To Be With You

First things first, I want you to know that when I say I’ll do something, I will do it. Especially when I pinky promise you I’ll eat more ice cream. I don’t mess around with stuff like that.

Now that we’ve gotten the important things out of the way, we can talk Life. Big things have been in the works, and luckily for you, I am the sort of person who writes my life across the Internet. Well, the first thing you should know is that I’m officially a corn-shucker. No, seriously, I have the pictorial evidence to prove it. (Perhaps you can pick up on how often I shuck corn, since when I do do it, I yell, “Somebody better get a picture of this!”)

In an effort to broaden my horizons (because staying in place is boring, and also because most of my sidekicks have planted themselves elsewhere this July), I’ve been all around the world this week. Well, actually, I’ve just been all around my world, which stretches to Lake Martin, out to my parents’ street, and back to Tuscaloosa. But those, streets, man—I know them. And when my (three! [This is new! Another occupation!]) jobs part to create that glorious breath of fresh air called weekend, I start hightailing it to my people. (Alternatively, I Skype them, which is convenient because it does not require driving, but less wonderful because it does not include the true in-personness we people people like.) So, I spent some time driving. First, to the lake.

Have you guys ever been to yoga? Or have you ever lost your cool really extravagantly? What I’m asking is have you ever needed to get some place perfect really quickly, so you conjure up some space of tranquility? This is mine—my true blue happy place. It has something to do with the hammock, and the copious amounts of watermelon, and the dock. It has everything to do with the people and the way you can feel God when you’re riding the water (on the boat. I don’t engage in crazy activities.) As I’ve grown into this me who’s almost adult, it’s been a constant place of refuge. It has the same kind of comfort as my faded purple pajama pants (which I’m never giving away.) As soon as I pull up, I feel all of the world’s strings snap and I’m free again. And if you’ve got an ache of the head or the belly or the heart, there are hands waiting to fix you. My own “Tintern Abbey,” I think. I suppose it goes without saying that I go there every chance I get (I’m not alone in this.) This particular weekend, we had equal amounts of sunbathing and Charades-playing with quite the cast of characters.

Now here’s where I guess I’ll admit that spent a whole 30 minutes on my way back to Tuscaloosa Monday morning searching in the rain for a Starbucks, because once you get the idea of a latte in your head, it is really difficult to wrap your heart around gas station coffee (I tried. I really did.) Actually, I could see the Starbucks from the other side of the six-lane highway amidst 8 a.m. traffic, and I’d like to call that half hour, “Perseverance.” And I guess I should admit here that the latte was completely worth the gas, time, wet hair, and $3.87 that I sacrificed for it. Coffee forever.

The very next day I was entreated back to the lake for the night, mostly for my own little self, who wasn’t really hyped up on an empty apartment. This part is important because I had this moment. (You with me, Joanna?) Here’s what happened: I was driving along that same highway, in the dark, feeling fairly content. My mind was tumbling with all sorts of new thoughts, and driving is just the thing to get them all in line, am I right? Anyway, I’m straightening these things out and listening to music, and during the climax of this song, fireworks began to explode in the distance. I wasn’t close enough to hear them, though, so it was as if I was watching this happen from much farther away and it was as if—bear with me—I was in a movie. Watching my own life, I mean. It was as if I had a soundtrack. Did I ever tell you that I wanted to be a movie star when I was eight years old? This satisfied that dream in this strange, magical way. Like Kurt Vonnegut says, “I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.'”

The next day was actually the ice-cream eating and corn-shucking, and the life-regaling to my parents, who took me along to the store with them and probably regretted that decision. I felt a little bit six years old as I followed them around while they chose tomatoes asking, “And did I tell you about. . .? And the other day at work. . .” We celebrated ‘Merica in the best way (in my opinion, but then again, I’m not partial to baseball-playing, which is also a good way to celebrate America, I’ve heard): cheeseburgers, peach cobbler, fireworks, and bug spray. Red, white, and blue forever. (Texas, too.)

I got home on the fifth day of the seventh month to an email inbox screaming my name (seriously, I’m getting a major in journalism with minors in coffee-drinking and emailing.) I got home to so. much. laundry. (I’m in the bad habit of emptying my bag on the floor, so I could look at a pile and reminisce: “Oh, Tuesday’s clothes! Tuesday was fun!”) I got home, and I thought, “It’s not really home without them.” So I’m going back (tomorrow.) And the rest of them are coming home (next month.)

And until then, we can use our words.

“I got your letter.”

“I miss you.”

“See you soon.”

Glory Days

“They, too, observed the Lord’s power in action,
    his impressive works on the deepest seas. . . .                                                                                                                    

  Let them praise the Lord for his great love
    and for the wonderful things he has done for them.

Let them exalt him publicly before the congregation
    and before the leaders of the nation.”

