The world wakes slowly, rubbing sleep from its eyes and rolling back the blanket of mist. We are in a cabin. In the woods. Without cell phone reception or internet. I don't miss them a bit. It makes staying here, only miles from bustling commotion even more appealing. I don't have to leave if I don't want to. And I don't want to.

The family partly converged Wednesday night, and piled four more into the mix last night. Today we'll expect a few stragglers, conscious always of the ones who couldn't make it. Life infringes smelling like boot camp and family commitments, time constraints and finances. I am never happier for my singleness then when I stretch my wings and they brush against people I love and who love me.

We'll celebrate the third wedding of this Makeshift Family this weekend, looking forward to the fourth one coming in November. Last night I sat at the table watching the old married couples play card games wondering where the time went. I smiled. I am glad for it, more than anything I think. I'd rather be here, in the center of joyful covenant than with young, discontent radicals or middle-aged disillusioned pauches of saggy skin and balding heads.

I'm sure I'll love then too.

(dbox.tumblr.com)

There's a song about the world spinning madly on and sometimes I feel like that. Even here, in this cabin in the middle of nowhere, where we touch no one in the world but the family around us, I still feel like the world spins madly on. I read this morning in John 18, where Jesus clarifies that his betrayal is part of the cup he'll drink. I guess I never thought about that. I just equate the crucifixion with the necessary evil—but betrayal too? And so I investigate in my head. It wasn't just the death that hurt so badly, it was the last days, the thorns, the whippings, the sip of bitter vinegar and the looks that Peter didn't send Christ's way. It was all of it. The stripping down of His glorious ministry. The accolades were gone, the crowd who worshiped Him with palm leaves and crippled faith, were shouting his death warrant and turning away.

His world spun away. Not on, just away.

The other night I slept in the middle of the road. I don't think I was the only one, a thousand cars stopped on Interstate 81, we turned our ignitions and our lights off, raindrops our only sound. I'm not sure why there was a holdup, whatever caused our spontaneous cease fire was gone by the time we finally crept forward. For two hours we sat there, sharing a forced experience, which somehow made it all okay. I don't mind sharing captivity.

Which is why we have friends I think—because somehow we need to make sense of all the traffic jams in life, the ones where we never really know why they happened, they just did. So this week, I'm nested amongst my friends, those who've shared life (coffee, card games, dance lessons, Mystery Science Theater, front porch conversations, and toothpaste) and I think to myself this morning: if we have to be in the world, captive to living life instead of skipping ahead to heaven, I'd rather stall with these folks than anyone else.

September 2008

She was sitting behind me, wearing a turquoise shirt and matching eye-shadow. I wore jeans rolled up at the cuffs and an old camp t-shirt, no make-up. She said her favorite magazine was Vanity Fair, mine was National Geographic. She could have given Reese Witherspoon a run for her money and I could partner with Jane Goodall nicely. It was the first day of class and this girl was clearly out of mine.

She smiled, I smiled, and we shared perfunctionary hellos, because we had to. Our professor was one of those charismatic types, the kind that makes you laugh because they are. She had us fill out little 3x5 index cards with superlatives and names and things, trade with another classmate, and introduce them to the rest of Introduction to Mass Media, Communications 201, section B. I traded mine with the girl sitting behind me.

Her name was Kelly and I didn't know we'd be friends. It wasn't until later that I found out that she would've said National Geographic if she'd thought of it, but that Vanity Fair was the first thing that came to mind. I also found out that she likes vintage clothes. And when I tell her she looks like Reese Witherspoon she laughs and rolls her eyes and says "Oh. . . " That when she really looks like Reese. She's the only other person I've ever met who actually wants to be an editor (but secretly wants to write), and loves true-blue black and white photography. She loves God, and I know that's kind of a given when I say I'm friends with someone, but she really does. If you didn't know it from the sparkle in her eyes, you might catch it in the middle of a really deep conversation when she nods her head in agreement with something you just said. Something only people who really love God agree about.

Tonight I called her and left an incognito message on her voicemail. She called me back and just laughed for ten seconds. We said we loved each other at the end. And missed each other.

Who would have thought I'd miss a girl who likes Vanity Fair and blue eye-shadow?

December 2005

I won't let go until you bless me. Some translations say "I won't let go unless you bless me." But I am being optimistic. These are times for optimism. So we pray "I won't let go until you bless me" like Jacob did, wrestling with a dislocated hipbone and a nameless man in the night.

I wrestle with namelessness. I wrestle with a weakness. I wrestle with God, refusing to rest. Wrestle: to twist; I twist His words, His plans, His meaning, His intention. I manipulate until something, anything feels less painful than the last position. I refuse to cry Uncle! or call out Abba! I am wrestling with intention.

And He knocks my bones into dislocation. He moves things that feel right so that they are wrong. I protest. But He is God? He knows better?

He changes my name, I walk with a limp, I do not see the blessing. A name? This? This is the blessing that you give me when I have already stolen the birthright of my brother? I have already stolen a name and still you give me another? Who am I? Jacob, the thief? Esau, the fraud? Israel, the victorious?

But Who Are You?

I walk with a limp, my future walks with a limp, we will all walk with a limp, we will not eat the meat of the hipbone--this is our sacrifice and this is our Ebenezer. The scar of evening wrestling, the badge of victory, the mark of humility, the memento of the overcomer.

So my run is not speedy, my walk is impeded, and my name is still Victory: he who came through.

And, later, "you will know My Name. I'll tell you Myself."

'Tis all in vain to hold thy tongue,

Or touch the hollow of my thigh:

Though every sinew be unstrung,

Out of my arms Thou shalt not fly;

Wrestling I will not let Thee go,

Till I thy name, thy nature know.

charles wesley

October 2008

Dear Friends,

Ever since I learned the ten commandments it was the Sabbath keeping one that always shook me in my soul. Murder seemed an impossibility for me and lying was too hard to not do, but the Sabbath one--this seems foreign and impossible. How do you keep a day holy? A few years ago one of my heroes in the faith taught a class on sustainability and theology at my church and he talked about the year of Jubilee--again, a fascinating and near impossible feat: how do you shut down your livelihood, return your servants, rest your land and still live?

The idea is so fascinating to me. It seems to me the most tangible gift we can receive from God while still here on earth. The gift of rest, of nothing, really, emptiness, giving up and giving over.

The entire premise of the gospel is that we are set free, resting in His goodness alone and relying on Him for our complete provision.

And yet we are still spinning every wheel, sometimes double time, desperately trying to complete the work that only He can complete. Isaiah says this:

In repentance and rest is your salvation
In quietness and trust is your strength.

I'm declaring from now until the end of July a Sabbath rest for this blog and a few other things. I've scheduled blogs from the dusty archives for the month, nothing too heady or deep. Just some simple stuff to peruse and help me to feel less inclined to be present there.

So that's it. That's all. Thanks for reading. I appreciate you more than you'll ever know.

Really.

All the love in the world,
Me

P.S. I'll also be a little less present on facebook and twitter, if you keep up with me there. If you need to get a hold of me, email me here: loreferguson@gmail.com.