Remember that time?

While chatting with an old friend the other night, I offhandedly mentioned that I've grown a gray hair or two since we last saw each other. I tried to point out their location to him and, by vain instinct, I started to light-heartedly lament their existence.

Before I could continue on though, my friend had to stop me in my tracks.

The first thing he said was, "Good!"

I gave him a quizzical look back.

Again, he said, "Good!" Then he added, "Wisdom! That means you're gaining wisdom."

* * *

Experience is the best teacher as the saying goes.

When I turned 28 a few weeks ago, I certainly gave thought to how I'm now truly on the back-end of my 20's, but I didn't really pause to reflect on it.

The conversation about my silver streaks got me thinking though.

* * *

I've got this book on my nightstand that has a really cheesy cover graphic. It's a picture of an egg being held in a mechanical C-clamp that's pinching the shell along its long edge. The book's title is "You're Stronger Than You Think," an homage to an egg's surprising strength when stressed from top to bottom. Eggs are much sturdier than they appear!

The theme of the book is discovering your inner-strength that comes from knowing God.

Recently, something clicked in my head and I've suddenly gained a similar swagger to that resilient egg on the book cover. (Sir Sheldon, I’ll call him.)

* * *

Like most almost-30's, I've been through various ordeals that are almost rites of passage for us all. I've had hardship with my family. I've had the experience of getting my heart pulverized by someone special. I've had mental and physical tribulations. I've had trials with school and work. And then there were all the random disappointments too.

Yet in light of how God was with me through all that and how He got me through it, and considering who He is for me , I'm learning to appreciate those hard times more and more.

Lately, life has put me in some tight spots, but I've been able to recall God's faithfulness and I've been saying this one particular phrase to encourage myself: "I've been in this situation before."

I've been using that line like trash talk too, using it to take a snipe at the original hater, Satan, who wants me to believe the lies that I'll crumble under the pressure. When Satan tries to get me to focus on my "daunting" circumstances, I just say, "I've been in this situation before."

I’ve also been using it to reassure myself when an earthly problem starts to look imposing. "I've been in this situation before." It has a calming effect on me and helps me to refocus on what God is doing.

* * *

Five years ago, I didn't have any of these stiff gray strands. But I also hadn't been in a lot of situations before.

So like my friend said about my decaying hair, “Good! Wisdom!”

Thank you notes

Cross-post from my new blog at katiemurchisonross.blogspot.com. I thought this fits in the Hyattsville conversation too. :)

I finally just finished writing all the thank you notes from wedding gifts. Although it gets tedious, and although it probably didn't need to take me two and a half months, I was trying to remember with each sentence, each card, each envelope, that it is truly a blessing to have had so many wonderful people in my life that it takes me ten weeks to thank all of them.

Everyone's gifts, from handmade to generously-given cash and gift cards, were beautiful. Two gifts touched me in particular, both from old friends of my mother who I've not seen in years and who were not invited to the wedding.

One was from a family who took care of me in the 1980s. In the letter, they explained that they took me home on Sunday mornings after the early church service and took care of me while my mother played the organ and my father sang in the choir (and my mother added they never let her pay for their babysitting). Apparently they would often make waffles for Sunday brunch, and were amazed at the amount that I, as a two year old, could eat. When they heard that I was getting married, they all decided I should have my own waffle iron complete with their long-tested waffle recipe. Of course, I have no memory of any of this, and after we moved in 1989, saw them only a handful of times in the 1990s.

The other was a simple gift of an apron and dish cloths from an old French couple who befriended my mother when she was a college student studying in Aix-en-Provence in southern France. We lived in Paris for a year when I was three, and visited them often during that time. Over the years, their grandchildren would come to stay with us for  couple months in the summer to practice English, and my brother stayed with them for a few weeks to practice French. I myself never went, though our family returned to France and visited their home in 1996. I was happy and touched to receive their gift in the mail a few weeks before the wedding. Then the day before the wedding, in the middle of assembling flowers and putting together lunch for the 15 people who were at our house helping/visiting, the phone rang. I answered. It was Charles, the old man. He told me in a mixture of French and English, how happy he was for me and that he wished me the greatest joy and blessings on my wedding day, that he was praying for us, that he knew God's love would sustain us. I bumbled some thank-yous, understanding his French but unable to respond, and returned to the kitchen where my bridesmaids had finished assembling lunch. As I sat down at the kitchen table, I couldn't stop crying. Of course I was very emotional that day for many reasons, but I was completely surprised at my own reaction to a man I hadn't seen in fifteen years and didn't know very well. I didn't know why I reacted so strongly.

