Reflection on a Year

I'm contemplating time tonight. I have been trapped in a Facebook black hole for part of this evening, digging up memories that I had buried for the past year. A year. I can't believe how long a year can feel. The past year for me has felt like the longest one of my life. Last summer, on July 19, Alex had not yet been fired (I believe it came the next day..), we had a whole different group of friends that has since scattered, I was half way done with my pregnancy, and we didn't have even an inkling of what our lives would look like merely a month later.

That bump!

Prepping a house to sell is a lot of work!

When I think about my life now, my friends, our church, my son...I am overwhelmed. Last summer I did not even know that life could be this sweet. That I would have friendships with people, with women, who I admire so deeply, trust so innately, relate to so immediately. I didn't know Alex would find work at a place where we feel accepted, appreciated, loved and where we feel so much respect for the leadership. I didn't know I would live in the most beautiful, small town with a tight knit community, that is a couple hours from my family. I didn't know how magical motherhood was, how much Emmett would change everything. I didn't know how special it would be to see my parents become grandparents. To see Alex become a dad.

I have never been as fulfilled with a deep sense of joy as I am at this stage of life. I want to remember this. I want this post to be a record of this time, because I know it won't last forever. I know I'm on a mountain right now, and that the valley will come. I want to look back at this when life feels like it's crumbling, when I go through a hard time, and remember how much God loves me and provides for every need, even ones I am unaware of.

A year ago, life crumbled. It was only because of that crumbling that God rebuilt my life and blessed me with a peace that seemed impossible in the midst of the destruction. I lost so many things that at the time seemed good, just to discover that God had great waiting. God had a place for us where we fit. Not where we had to pretend to be something else, or hide our beliefs or force ourselves to connect with certain people. He gave us a place where we are not alone. We are surrounded by friends who inspire us and help us grow and embrace us and share in our beliefs. Our son is loved by these wonderful people who we've only known for a handful of months. We are loved.

This is a thank you. It's a thank God. I am so undeserving and He gives us so much. I am unworthy and He has filled me up.

Time is doing that pesky thing where it speeds by and crawls at the same time. This year has been so full of change, it has felt so long, simply because everything about my life seems to be different than a year ago. But, of course, it also feels like it passed in the blink of an eye. I remember sitting in my empty house in Kansas about 11 months ago, sobbing a guttural cry because of everything that we had lost. I cried so deeply I would lose my voice. I felt so betrayed, so unloved, so hurt by people we had invested in for over a year. I felt this huge weight of injustice. I felt like I never wanted to go back to a church, like I couldn't trust anyone, like I didn't want to. I remember being so scared of passing the stress of my life to Emmett, growing in me. I remember hating the people that treated us like we were disposable. I felt devastated that we were having to "regress" in our adult lives. Live off of the charity of my family, enter into parenthood with uncertainties.

How could I, in one year, go from this valley to this summit? Only God. I am in awe of the change. Of the opportunities he presented us with. The friends, the jobs, the beauty of Big Bear. This place is healing and He brought us here, just like He does with so many of the people who end up in this small forest town. Last year I lived in a holler, and now I'm on a mountain and that is no coincidence. All I can do is praise.

|| Posted by Kate ||

The Buried Things

Imagine one of those dramatic scenes where the shovel breaks the dirt, and it is solemnly brought over a hole in the ground. The dirt falls across… something.

You seldom see the body, but you know it’s there. In your head there is something in that grave. There is something getting buried, and there is a moment of tension as you let go of whatever just happened and recognize that for whatever is in that grave- this is the end. And you let it go.

You bury the hatchet. You put things in the past. You let it die. And you can grieve, and you can move on, but nothing will be how it was. This is what it means to bury things. Dead means done, done means not coming back. Freedom, and release, and sorrow, and loss, all in one moment.

Do you have things in your life, that no matter how you grieve them and process them they always seem to come back? I’ve heard countless sermons about letting go, forgiveness, moving on, letting the past be the past. And the sheer number of object lessons attached to those sermons is daunting. The price is paid, a dog doesn't return to its vomit, Lot’s wife “looked back” and you saw what happened to her. I’ve held trinkets in my pocket to remind me that I’ve forgiven people, I’ve carried around heavy luggage, I’ve written things down and nailed them on crosses, set them on fire, dyed them in red coloring, bleached them white.

And yet I was sitting in counseling today, my foot tapping like crazy as I anxiously recalled that one thing that just wouldn’t die.

This is the part of every post where I think to myself, “I wish I could just end it here. I’m not sure I have any good advice to give, and I’m not sure I’m done wrestling with this thing, so let’s just drop the mic and walk away.” But I can’t. Cause this is one of those things that just.
won’t.
die.

And I’m torn, because I celebrate Resurrection Sunday. I think Christ’s resurrection from the grave is the single most important event in the history of humanity.

But I’m also a fan of The Walking Dead. I imagine something rising from the grave as a cold, decomposing horror, that chases me without relent.

So, I have two choices: zombie, or exalted.

Life as a Pastor's Wife...Again

A few weeks ago, Alex was hired as the Youth Pastor at Community Church of Big Bear. With that comes so much joy and excitement, and also reminders of our life before. Before we were so hurt by a church that I didn't know how I would step foot in one again. Before we lost our home, our friends, our security, our dreams. It is bittersweet to be so reminded of the ministry we had in Kansas. This new life in Big Bear has taken the sting and pain that we've been living with since last summer, and even before, and transforming it. God is taking our story of pain and proving to us that He was in it, and that He has so much more than that for us. Our dreams there were small, and He wanted bigger. Our idea of joy was paltry compared to what we are now experiencing, and this new joy is nothing compared to what He has in store for us.

The past 6 months have been so full of change and uncertainty. And that hasn't completely gone away, but I have been seeing God answer prayers that I didn't even have the words to pray. We are being healed at this church in Big Bear. Alex is experiencing affirmation that is so new and foreign to him that he almost can't believe it. We have already been embraced into new friendships with people who are genuine and transparent, the kind of people that I hope I am. We have met an amazing group of youth kids who in so many ways remind us of the kids in Kansas that we loved and still love, but who are also fiercely unique and lovable.

Oh, painful night.

I got punched in the face tonight. It’s the first time in my life that has ever happened. And it was done by a very old, very drunk woman. 

I learned something. Getting punched in the face sucks, but not as much as getting a B- on a Book Review for your New Testament Introduction class. It falls somewhere in between stubbing your toe on a coffee table and having a really bad migraine.

I work as a bouncer at a venue on the weekends. Typically it’s pretty laid back. I stand there and look intimidating while I tear tickets and tell people there are no “ins and outs”. Occasionally a drunk person does something stupid, keeps things interesting.

But some nights they bring in a Country/Hip Hop artist. As in, both country and hip hop… at the same time. It’s not my cup of tea. It sounds like rap music without the rap or the music, and with a fiddle thrown in over it. But that’s not the worst part. It’s the confederate flags that seem to be plastered everywhere. It’s the big guy in the pit wearing a cowboy hat made out of a Bud Light box. It’s the amazingly drunk people doing amazingly ridiculous things. It’s not without its entertainment value. It’s certainly exciting, but as I said, it’s not my cup of tea.

I take these muscle-relaxers for my back when it flairs up. I know, I’m an old man. Being a bouncer means standing for 7+ hours straight, so I took one about halfway through my shift. No more than a minute after I take my pill my manager comes running up to me. “We need you in the pit. Now!”