost-like. But, in the last few days, and especially last night, we found ourselves with a few perplexingly large and fierce giants standing in our way.
It was too much for me. I'm more emotional than the average person. My tear jar is probably a pain for the angels to lug around and, last night, I added more salt and water to the collection.
Jordan held me. When the strongest wave had passed, he got up for a moment, returning with his key ring in one hand, and the new apartment keys in the other hand. He said it was the ceremonial "putting on of the keys." Then, he asked me to put my sandals on and to grab a couple of boxes of books. Soon, we were outside, me with tears still streaming down my face, trying to reestablish a normal breathing pattern, whimpering. Our neighbor, who lives in the apartment above us, was sitting outside. We all tried to carry on a normal conversation, me with a face swollen to at least one point five times larger than normal and the voice of one with a sinus infection.
Then we left, drove two minutes, and arrived at the new apartment. Guitar in hand, Jordan led me inside and to the laundry room will-be-turned prayer room.
In Chicago, Jordan and I prayed together several times a week. Once we started dating, we prayed together every single night -- I can't remember a time when we skipped. But, the praying together started dwindling throughout our engagement, and, since we've been married, prayer has not come naturally and it isn't a common occurrence.
But, last night, we prayed together, laying on the floor of the tiny back room, clinging to each other, clinging to hope, clinging to Jesus.
This morning, I woke up feeling that the deep sense of inadequacy and failure that has been pervasive in my heart for a few weeks has, for now, subsided and been replaced by peace and an awareness that God is. I also woke up feeling more in love with Jordan than I imagined possible. Literally, one of my first thoughts was, "I'm MARRIED to that wonderful man."
I'm not going to pretend like the ghosts and giants have moved on. I'm not going to pretend that tomorrow I'll definitely feel the same sense of peace or have the same awareness of loving and being loved. I'm a broken human being who has a lot of filth swimming below (and on) the surface. But, as miserable as I am at doing this, we can take it only one day at a time. Right?
The last few weeks have been incredibly full. We've had a stream of visitors from PA, the Flyers have been in the Stanley Cup final (one cannot downplay the importance of this in our home), Jordan has been working a lot, there have been social events of all kinds, we've been trying to prepare for a move... Along with the unforeseen and unavoidable necessities of life, we've encountered some other bumps. For example, our folly of a couch won't fit into our new apartment, so, less than a year after buying it, we went on the search for a new couch. This has been a lesson in holding things loosely, and, perhaps, a lesson in generosity.
In short, Jordan and I haven't had much alone time, and the time we have had has been generally focused on preparing for the next thing or addressing spats that have popped up along the way.
Last night, though, we had both reached a breaking point. In our relationship as a couple, at almost every significant event, personal pains and problems have bubbled up from their deep, dark resting place and threatened to drown the joy and excitement that comes with such moments. They're the kind of issues that we will always carry, because they are a part of us now, a part of our story, and, in a way, a part of our identity. At times, they seem to wake up, to snap to attention, and to loom over us like the giants of old. Other times, they creep behind us, crafty and stealth, begin to drape the shroud of darkness over us, only to vanish the moment we turn to see if we are being followed.
For a while, they had been content to remain ghost-like. But, in the last few days, and especially last night, we found ourselves with a few perplexingly large and fierce giants standing in our way.
It was too much for me. I'm more emotional than the average person. My tear jar is probably a pain for the angels to lug around and, last night, I added more salt and water to the collection.
Jordan held me. When the strongest wave had passed, he got up for a moment, returning with his key ring in one hand, and the new apartment keys in the other hand. He said it was the ceremonial "putting on of the keys." Then, he asked me to put my sandals on and to grab a couple of boxes of books. Soon, we were outside, me with tears still streaming down my face, trying to reestablish a normal breathing pattern, whimpering. Our neighbor, who lives in the apartment above us, was sitting outside. We all tried to carry on a normal conversation, me with a face swollen to at least one point five times larger than normal and the voice of one with a sinus infection.
Then we left, drove two minutes, and arrived at the new apartment. Guitar in hand, Jordan led me inside and to the laundry room will-be-turned prayer room.
In Chicago, Jordan and I prayed together several times a week. Once we started dating, we prayed together every single night -- I can't remember a time when we skipped. But, the praying together started dwindling throughout our engagement, and, since we've been married, prayer has not come naturally and it isn't a common occurrence.
But, last night, we prayed together, laying on the floor of the tiny back room, clinging to each other, clinging to hope, clinging to Jesus.
This morning, I woke up feeling that the deep sense of inadequacy and failure that has been pervasive in my heart for a few weeks has, for now, subsided and been replaced by peace and an awareness that God is. I also woke up feeling more in love with Jordan than I imagined possible. Literally, one of my first thoughts was, "I'm MARRIED to that wonderful man."
I'm not going to pretend like the ghosts and giants have moved on. I'm not going to pretend that tomorrow I'll definitely feel the same sense of peace or have the same awareness of loving and being loved. I'm a broken human being who has a lot of filth swimming below (and on) the surface. But, as miserable as I am at doing this, we can take it only one day at a time. Right?
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