the moving days

dear muffin,


today saw the start of real packing. school room = bomb scene. we went through all our books & sorted them into keep, throw away, give away, & sell piles. emphasis on piles. everywhere. 

also got to thumb through some old notebooks, which was simultaneously horrifying & hilarious. really, I don't think any kid went through so many handwriting transformations as this one. there were some sketchbooks, too, & "Queen Kristen and princessess" was a repeated theme. not sure whether the "princessess" were supposed to be Queen Kristen's daughters, friends, slaves, or papparazzi... but they were all at least two heads shorter than the Queen herself. humility at its best.

it's strange going through old schoolbooks. it throws me right back into that chair, pencil in hand, with the schoolroom lights burning on my neck while I scribble my way through workbooks. doesn't seem like that long ago, but so much has changed. & it's changing again.

it's not that I dislike the new place. but it's just that: new. at least, as new as a 40-year-old house can be. the stairs creak unfamiliarly, like they do at a new family's home when we go for dinner and ask polite questions in an effort to get to know each other. who are you? what is your story? where did you grow up?

I grew up on 731 New Mexico Court, in the house that used to be orange. the house with the pine tree out front that hosted mourning doves every spring until we cut the tree down. somewhere in the front yard is buried a pile of my eight-year-old treasures: pretty pieces of broken glass & small toys sacrificed for a pirate's cause. in the back yard was buried a time capsule that my brother & I opened only two days later, after a summer rainstorm washed away its cover.

I've lived here since I was 5 years old, and anything prior is a mere scrap of memory, a snapshot image of a yard filled with sun or a porch looking out onto a street I can't quite picture.

this town is my town.

***

leather burns against my skin as I slide into the back seat of the car. my brother buckles, revs the engine, & turns the radio up to blasting. country station. I know the lyrics by heart. my seatbelt clicks into place, the windows roll down, & we back over the curb at the end of our driveway. Mr. Thomas waves before disappearing into his garage next door. my brother turns the car 360 & punches the gas.

sun in my eyes, wind in my hand as I trace waves out my window. the town slips between my fingers; I see my siblings laughing in the front seat, noiseless as the whole car throbs with bass from the radio. I can feel the song pulse through my ribcage. my sister's cheeks are pulled tight with laughter & judging by my brother's facial expression, he's singing falsetto right along with Taylor Swift.

scenes flick by my window. the Chinese lady walks her little black dog. the older gentleman sits in his lawn chair, watches traffic. the marquee displays time & temperature. my brother instinctively squeezes the brakes as we pass the police station, then picks up speed once clear of dutiful enforcement radars.

this town is my town.

sometimes I feel as if we owned it, my siblings & I; as we walk through the parking lot & up to the sliding doors of Food4Less, I momentarily have the irrational feeling that we could take on the world. the cashier recognizes us with a laugh; since we can be found roaming the aisles at least three times per week, a few employees have begun to remember us. she asks us how we're doing, & we ask her how the cancer treatment is going.

we're back in the car, headed home with groceries in hand. my brother suddenly turns down the radio and says quietly, "you know, it's strange. this move is going to be the end of an era. 'the Elk Grove house,' we'll call it. 'remember when we lived in the Elk Grove house?'" for a moment we stare out the windows, seeing nothing. then the radio climbs back to a normal volume, and we drive home in silence. I know the song, but don't feel like singing anymore.

the Elk Grove house. remember when...?

***

change. it takes hold of the rug beneath our feet & jerks it sharply. it puts normal in a blender, turns it up on high, & hands us a fresh plate of the unfamiliar. someday this change will be the new normal, & I will know those creaking stairs in Woodstock as well as I once knew the ones in "the Elk Grove house." someone else will move into the house on the cul-de-sac, and they will begin the task of memorizing the pattern of air-conditioning cycles. they will soon learn that if you step on the right side of the 1st, 3rd, and 5th basement stairs, no creak will give away your midnight presence after a sibling movie night.

right now I see four blank walls & an empty floor, windows overlooking a foreign yard full of foreign Woodstock... but someday I will look & see my bedroom. I will glance over my shoulder & revisit the days leading up to the moment: the boxes, the cleaning, the packing. each memory will follow on the heels of another, forming an unbroken line between then & now.

