waste makes haste. er, something.

i can't hear out of my ears today. they keep popping, in and out of muffled symphony, making voices sound like they're covered in pillows and quilts - my own voice jarring, trapped next to my brain. these are the leftover symptoms of a nasty earache.

i'm in a funk these last couple days. i feel rather like a failure. i look around and i see everyone in cute houses, with cute pets and kids and lives. all structure and routine and matching furniture. i see people in jobs they love - jobs that light up their eyes as they talk about all the endless possibilities. i pass people by on the other side of the street - cute girls in skirts, holding bikes - and i feel like i don't know anyone anymore. i can't be bothered with these things. i eat gross frozen meals because i am too lazy to even make myself a sandwich before work. i feel cluttered by all my possessions. i have dreams that throw me off all day long - like it's 5 years ago. i sleep too much, then i don't sleep enough. i read strange books. i hurt david's feelings when critiquing dinner. i don't make enough time for God. i can't run more than 2 miles. i hate all this complaining. all these circles, no symmetry. no way to get to point A from point B.

okay. i'm done. sometimes i just need to dump all these insecurities out of my head. then i can start new.

multiplied joy, divided grief

this was a decidedly "girls" weekend. i didn't plan for it to be that way, but it ended up being the case. and while it's tough to barely see david when our weeks are so busy - every minute accounted for, every hour tied to a commitment - i was rather humbled by the answer to prayer that these friendships have become in my life.

i think of those first six months after australia... back in the cold, snowy bleakness of iowa winter, i was the loneliest i'd ever been. it was culture shock and isolation shock. in australia & in africa, i'd been immersed in undiluted community. i hadn't had a night alone in 6 months, hadn't had a bathroom to myself, a solitary meal, hadn't even had a secret. everyone knew everything. i never knew how much i'd needed it. the friendships were rich, unbelievably open, raw and strong, tied together by faith, by miracles, by Christ. i'd never felt anything like it, and then it was over. after living community like that, i knew i'd seen a glimpse how we were meant to be as people, but i also knew how impossible it would be to recreate, especially in america.

in des moines, living in my sister's cramped house, my only prayer was for some authentic friendships, some glimmer of community. i tried out the "dtc" in hope of finding what they advertised, but instead got burnt by these "christians" who were too exclusive for their own good. i found my saving grace in my friend zach, who also saw this need for unity, connection. it took 2 long years and it took God's timing and strategy to put the right people in the right places. but now i stop and look around and am amazed by all i see.

the lone tree garden is bursting at the seams with help and hands and enthusiasm. wednesday night soup has reinvented itself time and time again, but there is always the core crew of friends willing to show up, contribute, cook, clean, and end the night playing games and telling stories. there is sunday night girls group - where i am so amazed at how we've opened up, how we lean on each other, how we hold nothing back. there are debates, there are tears, there are confessions and there are prayers - all of these desperately needed, on a weekly basis. there are shows and potlucks and house warming parties and camp-outs and drive-in movie nights and dive bars and birthday parties and all the in-betweens. none of it forced, just a natural progression of sorts.

i think it is how Christ intended for the church to be. starting small, on an individual level, we lock hands with our neighbors, knit our lives into their lives, try to create a support system so we don't have to do this alone. and if there were enough of these little collections of people living lives together, with doors wide open, then i think these little collections of people could be the church, could bring a little kingdom to earth.

at least for a little while.

weddings, weddings, everywhere

a day in the life of a bride-to-be:

woke up. cleaned out my teeth-whitening tray. checked progress of bleached top teeth. became concerned about my increasingly noticeable yellow bottom teeth. made mental note to buy whitening kit for bottom teeth at target.

went to work out. furiously. for an hour. my days are numbered. i don't so much mind how i look in the dress - that isn't the problem. the problem is how i will look in a bikini, on a beach, post-wedding.

met my mom and ellen to go see the cake lady. sifted through stacks of magazines all dedicated to cakes. shrugged my shoulders a lot. the cake lady was eccentric and laughed loudly. she graduated with a degree in architecture, and considers herself an artist. perfect combo for a cake designer, if you ask me. i finally made a few decisions (square tiers, twisted, white and green, maybe some lilies on the top) and called it good.

went to target. i knew had to get something at target. what was it i needed at target? i meandered through the aisles. got a swimsuit cover up for the honeymoon. grabbed deodorant, new facewash (where are all these zits coming from?!?!), some make up, new underware and left.

