on moving (again)

I've spent the better part of this week helping my friend Cassie sell ALL of her earthy possessions so she can move to Florida to go to marine archaeology school with only what she can fit in her car. For the average (just turned) 24 year old, it seems like it wouldn't be that complicated. But Cassie has a different story. When she was 11, her mom was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. She resolved to see her two daughters graduate from high school, and after years of struggle as a single mom who put herself through school and raised two free thinking and powerful daughters, she passed away last year a few months after her youngest daughter graduated. Cassie was left with the accumulation of her mother's life, all of the furniture, knick-knacks, dishes, even the mini van. So, following the counsel of her aunt, Cassie set out to get rid of everything, ruthlessly sifting through photographs, family heirlooms and basic life necessities that were a bittersweet link to her mother and their past. The last two days has been the final push. Moving sale. Cassie leaves on Monday and we have yet to move the biggest pieces of furniture and appliances. God willing they will sell today at the yard sale, but if not, we have to figure out how to get them out of Cassie's house and where to take them...

All of this has given me pause. As I have been helping Cassie I have been imagining my life, or the life of my children, in this scenario. Maybe the years of knowing what was coming helped, but I can't wrap my brain around how this must have felt for Cassie and her sister. I am so spoiled, I have a healthy mother (in spite of what she thinks) and a father who has always provided for us, my family doesn't know want on the desolate level of limited time. While we say we know that life is short and at any minute we could lose a love one, to have it that close to you, so much reality in your face, I feel like it would have rendered me disfunctional. But Cassie is strong, she is competent, she is capable, and she is pursuing her dream. Cassie may be one of my heroes. It makes me thankful on a whole new level for my quirky and ridiculous family, because while with them, I am frustrated and irritated, without them, I would be lost. And I am ashamed of how we take for granted the time we have with the people who made us who we are.

I know that my parents think I am somehow disconnected with who I am, or who I am supposed to be. They think the turmoil in my life is the result of my rejection of my upbringing and they believe I have no internal peace. I wish there was a way to communicate the solidness of who I am now. That through the way they raised me, through my experiences with David, my life at Marble, I have tried to glean all of the best of those and infuse my own beliefs and purposes with them, to create a life for me and the girls that I can get behind and believe in. I don't expect my family to get behind it, to believe in it, but I would for all of the world have them know that in spite of the ridiculous situation I am in, barely able to support my family, literally struggling to stay housed and employed, I firmly believe we are on the right path, and I sincerely hope for the day where the external struggle subsides and collides with the internal peace and all five of us can breathe relief. I wonder whether Cassie's mom ever found that place, or whether the knowledge of her limited time churned constantly in her soul. I have felt that frustrated discontent of feeling like I can't get to where I need to be before my time runs out, but how much more intense it must have been for her. There are so many things I want desperately to have in place for my girls, regardless of when my time comes, and while Cassie has had many burdens to bear, her mom did make some provisions for the girls, and refusing to go before they were independent adults was probably her biggest success. Mad props to you, Linda Vesper, if I have to go, may I leave my children with the solidarity that you did.

In a way,  not knowing how much time we have left is a mercy. But in a way, it allows us to live complacently, ignoring the harsh reality of our relational failures and sweeping messes under the rug for another day. But god only knows how many days we have left. I pray that each day we do the thing that makes that day worth being. I know that doesn't make sense, but I feel like I have lived days that simply didn't matter, days that wouldn't be noticed if they disappeared from history completely. No day should be disposable. Each day should somehow affect the days before and the days after it. Somehow. Maybe this is the destructive idealism that my dad was referring to that keeps me from settling. But if only he knew how much I want to settle. To never move again, and to make all of my days important from one home base. And the standard of what makes a day important may be one of the most subjective things ever, much to the chagrin of my parents. The things that are life changing to me are frivolous to them, and their life priorities seem completely absurd to me, so I guess it all evens out. If disneyworld is the thing that makes each day important, then by all means, go get it! But for me... well, you all know what I find meaningful. Some silly little band from north carolina that speaks ages of wisdom in their lyrics. As blasphemous as it is to my parents, the music I listen to is my church. It is where I hear truth and guidance and find my solace. I would apologize for the lack of pink pews and hymnals and overhead projectors and fill in the blank sermon notes, but I am not sorry, nor would I ever consider trading it back. But that's just my take on it...