There are two distinct definitions of broody. One means the desire to reproduce offspring (this is the Irish definition, one I learnt as I carried my big baby frame around the place for 9 months; friends touching my belly, saying, "Oh, I'm feeling broody!"). The other means moody, meditative, introspective (this one I know from daily, personal experience).

The man is broody today (the latter, not the former). He spoke with friends, via skype from across the ocean. Two guys he worked with, hung out with, drank loads of coffee with, and prayed with. Great, God-loving, people-loving Irish guys. And he misses them. This he doesn't say much, but today he did. "I miss them." I think it's a phrase somewhat foreign to men, in which they express emotion and need for maintaining personal relationships and interactions with people other than their moms and/or wives.



I love this side of him, but to be honest, it kinda makes me uncomfortable. I mean, I'm the broody one. Melancholy, wistful, a little stormy. He's the steady bow, navigating the choppy waters, steering us onward and upward. So when he expresses a need, an emotion, a slight angsty-ness, I have to shut my mouth from saying, "Hey, you're the strong one, man. Hold it together!" Instead, I must nod and say, "I know. Me too." And we can be sad together in that moment, for the distance and the time lost.

Because here's the thing: I'm tired of feeling sad or bad about not being in Ireland. I'm tired of ending every conversation with guilt over not being there. When our friends say, "Get back soon," it's not because we've let them down, but because we're missed too. We lived there, and I know we will again. Today, that's good enough for me. The relationships, the work... those continue while we wait for God to show us the way and provide the means. Missing them is difficult, but really, it's oh so good. What we're doing is of some value, here and there.

Clearly God is still doing something, and it will be freaking amazing. Because if He wanted, He'd drop the funds in our lap and we'd be off. But instead, He's bringing people to us, working in hearts here and there, working in us and forcing us to be wholly dependent on Him for literally everything. Vehicles, schools, leases, shoes, wisdom teeth, inhalers, meetings, people, security, calling, life and breath... Everything. And seeing that, testifying to it, is worth the missing... painful though it may be.

"I'm gonna go make sawdust," he says after that broody moment we share. Alright then, I think. Onward and upward.





Soundtrack to Irish Broodiness :: Strict Joy, The Swell Season

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What makes you broody? And more importantly, what music enhances said broodiness?

Words tread water

Five Minute Friday with GypsyMama today, on the word that eludes me today...

Connected...

We tried to use words to connect with someone today, but sometimes words aren't heard. Apparently there are times only screams or groans or cries are heard. But we didn't do that. We used words. And they went unheard. I'm screaming for someone to fight for us, to advocate for us, to help us find our way in a maze of flaming hoops, hoops we've already fearfully jumped through only to find another one waiting. And when the miracle happens, and someone does advocate, does go out on a line, does use words and actions to invest in us and fight for us, that too goes unheard.

So, here we are, waiting and wishing we'd used different words to communicate our need, our calling, our heart-wrenching burden that hovers over everything. But the fear remains that we won't connect, we won't be heard, our words will drown in the ears of others, and we will lose the mission, miss the boat, and tread water in the sea that carries us back to chasing the American dream.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the anniversaries {day 18}

The man and I like to remember dates in our history. Besides birthdays, we try to celebrate anniversaries of all sorts: when we met, first date, engagement, when we found out we were expecting the boy (or the girl, and the wee lad), when we experienced a tragedy, when we moved to Ireland, etc etc. Remembering these days, these milestones that tell our story, prove that something bigger than us is at work, and promise a future full of anniversaries, both good and bad.

So yesterday (Oct 18th) was the 14th anniversary of our first date, but we actually didn't really celebrate it all that much. Instead, I remembered the anniversary of the day before. The day he first called me his future bride. Because that is the unpredictable one, the one that came during our second conversation, the day after we met, the day before our first date, 13 months before our engagement.



Strange, but true. He was joking, of course. And I laughed and laughed. It was absurd, and we both knew it, but it would turn out to be real. Prophecy.

Sometimes I think about that day, about how ignorant I was then to the life we would have. Not a bad life at all, but one I thought I knew but still never expected. And still don't know what to expect. Our relationship, our path, our life continues to evolve. 

I hope and wait for the next evolution.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: invite people in {day 13}

Once you've mastered leaving your house, it's time to let people in.



This aspect of life I struggle with most - opening my door and opening my heart - most likely due to just pure selfishness. I like to escape to our shabby little apartment, put my pjs on, and watch Alias for three hours straight.

If I don't invite people over, into my house and into my heart, there's no one there to judge me, no one there to pay attention to, no one there to question my all-about-me lifestyle. But then, there's also no one there to love on my family, no one there to share new stories with, no one there asking questions that need answering.

My other problem: I know I'm leaving. No matter where we are, I know it's not for the long haul. In the back of my mind, the thought that we'll be leaving in one or two years haunts me and tells me it's no use, too much energy, not enough time to actually make a lasting connection with anyone.

And that, my friends, is a lie. 

There is always time for a cup of tea. There is always time to let someone put their feet up. There is always time to love somebody. Do you know how much Jesus walked? A lot! From town to town, up and down Israel, from one mother-in-law's house to the tax collector's. He was constantly on the move. And yet, when the bleeding woman touched him, he stopped and asked her for her story.

