Today is the big day. Pray for our little girl. You can hear her interview on NPR here.

Perhaps sometimes we're given perfect days so that when we have less than perfect days we're able to squeeze some of the extra perfection into those days. Yesterday was a perfect day. Even the humidity and brief rainstorm couldn't have put a dent in the container of perfection.

I won't say all the details--mostly because there are a lot, but partly because I wouldn't want you to be too jealous of all the wonderfulness--just that the evening began waning around ten pm in a booth in the City Diner of Chattanooga. Three of us in a corner booth talking about how blessed we are, how very blessed we are, to know that sweet fellowship is our portion.

Before I came down here my greatest fear was that I wouldn't find people who added up to my standard of friendship, because, you know, I have the best. I don't say that lightly and I don't mean to flaunt, or boast, but I sometimes wonder how people get through life's bruises and blessings without the sort of friends I am blessed to have. I know that God is all sufficient and powerful and provisional, but he still created Eve for Adam. He knew we would need more.

And He's given me more than I could ask or imagine.

After delivering a stirring soliloquy the other evening about sacrifices and what God really wants out of this whole deal we call Christianity, complete with filled tear ducts and sniffles in all the right places, a friend asked what brought all that on. I was honest, as much as I could be; I mean, this is my heart we’re talking about here and I learned a long time ago to share is human, but to hold back is divine.

I talked about my struggle with radical Christianity; you know the sort that gives all, sacrifices all, stands at the pinnacle and asks where to next? I shared about my desire to be rid of my humanity and distractions and all the things that demand my attention apart from the Lord. I talked about the standard of excellence I feel the demand on me to uphold. And, when I was done and waiting for him to nod and agree, say that it is hard, but that it’s what we’re called to do, he was quiet.

A friend, he said finally, gave me a book, a collection, and in that collection there is an essay by Annie Dillard about the gospel of Luke.

I knew, not only because I was the book-lending friend, but also because I’d read the essay myself.

He continued. The book of Luke talks about the humanity of Jesus. How he was fully God, and yet fully man. He said some more, but he’d already gotten my attention.

See, I don’t read the gospels. I know; aren’t you shocked? I read the epistles, I read the minor prophets and the major prophets, Psalms and Proverbs, I read the whole Bible—except the gospels. Mostly because I know them, I mean, read one read them all, right? I can find a verse or a parable or a miracle fairly quickly because there are four options from which to choose. Pick a gospel, any gospel.

Yesterday I read this in a book another friend lent me, “Reading through the Gospels was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me. I know how strange it sounds to say it, but Jesus saved my faith.” And I’m not going to wax eloquent about how my faith is struggling, because it’s not. I have faith, lots of it. But it’s the Jesus part I struggle with.

There have been seasons where the mere mention of the Gospel has brought tears to my eyes and an ache in my heart: for me, He did that for me? But this season hasn’t been one of them. I’ve been so concerned with righteousness, with holiness, with spiritual discipline and with standards of excellence that I’ve forgotten the man who embodied them all perfectly.

Yesterday afternoon I started reading the Gospels; Luke, because it's where Jesus is shown to be most human, and I need some assimilation right about now. But I'm excited to get to the parts where Jesus was most God because it's a Savior I need all the time.

Sometimes I need to take a bath; a shower will do, but I need to take a bath. I need to soak and I need to lather and I need to let the hot water seep into my stiffened joints.

Today I needed to bathe.

Church was good. The kind of good that makes me sigh and think, a lot. I've been reading a lot of I Corinthians lately---mulling over what it means to be wholly devoted to holiness and when and where and how we have permission to be human still too. Thinking, too, about Adam and about Eve. About going to sleep and waking up and the responsibility of Eden. I put together a couple things to say tonight at our makeshift family Bible study. The paper says things like sacrifice and contrition, but I might talk about things like pain and gain and delight in the meantime. I read a couple chapters from a book written by a real person. I hope someday, if I write a book, people will say that I am a real person. And now I am sitting on our front porch, in the cove formed by trees and fences, staring at the sun waning. It is enough to make my face warm and enough to make my stiffened heart loose again.

