The Shenandoah - Seanette Broughton

1: Before

providing glancing simplicity
in stealing simple glances
you won't know life any better than today
or tomorrow or yesterday
so don't miss it

forget your troubled past
but love it all the same
love to forget it
love to let it go
love to be redeemed and received and restored

i've escaped reality
into the hands of a loving Creator
He has magnified me and yet--i am but a fire ant
we are a colony of of similar beings here
share this with me

i've been wearing my own coat for a time now
it is threadbare and wanting to be seen
my hands are cold and ready
for tomorrow and the next and the next and...


2: During

in the autumn of our lives
the nonchalant and obtuse blanket of a sky
becomes incongruent with the chaos of the cement
--the cement and the lights of this time
of this season

you must breathe in the air now
you must see the beauty here
everywhere

if i knew what it meant to hold familiarity in my pocket
i wouldn't be who i am now
but i long for it
these golden trees
these red leaves
it's history in the making of my life
because i never noticed before

this beauty has given me a glimpse
--a glimpse into where i will one day stand
in the palm of my Creator's hand

and yet it's a hand i long for
a hand to hold; a hand that's home
someone to know

exploring the endlessness of a valley
playing out scenes in my mind:
mt. view motel
the shenandoah
redgreenyelloworange
an arboretum of inexperience

a glimpse, i say, a glimpse
i am yet to be known by another


3: After

what's in a stature?
mine is small and often weak
the body aches of ailments
and still my soul is bursting with frames
--frames that give life

break these bones
hands of a delicate nature
built as a temple--
or a house, if you will
you must open the broken door

discover life from the inside out
the stomach curdles and turns
but the mind is a thing to relinquish
there is constantly new life--
new life in old bodies

tired eyes and hungry stomachs
aching necks and sore feet
throbbing heads and shaky hands
but it is my heart; it is my mind
--these i want you to know

House and Home - Kelli Self

I visited my grandparents’ house last weekend. I’ve always called them Big Mama and Gran, but the story behind that is another one. My grandfather died in 1994 and my grandmother is in assisted living. Their house sits empty now, and my family is making steps towards selling or renting the house. The steps are slow, like we’re walking in mud up to our knees. But we managed to at least get there and pack up the books.

My grandfather loved making things with wood. I never saw him sit down longer than to watch the news, unless he was involved in a conversation. He loved to talk and he could talk to anyone. Most of all, he loved people more than anyone I’ve ever met or will ever meet. His love for people came from his love for God. His love for people made people love him. And in loving him, they came to love God too.

He was probably the best thing that had happened in my grandmother’s life at the time she met him. Big Mama grew up feeling that no one loved her. How fitting that she fell in love with a man capable of so much love. She made their finances work when they had so little. She would scrimp and save so that their three children could have the things they needed. She knew the meaning of sacrifice.

___________________

I hadn’t been to their house in a while and I knew it would look different. I went inside, walking around, looking and yet trying not see. I made every effort not to cry and found that I couldn’t breathe. The tears came anyway.

Slowly the house has been picked away. It’s closer to empty all the time. I know it has to happen. I’m just not sure why it’s so hard.

It’s not just that things are gone. It's that what remains is fading, rotting, mildewing, dusty and aging. It feels like we’ve forgotten the house, that we’ve neglected it. In doing so, it seems that we’ve neglected Big Mama and the memories of Gran. And it’s just not right. There are stickers on things to designate where things will go: green for Uncle Paul, pink for my mom and orange for Uncle David. Those stickers, dividing up what’s left - they seem so wrong! I felt nauseous. Everything is in its natural place already. How can it be somewhere else? How can the house be empty? How can Gran really be gone? I thought missing him would get easier with time but instead I think I miss him more.

Somehow giving up the house is like giving up Gran all over again. I guess it doesn’t make sense. I just know that there is so much of him in that house. If we took out all the things he made, we’d have to take all the cabinets, the shelving, the mantle, even the fireplace and more. And there would be no place to take it, no way to put it all back again..

___________________

I felt that because my sister and I were so special to Big Mama and Gran that somehow it made everything ours. My cousins never knew them the way we did. I knew what I felt was wrong. Still, when I saw all the things that were designated for my uncles and the things they had already taken, I felt myself being wrapped up in selfishness and indignation.

Their home was always my home too. As a child my sister and I would visit in the summer. When we asked our parents to let us live there and attend the private school across the street, we were only halfway kidding. Growing up I saw the additions to the house. Gran always had something new to show us. He was always looking for a way to make things easier for Big Mama, nicer for her. When my parents sold our house in Richmond and moved to another country, their house became our home when we no longer knew where home was. In college it was my weekend and summer home. In all my wanderings, it’s been the one constant I could count on.

