Little did I know
That I almost let you go
Until I caught a glimpse of life
without you

Little did I know
How deep these roots had grown
Until I felt the earth quake here
without you

And this ache is gonna break me love
Until you come back home
Right or wrong
There is no home without you

And these eyes are never gonna dry
I never knew how I could cry
Until I thought I’d really lost you

Little did I know that I almost let you go
Until I caught a glimpse of life
without you
-Over the Rhine

Responsibility.

Sometimes I just don’t want to face it.

I don’t want to make life-changing decisions.  Because then I’m responsible for them.  And I have to own them.  I cannot cast responsibility off to someone else.

And so I freeze. Because the task seems so daunting.

Because I don’t want to screw up.

Because I don’t want to be the one to make the decision.

I don’t want the buck to stop here.

I don’t want to upset the status quo because I’ve become comfortable.  Because it is familiar.  Because I don’ t know what the wilderness holds.

Preparing a teaching on some leadership principles.  Looking at Exodus 18: 13 – 26…making me think of Moses.  And his time in the wilderness.  And how following God does not mean safety.  Doe snot mean we have things tied up in neat little packages and bows.  Does not mean…the ordinary.  Sometimes it means forging new ground, trusting in God, going where we would rather not, leaving behind the comforts of home.  Even if the comforts mean slavery, as they did for the Israelites longing to go back to Egypt even though they were being led out of captivity into freedom and the promised land.

Am I desiring to cling to comforts because of the unknown?  And the fear of all that it will require and the faith that it requires?  Am I stubbornly wanting to cling to captivity when God is promising me freedom and abundance, simply because I don’ t know if I trust in His goodness or faithfulness?

Many years ago, I decided I did not want to be a normal “Christian” – that I was going to follow God wherever He led me and not choose a life of perceived ease, but rather, I was going to radically follow Him no matter what the cost.  No matter where that would lead me.

On the verge of yet another wilderness, I find my resolve faltering.  And yet, I’ve been here before; I’ll be here again if I continue to follow God.

Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.

** For those wondering what on earth I’m talking about – I realize this blog is primarily my electronic pad of paper to pen my thoughts and work out my life, and I don’t always explain what my vague ramblings are about…but…my impending wilderness are decisions that will be life altering.  So many of our decisions are, I realize that, ones that we don’t even realize we’re making, and yet some are clearly life altaring…and the decision begs the questions of just what the implications will be.

So many decisions.

Adulthood.

Not an easy walk in the park.

Cliche-ridden, my heart asks God, what do you have for me?

At least I know from experience and from revelation, He will never leave me nor forsake me.

And that brings me comfort.

I think of friends who have moved to new cities.  Or moved to another country.  Or my sister who took off for another country for a year.  I admire their courage.  Their hope.  Their bravery.  Or maybe their naivete.  Maybe their idealistic dreams.  Maybe their wits-end decisions.  Whatever they might be.

I want to be like them one day.

Or do I?

Starting week four without coffee.  From three year barista to this…who would have thought?

I no longer have mid-day crashes – at all.  It’s wonderful.  My energy level is so much higher.  It’s crazy.

And I don’t crave it.  Yet.

Phil says just wait and enjoy it while I can – that I’ll go back.  Perhaps, but right now, I’m enjoying this new season of tea-only.

When we went up to the cabin a couple of weeks ago with a bunch of friends I was only two weeks off it and as we were unpacking after midnight after a long drive up to the bay…I was unsettled to see him pull out his espresso machine. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, bringing up the basics and he brought up his espresso machine (I loved him in that moment, through my personal dismay, haha).  I wasn’t sure I could make it through the weekend without caving – he makes the best espresso drinks – I love nothing more than going to his home and having him make me a cappuccino and nibbling on dark chocolate while we visit.  BUT I made it!   He made everyone else amazing drinks on Saturday evening before we went out for a campfire on the beach of Lake Huron…(and a cappuccino-esque cocoa for me since I love the froth of a cap so much) and I made it through. :) :) :)

I just feel a little like I’m living in the Twilight zone…loving coffee was so much part of my identity…but that’s partly why I decided to let it go.

