Another Sabbath

This is what encouragement looks like, sometimes.

My brother picks me up for church. It is a wonderful surprise, a gift to spend time with him, to be next to him in this place that I love.

Pastor G talks about redemption. The service is refreshing and light hearted. And yet, he also talks about the secret believers, the cost, the sacrifice. I meet some new people.

My sister comes for lunch. We share pasta and salad. The pasta, my roommate made, the salad, my sister brought. It is a simple meal and simple is my favorite.

I sit in the sun at 5 o’clock. Spring is coming.

I lay my head in my sister’s lap and she rubs my back, and I rub hers. We exist, not having to entertain each other, just sitting on the couch, talking to roommates and with our brother as he types away on his homework.

I’m making chicken curry for supper.

I’m doing laundry at the Laundromat across the street.

I’m writing a poem called “Platonic.”

Have I mentioned the sun is shining?

I have poetry in my blood but I can’t see to get it out. I’m not troubled by this though. It will come.

Sundays. My soul rests.

Joyous

Sabbath.

This is what encouragement looks like, sometimes. It does not hide, but sometimes one must seek it out.

This is my day off. Six days to work, one day to rest. That is how God designed it, so it must be enough.

Nine AM, my sisterfriend makes blueberry muffins in the kitchen while I get ready for church. We wait for them, and when they are ready, their golden brown surfaces bounce back under our fingers. We split them open and watch the steam rise. I dip one in my black tea, sweet. It is snowing.

Light, fluffy flakes hit my face as I tromp down the street to church, which is convicting and encouraging, delightful. And when pastor G finishes praying and I turn around, there is sunlight streaming through the big windows and a bright blue sky to walk home under.

Then lunch. Lebanese food. My beloved place is coming to this small Ohio town! Drinks come in tall bottles in the coolers and we eat with plastic forks and knives. Every meal comes with flat bread and hummus. It’s a happening place, people from all walks of life sitting at these wooden tables. I like the simplicity of the place. The ceiling is bright blue.

My sisterfriend and I buy a hideous shirt that we are both really like. It’s 2.50 USD, why not?

My soul is filled with laughter and I let it spill about nothing, because who needs a reason to laugh? Who needs a reason for joy? Anyway, Jesus is my reason and that is always good.

Now, it is cloudy again and my beautiful roommate G is cozied up on the couch and my sisterfriend sits in the rocking chair with a red, snowflake blanket pulled around her shoulders and over her head. And I sit in my favorite green chair in the corner and we rest in the last light of the day. It has been a good day, a joyous day.

Loved.

Love Poem in a Laundromat. In Sections.

1.    A small boy watches greedily a father-son pool game. He sits, head in his hands wanting to join in.

I want to join in too.

I, too, want a piece of this camaraderie.

2.    Laundromats, public restrooms, airports, bus stops.

Transient places. The most beautiful.

3.    The small boy has now covered his face, making a peep hole with his hands, hiding.

4.    I hide, too. In politeness, in hard work.
I hide in braided hair and a fast paced stride.

5.    Not always.
Sometimes I’m honest as moth wings,
dancing in the stairwells, the Laundromats, across the streets.
A yawn, a reminder.

6.    A reminder that, like the man on his laptop, we all put our head in our hands, pay rent once a month, want to join in.

7.    What would it look like,
to fully give in to love?

8.    I think this clean, speckled gray tile floor would be dirtied,
maybe we could all play pool,
or maybe I would fold her laundry, or offer that small boy my markers so he could draw a picture.

9.    What would that look like?

10.  To give in to love?
 To live there, in the love?

Tuesday Morning

I wake early, the moon and stars still dance.

The sun has not yet traveled this far around our globe.

Tired flows through my muscles, and I rise.

You give me joy,

it is a hunger.

Today is rest for my body, but my soul is finally awake. 

I do not work today. 

I talk with You.

I read. 

I make eggs with spinach and cheddar cheese.

I listen to prayer in another language.

I listen to soft movie music and write.

10:24AM

Soon, a friend will come for tea, 

and then I will meet another later. 

You fill me up. You fill me up. I say this twice to realize it is true. Isa fills me up.

This day is a gift. 

Your presence, indeed, a gift.

Day

I woke up at 6.

School was cancelled so my roommates were around all day. :)

I made real soup,
had people over,
played,
LAUGHED,
studied Farsi,
read a lot,
danced,
shoveled.

productive, good day.

Tomorrow, and then Friday I work!

Enoughness

and this is enough.
this walk in the snow,
this morning of words
this remembering of a rainy
July and this cup of tea
next to the window.
this is enough,
observation of women sharing
stories and men reading papers,
fingers stained with black ink,
listening.

Joy

"I thank my God every time I remember you…"

Whenever I look back on my trips to Hungary, I am overwhelmed with thankfulness. So much that I laugh. Every memory is laughable, the good, the bad, the beautiful.

thankful.