being real in the blogosphere...

There are many embarrassing or awkward, or personal, things that I could tell you about myself, my family, my house, that really wouldn't phase me all that much.  Let's be real, I love me some awkward and with that comes a heaping serving of embarrassing and sometimes personal.

I could tell you that there is a spatula that we affectionately refer to as "the pooper scooper" in our bathroom.  We do not have a pet and it is not for someone else's pet.  I'll let you parse together the details.  But I'll assure that it's gross and involves diapers.  BUT it resides in clorox, n'er you fear.

Or I could tell you that I haven't really dusted since we moved into our apartment... 2 years ago.

I could even tell you that I got angry today, on my commute, because some lady was walking directly in my commute path while uploading pictures to facebook of the train that she and I were currently missing.  Word to the wise, lady, if you're walking slowly enough to upload pictures to facebook... of the train that we are missing... you should get out of the fast lane.  And if we're on the story of commute, if I can hear and sing all the words to your music, through your earbuds,  kuddos to you because I am actually incapable of singing lyrics and always hum half of the words.  And it's too loud. And if you're 18 and in good health and sitting, and there's a 95 year old pregnant woman with one leg in front of you, no no, by all means you should definitely remain sitting.  Please, don't even think of getting up.

[That last one might be an exaggeration.]  But you get my point.  I could tell you that that made me angry, as long as I make it moderately funny.  I would probably also comment that I realized I should deal with my T-rage, as it's probably more harmful to me than the *$&%^ng uploading, sitting, disc jockeys on my commute.

And I could tell you how sometimes my days are really long... and hard... and all I want when I get done with the day is a big glass of wine (or two) and a nice hot bath. Or even how I'm really struggling with balancing work and mommy-hood, but seeing God's goodness in it, even in the midst of my torn-ness.  And seeing how God is redeeming me, and molding me,  in the midst of that.

And all of those would be true things, minus the 95 year old pregnant woman with one leg.  And maybe a slight exaggeration on the dusting bit.  It might have happened sort of once before company came over.  God is good, we are being redeemed and made new.  And I can be funny sometimes.

But, here's the reality - most of us are still in process, and don't have the neat conclusion to our blog posts on the real life stuff that's happening today not yesterday.  We are still an un-cloroxed, n'er dusted mess of pooper scooper and things that we're still dealing with, not figured out [yet].

God is still good.  And we are still being redeemed.

But I'm struggling with loving my husband well today.  I have been short, snarky, selfish and demanding.  That's not a guilt trip - I'm working on it, and acknowledging it, asking for forgiveness there - but I don't have it figured out yet.  There is no neat packaging on that one.  Real time, today.

I'm struggling with anger at work, when someone doesn't acknowledge my hard work, or me, as a person.  And I struggle with comparing our finances to those of others - our ease of life - and find myself bitter and covetous.  Or just randomly angry.

And I totally judge other moms.  Try really hard not to - and really don't want to and totally apologize for it when it comes out - but I totally do it.

How's that for embarrassing, awkward, and personal?

I love the blogosphere.  I love the freedom to process out-loud, to share life, and learn from others as they process out-loud.  For real.  I'm not dissing it.  And I love the awkward, embarrassing, humorous story - can you have too much snark or sarcasm, I ask you.  [the answer is yes, but that's for later]. Ask anyone who knows me, I love it.  And I LOVE hearing how my friends [and random strangers that I blog-friend, let's be honest] are learning about God's grace.  It's good and encouraging, and builds us up and probably should still be the majority of what we write about.  Because complaining and self-pity, and wallowing, are a fine line away from in-process honesty when things are hard, if we let ourselves sit there too long.

But friends, if we're going to be real - and be in process, for the sake of humor, or encouragement, or blessing, in the blogosphere - we need to actually tell some of the stories that don't have a conclusion yet.  Some of the stories in which we are not the heroine or hero, or don't figure it out [yet].  With hope, but...

