Burial Rites + Civil Wars = Haunting Combination

Background check:

I purchased the self-title Civil Wars album a few days ago. Been listening to it non-stop. Not sure about everyone else, but songs follow me around. They linger. And when a room is still, they play over and over in my head.

 

[Dear Civil Wars, y'all are phenomenal. Please reconcile. Love, Alex]

 

 

I also borrowed Burial Rites by Hannah Kent (http://hannahkentauthor.com/) from the library. Didn't know much about it, other than Amazon.com recommended it to me.

Alright where we go.

The past few days, I have felt like this move is killing me. I told Adam that I am physically, mentally, and emotionally spent. We are down to 3 days left in Norman, Oklahoma. I cried at a leaf. I cried at the cat. I cried at a picture on the refrigerator. Seriously people, something cracked inside of me. Later, when some form of rational and sense came back to me, I chalked all this mess up to sleep-deprivation.

But before that award-winning discovery, I decided to escape. Escape to Iceland in fact.

Reading is my most potent form of escape from reality. TV is quick, but books have so much more depth. So in the midst of my emotional turmoil, I picked up Burial Rites and fell into 19th century Iceland. Which now I think is oddly funny because Oklahoma has been covered in snow and ice for over a week now (this is super rare y'all), and I am moving to Colorado, land of snow.

But anyway, as I previously mentioned, the Civil Wars album was lingering in my head and in the silence of reading, those songs surfaced. IT WAS AMAZING (my use of all-caps in minimal so this must be really important).

Those songs not only have lyrics that mesh with the book, but the feelings that rise for the music itself is hauntingly beautiful. It all swirled together and created this alternate world for me to live in and ignore real life. It also means that days after finishing the book, I FEEL the characters. I hear their songs. The Civil Wars songs that spoke the feeling of the characters' hearts.

Examples:

A woman falls for a man whom locals call the devil or sorcerer. She falls for him hard and comes to see the darkness inside him but still clings to him like he is the only one who gives life (very Heathcliff and Catherine-esque). And the track, "Devil's Backbone" kept moving through my mind as I read about this love story. I could see and hear the woman in the story singing with me.

The same woman does eventually come to hate the man she fell for... the track, "One Who Got Away" is too similar and parts of the song sound so desperate and tense - exactly like a woman who wishes this man was "the one who got away" and not the one who stays.

"Dust to Dust," is another track that gently floats through different parts of the book. When characters are lonely, or when they die. Very simple and powerful.

Enough examples. Just promise me that if you intend to read Burial Rites, you give the CD a listen first. Also you should read Burial Rites! It sticks with you, and those books are my favorite kind.

In the Thick and Thin : Seeing Goodness

We are in the thick of things (the thin of things). Adam is currently re-sheet rocking the kitchen ceiling. And yes things have already come crashing through and there is dust everywhere.

Have I mentioned that I am allergic to dust? .

Thanks Si. Now I have realized that on top my normal sneezing, I am also brain sneezing.

Y'all my head hurts. And not just from breathing dust. In the thick of this move, the Marshes are wearing thin. So thin we are almost see-through. As in, Adam can see right through my comments shrouded in sarcasm and annoyance. We are stressed with all the ins and outs of moving.... and unfortunately we are spewing out some frustrations on each other. We are both guilty.

I'm reading The Greatest Gift by Ann Voskamp (http://www.aholyexperience.com/) for Advent. And of course God is using this book in simple, every-day ways. Today she writes about the tattered edges of Josephs beautiful robe as a picture of his life. There is a tattered thinness to his life, the sold into slavery by brothers and sent to prison. But even Joseph sees through the thin into the goodness of God. He says to his brothers, "You intended to harm me but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people." Genesis 50: 17-20

I'm praying today that God helps me see through the tattered thin pieces of my life and into what is good. What God intended. He always intends good. I forget that sometimes...

Sometimes I feel like He is punishing me, but all punishment happened at the cross. I receive the payment for my sins no longer (consequences, yes, but not punishment). If I still think my sins need punishing today, then I am telling Jesus that His death wasn't enough.

But that is the lie and I remind myself of the truth. God intends all things for my good. Even in the blood-stained, torn-up robe of Joseph. So what are my tattered edges? My estranged brother whom I love and for whom I hurt so deeply. The upcoming loss of all my beloved friends through this move. The painful moving logistics that are slicing into friendships and dividing hearts. The ceiling is literally crashing down.

Where is the good? Honest : I'm not sure I see it yet. But that's the faith bit right? I trust that God intends good and His character is forever good and the goodness is the depth of the ocean and truly truly truly... His is grace is sufficient. His grace is sufficient enough for my tattered heart to honestly whisper, "He is good to me." Even when the world says my life is a torn-up mess. He is good to me. He gave me His son. He gave me Jesus. And Jesus claims me as His own.

