Moving.

I remember when I was 4 and we moved into this HUGE house. Harmony and Matthew and I made a fort/house out of appliance boxes in the garage, and we slept there on the first night in the new house...

I don't know if we actually slept out there or not, something tells me we just pretended to. But, I remember that about moving.

And I remember moving into the next house, the one on the river. I was eight. Harmony and Matthew convinced me I had the choice of any room in the house, and convinced me to pick the smallest room. I always loved that room, because I felt that it had been my choice. I could have picked ANY room in the house, but I picked that one!

And then when I was 10, we moved again... I don't remember the moving. But I remember when we found the house, and all I cared about was that it was a block from my best friend in the WHOLE WORLD! Jessica Henson! (Now, Jessica Polley.)

This weekend, I helped my parents move. Its been 14 years. And while I have some memories of those other houses, the one they just left was the one that built me. Made me think of Miranda Lamberts song.  How is it that a place can do that to you? A home, walls, floor, ceiling ... how can it hold so much? It's love and memories and growth. It is a physical representation of life and who I am and why.

My parents new house is awesome, and I know it will begin to be more and more like home. The first night I stayed there, in the guest room, helping them unpack, I didn't sleep at all. I woke around 2 am, and went to the kitchen for water, looking at boxes and fuzzily thinking about the strange layout. The other house will always hold a place in my heart. This time, I will remember this move. The packing of boxes, and the unpacking of boxes. The letting go and the setting up. The tearing down, and the building up.

It is really a reminder to me about how this place is really just a temporary home, until we go home for eternity to be with our savior. And when we do, it will be so good.

Burnside Table.

In September, my life took many new turns. As a need for stability arose, I asked my friend Larisa who was attending church with me, if she would find a church small group and commit to it with me. And she did just that.

We met Chris and Noelle on small group Sunday, they told us to remember their names like Christmas - Chris and Noelle. And we did. Noelle and I also had the same Merona brand, brown Cardigan. And their house was only a mile from where we lived. So we attended that Thursday and committed to every week. And we have stuck to that unless there was something else going on that had to pull us.

And while at this small group, I had the opportunity to get to know this man, Austin Way. And he has become one of the joys of my life!

And we participated in a real community, one that I had not experienced since I was very little. It brought back many memories of my parents hosting such home groups in their home. Of the guitar versions of "As the Deer Pants for the Water." Of the store bought pastries, the coffee, the laying on of hands in prayer, the tears, the stories, the late nights, the laughter, the clean house. I see now, what it must have been like for them... good. It must have been So Good. No wonder they committed to it in such a deep way.

At our small group this past year, called Burnside Table, we enjoyed a potluck meal together every week. We bonded over food, the way I imagine Jesus and his Disciples sitting around the big feast tables. I learned many new recipes, and had failed attempts on just as many. Noelle taught me that it is possible to make a different soup every week without repeating one for a solid seven months.

I learned how to study the word, in a group, in a productive way. I learned how to interact with differing ages again. And the wisdom that comes from the couples my parents age. And the joy of watching a baby grow before our very eyes. I learned about unconditional love, and support. I experienced a safe place to share myself, to cry out, to be seen and heard, to hear and listen.

Thursday we had our last small group. Chris and Noelle just received news of an incredible job/ministry opportunity that will bring them back to their home in California! Normally on group nights, we discuss what was discussed on Sundays. Well, this past Sunday, there was no sermon, we spent the service sending people off. And Thursday, that was what we did. We feasted. And worshiped. And prayed. And cried. And  sent off. Together we have tasted and seen that the Lord is indeed good.

I am starting to loath change, but this change, this one just IS ... it needs to be. There was something so beautiful about the end of it all. It ended well. And strong. And really, the dynamics are just changing, because it is our leaders who are leaving, but the group is still here. And I see so clearly how the Lord works, and how he carries us to do exactly what he wants us to do, through seasons, some short.

Noelle and Chris, you opened heart and home to me. Thank you for teaching me, for living life with me. May the Lord bless you and keep you! And I know we shall all see you again soon! And to the other members of Burnside Table, lets continue this that we have started. "For everything there is a season, a time for every matter under heaven." (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

And last night, I came home with Larisa, who now lives with me. And we sat on her bed and reflected over these past seven months. What a joy. What a joy. What a joy.

Shut the Front Door

Portlandia. "The place where young people go to retire."

Yesterday at Powells, our hipster donning, non-pastel color wearing, monotone speaking, cashier, provided us an experience. He spoke just a decibel above a whisper, just so we could hear that his voice was manly to match his skinny, upper lip styling 'stash'. After turning the book over a few times, in an effort that looked much more like weight lifting, he sighed a deep sigh, and asked what floor I got my book on ... obviously irritated that the bar code would not scan, but hoping not to do any extra work than at all possible. About three minutes later, he determined that the $1.00 Clarence stickers were indeed legit, and not just mine own doings to try to get a them at a lower price. I got my books, and he seemed relieved that I would not, heaven forbid, need a bag to put my books in, because I indeed had my own. Oh dear Mr. Powells man, I am sorry that you were working overtime, and that I caught you on your 11th hour during a normally 10 hour work week. I know that you came to Portland to retire young, to not work too hard, ... congratulations, you have achieved your goal.

And to the customers who come in and out of Posies Cafe of where I sit... how hard is it to close a door behind you? We sit on this couch, glancing through the windows, analyzing your every move, and critizing when you are unable to simply shut a door behind you. Not all doors are auto-shut. I know that you all came to Portland to retire early, and you are already on your days off, you have more of them then you work, but ... for the sake of those sitting on the couch, catching the drafts... please take the time to just shut the door behind you.

Change

I have always loved change... Until recently.

