Day One

Next door, the eccentric hippie has already fallen asleep - so sweet in her abundance of middle-age strangeness; dreaming of new pathways to add to her backyard, surrounded in the beauty she brought from home - it’s like a fairytale cottage in there, fresh flowers and baskets and bistro chairs.  It never occurred to me to pack beauty along with my shampoo and I stare sadly at these scarred, bare walls and miss the chaos of the they-just-went-to-bed-and-left-their-clothes-all-over-the-place living room.  But in the same breath, I don’t.  Here there is no constant nagging need, no whine, no dishes.  And no goodnight hug - stolen or otherwise.  I am first a mom.  Always.  It’s clearer here.

So, I’ve survived my first day of classes.  Eight intensive hours and I’m left feeling less equipped than when I started.  Overwhelmed by the task of ‘worship leader’ and the three more days I have before me.  The class is small - only nine of us - with a lot of pressure to contribute.  I am not a contributor.  I am a slow processor.  I want to ruminate.  I want to sit quietly and listen.  I am far removed from my comfort zone.

I’m in the basement - a cell block of women in the same class.  Someone’s playing the piano and singing and it’s beautiful and lonely.  I’ve kept my door open so I can listen.  The carpet’s clean.  The furniture is scarred.  The air is stuffy - my window has been painted shut - but it’s warm and grandma’s quilt makes it feel a little bit like home.  I’m full from a lovely dinner of chicken and storytelling with my partner in crime.  Exhausted from what I’m not used to.

And now I have a two hour, UNINTERRUPTED date with Ted Dekker and that’s a beautiful, beautiful thing! 

I was that second bottom window to the left of the middle entrance doors, Lehman Hall Rm 8