If I'm going to proactively live in transition, we simply have to open our home to people. We need them to enter our chaos, understand our stories, pray for us or celebrate with us or mourn with us. And we have to do the same for them... or it's as if we never lived here at all.

No matter your transition - if you're in a moment of pain, or a moment of triumph - invite someone in to share a bit of the burden or the joy. Or at least a cup of tea. Let them see your mess.

Katharina, seeing our mess, which included a dissected baby grand piano in the dining room.

God and books and stuff

So I've been reading this book, Searching for God Knows What by Donald Miller. Now Miller is the same guy who wrote Blue Like Jazz, which everyone I know has read, and either a) adored it and are obsessed with it, or b) hated it and are obsessed with trashing it. Either way, you gotta admit a guy who can write a book that elicits responses like that must be just shy of genius.

Anyway, so as I wait for this baby to be born, I've been reading this book. And I've been reading not just because I don't have much else to do besides wait for the baby, but also because lately I've found myself really thirsty for some spiritual conundrums. Church hasn't quite been doing it for me lately, which I feel really guilty about considering that one big reason we're here is to do "church". And really, that's probably not very accurate, we're here to follow and try to be Jesus as best we can. It just so happens, that more often than not, those notions get intertwined with attending church.

It could be that I'm not really getting much out of church because I've only been able to go about twice a month. The truth is, I've not been well. Besides being ginormously with child, I've been living with daily migraines. I wake up in the morning, and it's there. I drink water, I drink juice, I intake caffeine, I refrain from caffeine, I push tylenol, I try to nap... you get the picture. These migraines last until early evening, when strangely I'm finally given a reprieve. After spending all day in bed with blinding pain behind my eyes, missing my children and begging God to take it away, I'm able to eat dinner with my family, play a bit with my kids, get a bit of work/cleaning/baby prep done, and then spend the rest of the night trying to prepare for sleep, which I know will only end in me waking up, yet again, with another migraine. (It should be noted that I have mentioned this to the doctors/midwives I see when I go in for my antenatal appointments, but they don't seem to be really concerned...).

So, yeah, I've missed a bit of church. But even when I've been there, I'm not really paying attention. Or I'm confused. Or I get frustrated (which, as you know, is a common Pregnant Karen symptom). In all honesty, this happened probably just as frequently in our churches in the States, so perhaps it really is me and not the church... at least, that's what I'm starting to get a handle on.

So I decided to pick up Miller's book because Blue Like Jazz moved me so deeply and I thought, if I'm having a hard time at church, if I'm having a hard time concentrating on prayer, if I'm struggling with studying the Bible, and if I've got these horrible headaches which keep me bed-bound most days, I need to read something that might open the window and let a little fresh air in. Or I need to read something that makes me feel less crazy and less out-of-control. (The end of pregnancy does have a habit of reminding you how freaking little you control in the first place.)

I thought that perhaps I should just share a little bit of this book with you, not in a review-y sort of way, but in quotes and small morsels. Miller reminds me a lot of my sister, Jessica, who knows that there are no easy answers and really thinks it valuable to spend a good, hard time figuring out just who Jesus is, just what the Bible is talking about, and just exactly what we are to do with our lives, knowing that information. So when I read Miller, I kinda feel like she and I are having a conversation, like we used to do in my living room in KC, with our anarchist cousin, and my husband keeping us all grounded (and trying to keep us quiet so we wouldn't wake the children with our shouting).

So here are some quotes from Searching for God Knows What. They are tidbits of thought that I have read at the doctor's office, in the bath, laying in bed with a fan directly on my face, or on that one sunny day where I could read in a chair in the back garden (with a hat on, mind you, so that the sun wouldn't aggravate the migraine). No matter where I was when I read them, I either laughed or cried, out loud. Sometimes I gasped. And occasionally I would pray and thank God for blowing my mind, or at least touching my heart just a wee bit.

(at this point, I hope you're still with me...)

About God, the creator:

Whatever it is that understands the physics of this thing that is happening to us would have to be quite remarkable, with giant oaks for feet, perhaps, and a voice like wind through a forest and a mind that creates creations of which it might ponder in a way of learning what it already knows.

About us and what we believe about God:

In my opinion, there are two essential problems with believing God is something He isn't. The first problem is that it wrecks your life, and the second is that it makes God look like an idiot.

About Jesus, and John the Evangelist:

The way John writes about Jesus makes you feel like the sum of our faith is a kind of constant dialog with Jesus about whether or not we love Him... John seemed to embrace the relational dynamic of our faith... He revealed how none of the disciples truly understood Jesus and how they were all screwups, and he didn't make himself look good, either... That's guts, if you ask me.

About nudity and the Fall:

I wondered why it was that when people talked about the fall of man, about the Garden of Eden, they never talked about how people went around naked. If you ask me, the most obvious thing that happened after the Fall was that people started wearing all kinds of clothes... I mean, evolution may explain how we came from apes, but it does nothing to explain why we wear clothes.

And that's just all in the first 70 pages...