met my mom to go meet up with the caterer. waited for a half hour in the caterer's office, because she was running very late. she finally came in and patted us both on the knee for waiting. it made me feel like a little kid. but she's magnetic, and by the end of the session, i was feeling good about things. she knows her food - knows what flavors and sides go together - she's actually passionate about it all. i'm going with plastic, throw-away plates, but i can't be bothered w/the $2.00 charge per person to use china (that could potentially be $600 more dollars, how ridiculous).

came home, tried on new clothing items from target. laughed out-loud at myself in a mirror. then got mad at myself when i realized i'd forgotten the teeth whitening kit. started to think about all the other stuff i need to do (book a photobooth, go to Bella Flora, get a marriage license, get a bunch of addresses, figure out how to make a playlist for reception, get a "dj" for reception, get a car to take us from ceremony to reception, figure out rehearsal dinner, get gifts for my gals, go to the lady doctor, grumble grumble, etc. etc. ).

scan room in exasperation. realize it's an absolute mess. begin cleaning. follow mystery smell and trace it to a rotting banana in a plastic bag. in the middle of my bedroom. oh boy. it's gotten bad.

i think it's impossible to hold all these things in my brain at one time. this better be a good party.

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

new york city and the art of losing

i recently read of a man who tried to write down every memory he'd ever had, so he wouldn't forget anything. it may have sounded foolish, but i know i think the same way - late at night, all these memories come back to me with foggy details, in shades of gray, shaky transitions with muffled voices. these fleeting things that have been all-but forgotten. i know there isn't a real necessity for this kind of documentation and it can even get unhealthy - all the pinning for and recounting the past can result in losing the present in the process. (it's all subjective anyway). but i also know that i am the master of forgetfulness. it's a thread that doesn't seem to fit with the rest of the fabric of my being, but it is there nonetheless. i let everything go.

i read this (above entry) poem years ago, and i thought it was breathtaking. the progression of things lost, from the material to the cities, the continents, to the last stanza, the braggart-fashion in which it's written, like she's giving advice on this great art, the way she forced herself to (Write it!) - you can almost hear the pause, hear her talking herself into it. only now do i feel the personal significance. the places i've been, the people i've loved, the way i never keep in touch because it's just easier (selfishly) not to. the flippant way i let things go, without a second glance.

...

a memory came to me out of the blue today. i don't want to lose this one:

my father and me, hopping trains in new york city, summer of 1998. the metallic blue bouncing from surface to surface in the early sunrise. the sweltering heat barely beginning to wave above the concrete.
me - 15 and defiant, hair chopped hideously short in panicky rebellion, in love for the first time, angry at my parents, angry at the world for not understanding. and he didn't understand - my poor dad, least of all. raised in a close-minded family of all boys, he was the only one that escaped, good-natured to his core and full of springy energy and enthusiasm. but understandably at a loss when it came to the job of raising 3 girls.
he was adamant that we seize the day - this being our last in new york, and he wanted to see time square, wanted to grab an authentic new york coffee and bagel, before the crowds materialized and killed the solidarity. he was so confident and carefree, so pleased to know how to maneuver through the subway stations and map our way downtown.

i glowered through the whole experience. i barely said a word. i was exhausted, i was not looking forward to going back home, and i was not (will never be) a morning person. what sour company i must have been - there is even an old photograph taken on a disposable camera (seems so archaic already) of me, slouched against a streetlight, unable to muster a smile as time square is bleached in the white light of early morning behind me.

we got the obligatory coffee and a bagel. dad had a real knack for finding the perfect place for that sort of thing, and it was a true new york dive, with thick accents and loud voices and regulars. we ate and drank and said very little. i remember he was fed up with me by the end of the morning, no doubt thinking what a defeated attempt this had been at father-daughter bonding time. i guess what he should know now is that i really treasure this memory. even in my shutdown, hormonal state, somewhere inside of me was a little girl who wanted nothing more than to spend the day with her dad.

communal little family pods

this week, i'm living with my cousins (amelia & greta, 15 & 12) while my aunt and uncle are out of town. it's only been 24 hours, but i feel like a scatterbrained , failing mom already. i left the back door open and there is currently 1 wasp and 1 bumblebee hovering around in the now-barricaded sun room (while we wait for them to die). i locked myself out of their house this morning, after i asked amelia for the garage code and promptly forgot it. i dropped greta off and forgot to make a plan for picking her up. they went to bed a whole hour later than they were supposed to last night. i can't even look at greta's busted up ankle (much less wrap it) without getting woozy.

why the space cadet lately? well, i think a constant parade is marching inside my head: all the wedding details, all the vbs details, all the apartment details, piled on top of the everyday things like bills and deadlines and friendships and family crises. (life can seem so selfish).

