It's raining outside. A light rain, not a drenching one. Rainfall has to be one of my favorite sounds on the planet.
Life has suddenly gone from holding pattern to hectic. We planned on this move, but we didn't know when it would happen. Then, in the course of three days, Joshua applies for a job, receives a call-back and interviews, and gets offered the job on the spot. We've known it would be like this... when the time was right, God would line it all up and the starting gate would open and we'd run through it. But now that it's actually happening it's a little surreal.
We spent the day organizing our stuff, most of which is still in boxes from when we moved out of our condo in July. Joshua turned in his letter of resignation at ASH, we sold our washing machine, ran errands to tie up some loose ends. Throughout the day my mind kept coming back to different people that we do life with in Asheville, and it was sad. The hardest part about this move is leaving our community. We will miss the mountain views, and hiking and waterfalls, and the Asheville granola vibe that we've come to appreciate and embrace. But none of it compares to the people that have walked with us over the last almost-decade. It's hard to believe we've been here that long. It's the longest I've ever stayed in one place since my dad went to seminary when I was eight. Writing the letter to the Worthys last night that I posted on my blog took me down memory lane. This season of being planted in Asheville has been one where God rigorously tilled the soil of our souls. I really hope that this next season will bring forth some beautiful fruit.
I don't want to deny the sadness I feel about leaving, but neither do I want to dwell in the melancholy. So I'm heating up some butternut squash bisque and sourdough toast for dinner, and Joshua and I are going to put the kids to bed and snuggle under the covers and watch a movie while the rain pitter-patters on the roof overhead. One day closer to goodbye. One day closer to hello.
Monday, October 6, 2014
Sunday, October 5, 2014
29 | 49 An Open Letter to the Worthys
Dear Bryan and Mary,
Mary exhorted me not to "hide my light under a bushel" and to write more, so I picked you both as my topic. You're a good topic, though. :)
It's been seven years now since I came to my first Highland gel group in the basement of your house. Back then I was Joshua's girlfriend, fresh from Florida with no winter boots or proper jacket. I think I was having anxiety attacks from being Michelle (then) Gambill's roommate because she had so many friends and I was feeling painfully overwhelmed about being in a new place where I knew no one except for the boyfriend I had only seen in person seven or eight times in the past year. I was ready for some counseling at that point, feeling that God had brought me to Asheville with the intent of healing some broken places deep inside, and Mary, you helped me dig into that. By the time Joshua headed off to India six months after I moved to Asheville, I really felt like you were one of the only people I was connected to at Highland.
I was so miserable that summer-- which I basically spent staying up until 3:00 a.m. in my apartment watching ER episodes and eating Ruffles and Ranch dip and then crying in the bathroom through half of my work day-- that I desperately wanted to move back home to Orlando, where I had friends and felt like I belonged. I remember distinctly walking into the Orange Peel the Sunday before we were to move back to Florida after Joshua got home from his mission trip, looking for you at the information booth and hugging you goodbye. I remember being at gel the night Bryan told me that I didn't have to go back to Florida, I could live with you all and help him with his work. Bryan, I'm still not sure why you said that. But I'm sure glad you did.
Then there was the non-move. These were the days when I prayed prayers that I now would not pray. (Lately I've been praying for large windfalls of cash-- is that bad?) "God, if we're not supposed to do this, please have our car break down." I was so stunned when it happened. I had thrown out a fleece and God answered by breaking down BOTH cars, a resounding "turn around" if I have ever heard one. Mary, you were out of town. I called Bryan. I didn't know what to say, so sitting in a Zaxby's booth I stared at my chicken fingers plate and blurted out the story. I knew we had to go back; I wanted to obey God, I was excited to obey God! But this was surreal. You guys were my only solid connection and the only ones who had offered an alternative for staying in Asheville. I can't remember what Bryan said, probably something along the lines of "come back, we'll get your stuff later." I know I stayed at Grammy Doris' house for the first few days... I can't remember when we had the conversation about me really coming to live with you. But it ended up happening.
Mary, your faith and your openness have always amazed me. Bryan, you just taking it all in stride has always amazed me, too. I had no job, no money, no car, and a U-Haul full of stuff. You just invited me in and let me make my home with you. Mary, the only thing you said to me was "don't bring sin into my house." I'll always remember that. You asked me to make a list of my food preferences-- were you expecting what you got? Hope you still have that somewhere. You taught us how to drive stick shift in Little Red and didn't seem to mind the burned rubber tire marks leading up your driveway or the neighbors coming out to stare as we peeled out over and over again, trying to learn how to manage the clutch and gas at the same time.
