Last weekend I got to spend some time with some friends who are more than thumbnail photos on my Facebook page. The status updates I received were not clever one-liners, and there were not hundreds of acquaintances and friends of friends in the audience. And I am heartily grateful on both counts!
Favorite moments from our few days with Mark and Monica (with a surprise appearance by Mistaya for one night):
Thursday evening Dad, Mark and I had a sweet fireside evening together. John went to bed early, and Monica joined Mom at her Excellent Wives small group. I played the piano for a time because I needed to practice for church on Sunday, and then I curled up by the hearth, joining two men I love and respect. Mark shared some thoughts about the greatness of God and His over-arching plan (and how small we are in the big picture) from a men's conference he went to a few months ago, and also how he is doing personally as he deals with very painful arthritis in fingers and knees. It is not easy for a man who has always been exceptionally strong and able to live with constant, debilitating pain. Mark's quiet testimony of faith in God's ability to heal him, God's wisdom to do what was best, and God's faithfulness to take care of the needs of Mark and his family spoke of deep intimacy with his Father God. His trust in the face of daily difficulty brought tears to my eyes and wonder to my heart. This is tangible trust -- if Mark's skilled, muscled hands can no longer grip a hammer, who will provide for his family? If his strong fingers can no longer close around the neck of a guitar to assist him in song, how will he worship? If he his mountain-goat legs can no longer climb up and down the mountainsides surrounding his home, who will take care of the upkeep for his water and electricity system? And where will his zest for life come from if he cannot provide for others and his own soul in these ways? It is while facing these practical questions that Mark speaks of his trust in the goodness and the power of his God.
Friday afternoon it was the girls' turn to gather in the living room. Dad, John, and Mark were outside watching some loggers take down several dying trees, so we had the house to ourselves. We were drawn to the cozy fire with our handwork. Monica was knitting a sock for Lucy and I was embroidering a signature on the back of a baby quilt for a friend; somehow the talk turned to marriage. Mom had been talking about the potential suitors who were piling up for me -- that is, young men her friends had run across who they thought might make suitable husbands. So they tell Mom about them, but I say what good does that do? I don't want to pursue a man; the kind of marriage I want would not spring up from that foundation. Monica and Mom understood my heart, but somehow there is always this tension between waiting and working -- and others sometimes seem more concerned with the whole matter than I am. Using the story of a young single friend of hers who feels out of place in a gathering of valley women (who all happen to be married), Monica asked me for advice about how to help her friend feel welcome. I found that I could not answer her truthfully without tears, and that somehow the question was not about the friend at all, but about my own heart. After a silence when I watched the fire and listened to the crack of a falling tree and fought to be willing to be vulnerable, I told her through tears that I did want to get married, but it seemed that marriage was not for me at this time, and so it's hard when others are always shoving marriage in my face by chattering about gallant youths or asking me if I've met anyone. It's easier to pretend I am indifferent than to show the depth of the desire, as yet fully unfulfilled, in my heart. But she showed me something I had somehow overlooked: it is PRETENDING, putting up walls, not being honest. I still don't know if marriage is something a godly girl can pursue, or something she waits for; I don't know how to live with unfulfilled, godly desire in a way that is both honest and content. But I know a little more the depth of love two wise women have for me, and I have been challenged to walk open and unafraid of disappointment and vulnerability.
Saturday night Mistaya shared my room. Besides Peter, she's definitely the most frequent sleeper in my extra bed, and it feels cozy whenever she gets a chance to occupy it. I always like the time we have just the two of us before we settle in to sleep, and though our lives are on very different tracks right now (I as a pastry chef, soon-to-be who-knows-what; she as a paramedic-in-training, soon-to-be paramedic employed who-knows-where), there is still a camaraderie between us as we walk through this (sometimes frighteningly) free season of life.
Sunday I played the piano in church and left the house early to practice with the other musicians, and the Courtneys left right after church to head back over the mountains, so our last day was busy and our goodbye was brief. I am grateful that these are friends I never truly have to say goodbye to -- as far as I can predict, I will see them again soon; beyond that, we are all going to the place where there are no goodbyes.
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