Now I know. Not only have I been blessed by the love of many wonderful people throughout my life, but it started even before that. There are many special people who have been in my life since childhood, or high school, or college. Hopefully they'll be in my life a long time. But there are people who've been in my mother's life for decades. And people who have loved her since 1972 love me too. And it is not only throughout my life that I've been shown love. At my birth I was already surrounded by the love that my parents had cultivated and given throughout their lives. It's an ever-expanding, international community of friendship and generosity and love, and I was overcome by it.

Extrovert Blues.

            I zip up my blue jacket and lace up my new shoes, when I realize I’ve spent all weekend caught up in the extrovert blues. It been a long time coming so here's the thing: my friend’s boyfriend liked it so he bought her a ring. Playful and laughing, they show us the healing and provision that comes from God.

  While smiling and giggling with them, on the inside I was scared of losing yet another close friendship.

It has been said that our greatest strengths can also be our greatest weaknesses. Mine, I think, has to do so much with people. They tell me it's a strength - connecting, welcoming, listening, remembering, sharing warmth, spending time. And it is, which I appreciate and use. But it is what I am made for. It’s a longing that I can’t turn on or off. The gift of connecting with people is like a hot potato burning your hand when it is not in use. I long to connect with others, share love, share time; not being able to do so is also uncomfortable.

        Last Friday, we went out on U street to dance. I watched many couples, lost in each other and themselves, clueless to their surroundings. Smiling, they looked at each other and moved to the beat, and seemed unaware of the silly mismatched groups like ours, and of the homeless-looking guy who walked in and stood along the wall by himself. I don’t want to be like those couples. There’s a whole world out there beyond their romance, and it could benefit from their attention and gifts.  I think the reason I want someone extroverted, with good social skills, who can "hold their own" in a variety of settings, is because I want a relationship that's outwardly focused. Making your relationship all about you and the other person is an easy trap to fall into. I think I am made for something more outward.

I have read several articles giving voice to the introverts – explaining that they are not boring or dull, they are actually quite interesting but may not be able to show it at parties, explaining that they are deep thinkers… but what about us extroverts? It can be assumed that extroverts are attention-hungry, but they also do better in the social gathering/ mingling scene. It’s true, we like attention - both receiving and giving it. We’re seen as the fun-loving party animals, and we may come across as lacking depth of thought that is evident in the introverts. Who is going to give voice to our struggles?

             In November, I had a party. The place buzzed with voices and music; wine glistened. Katy repeatedly told me how special i am and how many people love me . It's true, I have poured out a lot of time an effort into these folks, and I was so thankful to have them reciprocate. I loved hosting them and spending time together, especially when I got them to dance in a group. From the outside I am sure I looked like the one who has it all-  friends, fun, attention, affection, health, others to cook for me and help me clean up, companionship, and even a couple of flirty dances. Especially to the introverts, it might have seemed like the dream come true kind of thing.

        But the truth is, I know what it means to be alone. There are few things as depressing as lack of human connection when you long for it.

     To an extrovert, loneliness is a heavier burden, bothersome enough to make you want to crawl out of your skin. To me, the party was not glamour nor the cherry on top. It was one of the rare days when i knew my need for companionship would fulfilled, if only for a little bit. It was one night where i didnt have to wonder whether humanity would seem distant and cold, whether my purpose and gifts would be unused.  It wasn't as much showing off as it was meeting a need, which doesn’t seem met most days.

