Homecoming

Yesterday, the painter found this picture. It made me smile and then, unexpectedly, cry (this may or may not have to do with lack of sleep and the influence of paint fumes). This picture was taken October 31, 1982. Homecoming, my senior year of high school.

It's Homecoming Week in our small town. My children don't go to the local high school, but Patrick is going to the dance with Hilary and Mary Beth is going with Hilary's younger brother, Jack (I know, too cute, right?). I told Hilary earlier this week that I remember the homecoming dance my senior year as the absolute best night of high school. 

I remember sitting with Mike late into the night and planning our future. Never mind that this night came after the world's rockiest high school "romance" (if it was even that). And never mind there were still plenty of tears yet to shed. In that moment of time, we were perfect. I don't really remember the details, but I do remember him saying something about a big family-- four kids sounded good to him. I also remember we planned to open a day care center and school, firmly rooted in Montessori. I detailed for him every nuance of educational philosophy and prepared environment. He was totally on board. We were going to change the world, beginning with the children.

So, that all worked out, right? We have our own little cottage school. (And exactly 26 years after that perfect date, we welcomed our ninth baby into the world.)

Sally Clarkson writes, "As a younger woman, I struggled with many of the scriptures referring to a woman's role in life. But the more I have lived, the more I have come to appreciate the beauty and wisdom of my God-given assignment. As a free-spirted person who generally thinks outside the box, I have found deep fulfillment and satisfaction in exercising my gifts, strengths,and personality to bless my family, neighbors, and friends from the strength of my home. Establishing my household as a place in which the greatness of God and a devotion to him is lived out each day has given me focus. Loving my children and nurturing their hearts and minds while training their characters and leading them to know the Lord and his purposes has satisfied my soul's need for purpose. The Mission of Motherhood,

I wish I could show you how my home looks this morning. The contractor who promised we'd do one room at a time has successfully put every single room on the main floor and my bedroom and bathroom out of commission at the same time. There is no shower available to anyone at this moment. No room is untouched by this process of transformation. Mike was up until 2:00 this morning re-wiring the bathroom. I'm bone tired. But these words--this one paragraph of Sally's-- is propelling me through this day.