At least for a season. :)

I randomly stumbled upon the blog of someone who is two years older than I am, with three children, living the life my parents lived…down to raising the very same breed of chickens we used to raise.  It was surreal to read of a life I only hazily remember through the fog of time and grief…a simple life, one of organic gardening and making pumpkin butter, of cooking from scratch, of art and piano and sewing and nature walks; of reading out loud, of being around the fire as a family, of family dinners and laughter and joy.  Of homemade bread, of cakes and pies, of canning and quilting.  Of the art of simplicity; of the art of family.  So lost in today’s society; so forgotten; so beloved from my past.

To read of that life was just a jolt; I felt I was reading of myself, a self I could have been had I taken a different path ten years ago; a path I intended to take; and now, here I am, so far removed from that life…I’m not even sure I fully want it.  I don’t know.  It has it’s charms and benefits…but I’d want to synthesize the two.  I want to be a part of culture – of culture making, of people and cities and life and brokenness, of love and relationships, or art galleries and music…I also appreciate the simpleness of the homestead, of the organic, of the natural, of raising a family and investing in them; of doing things by scratch, not buying into the frenzied pace of most Americans, or at least most Northerners…

Is it possible to synthesize the two?  I hope so.  I don’t want to be so cut off from culture and reality that I have no influence or place in society at large – with people who don’t believe what I believe, look like I do, or live like I do.  At the same time, I do want a more simple life, a family life, one that includes reading aloud, family dinners, and homemade pumpkin butter.

Can one have both worlds?

A lot of Christians choose the more simple “homestead” lifestyle to get away from those who don’t believe as they do, to protect their children, to shield them.  I don’t want that.  I want the lifestyle but not the philosophy or implications that we should “shelter” our children.  I want any family I may have to be vibrant, relevant, have something to say and contribute to the larger world around them; not be so cut off from the mainstream that they become irrelevant, unable to be friends with pagans and atheists, with those who don’t believe as they do.   I want my children to be world-savvy, wise as serpents, innocent as doves…to have many friends, to love Jesus first and foremost and to love their neighbor, second…no matter who that neighbor is.  Is that too much to ask for?

My job is one I adore; it is taxing, it is demanding and it is fabulous.  When I think of how much I’ve grown the past two years on staff, all that I’ve been exposed to, the ways I’ve been developed and had a chance to grow professionally and personally…it makes me sad to ever think about leaving this job.  Wondering if I’ll ever have another place in life where I am so challenged but I also get to exercise the best of my gifts and talents through the work I do.

I’m really thankful for such a rich experience in this season.  Who knows how long the season will last – a few years, a lifetime, but however long, I’m incredibly thankful for it.

S. called this afternoon.  “Hi, I just miss you.”

I love uncomplicated male friendships.

Sometimes, in some of the crowds I run with, everything is so “sexed” because all the Christians are virgins that it just convolutes male/female friendships.  So it’s just so nice when that added layer of confusion or complication is just not there and we’re able to just enjoy each other’s femininity or masculinity without the tension of the male/female dichotomy being present.

It’s just really nice.

I’m twenty-seven, not too old, not too young…but old enough to have experienced some life.

I think about D.  And the friendship we used to have.  The ways in which I am trying to deal with a friend betraying the friendship and walking away for the sake of a girl.  I never foresaw experiencing this kind of pain when I was young.  Life was full of possibilities and hope.  I hadn’t tasted the bitter wine of life; of sin; of brokenness in relationships.

What hurts the most is that from both of our perspectives I did nothing wrong.  I was simply too good of a friend.  I think it would somehow ease the pain if I had done something wrong to merit the decision to break off fellowship with me, but as I didn’t, it just feels and is so unfair.

