Good Things

Good things are growing.

Today has been a good day. Substantial revisions to my introductory chapter, affirmation from my director, more pieces in place for the teleconferencing technology I need for my dissertation defense, exciting possibilities on the job front, supper with Grant and Jenn, several phone calls from my dear people, sunshine, and cream in my tea.

I don't really have time to blog over the next month, but I do have time to be grateful. Grateful for daily bread in the form of good news, for the duty of prayer, which takes me outside of my own work and concerns, for confidence that good things are growing in 2012.

Grateful that when I hear this song, I see the faces of my friends:

What's growing in your life right now? How can I be praying for you?

The Ties that Bind

Graduations are bittersweet.  Though most occur in the spring, the ceremonies always create a kind of autumn feeling in me. Joy from the completion of a Good Thing mingles with the sorrow proper to any ending, even (or especially) a beautiful conclusion.

Having grown up around the culture of universities, I observed graduations for years before I experienced one myself, and this year I have watched a number of friends receive formal affirmation for years of training and hard work.  Keith and Janice are now Dr. S-- and Dr. M--, physicians I would trust with my own life.  Adrienne and Laura have the funny hats to prove they are PhDs in English Literature, while Martin has become Herr Doktor F-- by finishing his doctoral work in high energy physics. Last night, I attended the commencement ceremonies at Truett Seminary and watched Jon (along with many other faithful, talented young leaders) receive an M.Div. I even received the graduation announcement for a young man who was my student when he was a freshman. He will begin law school in the fall.

This year's graduations have been more-than-usually poignant for me. Next year I plan and hope (i.e. pray, pray, pray) to be among the graduates, robed in Baylor green and receiving my PhD.  Even more, this is the fifth year since my own graduation from college. That anniversary has me thinking about what distance, change, and achievement mean for the friendships that have taught us the meaning of "home."

You might say we were a little excited.

In many ways, May 13, 2006 was a joyful day.  Seeing my friends looking their best, feeling proud and silly in my black cap and gown, and receiving congratulations from the faculty are just a few of the reasons I looked so absurdly happy in all the photos our families-turned-paparazzi snapped that day.

After the commencement exercises, my parents loaded up my wordly goods and headed back to Indiana, while I climbed into the car of my best friend and roommate Rachel (far left in the picture). Our dear friend Mark (second from the left) was getting married the next weekend, and it didn't make sense for me to go all the way to Indiana, only to return a week later. Rachel and I planned to fill the week with a short road trip through North Carolina, but first we headed back to her hometown, an hour or two east of our campus.

As we drove away from campus, we were silent. I felt that I was choking, as though I had tried to swallow something much too large.  We made most the journey in silence and decided we should stop somewhere--anywhere--before arriving at her parents' house.  Rachel parked on a quiet street, and we wandered for a block or two before entering the prayer chapel of a large downtown church.  The chapel was quiet and empty, with a few wooden pews and stained glass windows.

We sat together on the second pew from the front and took out a hymnal.

Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.

Before our Father’s throne
We pour our ardent prayers;
Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one
Our comforts and our cares.

Rachel has a beautiful alto voice, and I do well enough as a soprano, but anyone who overheard would have had to listen carefully to discern the words through our very undignified sobbing. Even when garbled by crying, however, these verses express so much of why college was home to me.  It was the first place where "the fellowship of kindred minds" was an everyday blessing, and I learned that the most important cares, hopes and comforts were those I shared with others.

But now we had graduated.  We were leaving.

When we asunder part,
It gives us inward pain;
But we shall still be joined in heart,
And hope to meet again.

Living in that hope has been one of the real challenges of life since college. John Fawcett published the words to this hymn in 1782, and since then, a modern postal service, cell phone plans, and facebook have made it much easier to maintain active friendships from a distance.  But it is still hard.  Some days it feels so hard that I doubt it is worth the effort.

With this year's graduations,  many more friends are parting asunder.  Watching them head to North Carolina or Chicago doesn't cause the visceral heartache I felt five years ago, but it does make me sad and hopeful and watchful. If home depends as much (or more) on people as on place, what do we do when our people leave?  Or when we leave them behind?

This glorious hope revives
Our courage by the way;
While each in expectation lives,
And longs to see the day.

From sorrow, toil and pain,
And sin, we shall be free,
And perfect love and friendship reign

Through all eternity.

 Today, that hope is strong, and I feel my courage reviving even as I prepare to bid Adrienne, Jon, Steph, Mandy, Mary, Martin, and Margaret farewell. I know that to strive and grasp, to demand that home be all here, all now, would be selfish and futile. For all my pouting and fatigue, I have learned ways to sustain deep friendships across five years and hundreds of miles.

Other days, the promised reign of "perfect love and friendship" seems much further away than the homes I have left in Indiana or Tennessee. On those days, I want to return to this reflection and read your thoughts about when and how to sustain friendships across time and space.

What is "the tie that binds" you to your friends? What are some practical ways you strengthen that tie? Have you found it easy or difficult to sustain friendships when graduations (or other life events) have distanced you from your friends? 

