Be Honored As Whole.

A cousin threw a dart at me, purposefully and with a sharpened blade yesterday. The look in his eye seemed to transform right in the moment he said it, from the jovial conversation that flowed in the room to a twinged jolt, aimed to elevate him from me...

"Well, at least I'm married!"

I blinked strongly, later of thinking of all the correct and confident things I could say back, like "Thank you, but I am whole" or "God has made me complete and that is okay with me..." But in the moment, I just sewed right up and felt that junior high sting of hurt feelings and sunk inward. Like, wow...

It's always the case here, there are always a couple cousins or uncles or others who make ignorant comments, insinuating hurt and smushing me down. Over the years, I've become accustomed to it, and bear myself up to it. I've also become more confident in me and God and therefore, my position in life and in his kingdom.

Being married in Grand Rapids is an essence, either strings attached or flailing.

All of my cousins married by about the time they hit 22, if not for sure by 25. And here I am at 29.

I show up to Christmas' and parties and gatherings, and almost always get the question, "You dat'n anybody yet?" The question comes with a piercing from a few cousins, some even followed by "when are you ever going to date?" Yes, I've even been asked if I like girls... Or there's those endless tags about being too picky, not waiting for Mr. Perfect, and the list goes on...

Where I'm going with this, is less about the clanging of cousin cymbals, cracking loud in my ear and resounding like echoes each gathering...

And more about me and God and life and people. It's about being whole. And being seen as whole. About being accepted. About being loved for you and with you and by you and within you. About labeling humans as honored, in their fullness. Not because of stature or stage, but because they are human.

Be honoring, therefore, in your words. In your tones. In your lives. To those who are married, dating, single, childless, child-full... and human. Whole. And honor yourself in it to, claiming, believing, and redeeming his heart for you in his world, in his kingdom, in his plan for you.

Sailboats.

It's been one of my dreams to learn to sail. I've called yacht clubs in East Grand Rapids and along the shores of Lake Norman looking for sailing lessons, and measuring the cost and time. Something about the calculations of wind and waves and sun and horizon and the need of hands and ropes and movement and balance all intertwine to an enchanting challenge.

I watch the peaceful composure, like alluring grace, sails held high, poised in the wind, from Michigan dunes of grass and sand. Wondering, watching, waiting. Like an exquisite dance along the horizon, a ballet amid the shore. It mesmerizes me.

I have photographs labeled from all over the states; my portfolio filled of trying to catch the form on film. Holland, Charleston, Seattle, Wilmington, Saugatuck... My mantle displays the peace of Nordhouse: a sail from sand and sea.

There is something about them that is beautiful and natural, awe and simple, inspiring and relaxing, tranquil and challenging, restful and reviving, imagining and riveting.

This week, I got to sail. I got to board a boat with two friends and a few others, and be spoiled on the sea. Raise the sails, scurry for ropes, squish down the spinnaker, crank the ___ (i forget the jargon), and steer the ship. I learned to calculate direction in multiple ways -- the streaming strings, the arrowed weathervane, the the original compass, and the digital compass. I fought the lines to trim the sail, and watched others do most of it.

I found out, I love sailing. I love the enjoyment of it. I'm not good at it (maybe that should be not-yet), but with a lot of buffing-up and learning, this pleasure is mine, enjoyed.

Beyond it, though, I find sailing is the art of time and nature. It's the closeness of nature that brings the ease and complexity all at the same time. The dwelling on it for movement and motion, safety and surf. It's time that relaxes and sets its own pace. It calls for companionship and communion, conversations and camaraderie. It desires linger - with open books or beer cans or journals or air.

I was blessed this week, with the art of the sail.

Fill My Heart Here.

These are the Michigan women, who live here, who fill my heart here, as well as wherever the Lord brings me.

Bekah Wallace - met in college, reconnected at BiggyB

Anne Visker: met at Son-Life Camp

Heidi Kuperus: met at the church I grew up in

Jenny, Missy, & Laura - met through a missions class,

and Laura's backyard

Lynda Roersma - met at Crossroads Church

Crows & Locusts.

