Back in Boland

I have dreams that have story lines. They don’t typically jump around—they follow the standard pattern of storytelling, they have clear conflict and resolutions. People do things in character.

The dream I had this weekend was based around a science experiment. In the dream, when I had moved into my dorm my freshman year of college I had signed paperwork agreeing to be part of a study on personal space. Our living on that dorm floor was conditional on us moving back into the same room with the same people 11 years later, when we were 29, and staying there for two weeks. Two weeks back in my freshman dorm room, with my freshman roommate. We had to take freshman classes. We were only allowed the same things we had when we moved in 10 years prior—if we didn’t have a cell phone then, we couldn’t have one now, if we didn’t have a car then, we couldn’t have one now—and we filled out surveys and had interviews talking about the experience. I think it was a study on perceptions of personal space, but I fully don’t recall. In the dream I was realizing how fascinating it truly was.

I hope the Woodchuck 32oz bottles come back too! Oh wait.

Now I can’t stop thinking about it. What would that be like? Would friendships rekindle or would we be insular after the years?And dear god, would we still buy Hooch?

Poppin' Pills

I was briefly back at my father’s house the other week, between the business trip in DC and Natalie’s memorial service in Loudoun, and within twenty minutes of arriving I was out on the back deck with my dad and a BB pistol. We didn’t have any cans to shoot but we did have some old prescription pill bottles which we subsequently massacred.


Sometimes my memoirs write themselves.

Further Up, Further In

On my way to Canada with my father and company. I'm hoping it will be a time to meditate, to grieve, to relax and to love on my dad. As I type this, we are skirting the western edge of the Adirondack Park. It is a place of beauty, quiet, light and iron-jawed toughness, a place I've loved my whole life. Next week, Natalie's husband is spreading her ashes in these mountains. Today I'm spreading my goodbyes. Traveling mercies.

May the Mind

May the mind of Christ, my Savior,
Live in me from day to day,
By His love and power controlling
All I do and say.

Natalie’s memorial service was lovely. Michelle and Dave did a great job organizing it, and, in deference to Natalie’s ever-present faith, the service was God-filled. No one there was surprised that it was a service about her faith. The second song sung was a hymn I didn’t know, but its words captured so well the life and prayer of such a dear woman.

May the Word of God dwell richly
In my heart from hour to hour,
So that all may see I triumph
Only through His power.

The words spoken about her were true and imperfect, stories of cancer and remission and cancer again. There had to be 300 people there on a mild and bright Saturday afternoon. I sat between Erin and Megan, two friends who have loved me wisely and well throughout the years. I know Erin because of Natalie; I was so thankful for their hands and hearts. We all needed to touch each other, to keep moored. Grief was pounding.

May the peace of God my Father
Rule my life in everything,
That I may be calm to comfort
Sick and sorrowing.

I was the last to speak. I didn’t know what I wanted to say except that she taught me irrational and unconditional love, that she was my hero and mentor, and that I am who I am because of what she gave. Her investment in me is my daily breath. I don’t remember what I said. I hope that my thoughts came out. Words can't capture the biggest gratitudes.

May the love of Jesus fill me
As the waters fill the sea;
Him exalting, self abasing,
This is victory.

I cried. Lord did I cry. I haven’t stopped crying. I have no strength or energy to care about much else. I want so badly to be a good representation of who she was, to honor her, but thinking of her is suffocating. I am bone tired from carrying weight. She would tell me that I was loved far beyond her own capacity to love, and that that love endures. Her steadfast reminders I will miss.

May His beauty rest upon me,
As I seek the lost to win,
And may they forget the channel,
Seeing only Him.