I was so overwhelmed in those days with battling my insecurities and imagined expectations. Bryan, you taught me to edit video which is such a valuable skill that I will always be thankful for. I was supposed to be your intern, which I think only amounted to me helping you at church on Sundays, haphazardly editing videos from the services, some random administrative stuff, and incessant fretting on my part. You let me work in your office and bumble my way through setting up your camera equipment when you could have done it four times faster than me. I battled my own demons in that role-- my insecurities constantly bombarded me; my lack of work ethic, which had yet to really be developed, stood out starkly when contrasted to yours; my struggle with lack of structure, which rendered me paralyzed at least half of the time. I often wondered in those days, "What's the point? I'm not really helping anyone." But as I reflect back on it now, I see how God was drawing things out in my life that He wanted to address. He's still working on these areas, but one of the greatest revelations I became aware of through that time period was realizing with terrible clarity exactly what my coping strategies were, and how harmful they could be. It was an invaluable lesson.
Mary, do you remember helping Joshua arrange his marriage proposal at the Highland staff Christmas party? Bryan, do you still have that video somewhere? What a proposal. What a night! Then came the first production of Godspell. Joshua was part of the cast, and the rehearsals were long and intense. You were both involved, and I wanted to be a part, too. I remember coming to the first dress rehearsal where they did hair and make-up and mics and sound and wanting to find a place to fit in and be a help. I suck at doing hair. I could do make-up, and was excited to be a part of that crew, but Misty Miller was full-up already. I went outside and cried, feeling useless and left out and ridiculous. Mary, you caught me crying and somehow finagled me into becoming Bryan's assistant. That day, Bryan, you taught me how to duct tape mic packs and to properly place mics on faces; even though I once again felt out of my league and more of a hindrance than a help, you took me under your wing. Thank you.
Joshua and I were getting ready to get married soon after the production wrapped... and Mary, you helped us navigate some vital issues as an engaged couple. At some point, I prayed another one of those prayers... I remember speaking with Sherri about how I desired God to "fillet my heart." I believe those were my exact words. I wanted him to reach the core of me, to slice through everything to get at that part of me. It was a serious prayer. I meant it. I just had no idea what I was asking for.
My first year of marriage filleted my heart. I was in pieces; it was dust and ashes. Could you tell? I mean, God answered my prayer. He allowed a sacred wound that ended up teaching me how to really love. I used to sob in church when we sang "You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of dust..." It was my anthem that I desperately hoped would prove true (it did). Living in your basement during that time was like being a baby bird trying out its wings in the safety of the nest. Joshua and I were falling apart and trying to put the pieces back together, but we were in a safe place. Remember that night at Applebees, when we interrupted your date night of drinks and (half price? or buy-one-get-one?) appetizers with our crisis of the hour? I was a snotty mess and Joshua was probably in a daze. I don't remember what you said that night, I just remember the feel of it. Calm. Peace. Acceptance. Encouragement. Lifting us up like Aaron and Hur held up Moses' arms.
Godspell was still going on as we tumbled through our first year of "wedded bliss." I was thrilled when I got to be an understudy and perform in the show, but honestly, I think I enjoyed being the Mic Wrangler more than anything. That moment during one of the shows when Jason's mic went out during the Good Samaritan hand puppet scene and you told me in no uncertain terms I had to go onstage and fix it... "Me?!" "Yes, you!!! Go!" So much adrenaline and so much fun. The productions in 2009 and 2010 really solidified being part of our community at Highland, and at a time when we really needed community. All of those hours; all of the blood, sweat, and tears... it made us a family. We belonged, and that was really important.
We settled into life in your house and we began to heal. Those were the days of Megan Mondays and running the girls to and fro and staring at the tree outside of your dining room table as it changed through the seasons. We hosted our first family Christmas in your house while you guys traveled to Kansas and Missouri. We sang Disney songs and danced around the kitchen, and spent countless hours making a mess in there when we went on the Paleo diet. We tried to garden but found out that I really hated weeding so it was a bad idea. We worked at Biltmore and then at Mission; Joshua went to school and then went to school some more. We took the girls blueberry picking and carved pumpkins on the front porch, and played Guitar Hero (every time I hear Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer" it brings me back) and the original Nintendo. We had pizza and movie night with you all and acted like crazy people trying to do jumping jacks during all the commercial breaks during Biggest Loser. You let me take up space on the DVR. We laughed together and cried together (well, Mary and I cried together). You grafted us into your family with nothing but grace.