Today I needed to bathe, in silence, in meditation, without the crowd of people or music or demands or distraction. I needed to meet with the Lord and remember what it means to be wholly enamored with just Him.

I know I've been remiss, and vague, and missing, all all sorts of quiet recently. Perhaps it's because that's what my life has been recently: quiet. I said to a friend the other day that I think it's okay, though, the past year of my life has been everything but quiet. I am thankful for the lack of dialogue in my life, it makes room for the dialogue in my head. If that's a good thing (still up for discussion at will).

Mostly, though, I have been taking a creative writing class and it sucks all the creativity from my head to be spending hours every day writing things I can read aloud without too much shame. It is much easier to post things than to read them aloud in class. But I have been doing other things too.

-This morning I finally procurred an occupation: I'll be lifeguarding at the country club where everyone I know also works.
-I also got my oil changed, my engine serviced, and a five dollar discount, thank you very much. I think it's the blue eyes; at least, that's what Danny says, I only know today wasn't discount Tuesday.
-I've had time every day to write copious amounts of writing, if we'll call it such.
-I've also had time to actually take a shower and do my hair and brush my teeth and still enough time to eat some breakfast before having a long quiet time and spending a few hours writing. This may sound lovely to some of you, and believe me, it does to me too. I will not be one of those people who find themselves married someday wondering why they didn't take advantage of their singleness. I'm taking every advantage I can!
-Tonight the agenda is to grill and go over to The 462 (see introductions below).
-Tomorrow the agenda is to clean our little house, wash my little car, learn a little contra dancing, and take a last little breath before I start work on Monday.

It's not been lack of time, my friends, just an overabundance of it that keeps me quiet in these parts.

And, oh, how I like it.

A few of my friends are a little frustrated that I don't use names on this website with any sort of regularity. You know, give props to whom accolades are due and stuff. Mostly it's because a weblog is like any short story, too many characters confuse the reader. It's not that I think that you're simple, it's that I am. But, in an effort to connect, for most of you readers who aren't living alongside me (and the readers who live next door and want to read a brief synopsis of who I think you are), I would like to introduce you to:

My roommates/neighbors current (for roommates past, see this) are as follows:

Beca: calms me. She says that I calm her, but we both know we calm one another. When two spirit which err on the quiet side coincide, there is a serenity, and with us two there is a serenity. She is beautiful, I think, and I tell her so often. We like the same colors and clothes and share things like food and thoughts every day. Beca is a servant, one who gives willingly and without concern for herself.

Rachel: is away in London at present. Rachel is extreme and because of that she can do anything she puts her mind to and do it well. She vacillates in her choice vocation, but I think very talented people are prone to that. There are so many things they could do well, the options are endless. I hope she chooses to do what she wants to do, instead of what everyone else wants for her.

Kelly: is also away at present, but most of you have already met or will shortly meet her. She is the tall, blond, beaut I still can't believe loves me. Kelly is sweet. I know that sounds trite, and maybe it is, maybe there's a better adjective; all I know, though, is that Kelly is the epitome of sweetness. Everyone just wants to be around her, she has that kind of light. Plus, she's J's girlfriend, so between the two of them, they're pretty popular.

Laura: is also away at present, in Virginia. Laura is, hmmmm, Laura is simplicity. Laura is uncomplicated and pure. No one has to play guessing games when it comes to Laura, she is what she seems to be and is never what she doesn't seem to be. She has beautiful long curly black hair, the kind of curls you want to stick your pinky finger through. She is Shelby's girlfriend.

Shelby: is not his name at all. His real name is Eric. But I am prone to forgetfulness of the most extreme kind and I somehow thought his name was Shelby when I first met him. Shelb lives next door and actually answers to Shelb, we're cool like that. He is a really great guy, the kind of guy that makes Laura look okay in all her purity because he's like that too. He takes good pictures and makes good music. And he's not a bad actor either.

Mike: is funny. He and J set one another up for all their funniness and it usually turns out to be quite hilarious, actually. Mike has a cool car and he buys food for everyone with semi-regularity. Mike is Rachel's cousin and they are funny together because sometimes I forget that they're related and can't believe they'd talk to one another like that. All of the Petrillo's are extreme in their own way.