The ones still in the trenches.

The ones that invite others to encourage us, bless us, or help us find the humor in it... even when we can't yet see it.

The ones that aren't funny.

The ones that are funny, but that we don't look good in.

The ones that we're actually struggling with... still... presently... and haven't resolved.

I get why we don't.  It's risky, and it's [often times] not met well.  Received with judgement, rather than encouragement.  And if I'm honest, the blogosphere probably isn't the best place for that sharing - a coffee date with a friend, a box of kleenex, and a warm pumpkin spice latte probably is.  So please, let's start there.  Please.   I'm going to.  I need to.  We all need someone that we can be that honest, in process, with - a real person, not a blogobunch.

But then as we blog also, if we're the types of bloggers who write "real"... in how ever much detail we choose to write... as we write our funny, awkward, embarrassing, life-learning, grace-seeing stories... let's also write the other ones.

The ones that end in a "to be continued..." or "in process..." or "waiting" or "I don't know."

Because then, friends, when the light breaks through... when the lesson is learned... the grace seen...

That's true beauty.
True encouragement.
Truly not about us.
Real.

9 Things About Me [aka writers' block/getting to know you...]

A few days ago, a friend posted this "Things About Me" get-to-know-you, and, as it was one of the more fun ones of these that I've seen and I too am suffering from temporary writers block and/or just general busyness, I thought I'd snag it and give it a go!  Thank you, Krystal for the inspiration/freebie!

1. Is this how you imagined your life would be? Good question.  I actually have no idea how to answer this one.  Yes?  No?  For some seasons in my life, I didn't dare to dream about what it could be, I just assumed it would suck.  For other seasons, I laid meticulous plans.  And then in recent seasons, the last ten years, I dreamed a little bit, as hope began to take root in my heart.  I would say it looks nothing like the meticulous plans - so much better than the sucky absence of dreams - and similar to the dreams that began with hope.  In my meticulous plans, I would be working in science policy, in a highly visible, highly paid, high power position, either abroad or in DC - and putting off marriage and babies until I was well-settled in my career.  And that is far far from the life that I now live.  In seasons of hope, I wanted to be a mom, even though it took me years to admit.  I wanted to marry someone who was kind and adventurous and would love me and our family well. And I wanted to be proud of what I did, and enjoy the work and life that I was living. And I wanted to be someone who was strong, content, adventurous, and who hadn't given up on her dreams, or lost herself in the midst of that family or that marriage.  And I think that's fairly accurate.

2. Name one good deed you did that went unseen.  Today?  I cleaned cheerios up off the floor.  But on second thought, pretty sure that was seen by my hungry hungry hippo of a child who is no longer able to eat them now. And, while many of the good deeds that I do as a mom go unseen - unless they involve removing something that my child wants but shouldn't have like three-day-old floor-dwelling, dirt-coated cheerios, in which case they are definitely seen and squawked about - I feel like that's just part of being a mom.

3. What’s your drink of choice when out with girlfriends?  Beer, whiskey, or coffee, depending on the day and the time of day.   Sometimes a red wine - although really, I'm so sold on Trader Joe's two buck chuck, that I rarely get wine when I'm out.  I've tried to find a good cocktail that I love, but the reality is, I like things simple and strong.

4. How did your blog come about? It was originally a space for me to personally process leaving ministry and mini-faith crisis #2.  I'm an external processor (ENTP, thanks) - but often times for me, it's easier to do that by writing than talking.  So I made the blog, invite a few friends to read it, as accountability and as feedback - and started writing.  It has evolved since then, as I've grown and changed and become mama,  and invited more people to read along, but the heart and soul of it - learning to live more fully into my identity as a daughter who is called beloved - still remains the same.

5. Name something you’ve learned about yourself that has surprised you.  That most days, I'm okay with some level of unknown and taking things one day at a time, without knowing everything.  I don't need a five year plan.  For a former control freak, this is completely unexpected, but very freeing.  It's a metric of health for me now - when I'm in a good place, a healthy serving of chaos doesn't freak me out; when I'm not so healthy, I start to become grabby for control again.

