cement

a friend shared this post with me the other day -

"i got this tattoo back during a time where life was storybook reality, a seemingly silver screen type of tale. it was the calm before the storm. and suddenly, the ground shook. but it turns out, in the uprooting of a life, you can learn that all along you weren't planted in any soil. instead, you were planted in concrete - you were sturdy, but you couldn't grow. these days, it sits clever on my arm - a loud statement, but a quiet promise - to be always clinging to bigger ways of being who & how i am. always ready for God to pluck me out of fake soil i plant myself in and bring me back to ground that will grow me." (thanks @kathhhgrifff for the wise words and @amanduhbrowning for sharing them with me)

and this concept of being planted in fake soil rocked and rattled me. this whole life experience - of moving to a foreign country, moving to a new state, moving to a new career, moving to a new place, always moving. i had always described this feeling, this urge to be uprooted, to move, to plant fledgling roots, to never stay too still as change. as development. as advancement. as improvement. as evolution. as healthy.

but this is the first time i've considered that some, a few, of the places i've planted myself and tried to grow - were not conducive to growing. they were cement. they were a desert.

they were not for living things.

recently

recently: big changes have been happening in the lives of my friends. one moved to new zealand, a few got engaged, others are thinking about phd's. i'm trying to make it through this semester. but it makes me feel a little stuck. a little stagnant. like i need to move again, break free, get going. it makes me feel like i've been here too long and that i, too, need a big change.

and donald miller said some really cool things in his book "through painted deserts":

"and so my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. my hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you, about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God."

and a lot of his words are about changing, moving on, shining out. a lot of his words are about the courage to leave. but i think it's equally strong and beautiful and forceful to learn to stay and to let others leave. which is so, so hard for me to do. to stay and watch others go. to stay and watch others experience. to stay and watch others.

here's to a season of staying.