We got pregnant. Surprise! We told you right away, and then I quickly devolved into a puddle of morningsickness that never wanted to leave the bedroom. Oh, how I would love to be that self-indulgent once again! Remember the day after the very last show of Godspell when I started spotting and my midwife sent me to the hospital? I was so scared that I was going to miscarry. I remember Bryan standing in the doorway of the open garage, watching as my parents who were in town visiting helped me into their car to take me up to Mission. Mary, you came and sat in the waiting room for a long time that day. Thank you.
During my second trimester, we started looking for our own place, although you assured us that there was room for a baby if we wanted or needed to stay. We moved out in May and Aidan was born that August. My labor and delivery was stressful and frightening with an emergency induction and Mary, you came up to my hospital room and held my hand and spoke Scripture over me. It was perfect and just what I needed at that time.
You rejoiced with us when Aidan was born. You were our first ever babysitters for him, because you were a part of our family. Bryan somehow became Aidan's "manny" for awhile when I had to go back to work. He still loves you, though he's more shy about it now. Even in church today, he insisted on "go see Bryan!" I'm not sure what you did-- did you ply him with M&Ms? Maybe you're just the baby whisperer.
Aidan's birth and our moving into our own space was a significant point in our marriage. Joshua and I really had regained our footing and entered the "honeymoon" stage that we missed out on during our turbulent first year of marriage. Our community changed after we went to the Grey Eagle during its launch year and were part of the zillion couples who were pregnant together, and we didn't see you all much. Your girls grew, too, and life got busier. It was sad, but it was a normal part of life changing, and we enjoyed the season we were in.
Now, we're starting a new season, and it's not the kind where we will just be able to pop by the house or catch up in the back at church on a random Sunday. I will miss you guys not being near. But you are forever near in my heart. You can call me anytime and ask for whatever you need, and I will do my utmost to help you. I will not forget the lessons God taught me during the years we spent under the same roof. If I do happen to forget, you have permission to remind me. The beautiful part for me is realizing that no matter what distance exists between us, the relationship is there, and will be into eternity. I love you both.
Megan
Here are some of the lessons I learned while living in your house:
God is my provider. A home. Three vehicles. Jobs. Schooling. Countless "wants" and "needs." Community. Family.
Call before you dig.
Go to people's parties when you are invited.
Do not kill a pregnant spider.
Do not use cast iron on a glass stovetop.
Do not plant a garden when you aren't committed to weeding. (This has many philosophical as well as literal implications.)
Work hard.
If you say you'll do it, do it.
Feel the fear and have faith anyway.
Tell your story.
It's kind to do someone else's dirty dishes. Especially when it's the popcorn maker.
Even if it's the worst you imagine, God will see you through.
Marriage is hard but good.
Make sure you know that risky days really are risky when using natural family planning.
Grace and longsuffering -- you guys modeled it beautifully.
Pray and ask before you try to work it out all on your own. God might say, "Why, yes! Here you go!"
It's okay.
Here is a lesson I hoped you learned while I lived with you:
Do not use the last of Megan's ketchup.
Mary exhorted me not to "hide my light under a bushel" and to write more, so I picked you both as my topic. You're a good topic, though. :)
It's been seven years now since I came to my first Highland gel group in the basement of your house. Back then I was Joshua's girlfriend, fresh from Florida with no winter boots or proper jacket. I think I was having anxiety attacks from being Michelle (then) Gambill's roommate because she had so many friends and I was feeling painfully overwhelmed about being in a new place where I knew no one except for the boyfriend I had only seen in person seven or eight times in the past year. I was ready for some counseling at that point, feeling that God had brought me to Asheville with the intent of healing some broken places deep inside, and Mary, you helped me dig into that. By the time Joshua headed off to India six months after I moved to Asheville, I really felt like you were one of the only people I was connected to at Highland.
I was so miserable that summer-- which I basically spent staying up until 3:00 a.m. in my apartment watching ER episodes and eating Ruffles and Ranch dip and then crying in the bathroom through half of my work day-- that I desperately wanted to move back home to Orlando, where I had friends and felt like I belonged. I remember distinctly walking into the Orange Peel the Sunday before we were to move back to Florida after Joshua got home from his mission trip, looking for you at the information booth and hugging you goodbye. I remember being at gel the night Bryan told me that I didn't have to go back to Florida, I could live with you all and help him with his work. Bryan, I'm still not sure why you said that. But I'm sure glad you did.
