The Summer Stack

Every year, as my semester and boys' school year winds down, I start to get antsy.  Twitchy.  Ready to cast off all of the schedules, responsibilities, and the hurly burly of the academic year and get immersed in some real thinking.  I envision long, lazy days filled with cool drinks and warm breezes and lots of lounging in a chair with piles and piles of books.  It's time to reset, recharge, get inspired, and escape into stories that are not my own.  Books and words are a balm for my soul that gets neglected in the rush rush hurry hurry of the other seasons of the year.  Summer:  my time for reading, relaxing, and restoration before the next season of crazy. Sigh.

Somehow, I don't think this dream of mine is going to work out.

Because, have you met my boys?

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And did I happen to mention that I just moved?

unpacking

To a farm?

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With lots of hay to be cut and a crop to be planted and no farmer to be found?

farmer landon

And, since you were wondering, my oldest just asked if I knew where his toothbrush was. Because HE HASN'T SEEN IT SINCE WE MOVED.  Well over a week ago.  AND HE JUST DECIDED TO MENTION IT NOW.  Which means, of course, that one hasn't been USED since at least then.

Can I get an eewwwwwww?

Sigh.

So, it looks like there is not going to be much slowing down to contemplate, recharge, and reflect. Not with all these muddy souls, dirty teeth, and boxes pleading to be unpacked.  There will be no completeimmersion. But, there will be flirtations and dalliances with books. . . stolen little moments of bliss, when I will be wantonly unfaithful to all of the unpacking that needs to be done.

To that end, I may not have a farming plan yet, but I have a summer escape plan.

I'm going to start here.

nesting house

And then work my way through these.

book stack

Ambitious?  Yes.  Unlikely?  Certainly.  It's certainly a miracle that these were found in the mess that is this house.  And, despite all of the other responsibilities in my life, I contend that there's a greater likelihood that I will plow through this stack than I will actually get my three new fields plowed and planted.

Sigh.

Happy (illicit) reading.

Clawing My Way to Calm

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Art intersects life again and again and again.

I am in the midst of a very long bittersweet season. The beautiful and the brutal. Births and deaths and sickness and health. It has been long. I feel as though have been clawing my way to calm for years, day by day. Sometimes hour by hour. Even minute by minute.

This week, I found myself reading Shauna Niequist's Bittersweet: Thoughts on Grace, Change, and Learning the Hard Way, and rediscovered how we are all more alike than different, that the journey I'm on is shared, and that finding hope, understanding more about who God is, and stretching yourself can be truly bittersweet...in the best possible sense. And that's a beautiful thing. Even clawing your way to calm day by day is a beautiful thing.

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Niequist's essays in Bittersweet chronicle and explore those small and big moments, momentous and fleeting, that are bitter, sweet, and decidedly both. She describes her quest to grow to know God, herself, and others better in the midst of the groans and laments, the exaltations and triumphs, as well as through the ordinary, easy pleasures in between (like swiping handfuls of fresh-picked blueberries all day long from the lake cottage countertop).

I feel a kinship with Niequist. Her experiences, musings, and pleasures parallel some of my own....like a deep, abiding ardor for Lake Michigan ("Learning to Swim"), finding myself through books and writing, pursuing a writer's life ("Your Story Must Be Told"), soul nourishing girls' weekends ("Alameda"), the joys and pains of motherhood, cooking ("What We Ate and Why It Matters"), seeking balance, gatherings of true friends together around a table ("Feeding and Being Fed"), the pain of losing babies ("Heartbeat" and "What Might Have Been"), and learning to lean into God and away from self.  Like other memoirists whose main form is essays, (such as Glennon Melton's Carry On, Warrior), I feel as though Niequist gave voice to some of my deepest laments and eloquently explored the questions that have been at the forefront of my mind during this bittersweet season. Which brings me back to this touchstone idea....we are more alike than different. Art intersects life. Again and again.

To me, her words are profound and true, unadorned and plain spoken, and speaks right to where I've been or where I currently sit. Her style is approachable. Thoughtful. Kind. Grace-filled. Like sitting with a wise friend, who not only knows how to walk through pain, and but can sit with others while they walk through their own.

Teaching my son to breathe through intense pain. Losing babies. First smiles. First laughs. First words.Watching my boys struggle.Losing a parent. Books. Meeting new friends. Saying goodbye to old ones. Having a beautiful, diverse, far-flung tribe of friends that feel like family. Sunsets.Celebrating a new home while saying a long goodbye to the old.Bringing people together, in community, around the table.The joyous sound of my husband's laugh. Bittersweet.

As I write, I am stretched out on a couch in my baby's hospital room. He's recovering from major surgery. Bitter. It appears to be successful and he has been a peaceful, compliant patient. Sweet. I have relearned, especially today, that God's in control and I'm not. Sweet, but HARD SWEET, eucharisteo, if you know what I mean. My big boys are missing us, and we are missing them. Beautiful bittersweet.

That's life, I think. We don't get it all easy, or we won't grow. We don't get it all hard, or we won't grow. The bittersweet is just the right fertilizer for our seeking little souls.  At least, it is for me.

Other books by Shauna Niequist:

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