one thing i really don't like about moving is finding a church. 'church shopping,' if you will. simply because there's such a buffet of churches to choose from: think dancing is from the devil? try a baptist. hip, but not so hip that you're edgy? find a church with a televised service and a choir made up of 40-somethings. need to get your God-fix without the pesky fellowship and obligation to a 'church family'? a mega-church it is! fed up with 'church'? find yourself a new church plant that's 'breaking the mold.' they're everywhere...just follow the college students. i should know, i was one of them.

not that each of these places can't be legitimate in their heart for Jesus and mission for a hurting world, but it can be quite daunting and exhausting to find a place that resonates. it's especially hard for me, because my home church is my home. it's comfy when your dad is the pastor and you don't have to worry about introducing yourself to people. everybody at avalon community church knows my story, knows my heart, and knows my love for Jesus.

but this whole colorado experience has been about taking my love, my faith out of its comfy context and making it stick. like when you throw pasta on the wall to see if its finished. can my relationship stick despite the distance from its childhood home? is God still God here, so far away from the sea? do i love Him as freely and as recklessly when everybody around me doesn't know--and therefore isn't familiar with--the life we lead together?

now is the time when pushing comes to shoving.

a little peace and quiet, please

faith left me staring at the ceiling through the night.
it's freaking me out.--copeland

today, i ran into rosalie (who is 101 years old).
i asked her how she was and what she was up to, and she said--'not a damn thing!'

piss and vinegar. that's how you make it to a century.

my grammy died today. with the sun shining on her face and her first and only love curled up next to her. she lived such a true, unabashed, courageous life. she was the bravest person i'll ever know.

i was able to go home on friday to see her. she looked so beautiful. more beautiful than i'd ever seen her. her skin was glowing, and her eyes were the brightest, clearest blue. she looked like the light of heaven was already shining on her.

we all sat with her. we sang with her. we hugged her, and kissed her and told her how loved she was. we told her that we'd take care of papa.

i slept right beside her on sunday night. i pulled my bed up next to hers and held her hand until the sun came up. i don't think either of us really slept. we just layed together, and i whispered so many secrets, so many truths, so many things i've seen into her ear. i told her that any good thing in me is from her and papa. i thanked her for teaching me to love with abandon, and how to choose the right shade of lipstick for my skin tone. i told her she was my hero, and that i always knew how brave she was because i watched her battle her demons my whole life. i just told her who she was to me. and even though she couldn't say anything back, i know she heard me, and i know she felt the real hope of heaven.

when i was saying goodbye to her yesterday, i sang 'you are my sunshine' to her. it was the last song i can remember hearing her sing in her sweet, high voice. i kissed her over and over again, and when i pulled away to tell her i loved her and i'd see her soon, she had one big, crystal clear tear sliding down her cheek. down to her last minute, she knew how to love me.

and now i understand what paul meant when he said 'where, o death is your victory? where, o death is your sting?' the pangs of grief i feel are for those of us grammy left behind. but my sadness cannot long linger, because i know that she has already seen Jesus. she is already restored to her full, intended self. the self she should have been, that was paralyzed by sin. she is singing with her mother, she is praising God with all those who came before her.

she is looking into the full face of glory, and she is free.

much farther to go

i have much farther to go
i'm so confused i know
i should just kick my heels together and go home
but i lost my way when i lost you--Rosie Thomas

this past week, our newest resident--marge--and her family came for their first care conference, which is a quarterly meeting where we discuss the health and happiness of our residents. until she moved in, marge lived at home with her husband, who cared for her. when marge contracted pneumonia last month, it became clear that her husband would no longer be able to provide all the care she needs.

they've been married for 64 years.
that's roughly three of me.

and now, they can't be together anymore. i watched him as the doctors and nurses and social workers explained that she's safer and healthier at our facility. they told him how much better her quality of life is now that her time with her husband is purely for the sake of togetherness. they told him they understood how difficult the transition has been for him.

but i looked at him--at his weathered, wizened, compassionate face. his small lips and big eyes. i wondered if he and marge were high school sweethearts. i wondered if he was ever in the military, fighting to keep her safe like so many other young men of his generation. i wondered how hard he worked to give his wife and daughters the type of life he thought they deserved. i wondered if they traveled much after he retired. i wondered about their first kiss.

and i thought: 'how could any of us possibly understand how difficult this is for him?'
he has fallen asleep more nights next to her than he ever has--or ever will--alone.
he has woken up more mornings beside her than he ever has--or ever will--alone.
how is he suddenly supposed to release what he has fought so hard to keep hold? because, no matter how melodramatic it sounds, it is a battle to make it through 64 years with your love intact. and theirs very clearly is. all he wants is to take her home. a large part of me feels that he is entitled to that. and as the staff gently told him it simply isn't possible, i swear i saw his heart break in two.

and, for her part, marge was able to comfort him in a small way, but she has dementia, so she isn't able to fully grasp the pain her husband is enduring. she isn't even capable of experiencing her own sadness at their separation. and while that is arguably a blessing for marge, it means her husband is truly alone--for the first time in 64 years.

and then, my thoughts turned to my own grandparents.
to my own grandfather, who is caring for his high school sweetheart of 64+ years.
she is slipping away from him now, but she still wakes up and falls asleep right next to him.
and i swear, she still lights up when he enters a room.
and he still gives her reasons to.

when you see people like marge and her husband, or like my own grammy and papa, it's impossible to deny the necessity of togetherness. of connection. of the sweetest type of community.
when i get my chance, it's going to be like that.