6. What hobbies do you have that you don’t mention on your blog? I love to make things and create things from scratch - whether that's brewing our own beer, or trying to make our own cheese, or constantly trying new recipes or cross-stitching, crocheting, and piecing together fabric scraps - there's something about the creative process which I LOVE!

7. What do you love about yourself? I love that I listen well, most of the time.  That I'm not afraid to say "I'm sorry" or to admit when I've been wrong.  And I love that I press into conflict, even when it's painful or hard, for the sake of reconciliation.  Also, I really like my creative brain - whether it comes out in words (here) or in creation of beauty.

8. If money were no question, I’d purchase…  a big huge house in the city, with a big front porch and rocking chairs under a tin roof so I could sit outside and listen to the rain.   She would have welcome written on her door, and lived out under her roof.  She would have lots of rooms so that we could have lots of children, and lots of guests - and could more fully live into our love of hospitality and welcome.  And people could feel at home, with space to breathe, and relax, and rest.  And eat.  And breathe.  Also, a small backyard, with a small garden, so we could have dirt between our fingers, space to grow real food and pretty things, and green space for the kiddo(s, eventually) to play.  And it would be in the city, where the people are, because that's where my heart comes to life.

9. What’s your biggest struggle in life?  As if there is just one...  puullllleeeease.  Who here is that whole and struggles that little?  Let me tell you about today alone.  But seriously, it's probably believing that I'm enjoyed - that I'm delightful - not just tolerable - and that I'm enough, as I am, without trying to be more.

So there ya go - 9 things about me.  Feel free to do your own version of this - if you do, link up in the comments so I can learn more about you as well!

God of this City

Six Septembers ago, I was writing down directions in my journal for how to make it downtown on the MBTA - street by street and stop by stop.   And still calling it the MBTA. Six Septembers ago, I was hopelessly lost when driving in the city (and foolish enough to still think driving in the city was a good idea), feeling completely out of place in this brisk northern town, wrestling with a hard heart, homesick, though I'd never admit it, and wondering what the hell I had signed up for.

And singing "God of this City" from the heart, to Boston, even though I couldn't tell you why yet.

Six autumns ago, I was a newbie from North Carolina, who didn't understand why no one smiled at her on the street, who had never owned "real" snow boots, and who thought that a Belichick was probably some Bostonian slang that I just didn't get yet.  I was single, guarded, and not sure why I was here.  Asking God to teach me about vulnerability and openness, and increase my capacity for love.  To give and to receive.

Six years ago, as the weather turned crisp and cool, and the leaves began to melt into those brilliant hues of red and orange and fire and yellow - I fell in love with this town called Boston. Even though I was still lonely, still confused why I was here, and still unsure of who I was or where I was going, this city grabbed a piece of my heart that it still hasn't given back.

I've lived here longer than I've lived anywhere else on my own.  And six Septembers in, this is my home, in as much as a place is home.

I've fallen in love with a boy from the south, here in the apple orchards and fall leaves of the mountains, walking beside noisy streets and beautiful fountains, the mix of history and modern all woven together, with the car horns blaring out the window because the traffic lights and roads are just too confusing, and the neighbors setting off fireworks in their backyards.  I married that boy, and brought him to Boston, and together we made it our home.  We brought home our first baby, born in the north of southern parents - with a blizzard in his first two weeks of life, and him loving bare toes and free fingers - and the love that we had thought big, grew even larger here in this city.

I've had some of my hardest months, weeks and days here, where my soul and my broken and my loneliness were exposed and cold and hurting.  And where God was healing, one sliver of broken beauty at a time.  I can say in faith and confidence, that God is answering my prayers for vulnerability and openness.  That He has been, and is, teaching me myself.  But more than that, Himself.  And knitting me back together, one step at a time, in the company of strangers who became real friends and journeymen and confidants and mentors.  And my guarded heart began to open and soften.

