it’s 12:42am, and i’m exhausted, but wide awake. been through every emotion possible in the past 48 hours. i’ve just poured myself a glass of milk and retrieved two double stuffed oreos from the pantry. i never eat oreos. what this says about the space i’m in at the moment, i’m not even sure. just felt like being honest and a tiny bit vulnerable at this crazy hour.
off to dunk cookies and find a forgiving pillow. mm
1 : a small rotating windstorm of limited extent
2 a : a confused rush : whirl <a whirlwind of meetings> b : a violent or destructive force or agency
I am effectively feeling the impacts of both 1 and 2a this week, and thankfully, cannot yet claim familiarity with 2b. And I’ve determined that I don’t so much feel caught up in a whirlwind at the current moment, but more that I am experiencing the aftermath of several days of whirlwind-like activity. Whirlwinded. Just the thing to cause me to desire extra amounts of sleep and to require copious amounts of grace. Perhaps you can relate.
So why all of this “whirlwinded” conversation, you might wonder? In a nutshell, the series of events over the past 5 days…
-boarded the dog, packed a suitcase and traveled home to chicago for mom’s wedding weekend
-arrived in chicago, got settled in at mom-in-law’s, stayed up late(ish), fell into bed after a long week
-rec’d a phone call that grandma kehrer had been taken to the emergency room. spent the afternoon hoping and praying and getting to know ER staff before she was returned via ambulance (Jason in tow) to her care facility
-ran wedding errands, met up with mom, took grandma donna to dinner for her 80th birthday, more errands, then home to help with packaging individual cakes, arranging a bouquet, finishing a wedding day outfit (for the bride) and managing family dynamics. went to bed at 5:30am and woke up at 6am for the big day
-mom to the church for her 9:30am ceremony. flat tire on the way. forgot the bouquet. arrived at 9:20. sorted out details and played wedding coordinator for a little while. ceremony went off without a hitch. photos. church service. second flat tire (our car this time, not mom’s). tire fixed. lunch with a friend. second bouquet pick-up. reception and fireworks (fell asleep to these. i MUST have been tired!)
-home to mom-in-law’s. sleep. woke up to meet dad and sister for coffee. errands. bought a loveseat. in chicago. (still working on that one.) packing up. home to holland. late night sorting things out. four hour night’s sleep.
-phone call at 6am. busy work day. friend in labor three weeks early. with laboring mom from 3pm until 7am this morning. took a nap somewhere between 3am and 3:30am. beautiful baby boy and everyone is healthy and doing well. home. sleep. work from home in the afternoon. dinner.
Present. Whew. I’m whirlwinded just writing it all down. But honestly, I needed to do that. Just needed to put it all on paper (even in shorthand) to plot out the last 5 days and sort them, even a tiny bit, in my head. I’m short on sleep, patience, coordination, but filled up with joy, family, love. The miracle of birth. The fact that I’m becoming a doula and ALL OF THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING. The joy on mom’s face on Sunday. Celebrating a friend’s engagement over lunch and admiring her amazing, history-filled ring in person, even though we’re usually hundreds of miles apart. The fact that I did not have to change a tire in a little black dress and heels, but that a total stranger did it for me. The idea that I’ll go to bed tonight and wake up tomorrow and everything will still be real, and I’ll still be able to feel it.
Life is crazy right now. Seriously, it feels completely chaotic. But the beauty in that is the fact that I’m very much alive and processing it all. A lot has changed in the past 5 days, and some things have stayed the same. Who am I for all of these experiences and memories? I’ll likely be working on figuring that out for a long time. And as I settle down from all of this whirlwindedness, contemplating the how’s and why’s and unpacking everything as I am so inclined to do, I know I’ll continue to find moments of growth, stretching, learning, significance and faith all intertwined. For the moment, I’m just going to turn it all over slowly, like something both bitter and sweet as I taste it all mixed together for the first time.
Whirlwinded. A lingering of pieces which, like the path of a storm, leave behind marked areas of change and unfamiliarity but promise opportunities of refreshment, new growth and greater understanding when they have come to pass.
A few photos from some of the less “whirlwinded” moments of the past several days…
bubbles! (with cousins, at mom and daniel's reception) these never get old...
with gramma, one day after her 80th birthday. i love her SO much!
firework(s)! I woke up in time to take a photo of this one and a few others 🙂
I stepped outside to leave for work this morning, and everything smelled like Africa. This probably sounds entirely strange, but it’s true. I can hardly describe what happens in that moment, when I’m safe and sound in my usual, comfortable routine and something triggers my senses to recall somewhere else incredibly far from home. It’s magical every time, almost like I’m being teleported to another space and date–and every memory that comes up when this happens is a good one. I wish I could bottle this feeling.
To be honest, I woke up in a terrible mood this morning. I hit snooze three or four times, I grumbled about getting up later than planned, and I had one heck of a hard time getting motivated to face the day. But the second I set foot outside our back door, everything shifted. This phenomenon is amazing to me. I’m standing on my back porch, dressed for work in a jacket and heels, juggling keys, computer, water bottle and breakfast, and suddenly, I’m transported to Africa. And not just any Africa. Fresh, bright sunny Africa, on a day when hanging laundry was my biggest charge, when Daphne and Josephine and Bruce would all pass through the seminary kitchen and dining room and we’d exchange greetings, stories, prayers. Africa on an afternoon when we ended the work day with a run through the mission house neighborhood, cleansed from a days’ work with sweat on our necks and miles on our shoes. Africa. Walking through an uncut field to the home of our dear friends, sharing the events of the past week over rooibos tea with milk and sugar, cakes (shortbread-like cookies) on the side.
