and I hope that the time's not wrong

playlists and packing

The Cottage of Windy Cedars is in complete disarray. We are preparing to move this weekend. It’s just a temporary move, about a two month removal, so we have the support of Pa and Cee during Azalea Bloom’s arrival and first few weeks. It seems too be causing more chaos than warranted to move a little family of three…

but the Cottage has been invaded by scorpions and rolly-pollies, whose attempts to get up off the floor by themselves seem about as difficult as mine these days… there are also boxes everywhere, half-packed, which Little Man hides toys in or takes things out of depending on the day’s inclination. The car seat still needs to be installed, and I keep discovering things that I feel that I should have considered before. This, coupled with intense sleep deprivation, has led me to some Amazon orders, only I am not consistent, or even logical about sending them to the Cottage or to Cee’s house.

Cee and Uncle J are both very busy with a work project. This is excellent for business, but it means neither are getting much sleep, and both have commitments that make the logistics of moving a bit more challenging. It seems everyone I know has been dealing with sleep regressing babies, strange bouts of insomnia, or other sleep ailments.

All that to say - chaos reigns at the Cottage.

There have been several God-given moments of insight and beauty that I would love to share, but I find that when I have the a moment to write, the thoughts disappear. They’ll come back when I am in the very middle of a packing project, or Little Man is being very insistent about my attention.

But now that I’m at my computer? The thoughts feel vague, and I’m distracted.

I’ve been working on a post for two weeks about the sacred and sensual nature of liturgical worship, and honestly, if it gets published next week - I’ll be impressed. I want to get it published, but it needs some fine tuning, and alas… I have the fine tuning capabilities of a sledgehammer at the moment.

So I’ll just share a recurring thought…

time and settlement

We are in that strange last few weeks of pregnancy where time feels inordinately fast and inordinately slow. It could be as soon as tomorrow that Azalea Bloom appears, or it could still be as far off as three weeks. It is hard to feel settled when the timing is so unknown. Add to this the less than settled feeling of being the leader of a small nomadic group consisting of a toddler, a puppy, and a soon-to-be-born baby, and well… it’s a lot of being unsettled. We are a bit like the Scarlet Pimpernel, “they seek him here, they seek him there… [are they] in heaven or are they in hell? [These] demned elusive Pimpernel[s]…”

One can be unsettled in the sense of not being at peace with one’s self, and also in the sense of not having a place to rest.

On account of this being unsettled (in both senses) - I have thought a great deal about my past life choices. I’ve wondered how I have ended up twenty-nine, sort-of-homeless-at-least-in-the-having-no-fixed-abode-yet-sense, with two babies and a puppy. I’ve wondered how I have ended up back in the Texas Hill Country, aching to have roots, to have something of our own, for our little nomadic group to find a permanent nest.

I’ve wondered about how if things had happened even a little bit differently last year, all might be so different now. If my life had come crashing down even a month earlier, I wouldn’t have Azalea Bloom. And yet, if I had known about her even a few weeks earlier, things could have turned out so darkly, so differently. No - it seems both the gift of her life and the gift of our new life, of God’s miraculous mercy in both parts, had to happen exactly when they did. If any circumstance had been any different… then all might have been lost. When I look back, it’s strange to think about that. To realize the suffering that I was praying for deliverance from for so long finally came, and it came in a time and a way that I never imagined possible. And if it had come sooner, I wouldn’t have her. I am grateful and astounded. It also doesn’t make any of the hardships that came before any less hard. I find myself weeping over all we endured, and yet dancing with joy for her, for Little Man, and for myself. She is blooming, Little Man is thriving, and even I seem to be healing and hoping little by little, sometimes even against my better judgement.

And what about place?

I told God recently that it seems utterly strange to me that I am back and content to be here. I was being prepared - so I thought - for a mission field overseas, likely in a little Eurasian country. I never imagined that my mission field would be so near where I grew up. It seems a circuitous path. “Couldn’t I have just stayed?” I asked him. I have wandered and moved so much that it seems almost a waste to return. And not just to return, but to want to stay, to want to build a little nest, to settle into a community, to love and serve, and stay.

But he knew my heart. He knew that my heart would have to wander to be content to one day stay. He knew that I would need the dear friends I have met through the wandering, the ones who I hold so dearly. He knew that I would have to have training in translation and arts consultancy and trauma healing.