I've yelled at you, fought against you, resented you, and loved you.  I've fought for you, when people say that you are hard, abandoned, or hopeless because those just are not true - not all of the story.   I've gotten stuck in your traffic, wrecked by your traffic; I've run along your shores, and your roads and your paths and in those runs shared many of my hardest, deepest, most beautiful thoughts.  I've dug out of your snow more times than I can count - fully broken in that first real pair of snow boots.  I've rolled my eyes at more lost tourists trying to navigate their way through this crazy town.  And flown south more times than I can count, as we balance the both/and of Northern living in a Southern family.  And I still smile on the streets.  And sometimes, your people, they smile back.

I've wept with you, Boston, when you were hurting. I was there when the bombs hit the roads.  And I wept, not just because the country was weeping, or because of my own personal fear or grief, but because my city was hurting.  My places, my streets, my stores, my landmarks... my people.

Even now, as I write this - and recognize that it's getting long already - I don't know how to put to words, Boston, what I feel for you.  The fullness, of the love that I have for you.

I don't know how much longer we'll live here - it might be forever.  It probably won't be.  I don't know.  But I do know that I love this city.  It has become my home.  A piece of my heart.  And I still sing the words that I sang six Septembers ago... only now, I know just a little bit more of that hope.  That heart-beating longing.  For this city.  For the things to come.  For the ways in which I know that God is at work here.  That I have seen God at work here.  In me, and in this city.  And so I continue to pray these words, to sing these words, with my whole heart, for you, and with you:

You're the God of this City 

You're the King of these people 

You're the Lord of this nation 

You are 

You're the Light in this darkness 

You're the Hope to the hopeless 

You're the Peace to the restless 

You are 

...

For greater things have yet to come 

And greater things are still to be done in this City 

Greater thing have yet to come 

And greater things are still to be done in this City 

Thank you, Boston, for these six rich Septembers.  And for however many more there are to come...

Unstoppable 7 months

Happy seven months, kiddo - we cannot believe how much of a little kid you are growing into!

Your Profile
You, son, are growing like a weed!  You weight 18+ pounds, and are approximately 28 inches long.  You are a hunk of adorable, drooly, precious baby chub with rolls everywhere, with blondish brown hair that stands straight on end most of the time.  As usual, you are following the growth charts nearly exactly!  You eat like a champ, sleep very well (most nights), and are crawling and rolling every.where.  You never stop moving these days.  And you have 6 teeth!!

Things you've Learned
Where to begin?  You are rolling both directions, you can scoot/crawl everywhere you want to go - and get to a sitting position from crawling on your own. And (helpful to mommy) you can also get down from a sitting position into a crawling position, rather than getting stuck in the middle of the night like you did for a while.  You're unstoppable, if you want to get to something - especially cords and all things dangerous, choke-able and chewable!  Baby-proofing has begun in earnest.  You're also starting to try and pull up on mommy and daddy and the furniture, and you love to try to walk, holding on to our hands.  You're starting to learn how to feed yourself - although at this point, your strategy is to palm [::pound::] everything and lick off whatever happens to stick.  Bananas are particularly messy/mushy.