I’ve had other friendships break off but I’ve been able to see where I was either wrong or did things that weren’t helpful and so at least it makes logical sense; I may not like the outcome, but at least I “get” it.  Here, a year later, I still don’t “get” it.   There is nothing to ease the pain of being rejected, of having someone walk away from you.

Time does help.  It doesn’t hurt as much; and I can remember the memories fondly overall without feeling a deep sorrow but I still miss him and his friendship.  And I still feel as if something is missing from my life. And it feels like a pretty hopeless situation.  And I just have to live with that.

I remember my now boss who was then just a friend saying sometimes we ask for forgiveness and have to live with not being forgiven.  When she told me that, I remember not really understanding the gravity of that situation.  Of being so utterly not in control and having to reconcile ourselves to not receiving forgiveness and someone continuing to live and be okay with that and having peace despite something feeling so open and there being no closure…but I get it now.  On a lot of different levels.

This is not something I can fix; this is something I have to be okay with.  I just have to accept it and let God heal the hurt I feel and deal with the injustice of the whole situation.
Maybe one day there will be healing and restoration; maybe there won’t.

Either way, whatever time God gave me was a gift, and He gives and He takes away; blessed be His name.

Living with my brother has been an adventure; mostly because I have learned so much about myself through learning about him.  Things that I thought were “Christy” traits I am realizing are more “family” traits…and his commentary about my life is quite insightful.  We come from the same stock, the same parents, though I had the benefit of my father for much longer than he did, and I wasn’t thrust into being the man of the house at age eleven like he was…so while we share some commonalities of upbringing, our pasts are also vastly different.  I think what amazes me is how similar we are.

We’re both INFPs…which means we’re extremely relational and tend to be messy, in a nutshell. ;)  I think I have a bit more of a first born drive than he does, which affects our personalities pretty drastically, but at the same time, the ways in which we’re similar just make me smile.

He’s joined the student group I staff.  That’s been…informing. ;p  The first night, my students (who are now his peers) pumped him for information about his older sis, their staffworker.  He betrayed me readily…giving them some good blackmail information, much to my chagrin. ;p  But as they’ve gotten to know him, they’ve made some insightful qualities about “family” traits…so it’s just been a fun couple of months learning to see myself through my brother’s eyes and also learning to see myself through the lens of how people see our “family” in general.

My brother has pointed out how similar I am to my father.  Things that I either forgot about or that weren’t in the forefront of my mind.  It’s been a little unnerving to realize just how much offspring are like their parents…I’m seeing more and more of my mother in me, and now…apparently, my father, too.  How much control do we really have over personality and how much is genetically pre-determined or socially influenced through parenting?  Age – old questions, sure, but ones I’m pondering.  Of course I believe in free will and do not believe we’re relegated to repeat behaviors or patterns of our parents but the tendency to follow in their footsteps…the ways in which we’re inclined…our heritage and parentage really do have something to say about that.  Both the good and the bad.

I’ve also found that living with my brother brings out the worst in me.  I’ve had various roommates over the last four years or so.  I’m a pretty decent roommate – patient, kind, loving, or so I like to think.  But when you’re living with flesh and blood, the filter is gone.  I still like to think that I’m patient, kind and loving, but the temptation to lose my temper or say something I would normally never say to someone else, even a best friend, is so much stronger when you’re living with blood relatives.  It’s crazy to me.  My brother and I were practically strangers only because I’ve been living about an hour from home for about five years now and before that, I was in college…so I would have thought I’d exercise the same restraint and patience that I do with normal roommates, but nope. ;p  A friend said that is because we have so much higher expectations for blood relatives.  I suppose that is true; I suppose I do expect more from him because I know how he was raised, etc.  But it is curious to me.  I feel like I’m seeing more of the real “Christy” than I have in a long time – not that I wasn’t being real these past four years…but I was more filtered…and when roommates would do something that would irritate me, I’d have a calm conversation with them, ask them why, etc…whereas with my brother, I usually skip all of that pretense and so he really gets the unfiltered, base Christy.