"Out of the stump of David's family will grow a shoot." Isaiah 11:1

And out of the stump of my tattered-thin life, will grow hope.

Soul-Mingling : Skin to Skin

Skin-to-skin contact is essential to my well-being. You don't need to whip out the latest scientific research to convince me. No lecture on the brain chemistry related to touch. I feel it and that is enough. The best description I have for this feeling: my soul seeps through the pores and mingles with the other soul connecting with me. It's emotional. Intimate. Vital.

 

Thanks to the move and all its associated impacts, my nerves are fried. My brain is fried. I'm living in the Texas State Fair of fried. And it makes me one irritable mess. HOWEVER, the most amazing thing happens when Adam comes home. If I can snag him before he moves onto a To-Do list, we hug. I always, always, always, find the crook of his neck, and smother my face with it. I force him to hold me for at least a minute. This quiet minute of pore-to-pore, skin-to-skin, relaxes me and some of frazzled tension melts.

 

The "Love Languages" quiz never prepared me for the importance of physical touch (http://www.5lovelanguages.com/). But I know I felt an inkling of this phenomenon before marriage.

 

My mom was the champion of playing with my hair, and I melted.

My nana always "tickled" my little back with her finger nails and melted me into sleep.

My tru(est) friend rubbed my feet after a rough day, and I melted.

 

And when Adam runs his fingers over my face, all the mess and fried fair fare, leaves. My mind is set free. My soul softens and connects. There is something so mystical about skin-to-skin and God had a reason. In my world, the reason is to keep me from becoming a fried ball of stress.

So even in the midst of packing and arranging moving dates, Adam and I are finding time for this soul-connection. He is the knight in shining armor who rubs my (smelly) feet without complaint. He is cuddle bug that lets me be the big spoon at night (it's the best). And I am thankful. This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the man who brings me out of future worries and calls my soul out to play. 



Adios Luna Kitty

The decision is being made for us. The townhome we are planning to move into does not accept pets.

Oops.

This is bad news for our cat Luna. Oh Luna, what will I do without you?

For starters, I will not fear for my life when you come sprinting around the corner with "crazy eyes." Cat owners, you KNOW this look. Those eyes get so big and round, you can barely see the iris color, then BAM. You are now covered in tiny red scratch marks and possibly a chunk of calf muscle is missing. Or if you are fortunate, the chair took the torture for you and is now bleeding threads.

I will not be forced to drive down the street with you perched on my car hood. Stubborn-turd-bucket (term of endearment, of course).

I will not be interrupted every two minutes by pitiful meows whining for attention or most likely food. I will not be forced to set aside work for your games of "Pet me, pet me, pet me...STOP PETTING NOW! *bite bite*" No one ever won those games Luna. I bled and you ended up outside.

Dear Luna, for all your crazy and stupidity, I actually have enjoyed being your slave this past year (we all know cats own their people, do not be fooled). You snuggled often... and bit me often, but I will choose to remember the good times. *commence montage*

Go home Luna, you are drunk.

You stink. Therefore you will be bathed and emerge as an over-sized rat.

You required tornado protection too Luna. Don't mess with Oklahoma weather.

Fall asleep and play dead. This is how we avoided conversing with annoying people.

 That time you were small enough to sleep on Daddy's shoulder (yes Daddy...pets are children too).

That time you were small enough to fit in my pocket.

Luna bug, I will cherish these times. And I will pray daily for whoever gets stuck with you.

Protesting Your Own Garage Sale

This is what my protest consisted of: laying in the middle of the floor where the dining table used to be (we sold it), snuggling my cat (that may or may not be left behind in the move), and refusing to speak to anyone. Oh and drinking Emergenc-E because I was feeling sniffl-E.

My front that day was anger, but on the inside, I was mostly sad. Maybe a little angry when Adam asked silly questions like "Is something wrong?" Um.....how do I answer that? With a classy eye-roll and "Duh."

 

The big ticket question is WHY? Not that I had any sort of coherent answer during my protest. The garage sale was Friday - Saturday. Simple enough, sit outside, sell things, whatever. No. By some unknown magic and trickery, I became dehydrated. After day one of the garage sale, I plopped down on the couch and the spell of smiles and chatting with strangers ended. I was pissy and mean and light-headed and sickly. Luckily my beloved friend Aili knew the issue and force-fed me Gatorade and rice crisps.

I survived the ordeal of day one, but day two killed me. It killed my spirit. The enemy of all garage sales reigned (rained. ha a pun!). Saturday morning, the rain washed all my dreams away....drama drama drama. Praise Jesus it was the weekend so Adam held down the fort while I protested with the cat.

This is real marriage.

