April 27, 2015

Changing Seasons

The sun beats hot on my face and chest, tempered by a dainty little breeze. I squint.

All I can see is spring.

The youngness of the tree leaves and the too-soon-overgrown grass, and the sun that is warm instead of frosty. 

I marvel that slow and imperceptible movements of growing plants can affect such visible change in the blink of an eye.

It is a day for blankets on front lawns and kicked-off slippers and cool drinks and processing overgrown thoughts. And I feel the wind find the cracks between my toes and I just think.

Change. It's everywhere I see. Running through every thought I think.

It's the grass and the leaves and the flowers that popped up last week. It's the faithful Honda Civic in the driveway that's to be sold and gone next week. My baby. And I'm sad to see it go, and I'm glad to see it go and the glad will win this time because it's for the best.

It's the church next door that was only a dream this time last year and now has windows and doors and roof tiles and bricks laid all neat-like up three walls. It's the memories of hundreds of things that have happened here in this little town --at this crazy little school that has been laughter and growth and we-love-you-no-matter-what to me for so long.

I relive memories of ten years. Adolescent awkwardness with bad jokes and erratic behaviors slowly gaining in responsibility and privilege and love. Changes slow and imperceptible. Yet they too seem to have happened in the mere blink of a second.

Things change. I change. I am changing.

My life has changed faster in these past five months than I could chase. The process of me becoming we is a challenging one in many ways. Yes, it is light and laughter and love and everything everyone says. But it is also reflection, and quiet, and seeing yourself through new eyes and painful realization of things you never saw before. It is learning how deeply self is entrenched in your heart and it is the beauty of giving all in surrender. It is learning how to think as a married person and not as a single. Choosing what is best for us instead of what's best for me.

And it's wonderful.

Truly the God who bent over dust and breathed life, created joy when he thought "It is not good for man to be alone." Man alone of all created beings lives to get for selfish gains. All of the rest of creation from the raindrop to the tall, jungle tree lives to give, and in marriage we come back close to that purpose of our creation. And we give for the joy of the other. And it is deeper joy for us.

And I catch myself staring at him as we sit for breakfast, struck by the goodness of this gift that God has given me, and thinking how it's a little silly that I feel sorry for all the girls who will never know how amazing it is to be married to him. And he looks up and says, "What?" And I tell him he's kind of great and he smiles.

And then I catch myself in the same morning irritated at him for rushing us out of the house before I felt like leaving. And I feel schizophrenic. Or ungrateful at best. And the experienced wives tell me that it's all part of learning to love and that love can't be full until all the self-spots are scrubbed away. And so I let the self go and everything is good again.

Then other times it's a bigger thing and so we talk. He tells me his view and I tell him mine. And he screws his face into the cutest expression and asks me what planet I'm from and we laugh. And he bends himself over backward to resolve the issue.

And I don't see as much growth in me as I feel like I'd like to see, but maybe it, too, is like the growing grass and the unfurling leaves on the oak tree-- imperceptible, but quiet sure and steady. Before I know it maybe I'll look back and see that it all seemed like it happened in the blink of an eye.

And I lean into the change, and I grow.

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