Just days after the party, the lonely extrovert was overtaken by the blues. I am grasping for consistency and permanence in a temporary and changing world. Take that, introverts. Take that, extroverts. At the end of the day, we all have a need to connect, think, relate, and have community, maybe just in our different ways.

questions of lonely despair

God, please help me make sense of life.

what will i do after grad school? there are US govt jobs that seem interesting in public health, but part of me itches to fulfill the international pull, to be a "citizen of the world" again... where will i work? how will i pay back my debts? who will i be with? will i have community? will i just be a boring us person who settled for the repetitive grind due to debts and not thinking outside of the box? will i go to africa, latin america, russia, etc ? will i have a community? a life companion? will i be satisfied, will i have fun or use my gifts? will all of life be suffering and dissatisfaction? will my friends be geographically close by and create a community or will i be the only one left behind, bitter, disconnected, wishing we were closer so we could help each other? will my brother and i still be close? will we both be bitter? will our parents ever come to know You, God? will hope, faith and love be evident and alive in my life?

disclaimer: i realize that these questions may not be the most encouraging, and there is more to faith than despair and questions. life is full of joys and pain so perhaps someone will rejoice if they relate and know they are not alone.. or we can all reflect and laugh after it's all resolved. but this is where i was today and wanted to share.

everything

He knows everything
Every single little thing
Whether or not you bring
It up to Him in prayer
Whether or not you think it’s fair

 He knows everything, every single little thing
 Every little thing between you and I , between her and I, between him and I
He knows about your evil eye, you being that boastful guy with the lustful eye
When you get drunk and high or when you so tired you wanna die
Every single tear you cry
 And every time you tell a lie
 How many days you before you die
And what you didn’t say cuz you’re shy
 When decisions got you torn
When your computer downloads porn
Knows when to give you a daily portion of bread
The number of your skin cells
 and hairs on your head
And even things you can’t remember
Might as well surrender
 He knows everything
 When you wanna kill your brother or cheat with another
 Every time you give a gift
 Or cut your shift short
Every question of your life
 Let him answer
 He knows everything,
Every single little thing
 When you dance around the tree ,
Or lie saying "it wasn’t me";
The questions you have yet to ask
He will give you strength for the task

He knows everything
Let Him be your every thing
 Let Him come repair the pain
So you don’t gotta live in vain
Pushing needles in your veins
Or drowning sorrows in champagne
When everything else dies,
Only He’ll remain

 He knows everything
Every single little thing
Whether or not you bring
 It up to him in prayer
Whether or not you think it’s fair
 He knows everything,
 Every single little thing
 Every little thing between you and I , between her and I, between him and I..
He knows everything
Let Him be your everything
Let Him be your only thing
Let Him be your lonely thing
Let Him be your everything
Because He is the king
Who made everything.

Exceptions

Against the rules. I like exceptions to the rules. Don’t get me wrong - I’m not against rules, In fact normally I think there’s a reason for them, and I want to understand it. But what I like even more are the exceptions Have you ever had, in your growing up experience, the special days where you would eat ice cream for lunch, or stay up super late? I like exceptions to the rule: A crazy busy day in the middle of a summer vacation, Folks who are fully honest with what they tell you, Finding money in a pocket, Surprises… A warm winter day, Occasionally skipping a class, Throwing in a word of a different language, Flexibility from the usual routine. A sick day from work that makes you slow down- Pillows, pajamas, blankets, and tea contrast nicely with slacks, button-downs, rushing, and to-do lists. Or better yet – give me ridiculous costumes, Spontaneity over tradition. Allowing ourselves to cuss, make a judgmental statement (just one! And perhaps with an apology!), Putting on makeup or heels (I usually don’t) I hate phone calls but an occasional long, meaningful one is amazing.. A wealthy person that’s humble, Going home early or staying out til sunrise, A good cry, An intense thunderstorm, Skipping an essential condiment… Walking around like a child, Big eyed, Mystified By the big city, Or a quiet picnic in God’s presence. Varying schedule, The rare occurrence of sitting next to someone who smells bad.. No day is like any other. A college student hanging out with a homeless person Interracial couples, A white person speaking perfect Spanish.. As much as I love a jogging routine I really love an occasional unexpected hike, or a basketball game, or skipping a workout in favor of something really fun. Variety is the spice of life, they say Give me the moments that are valued When life feels real.

