So much has happened since my last post… Much to my surprise, an entire year has flown by without a single peep from me on this blog. I have, in fact, been writing my heart out – just not posting much of anything publicly. This has been a year of intense transition and finding our “new normal”; a year of profound growth, curious exploration, joyful celebration and devastating loss. I’ve missed sharing my heart in this format, and thank you, dear reader, for hanging in there with me when I retreat and go silent instead of simply putting my heart out here in trust, courage and vulnerability. So here we go, my friends… Grab a cup of coffee or glass of wine; we have some catching up to do!

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In my previous post, I shared the joys of and lessons in preparing a house to put on the market (and the value of having a rain jacket with a hood – but most sane people already know this). I learned numerous lessons in staging our home and beginning the packing process: mainly, I now prefer a more minimalist way of living (because I never, EVER, want to sort through that much stuff again!); we all need helpers and the humility to receive those gifts of help; less absolutely can be more; and God really does listen to our prayers – and answers, sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

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Our charming craftsman home sold in seven days. SEVEN. (Talk about a huge answer to our prayers!) We were thrilled with the family who purchased our bungalow – they are kind, smart, interesting people and their wee babe also has bright red hair and beautiful blue eyes, just like my husband! (I admit, I had intense baby jealousy!)

We commenced the arduous, emotionally-charged process of leaving one home for another. It was especially emotional, as this was our first home as a married couple, and Jarred had worked so hard and sacrificed so much to purchase and design the house a few years before we met with the hope of finding his bride one day.

I’ll never forget the night after our mini honeymoon when we arrived home – we climbed the steps to the porch hand-in-hand, and Jarred stopped, swooping me up in his arms, and carried me over the threshold of our front door. He whispered in the inky darkness, “All I have, all I am, is yours.” (I’m still swooning!) The next day, I saw I had received a message from the neighbor across the street the night before: “We totally just watched you get carried over the threshold. Yes, your neighbors are spying…but not too closely! Welcome to your new home!” I remember blushing and telling Jarred he was now the talk of the romanticists on our street. And, we might also have stalkers. (Just kidding!) That memory always makes me smile… It felt so nice to have our newly vowed love celebrated by our too-cute neighbor “spies”. We really loved that West Asheville community and the friendships we made. Our first home together was a blessing, and it was hard to leave – even if we believed the place we were headed toward was more in tune with who we were growing to be. Thankfully, the folks we purchased our new place from were just as equally lovely, kind and open-hearted as the family who made our first home their own.

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One Chapter Closes, and Another Begins…

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So my sweet, sweet husband and I moved out of the city and became “countrified” folk. We are surrounded by stunning mountains and beautiful lush valleys dotted with the cutest cattle, goats and sheep, and our own paradise is being hard-won. We fell in love with this place – its saturated peace, simple quiet elegance, magical rhododendron forest with private babbling brook running through and a deep, wide porch that beckons us and our family and friends to “sit a spell” while sipping homemade sweet tea and “shooting the breeze”.

We had many joyful expectations for this season in our lives. Dreaming is a gift, and grace even better when dreams fly up, up, up and then dip, curve and crash. Oh, it’s not all lost; it’s more of a paper airplane crash in the whole scheme of things – completely recoverable – but man alive, have you ever had a paper cut that keeps getting salt in the wound? It’s by no means a mortal wound; it just stings, and you really, really can’t wait for the thing to heal – am I right?!

Ten days after moving in to our new home, a piece of plumbing in our master bathroom shower (on the second floor) decided to split right down the middle in a freak occurrence. Chaos ensued, and that’s just not the kind of house warming gift you’d choose to receive if you had your own way about things. But, in the midst of tears and ruined plumbing and buckling hardwood floors, we thanked God for homeowners insurance, and started the process of finding a contractor who could repair the damage. And since we had to move everything down to our basement so the first and second floors could be redone throughout the house, we decided to bite the bullet and remove a couple of walls and have the entire interior of our home repainted while we were at it, including kitchen cabinets, built-ins and shelves. Literally, everything. A total overhaul. After all, it’s now or never, right?!

After six weeks of living in limbo at the house, we packed everything back up and moved out of our newly purchased property for a month, rescued by our generous friends who opened up their family retreat with a gorgeous view on the side of a steep mountain in Maggie Valley, so we could have a nearby place to rest while our home was under construction. What a gift!