J: Well, you all know J, so I won't say much except to say that when we headed down here people were all like "Oh, you just wait and see, you'll fall in love with one another. . . " I like to tell that story because people were wrong and I like it when some people are wrong. J is quite happy to be with Kelly and I am quite happy to have a brother I didn't quite expect to love so much. J keeps my head and reminds me to represent our home.

Now to other pieces of my family (This is the part where your name might not get mentioned, and it isn't because I don't love you, it's just that I probably haven't written about you on this weblog and this is easily remedied: we can have a thought-provoking conversation next time we see one another and I'll post about it.):

Brent: is my good buddy from North Carolina. Brent is all woodsmoke and North Face and big muscles and brains. He knows all kinds of stuff about science and he tells me all kinds of facts that I don't know and didn't know I had to know. Brent loves God and that's one of the reasons I love Brent. He has wrestled with God and seen His face; he's a good guy.

Jackie: is my newest friend, but everytime we talk I feel like she's my bosom friend. I told her brother that the other day and he laughed because I said bosom, but it's true. Just yesterday I discovered another thing we have in common, little dimples in our chins! Jackie is honesty, I think. I feel like when I'm talking with her that the difficult things of the world are not so difficult after all, we can talk about them and sort through them and see the light in the end.

Laura C: If I am pressed to say, I will say that it is Laura that I deem as my first real honest to goodness, give and take friend down here. Laura speaks life into my life and takes life from my life and always smiles and tells me how faithful the Lord is. Laura is beautiful. Laura is Wes's girlfriend. Wes doesn't get his own spot here because Wes is almost always gone to some other country or other state or some other part of the city being a missionary. Wes is still amazing, though. Mostly because he got Laura, but also because he is what I would imagine Jesus to be like if Jesus walked on earth.

The guys at 462:

Mike Baker (the newest addition): is humble. He's thoughtful and deep, but mostly he's just humble. He opens the car door for me and, sometimes, when he's sharing about something the Lord did in his life his eyes get watery at the edges. I'm not sure he's going to be very happy that I wrote that, but it's true and I'm trying to be truthful here. That's one of the things about Baker that I love. He's big and plays rugby and is all rough and tumble, but he knows how to be humble.

Nicholas: A few months ago I prayed for someone who knew stuff to be my friend. I wanted to have a friend who loved art and music and books and someone who, when we were having a conversation about something, knew the same quotes and authors and artists as me. I wanted a friend who would wrestle with the things of God with me and be honest. Nicholas is that friend. Nick is a graphic designer and illustrator, but I didn't totally believe him until last weekend when I saw the fruits of his labor. It turns out he was telling the truth.

Steve: is from Connecticut and, when we first met, he saw my license plate and we rejoiced in the find of another true Yankee. Steve is the epitome of friendliness. Steve is also the epitome of sap. He's honest about things that could be awkward, like a bunch of twenty-somethings sitting around a table on Mother's Day discussing favorite mom stories. Steve builds things and makes things. He's a good cook and he's the youngest of six. Steve is Sara's boyfriend. And Sara is the greatest.

Sara: doesn't belong in 462, but she's there often enough. Sara is tall and sometimes I wonder where she's been my whole life. Right now she's in Europe with her roommates and I'm insanely jealous. But she deserves to be there because she's goodness through and through. Sara rests her arm on my head sometimes and has a mean British Cockney accent. She makes me laugh.

Tony: does belong in the 462 and he is Nick and Jackie's brother. Tony just graduated last week with a degree in Bio-Chemistry. He is wicked smart, even though he doesn't think so, and he is also wicked funny, which he knows. One of the first conversations I had with Tony was about missions and the nations and I knew, I knew, that this would be a person I would like. A person I would want to be my friend. And I was right.

Amos: is just like Sean. Make Sean a little shorter, a little funnier, a lot better dancer, and you have Amos. Amos has eyes that smile a lot. Amos asks hard questions that don't necessarily have answers, the kind of questions you wish had answers, but don't. The kind of questions all of our kids will be asking in thirty years, still without answers.

