In 2007, while studying abroad, my sister sent me a care package containing a CD. On it were the ultrasound photos of my unborn niece, Katie El. On Tuesday, I stood beside her, now a young lady, and held a mic for her precious voice to serenade a crowd of several hundred. Afterwards, a woman approached Katie and said "I was feeling sad, but you made me feel so much better." Katie just smiled and said thank you, clad in her sequins beret.
What a gift to be part of a community, to share in this event, to have this relationship with my sweet, snazzy Katie El. My sister, nephew, husband, and daughter all beamed from the front of the audience. My brother-in-law accompanied on the guitar. Add another bullet point on the growing list of ways Kristi's beautiful family has generously cared for me this year. I JUST sprung this "please sing/play with me!" ask on them last Thursday. Sure thing. No problem. Adam learned the song on the guitar without hesitation. Katie El immediately wanted to sing the song on repeat. Kristi and Artie jumped at the chance to cheer us on.
This has been a year of intense joys and intense sadness. I cry easily, quickly, because so much is still sitting precariously on my surface of experience. So, nights like Tuesday are my own little lights, illuminating the truth of this year. Family. Community. Generosity. That's where it's at, folks. This is what it is all about.
The darkness crept back a bit this week. I found myself once again feeling disoriented and raw. Add to that the daily pain of current events and the world can feel clouded- thick with the sludge of heartache. Yet, it has been a kind week too, truly. People are generous. People are encouraging. People are doing good work, making strides toward a better world, working diligently to help others. Six year olds are singing and wearing sequins. There is much to be thankful for.
I just have so much to work through. So many changes to process, still. My pastor sent me this quote today: The more roots you have in the new place, the more capable you are of mourning the loss of the old place and letting go of the pain that lies there. You cannot mourn something that was not meaningful and has not died. Still, the old pains, attachments, and desires that once meant so much to you need to be buried. You have to weep over your lost pains so that they can gradually leave you and you can become free to live fully in the new place without homesickness. (from The Inner Voice of Love by Henri Nouwen)
I think I could still use some good weeping. I want to be freed up to live fully in all this newness. But, while I weep, I will choose to recall all the ways in which I have been cared for, all the turning points of provision, the kind words and shared tears and broken bread- the presence of God in this year. I already wrote it once, and I will write it again: there is much to be thankful for.
Another reflection I'm taking with my into this weekend: We are all so obsessed with creating lives of meaning and service and joy when most of us already have them. I want to be obsessed with the life I have, the ways I can and am serving, and the joy already woven through my days. I will continue seeking, of course, but I will choose contentment. Day by day.
What a gift to be part of a community, to share in this event, to have this relationship with my sweet, snazzy Katie El. My sister, nephew, husband, and daughter all beamed from the front of the audience. My brother-in-law accompanied on the guitar. Add another bullet point on the growing list of ways Kristi's beautiful family has generously cared for me this year. I JUST sprung this "please sing/play with me!" ask on them last Thursday. Sure thing. No problem. Adam learned the song on the guitar without hesitation. Katie El immediately wanted to sing the song on repeat. Kristi and Artie jumped at the chance to cheer us on.
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| Wicked Local Staff Photo / David Sokol |
This has been a year of intense joys and intense sadness. I cry easily, quickly, because so much is still sitting precariously on my surface of experience. So, nights like Tuesday are my own little lights, illuminating the truth of this year. Family. Community. Generosity. That's where it's at, folks. This is what it is all about.
The darkness crept back a bit this week. I found myself once again feeling disoriented and raw. Add to that the daily pain of current events and the world can feel clouded- thick with the sludge of heartache. Yet, it has been a kind week too, truly. People are generous. People are encouraging. People are doing good work, making strides toward a better world, working diligently to help others. Six year olds are singing and wearing sequins. There is much to be thankful for.
I just have so much to work through. So many changes to process, still. My pastor sent me this quote today: The more roots you have in the new place, the more capable you are of mourning the loss of the old place and letting go of the pain that lies there. You cannot mourn something that was not meaningful and has not died. Still, the old pains, attachments, and desires that once meant so much to you need to be buried. You have to weep over your lost pains so that they can gradually leave you and you can become free to live fully in the new place without homesickness. (from The Inner Voice of Love by Henri Nouwen)
I think I could still use some good weeping. I want to be freed up to live fully in all this newness. But, while I weep, I will choose to recall all the ways in which I have been cared for, all the turning points of provision, the kind words and shared tears and broken bread- the presence of God in this year. I already wrote it once, and I will write it again: there is much to be thankful for.
Another reflection I'm taking with my into this weekend: We are all so obsessed with creating lives of meaning and service and joy when most of us already have them. I want to be obsessed with the life I have, the ways I can and am serving, and the joy already woven through my days. I will continue seeking, of course, but I will choose contentment. Day by day.
