This was after having worn out Elton John, namely "Candle in the Wind." The Marilyn Monroe version, if that saves my reputation at all. you know what, forget it, I also work out to Celine Dion's Christmas album, so just take the reputation with you on your way out.
Anyway, today I put U2's Joshua Tree album in and traveled back to September-- to the first couple of weeks after I dropped a quarter at the Goodwill checkout for that puppy, when I let the same 11 songs play on repeat in the background as I got to know the Owens kids and my whole new life phase.
It did eventually get old, that "goodwill music," as the kids now affectionately refer to U2's work. (My bad.)
It also, somewhere in there, became November.
And only as I listened anew today did the ironic lyric strike me as particularly relevant. Only as I allow myself to be flexible with the Journeyman timeline can I catch a glimpse of what God's doing on his watch. And by that standard do I ever see the ineffectiveness of my own pursuit for what it truly is.
She's running to stand still.
(The song itself is actually about heroin addiction in an Irish slum. Which is more disturbing? That I share lyric relevance with a heroin addict or that I let this music provide the ambience for acquainting myself with three young children? Again, my bad.)
I'm at a place of real peace. It has much to do with slowing down, letting this be a legitimate season instead of a thumb-twiddling wait for the connecting flight. Much to do with thanksgiving.
It's been the word of the year for me and it has yet to disappoint, thanksgiving. But along the way I've been newly challenged to think through fear of disappointment in the seemingly silliest of moments.
Crying over a baseball team? This girl has lost it.
I'm getting ahead of myself. That last line will make sense at the end of this, and you'll know I thought it first. It is silly. But they're satisfying, these safe moments of allowing myself to admit my concerns -- for each concern there is all the more reason to trust Him.
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{November 1st}
Driving north, I felt disappointed.
There was the loss of Game 6 on my mind. And I got stuck in traffic for nearly 2 hours on a 2 mile stretch, and I was sorry for delaying the fun for my waiting family.
At 8 a.m. that morning I was pumped to go, sure they'd win.
By 8 p.m. I was so ready to just be in Fayetteville already that all excitement seemed long gone.
I called my family and told them to start watching Game 7 without me-- Em asked if I was sure and I said yes, but something in me ached.
I was missing the game, but that wasn't it.
I was missing my family.
A pre-emptive feeling of losing part in shared moments. Exacerbated frustration of not knowing what next year will look like at all. Missing the game with them felt a lot like counting the cost. I sat behind the wheel tallying up what I'll miss when overseas because you don't start construction without knowing you have enough to complete the tower*.
The 6 (1/2) most important tally marks sat circled 'round a t.v. in Fayetteville and I'm not sure why I'm paying this cost I've been instructed to tally. I mean, I know generally why and I'm cooking up a great answer for an A+ application because the Lord's been gracious in confirming this calling at points along the way and I want so badly to convey that. But I don't really know-- I have no way of knowing-- what will happen, who I'll meet, where I'll go that will make this worth the cost.
Just a command to trust and a promise of trustworthiness.
This has never been a struggle for me before. But then I've never been a 22 year old grown up before.
Once I got moving on the road, past the 2 mile standstill, I did my best to make up time-- full speed ahead. I rushed and rushed and rushed only to get to Fayetteville and realize that in all of my rushing? It took me just as much time as per usual.
I took the appropriate amount of time. And I was disappointed by that.
There I was thinking if I could just speed the trip up I'd end up a little less disappointed by the delay on the outset. Only to find I couldn't do it. Bringing further disappointment. That's my fear-- disappointment.
Things won't just be better if I speed up to get where I'm going faster. And if I do rush to be to the "next" destination, I'll likely look back and see not that I made great time and beat the disappointment of delay.
I'll look back and see that I made appropriate time and failed to enjoy it, to make use of opportunities present.
I'm not a rusher. But I am a dreamer. Moments outside of the dream can seem so long, so unnecessary, so frustrating, disappointing. Much like every mile I climbed up the mountain to Fayetteville as I cried away the night of Game 7.
I made it to the house where Mom had great themed refreshments served and Dad had grilled ballpark hotdogs ready to eat. They hadn't started without me.
The Rangers lost a second series and we only got to see the last two frustrating innings because the tivo didn't record the way we'd planned. It was no one's fault and the hardest part was knowing that the stirring of frustration within me had little to do with baseball, really.
Disappointment. What will you do with it, Sadie? And how long will you rush ahead towards the disappointment that results from sped-through opportunities?
With Mom's help, I made a Texas Ranger tutu, looked baseball disappointment straight in the face and paraded around as the Unbeatable Spirit of the Texas Rangers. (With a bat for a wand, no less).
I listened to my sister belt out promises from a stage.
I delighted in teaching Truett to bat.
I sat by the fire laughing with my brother.
I marveled at Steph's ability to inspire creative use of time.
I shared my disappointment with Dad on the way home from McDonalds.
What will you do with it, Sadie?
I go to God, asking for the metaphorical equivalent of the tutu-- pride and hope for facing the fear of disappointment. And not just lost time and missed opportunities of yesteryear. In the face of losing the company of those I hold most dear. Also losing the comfort.
I go because I believe He's the sure source of confidence-- still providing when my own confidence, the kind I muster up into ridiculous ensembles, dries up.
"But the one who is rich should take pride in his low position, because he will pass away like a wild flower. For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant, its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich man will fade away even while he goes about his business." (James 1:10-11)
* "If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters-- yes, even his own life-- he cannot be my disciple... suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will he not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if he has enough money to complete it?" (Luke 14:26, 28)
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