Then there was the non-move. These were the days when I prayed prayers that I now would not pray. (Lately I've been praying for large windfalls of cash-- is that bad?) "God, if we're not supposed to do this, please have our car break down." I was so stunned when it happened. I had thrown out a fleece and God answered by breaking down BOTH cars, a resounding "turn around" if I have ever heard one. Mary, you were out of town. I called Bryan. I didn't know what to say, so sitting in a Zaxby's booth I stared at my chicken fingers plate and blurted out the story. I knew we had to go back; I wanted to obey God, I was excited to obey God! But this was surreal. You guys were my only solid connection and the only ones who had offered an alternative for staying in Asheville. I can't remember what Bryan said, probably something along the lines of "come back, we'll get your stuff later." I know I stayed at Grammy Doris' house for the first few days... I can't remember when we had the conversation about me really coming to live with you. But it ended up happening.
Mary, your faith and your openness have always amazed me. Bryan, you just taking it all in stride has always amazed me, too. I had no job, no money, no car, and a U-Haul full of stuff. You just invited me in and let me make my home with you. Mary, the only thing you said to me was "don't bring sin into my house." I'll always remember that. You asked me to make a list of my food preferences-- were you expecting what you got? Hope you still have that somewhere. You taught us how to drive stick shift in Little Red and didn't seem to mind the burned rubber tire marks leading up your driveway or the neighbors coming out to stare as we peeled out over and over again, trying to learn how to manage the clutch and gas at the same time.
I was so overwhelmed in those days with battling my insecurities and imagined expectations. Bryan, you taught me to edit video which is such a valuable skill that I will always be thankful for. I was supposed to be your intern, which I think only amounted to me helping you at church on Sundays, haphazardly editing videos from the services, some random administrative stuff, and incessant fretting on my part. You let me work in your office and bumble my way through setting up your camera equipment when you could have done it four times faster than me. I battled my own demons in that role-- my insecurities constantly bombarded me; my lack of work ethic, which had yet to really be developed, stood out starkly when contrasted to yours; my struggle with lack of structure, which rendered me paralyzed at least half of the time. I often wondered in those days, "What's the point? I'm not really helping anyone." But as I reflect back on it now, I see how God was drawing things out in my life that He wanted to address. He's still working on these areas, but one of the greatest revelations I became aware of through that time period was realizing with terrible clarity exactly what my coping strategies were, and how harmful they could be. It was an invaluable lesson.
Mary, do you remember helping Joshua arrange his marriage proposal at the Highland staff Christmas party? Bryan, do you still have that video somewhere? What a proposal. What a night! Then came the first production of Godspell. Joshua was part of the cast, and the rehearsals were long and intense. You were both involved, and I wanted to be a part, too. I remember coming to the first dress rehearsal where they did hair and make-up and mics and sound and wanting to find a place to fit in and be a help. I suck at doing hair. I could do make-up, and was excited to be a part of that crew, but Misty Miller was full-up already. I went outside and cried, feeling useless and left out and ridiculous. Mary, you caught me crying and somehow finagled me into becoming Bryan's assistant. That day, Bryan, you taught me how to duct tape mic packs and to properly place mics on faces; even though I once again felt out of my league and more of a hindrance than a help, you took me under your wing. Thank you.
Joshua and I were getting ready to get married soon after the production wrapped... and Mary, you helped us navigate some vital issues as an engaged couple. At some point, I prayed another one of those prayers... I remember speaking with Sherri about how I desired God to "fillet my heart." I believe those were my exact words. I wanted him to reach the core of me, to slice through everything to get at that part of me. It was a serious prayer. I meant it. I just had no idea what I was asking for.
My first year of marriage filleted my heart. I was in pieces; it was dust and ashes. Could you tell? I mean, God answered my prayer. He allowed a sacred wound that ended up teaching me how to really love. I used to sob in church when we sang "You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of dust..." It was my anthem that I desperately hoped would prove true (it did). Living in your basement during that time was like being a baby bird trying out its wings in the safety of the nest. Joshua and I were falling apart and trying to put the pieces back together, but we were in a safe place. Remember that night at Applebees, when we interrupted your date night of drinks and (half price? or buy-one-get-one?) appetizers with our crisis of the hour? I was a snotty mess and Joshua was probably in a daze. I don't remember what you said that night, I just remember the feel of it. Calm. Peace. Acceptance. Encouragement. Lifting us up like Aaron and Hur held up Moses' arms.
