Habibi حبيبي

 I cannot tell you how many little moments there are in the day when I wish I could pick up the phone...

Unpick the lyrics of the song that made us weep.  Laugh over something one of the kids said.  Attempt to describe yesterday's sunset or the colour of the water across the cliffs of Orkney.

I have albums of pictures from Scotland I know you would have loved to see.  I could imagine you climbing over the cairns to look out past the standing stones, sipping sherry-cask single malts and attempting to write liner notes.  Your voice in my mind, "This tastes of Texas - s'mores over the fire with notes of hay..."  We'd pretend to be posh, imaginary cravats, swirl the amber liquid and sniff, line them up in order of appreciation.

Your absence is palpable.  These experiences?  Not the same without you.

Things I wish I could say:

I went to Northern Scotland and the isles - I wished you were there.

Seph Schluter wrote an incredible song: Seph Schlueter - Valley Of Worship (Music Video)

I'm trying to focus my eyes on the hills - sometimes it's hard.

You should read Theo of Golden by Allen Levi.  I imagine that if Jesus were among us, he'd be a lot like this.

I miss you.

 I hear you.

Not quitting.

Need a moment to craft responses….

More than Enough ~ Wandering thoughts or sermon notes?

 Moody - a terrible adjective. 

Blues - a perfect noun.

Music. Colour. Emotion. Hue. Shade.

“Once upon a time, once when you were mine… I remember … in my wildest dreams.”

They say, close your eyes and consider what comes first to your mind.

What do I dream of? What do I spend my time reflecting on? What are my wildest dreams?

I have been given “more than enough” - abundance. The worship of gratefulness, of thanksgiving, is only accomplished in spirit and in truth.

Make a joyful noise (shout), serve the Lord, come into His presence. Why would I dream outside of this? How can I know myself unless I am known? Unless I am aware of the One who made me? Perhaps co-dependency. 

Do I live like I am one of your people? Is the reason we don’t enter into your presence due to forgetfulness? Ungratefulness? Shame? There is no limitation, except a lack of desire to be with You. Why do I want to be with you more than I want to be with Him?

So long as we are receivers of mercy, we should be givers of thanksgiving. What keeps me from being thankful for what I have, rather than wishing for what could have been, in my “wildest dreams”?

Historical spirals, learning to live.

Another journey in history through hindsight’s rose coloured glasses … from one vantage point. 

Yours is probably very different.

I pondered long and hard over these words, looking deeply at the grief I’ve been processing and the journey of “five stages.” Then I read this - an anonymous post I wish I could reference:

No one knows she died that night, because she got up the next morning, took a shower, got dressed, and went on with her life.

Where do we go from here? 

How do we now cross the chasm that confronts us?

Has this relationship altered irrevocably - through no intentional fault - but as an effect of one too many layers of miscommunication?

We do not live for ourselves. None of this is about us. How then do we minister to our partners?

Why do we do what we do? What is our motivation?  As I understand it, our vows extol us to be motivated by the lives of others - those we love. And, love is a choice… a choice to die to self. 

What we do has ramifications. We protect them through inaction.  He protects me by finally acting; for you have no idea the agony of loss - the recycling of grief in always being “wanted” while being held at arms length. 

What misidentification has elapsed? She thinks we ended amicably. We did, kind of. 

Do you/did you ever know (Did I tell you? I think I did) the choice that was made all those years ago? That rainy evening I wrote about in high-faluting-jumbo-jumbo? I left my family (Luke 14) and then you questioned us. It was my fault, not yours. I made you wait too long, wondering if I was 100% in.

You said, “You can, with one heart, love two.”

Maybe you can. I don’t know how to.

Absence, presence, death, life?

There is a place for us, but maybe not in this present world? Not like that. I cannot envision what this looks like in our current circumstances. Metamorphosis.

The change required? Multidimensional. 

We sacrifice our desire, choose maturity. Again, this is not about us. Mature love is not manipulative. Mature love is open to alteration. Mature love is willing to step away from its own desires to allow for the healing of others. After all, it cannot be love while actively ripping open the wound of another.  I sound like a preacher. I sermonise myself.

All things become new - old things pass away.  Allow for deliverance. Acquittal. Ministry is reconciliation - we regard each other with and through forgiveness. Grace. Not counting the past and the silences against one another. Ministration does not always require renewed relationships. Forgiveness sets alight the balloon of relinquishing. She sang, an album from that long lost rainy evening:

“Let me go. Let me live, or die a fools death. Let me laugh, let me cry, let me learn the hard way… Let me grow.”

Ruminations.

Not Guilty

 Maybe, just ask.

Don’t hide away or try to figure it out. Ask.

“I’d like to have a conversation… figure out what happened… I wonder if it would be less awkward if it was one to one rather than all four….”

What’s the harm?

Conversations I wish I could have… Questions I wish I could ask…

Wanting to go back yet needing to go forward.

I live so much in the past.

My parents love a Hallmark … a card, a film, happy endings galore. Sometimes, these movies (as unrealistic as they are) lead to some deep thoughts. I’m sure it’s not intentional. 

In the last weekend across the pond,  before returning here to the craziness of “real life” …

Also in light of all the esoteric questions about silence …

As well as a humble realisation about my own fears and their roots….

We watch a movie where a protagonist is faced with a house fire.  Frozen in place, she considers “what is worth saving?”

Pen to paper, I considered the same scenario.  I’m humbled (shamed?) by my own thoughts:

Longing to go back, needing to move forward. The truth comes out. 

You sit, “unashamed” across the table, eye to eye, finally face to face (how I wish).  I see this vision often - different viewpoints, landscapes, circumstances, but always subconscious.  Unfortunate really. 

I’d love to have this conversation in real life.

The truth comes out.  What do you grab in the fire?

What’s in the “go-bag” at the back of the downstairs closet?  Photos? Passports? Thumb drives? Random letters? Government documents? The one family heirloom passed down through four generations? Journals? Notebooks? The family Bible? The map showcasing countries still unrecognised?

The truth comes out.  Larger questions haunt us.

What do you save? OR, whom do you save?

Who will complete your second self? 

Run into the building, listening for the familiar sounds - that voice, that sigh, even that silence is second skin. Whom do you seek? Whose face do you see?

You said, “If you die, I die.” Is it true? Is that the choice we made?

Beams crack with the heat overhead: time is short.  These are, as the song goes, “the things we lost in the fire”…. It rages through, hungrily lapping at all in its pathway. Burn it to the ground… burning all those things we call “precious”. Cry out!

Is it too late?

The truth comes out.

What are you searching for … When the silence is like the fire?  When it burns and singes your fingertips as you sift through the smelt rubble… A gold band? A pearl ring? Simple joys? Etches of memory?  Long lost friendship? 

Perhaps I’ll strike a match to see what you’ll do.

The truth comes out.

… and maybe sets us free?

No Trace of Vague II

The questions are real.

Silence begets doubt.

No Trace of Vague

 Interesting.

A year ago, we could go for months without speaking.  Weeks would go by with nothing and there was no anxious thought, no concern, no worry.  More likely, looking at the calendar thinking, “Huh. When was the last time?”

Why is it now, so different?  Is it only the newer restrictions?

Is it something else? That you’re missing? You have everything.

Why do you need me?

It’s a real question. One I often think I don’t actually have the answer for.