I've written to my own son, and squinted the eyes of my heart to get a glimpse of him. I see him with me someday, usually when I get the urge to get myself good and lost in the woods somewhere. He's the shadow of a boy-child in my imagination, which is truly too vivid for my own good and gets me in more trouble than I can say.
I should have been an actress.
"I think God weaves." I told my boyfriend.
When I say, "I trust, I wait," I hear Him say...
And it's funny, or absolutely perfect how these three words are like dance steps between He and I. How my relationship with Him is so precious, so undefinable and dramatic and imaginative that I cannot explain it. I can't make anyone understand. If only there were words to describe how He lives in the part of me that no one else could ever understand...the part of me that is my too-vivid imagination, my foolish hope, my child-heart that just believes there is more than my skin and bone and breathing. There's something else I ache to touch.
This is the greatest frustration of my life on this Earth.
This is why I have to write.
This is why my boyfriend pulled up to my house yesterday and found me standing in the middle of my front yard with my arms crossed in the rain, glowering at the half moon. We got sandwiches and sat in the car in the parking lot of a gas station and I tried to explain what it was like to just believe there was more. I told him about the moon, about seeing half but knowing that the other side was in a shadow. "I long for the shadow side of life." Of course, he has man logic, and thank God, or else I'd probably be a living vegetable sitting in a tree, floating in my mind somewhere about East Asia. He balances me out with at least a bit of truth.
He keeps me from morphing into a complete gypsy.
And maybe he is so logical with me because I am so downright imaginative.
I am Mary Poppins.
I am a writer and a Nanny.
And a girlfriend in the front yard of a little house absolutely pissed at the dark side of the moon.
I believe that God is weaving all the people and the trials and the moments of my life into something beautiful that I can keep.
I am thankful that when I say to Nathan, "God can fill all of the holes in me," He says, "And by "God" you mean...?" Because he won't let me get away with the sayings of a Christian cliche that sound so right in the moment. Because truth and reality are very important to him. So I think about these words I've always heard and thought and I define them for myself. Nathan's search for truth causes me to write even in conversation.
"Love. His love can fill all the holes in me."
"Okay. And by Love you mean...?"
"Love. Love between people. The connections He brings to reveal His heart. The power of relationships, of compassion and mercy and real understanding: His love on this earth and inside of me."
He smiles as if he knew that this is what I meant all along. He sits back in his seat as if I am his karate kid and he is the wise old teacher. I sort of want to take his sandwich for being so prideful but then he looks right into me, still with a little grin.
"I love the way you think."