It was the year
The crows and the locusts came
The fields drained dry the rain
The fields are bleeding

"Daddy don't cry, it'll be alright"
She puts some water on the wound
And hums a little tune
While her courage puddles on the ground
Pooling, pooling

See the murder and the swarm descend
And the night is getting thick
The moon telling her tricks
She'd betray her every time

It was the year
The crows and the locusts came
The fields drained dry the rain
The fields are bleeding

It was the age
The foxes came for the fields
We were bleeding as we bowed to kneel
And prayed for mercy, prayed for mercy...

~ Brooke Fraser, "Crows & Locusts"

I went to the cemetery today. Rain trendled down like sorrow over movement. Puddles gathered wet and soiled, steaming in cracks. Grass green but empty, season void. Birthday balloon flunked and dripping, heavy over floral. Flag limping, a dangle in the dew.

My umbrella held over her stone, a shield of me. Heavy with heart. Motion of thought.

"The year the crows and the locusts came..." It's the eating away, the gnawing at every edge of leaf, the famine of heart, the brunt of relationships. The dirt of me, dusty of hurt and pain and grief and betrayal. The "bleeding [knees] bowed to kneel, prayed for mercy..."

It's April 2009 - May 2010. "The year the crows and the locusts came..."

Geraniums faded pink mushed with white buds in bronze vase. One single, petaled rose, planted and blooming with size. I mark the words on stone: Forever A Living Example and look around.

Buds speckle the landscape. Reds, hues of blue, perching yellows and organic greens. Vases overwhelm and flow bright with life and color. Memorial flags and honors positioned.

Life.

Life in the cemetery. It grows.

It grows in pigments of daffodils and peonies and daisies and day lilies too. It grows in raised flags, wind whipped and fighting in breeze. It grows in stories and faces and generations living, past the lives there once brilliantly lived.

I went to the cemetery today. I hung back, washed by water, remembering the same, that Day.

I burrowed inside, remarking the mourning of the year the crows and the locusts came.

I rejoiced. At flowers spurning upward. At growth inside of me. At freedom of forgiveness. At release in the depth of me. At a live well-lived, blessing abundantly, marked by years.

"It was the year the crows and the locusts came..." It ate away at all I had, I knew, I was.

Yet now I see outside the grave - the flowers, the petals, the trees. The garden of hope, a world anew, and a blessing of good to me.

Home.

I miss Home. One of my favorite songs says, "Mama says home is where the heart is, when I left that town..." (Sugarland).

My heart is here, in Michigan, and is fully grabbing in each and every experience and person. The multitudes of joy and friendship and love and laughter overflow. Along with the amazing places I get to go, things I get to do, and hours I get to experience. My life is abundant here, I am so blessed.

But, I miss Home. I miss my friends there, I miss my church women, I miss my house. I really miss cooking and gardening. I miss Trish. I miss Jenna. I miss TriRad. I miss the little house in the hood and Jenna's backyard. Wine at Vivace and coffee with Jenelle. Fabio and Josh and Howell and Zac and Jeff and Daniel. Freedom Park and Trader Joes. Music at Stonecrest and Shakespeare on the Green. River Jam and Tuesday study. The Porter Ridge family.

One of my all-time favorite quotes was from a missionary kid who coined this about home:

"I need not despise one to enjoy the other, and I need not to be ashamed of missing one while living in another. There will still be times of sadness and much that I will miss. But I do not want to miss the present by missing the past, or miss the here for missing the there." ~ Victor L. Luther

I miss Home. I do. But I'm in Michigan. And I'm soaking it in for all its worth. The sun setting, glimmering over water. The sound of waves from morning on shore. The conversation of friends philosophical debate at backyard campfire. The taste of ice cream, sweet from the creamery. The sparkle of my nephew, the softness of my niece. The strolls through shops, beachy with decor. The taste of coffee, homemade in my hand.

Lynda. Jenny. Heidi. Anne. Laura. Aunts. Kaylin. Kelly. Missy. Jaxson. Kimie. Bekah.