I'm going to miss all this. I'm going to miss it like crazy. I'll miss the Food4Less, the goofy green-and-orange clock tower my town built to copy Schaumburg's, the way a police car always lurks behind the school on Biesterfield road. I'll miss being able to run over to starbucks with you at a moment's notice.

but that's not really it. it's not the town; it's these times I'm going to miss. because I know that life is changing fast, that it has been for a while now. "the Elk Grove house" will forever be home to some of my favorite memories.

tonight I sat on our green basement couch, savoring the familiar touch of knobbly fabric, and considered some of the changes in my life up to this point. I remember hating the idea of visiting a new church; then the pain of being torn away once we'd become attached to it. I remember the uncertainty of starting our own little church; now I wouldn't trade it. I'm old enough to understand that God works things out for the best, & young enough to kick and scream anyway.

promise me you'll come fill up the new house with new memories? it's a blank slate, ready to be scribbled on. with some good friends to help, it shouldn't take long to transform the newly-painted walls. I claim the yellow crayon.

we can open the new chapter together.

always,

rory

life is a highway

my dear rory,

happy new year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

okay, so it’s not exactly new year’s yet, but it almost is! and half the fun of something exciting is getting excited about it before it happens, right?

it’s going to be 2012! the year the world is supposed to end! the year part one of the Hobbit comes out! the year I graduate! the year my aunt has her baby! the year I go to Papua New Guinea! the year I learn how to sail a pirate ship… (hey. I can always dream, can’t I?).

eighteen years of my life have flown past me. they’re gone. never coming back. I see them in the rearview mirror. they’re waving.

“adios!” they cry. “goodbye! aloha! ciao!”

they don’t seem sad to be leaving. but I am sad that they are gone.

and yet, the rearview mirror is where they belong, I guess. this car called ‘life’ is driving forward, and if I don’t keep my eyes on the road, and more importantly, if I don’t keep my thoughts on the end destination, I could crash.

Heaven is a good destination to look forward to. though to be honest, I am excited for some of the other stops along the way as well.

and I don’t have to worry about getting lost! (as a blonde, you have no clue how comforting that is. ;P) thankfully, my GPS will never fail. God is in control of my life and is constantly giving me direction through a “Map“ He wrote specifically for His children. whether I follow that “Map” or not is up to me.

I hope I will follow that “Map“. I pray I will. I try to. I want to with all my heart.

why are there so many distractions in this life? so many appealing things line the road and make me want to turn off and look around for awhile. there are so many things to toy with! so many trinkets to catch my eyes! the worldly attractions and bright lights constantly flicker before me. maybe these things distract you too. but don’t be led astray! keep your eyes on the road. look to God for everything you need! He truly is all we need.

I like that God has provided a rest stop for us. He provides Himself as that rest stop. If you are feeling weary of your journey, you can always run to Him for strength. [“He restores my soul!”] [“I will soar on the wings of eagles. I will run and not grow weary...”]

and isn’t it cool that we don’t have to make this journey alone? other Christ-following family members and friends can travel with us. when things get tough, I know that I can always call one of them up and get encouragement. and I know that if I see one of them on the side of the road with a flat tire, I can always give them a hand. we can encourage each other to stay on the right path and give each other pointers. “yeah, there’s construction on Route 66, so I would avoid that.” “watch out for the fallen tree lying across Distraction Ave.!”

sometimes when I'm driving, it storms. and driving through storms can be difficult. it’s easy to lose sight of the road when rain is getting dumped on my windshield by angry, black clouds. but God promises that He will never leave us or forsake us. He promises He will make our path straight. so even in the storms of life, never give up. trust in the Lord with all your heart.

when the storms of life aren't raging, I am thankful for the scenery. I am grateful for the beauty with which God has created this world. beautiful places and beautiful things. vibrant colors and vibrant people. yummy smells and yummy foods. the little things in life and the not-so-little things in life. He is a Master Author, Artist, and Painter.

I could go on and on about the similarites between life on the road and life on the Road to Life , but to conclude:

there are lots of things to look forward to on the road ahead. I know that I will miss the memories I have left behind me. I know that because even now my heart overflows with bittersweet joy as I remember this past year. these past few years. these past few miles. but like I said, I’ve got to keep my eyes on the road up ahead.

of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t glance back. driving is also dangerous if you don’t ever look back. looking back reminds you of where you’ve been, what ground you’ve covered already, what obstacles to avoid in the future. looking back reminds you of the wonderful places you've been, the amazing people you've met, the memories that you've made.

eighteen years seems like a long time.

as my papa told me, “eighteen! why just think! double your age and you’ll be thirty-six! double that and you’ll be seventy-two! double that and you’ll be one hundred and forty-four! double that and you’ll be two hundred and eighty-eight! double that and you’ll be… well, that’s as high as I can go.”