Godspell was still going on as we tumbled through our first year of "wedded bliss." I was thrilled when I got to be an understudy and perform in the show, but honestly, I think I enjoyed being the Mic Wrangler more than anything. That moment during one of the shows when Jason's mic went out during the Good Samaritan hand puppet scene and you told me in no uncertain terms I had to go onstage and fix it... "Me?!" "Yes, you!!! Go!" So much adrenaline and so much fun. The productions in 2009 and 2010 really solidified being part of our community at Highland, and at a time when we really needed community. All of those hours; all of the blood, sweat, and tears... it made us a family. We belonged, and that was really important.
We settled into life in your house and we began to heal. Those were the days of Megan Mondays and running the girls to and fro and staring at the tree outside of your dining room table as it changed through the seasons. We hosted our first family Christmas in your house while you guys traveled to Kansas and Missouri. We sang Disney songs and danced around the kitchen, and spent countless hours making a mess in there when we went on the Paleo diet. We tried to garden but found out that I really hated weeding so it was a bad idea. We worked at Biltmore and then at Mission; Joshua went to school and then went to school some more. We took the girls blueberry picking and carved pumpkins on the front porch, and played Guitar Hero (every time I hear Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer" it brings me back) and the original Nintendo. We had pizza and movie night with you all and acted like crazy people trying to do jumping jacks during all the commercial breaks during Biggest Loser. You let me take up space on the DVR. We laughed together and cried together (well, Mary and I cried together). You grafted us into your family with nothing but grace.
We got pregnant. Surprise! We told you right away, and then I quickly devolved into a puddle of morningsickness that never wanted to leave the bedroom. Oh, how I would love to be that self-indulgent once again! Remember the day after the very last show of Godspell when I started spotting and my midwife sent me to the hospital? I was so scared that I was going to miscarry. I remember Bryan standing in the doorway of the open garage, watching as my parents who were in town visiting helped me into their car to take me up to Mission. Mary, you came and sat in the waiting room for a long time that day. Thank you.
During my second trimester, we started looking for our own place, although you assured us that there was room for a baby if we wanted or needed to stay. We moved out in May and Aidan was born that August. My labor and delivery was stressful and frightening with an emergency induction and Mary, you came up to my hospital room and held my hand and spoke Scripture over me. It was perfect and just what I needed at that time.
You rejoiced with us when Aidan was born. You were our first ever babysitters for him, because you were a part of our family. Bryan somehow became Aidan's "manny" for awhile when I had to go back to work. He still loves you, though he's more shy about it now. Even in church today, he insisted on "go see Bryan!" I'm not sure what you did-- did you ply him with M&Ms? Maybe you're just the baby whisperer.
Aidan's birth and our moving into our own space was a significant point in our marriage. Joshua and I really had regained our footing and entered the "honeymoon" stage that we missed out on during our turbulent first year of marriage. Our community changed after we went to the Grey Eagle during its launch year and were part of the zillion couples who were pregnant together, and we didn't see you all much. Your girls grew, too, and life got busier. It was sad, but it was a normal part of life changing, and we enjoyed the season we were in.
Now, we're starting a new season, and it's not the kind where we will just be able to pop by the house or catch up in the back at church on a random Sunday. I will miss you guys not being near. But you are forever near in my heart. You can call me anytime and ask for whatever you need, and I will do my utmost to help you. I will not forget the lessons God taught me during the years we spent under the same roof. If I do happen to forget, you have permission to remind me. The beautiful part for me is realizing that no matter what distance exists between us, the relationship is there, and will be into eternity. I love you both.
Megan
Here are some of the lessons I learned while living in your house:
God is my provider. A home. Three vehicles. Jobs. Schooling. Countless "wants" and "needs." Community. Family.
Call before you dig.
Go to people's parties when you are invited.
Do not kill a pregnant spider.
Do not use cast iron on a glass stovetop.
Do not plant a garden when you aren't committed to weeding. (This has many philosophical as well as literal implications.)
Work hard.
If you say you'll do it, do it.
Feel the fear and have faith anyway.
Tell your story.
It's kind to do someone else's dirty dishes. Especially when it's the popcorn maker.
Even if it's the worst you imagine, God will see you through.
Marriage is hard but good.
Make sure you know that risky days really are risky when using natural family planning.
Grace and longsuffering -- you guys modeled it beautifully.
Pray and ask before you try to work it out all on your own. God might say, "Why, yes! Here you go!"
It's okay.
Here is a lesson I hoped you learned while I lived with you:
Do not use the last of Megan's ketchup.
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