Sunday, December 29, 2013
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
THE UNFAMILIAR WAITING
I've seriously thought about deleting my Facebook account instead of deleting people, and it's not for the reasons you would think. I want to hit the delete button, at least for a little while, because it hurts too much to look. It hurts this time of year when I want to be close to the people on that page that have moved on without me so close by. It really disappoints me that I cannot be in my hometown in the church I love so very much and am missing all that is going on, all the exciting end of the year things that make Revolution the church that held my heart like Jesus in the manger. And finally, it is hard to see the children that I have adored since birth growing up or all grown up without me.
I know...it's selfish...and I have to accept that life changes. But must everything change? every relationship? every friendship? every place? every memory?
It's a snowy Tuesday here on the East Side of the state, the suburbs of Detroit where I live now. I drove from the doctor's office this morning, wondering if this baby I am waiting to make an appearance will even know all the things that have made me who I am, will even recognize the friends that I thought would be aunts to him or her, will see my hometown as a home-away-from-home. I wonder if my child will gravitate toward Detroit, the place I despised as a child, but now live shoulder to shoulder with. This baby will have his or her own hometown to grow up in, and it won't be St. Louis and then Port Huron like Daddy or Grand Rapids like Mommy. I wait to see what my child will embrace as home (beyond the physical location, but that feeling you get when the only home you know is all you want to know).
My mind during this time of year misses the familiar. Christmas was a warm familiar place for me even some years ago when love surrounded me, where I was surrounded by family and friends. I wish that I could combine my life now with my life then. I wish I could show my husband the world that swirls in my memories but it feels so long gone now. I gaze at the pictures and read the stories and live vicariously through all those I miss and then I want to hit the delete button and forget about them. I want to not see how I don't fit there anymore. But I can't hit the delete button for my mind's instant recall. So I find myself waiting to be okay with not being as involved with the lives that were so fully intertwined with mine.
We started going to church in Troy. We still attend like visitors and lately, with all the sadness at not being at my old church, I haven't wanted to go. This is horrible to admit - that I have had to convince myself that I will one day fight past the feeling that I only fit in in one place. It's ridiculous and I know my husband thinks I am just being silly, but the right church for you is hard to replicate somewhere else and I've never been able to do it. I have never been able to not miss the love I felt at my old church. I cannot just switch that feeling over. And I find myself waiting for the sadness to pass and acceptance to walk through the sanctuary doors with me.
This Advent season feels so much more like waiting - more than any other year. I feel like I am waiting for the next season to begin, an unfamiliar place that smells and tastes and feels like change - a change I am learning to be ready for. In this season, I think a lot about the kind of wife I must be, the kind of mother I will be, the kind of daughter I have to be. I know these places by mind but not by heart and I realize that some things within those places cannot be planned for because I have never been there before.
And in the middle of all this waiting that seems to be endless, I find myself waiting for the God of change to change me. The Christ in Christmas has to be my focus so that when change comes I won't grieve yesterday and miss today. Life has to be lived for today. It has to be embraced right now. And I am learning that, even in this place that is so unfamiliar.
I know...it's selfish...and I have to accept that life changes. But must everything change? every relationship? every friendship? every place? every memory?
It's a snowy Tuesday here on the East Side of the state, the suburbs of Detroit where I live now. I drove from the doctor's office this morning, wondering if this baby I am waiting to make an appearance will even know all the things that have made me who I am, will even recognize the friends that I thought would be aunts to him or her, will see my hometown as a home-away-from-home. I wonder if my child will gravitate toward Detroit, the place I despised as a child, but now live shoulder to shoulder with. This baby will have his or her own hometown to grow up in, and it won't be St. Louis and then Port Huron like Daddy or Grand Rapids like Mommy. I wait to see what my child will embrace as home (beyond the physical location, but that feeling you get when the only home you know is all you want to know).
My mind during this time of year misses the familiar. Christmas was a warm familiar place for me even some years ago when love surrounded me, where I was surrounded by family and friends. I wish that I could combine my life now with my life then. I wish I could show my husband the world that swirls in my memories but it feels so long gone now. I gaze at the pictures and read the stories and live vicariously through all those I miss and then I want to hit the delete button and forget about them. I want to not see how I don't fit there anymore. But I can't hit the delete button for my mind's instant recall. So I find myself waiting to be okay with not being as involved with the lives that were so fully intertwined with mine.
We started going to church in Troy. We still attend like visitors and lately, with all the sadness at not being at my old church, I haven't wanted to go. This is horrible to admit - that I have had to convince myself that I will one day fight past the feeling that I only fit in in one place. It's ridiculous and I know my husband thinks I am just being silly, but the right church for you is hard to replicate somewhere else and I've never been able to do it. I have never been able to not miss the love I felt at my old church. I cannot just switch that feeling over. And I find myself waiting for the sadness to pass and acceptance to walk through the sanctuary doors with me.