Making it Home: Better than a Registry, or How a Single Girl Got Matching Dishes

Children come up with all kinds of reasons not to wear certain clothes: maybe the color is yucky, or the collar scratchy, or the sleeves too short.  My favorite reason, however, is one I gave to my mother when I was a preschooler: I refused to wear a jacket because it had no story to go along with it. 

To understand this protest, you must know that all my clothes were second-hand when I was a child. (I remember having a pair of new jeans for the first time when I was in middle school, and I think my first brand-new dress came when I was fifteen).  When helping me dress for church or play, my parents would tell me about the person who handed down that article to me. Thus, when my mother somehow obtained a new jacket for me, I naturally asked her who used to wear it.  “No one,” she said. “This is new.”  New?  I would have none of it.  

Growing up in this culture of hand-me-downs and storied things has saved me from a good deal of discontent in my life, most recently regarding wedding registries.

Really and truly, I love seeing what people put on their wedding registries.  Especially for friends I have seen live in Spartan bachelor pads or serve dinner parties on mismatched collections Corelle ware, these registries help me imagine the look of their “grown-up” households and, in turn, the new lives they will be building with their spouses. 

Sometimes, I must confess, I have been jealous of these registries.  It isn’t just that I find it unfair that some people manage to get lifelong commitment and matching dishes all at the same time: of course it is unfair, but it is also very, very good. At its root, my concern has been one of validation: I love registries most because I know that for the rest of their lives, my friends will know that much of their everyday, essential household equipage came from people who know and love them.  Not only that, these gifts confirm that these young adults are setting up a household--a tiny economy of love and work, patience and grace. 

What then, is a single girl (or, more to the point: young woman) to do?  She could buy herself matching dishes and all that, but that’s not satisfying in quite the same way. Though no longer a little girl, I still want things to have stories.  I want to look at my cups and saucers and think, “Oh, so-and-so gave that to me.” 

With these ideas in mind, I walked through my apartment earlier this week, trying to note all the things that have been given to me.  As I made the list (below), I was quickly convicted that any yearning for a registry is greedy and ungrateful.  Little by little over the years, my family and friends have equipped me with all the good things--all and much, much more--I need to make a home for myself and others. 

These things are precious to me, so much so that, to be honest, I would be reluctant to replace most of them.  When I look at my home, I realize I have been given something far better than a registry. To some extent, people feel compelled to bring gifts to a wedding. It is expected.  In contrast, my friends and family have filled my house in quiet, unlooked-for ways. Even the soap in my shower and the toothpaste on my vanity, I realized, were given to me. What follows is not a complete list--I have catalogued only the things I use or notice nearly every day--and I have not allowed myself to tell the story behind each thing, limiting myself to the names of the givers.

These are the things they have brought me: 

In my bedroom: 

- quilt made by my great-grandmother

- yoga mat from Kareem
- hair-dryer from Mary

- curtains (and at least 1/3 of my skirts) made by my mother
- CDs from Julianna and Nathaniel

- jewelry from Hunter, Jenn, Mandy, and Rachel

- a sewing machine, given to my mother when she graduated from high school, then handed down to me

- framed, illuminated manuscript of Jeremiah 29.11 from Mr. and Mrs. Harrison

- knitting needles from Lennon 

- staple gun Mark and Keith gave me

- computer printer from Emily

In my living room:

-  the set of The Chronicles of Narnia my parents read to me, crumbling dust jackets and all

- countless beautiful books from Will, Hunter, Dave, and others

- an eccentric DVD collection, supplied mostly by my great-aunt Martha
- a television from Martin 

- tools for my spinning wheel from Margaret, Hunter, and my father

In my kitchen

- circra 1970 Oster stand mixer from Mary (and her mother before her)

- that lovely oak-lef mug from Mark 

- cookbooks Rachel and Jenn

- one teapot from Lennon, and another from my mother (I drink a lot of tea)

- tea from Eric, Nathaniel, Shannon, Martin, Rachel

- spices from Jenn and Grant

- wind chimes from my mother and aunt Lanette 

- handmade ceramic bowl and mug made by Mari 

- spatula from Eric

- my grandmother's cast-iron skillet

- my great-grandmother's bread board 

- an enormous bottle of Mexican vanilla from Jon and Steph 

- pear butter from Amy

Finally, if you open my cabinets, you will find a set of matching dishes (an amazing yard-sale find, in exactly the pattern I wanted) from my mother.

I could make this list much longer, but I hope it is already clear that I have many reasons to be grateful, and not one good reason to covet anyone’s registry.  

I wish I could give you all friends as attentive and generous as my own. I hope that I am half as generous as they. However, I can encourage myself and you to be such friends.  Watch, listen, look for something small and essential you can give a friend.  Be old-fashioned. Pray over it. Don't make them wait for a wedding registry. 

What everyday things do you have that have been gifts or hand-me-downs? For those who are married, what were the most meaningful/useful gifts you received?