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During this time, the beloved and internationally renowned Rev. Billy Graham crossed from this reality over into the Eternal Kingdom he so ardently pursued and whose hope and love he shared with the world. Jarred had served with Billy’s ministry for over twenty years in a few capacities, most consistently at The Cove, which is local to Asheville. He was called away to Charlotte in the early morning hours before the news broke of Billy’s passing to assist in the end of life ceremonies. Around the same time, my body decided to seize up and put me through some of the worst, continuously tortuous physical pain I’ve ever experienced in my life – for over thirty days straight, without reprieve. (Thank you, damaged L4 and L5 vertebrae and pinched nerves. You made me wish for oblivion in the particularly tormenting way only you can do.) And what do you do when doctors, chiropractors and physical therapists can’t help you and medications are useless, and you feel like death would be better than what you’re going through? You go see a faith healer. (Yes, I literally did that.) Perhaps the faith healer was bogus since I left that meeting still in the kind of pain that doubles you over…or, perhaps he helped facilitate a miracle, since I got riled up enough to go see another osteopathic doctor two days later who did, indeed, correct my incredibly out of whack alignment and relief was felt almost immediately. (Thank you, God, for my Spirit-filled brother, Dr. Ben!)

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Repairs and renovations were finally complete after waiting on pins and needles for an additional two weeks passed the projected end date, and I could stand mostly upright without hunching over and crying out in pain, only for us to walk in and find things weren’t as anticipated with the house. It can be pretty disappointing when expectations aren’t fully met and you’re tired of living out of a suitcase and – Geez-Louise – you just want to finally settle. We learned a lot of lessons from that experience. Mainly, both Jarred and I will continue to strive to be business owners who care well for our clients – doing the job we were paid to do, and hopefully going above and beyond to honor those who have entrusted us with their heart and resources. People don’t forget how they were treated, how they felt while interacting with a service provider – even while mistakes are a part of life, a part of projects. Communication gets messed up or one party sees things differently than the other. There’s grace and patience for all that. But for the love of all things good – endeavor to find common ground, agree on the solution to the problem at hand, finish the work well and operate your business with integrity! Just do it, people (and I’m preaching to myself here, too).

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Fast forward to Easter, on the very auspicious day of April 1st, otherwise known as “April Fool’s Day”. It was late afternoon and we were working on taxes. (Yes; I know exactly what you’re thinking: Taxes on Easter! What a fabulous way to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection!) Jarred went to find a necessary document pertaining to our new home and stumbled across the survey for our land. I heard him go outside and figured he was doing something in the garage. When he walked back in, his face was drawn into quite a frightening expression.  My stomach immediately turned into a knot, and I thought maybe someone died or maybe I did something stupid without knowing it. (Hello, my seven-year-old-self. Always thinking I’m in (or have caused) some sort of trouble and I’m about to get it real good across my backside…) All he said was, “I need you to come outside with me,” like, “Ma’am, I need you to come see the body I’ve exhumed from beneath the old maple tree. And yes, you are the killer. You’re just crazy and didn’t even know it. But we know it. And we all know you did it.” You know?! I was pretty apprehensive following this beloved man of mine outside with that horrible expression on his face. His was the expression of shock and grave seriousness. And this man of mine is not emotive. He’d make a killing player poker if I could ever get him to try the game! I’ve never seen that expression before and I sure as heck hope I never see it again.

We began walking up our land, and he handed me a paper with lots of lines and curves and you know, gibberish to my brain that doesn’t understand diagrams and surveys and such. Oh, I’ll nod my head and smile, but I rarely, if ever, can literally see what the heck the map is saying. (I’d make a terrible pirate, I tell you!) I predominantly feel my way through things… But that’s its own talent, right? Empath.

So, this paper wasn’t really jiving with me, until he pointed out some landmarks, and then my eyes widened, and I said, “I don’t understand.” Because what’s the second weapon in my arsenal after immediate guilt for potentially doing something wrong? Feigning ignorance. Playing dumb. “Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah… I can’t hear you; I can’t see you…” (Fingers in ears, eyes shut tight, shouting nonsense at the top of my lungs just to pretend what’s happening isn’t really happening – the whole shebang. Because then whatever’s being said or done isn’t really happening, right? (Sigh) Only I’m not seven or eight years old now; I’m thirty-eight. And those tactics don’t work so well any longer…)

He’s telling me our land isn’t all our land. My brain can’t process his words. I can’t even fathom he would say all of this just to trick me for April Fool’s. This isn’t a joke, and I can tell. His body is rigid, his face tense. And out of my mouth spills, “Our boundary lines fall in pleasant places.” A weighty pause falls between us. He just stops and stares at me, incredulous, dismayed. I say it more firmly, “Our boundary lines fall in pleasant places!!!” (Thank God for Joyce Meyer and Joel Osteen and Holy Spirit. In the midst of crushing news, I’m naming and claiming in faith the exact opposite of what that survey is showing.) Jarred was losing it (in the way only Jarred can “lose it” – from the outside, people would think he’s just pondering the lay of the land and tearing up because it’s so darn beautiful – not because he can’t believe we were sold something that isn’t actually fully legit ours (yet!)).