Eventually (unfortunately), all protests must end. Adam got down on the floor next to me, pulled me close, and made me talk about my feelings (yeah ladies, he is for real). I cried some silent tears and realized that I was not regretting our decision, I was just scared of the reality. Learning a new city, new roads, new favorite hangouts and eats, new people, hopefully new friends, a new church family. Gah I was scared about not finding a church family. My church definition has changed over the years, but at my current definition, I cannot live without church. It really serves as my family.

So Adam and I talked through my fears and the more practical issues of selling our house and finding a home in CO. Neither of these have happened yet and we are down to four weeks.... help me. But we also talked through the ease of this job transition and the blessings that confirm our desire to go. Recently we discovered 1) Adam's mom gets to have surgery!!! 2) my job likes me enough to hire me remotely!!!

1) Adam's mom is battling ovarian cancer. Like a boss. Mom's are ridiculously strong y'all. I for one do not understand it but I am in awe. When she was diagnosed, the cancer was inoperable so the doctors chose a chemotherapy regime. She then began a strenuous cycle of weekly doses with the hopes that the initial chemo would make the cancer shrink into an operable state. VICTORY! A song I heard on Sunday said "Every victory belongs to Jesus!" Amen to that and thank you Jesus for healing my wonderful mother-in-law. She will have surgery and then go back on chemo. This was very encouraging to the entire family and helped Adam feel more at ease with us moving during this time.

2) My fantastic (thank you Doctor Who's #9) boss asked me to keep my company laptop and work for her from CO. YEAH SON. I can continue working (and getting paid) during our first few months. This will help me fill my time with something familiar to avoid creeping doubts, boredom, and loneliness. Satan is sneaky and quite frankly, a jerk. He knows where my soft spots are, so here is Jesus claiming another victory in my life. I will be employed!

Conclusion: protests look very childish in light of Jesus' victories and God's provision throughout this move. On Sunday, the Spirit spoke to me again. He showed me that I have been selfish (surprise surprise...). As of late, I have been viewing my church family and community as a means to serve myself. What can I get out of this? What can they give me? I think that is why my fear of losing this family has been so great. Because they have loved me richly and served me so well. My selfishness is worried that I won't find such a generous bunch anywhere else. The Spirit reminded me of the call to be the servant. Lord teach me about service. Mold my heart to look like Jesus' because He served the world in the biggest and greatest way.

OOH one more thing! On Sunday, Jeremy preached and said that Jesus left the best community in the world: communion with God the Father and God the Spirit in heaven. OHMY. Those words crashed down on me. Jesus left His family, His community, to come down to Earth... oh Jesus I feel such a kinship with You. You understand me fully because Your move was far more difficult than mine. Thank you for always sticking with me and showing me Your life. You solidify my faith. Protest over.

Marriage isn't Easy. But it is Worth the Work.

It was brought to my attention that I might not actually grieve this move until I am stuck in Colorado.

Miles away from all my friends and their hugs and their "Let's get Jamba Juice." That is a terrifying thought. Even more terrifying: Adam will be the sole caretaker of my grieving heart. Y'all this is not a slight on my husband, this IS a statement on how inconsolable/irritable/irrational/melodramatic I can be when I think that I have been wronged or hurt. And this move will hurt. It will hurt me and in turn it will hurt Adam. He will do his absolute best to comfort me and remind that God has us on this journey and that He is faithful but when I breakdown into tears and wallow in my loneliness, Adam will inevitably fail. Why you ask?

I discovered early on in our marriage that tears effectively paralyze men. Can I say men? Is that too general? I bet other men besides Adam become deer in the headlights when confronted with a sobbing woman.
The first time I cried in front of him, he sat in absolute silence. EXCUSE ME. Apparently he did not know that the womanly reaction to silence is crying harder. Because to me, his silence meant he didn't care enough to comfort me. It took a few rounds to realize that he honestly did not know what I wanted/needed him to do. So we hatched a brilliant plan: Alex tells Adam what she needs him to do!!! WHEE-OOH!

Weeks down the road, we found the fatal flaw. I don't like telling him... because as a woman I reserve the right to make him read my mind [False. But I live by it anyway]. I want him to "just know." Like an instinct. Where did I pick this up? What woman showed me this example? Or did I make up this expectation all on my own? Either way it is completely ridiculous and I should (theoretically) be able to speak my needs. But in that moment of hot tears and dry throat, I can't manage it. My emotions have already taken control of my brain and I blubber. Sometimes I hide under a blanket because I read his confused expression as "You are an alien. You are nuts. I don't know what to do with you." [This is not what he actually thinks. It's my skewed perception.]

All of this makes the original hurt worse and I find myself longing for a woman who understands without any words. During that breakdown, I have no energy to explain myself. I need someone who doesn't look at me like an alien, but instinctively reacts because she has felt my hurt too. There is such beauty in the way women communicate and understand without words. It's also the beauty of community built on the Lord, drawing us together, caring for one another, sympathizing and loving.

I have to find that in Colorado. Part of heart will shrivel up without it.

