I made the arduous trek up the street (all 3 minutes of that l-o-n-g drive) to visit my grandparents this evening. We’ve always lived near my grandparent’s, and I was very close to them while growing up. Granda was always out on the farm with dad, even when he shouldn’t have been. I still have vivid memories of watching him tip the tractor over one year, and crawl out with a broken arm – all while already in his 70’s!
Grandma often looked after us during the summer holidays and after school – treating us to all the things grandparents do. Animal bars and Creamola Foam and jelly straight from the packet. Things you’re parent’s are far too sensible to ever indulge you with.
We slowly grew apart as I got older, and since moving to Glasgow I obviously see them a lot less now. It get’s harder each time to talk with them, and I find myself shying away from it, rather than sitting with them and finding mutually acceptable conversation topics. Tonights ditties on dog euthanasia, Haiti, and marriage among others covered a vast array of interesting opinions.
As I’ve been on this journey of discovering and exploring all the ways story shapes us, I’ve been contemplating what that looks like in families. What it might look like in my family.
My grandparents have their stories. Stories I know nothing of.
Ten minutes after I arrived (unannounced, I might add), my grandparents had (planned) visitors arrive. It was fascinating to watch how the conversations unfolded. Two elderly couples sitting around a fire, with me acting almost as a fly on the wall. I didn’t know most of the people or events they were talking about, but they had an understanding with each other that showed they did.
Sweltering from the heat of the blazing fire, and I noticed two things in particular.
One: Almost without exception, every conversation was framed around a person they knew, a specific relationship. This person’s granddaughter now works here; this mans father passed away; this woman’s dog disturbed the sheep. Perhaps as we age we will gain a greater sense of community, or perhaps it’s growing up in a rural community where everybody knows everyone and everything. Sometimes good, sometimes frustrating.
Two: The stories didn’t resolve. There wasn’t always a clear ending, or even a comma, in many of their anecdotes. Again, I wonder if this is something that we become more comfortable with over time, or is it a memory loss issue?!
This series had been recommended to me what feels like a gazillion times by numerous friends, but I’ve only just managed to get my hands on a copy to watch. I finished the series off today, and… I loved it as much as everyone thought I would. Amazing.
A glance at the phone told us we’d been sitting here for almost 4 hours. Time flew past, and it was only because the barista dragged the milk bar out to block off our section that I even thought to check the time.
Something happened in that time that opened up my heart again. There I was, hanging out with a friend I didn’t even know that well, and I was talking about things people who’ve known me for years don’t even know about. It felt safe, and I knew I could trust her. It was unhurried.
There’s something in me that wonders if we are losing ourselves in todays pace of life. Maybe I wonder if I’m losing myself sometimes. I mean, when was the last time you found yourself so caught up in the present moment that you totally lost track of time? And were happy about it? When I look back on how my life looked when I was 17/18, it was crazy. I was so busy. Even now, I see I still have a long way to go with finding the right balance for my own sanity. For me it seems to work best in seasons – seasons of intensity and busyness, and seasons of rest and reflection. But it’s undeniable that my heart opens up more when I’m given time to stop, to reflect, to rest. Maybe it’s why I love those words Pico Iyer once wrote, that “ultimately, movement is only as valuable as your commitment to stillness, and vice versa.”
Our independent, self-sufficient selves come out and fight it. I knew I needed my friend this week, and yet every time I’d send her a text or lie on a sofa watching DVDs with her, my head was fighting it. Telling me I was imposing. Telling me I’m too much.
I think that has to be one of the Enemy’s greatest achievements: convincing us that we shouldn’t lean on others. That we have to face our demons alone.
And yet it is still a struggle to admit that I need people. One of my favourite theologians sang that “we get to carry each other”. Get to. Are privileged to. It always seems easier when you’re on the other side, when you get to carry your friends. It’s much harder when it’s your turn to be carried.
“A good editor draws out what is not said in order to give life to what was aborted before it saw the light of day. We need friends who will name what is unnamed in our story, so that the truth is told. A good editor also helps to ensure that we don’t edit out the truth. And a good editor helps us consider the implications of what our story tells us about ourselves.”
[Dan Allender]
That four hour coffee trip turned into many more conversations, in person and via text message. My friend put words on the turmoil in my heart this week. Spoke words I fear, but needed to hear (and still need to). Don Miller says that conflict is the only thing that ever really moves a story along. Our job is to just hold on, and wait for the master storyteller to reveal the rest…
I know you’ve been going through some things
The pain you hold inside’s written on your face
I know you’ve got tired of the rain
Well, baby, so am I, but I know things can change….
Gotta admit, it hasn’t been the best of weeks, but that’s the great thing about today, right? Today is the most interesting day. Grace is the most interesting thing.
A relatively new friend sent me these lyrics this morning…
All of my life I have lived within these walls,
A city, a fortress, a stronghold round my soul.
With God on my side, I know I can overcome.
With God on my side, with You on my side,
Yes, I’m gonna lift up a shout.
Jericho, yeah, your walls are falling down,
Jericho, can You hear the trumpets sound.
Jericho, Jericho,
I will not be afraid,
I will not be afraid.
I will not be afraid, I will not be afraid, oh, oh.
Father in heaven, I’m calling on Your name;
It isn’t as easy as some would dare to say.
Give me the courage to fight and not lose hope.
With God on my side, with You on my side,
I’m still gonna lift up a shout.
I’m not afraid for I know You are with me;
You are my God, nothing can come against me.
With You on my side, the end is in sight,
So I’m gonna keep marching on.
I met with my new business advisor yesterday for the first time, and am very excited about starting to really push into launching my photography business officially. It all feels a little too grown-up for me, but I guess it had to happen some time!
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