Your Firsts

• You were baptized this month - on your six month birthday!  You giggled and laughed the entire time, except for when the water hit your head, when you looked a little surprised... before reaching for it to grab some more.  We were very blessed to have much of our family viewing virtually or in attendance!  
• You went on your first hike - and summited two mountains, including a 4000 footer.  You had a blast, and talked the entire way up (and down) the mountain.   [We're pretty sure you're an extrovert!] 
• You visited your Grandma and Grandpa G this month, at their house in NC and met the horses, visited with Aunt Jen, and saw lots of other aunties and uncles [friends of your mommy and daddy].  You were great on the flights again, but freaked out a bit about the big bathtub (your whale tub is still a safety zone!)
• You are solidly into solid foods now - and eat like a rock star.  At this point, you eat almost anything that we put in front of you, lunging after it like a hungry, hungry hippo most of the time.
• Now that Daddy's semester has started again, you are hanging out with a babysitter about once a week - and you do that like a champ as well!  You love the little boys and girls that you get to hang out with, and always try to hold their hands.  
• You had your first bloody lip, and first solid bump on the noggin, from your adventurous fearless attempts to conquer the house - you took it all in stride; mommy was slightly less put together!  You are all boy, romp, roll, and ready - fearless most of the time!  
• You also had your first major meltdown in the car, on the way back from Regional Staff conference - screaming for an hour and a half, as mommy drove solo en route home, praying and hoping that that never repeats ever again!

Things you Like
You LOVE it when Daddy tickles you, or throws you in the air, or burrito wraps you in your towel - and you love snuggling with mommy when you're tired.  You laugh and laugh when Daddy chases you - which we love!  You love everything about being outdoors, especially eating grass, twigs, and dirt.  You love eating solids, especially banana and avocado - with sweet potato being a new interest.  You thoroughly enjoy being able to sit up in the shopping carts now, rather than riding in your car seat.  And you love Sophie the giraffe, and the musical ball that Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa D gave to you.  You loved Buddy the dog at Grandma and Grandpa G's house - and he loved you, even though you pulled out quite a bit of his fur.


We love you so much, S - and we are so proud of the boy you are growing into!  We are loving this adventure of being your parents and watching you grow and develop!

Letting go of Wonder Woman

Today is a sweatpants kind of day.  The wee one is down for his first nap of the morning, and responsible me so should use the time to take a shower cuz let's face it, its.been.a.while.  But that's just not happening right now, and I don't have a good reason, so sweatpants it is.  Prepare for a bit of a ramble before I actually get to my point.  If there is one.

My man has been in and out of town this week, and I have to tell you - being a single mom is not for the faint of heart.  One week, three trips, and I am tired.  Ready for him to come home and stay for longer than 12 hours.  Even though I really am excited for these trips for him, and am so glad that he could go, and don't have regrets that he did go, I miss him, and this resonates.  [For transparency, I'm somewhere between "tuesday" and "wednesday" right now.]  All you single moms and dads out there, who have to do this on a daily, weekly, every.day.basis, I applaud you.  You are heroes to me; I don't know how you do it.  You have a strength - maybe born out of necessity, but you have it nonetheless - that is impressive, and rarely recognized.  Forgive me, for any times when I have made your load harder, or heavier, rather than lighter.  I have the luxury, the gift of partnership, choice, and rest.  And sometimes I don't acknowledge that in my average weeks.

Little man is crawling now.  One grunt and launch and giant worming, belly-flop at a time.  Kid has a future in break-dancing, let me tell you.  Slowly, so mommy can keep up with him thus far - but put a good, chewy cord in front of him, or some other equally hazardous chewable, choke-able, item - and baby, we have forward momentum.  Oh and he's learning how to pull himself up into a standing position.  In the bathtub.  Nowhere else.  That was a fun one.  Words you never expect to hear coming out of your mouth, "no, 6 month old son, you may not stand in the bathtub", "no more eating bubbles, kid, you've had enough for the day." "Please stop grabbing on your wang and singing at the top of your lungs - wouldn't you prefer to have this nice squeaky (??) turtle instead?"  Who would have thought that I would love motherhood this much.  And be so tired so much.  And simultaneously so glad when 6:30am AND 6:30pm arrive.

Oh, and he also thinks the microwave is the coolest thing ever.  No idea why.