Today, Tuesday, my room mate Chelsea got on an airplane for Japan.
My house mate Holly is moving out on Thursday.
Sarah, Kaylah and Melissa are graduating on Friday.
Saturday enters in the season called summer break, AKA every one in my life now in vacation mode..
One of my best friends Katie is returning to Colorado on Sunday
The leaders of my small group are short notice moving home to California in two weeks.
My parents are changing houses, after 14 years of one place called home.

And I am still here. Four more weeks of school. Change swirling around me like a tornado. The thing is, that each of those changes are good, for the people to whom the change is taking place. And it is exceptionally selfish of me to not be rejoicing with them! In my heart, I am excited about these things, for graduations, and moving home and summer vacations.

Then, I realized, I love change ... when I am the one changing. When I am the one making decisions and in control. But I am not. This time, everyone else's decisions or changes affected me in some way, and I feel slightly insecure in a vulnerable place of not being able to change anything.

The thing is, that I value consistency more than change. And consistency is what I have. I have extremly consistent relationships. The people in those relationships might be moving physical location, but they are consistent in my life. In my efforts to mope about those leaving, I have greatly over looked those who are staying here, and how blessed I am. Angela Joy is returning to the house, to be and live and laugh. I live in a house with 6 other amazing women whom I am so blessed to be surrounded by. Austin is staying in Portland for the summer, living just a block away.

I commonly cope with change by attaching myself to people, to a new person. But this time, I realize that I don't need to do that. I already have people I am attached to, people who are attached to me. I need to process, not cope. I praise the Lord for Heather Linn, my best friend who has stuck with me through every silly and serious change I have ever encountered. Change may be swirling around me, but I am in a weatherproof box, surrounded by walls of friendship so thick that no amount of flying debris can make me fly away.

To those whom change is taking place, know that I support you and am excited with you! Please forgive me; for my attitude lately, for being quiet, for not supporting you. This world is not all about about, and thank goodness for that.

To Cruzer

It was a week ago today, that the Lord took your wife from you, so she could be with Him. You had been married a year. It was unexpected and unexplainable – but isn’t that just like our Lord? His deep mysteries remain that to us, but knowing that that he is mysterious does not ease the pain. Because there is pain. There is deep searing pain in loss. And Andrew? We grieve with you. We hurt and ache and cry out to the Lord for answers. We cry with you.

Tonight, there will be a memorial service for Jennica. And you will be surrounded. By your family. And her family. And your church family. And your school family. She was and is a part of us. Just as you are a part of us.  As a body, Andrew Cruz, we stand up next to you, as your foundation and your shaky arms. We stand close, so that our hearts can beat a little slower with yours.  We are in this with you. Now, and next week, and ten years from now.

I don’t know you well Cruz … but I do want you to know that with you I grieve.

Truth

y name is Heather Ziebart.

I am a 23 year old White Caucasian Female. I was born a female. I will always be a female.

I am a straight heterosexual. I like boys. I believe in opposite sex marriage, with one person, for life.

I am a virgin. I believe that sex is to be saved for marriage. And I believe that children should come from within this marriage.

I am a Christian. I believe that the one and only God made the world and all that is in it. I believe that he made me. And that he has a plan for my life.

These things are who I am. They are the core of my being. And right now, PSU is challenging my being. I am surrounded by feminist propaganda in three of my classes. I was told yesterday that just because I have a vagina, that does not make me a girl. It is my choice. My choice. I am being told that the Bible has good stuff in it… but it is not Feminist friendly. I have been told that white, heterosexual, straight, middle class, Christian, nuclear families are not only rare, but on the failing end of the slope as far as families go. I have been told that if I have not explored my sexuality, or questioned my gender, then I probably need to. I am being told that people who marry and have children are simply “breeders” nothing more. They are just following some stereotype expectation, and not living their lives for themselves. I am reading about how history has forgotten women, but we need to “STAND UP NOW” and make sure they gosh darn don’t forget about us from here on out. I am riled up. My blood boils. But I can turn it off. I want to know what is being said. I don’t want to throw it out. I want to question my theology and not throw out biology.

I like the challenges. I like hearing what others have grown up thinking. And getting a glimpse at what the world is hearing. But some days, like this week, it is just loud noise. The words are packages of lies, all wrapped up in a presentation too alluring to not rip open. It is good to question. To think through. To know. The sheep know the voice of the shepherd. And in this truth I shall rest.

Top of the Morning to You!

 

Grammy, today I called my mom, your daughter. And I told her “Top of the Morning!” When I woke up this morning, I thought of you. I wanted to call you. But I could not. This is my first St. Patrick’s Day without you. I know you always loved this day. The Irishness of it. I remember last year, I came to visit you unexpectedly. And even though Aunt Donna was caring for you, your house still had that familiar scent of caraway seeds from the warm Irish Soda Bread. I remember that we went on about how frustrating it was that the Columbian newspaper failed to even mention the holiday. I promised to tell everyone I knew of the day, of the history, of the legacy.

I remember when I was little. And I would call you on the phone. And you would tell me stories of when you were little. How Cleveland Ohio in the 30’s was Irish Central. How you had the day off school and had a big Irish Celebration. A Celebration of your heritage. You talked about how your dad, Pampa, would pull out his items from home, tucked safely away in an attic trunk the rest of the year. And you talked of how your parents would speak Gaelic to each other, but you never learned a word.  You talked about the celebrations on the street.

I wish I had been there. It is so far removed from this “green” day we have now. The “I’ll pinch you if your not wearing green".” The Leprechauns and four leaf clovers. Those might be the decorations I have in my house, but in my heart, being Irish is deeper. I am glad you are my Grammy. And that you taught me about this day. That even if I can’t explain it, I hold a memory worth more than a pot o’ gold.