A few days away, going nowhere, and, actually, diving into it all..

This past weekend was really great. It seemed like a microcosm of what our life is really like. Or, rather, what we like our life to be like. It's been awhile since we've been able to really live it all out - usually our days are: wake up, coffee, farm/greenhouse, scramble to get stuff done, kiss cheeks, have Luke rush me to work, Luke farming/working until I call him after 10pm, saying, 'hi, can you come get me?' and then spend the last few minutes before bed reading/talking/crying/drinking an old fashioned.

We both took off of our non-farming jobs this weekend to participate in wedding festivities, of which my husband had certain groomsmen duties.  That meant we enjoyed a great rehearsal dinner at a fancy-shmancy place downtown and two fun nights thereafter, with plenty of celebratory food and drink to fill our bellies, great reminders of our duties as husband/wife, and praise to God, the Father, for his Gospel.  This is the thing you must know about us: we love good food and drink. We especially love when said food and drink are FREE. It's like the best, most special gift we can think of (but, that just goes to show you how unimaginative we are).

More than anything, it was great to be together. We farmed a bit, Luke planted peas while I washed 10 dozen eggs in the sunshine. I did some cleaning in the house and crying in the bedroom.  My husband has been amazing during this time of mourning and grief. He has held me, listened to me, corrected me, encouraged me, and pointed me to my Heavenly Father, my Anchor. He's reminded me of stories about my dad, lamented my regrets with me, and has never said, "It's going to be alright".  He has always said, "Come, Lord, Jesus" in some form that says in chorus with my heart, "This is not the way it's supposed to be." It will only be alright when Jesus comes, and not a moment before.

All that said, I realized I had not cried by myself in awhile - just letting the tears come without punctuation or words. It's not the way I want to live my life forever, but it is the way my life is right now. And I know it is a luxury to be able to stop. and. cry. To mourn with simplicity.

One thing the Holy Spirit reminded me of  early in this process is that God is good. And because of that, he is leading me through this time of mourning. My Father knew before I did that my dad was going to take his own life. He knew the heartache I and my family were about to endure.  And He led us all into it. I have nothing but his path before me. I trust He is leading. And that His leadership is good. How can I know these things? You might ask. That is faith, friends. There are certain truths and certainties that come with having faith and they can neither be explained nor given evidence unless you daily endeavor to know who God is. My lack of explanation isn't a tool for de-bunking Christianity, it is an affirmation of the tension we live in as Christians: God is mysterious - cannot be completely understood - and yet He has given us the ability to know Him and understand His ways through His Word, His Holy Spirit, and His Creation.
Here is a rudimentary example to explain what I mean: Before working a lengthy Algebra problem for the first time, one can't cite a line from the middle of the solution until you work it - step by step. You may even know the answer (x=2, for example). But how do you arrive there? How many steps does it take? Faith is the same. Know there is an answer at the end,  follow Christ to the Father and know He will give you everything you need along the way, guarding your heart and mind to trust Him.

Last night, after a day of church and a lunch picnic with the family, we had friends over on our back porch, sitting under twinkly lights and eating yummy food and drinking yummy wine. We laughed and felt the breeze chill our shoulders as afternoon gave way to evening. We told stories about vomiting and crying. The fellas danced in the living room in the dark - doing strange pirouettes to Bonnie Prince Billy. I think we all went to our beds feeling like we had done a great thing to take advantage of such a nice evening and fellowship.

Luke and I awoke at 3-something this morning, our open eyes silently meeting each other. My head was filled with thoughts, and Luke's head met mine with strangely, equally well-formed responses. I went downstairs for a glass of water and realized that our dog was so sick. We spent the next hour cleaning up her mess and her, then sitting bleary-eyed on the couch at 5am, talking about our marriage. I guess, sometimes, when you're that tired, things become more clear.  Because we were finally able to get to the heart of some issues that had been troubling us for some time. We finally went back to sleep and woke later to realize the day had started without us.

Now here we are, another storm front moving through. Damaging winds and cold promised.  Let's see what happens.

I've come here to write thoughts down many times recently. The truth is, I just haven't been able to make it happen. I don't know what to tell you. I can't find the words to build a bridge from where I was to where I've found myself now. To be honest, only a very few have come with me across that great divide. They found their way with me.  We all traveled unknowingly, but we walked that darkness together. What an amazing comfort.

