: of God or Country.
Let’s go back to that birthday party when we’re six- unaware
of our surroundings and how our bodies are moving through space. We are
changing at a rapid rate at this stage and can’t keep up with our limbs. Johnny is chasing Stacy with cake in
his hands and you want to join so
you start running too. But there is a root by your left foot that you did not
see, and then concrete to the face. Stunned. Your knee, your cheek, your hands- you are not sure where
all the pain is coming from so you start screaming . But! Before you finish
your first wail out of nowhere, swift strong arms have scooped you up and a
consoling voice is in your ear. Your dad sits you on the kitchen counter, away
from the noise- away from the party and the birthday cake and what you thought
was fun. He took you somewhere
quiet so that the wounds could be assessed. And so they can be tended to.
France is my kitchen counter.
 |
| where i wander. |
If I told you what I did everyday, it'd make you sick. I am getting paid to vacate. I wake up at whatever hour I choose,
read the Word, push a button so a perfect shot of espresso pours, go for a
run or a bike ride along the Seine that is my back yard, return- read by the
pool, and sometimes wander around the town taking pictures or just to wander. During the week days, I am usually taken
to the golf club to have lunch and occasionally I hit a bucket of balls at the
driving range or practice putting.The family and kids come home from their
work/activities around 7. Sometimes I cook but mostly the housekeeper does. We
talk about our day, wind down and then go to bed. On the weekends, Valerie takes
me to the “must sees” of Paris. Some tourist attractions, some of her favorite
restaurants and shopping areas. She wines and dines me and has exquisite taste
in food, wine, champagne, and tea houses. Are you sick yet? Because by week two I sure as hell was.
WHAT AM I DOING HERE? I have something ingrained in me that I need to be
productive, to grow, to struggle, to work diligently to achieve something. And
I do not know if it is of God or country.
Capitilism, or Christianity.
I do know that this season in life is very… quiet. You can describe it as restful, peaceful, relaxing, or whatever. But if you look at most of
my days- its just me for the duration of my time. I don’t mind being alone- in fact usually prefer it. However
when the only sounds
that fill the silence are the sighs of contemplation, snorts or satisfaction,
and exhales of frustration. It’s a bit maddening.
SO you’re on the kitchen counter and you stop crying because
Dad is telling you its going to be ok but has to clean the wound, and it might
sting a bit. He puts ice on the worse of it to soothe your sobs. You know the party is still going on without you so you ask your dad if you
can go back outside because you do not want to miss out. With a firm but loving
tone- he says no. you are not finished being mended.
 |
| how i wake up |
 |
| what i drink |
 |
| what i do |
 |
| what i eat |
 |
| where i stare |
The life I left behind in America is still going on without
me. One of my best friends is planning her wedding, Younglife in PB is going
through a transitional time, my other best friend is still sleeping in my room
how I left it. A large part of me
wants to jump back into the party. The life I left behind was going somewhere-
I was working and loving my community. But the truth of it is- there are parts
of me that are wrecked, badly
bruised , and well- wounded. I will be vague and say that the divorce
has crushed my perception of
family and marriage. God scooped
me up at just the right time, and brought me to a place where it was just me
and him. Somewhere quiet away from the noise, where he can mend things.
 |
| where i sit, and hear my dad's voice. |