and yet, i know this time is absolutely critical. the times i get to spend with these girls has become less and less. i know the words i say, the actions i repeat, are being watched by wide-eyed, scrutinizing faces. (anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law...)

we have something rare - we still have our extended family structure intact. what used to be completely standard (those extended families, living in little circles of huts, cousins carrying around cousins, grandparents teaching grandchildren, aunts and uncles admonishing nieces and nephews, all this interaction and community developing effortlessly between generations on a daily basis) is virtually nonexistent in america today. we can strive for this in a church setting, but overall, it's hard to find in our individualistic culture.

all this to say: i have a responsibility when i am with my cousins. a unique responsibility that a mom or a peer can't fulfill. words like "discipling" and "mentoring" spring to mind, but even that can sound a little artificial. i guess i hope, above everything else, that i give them a healthy dose of Jesus. not the fake, syrupy christianity guzzled down by the appeasing majority. but a sacrificial understanding of what it means to a take up a cross, and follow meekly in his footsteps. with the understanding that you're gonna fall, but that there's also gonna be a hand to pick you back up... whether it be his hand, or mine.

i hope a little progress was made in that direction. yesterday, when the girls got home from school, we huddled around the island in the kitchen for over an hour, processing the car accident of a 16 year old girl named Candy (another cousin - joey's - girlfriend of over a year). we talked a lot about life and death, and then we told lots of goofy stories to get our minds off the sadness. amelia and i went for a run later. we were both panting in the heat, hardly saying a word, but i kept trying to match her uneven rhythm, stopping when she stopped, starting when she started.

i'm nowhere near perfect, but i hope those moments will add up to enough.

city lights and laura ingalls wilder

these things forced me to write tonight. my writing has become limited because i doubt my ability to say anything worth reading... but since when was my writing ever for an audience? i've got stacks of journals meant for nothing more than God, catharsis, and memory's sake.

so. today. sunshine burst into every corner of my room this morning. i ignored the odd early phone call, the first dull blares of my alarm, until i couldn't stand it anymore. i finally pulled my sleepy bones out of bed and went to work out. i still find it humorous that i exercise. i will never be 'athletic,' but i'm shooting for healthy. and it's a good way to clear my mind. i rewarded myself with iced coffee.

i then spent a full day looking at wedding dresses with elizabeth and her mom. it's great to be a supportive friend, and to not have to make any decisions myself. i may have even teared up a couple times... because underneath all the jaded cynicism i'm just a big baby. i secretly wish her wedding was first, so i could witness how it all comes together before attempting my own, because at this point, it's kind of baffling to me. people ask me questions (about veils, music, centerpieces, showers, hotels, etc. etc. etc.) and i sort of feel like i have this blank/deer-in-the-headlights expression about me. but mine is a mere 99 days away. guess i'll wing it.

this evening i babysat for the 3 most incredibly fantastic little girls in the world. when i'm watching them, everything slows down. my inner monologue shuts off. i quit stressing about work and the wedding. i'm in a state of blissful fascination. and they're not even my kids. tonight, listening to Gabby tell me about her dvds, watching Felicity sing her prayers before bed, and hearing Isabelle proclaim "i would sin a whole lot less if i didn't have sisters" i think about Jesus's love for the least of these, and i think about faith like a child, and i think about my mom. she dealt with 3 ridiculous little girls night after night, and she tells me now that she would "give anything to go back" for just one moment - to see us then, knowing us now... sometimes i wish for the same.

later, Felicity came into the room where i was reading to Isabelle, and Felicity kept flipping her blond hair over her shoulder and complaining about the noisy "airplanes" flying outside her window and how she couldn't fall asleep. her attitude and her gestures were absolutely comical and i couldn't keep it together. as i stifled giggles and directed her back to bed i wondered at what it would be like to have a child of my own that was half as funny as this girl. life would be unbearably good.

i don't have confidence in much, and i don't insist that i know all that much, but deep down inside, i know i'll be a good mom. i'm fiercely determined to give it everything i've got, and i know that is a calling at some point that i will answer. but i also know there's a lot to do before i reach that point.

i drove home tonight under clear black skies. i merged onto 235 heading west. my favorite snapshot of des moines is here - just as the highway hits the des moines river if you glance to the south you'll see the city at her best. all the lights glaring bright, the layering of buildings and sky is sublime, all hugging the river. i love knowing my home is tucked among the city. i may never live in a suburb again. des moines is the perfect size and shape for me, and i feel like it is an old friend after all these years. an old friend that is always reveals new sides, that always keeps you on your toes.