—Psalm 107:23, 31–32

It’s like they tell you it is: It all happens so fast. One day, you’re wiping your sweaty hands on your khaki shorts as your parents drive away from your dorm room, and the next, you’re a senior. One day, you’re having very serious discussions about batting eyelashes and getting butterflies with your best friend, and the next, you’re Pinteresting wedding ideas like it’s your job. One day, you’re moving into an apartment with your favorite people, and the next, you’re preparing to let one go. Blah blah blah, life is like that. And sometimes what you need isn’t another emotional blog post. It’s not a tear-filled conversation with your mother. No, it’s simpler than all of that: it’s two cups of coffee. It’s sand in your sheets. Sunshine on your shoulders. Sea foam on your toes. And those favorite people a beach towel away, calling your name.

Being a grown up isn’t a piece of cake, kids. And since we’re only standing on the horizon of that, we get to do things like pack up our bags and hightail it out of life for a while. As you might be gathering, that is what we did. We took it down to the ocean, and let me tell you, the next time I’m asked, “What is your favorite day?” I’ll actually have an answer. That’s not to say anything particularly monumental happened, though it all seems pretty mighty, but that everything just breezed along so wonderfully that I thought, “Yes, this, this is how I want to be forever.” Wishful thinking, maybe, but for a few days, it was all fun and games. And no one got hurt.

I guess what made it so perfect was the brilliant combination between everything lovely in my life. It started out with a 7 a.m. wakeup call (I’m one of those weird morning people) and a latte or five. And then the fun began.

One of the most incredible things, second maybe only to the shark sighting or the fish tacos, was that every single time I looked at the water, the glory of God shook my soul. I’ve lived life thinking I know all about the glory of God, but I’m finding that the closer I get to Him, the less I can wrap my brain around the wonder that He is.

“I realized I was seeing the brightness of the Lord’s glory! So I bowed with my face to the ground, and just then I heard a voice speaking to me.”

—Ezekiel 1:28

Standing in the waves, staring at the stars, singing love songs to our Savior—moment after moment was stitched with His awesomeness, and I would find myself standing so still, as if the tiniest movement might distract the world from looking at Him. And being caught up in Him like that, with my mind so acutely aware of His significance and sovereignty, grew everything single inch of me (not the same kind of growing that happened from the ice cream eating every night, mind you.) In a word, it was glorious. And I was kidding about the fish tacos maybe being better, although they were really good.

And as we’re partaking in that, running again and again into the ocean to get washed in His truth, we found ourselves together. See, it’s an incredible thing, standing at the edge of the ocean and taking in the glory of God, whispering His name and hearing Him answer, singing to the sky and knowing He could hear you. But there’s another lovely thing called fellowship, I think, or friendship, or “you get me,” or whatever, and we have it. It’s something that pays no attention to miles or life stages or busy schedules, but it does require nurturing. This was a time of just that.

I almost wish I could tell you about the conversations we had—how we were torn apart and then carefully stitched back together by each other. I wish I could write about how we laid out fears and fancies on the table; how we soothed and strengthened those threads between us until we were certain they could bear the weight of distance; how we laughed our way through whole days for no particular reason. But you wouldn’t really get it, and you see, it’s ours, anyway. So just believe what I’m telling you: It’s all really worth it, to give to people and let them give back to you.

After all that, you’re probably wondering if it could get any better, or maybe you are rolling your eyes, and I totally understand that. I really like to think I’m not a cheesy person, but then I’m all crying over The Vow and all that jazz. But this happened, too: I was absorbing Tuesday’s UV rays on the beach, dividing my attention between listening to Ingrid Michaelson and trying to convince Norm not to go back into the water after the shark frenzy, when I remembered that I was 2.3 hours away from piling the sand and Joanna in the car to come back for work. I sent Haley a text message that said, “I miss you. . .but I wish you were here instead of me being there! I am having a brilliant time!” An hour later, when I was fully trying to convince Norm to sing Ingrid Michaelson with me by the pool, I got this response:

The next time the conversation turns to emotional roller coasters at a dinner party, this is the trump card I will play. Suddenly, there were 24 more hours, which seemed like a lifetime, and that was the thing that pushed the splendor over the edge. Not only did I get at least a million more hugs from my girls and two shirts from the Gap outlet the next day, but I got to stay for taco night. Seriously.

On Wednesday evening, I stood in a parking garage with my little family, and said, “Hey! Roommates forever!” because even though it was our last moment as official residents of Apt. 1906, and even though we wouldn’t see Joanna for three months, and even though we know we’ll probably eventually be scattered around the country for much longer than we’ve spent together, it’s like that. Maybe it took all those cups of coffee, or all those long talks, or all the moments worshipping the Lord together, or all of us standing on the edge of the ocean for it to be just fine. Or maybe it was just that one moment, crying in a parking garage, halfway laughing that we were, in fact, crying in a parking garage, embracing under the anthem of “Roommates forever!”

And there it was again, the glory of God, all wrapped up in a hug in a parking garage. Because of that, it’s one day you meet, and three years later, you’re best friends forever. It’s just a taste of His goodness, but it’s glorious.