I must say, that by the time I am two hundred and eighty-eight, I think I will allow myself to stop and look back for a very long time…

… of course, by then I will have hopefully already reached my end destination. :)

I hope you have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. may you have many splendid miles ahead of you.

keep your eyes on the road and your heart on the Map.

love,
muffin

growing pains

“oh, darling, don’t you ever grow up… it could stay this simple.”

dearest rory,

when I was little, I wished I was older. now that I'm older, I wish I was younger.

today I caught myself searching the “childhood memories box” that I keep tucked away in a convenient corner of my brain. I rummaged around in there, blowing away cobwebs, laughing at some of the sillier articles, searching for a certain memory in particular…

and at last I found what I was looking for.

when my little sister and I were a lot younger, we lived in the same house, but different worlds. I lived in the real world, and my sister lived in the imaginary world. our dinners tasted the same, but mine was just macaroni and cheese, and hers was something fit for a queen. our car was just a car to me, but to her it was a carriage. the empty seat beside me, was just an empty seat beside me, but in her eyes, it was where one of our twelve invisible siblings was sitting.

she loved playing pretend. I loved being practical.

and sometimes our two worlds would collide.

for example:

when disaster struck, like if my clumsy self (yes, I was even clumsy back then) accidentally bowled half her doll house family over with my elbow, or if dad unknowingly sat on her pretend hamster, her big brown eyes would get even larger and she would quickly say, “pretend that didn’t happen.”

“wait, what?”

pretending something hadn’t happened, when, in fact, it had, would bug my miniature self. and I would try to explain to my little sister that we couldn’t just pretend something hadn’t happened because we didn’t like the situation or it was inconvenient to us. and she would try to explain to me that it just made everything easier if we pretended certain things hadn’t happened. then, with folded arms and narrowed eyes, we would look at each other for a few moments, puzzling over how the other one could possibly think they were right. she thought I was crazy. I thought she was crazy. and so life continued with this argument frequently popping up. neither of us ever winning the debate.

of course, as we grew older, the conflict slowly slipped into distant memory, and we would laugh about it together. she grew more practical and I… well… why on earth do I sit clutching this memory with tears in my eyes wishing that life was still that simple? that I could merely pretend the bad things away like my sister once had?

probably because I didn't handle something right. and I don’t want to face the consequences. I want to pretend everything back to how it was before I messed up.

a picture of my wild-haired, bleach blonde, eight-year-old self  pops into my head and gives me a look that says, “come back to reality. come back to earth.” I feel like my sister must have felt all those years ago. I want to fold my arms, stick out my lip, and say “make me!”.

but the truth is, there are consequences for things that we do or say. we can throw a tantrum and kick and scream, but eventually we’ll have to get up off the floor and deal with the problem. we can cry (and trust me, I do), but ultimately, we have to suck it up and handle things the way Christ would handle them. we can try to pretend them away, but they are still there.

with those thoughts in mind, I stare dismally at my "childhood memories box", with lauren’s “pretend that didn’t happen” ringing in my ears, and I know that I can't just pretend the hard things in life away.

but as one streak of lightening brightens the whole darkened sky in a midnight storm, so something flashes through my mind and makes the sadness fade. I remember that although God has not made it so that we can press the “oops. can I please undo that?” button, He has provided us with forgiveness and healing. and forgiveness and healing, while sometimes painful, are also much more satisfactory than living in denial of something.

so. I guess I’ll tuck my childhood memories box back into my mind again for awhile, and try to handle things in a God honoring way. in a mature way.

yeah, growing up is hard.

it probably gets harder.

I’ll most likely look back in a few years and think, “man, I wish I could go back to when I was seventeen and things were so much simpler.”

but I’m not going to pretend like I’m not growing up.

from now on, I’m going to know that with God, all hard situations can heal. forgiveness can be given and received. friendships can be restored. mountains can be moved.

all things are possible with Him. especially growing up.

love,
muffin