Add in this week in work, as I try to make my decision about whether to take the job offered or look for something else (not working is not an option financially).  How many hours I can give.  How much I want to invest in my own career development.  Or what gets put to the side.  And a week of work that is both incredibly rewarding and reminds me what I am very good at - and incredibly frustrating, by the roles that I have to turn down, the work that I can do in my current capacity, and the balance that I don't know how to strike.  How to balance the both/and.  The desire for a career that is meaningful and enjoyable, the desire to be home when my kid(s, eventual) are young.  The need for income, with the desire to not work, with the desire to work.  The age old juggling act - this is not new; women have wrestled with it for decades now.  And to the best of my knowledge, no one has a clue how to do it well.  Sheryl Sandberg tells me it is possible to have it all, if I have the right partner - which is maybe why I'm wrestling with it again this week, with Jon out of town, 'cuz he is a great partner - but somehow I don't believe her that it's all that simple.

Side note, why do they make coffee tables crawling-infant head-height?  No reason, just curious.

On the news this morning, Debora Spar, president of Barnard College, reminds me that Wonder Woman doesn't exist - that you can't have it all, and should probably stop trying to be so good at everything.   The bacon-frying-perfume-wearing-tick-tock-reading woman does not exist.

I have no idea how to balance work, family, crawling toddling tot, husband, family, love of cooking whole foods, and need for income right now.  All I know is that coffee is probably involved somehow.  And that it's okay if I don't do it all well, always.

As Spar says, "The most crucial thing for women to know today? No one does it all. We each, if we're lucky, will have our chance to leave a mark on the world, but we are trying too hard to be perfect. So don't emulate Wonder Woman; think about what's wonderful to you instead. Then boldly, audaciously, joyfully, leave the rest behind."

So today, I'm going to do what I need to do, what I love to do, and what I can do - to the best of my ability, not perfection.  [And this morning, that means, not showering, wearing my sweatpants, and playing on the floor with my drool-covered, banana-loving crawler.]

It means asking for help when I need it.  And letting some parts of my career dreams go, at least for now, while being okay working hard to keep a foot in the door - because when I am at my healthiest, I am the best gift to my family.  And saying no to some opportunities for work, because my family is most important to me, and it's okay to let the driven part of me rest a bit, for the sake of something better.  But at the same time, being honest, about the passions, desire, and goals that I do have.  Being present, today, to what is wonderful and good - living joyfully, audaciously, without apology in the moment, without wishing it away or worrying about what I'm missing out on.

And most importantly, naming the lie that I can have it all.  Letting go of what doesn't matter.  Holding on to what does.  Acknowledging the juggling act that that is - and continuing to wrestle through it, with honesty, joy, and in partnership.  And while I'm at it, having that second third [heck, let's not limit ourselves with a number] cup of coffee.

anchors and wings

Prompt for this week: Small

go.

Those days, when the world feels too big, and you feel too... well, too whatever.  The days when you can't quite find your footing, or your wings feel a little too retracted, trapped, and your boots a bit too stuck in the mud.  Those days when you feel too light or too large to stay anchored.

Like a Zeppelin anchored by the smallest of mooring lines, it's the little things that keep you rooted, focused, lofted, or anchored.

The newspaper lady in the T station, on your longest commute and your best and worst days, whose eyes light up with recognition when she sees you.  And who, no matter what day it is, wishes you a happy weekend. I don't know her name yet, but on Thursday, I'm going to ask.

The baby who grabs onto your hand and pulls your fingers close, as you desperately pray, please Jesus, let this sweet baby go back to sleep.  Who grins up at you at 4 in the morning, as he makes his rounds of his crib, too excited by new skills of crawling and sitting to stay still.  But for a moment, your fingers and his, intertwined, reminds you that these are the moments to hold dear.

The collapsing in those fits of belly-shaking, never-stopping laughter, after an unfortunate run-in with the squeaky Sophie the Giraffe who frightens the pants off of you on a daily, and mostly nightly basis, when she's accidentally trod upon.

The moments of balance and perspective, seconds really, when you see the hardest parts of life in the rearview mirror and there's the freedom to breathe and say, "oh yeah... I see what you did there." Even, there are parts of that time that I miss.  That I hold dear.  And you realize, I'm through that.  I'm okay.  Even,  I'm better for it.  And yes, even, I'm grateful.