I miss Home. I do.

The lines of the song are me: "Mama said home is where the heart is, when I left this town..." A deep part of me will always deeply care and love and carry this place, this Michigan, in my heart. But "mama" was right, when I left this town, my home became where my heart is. Home.

Immeasurably Different.

Immeasurably different. Party of me wants to label it "immeasurably more than all I ask or imagine" (Ephesians 3:20) but at the same time, I don't know if that's even what I want to say or convey. It's just so... different!

I've begun to see my stays in Grand Rapids as something power-through. Then I was opting to look at this summer as good blessings: tranquil days with friends along the lake, wandering beach shops and sipping coffee and laying under the stars. But leaving family pretty separate, strongly guarding to protect my effort, time, and distinctively, my heart.

Because each trip comes back with the same, the synonym, the symmetry of the one before: hurt and broken.

But something is different. Immeasurably different. Beyond what I can understand, process, think through, comprehend, or even try to paint on a page...

My dad wants to see me. He asks when I can come to the lake. My nephew is full-0f-joy and shine and sparkle when he sees me, asking when I can stay 100 days and how much I can play with him and have sleep overs and get ice cream and ride go carts. My niece knows me by name and face and runs with toddling legs over and falls asleep on my shoulder. My sister can't get enough girl-time in and plans lunch dates and day dates and shopping dates and calls in-between. Exquisite with her joy and desire to be together.

Every other time, I was on the back burner. The after thought. The one left on the side walk or renting cars or finding dinner or abandoned for a ride from the airport.

And now this -- parties and play dates and presents and praise.

I have no idea what to do with this. Or where to process it in my brain. Or how to figure the guarding while protecting. Or what to count all as joy and be enriched by blessing.

I'm perplexed, but praised. Praising, but protected. Full of radiance, but watching. Gathering goodness, but guarding.

Counting it all as joy. Being present. Watchful. Waiting. Wondering.

Confused. But blessed.

As it all is so... immeasurable different.

Abundantly Blessed.

Is there a word which means the opposite of greedy, but the same kind of idea? I can't find one, but that's a little how I feel and seem -- like oh, wow, what do I say, do, with such much? How do I say thanks?

I'm so abundantly blessed and can't imagine or find the words to bequeath it!

Pillaging through cards in bags, tissue paper sailing, hugs shared, balloons and cake spread throughout... My dad's basement was full of people, forty or so -- relatives and friends. Providing me with gifts and love and treasures for my new home.

Apparently, my sister sent out an e-mail about a month ago to everyone and and inviting people to a house-warming party for me -- including filling out a Target gift registry, sending descriptions of my colors and styles, and organizing desserts.

So, last night, we had a family birthday party and left there as "the girls" -- me, Kelly, and Melissa to go get a drink. I was so excited because we've never done that before. So Melissa said she wanted to go to Target first, so I drove there, we pulled in, parked, I got out, and Kelly said, "Give me the keys, we have a different plan."

I had no idea. After a lot of loops and roundabouts, we ended up pulling into my dad's house and he had all these people stashed in his basement.

Wow. Seriously. Boxes and bows and ribbons. Faces and smiles and hugs. Cousins and friends and aunts. The Tea Ladies -- my mom's best friends.

As soda splashed and kids slid down the slide, adults mingled and watched. From my cousins thirteen week twins to friends I'd spent the past days with, the air was fueled with energy, excitement, blessing, and love.

To my overwhelm, they had me open all the gifts with eyes on me... From serving platters to centerpieces, roses to baking goods, cleaning supplies to gardening tools, knife set to wall hangings, patio placemats to picture frames, candles to kitchen aprons, napkins to cookie cutters, woo blocks to bathroom towels... The giving is endless.

I'm amazed. Awestruck. Abundantly blessed.

~

P.S. On the way home, my sister coined a statement that has stuck with me, and blessed me in her thoughts and awareness and caring: 'Not every blessing comes with a marriage certificate.' Thanks, friends and family, for showering me in this way.