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There are more, or will be more, but this is it for now. These are the people I'm talking about when I say makeshift family. These are the people with whom I share my life and my house and my faith and my struggles. I love each of them a lot. I love each of them in ways I didn't expect to love them---and I am a better person because of them. And now you know a little about them too.

Increments:

Worship this morning: I was distracted; mind swayed and heart insecure. Gladly we aren't left there. I loved praising, lifting my hands up and shaking my fist at the old fears that threaten to rise within me, saying that they have no power over my life.

Lunch this afternoon: Instead of PB&J's, we ate stew and salad as a makeshift family. Steve suggested that we go around and, because our respective mothers weren't there, share memories about our moms. It was the best two hours of my week. It's amazing how alike and how different our collective mothers are. We are friends who laugh and share joy, but also friends who realize that humanity is not a thing to be treated lightly; there is pain and there is gain, and there is perspective inbetween.

Exploration early evening: For about three hours we walked the railroad tracks, followed by two small hound puppies and our thoughts. There were moments of silence and moments of laughter. We talked about local church and parents; we talked about discipleship and graves; we talked about fears and fellowship. I love sweet fellowship.

Studies late evening: Our weekly Bible study with our puzzle piece family is dwindling. In some ways this is sad because it means people have left for the summer, but in other very good ways it's good because it means transparency is a little less frightening.

Sitting on her bed tonight: We shared about our day, our thoughts, our fears, and a little bit of our love. She calms me. Her meek and quiet spirit help me to frame the details of my life in a Christlike perspective. I love her.

So we say goodbye. Bid adieu. Bon Voyage. We pack up her car. Pretend that it's fun because we're holding back the tears. Pretend that it's funny because it isn't and we don't know what else to do. Because saying goodbye is hard and we don't like it.

But then, when the car is packed and there's nothing left to do but wish good travels and give lingering hugs, we sit there and the tears pool in our eyes. Because even though we know it's good and it's even really good, the fact remains that it's hard. She's left and it's hard to readjust our makeshift family without her.

Maybe this season has it's hurdles and flights. Maybe it's filled with lonely spots and really really good spots. Maybe it has all the quirks of college life and maybe sometimes I feel too old and too out of place for it. But the reality is that I love our puzzle piece family. Each one, with their foibles and familiarity, belongs and fits.

And now she's left and it's hard to readjust our makeshift family without her.

When I was little it was a game we played. Switching bedrooms. Our rooms were of neutral shades so color didn't matter for the boys and me, it was the fun of getting a new place to call our own. I would dream of the furniture placement and, when I got older, the color scheme. It was fun. A change. A distraction.

I am, once again, filling my car, emptying my room, my home, and landing in another place for a few months. We move again in August. Maybe we will get a place with a year lease and I can stay somewhere for more than a few months. I get tired of moving now. It is no longer a fun, creative game. It is a chore, but even more, it is a constant reminder that I haven't settled.

A friend said to me last night, as I left his house and his brother and I finished our last minute conversation about graduation and life, that he thought it strange that I am less concerned with the fact that I am unmarried at age 25, than I am with the status of my unfinished schooling. I'm sure I replied with wit and a quick answer about seasons and life. But today, in hindsight, I thought about it more and I think the real answer is that I'm afraid to concern myself with my singleness because it's just another reminder that I'm footloose. It's just another reminder that I haven't adopted the lifestyle of my married peers. I haven't even stopped long enough in one place to breathe and make it mine. Some people call my life adventurous. I call it fearful.

I am afraid, in so many ways, of landing with permanency in a tangible place because it means I have to face things about myself that I have not fully wanted to face. Singleness is easy when my feet are always moving, when adventure and spontaneity are my fortune. Loneliness is easy when its remedy is just another option away. It's easy to appreciate this season when I'm not looking over everyone's shoulder and into their manicured backyards wishing it were mine.

So, I'm packing up again. Moving again. Landing again with my treasures of this world organized in pretty blue, green, and orange bins. Running from that fear, and facing my life lesson yet again.

