A Light in the Dark

I stand at the top of the stairs and watch my friends - laughing, sipping wine, counting down the minutes until twenty-twelve. Dresses glitter, smiles sparkle and people mill about in their masquerade attire, anticipating the start of the new year. I stand at the top of the stairs and underneath my mask, the tears flow. A dear friend will not see the new year. I am simultaneously gripped by the feeling that I cannot breathe, but that I have never been able to breathe more deeply, because I am still here. I am alive. And I am blown away. I am blown away by the depth, the breadth and the acuity of the pain we feel in the face of tragedy and I am blown away by the grace of God in those same moments. That even when it all seems upside down, ”that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

On December 21st, I received a good-bye email from an old friend, but I did not know it was good-bye. I thought it was hello - a fresh olive branch amidst the Christmas season. And I was happy, hopeful and responded in kind. It was then that I learned, he was gone. He had taken his life before I could say, “hi, back.” 

And it hurts from the moment I wake up until the moment I fall asleep, that anyone, but in this case, someone I knew, could hurt so badly that to take his own life seemed the only option. 

And it is messy, the grief that comes from losing a one who once occupied a deep place in our hearts, but from whom we were called to move on. And when we lose those who meant something to us, we are grieved by what we might have done differently. And that is where the gospel becomes real life and Jesus reminds us that we cannot trust in ourselves, nor do we need to. That He alone, is the only truly good and loving person who will ever live and that in this life, in the messiness, the beauty, the laughter, the hurt, the way I feel should be neither pride in what I have done well nor despair in what I have done less well, but hope and confident joy in the gospel, because the power of Jesus is always at work - “for me, in me, through me and in spite of me.”

And I am reminded that He is the one who says that light always shines in the darkness and that the darkness has not, is not and will not overcome that light. He has promised. And He who has promised is faithful. He is faithful to be good to us and to love us and to heal us piece by piece and to breathe into the deepest places of our souls and shine a light. 

But I do not know what to do. In these moments where the world is upside down and it is difficult to imagine a time in which it will ever be righted, I don’t know what it is that I am supposed to do. So, I think about it and I think about what Jesus asks us to do. He asks us to talk to Him, to read his words, to love others, to open our homes, to provide for widows, to love orphans, to be the light. And when I cry out that I do not have enough - enough patience, enough strength, enough time, enough love, I realize how silly that is. Because of course I do not have enough. But I have Jesus, he is always enough and he always provides enough, exactly enough, exactly when it is needed. I still do not know how these things are supposed to go, but I know to keep going. Breathe in, step forward and trust that what is to be done will become obvious when it is supposed to and that when it is not so obvious, that is okay too. 

And oh, how tightly my fists are clenched around how I think things ought to go. When tragedy happens, I rail against how I think it ought to have been and how much I want to undo what is already done. I want to be in control and lesson after lesson teaches me that I am not, nor should I be. It is these moments that teach me that I am truly not in control because I see clearly that I cannot heal my own heart and I cannot heal the pain of others.

But in the mess, in the hard, I see the hope. I see the hand of God. I continue to breathe, I continue to step forward. And I rejoice in the miracles and the redemption story of my own life. Because by His light, we walk through darkness and by His wounds, we are healed. 

Bucket Life

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” - Mary Oliver

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I have been a terrible writer lately. The time just has not been there - and by “not been there,” I do not mean “it was there, but I chose to do something else.” I mean really not been there. We have pretty much been moving and doing nonstop over these last several weeks. Consequently, I’ve been terrible at writing, but I’ve been really good at living. 

I like that. I love to write, but I also love the fact that I’ve been blessed with so much living lately that I haven’t had time to write about the living we’ve been doing. 

These weeks have been filled with extremes. There was skydiving, a river rafting trip gone awry, s’mores and stars, kittens, kitchens (clean ones and dirty ones), red shoes and a blonde wig.

There was also the much anticipated return of the husband after five weeks away, during which, we discovered that the luxury of doing life together every day has made us lazy at communication. With the assistance of Skype and two kind friends, we stumbled through a few difficult conversations and are finding ourselves tasting the sweet fruit of a marriage that has come out on the other side of its first real conflict.

There was a trip back to the Kansas City homeland where I cleared out the last of my remaining stuff from my parents’ house. Most of it was papers or pictures or folded up notes written between friends during sixth hour geometry.