I know that selling or renting their house is not going to erase all the memories that I have there. But where will I go when I need to go home? Keeping the house won’t bring my grandparents back. But where do I go to savor their memory?

I left the house with mixed feelings. Part of me wanted to stay, wondering when I’d get to come back. The other part was glad to be gone from the house that seemed to be shriveling, even while I stood within it. I took another look and imagined the way it used to be instead.

That night, I went to sleep still thinking about my grandparents, about the house and what will become of it. I kept feeling that I somehow deserved the things my grandparents left behind. But I realized that I have already received so much from them. I already received their love and affection, their time and attention. All of those things I’ve already taken with me and while they have no weight that can be measured, they bear the most weight in my heart.

Letting go of their house will not mean that I’m letting go of them. While tangible things are often easier to hold on to, they are also the least valuable. And so with those thoughts, I tried to open the hands I had been gripping so tightly. Some of that selfishness slid off me, at least for the time being.

I don’t know what will happen to the house. I know that I may not be able to receive every last piece of furniture or antique that belonged to them. But I will still be able to walk away with a mountain of precious gems because I have a mountain of memories that cannot be taken away. And I wouldn’t trade those memories for real jewels any day.

What a Girl Wants - Beth Parent

I once went out on six dates with a really nice guy, which officially registered at that time as the longest relationship on file for me since high school. He was a Christian, he was nice, he was a gentleman, he was tall, he was easy to talk to, and we got along well. But as I discovered through dating him, that's not enough for me. Call me picky, call me crazy, call me the future Ms. Old Maid USA, but I'm just not willing to settle for common decency. Maybe my standards for men are set higher than realism allows, but I guess I think that all Christian men should be nice and gentlemanly. I don't have to share interests or sense of humor with them all, and they certainly don't all have to be tall, but I suppose that the rest of the good qualities are just the basics. And I'm looking for the extraordinary.

I want to be pursued relentlessly, not in a creepy stalker sort of way, but in a way that tells me I'm necessary in the man's life. I know this is horribly cheesy and hopelessly romantic, but I keep thinking about The Notebook, and how the guy simply cannot function properly without the girl. He's going crazy until she agrees to go out with him, going to downright dangerous lengths to get her to say yes. And though I asked the man previously described for patience while I figured out my feelings for him, the truth was that if I'd had any feelings, I would have known. I wouldn't have needed to figure them out. There were no butterflies to speak of, no nervous laughter, no sweaty palms, no talking nonsense, no tongue-tied-ness. And while it's nice to feel comfortable with a man, this was not a comfort born of familiarity and closeness but of lack of concern for his opinion of me, because I wasn't trying to make a good impression, because I wasn't trying to keep him liking me, because it wouldn't have bother me if he weren't interested, because I wasn't interested.

I want to be swept off my feet. Knowing what I know about the Lord and the way He pursues and loves His people, there's no way I can be satisfied with anything less than an overwhelming romance. If my vision of God were smaller, if my knowledge were more limited, if my experience were less thorough, I could be perfectly happy with a sweet, attractive, funny guy who's active in his church. But I've seen God's power, I know His love, and I've experienced too much of His faithfulness to believe that He would have me marry someone I'm not absolutely amazed by.

I want to be amazed (in my life in general) by what the Lord has done. And if, someday, I get married, when I think about my husband, I don't want to think about how nice or how cute he is. I don't want to think about what we did to build our relationship. I don't want to think that I'm glad I've finally gotten what I think I deserve in life. When I think about my husband, I want to have no other words but to say how incredible God is in having brought us together. I want to say that I can't believe what the Lord has done, and that I don't know why He has chosen to bless me in this way, but I'm not going to question it or argue because my husband is the best thing that's ever happened to me apart from Christ himself.

I want to bring out the best in him and allow him to bring out the best in me. I know that we'll probably bring out the worst in each other as well, but I want to use that to challenge each other spiritually to grow and seek the Lord, not out of confusion or despair, but out of a desire to know God better so that our love might be made more pure.

I want a man who doesn't need to be told how to pursue me. I know he can't read my mind, and I know he'll need to be told what I like to eat (veggie burritos) or that I want a pearl engagement ring and not a diamond. But if I have to say that I want him to hold my hand before trying to kiss me, or that I may freak out at which point he'll have to step up the pursuit, not give up on it, or that walking a girl to her door is just the right thing to do, or that I want to talk about spiritual things... If I have to say all these things, it's really like I'm wooing myself. Furthermore, if I say all these things, I am the one calling the shots. I am the one steering the relationship. I am doing his job, and I don't want to do his job. I want to do mine.

I want to help him find and pursue his passions. I want to see him thrive in life no matter what that takes, no matter where it takes us. I want to be a source of help and support and rest out of my strengths and gifts.

I want a godly man or none at all, and I don't think that this is too much to ask. Not from a God "who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us" (Ephesians 3:20).