Tonight, my teenagers and their friends will come here for brunch after the dance. I have a vision. It's not a business and a school and a few advanced degrees. It's a home and a handmade meal. And by golly, it's going to be warm and welcoming and beautiful. As I move about my space, putting things back in order (even bettter than before), I am so grateful for a soul overflowing with a sense of His purpose. I am grateful for a life of love lived in out in the strength of my home. I am ever so grateful for homecomings.

~~~

This post is part of 31 Days To Remind Myself of the Mission. I'd love to hear your thoughts about mission and vocation in the comment box. Find all the posts in the series here. And please, help yourself to a button if you want one for your blog. I'd love to read what you say there. 

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Forever In the Forest

He took my hand as we started down the path and I couldn't help but think how strange it felt. Try as I might, I could not think of any other time within the last quarter century that I had walked a wooded trail without a baby within, or strapped to my chest, or holding my hand. Or all three.

And still, it felt really right. If I were asked to pick a moment when I first knew--really knew--that I was in love with this man, it was on a wooded trail. The man was a boy back then. Those woods, those dear, familiar east coast woods, were so very young compared to the woods we were about to walk that day in California. 

How fitting then, that this clear September day found us in the woods again. The grown-up woods. Even the grown-old woods. For nearly half the Septembers of our marriage I have been round with child. But not this September, or the three just past. It's been a process of letting go. I was the mom with the baby for so long and I loved being that mom so much. The letting go has not been quick or easy. I am painfully aware that the seasons of autumn babies are no more. Slowly, I see glimpses of what lies ahead, in these years after babies. More than anything I am struck by how full they can be of that first love, the one that set the rest in motion.

He's still here. My heart still skips a beat every single time I encounter him again after he's been away. It's not that young, green love of the forest by the lake in the town where we were children. It's a big, grown up love, the kind you find in a forest with scarred trunks and soaring treetops. So we set off down the path, just us, beginning a new season of our lives together.

The trees were breathtaking. They are massive, old trees, trees with a history that stretches back a full 2,000 years. My camera was no match for their immense presence. I could not begin to capture the essence of that forest. 

I stood and stared long and hard inside the burned out redwood. Trees created to last forever? Truly made of resilient stuff. The fire burned within, but it didn't kill the tree. Instead, the tree grew anew. I thought of the grave realities we met so early, the really scary stuff, the heated words, the tired anger, the every day hard work of figuring it all out. The fires of us. And there he was. Still. Tall and strong against the sky. New life, new love growing still, reaching heavenward. Always reaching heavenward.

He delighted in my awe, watching me dance along the shaded path as if I were a character in an Elsa Beskow book. I could tell he was well pleased with himself for insisting we go all that way to see the trees. I told him I could stay there forever. He suggested we send for the children. The children! They would love the giant forest we discovered. We'll bring them back there, I promised myself. And we'll get them out in their own eastern woods more often. 

I left with great reluctance, inhaling deep the scent of that rich forest as if I could keep the big wonder of it inside of me even as we went. Trees. Trees put there by the Creator around the time the Son walked the same earth. Forever trees. It's a mystery, really, how anything can last forever in this disposable world. Some things do, though.

Forever.

A mystery.

And a grace. 

With my Heart in San Francisco

If you're growing weary of my travelogue, I do apologize. I think my parents are enjoying it and I know Mike is loving it, so I plan to continue to work my way through my pictures and add words as I go.

We reluctantly left Napa and headed back into San Francisco. This is a city that MIke knows well. It occurred to me more than once how his frequent traveling was blessing our time together. Beyond the obvious frequent flyer, car, and hotel points (and those were huge), he knows how to travel well. I just followed his lead. 

On our way in, we wound up a mountain and then pulled over. Mike wanted me to look from that height across to the Golden Gate Bridge. And I did. That might not be a big deal to some people, but I have a serious fear of heights and this trip was all about conquering that impediment. Pretty amazing view. I'm glad we stopped. I'm really glad I got out of the car. 

We went to lunch at The Slanted Door, a Vietnamese restaurant that overlooks San Francisco Bay. What a view! Just an aside, we had an interesting conversation about gray hair. We'd noticed that many of our servers were our age or older and all of the women had naturally gray hair. And all of them were really very pretty. So, I extended my people-watching on the topic of gray and looked around. I think leaving one's hair gray is more acceptable in the west? Am I wrong here? I notice new grays every day and I'm not inclined to color. Mike and I made a deal that if he gets to thinking it looks like steel wool, he'll let me know pronto.

After lunch, we walked around a bit and headed to our hotel. There, I changed into some serious athletic walking shoes. They were a last minute gift from Patrick--our resident Mr. Nike-- and I'm so glad I tossed them in my suitcase. We walked. And walked. And walked. It was glorious. I'm not a city person at all, but a city like this could change my mind. Walking it was the perfect way to experience it. And all those significantly steep hills? The better to work up an appetite for amazing food.

We walked from the hotel down to the wharf where the sea lions bask in the sun. The sea lion picture was a must for Nicky, but it's the worst of the trip (sorry). We meandered a little around the shops at the pier and then looked up towards a steeple. Then, we just started walking that way. Straight up, it seemed. Mike kept asking if I wanted to take a cab. I most definitely did not. I had been working out and eating Paleo for months to get ready for this trip. Bring on the hills!

The church was St. Peter and Paul. It was open and we went in to admire its majesty. There was a group there and I felt out of place and awkward, so we didn't stay long. We started walking again.

This time, we walked through Chinatown and into the financial district and to Old St. Mary's. We arrived at 6:00. Just in time for Vespers. Only the church was locked up tight. 

So we walked again. I thought it would be fun to visit St. Francis parish in San Francisco. It looked nice from the outside. Locked up, too. What's up with the locked up churches in California?

From there, we walked Nob Hill, stopped at a sushi restaurant to buy takeout for dinner and then threaded our way back from whence we came. Downhill. Awesome.

The next morning, I got up and out early, by myself no less-- in the big city. I found Starbucks using the app on my phone and walked a whole block alone:-).  Then we took a little spin around Lombard Street. Oh, my!

We left the city pretty early in the day. Mike had big plans. Big, big, gigantic plans. 

More later.

Him

Twenty-five years ago he had a proposal that sounded so impossible I could scarcely envsion it. He had plans and dreams and ideas that were a world I'd never even imagined. But I said yes. 

Because I trusted him.

And, together, we brought those dreams to life and we dreamed new dreams.

Together.

Looking back over a quarter century of chances taken, every single time, I was afraid. Every single time, I could not begin to fathom that all would be well. But I said yes.

Because I trusted him.

And now, as I look at the tapestry of our lives woven together, I see the thread running bold and bright throughout. 

Trust.

I knew that he loved me intensely and forever, that I was safe with him. I knew that he was true. Real. Genuine. 

Not perfect.

But honest. 

And when he said he was giving me his whole life. He meant it.

Nothing held back. Nothing hidden. 

I took his hand. I looked at the leap we were taking.

I knew there would be curves in the road.

What? Where?

I had no idea.

But I knew--I was sure--that this was the man I wanted to lead me. This was the heart I trusted with mine. This was real. 

So I said yes.

I say it again every day.

And I always will. 

The Other Man in my Life

On the occasion of my 25th wedding anniversary, I'm thinking about the other man in my life. Please join me at MomHeart this morning.

I'll be back later today to smile about my husband:-).