I’m not joking when I say that sometimes I am shocked at the reality of how beautiful Jesus can be in us as broken humans and in me, this woman who feels like she can barely hold things together. In that moment, standing there in the rosy glow of Easter’s fading daylight, gaping in confusion at the words coming out of my husband’s mouth, I didn’t cuss, cry or panic. (No, that all came the following day along with a fun case of full-body hives – just being honest! And I may not be able to read a map like a pirate, but by George! I sure as heck can cuss with the best of them!) Thankfully, when the unsanctified me surfaced, Jarred was already across the country for a gig, a full 3,000 miles away, so I processed the nonsensical nightmare with some of my favorite gal-pals over more sushi than a full-grown seal can eat and probably the amount of sake a pirate could drink. Yet in the eventide of Easter, incredible supernatural peace enveloped me, and I wrapped my arms around my sweet, sweet husband as we sat on our bench made from three large rocks overlooking our property and prayed for God to work this all out for us. And we really do believe He will. Because a good Father doesn’t lead you to a disappointing place, you know? He doesn’t excite you with fresh-smelling bread and hand you a stone and say, “Gnaw on this for a while until you get more sanctified.” The reality is, even the Chosen had giants to fight in the Promised Land. YHWH G-d could have easily disposed of all those terrifyingly tall warriors and ushered His people into immediate peace and utopia, but like I said before, He’s a good Father – and good fathers know just what their kiddos need in order to grow in strength, resiliency, wisdom and power.

That kind of sounds like a set up – but it’s not. And when it starts to feel that way – that God set us up – we pause. Because as much as I’m well aware of my deep and wide connection with emotion, emotions aren’t always telling the truth. God doesn’t set us up. He has done everything to heal our hearts, not break them. But life is messy this side of Heaven and things are missed, and people make errors, including us. How this situation happened, we don’t know. We really can’t wrap our minds around it, not even a little. But what we do know is, God is faithful and He’s already working this thing out for us.

The very ironic thing? We wouldn’t have purchased this place with the boundary as how it currently is on paper. There’s no way. It doesn’t make sense. In fact, it makes me mad just thinking about it. Who draws up these land lines, anyhow? They need to go back to the drawing board. “Try again, my friend. Try again. Because this current setup is stupid.”

Alas, that’s not how things work.

We don’t know how all this will pan out, and we are admittedly tired. It’s been a long, bumpy, tiresome season. Moving twice in two months isn’t fun. Pain isn’t fun. Poor workmanship isn’t fun. Being sold something that’s not true isn’t fun. But it’s life sometimes. And gosh darn it – I’m determined to lay hold of the joy set before me. Because that’s all I’ve got in the end. And all this other stuff? It will fade.

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When we were kids, we’d get into dramas and fights, and Mom would intervene and often say (sometimes in exasperation), “Does all this matter in light of eternity?!” I still hear her voice in my head asking this when crappy stuff happens.

It’s difficult to know what things to release and what falls into the category of being taken advantage of. We should have healthy boundaries and stand up for ourselves, right? …I guess?! But then again, Jesus did the total opposite of what Wolverine and Wonder Woman and my own little internal assassinator would do (only bad guys – promise!): He opened wide His arms, allowing metal stakes to be driven through His wrists into a jagged, wooden cross, and, lifted up, released all claims to (righteous, totally deserved) revenge, instead saying, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” And we’ve not faced anything close to the pain and horror Jesus faced. So, no; all the issues we’ve been fighting really, really don’t matter in light of eternity.

So, there’s that!

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Time moved forward. We seemed to be stuck in the stalker grip of a very grouchy Winter who was just not willing to accept the fact we’d officially broken up and needed to move on. But we had some pretty days scattered throughout the FIVE MONTHS of Winter, and during those warmer (non-rainy, non-snowy) days, we began to dig up the garden and work the land and settle in to our little homestead. As Spring began to reveal herself, the joy we felt at the beginning of this adventure whispered to us and offered us real hope. And when tiny sprouts popped up in the garden and the flowers began to blossom and bloom as we moved toward Summer, wonder filled our hearts, and joy and peace were felt in deeper, more tangible ways.

