alright. alright. I’ve been doing this feeling/learning ish lately on here. So today, I’m going to subject you to my writing–the fiction/creative kind. Maybe it’s a reprieve from subjecting you to this painful growing spurt. Maybe it’s just me, trying out something else since today at Gathering Greg asked how my novel was and I sort of blushed.
Something about Fog, we’ll call it. [or something about shifting and stretching]
“I’m sort of bad at relationships,” I say, softly, hesitancy hanging on the morning fog that clings to the earth in terror. The sun is calling her away but she is frightened and does not want to go. Here it is safe, among the calm blades of grass, the whispering trees and sleep eyed flowers that are stretching out their well lived lives into the last of their dayins in early fall. The sun may be calling the fog away but she is not quite ready to be lifted high and moved to far off lands. Eastern sands are calling, distant shores of salty ocean spray and the towering mountains may long for the fog, but she is haunted by memories of past travels: plummetting earthward in great drops of heavy rain, wafting softly as snow only to be crunched beneath giant paws of wild beasts in lands long forgotten and ignored, or perhaps worst of all, the easy gliding through sunny skies, the view from above as so many below go busily about their happy lives well she drifts gently, softly, slowly and does little but observe the teeming masses. This she loaths and fears most of all: this she fights against as the sun torches her edges and tugs her away.
David sighs, shifts his weight forward, centered over crossed legs and wet, aching knees. I wonder if he heard me, I almost want to repeat myself… David still sits in silence, watching the fog as she relents and begins the dfifting upward climb. And then, a grin comes over his face. “I think we are all a little co-dependent,” he says, “I mean, co-dependent on God, at least. After all,he does sustain and hold together all thigns. If he withdrew his breath, we’d all just shrivel up and die. So we’re rather codependent, don’t you think? And I think, Merz, it’s okay to get some–just not all–of your identity from a man. I mean, especially after you become one flesh. Tell me that’s not an identity issue. God is taking you places, teaching youthings, you’ll grow and learn and become the woman he wants you to be. And when it’s right, you’ll find the man he wants you to have. And the world will sort of come together in this new way and things will be clearer but they’ll also be blurry as well.” He pauses, to think? To let the words sink in? But the grin quickly returns and he repeats, “but in the long run, you’re still somewhat codependent. And,” he winks mischeviously, “God knows that’s the last of your issues.”
“David!” I snap and elbow his ribs as he laughs. he rocks to the side, away from my abuse but swings back and throws his arm around my shoulders. “Dear God,” I laugh with deep affection towards the boy beside me, “I love you.”
“And he loves you,” he plays off as though I referred only to the invisible one who has seen us through.
“David! That’s not what I meant,” I laugh and go to elbow him again but he blows the blow and squeezes my shoulder as he pulls me tightly into him.
“I know, I know. I love you to Merz. And I am going to miss you when you go back to your Catholic people.”
“My Catholic people,” the phrase is amusing but I like the feel of it in my mouth, the tug it gives on my heart.
We sit silently on the hillside, watching the sun come iup over the city and burn away the fog at last…
mmmuuuuuur. it isn’t much.
but today I sat at lunch with Grahm, Molly, Matt and Ben. Jed tugged on my vest before pulling me into a thick hug and Ingrid threw her arm around me. Hugh said I was more mature and not to go back. Grahm said we’ll never really know what we’re doing and Ingrid reminded me I’m not a very terrible person: just someone who needs Jesus. And besides, there was chipotle and caribou and free milk from sunflower market. It was a beautiful Sunday morning.