Longing

In the almost two years we have lived in this place, I have become unbelievably attached. Attached to the church, attached to the community, those things for sure. We have been supported over and over again by a church that was expecting to get a team of two ministers not a family with a sick child that needed to be taken care of. We are trying to restore the balance and they are hanging in there with us, mostly gracefully, faithfully, and prayerfully. There have been bumps and there will be more before its done, but we are trying to stay on the right road.

So it's true, I am attached to the church and community. But even more is the community of people we have stumbled into. Farmers and firefighter, teacher and carpenter, artist and doctors. Women and men who are seeking to live intentional, sustainable lives. Women and men who have become family, who love us, who inspire me, who floor me with their gifts and talents and thoughtfulness. And the realization that they want my family in their lives just seems like a dream. Getting ready to leave and saying goodbye to them has been hard. At the bank today getting the money out for our trip, I said to Sarah, the drive through teller and the Baptist minister's wife, "This will be the last time I see you so take care." She laughed at me a little, and said, "You're not leaving forever, right? It's just three weeks." And she's right; I have been saying good bye like I'm leaving forever. I think because in terms of emotional time, it will feel like so much longer. Every time my child is hurt, even in the quest to heal her, it feels like it takes days and days in soul time to recover. There will be a lot of that. When I come back, I will have gone through one of the most challenging times of my life and I will have gone through it without this net of people that I have come to rely on. One of them, a woman whom I love and admire, a doctor and thinker, older and much wiser than I, said to me that the net of people will still be with me every step of the way. And yet as I get ready to leave it feels like a series of hard goodbyes. How did I get so integrated in this place?

The other attachment is to the land. We have lived on this little plot of land, our five acres for just over a year now. And yet my roots are deep. I love the giant sycamore tree in the front where my girls play. I love the field out front that Ben has let go for the birds - and the swallows, bluebirds, buntings, finches, and killdeers that make their home there. I love the butterfly weed we found hiding in the back hay field. I love the hazy, summery way that the sun going down looks from our back porch. I love the smell of the air and the breeze on my skin. I love the taste of the first yellow raspberry from the bushes we planted last fall, a promise for seasons to come. I love the taste of the first tomatoes, White Currant and Sun Gold that we had today - they taste like summer. I love our first corn on the cob that we had last night from our land - an entire meal from here, our chicken, our potatoes, our carrots, our zucchini, ours, ours, ours. It made me feel even more rooted. I am literally nourished, body, mind, and soul from this place. Being away will be hard. When we return we will have missed a lot of harvesting. We won't recognize our chickens, and we may even miss the first egg they lay. I will miss the giggles and the laughter from my girls as they discover new things, taste the first fruits, and wonder at chicken antics. I can't help but feel sad at being away during this time of life and flourishing.

But it's worth it. If we get even one more piece of the puzzle of Lila's health, then it's worth it. Worth the goodbyes, worth the missed vegetables, worth the hassle, even worth the needle sticks, IV's, and the surgeries I'm praying she won't have to have. Because the thing is, I am so tired of hospitals. I am so tired of saying to Lila, "don't run around, come inside into the air conditioning, how is your breathing, why don't you rest." My dearest wish is that we will come back with enough answers so that Lila can run all around, run and run, and enjoy these long summer days that are the right of childhood. That she might not have to endure more hospital visits, more fear because she can't breathe, more exhaustion. Our life here is a miracle, our friends, our church, the giving that we have received, all miracles to me. And still I ask this. I know that so many are praying for her. Pray that she can learn what normal is. Pray that this time in Denver is not too rough on her. Pray for smart doctors and gentle nurses. And please, pray that her mommy is up for the challenge of keeping it all together.

This will be my last long, rambling post before we leave. I have no idea what the computer situation will be at the hospital or the Ronald McDonald House, but I will post daily from my phone once we get there on Sunday. One day, two nights left. Ready, set,...