brace yourself

stairwell accompaniment:Howie Day

And it’s astounding how I can write about the most mundane events and occurances in my life and when the moments that I live for arrive (and leave), I so often hesitate to fit them into sentences. I survived (thrived on?) my first doula birth this week and Sarah danced through one of the most beautiful births I’ve ever witnessed to present us with the perfect Eve Marie: 6lbs 11 oz of life.

I’ll conjure up all the words I can gather from my thoughts and feelings on the event…later.

But I can’t undertand it. Today I wonder about him. And I can’t explain how some moments he can make me feel undeniably beautiful and loved. And then there are the times when he can expose me feeling so very ugly and leave me feeling lost. Because now I feel that.

no answers

stairwell accompaniment:Counting Crows- Anna Begins

I do go through these phases. Sometimes I dread putting my thoughts into words. (Amber, you don’t think in words? You ask. Not always.) I don’t even want to make sense of it all sometimes. Other times I journal on my own. It’s this blue indie looking leather-bound thing. My handwriting is loopy and messy and indecipherable. If I ever misplaced it I’m sure I would experience side-effects much like that of a heart attack. My journal is so very often my sanity. I explained it to Chad once by saying that my thoughts look so much more manageable and concise if they are in black in white. No, it doesn’t always leave much room for an artistic visual beautiful thoughtlife. Sometimes beauty is overrated and sanity highly highly underrated–in my mind of course. And then come times like this. Phases like this when I want nothing more than to write. Write and be heard. Write and even if no one hears I will hear myself. Loudly. Write until it makes sense. Write until I see it all. Clearer. Write until I’m no longer recalling. Write, write until I am grounded and I feel Him under my feet. Right here and right now.

So I wonder in my head why I feel the need to sometimes write publicly. I don’t particularly love talking to people about what I write here. I do love to hear when people relate to my jumbledmessylife but I don’t often want to explain myself when other don’t see it as I do. My sister laughs at me and (I’m sure) shakes her head because now you are all picturing me in my underwear and tanktop and I have few inhibitions with publicity. I don’t know many of you. But do you know me? Do my scraped knees and confused emotions look familiar? Do you feel the same heartbreak and the same self-doubt? The need to laugh and laugh again because this is life? Do any of you feel the same need to know and be known by others? To write?

the name game

stairwell accompaniment:The Shins-Caring is Creepy

What is it like to be me today?

Things I love today:

*The hilarity in catting and jowling and how confused you all are now wondering what the heck catting and jowling are.

*Truth

*Being on-call and never, ever knowing what to expect in childbirth.

*Our unshoveled steps that require outstanding agility and snow climbing expertise.

*Identities erased.

*Sharing with someone something that you desperately love and seeing in their face that they don’t appreciate it at all the way you do.

*The ability to serve God more effectively together than each of you could separately = a relationship worth investing in.

*Miles and miles of mountains and I ask for the sea.

*The mobile yellow pages.

*Reading.

“What the world longs for from the Christian religion is the witness of men and women daring enough to be different, humble enough to make mistakes, wild enough to be burned in the fire of love, real enough to make others see how unreal they are. Jesus, Son of the living God, anoint us with the fire this day. Let your Word not shine in our hearts, but let it burn. Let there be no division, compromise, or holding back. Separate the mystics from the romantics and goad us to that daredevil leap into the abyss of your love.”

-Manning

“If God is your partner — make your plans large.”

D.L. Moody

“I want to know God’s thoughts, the rest are details.” –Albert Einstein–

…leaving only traces behind us here…

Old Tipp

stairwell accompaniment:The Postal Service- Brand New Colony

When I was in highschool I worked at a coffee shop. It was no chain store, brand name java place. I knew nearly every small-town customers name, often their favorite drink and I loved mopping the floors in the evenings after closing. Locking the doors, pulling the OPEN sign chain, allowing Louis Armstrong to serenade my waltz with the aged mop. Aged like the black and white tile on the floor, the brick walls and the bells above the door that sang a short song each time a customer entered. The sound of steaming the milk, grinding the beans, and most definitely the sound of conversations- the type of conversations that can only be spoken over a warm mug. I loved that coffee shop. And in the summer I would leave the double door open to the porch. I would scoop icecream for the kids and it would drip and they would laugh- sticky. In the slow winter I would bring my school books and sit by the window. I would open them and never once glance at the pages…my eyes fixed on the falling snow and the old brick buildings. It’s amazing how nostalgic snow can be when your hands are warmed by a tea-filled ceramic mug- the world looks different. Different with worn tile under your feet. Different with brick walls that have cracks with stories to tell. Different with Louis Armstrong melodies and velvet chairs.

the disciple

stairwell accompaniment: Eisley

On the phone, making eggs today I admitted to Josh that when I think of the life I would love to live and when I imagine the ways I could spend my time and settle on the ones that would make me most grateful…today was a day full of grateful humility and unhindered joy.

I know that I can take my human feelings, multiply them exponentially into infinity and I will still only have a hint of the love of God revealed by and in Jesus Christ. God is loving me this moment just as I and and not as I should be. There is nothing I can do to increase His love for me and nothing I can do to diminish it. Who am I to deserve a day full of such passion?

And I’m understanding that I can have it daily. (although I don’t often choose it) To be aware and alert of the presence of God manifested in a piece of music, a kiss, an encouraging word from a friend, a thunderstorm, a sunrise or sunset, a rainbow, today: in the subtle thud thud of the fetal monitor and the excitement on the faces of expectant parents. It requires an inner freedom from self created through prayer. Gratefulness is born of a prayerfulness that helps us notice the marvels of God. Marvels that made my day.