He knew that never leaving would have meant that I would never have been able to stay. He knew that I would have to spend my twenties unsettled, moving about, going from this school to that, wondering about my vocation, submitting to him as the Author of Life when it came to children, learning to remain faithful in trying circumstances, and at last, teaching my heart to yearn for a home.

And now, at twenty-nine, I can humbly admit that I wouldn’t have been able to do any of that before.

yearning for a home

I refused in my twenties to put down roots. The word made me recoil. I thought it would be the death of every dream, the death of my vocation as a missionary. Even if we stayed in a house for a few years, I never finished making it a home. I always left bits and pieces (usually my bedroom) unsettled. I never wanted to be fully unpacked, never wanted everything to have a place. It felt like giving in. I resisted. While I loved deeply, it was always with the awareness that it would be a love that would have to transcend geography. This at least, was a gift, as I have been blessed with friendships that have been able to stretch through time and place.

But now - I yearn for a home. A home where we can unpack every box, hang up every picture. I want a home where Little Man and Azalea Bloom will celebrate birthdays, and I will mark their heights on the wall.

And it isn’t giving up. At least, not as I thought it would be. I don’t feel that I have given up my calling to missions, or that I have disappointed God. Rather, it feels as though I have finally handed over my fears and expectations to him, and now, I turn palms up, and see in the lines and callouses what I truly long to hold. And He always knew. He always knew my heart would come to find its deepest joys and strengths and challenges in becoming a mother. He always knew that I would long for a house bursting with children. He always knew that I was to be an arts consultant and trauma healer, coming to nurture the brokenness in others, just as he as nurtures me through my own seasons of deep brokenness.

He always knew that finding my place, my mission field, my vocation, would mean coming back, mean coming with the intent to stay.

I never thought that I, the one who refused to settle, would one day long for nothing more than to be settled. In my heart of hearts, my dearest of dreams, I want to be settled. Not to settle. I equated the two for a long time, but have learned the difference now.

I want a home of our own, a permanent little nest. If God allows, I want it to overflow with books, and icons, and children, especially babies. Because even as this pregnancy draws to a close, and it seems that the season of my childbearing is past, I can’t help but allow a small flicker of hope… because I know God is writing a better story than what I could imagine, and maybe he sees the ache in my heart for an abundantly beautiful, creatively chaotic home and intends to fill it yet.

Or perhaps not…

Regardless - the story will still be beautiful, and true, and good.

and I hope to God that the time’s not wrong

I’ve been listening to an upbeat playlist as I pack, needing music to keep working. One song that keeps coming to mind is “Wandering Child” by Wild Rivers.

“I wish I met you, further along
Gave you my older heart, still and strong
But I wouldn't have a fire like I do today
Oh it burns for you babe

And I hope to God the time ain't wrong
And I hope to God the time ain't wrong
Cause I can't be holding on like this for long”

Sometimes, I wish I was further along, and that I could give the people around me a version of myself that is further along. Further along towards healing, further along in motherhood (at least past these final few weeks of pregnancy where my emotions and desires feel larger and more unpredictable than the sea), further along towards becoming settled.

But then again - I wouldn’t have a fire like I do today. One of my favorite quotes is by St. Catherine of Siena, “be who God meant you to be, and you will set the world on fire.” With my tendency to cause chaos, I sometimes wonder if this applies to me more an in literal sense or a metaphorical one. We shall see. These last few legal battles, these last few weeks of waiting, they are hard, they hurt. I want to be further along, to find our home. Yet, if reflection has taught me anything, this season is necessary too. This summer, the last one of its kind, is the final bells of an abbey calling out for evening prayers before night comes, a night that will be followed by a glorious morn.

It could be the last summer of being unsettled, the last one before we find the yearned for home. It could also be the last summer of pregnancy, the last time a babe ever stretches my womb.

Oh - it could be the last of many things. And today, by God’s grace, by being who he meant me to be, who he has prepared me to be, I have the fire to endure it.

But - as the song closes, “I hope to God the time ain’t wrong. Cause I can’t be holding on like this for long.” I hope that it isn’t long to wait till Azalea Bloom’s birth. I hope that the legal matters are resolved quickly and quietly, like the sun setting on a very long, hard day. I hope the morning that is too come after all this will be… settling. I hope I will settle into that new season like a cat settles on a rug in front of a cozy fireplace, purring contentedly by the cheerful flame.

I hope to God the time ain’t wrong, to settle into a home after all our wandering, to settle our minds and bodies in his peace.