There were late night conversations with faithful friends. There were midwest summer evenings with cicadas and bar-b-que scented, sticky air. We’ve had a couple cool Seattle nights perfect for a few glasses of wine and snuggling up with a package of the husband’s childhood photos, sent to me by his mother.

We’ve had sweet conversations and hard ones. Brilliant realizations and sad ones. We’ve seen friendships grow and watched other friends stumble as we realize that we can’t save them, no matter how much we love them.  

When I went skydiving last week, most people wanted to know if I was checking it off of my “bucket list.” I thought about that. Did I have a bucket list? Freshman year of college, my friend Lauren and I made lists of those kinds of things we wanted to do before we died. The lists included such things as being in Ireland on St. Patrick’s Day, going ice-climbing, being in a Broadway show (her goal, not mine), etc. I texted her before my skydive adventure with “This is because of your influence, you know. You suggested I make a list!” But as I was freefalling, and to be honest, far before that, I had already come to the realization that I have no list. As I have been talking with the husband, reading through yearbooks, walking through peaks and valleys with friends, I’ve realized more and more that there is no bucket list. I get one shot and it’s going to be a bucket life. 

And that’s why the bucket life isn’t just about skydiving. It’s about doing other crazy (and arguably more insane things) like the husband considering a pastor position (which would by default make me a pastor’s wife - say whaaat?!), facing the hard conversations, finding joy in the ordinary, cleaning the kitchen when I’d rather be writing a blog or not cleaning the bathroom because it’s more important to go on a date. 

I don’t think the bucket life needs to be a big life. It’s just a faithful life. Go big or go home with wherever you are and whatever you do. 

Better to love God and die unknown than to love the world and be a hero; better to be content with poverty than to die a slave to wealth; better to have taken some risks and lost than to have done nothing and succeeded at it.-Erwin Lutzer 

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A Very Great Wall

As may be obvious by my lack of posting, I’m having a bit of trouble figuring out where to start - which generally speaking, is the trouble with China. Where to start? I was just talking this over with a friend yesterday as we snagged one of the few sunny Pacific NW evenings to take a walk. “I can’t start,” I told her. “Most of what I’d like to say, I can’t say and what I can say, isn’t that important to say.” 

While there were many important things, there were many fun things too. Who says fun isn’t important? So, while I ruminate over where to really start, I’m going to temporarily start by telling you about the Great Wall. It’s iconic, it’s uniquely China, it’s fun. Well, after you’ve finished climbing the 1643 stairs, it’s fun. 

The first thing you should know about the Great Wall is that it’s massive. I’m sure you already knew that, but in case you didn’t, it’s reallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreally BIG. “Hiking” the Wall is a bit of a misnomer. You can’t hike the wall. You can hike pieces, but you can’t hike THE wall. That’s why they built it - to keep people out. It didn’t work, but it does at least slow people down. Including us. We had originally planned to hike Jinshanling to Simatai, but discovered after doing some research that Simatai was closed. So, we settled on hiking the Mutianyu section, which is less demanding than the Jinshanling/Simatai route, but still boasts fewer tourists than the most popular section of Badaling and at either end of the hikeable portion, the original, unrestored wall still remains.

Mutianyu was advertised as slightly less demanding than Jinshanling/Simatai. I don’t know who wrote the review, but they’re crazy. Barking mad. Mutianyu consists of the aforementioned 1643 stairs. These stairs are not the nice, friendly stairs that we are accustomed to. And believe me, once I climbed these stairs, every other stair seems nice and friendly.

The steps are uneven, rocky and in parts, nauseatingly steep. The most demanding part comes with 490 something steps in one go. It’s the last major climb before you get to the highest point at Mutianyu. Then, forty steps later, you make it to the original wall and that is worth every last leg-trembling step. Some of the steps are tiny and some are waist high. Don’t look down. No really. Don’t.  But once you get to the top, do look out. 

Then, when we climbed down, we ran. We ran not by choice, but because our legs were so tired they couldn’t support us enough to walk. It was more like controlled falling as we practically tumbled back down the stairs and inclines. We got a cloudy day. I was originally disappointed by the lack of sun, but by the end, I was singing praises about the clouds and praying for rain. The climb was hard enough in ninety-degree heat even without the sun. But, oh, it was spectacular. I’ll let the photos tell you because my words won’t do it justice. Neither do the photos, really, but they come closer. 

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