Boy. Time sure does fly.
I’ve been slacking on the writing thing, dear reader, and for that I apologize.
We have a running debate here at the Jackson House (and, I suppose, in every CAP community) regarding whether or not our existence here constitutes “real life.” Undoubtedly, the work we’re doing and the people with whom we’re working are as real as it gets. Status-related, materialistic things like the size of one’s house, the make of one’s car, and the brand of one’s clothing are entirely inconsequential; basic survival is key, especially in the winter. I have to smile (albeit a little sardonically) this time of year as all of us are bombarded with countless advertisements for “the perfect gift.” Even my beloved J. Crew is promoting a cashmere/jewel/shoe of the month club for that special lady in your life. Know what my most-requested gift was this year from my elderly folks? Socks.
At the same time, though, this stripped-down version of the day-to-day is punctuated by instances of surrealism that do cause one to take a step back, shake her head, and ponder whether or not she’s just dreamt it all. It’s easy to get swept up, wrapped up, and caught up in the now-presumed miracle that begins each day with my eyes opening in dusky gray light that whispers “good morning” to our hollow before the sun does and ends when I slip into blissful unconsciousness before my head even hits my pillow at night. And that’s a good thing, really. I love being in love with my life here – with my participants, my community, and my surroundings – however real or unreal it is. The trouble is that it occasionally causes me to neglect the owners of the precious eyes that read these words now. And that’s no good.
At any rate, here we are in December. My one year anniversary is fast-approaching, and it blows my mind. I feel like if I were to come face-to-face with the girl who moved here at the end of last January, I’d cock my head to the side, a half-smile on my face, and try to place where, exactly, I knew her from. I remember driving slowly down Sandlick Road after spending a couple of days in Rockcastle on account of the snow and ice encapsulating my new home, my heart beating fast and my knuckles white on the steering wheel. I had only an idea then of how much my life would change, of the joy and pain my heart would experience, of the people I would meet and the situations I would encounter that would completely and utterly alter the rest of my time on this earth. I think I still only have an idea; there’s never all that much time to stop and think about it too much.
I wonder what she’d say to me. I look the same as she does – a little thinner, perhaps, and with a lot less hair. Knowing her, she’d shake my hand, trying to project a little more confidence than she was feeling, smile real big, and ask me to tell her a story. I know what I’d tell her.
Spend as much time as you can outside in the spring, and pick armfuls and armfuls of wild daffodils. The rock you hike to during WorkFest and YouthFest? That’ll be your retreat; go there more often than you feel like you need to. Speaking of retreats, soak up every second you can out on the porch before it gets too cold. Somehow the day just feels better when you’ve greeted the sun as it comes up over that hill. Keep your laptop away from liquids: you’ll miss your music a lot when it’s gone.
You’re going to have countless incredibly wonderful days, but you’re definitely going to be blind-sided by some rough ones, too. Just remember to keep your heart as light as a feather. Head up; chin up. Nothing is permanent: you are a temp. Beware of windshield time: I know you’ve never really had the chance to over-think before, but you will this year, and you won’t like it. Don’t ask too much of people. Actually, don’t ask for or expect anything of them.
Spend more time at that participant’s house, and when this one’s leg starts hurting, tell him to go to the hospital right away. This lady’s heart is broken; let her talk. And that one is terribly lonely; talk to her. On a lot of days, you’re going to be tired. Push yourself to get one more visit in before you go home. It means so much, and it’s why you’re here.
Don’t let Julia go off that rope swing. Watch out for that dumpster when you’re backing up the fifteen-passenger van. Spend more time in conversation with Steve. Bend those banjo strings, girl. Invest time and energy in your participants and in your community, but remember to save some of yourself for God. I know, I know. You find Him in those other things, too. That’s good. But give God His time. You’ll need it. When the light hits the frost in the morning when you go down that stretch off of 421 on your way to Booneville, go ahead and pull over. Take that minute. Same goes for that place up on Marcum Ridge. And when the spring rolls around and your senses are overwhelmed by the smell of a hundred different wildflowers as you start your walk down the driveway, let your heart do a somersault. Those are the moments that will get you through the not-so-stellar days. And love, love, love. It may surprise you, you naïve little thing, but it’s not always going to be a walk in the park. No matter how tough it gets, do it anyway. It’s the best kind of prayer.
There’s an underlying tone of departure in this post, I realize. I still have time left here in Kentucky, but it feels like my heart is already on the leaving side of “goodbye.”
Time sure does fly.
