The Book in My Hands
Most days I go through life from the inside of the pages, writing each letter of each word as it comes, scripting the hours of my life into days as the pages turn. Big things happen, and get written in bold black ink, so that when I look back over the story they are easily recalled. But even the sweet things, the big things, the things that give me goosebumps and remind me of sunshine in June, can get put into lines that quickly give way to the ones after them.
Not this week.
This week I have lived life holding the whole book in my hands, looking down at it and seeing it all at once. And I have realized how fleeting it is, but how pretty and full and green. It's one of the rare times when I step back and notice the significance of the place I'm in and how far I have come. And I really truly believe everything belongs, the sorrow and struggle and failure and doubt, the determination and motivation and epiphany. It's integrated, it makes the picture believable. And relateable. And authentic as part of the cosmic story.
I see Russia and the years I have spent loving that place. I see the hopes I have for those people, which drives me to give my best to the things I must do first. I see what I have learned through living there, learning there, speaking and dreaming and fighting through that language and making it a part of who I am. I see the kids who need to know they matter, the ones I've seen grow up for eight years. I see friends and mothers and sisters and brothers, pastors and babies, orphans and grandmothers, the people whose faces are in picture frames all over my house because they have permanence in my heart.
I see high school. Spring Hill and its sprawling farms. Cows and creeks and gravel roads, hills leading to more hills, the greenest of green backgrounds for growing up in. I see my home and its red bricks holding heat in the summer while we kicked soccer balls in the yard and learned how to get dirty. I see the books I read back then, the things my parents taught me, the theology and philosophy that encouraged me to be a question-asker while standing on the foundation I needed. My writing began then. My thinking began then. My long talks with God began then. Integrated.
I see my church, the body that nourished me, that gave me a place to be and become. I see how staying in that church, blessed by the adults and pastors and mission trip leaders while I struggled though the college-theology-major doubt kept me from throwing in the towel. I see how I was incubated before, during, and after that struggle, so that I could rework my faith into my own thing without throwing it away. And it was home, and it cheered me on, and it was the place of my worship no matter how I felt on Sunday mornings. For 12 years.
I see Belmont, and how much of God thing it was that I ended up there. I see how broadly and deeply He worked in me there, and how I'm a better person because of walking among those tulips. I met my best friends. They saw my soul. I learned who I am. I explored what I can know. I realized how much I can't. I was guided by the best. It made me the best-so-far version of myself. It made Nashville a forever home, and the hallways of Fidelity places of glory to me.
I see the Pilates thing, that studio and those people and how they made fitness and health a way of life for me. I see the work I did in that world, and realize I have connections now that can keep me in studios anywhere in the country, hopefully helping other people reclaim the health of their bodies. And I see running. Cycling. Mountain biking. Yoga. But mostly running; running, which taught me I am strong and goals are attainable, and the world looks different and better and richer after running in it.
And there are the moments in bold. Last November. Coming back from Russia in 2010. Meeting Sarah, my Kelseys, Jenny, Robert, Daniel, Cory. My first triathlon, my first marathon, the time I went to Israel. New York with Alicia. Seeing Alvin Ailey and getting my first Tiffany's bracelet. Road trips and late nights and early mornings interning at hospitals. Greek with Dr. Byrd. Martyrs, Mystics, and Saints with Dr. Skeen. Pentateuch with Dr. McEntire. Long office talks with Micah. Leaving Simply Balanced. Getting a scholarship to Div School.
Graduating college with a degree in Christian Ethics.
This week it's a whole book in my hands, and it all belongs. It's a rare perspective that comes with milestones, and I write this now to remind myself in the future it's a beautiful story. And it all belongs.
Not this week.
This week I have lived life holding the whole book in my hands, looking down at it and seeing it all at once. And I have realized how fleeting it is, but how pretty and full and green. It's one of the rare times when I step back and notice the significance of the place I'm in and how far I have come. And I really truly believe everything belongs, the sorrow and struggle and failure and doubt, the determination and motivation and epiphany. It's integrated, it makes the picture believable. And relateable. And authentic as part of the cosmic story.
I see Russia and the years I have spent loving that place. I see the hopes I have for those people, which drives me to give my best to the things I must do first. I see what I have learned through living there, learning there, speaking and dreaming and fighting through that language and making it a part of who I am. I see the kids who need to know they matter, the ones I've seen grow up for eight years. I see friends and mothers and sisters and brothers, pastors and babies, orphans and grandmothers, the people whose faces are in picture frames all over my house because they have permanence in my heart.
I see high school. Spring Hill and its sprawling farms. Cows and creeks and gravel roads, hills leading to more hills, the greenest of green backgrounds for growing up in. I see my home and its red bricks holding heat in the summer while we kicked soccer balls in the yard and learned how to get dirty. I see the books I read back then, the things my parents taught me, the theology and philosophy that encouraged me to be a question-asker while standing on the foundation I needed. My writing began then. My thinking began then. My long talks with God began then. Integrated.
I see my church, the body that nourished me, that gave me a place to be and become. I see how staying in that church, blessed by the adults and pastors and mission trip leaders while I struggled though the college-theology-major doubt kept me from throwing in the towel. I see how I was incubated before, during, and after that struggle, so that I could rework my faith into my own thing without throwing it away. And it was home, and it cheered me on, and it was the place of my worship no matter how I felt on Sunday mornings. For 12 years.
I see Belmont, and how much of God thing it was that I ended up there. I see how broadly and deeply He worked in me there, and how I'm a better person because of walking among those tulips. I met my best friends. They saw my soul. I learned who I am. I explored what I can know. I realized how much I can't. I was guided by the best. It made me the best-so-far version of myself. It made Nashville a forever home, and the hallways of Fidelity places of glory to me.
I see the Pilates thing, that studio and those people and how they made fitness and health a way of life for me. I see the work I did in that world, and realize I have connections now that can keep me in studios anywhere in the country, hopefully helping other people reclaim the health of their bodies. And I see running. Cycling. Mountain biking. Yoga. But mostly running; running, which taught me I am strong and goals are attainable, and the world looks different and better and richer after running in it.
And there are the moments in bold. Last November. Coming back from Russia in 2010. Meeting Sarah, my Kelseys, Jenny, Robert, Daniel, Cory. My first triathlon, my first marathon, the time I went to Israel. New York with Alicia. Seeing Alvin Ailey and getting my first Tiffany's bracelet. Road trips and late nights and early mornings interning at hospitals. Greek with Dr. Byrd. Martyrs, Mystics, and Saints with Dr. Skeen. Pentateuch with Dr. McEntire. Long office talks with Micah. Leaving Simply Balanced. Getting a scholarship to Div School.
Graduating college with a degree in Christian Ethics.
This week it's a whole book in my hands, and it all belongs. It's a rare perspective that comes with milestones, and I write this now to remind myself in the future it's a beautiful story. And it all belongs.
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