I miss this place.
For all of the times I wanted to come home, and for all of the days I wouldn’t choose to relive halfway around the world, there were so many wonderful moments, and so many incredible memories still linger…
In the same way that this morning’s fresh air, temperature, sights and sounds brought me back to Africa, this momentary respite from the present and into sweet places from the past happens on other occasions as well. Not long ago, I tasted the streets of Cairo in a bite of peach coffee cake–suddenly transported to the bakery down the street from our rooftop residence, to the sweet shop on the corner with mango and banana ice cream. The busy taxis rushed through my head, the dewy rooftop mornings and every last prayer spoken over its edges and into the city dripped into my spirit. The sunrise, sunset pattern of walking and sharing, worshiping and changing, stretching and longing all flooded back in one mouthful. Memory is a magnificent thing.
I never expect these flashback moments when they happen–am always pleasantly surprised when they do. It must be God, knowing that a recollection, however brief, of seasons that have shaped and molded me will somehow alter my mindset, recharge my system. It was indeed that way this morning. As I settled into the car for the short jaunt across town to begin my “real” day, other days streamed through my mind, filled me up with joyful, thankful emotion, ushered me gracefully away from where I was and placed me, somehow, right back where I needed to be.
I remember the night before my 17th birthday. It was pouring outside. I was cleaning out my closet when Mom and Dad called to see if I wanted to go to dinner and shop for my first car, and I thought they were playing a mean joke. In fact, I cried, then yelled at them for being so cruel on the night before my birthday. Turns out, they weren’t kidding.
We drove from dealership to dealership in the flattening rain, test drove a Saturn, arrived at Toyota. And there it was…the 1996 blue Corolla. My Corolla. I remember them signing the papers, the fake, bright light of the showroom, how it was closing time when we finally headed home. I recall picking it up the next day with my dad and driving it out of the parking lot, tickled. I’d never expected a car because my parents had always told me not to, but there it was. Trust. Freedom. Possibility on four wheels.
Since that day in 1999, my little blue Corolla (“Lola,” as she’s fondly known), has carried me away from home and back again–to school down the road and to school states away. On vacation, to the grocery store. While I’ve pounded out rhythms on my steering wheel, and as I’ve cried my way down highway roads praying aloud. She’s never been in an accident, waited for me as I’ve traveled all over the world and carried all of my belongings to and fro. Needless to say, I’m mildly attached.
Over the past few years, the same car has ushered me into married life, a 9 to 5 job, a permanent address. She has always delivered me safely to my destination. And now, after 11 years and 99,000 some odd miles, it’s time to say goodbye. I’m not entirely sure how I’ll fare when she pulls out of the driveway for the last time, but I can safely say that “Lola” has served me brilliantly in my most formative of years. I trust completely that she will serve her next owner just as well.
For the time being, Lola sits in the driveway sporting bright red “FOR SALE” signs that will hopefully give her the attention she deserves. She’s a darn cute little car, if I may say so, and in the same way that she brought me delight for 11 roadworthy years, she’ll undoubtedly be a great find for the next lucky driver.
A little “Lola” love for those who’d like to appreciate her for themselves 🙂
A little pre-sale photo shoot
Clean and shiny, inside and out!
Riding into the sunset 🙂
A match set
This is my "Selling Lola" face. Sad to see her go, glad to see her go to someone else who will love her....
Thanks, Mom and Dad (and Lola), for all of the miles!
mm
Over Easter, my sister came to town for a few days to visit and to celebrate the most glorious of holidays. Before she arrived, we swapped emails over a period of days…”What will the weather be like in Michigan?”…”What do you want to eat for Easter dinner?”…”What are we going to keep busy with while we talk the weekend away?” The answers went something as follows:
-“Nice, sunny. Warmer than usual, I think.”
-“I’m good with pretty much anything. Ham, maybe? Dyed Easter eggs? What sounds good to you?”
-Sister: “I’ll teach you how to make a journal.” Me: “Really? Awesome. How did you learn to make one?” Sister: “I wanted a journal. So I looked up the instructions online and taught myself.”
There are three brilliant things about the last statement. 1) My sister is practical, crafty, and one of my very favorite people in the world. 2) We’re related. 3) You can find “how to’s” for just about any craft on the internet. And so, I picked her up at the airport in flip flops, we had ham, potatoes, bread, carrot cake and other delightful things for Easter dinner, and in between the cooking and wandering around town, the late night conversations and the story-swapping, my sister taught me how to make this:
after lots of hole punching, threading, cutting, folding and gluing...the finished product
I just think it’s absolutely lovely. There’s not a whole lot I love more than spending time with my sister, creating, and turning our efforts into something useful (and pretty!)
I searched for quite awhile for the right kind of glue for the binding, and discovered it at my new favorite paper store on. the. planet. (No, honestly. I could live there.) Once I found it, it took me a while to commit to actually finishing the project–but it’s finally done. And every time I look at it, I think, “Hm. I made that.” And that feels pretty good.
Now…to decide what to write among its carefully hand-bound pages…
crisp, white, and waiting
pages and binding
inside cover--i LOVE this paper!
natural-looking paper edge. i really like that it turned out this way!
bookmark and binding
journal love.
Now I’m always craving a new project. I’ll be sure to put up photos of my most recent crafty adventure as soon as my Gramma unwraps it this weekend. She’s turning 80, and we’re celebrating. She’s one of my other favorite people in the world. 🙂 Can’t wait!
mm