This Advent season feels so much more like waiting - more than any other year. I feel like I am waiting for the next season to begin, an unfamiliar place that smells and tastes and feels like change - a change I am learning to be ready for. In this season, I think a lot about the kind of wife I must be, the kind of mother I will be, the kind of daughter I have to be. I know these places by mind but not by heart and I realize that some things within those places cannot be planned for because I have never been there before.
And in the middle of all this waiting that seems to be endless, I find myself waiting for the God of change to change me. The Christ in Christmas has to be my focus so that when change comes I won't grieve yesterday and miss today. Life has to be lived for today. It has to be embraced right now. And I am learning that, even in this place that is so unfamiliar.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
ALL SETTLED IN....AND THE DOGS ARE TOO...
I took some time off from the blog to get used to our new house, and I have to say that we are all settled in. We are all used to the unique facets of this new house. We are trying to figure out ways to enjoy every area of our new blessing.
All of us are.
Even the two little black dogs that think they should have the run of the whole house...whether I happen to think so or not.
I had this thought: they would understand that they have to be confined to the upstairs until after the honeymoon period of the new home has worn off. I assumed they would understand that they are not allowed to go downstairs to the beautifully finished basement with the creme colored carpet until I say they are allowed to go. I assumed they knew the same rules apply at the new house as they did at the old apartment. I assumed my cute little monsters would sit obediently at the top of the basement stairs and wait for us to come back up.
Well, first off I had that wrong.
When you have two little chihuahuas, you cannot assume anything about their perspective on life. You cannot think they will just understand when their human daddy is heading down to his crazy shower with the wall spigots that THEY CANNOT GO, TOO. You cannot assume that they understand how they need to wait until YOU THINK they are ready.
They will not ask, "Hey, Human Mommy, am I ready, yet?"
They will not obey your yelling as they wind their little bodies past his, dashing through his legs, as he makes his way down the stairs.
They WILL take off knowing you cannot just push your husband out the way to save your carpet.
They WILL christen the creme colored carpet with their little sausage turds and then take off running while you are screaming for their punishment.
The fat one will hunch low and shoot out like a missile for the opposite side of the basement to hide. The skinny one will take off for the upstairs when he sees his girl get in trouble, deciding to leave his own tiny remnants in the bathroom you thought was fit for a queen and in no way appropriate for a 4 pound terror to do his business.
This will happen - while you are assuming they will act right and consider your feelings about their disobedience.
This is how we have settled in. I am realizing that I can't banish them to the pound because they are the most hard-headed creatures on the planet (besides me, obviously). They have to get used to this new home. And they don't care if the carpet is creme. I may have a hissy fit while I am re-cleaning the carpet and screaming bloody murder, but they will just stare at me with big brown eyes and think I am crazy.
We are home.
And so are they.
All of us are.
Even the two little black dogs that think they should have the run of the whole house...whether I happen to think so or not.
I had this thought: they would understand that they have to be confined to the upstairs until after the honeymoon period of the new home has worn off. I assumed they would understand that they are not allowed to go downstairs to the beautifully finished basement with the creme colored carpet until I say they are allowed to go. I assumed they knew the same rules apply at the new house as they did at the old apartment. I assumed my cute little monsters would sit obediently at the top of the basement stairs and wait for us to come back up.
Well, first off I had that wrong.
When you have two little chihuahuas, you cannot assume anything about their perspective on life. You cannot think they will just understand when their human daddy is heading down to his crazy shower with the wall spigots that THEY CANNOT GO, TOO. You cannot assume that they understand how they need to wait until YOU THINK they are ready.
They will not ask, "Hey, Human Mommy, am I ready, yet?"
They will not obey your yelling as they wind their little bodies past his, dashing through his legs, as he makes his way down the stairs.
They WILL take off knowing you cannot just push your husband out the way to save your carpet.
They WILL christen the creme colored carpet with their little sausage turds and then take off running while you are screaming for their punishment.
The fat one will hunch low and shoot out like a missile for the opposite side of the basement to hide. The skinny one will take off for the upstairs when he sees his girl get in trouble, deciding to leave his own tiny remnants in the bathroom you thought was fit for a queen and in no way appropriate for a 4 pound terror to do his business.
This will happen - while you are assuming they will act right and consider your feelings about their disobedience.
This is how we have settled in. I am realizing that I can't banish them to the pound because they are the most hard-headed creatures on the planet (besides me, obviously). They have to get used to this new home. And they don't care if the carpet is creme. I may have a hissy fit while I am re-cleaning the carpet and screaming bloody murder, but they will just stare at me with big brown eyes and think I am crazy.
We are home.
And so are they.
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