Again, this is not a slight against Adam. He is fully equipped to comfort me, but the dirty truth is that sometimes I don't want his comfort. I want it from a close girlfriend. I wish I could say it was some redeeming reason like: the comfort from a girlfriend strengthens the friendship, whereas Adam and I have enough strengthening our relationship already [yippee for sex]. But I don't think that is the reason. It is the sinful selfishness of wanting immediate gratification. It is easier for me to seek comfort from a friend because she will ease the pain faster than Adam. He will stumble over words and try to do the right things but maybe not in the right way. So in my selfishness, I rob him of the chance to learn and improve. And I rob myself of the opportunity to deepen the friendship between Adam and I.

So... I either cry my eyes out here in Oklahoma and surround myself with women who know me. Have seen me grow for five years. Who have shared their struggles with me. OR I lose control in Colorado with poor-unsuspecting-precious Adam. Right now I anticipate the latter. Jesus send Your peace to both of us... we will need it big time.

The Discovery

It has now been two days since the call. A literal call and I suppose a spiritual call. Adam & I both have a restlessness that needed an adventure. God obviously knew this long before I took notice and has been preparing us for the call.

On November 5, 2013, Adam was offered a job in Westminster, CO... and he accepted. This was our decision even before his interview; we were determined to trust God in His planning. I blame (and thank) our friend Chris Brister for one of his sermons because through it the Holy Spirit nudged me in the right direction.

Brister spoke about the awkward (his term, not mine) passage between Jesus ascending and the Spirit descending. It is a little snippet in Acts where the disciples are hurting from the deceit of Judas and the goodbye from Jesus. Peter gets up and states that a replacement for Judas is needed. Jesus chose 12 for a reason and they are determined to keep 12.

But as a 21st century white girl reading the story, it looks like Peter and the others make this decision all willy-nilly. They cast lots. LOTS.  My thoughts: What! They are gambling over who the next disciple is going to be?! Geez Peter haven't you messed up enough already? Wouldn't it be a little wiser to actually put some thought into this choice... you know maybe do a background check or get a resume? Thank goodness for Brister's explanation. The disciples did cast lots, but first they prayed. They asked God to choose His man. Make His own choice. Peter realized that he and the others had done nothing to gain the title "disciple." Jesus chose them without resumes or personality tests. It was His wisdom and love that compiled their group of 12. And so they prayed and asked Him to do it again. Then they cast lots as an unbiased way of choosing. They knew that God has full control over how the lots would fall, and they trusted Him.

Those words got stuck in my heart. Day-to-day I breathe words that say God in control, but how often do I really let Him make the decisions? How often to I believe that He can offer jobs or not? I don't. I think that the job offer is determined by Adam's performance and the other candidates. I don't trust that God is in control of these intimate details. Oh sure He gets credit for "big" control, over the world and all that... but not these details. That Sunday the Spirit was like, "Mmm girl check yourself. The Father loves you more than you realize. And that love extends into details, details that seem to be under man's control. His hand reaches farther than you know. Trust that and let Us lead you."

So here we are. Adam and I discussed the revelation of trust in God's control over details. We prayed that He would prepare our hearts for what He would give us. It was NOT easy. Y'all, I love where we are. I am absolutely in love with Norman, Oklahoma, and the people who live here. This is where I really found Jesus. It is where I realized that God does not look down on me with disappointment, but with delight. Such unbelievable words that I might have heard elsewhere, but they rang true here...in Norman. How can I leave a place with such deep roots? How can I leave these people that taught me the gospel and loved me, accepted me. All of me. This is where I met my husband. The truly better half of me (the tears have begun now, the first I have cried since the call). Here is where we found our first home. The place where our marriage was born. The scene of our newly wedded bliss and those nasty little fights that grew from molehills to mountains thanks to my flair for the dramatic. Maybe that is the depth of the root, the learning I have done in Norman.

Learning at the university, learning how to make one friend in the sea of 25,000 students, learning about the battle between my flesh and soul, learning the gospel, learning Jesus' role in my daily life and not just His death but His LIFE, learning how selfish I can be as a wife, learning how to love a selfish husband, learning the beauty of praying for a friend for 3 years then seeing her come into the fold and into the Kingdom, learning (through watching, not personal experience) the challenges and rewards of parenting... These are just a few.

I cannot imagine my lifeline without this moment in Norman. And God knew that too. The final year of high school, I had no dreams of coming to Norman and attending OU. I didn't really care where I spent the next four years, just as long as they weren't in my hometown. But then I stepped onto campus and just knew. This place was going to be my new home. Outside of parents. The place where I discovered myself. But Norman would be so much more than that.

My plan is to blog through this move and then our assimilation into the land of "natives." Okie to Native. I am still not sure why they refer to themselves as natives and have those bumper stickers, but I will find out soon enough.