Let me be plain. This is what it means to grieve with someone: To plant your feet firmly with theirs, to boldly brush off the haunting words "awkward," "appropriate," or "silence" and just be. There is no one who is leading the hurting or their companions, but Christ. And he knows no awkwardness and never did anything appropriate and the only silence is the mystery of himself.  He will show you what to do.

I can't write pages for you about the misery and horror and sorrow that entered my life the moment I found out that my Daddy died, seemingly, at his own hand. I relive that moment often enough, but the hours and necessary days and now nearly months that have followed are all chronicled somewhere else that I can't reach.  I can't come back for you and walk you through them all again.

And so it's strange for me to write here with so much going unsaid. I lost my Daddy.  Every day I lose him all over again, it seems. I grieve, I miss, I hurt, I weep, I regret, I long for, I remember.  This is my life: joy and sorrow always together.  I'm sorry if the words I chose were not the right ones for this first post.

It's not the way it's supposed to be.

Come and heal us, Lord Jesus. Come and make it all new.

one point five

Today we're celebrating 1.5 years of marriage. Luke woke me up initially by telling me he re-set the alarm for me, and then when I turned off that alarm and went back to sleep, he woke me a third time with this great spread of our favorite breakfast foods. Can't beat grapefruit juice in the morning. Can't beat a husband who loves cookin' me eggs.

And if you think it's silly/adorable/absurd that we're celebrating the 1.5 marker, I should tell you that during our first year of matrimony we celebrated a little something we liked to call monthiversaries. 

date cards

On a recent date night, Luke decided to present me with some options via these date cards. On the outside of these notes are visual representations of the dates described within. Can you guess what each one is? (at one point, I thought luke was going to buy me a puppy. that was not true.)

Also, today we took a tour of Woodland Farms (owned by Steve Wilson of 21c and Proof) in Goshen and met sweet Stephanie who runs the garden there.  It's a sight to behold and you can only come by invitation.  We were also lucky enough to watch some of my co-workers try to cross the pond via zip-line and not even come close to making it.  Then, 1 of the 3 said co-workers hung upside down like a monkey and shimmied himself across the zip-line to untangle it, only to have it tangle again when he dropped back into the water. Maybe it's one of those "you had to be there" moments, but I'll tell you, there was a lot of laughing happening. And maybe some snarky jokes.

labor day weekend: a little less labor, a lot of frisbeer and babes

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sunday

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a sassy barista making sassy drinks.

 a sunlit window and 2 chairs just for us.

groce family lunch. sweet zinny with luke; loula and proud papa simon. 

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monday

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ending work early. buying cheese and beer. loading up the "picnic backpack". the new favorite game, frisbeer/beer pole/bottle topple, and it's fierce (and I mean fierce) competitors. ladies loungin' on the blanket with the small ones who need us. boys climbin' trees and making us laugh. shorts too short and hats just right. what else is new?

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husband

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weekday dates

After a long weekend full of work and work and working and doing some more work, Lukey and I had a nice Monday date. We bought a loaf of bread, some gouda and swiss, and opened a bottle of Trader Joe's Malbec for the occasion. It really was a pretty divine evening, as you can tell from the photo above. But not without a near disaster. Bear with me.

I think there is a temptation in blogging - probably the very reason why blogging is so popular - to put your best face forward. To create an image of yourself and your life that is both palatable and desirable by others. The great freedom of blogging is that it can be as brazen or as glossy as you want . My thoughts on this have kind of stemmed from my increasing boredom in looking at blogs that are predictable and formulaic - sweet and light like baby's breath, to dark and strung out like a hipster's hair-do. But, also, and maybe especially, from my own blogging. It's easy to post pretty pictures of the farm, sweet stories about what we're eating and doing, or dates we've had. And, in a way, that's all I want to show you, because that's what I want to remember most.

But, really, there's more. And farming isn't easy. And being a farmer's wife isn't easy. And dealing with sin is amplified when you're too busy or too apathetic or too exhausted to care.

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So, that's our life - there's a lot of beauty in it to be thankful for. And, certainly, my husband is a man above the rest - and I wonder at God's mercy in giving him to me - but there are times when we choose not to love each other well. When a long day at work, or a day's worth of failed expectations, or poor communication mars our beautiful, sun-glowing image of a couple in love - a couple who believes that there is no condemnation for us; a couple who recited at their wedding "I will forgive you as I have been forgiven". 