I wonder if there will ever come a time when a part of me doesn't long for a place of my own with an ache I cannot describe. I wonder if there will ever come a time when settling down means knowing that it is always temporary, even if it is a long time. I wonder if empty rooms and saying goodbye always has to be someone's lot and I wonder if it will always be mine.

Disadvantages to living across from the soccer field all semester:

-Screaming fans until all hours of the night.
-Distracted roommates by boys with no shirts practicing their foot moves.
-Screaming roommates.
-Bright florescent lights shining into my bedroom until all hours of the night.
-Groundskeepers shouting to one another from across the field.
-White stripes ruining an otherwise pretty lawn.

Singular thing making it all worth it:

-Sound check for graduation tomorrow--Frank Sinatra's I Get a Kick Out of You echoing off all the walls of this campus and warming my heart to its deepest parts.

I'm beginning a creative writing class on Tuesday and, in case you haven't noticed the dry spell around here, I'm feeling a little pressure to be creative. Pressure and creativity, to me, do not walk well together. I can get things done, be disciplined, be aggressive and be productive under pressure. But I cannot be creative with the second hand as my only background music.

In an effort to bring my creative juices flowing out of their self-imposed ice age I walked across campus yesterday in the rain to check out some books from the library. Lee University is known for their academic excellence and steadily rising on the list of best US universities, but the extent of creative writing in the library is shelved in a six by six space. Most of it is Eudora Welty and Flannery O'Connor and Toni Morrison, with a few Kurt Vonnegut thrown in for variety's sake. Southern readers at their best. But on the lowest shelf in the K section I saw a book by Stephen King that's been on my list of books to read for quite a while. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.

I was raised reading Laura Ingalls Wilder and L.M Montgomery, graduating to Jane Austen and Charles Dickens, and, finally old enough to check out my own books without parental approval, I delved into L'Engle's adult fiction and Anne Lamott. The most frightening book I have ever read was Christian Fiction at its best, Frank Peretti's This Present Darkness. I'm sure I couldn't sleep for days afterward. I scare easily and try to stay away from things that have the potential to scare me even when I think about them ten years later. Unfortunately, I don't have the advantage of hindsight when I am in the act: this is life's way of teaching us lessons.

So Stephen King and I have never been on good terms, my imagination is too wild. He, I'm sure, would keep me awake for nights and it hasn't been worth the potential lost sleep to keep up on the latest thriller. However, I am fully aware that as modern writers go, he is reputed to be one of the finest. Not worth sleepless nights though. But this book is a memoir, and, even better, a memoir on the craft of writing. How could I lose sleep over this?

How naive I am. My light stayed on well past two am this morning as I read and reread passages of this book. Things like this:

[Writing] starts with this: put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn't in the middle of the room. Life isn't a support-system for art. It's the other way around.

Things said that make writing more than a chore and a task to do before a deadline approaches. Things said that let writing, or any art for that matter, support the lack of creativity which seems to be more prevalent in seasons like this. Things said that remind me to remind myself that creativity is a small facet of a larger sphere.

Things said that keep me awake at night for different reasons than fear.

I don't mean to be selfish and I haven't got any ill feelings toward any one thing or any one person. I just liked today; that's all.

I went to bed in the quiet and woke to the quiet and showered in the quiet and packed my room in the quiet. I ate a tortilla and salsa at one pm, in the quiet. And after that I put on a CD which I intended to listen to only once but the repeat function was on and I didn't bother to change it. It has played for five hours straight. It soothes me. Continuation soothes me.

A short visit from a beloved friend and talk about family and artistry and faithfulness and moving in with one another helped me to see the world outside of me for the day. But I happily moved back to packing and liking the fact that everything I own in this stage of my life fits onto a twin bed without stacking. She said I was low maintenance and I thought "If only you knew. . . "

If only she knew how much this day of quiet has been wished and longed for. If only she knew how attached I am to the world. If only she knew how high the maintenance my soul is and if only she knew how low maintenance I am not. How I require a lot of others and a lot of myself. And a lot of God.

So today I let God have a day off. Didn't think too hard about expectations and prayers. Tried not to concern myself, or Him, with future and hopes. Just thought about being. And being quiet. And learning again to love the silence for which my soul thirsts.