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I think it’s important to pay attention to when it feels like joy is being stripped from our lives. It’s key to notice when we’re so tired, even basic life necessities have become too much of an effort. That’s not good, dear ones. Something has to shift – because Jesus very clearly says He prepares a BANQUET FEAST in the midst of our enemies. I don’t know about you, but that’s not some Elvish bread hurriedly stuffed into our mouths on the face of a cliff overlooking Mordor. The banquet Jesus is talking about is a flipping PARTY!!! Ten courses and then even more than that, I bet! Wine! Dancing! Laughter until you can’t breathe! JOY UNSPEAKABLE! I’m pretty sure a banquet feast is one that puts you in the mood to be “close” with your spouse (wink, wink!), not the other way around.

So, I’m curious if there are places in me (okay, I’m not curious; I know there are places in me) that don’t yet trust Jesus. Yeah…there are. I want to be in control! HA! I mean, the eternal part of me doesn’t want to be in control and totally trusts the Godhead, but there are other places, hidden, still wounded, still hurting, still timid and angry and confused. I think Jesus loves ALL of us – all of what comprises us as individuals – dark and light, hidden and seen – and  He is yearning for us to learn from Him – receive Him – His healing, His freedom, His power, His Spirit – His REST…

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Rest has always been a complicated matter in my world. What is rest?! I’m striving even when it comes to rest. Silly, I know. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t breastfed. Maybe it’s from early childhood trauma. Maybe it’s a seed of fear embedded so deep, its roots have choked out all space for perfect love. But God doesn’t get to be God if He can’t heal me through and through and lead me to His perfect rest (or so I am often reminded by my beloved, trusted counselor). So, I keep giving it to God!

It was an early Spring day and I had a yearning to worship through playing piano, which happened to be in our detached garage. As of the initial writing of this post, we hadn’t yet moved the piano back into the house since all the work had commenced, and I rather enjoyed it out there in some ways. I’d open wide the garage doors, and the piano faced toward the land that someday will be ours (one way or another), and I would play that piano in faith, in trust, in hope, in peace. I played it as a weapon of worship. I played it and asked Holy Spirit to inspire me and move through me. I played and sang, and hoped and prayed my neighbors didn’t mind the sounds coming from our garage…

While I was processing and worshipping one Sunday afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird made an appearance in their weathered, wooden house under the pergola, right outside of the garage door, and my heart just stopped in awe. They are so, so beautiful – and I am a bird FREAK, so of course, I was just giddy about the whole scenario. I snuck out and ran into the house to grab my camera, begging God like a little kid to allow me to capture their “portrait”.

Of course, He did. And of course, it was awesome!

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As I traipsed around the yard playing National Geographic photog with Papa God, I was at complete rest. It was wonderful… It was thrilling… It was free… I think that’s how true rest is meant to be: so natural, you don’t even know you’re doing it. It’s just happening, effortlessly.

While I was waiting for the blue birds to circle back, I photographed our apple trees and all their little blossoms that so bravely hung on through our harsh Winter in these breathtaking Blue Ridge Mountains. I was so inspired by their delicate form mixed with tenacity and courage. As I captured this particular branch reaching toward the sky, I felt like I was witnessing a poem in action. While I edited the photos from my restful adventure time with God, this poem was birthed. I’ll leave this here for you, hoping it will encourage your heart in the fight for the feast God has for you right in the middle of your own battle! And in a few days, I will share the second part of this “catching up” series.

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And this is true worship:

The ever upward reach;

Expanding and growing toward the Light,

When all the Earth is cloaked in darkness

And Winter’s long harsh cold

Threatens to undo Spring’s bright hope.

Yes;

This is true worship –

The fierce determination to offer up

All of who we are

Despite the allure of curling inward.

No –

We choose to blossom our pale white faith

In the frigid air of disappointment;

We choose to reveal divinely bestowed beauty,

Undeterred by culture’s encroaching apathy;

We hold tight to our roots through the bitter swirling winds,

Believing in the promise of Harvest’s fruit made manifest

If we don’t give up or give in

(Though its sweetness feels so far away)

We cling to Future’s brilliant expectation,

Knowing the Past has brought us to where we are planted today.

And groaning inwardly, we strain upward – ever upward – toward our call.

This is our true worship:

We worship here in Spirit and in Truth,

And through Faith’s assurance, bloom…

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Part II of catching up will hopefully come soon. Thanks for sharing the journey with me! Until then, I remain,

Your friend and fellow seeker   xx