Keeping me grounded, giving me perspective, lifting me up - it's the little things that give me anchors and wings.

stop.


Written in participation with #FiveMinuteFriday over with lisajobaker.com.  We write for five minutes flat. All on the same prompt.  No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.  Want to join in?  Full details on how to participate found here.

[loss]

How do you miss someone that you never knew?

How do you mourn what is missing, when it was never had, but the loss is deeply felt none-the-less?

I've debated writing this for a while, because honestly, I've wondered if its okay for me to - whether it's my story enough, or just me relating other people's memories.  And that's never mine to do.  But the sense of absence, of missing, is mine.  And the reasons for that sense of loss are in the details.  So I'm cautiously writing it.  Grace, please, friends.

Last week, we marked the five year anniversary of Dad D's death (my husband's father). I never had the privilege of meeting him - Jon and I met about 5 months later - and I will never get the opportunity to know him, this side of heaven.  And yet, I miss him deeply.  Grieve his absence.  Feel the loss.  And am daily grateful for his character, his influence, and his life.

He's the one that we named our son after - his first name is S's middle name.   Because when we thought about what we would pray for S – the type of man that we prayed that he would be – we could think of no higher honor for him than to pray that S's character would mirror Dad's – that S's love of God and desire for God would mirror Dad's – that S's love of family, and care for his wife and children would mirror Dad's – that S's work ethic, intellect, and leadership, his humility and gentleness, his strength, and his legacy, would mirror Dad's. Dad was not perfect, and neither will S be perfect – but he daily strove to honor the Lord and care well for others around him in every aspect of his life - and that's what we pray for S as well.

I never met him, but I know his legacy.  And I am impacted by his testimony of life.

He was the man who gave great hugs.  Whose wife knew that she was treasured and deeply loved.  Whose sons - my husband included - grew to be strong men of character, who strive to love their wives and their kids with gentleness and strength, to be good friends, and to do their best in the work that they have been given.  The man whose faith was strong and steady, even through years of cancer, pain, remission, and resurgence of the disease.  Whose faith, in the midst of cancer, included Psalm 27:13-14

I remain confident of this:

I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

Wait for the Lord; 

Be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. 

Whose faith has given my husband certainty, that God is still good, even when the unthinkable happens - even when we don't understand, that His goodness does not change.  Whose friends and students to this day, still tell stories about being under his leadership, and rave about his wisdom and ability to impart knowledge.  The man whose friends knew that they were loved, and still, five years later, miss his friendship - and whose sons never doubted their father's love for them, even when they had to be punished or reprimanded.  The father and husband whose love gave my husband a model for fatherhood and husband-hood, with gentleness, strength, and compassion - of which my son and I are daily recipients.   The man that my husband still wishes was here, when he has a question about fixing the brakes or stock options, or when he needs to talk through something hard.  His go-to-guy.  This is what I know, of the man that I never knew. And it is a gift to me, every day.

And I miss him terribly, even though I never met him.  I miss his presence, his balance in our family.  I miss having a party of four, when mom comes to visit - the two and twos, and four all-together.  I miss having to roll my eyes at Jon, when he and his dad stay up way too late playing video games. I miss seeing mom look at dad and roll her eyes too.  I miss introducing S to his grandfather.  I miss the conversations we might have had, about boost-phase interception of ICBMs and my paltry attempts to code in matlab what he worked on in real life.  I miss actually getting to know him, in real life, not just know him through others' stories.  And I miss having my own stories.

It's strange, weird even, to feel grief for what you never had.  To miss a person that you never knew.  But I do.

I don't have a conclusion.  I don't have a pithy takeaway.  All I know is that I am grateful for him, even though he was never in my life.  And I am grateful for all the ways that he will always be in my life.

And, Dad, I'm really looking forward to finally sitting down with you in heaven, when that day comes.