We’ve only had one fight in the two months – he pulled my laundry out halfway and dumped it on top of the dryer so he could do his laundry.  While I was home.  Instead of asking me for a laundry basket or asking if it was okay.  Because the dryer was dirty and thus my damp clothes got dirty as a result, I got extremely upset at his inconsiderateness and let him know that was rude behavior .  I doubt he’ll do that again.  Had it been anyone other than my brother (or a family member) I probably would have fumed inwardly, decided it wasn’t worth having a fight and just dealt with it and tried to move on.  But because it was a family member, I felt much more comfortable confronting him.

It makes me nervous to think about ever having children.  I’m a decently calm, sweet, patient person now; but I’m single, I pretty much live the life I want, I get the sleep I need…I can only imagine how my true nature will come out when I have kids…and am sleep deprived and not getting the care I necessarily need…I better continue to work on my character so that if that time comes, I have grown in maturity and patience and grace.

I’m sitting in a Catholic retreat center…in the room I normally take when I come here once a month.  The iconoclastic nature of Catholic places…took me a while to get used to, being Protestant born and raised.   There is a red tree outside my room…I’m in the middle of a wooded lot…so the Fall colors in all their glory are able to be viewed right outside my window.  I’m buried under some blankets I found in the closet.   I’ve been here since this morning – almost four hours.  I am serene and peaceful.  I’ve journaled a bit about what is on my heart this week…this month…got a lot of it out “on paper” – took an hour nap – made some tea, and read a lot of Genesis.  Crazy stories…I love reading Genesis.  It reminds me of when Dad would read aloud to us every morning Scripture – we’d go from Genesis to Revelation every year and then start all over again.  Stories of intrigue and God’s faithfulness…much went over my head when I was young but as I matured, I started to understand more…

I miss those mornings; Mom and Dad would call a family meeting…we’d all gathering in the living room and before Dad left for work, we’d sing a few hymns or worship songs and then we’d listen to Dad read aloud the Bible; sometimes Mom did it, sometimes as the eldest child, I had the privilege of reading aloud.  We spent a half an hour together every morning.  And then Dad would dash off to his business doctor’s practice and we kids would do breakfast dishes and then get back to our schoolwork or housework.  I took for granted those mornings.  Although Mom was the one to initially encourage those family “devotion” times…once Dad passed away, the tradition stopped.  The grief was too much, we were just trying to function, etc.

When I think back upon my life and think back to the rich heritage Mom and Dad gave me, I am extremely grateful.  They really invested in us in so many ways, but especially spiritually. Oh, to hear Dad read aloud Genesis again…to be so young, so innocent, to be a family unit again.

After Dad’s passing…we tried to keep a semblance of the unit we once were…but I was the first to go to college and thus my schedule started conflicting with the family’s schedule.  In the last ten years…as sibling after sibling has come into adulthood and gotten jobs and gone to college, etc…and as younger siblings have transitioned from being homeschooled to being in public school, with all the differing schedules that demands, it is rare that we’re ever together in one room.  I think it’s been a few years.  Last Christmas, one sister was in Spain.  Other holidays the other sister is working in a medical facility, covering shifts.  I imagine as the marriages come and as people move out of state or out of country, being together as a family will become a faint memory of a life lived long ago.  Even now…it’s been eight years…and sometimes I hardly remember what it was like to be unified. To be together. To experience that love and community.

I think I knew intellectually that time of life wouldn’t last – even if Dad had not passed away, we would grow up and things would change…but even though I knew it, I didn’t want to believe it.  I wanted to live in the moment of security and love forever.

“Oh baby, baby, it’s a wild world…it’s hard to get by just upon a smile…” – Cat Stevens