I can’t write while I’m moving.
I can surf Zillow for our future, sketch plans of backyard gardens, move furniture in my mind. I jot down new recipes and pin color schemes. Before I can make sense of the rest of life, I have to know where I will slide my children between clean sheets at night, spoon up apple cinnamon oatmeal for their breakfast. As soon as the newly-elected Anglican Church of North America Archbishop answered THAT question in front of the thousands at Provincial Assembly, the one about where the Province office would be located now that he was in charge, I could no longer scratch down words on paper. The plates underneath me shifted. My husband is blessed to be his Canon for Communications.
I could pray, plan, lament, and dream, but I could not write.
I was already creating. I was creating home.
Madeleine L’Engle shared in a magazine article I no longer remember the name of, that she could not write while she was pregnant. She was already creating, a mass of twisting, brilliant cells becoming a person. It was like that.
We moved to a yellow house owned by a Vietnamese landlord in Loganville, GA. Yellow painted on the outside. Five shades of yellow on the inside: pale buttercream to mustard. Yellow everywhere. My mother’s vietnamese friend said that yellow makes them feel at home, where the sunshine was spread thick over their days.
It makes me feel at home too. Yellow makes me dream of hillside towns in Italy on the riviera where I was born. I’ve never been bold enough to fill a roller with liquid sunshine, paint the interior of my life pure light.
Last year we moved from our Michigan parish of ten years the very same weekend as this year’s move, Labor Day. Last year I walked around Sewickley, PA off-center for months like I had an inner ear infection. The boxes stayed piled up in the basement unopened and I forgot to feed my children vegetables. This year I bought bottles of Green Goodness to pour into paper cups.
This move has been different. This year I’ve learned to fall on Jesus. I’ve learned to lean back and ride the turbulence (more on that later). I’ve learned to ask for what I need. A friend. A prayer. An exercise center. I’ve learned that although I may still hear my voice echo in the emptiness of a life less full, He is faithful and He is ALWAYS GOOD. I was a witness. I watched Him rebuild a life, mine.
Hi friends, I’m finally looking to the future. My dad and I have a book proposal sitting on an agent’s desk. Lord have mercy! Please pray with us? For a champion…for patience.
There will be an e-book coming out soon.
I need your help. I’m also looking to October and 31 Days to write on a single subject. Here are the two possibilities: The Kingdom of God in our home: House of Bread or 31 Days to Fall in Love with your Hometown. What do you think? Want to vote? The Kingdom of God at Home (This post fleshed out) or Loving Wildly Right Where You are (This post fleshed out).
Come along? Slip your email in the “connect” box on the front page and we’ll continue to journey together.