Lent

Lent is the Christian season in which we examine our mortality. I used to think this meant self-abasement, overanalyzing my selfish motives for everything. I got pretty good at that, and then I got pretty tired of it. So I started ignoring Lent’s meaning. This year I am searching for a better working definition. Something that is mortal is temporal. When I realize something is temporal, I appreciate it more.

Let’s take Grandma. I was lucky to become intensely aware of her mortality ten months before her stroke in 2010. In January, the night I was to take her to the symphony, my uncle took her to the hospital with a bad cough. She was in the ICU for a week with pneumonia. When I saw the tracheal tube and the oxygen in her nose, heard the beeping monitor and her loopy comments, and felt how thin she was in the hospital gown, I knew from here on out, I had to appreciate every moment I had with her.

And I did. Nearly every week from February to November, I drove to the hospital or the nursing home or her house to see her. Sometimes all I could do was try to feed her pie to help her gain a pound or two. Other times I got to take her for a walk or play the piano for her. And tucked into those months like treasures were a few long, slow conversations about life and love and music. Even when she was sarcastic and moody, I just knew I was in the right place, to be there with her, to be connected to a woman of such wit, grace, and acceptance. I am thankful her mortality made her more dear to me.

This Lent, there is a different ending I find weighing on my heart—my time left here. I am excited to be married in September, but wish I wouldn’t have to move so far. Recently I found out that to be eligible for competitive status in applying for other government jobs, John has to stay three years in Cherokee, North Carolina—not, as we originally thought, only one year. With every new revelation about this job, I feel my heart sink. I have known since December that I would likely be leaving, but part of me hoped something would change, or that we could come back after a short time. I fear the unknown of my vocation in a tiny tourist town in the mountains. I fear loneliness in a new place. I fear change.

But this impending kind of death reminds me to look around at the goodness of the community where I am now. I moved to the West Hyattsville House on the eve of the new year 2010, pretty broken. All fall I’d been living at home with my parents and commuting three hours per day. John was in Palestine. I’d been trying to connect with childhood friends and finding we’d changed. I had no rhythm in my spiritual life. I’d already been lonely for a year in Tanzania and I ached for my college friends.

That first night at the Hyattsville House, Amy threw a party. People from the New Leaf community came, and we played games, and I remember thinking at the end of the night, I haven’t laughed so genuinely in months. I remember thinking, Wow, it is nice to be around people who get what I’m about. Talking to Amy a few months later, I said something like, “I really value having friends who are different than me, to challenge me in my thinking and widen my views.”

“I do too,” she said, “but I also like having friends who are the same. The same is nice too.”

I too often focus on what can be improved, in myself and in the world around me. People in the workplace have told me it’s a gift, but sometimes it makes me miss out. It’s like I don’t really believe that I am mortal, or that there is more than this life, so I insist on striving to perfect it. There have been many times I’ve complained about New Leaf, to myself, or aloud. I wish it were more age-diverse, I wish everything didn’t have to be so complicated, I wish blah blah blah. We can always find something wrong with where we are, with who we are. But New Leaf community gave me back a piece of myself, and I have always been thankful for that.

A few months after I joined New Leaf, writing group was formed. At the risk of sounding like a bad country/pop song, I thought this was what I had been waiting for my whole life. Here we had my #1 favorite thing in the world—getting to know deep down what people are really about, and sharing what I’m really about. AND here we had that happening, but gently, so that I could take the time to craft and even hide behind my words, so that I could avoid all the usual awkwardness of the beginning of friendships—trying to express myself aloud and tripping on my words, timing my comments right, knowing when to share something vulnerable or when it’s too soon. Writing group has been a place for me to be me.

This small example of abundant life and loss brings me back to the larger sense of my mortality. This Lent, I find a reminder to be thankful for the gifts I have been given. I also begin to think like this—if God has blessed me so richly in this time, and in this life, then even where there is death there must be more. There must be resurrection. I hate to admit it, but I think I’ll probably come to love Cherokee.