Not a sermon post. Not any sort of organized, bulleted variations on a theme. Just some thoughts at 8:15 in the ay-ehm and a reflection on my first month of living in community.
So I was cleaning the girls' side back porch the other day, and it presented me with an interesting task - separating the "good dirt", which I would transport to the front garden, from the "bad dirt" which was mostly rocks and twigs that I would dispose of elsewhere. I noticed that the soil didn't start getting nice and dark and fertile-smelling until it was full of disgusting things. Decaying insect carcasses, moldy and withered leaves, rotted pecan shells. That was the dirt I wanted. That was the soil with the potential to nourish our garden.
I know that this is the stuff of third grade science projects and no real revelation to anyone, but I felt very akin to those broken, diffused dead things in the ground at the time and it was comforting to think that I may at least be useful for something. That, in fact, I have to be dead in order to be of ANY use to the Gardener. (Romans 6:8) Death--to ourselves, our pride, our entitlement--unlocks the nutrients. The potential. Gives us a chance to nourish each other, and to be a part of the beauty of the Garden.
But first...there's still death. Everyone told me that living in community "is hard," "will break you," "will drive you crazy," etc. and it's all true and it's already happening and there's no way to circumvent it no matter how much you knew about it in advance. We've already had topics like "Nikki's tears" and "Brent's apology" on our house meeting agenda, and I'm learning just how much and in what particularly uncomfortable positions this lifestyle is going to stretch me. It's hard for me to tell people that I have a problem with them. It's hard for me to share work instead of trying to do it all myself. It's hard for me to have so little privacy and solitude, and to give up the reins on my personal schedule. It's hard to work 54 hours a week and come home to a house that needs so much more work. Work, work, work....it's hard to remember to play from time to time.
But there are good things, and on all but the worst days they outweigh the bad. I live with a little alien creature called a One-Year-Old and his SuperMom. I miss not being able to have breakable things anywhere below my hip, but I love his tiny little vice grip and his goofy laugh in the middle of morning prayer, so it's all good. He has also re-introduced me to Goldfish crackers, which are delicious and I can't understand how I let them slip out of my life.
The House takes shape before my eyes, and I still can't believe that I'm here. That God did it. That so many people--even those that initially hated the idea--have poured out love and support for us in the short time that we've been in the neighborhood. All frustrations and pitfalls aside, I am most certainly living the dream. My dream, at least.
I miss Marc very much while he's away in Nashville this weekend, and I've been trying to fix up the house as much as possible for when he comes back, because I know how lovely it is to leave for a bit and come home to a place that's markedly nicer/cleaner/more pretty-fied than you left it. He at least has a nice cleared-out back patio on which to re-weld his tall bike that sustained massive injuries during a joust at the Rat Patrol Hootenanny. It's very nice to live next door to my boyfriend, and rather than strain us, I think living in community has actually improved our relationship. Or maybe not improved so much as given us new opportunities to love each other, serve each other, and grow closer. Either way, it's been good. I've found a good man indeed. Perhaps the one good thing about him being away is that apparently his absence compels me to produce whimsical steampunk Sharpie art, like so:
So yeah, that's what life has been like lately. I've got far more than I need and good company to share it with. Life from death, and life more abundant. =)Nik
