Acceptance

(My dad as a little boy. How cute is he?!

Dad- bet you're wondering how I got this. I'm sneaky.)

I am in my mid-twenties, a place that feels like the beginning of the transition from young and sparkling to adulthood and expectations of maturity. I am realizing that some of my assumptions about aging are not true. The me I envision in the future is much kinder and more thoughtful, finds time to write letters to family and friends, sits in a sunshiny garden and reads, hosts parties and never avoids visiting with friends, returns all emails and phone calls the day they are received, prays for everything she wants to and everything she says she will, eats chocolate cake and never feels fat. For years I have been idealizing my future self, and becoming disappointed by how little I really change. When will I become this perfect me I imagine?

While reading tonight, I came across this passage:

"Grace strikes us when, year after year, the longed-for perfection does not appear, when the old compulsions reign within us as they have for decades, when despair destroys all joy and courage. Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: 'You are accepted.... Do not seek for anything, do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted.'"

The Shaking of the Foundations, Paul Tillich

I have heard my dad say, while looking at old pictures, that he still feels like the boy he once was though his body has changed. For better or worse, I am me. I will very likely be me for the rest of my life. And God calls me- the me I am right now- worthy and loved.

Value

I am afraid that the more I learn in class, and the more academic things become, the further I am getting from the heart and from love.

Humanitarian workers and missionaries must go beyond "wanting to help," and learn how to be effective and avoid doing more harm than good. It's just that the more I learn to analyze situations and develop interventions, and the more I am crammed full of p-values and systems frameworks, the less it becomes about people.

Occasionally I catch moments of feeling: the professor who gets tears in his eyes while remembering a certain refugee camp in Rwanda; the professor who reminds us that one maternal death is too many; the one who chooses to say "deaths of newborns" instead of always "neonatal mortality."

We must remember. A maternal death is a woman who died during or soon after pregnancy. She is a mother, a daughter, a wife, a friend, a piece of her community. She is someone who gave and who received love. She has dignity that can't be taken away. There are deep consequences of her death. She is valuable.

Why I've been smiling

On the shuttle home I had the urge to smile. So I did. Smiles are too rare, and I've decided I'm not going to fight the urge. If I want to smile, I'm going to. So there!, all you shuttle people who thought I was crazy.

Some things I'm smiling about:

Tomorrow is David's birthday and he is definitely worth celebrating.

David bought me a little European stovetop espresso maker, and each morning I've been having an Americano in a tiny porcelain mug.

My classmates (or "cohort" as they like to say) threw me a surprise birthday dinner at the Turkish restaurant down the street. Almost everyone in my program came, which is a big deal for these super studyaholics.

There was carrot cake involved.

I am blessed with amazing friends. Friends who will write you poems and friends who will ask about your toothache from a week ago and friends who will pray for you even when you don't ask.

It is blustery and rainy outside, which is an excellent backdrop for sleep.

I've discovered the best homemade pizza: eggplant and green olive.

Baltimore isn't so bad, really. It's actually rather nice.

Oh, and see below. There's one big reason to smile.

The "summer of Lindsay"

It's hard to believe it has been 2 years since we graduated college. One month later we were married on the beach. Sometimes I wish I could go back to the excitement of that time- the "summer of Lindsay" as my family called it. The planning, the uncertainty, the dreams. Then other times I remember how the uncertainty felt like it would make me crazy, and I was anxious for time to pass and for life to become normal.

Life has different seasons, and I'm learning to embrace them.

Pinocchio and me

The other day we watched Pinocchio, a sweet gift from my mother-in-law. I was a little distracted by the Blue Fairy (me: "Do I look like her? I want to look like her." David: "No.") and the realization that the movie is not far from propaganda for kids ("I'm collecting stupid little boys... You know, the disobedient ones who play hooky from school."). Still, I couldn't help but love moments like Pinocchio's dancing and Geppetto calling his fish "my little water baby." 

I was struck by the words the fairy used to bring Pinocchio to life: "Little puppet made of pine, awake! The gift of life is thine." I, too, have been given the incredible gift of life, both now and to come. Thank God my gift does not depend on me being an obedient girl (who doesn't play hooky from school), because I would have failed a long time ago....

Egrets in the water

Yesterday, at the beach, I saw an egret wading in the water. It was standing with a heron, as though they were scheming up a way to capture little creatures together. I had never seen an egret in the ocean, and the surprise of it made me smile. 

My life has felt so cluttered lately. A few of our nights are taken up with the youth, and the others somehow get filled up too. It's not that we waste time- most of the time is spent with dear friends- it's just that we don't put enough value on down time. I need more down time. I need more time to reflect and realize the importance and beauty of the other moments. More time to notice the unexpected gifts. More time to wonder at the egrets in the water. 

"It is only in time and space that beauty blooms. Only in space are events and objects and people unique and significant- and therefore beautiful. A tree {egret?} has significance if one sees it against the empty face of sky. A note in music gains significance from the silences on either side. A candle flowers in the space of night.... There are so few empty pages in my engagement pad, or empty hours in the day, or empty rooms in my life in which to stand and find myself. Too many activities, and people, and things. Too many worthy activities, valuable things and interesting people. For it is not merely the trivial which clutters our lives but the important as well. We can have a surfeit of treasures- an excess of shells, where one or two would be significant." 

Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Lent

This is the first week of Lent, a time of preparation for Easter. For forty days, Christians attempt to recognize their own sinfulness so they can fully appreciate what happened at Jesus' death and resurrection. Easter is meant to be a celebration, full of life and light and not full of bunnies and chocolate and terrible pastel colors. I'm not saying these are bad things (except maybe the pastel overload), just that there is a little too much attention paid them during the holiday.

Though it may sound strange, I find so much comfort in knowing that I am broken and entirely dependent on God. At the end of my life, whatever I did that was good was only because God was merciful. It was not by my power, but His power working through me. I will not look back on my life and say, "I should have done more," or, "I wasted my life." If I live in my own power, those statements will always be true. But if I recognize that any good I do is a gift, I will be appreciative rather than regretful. 

Jesus said that children will inherit the kingdom of heaven. It is not because they are pure and innocent, but because children cannot do anything on their own. They are dependent, and they do not fool themselves into believing that they can accomplish great things on their own. 

Let me be like a child.

I will love you forever

Saturday was the day for lovers, and, like last year, my lover and I delivered flowers for Albert's Florist. My roommates Janne and Kathleen worked at Albert's during college, and the owners, Barkev and Tsolig, became friends of mine and David's.

My favorite delivery of the day was to a nice little house near Bishop's Peak. A sign on the door beneath a rusty bronze bell said, "Ring bell LOUDLY." After ringing a few times, and covering my ears to protect from ear damage, a woman came to the door dressed to the nines in a powder blue suit and pearls. She said, "Oh how beautiful! I'll add them to the others." She had already received 4 arrangements, and it was only 9 in the morning. I said, "Wow, you must have a lot of people who love you." She replied, "That's what happens when you're 95. My baby boy is coming to visit me today too. He's 52." What an incredible thing, to be alive for 95 years and to experience such depth and richness of love. I felt so peaceful talking with her. If I live that long, I hope I get at least one flower from someone who loves me.

After delivering I surprised David with a couple's massage and champagne. I lied and told him we were going to the beach, and he felt like a goober when he showed up at the spa wearing sweatpants and a huge striped poncho from Tijuana. The massage was lovely, and then we went to the beach for burgers at Longboards.

I love you, Husband. I will love you forever.