 For example, the aforementioned Monday date. We planned the date because it would be our last evening together that week before I left town for the weekend. We planned to skip out on the farm that afternoon and drive to the quarry, have a picnic and good conversation. One errand led to another, one task ran into the next, and before we knew it, two o'clock had become five and five became seven. I was disappointed and inconsolable, Luke was discouraged by his unloving wife. After multiple attempts to challenge me (which turned into urging and then to begging) to choose to be happy about the date we landed on, I finally, reluctantly, came round. 


Sometimes there's just something so comfortable about sitting waist-deep in the muck of your sinful choices.  I've always loved rebellion - it's my comfort zone, you might say.  So it's still a hard thing for me to remember that Christ has made for a different script when it comes to those situations:  I don't have to choose this anger anymore, I can and should be gracious with my husband, I don't have to be prideful or angry that I didn't choose it sooner, I am NOT condemned for being an unloving wife, Luke will forgive me when I apologize, we can reconcile and forget and enjoy the last rays of golden sunlight tonight.
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Luke and I on a Sunday date.  It's the second Sunday I've had off work since May and the first time we've had the whole day together since then. It was really glorious.  And I mean that - with all the highs and lows and in-betweens - we had it all. We want it all.

taking care of things

From Thursday to today, Luke was out of town in Atlanta with his bros. I say "bros," because it seems the best word to use for a group of 12 college friends who have spent the entire year planning said weekend around any leisure sport they can come up with. Note the word leisure in that last sentence.

So, I, for the first time, was home taking care of things. And I really enjoyed it. I spent the week prior to his departure concocting surprises for him upon his return. Volunteers came out to the farm to help me pick for the market - and we weeded, hoed, planted, and picked til I didn't think I could move anymore. That night, I found myself asleep at 6 o'clock, drooling (yes, literally) on my pillow. So, I cleaned myself up and went to Proof on Main for a treat (it helps when you work there. They give you special surprises in the form of Pappy Van Winkle 15 year....). I missed Luke's company. Before we dated, I would often go out to bars or restaurants by myself and truly enjoyed it - the freedom of singleness, I suppose. But, as I sat there, drinking my bourbon and watching the bar televisions with no sound (and no captions), I thought, I don't really miss this at all. The conversation that Luke and I have is so good. The way we enjoy food is so mutual. His company is really the best part of going out to fancy places like that.

The next morning I rose early to prepare for the market. It took me several hours and I was very, very tired. This may have been the only part of the weekend that I didn't enjoy. Contrary to what you might think about me, my least favorite part of farming is the farmer's market. I'm not sure if it's because we haven't generated a following yet or if folks' critical comments about our hard-earned produce pricks my anger...but I usually gladly let Luke take this area over. Noel and Tyler and Royal came to the rescue around 11 and brought me some coffee and company.

The last surprise of the weekend was to fix the greenhouse and mow our front and back yard. I wish I had a 'before' picture of this for those of you who aren't familiar with the disaster that was our yard. Every time I looked at the combination of our trash-filled, overgrown yard and our greenhouse-turned-junkyard, I thought about how we're supposed to be combating the ghetto, not contributing to it.

So, two friends from community group came over and, boy, did we do it. Jennifer picked out all the volunteer tomato plants, random bricks and trash, and extension chords from amidst the weeds while Steve and I started to tackle the greenhouse. His mathematical mind and compulsion to finish tasks completely, came in real handy. It was hot. Much hotter than I thought it would be. And we were right in the sun the whole time. When Steve took a break for water, you would wonder how he had time to down a 16oz glass before he was back out in the heat. BUT we got it finished. And I mowed the lawn and weeded after they left, dripping with sweat and sticky with salt and dirt.

Now, Luke is on his way home and I am having coffee on the front porch, resting from the weekend's work. I had a great time taking care of things. I keep saying that; it seems the best way to describe the simplicity and the work of this weekend. I've loved anticipating Luke's reactions to the work, but also I've just enjoyed doing the work: being the farmer, tending to the home, and enjoying the pleasure of seeing it all completed.

Today is Sunday and I am resting (for the first Sunday since May, actually). The only thing I didn't finish on my list of surprises was to learn stick shift (I know, lame that I don't already know). But I'm okay with that. I might see if I can clean out his truck for him before he gets home...

update: I did clean out the truck. I had to bust out the shop-vac to pick up years worth of dirt and debris. Oh, man, I'm so excited for him to see it!