How to be nonsensical and daring

Delight thyself also in the Lord: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart. 

Psalms 34:7 

When I was a little girl, or even maybe just a littler woman, I felt a constant desire to discover beautiful things. I was a searcher. I looked, at everything. Wide-eyed and wondrous. Somewhat brave. At least I like to think I was brave. Really, I have trouble even imagining me as a brave tiny soul. I was never brave. One can pretend though, for one's own sake I suppose.
So. Brave. Let's say I was part lion-hearted, if only an eighth. That's quite a bit though. How about one-sixteenth. We'll call it all even + fair then.
I liked to find things out. Smallish discoveries only, mind you, but still. I kept a shoebox full of rocks underneath my bed, polished and not. I had jars of seashells. And a piece of driftwood. I still keep flowers pressed between the pages of my poetry books. Dried lavender in wooden boxes. Lilac branches. Words. Teas. White dishes. Quilts. Small pen + ink drawings. Jars of paint. Butterfly wings. British stamps. Sand.
I have always loved finding beautiful things.

Now I love to make them.

I sat at the table this morning + last night, making plans and painting pictures and writing. I am in the middle of a story about a man who has red hair and lives in a cat's ear. He is very small and witty and has grand adventures. I like him so far, though his face is yet to be painted in. I also have lists strewn about my bedroom and the kitchen table. All of them are concerning Christmas. But there are future plans too. I had an idea in Anthropology class the other morning that has bewitched me ever since it crept into my heart. I think it knitted itself into the lining, tight and with a purl stitch. It's not even clear yet, just heart in-between words that are mostly nonsensical + unsure. But hopeful. It's all written in the margins of a lot of hope. Honestly. It is potentially one of the best ideas I've ever had. I'm actually excited. I don't even know if I'll be able to lift it off the ground, but I'm actually excited.
Tables. Tables are involved. And flowers. And food. And giving. Ah my gosh, the giving involved in this idea gives me goosebumps just imagining it.
I want this.
I want to make this beautiful thing.

I'm in Matthew this November. Reading about being salt and a city on a hill and good places to plant seeds. I've been so encouraged. I'm at a point when it all seems possible now.
God is amazingly large. And yet, and yet He uses us in ways we can't even imagine being purposed + designed for. Us. These little people, these small beings. He uses us in His wondrous plan and marvelous workings. That is such a privilege. And such a responsibility, one which we should not take so lightly as we do.
I never actually thought about how hard being the city on a hill is.
I am so impatient + fed up with how unmotivated so many of my fellow young people are. I don't want to generalize, but I can't help it. I keep thinking of the conversation Chelsea + I had. She looked at me and said in her sweet, gentle voice, they don't know how to do anything anymore. No one, anyone. None of them know how to make things or be someone or change. And I agreed with her. I nodded my head and felt my heart clench just a little bit. You're right, I told her.
And she is. Because there may come a day when no one knows how to do the important things anymore because we're all too lazy to bother learning them now. No one will know how to lead a ministry. No one will know how to have the patience to sit and read a real book. How to build houses. How to be dedicated. How to be loyal. How to make a difference and an impact and be.
We are not a generation of doers.
We're all talk.
And that makes me nervous. That frightens me. Because there are imperative things out there that we simply ignore. There are things out there that the carpenter is calling us to do, but we're so busy on our iPhones and Xboxes that we don't even get on our knees to pray about what they are. I am not always so cynical about this. There are days when I have such faith and excitement over my generation and the things they are + were + will do. But I think it's this season of life, being here at the university. I am frustrated. I am tired of hearing people talk about how they 'bs' their way through every paper. How they studied for ten minutes before class. How they're okay with a 'c' because it's not a 'd.' I am losing patience with the people who aren't trying. Who really don't care. I need to let you know, people my age don't care anymore. There are far + few between who are even willing to put forth any effort at all. I can get over the failures. I can, honestly. The truth is, I can't handle the apathy, even my own. Everyone is so complacent.
And I'm afraid.
Who is going to lead?
I know we can't relive the past over and over. I know things will be different. Because of innovation + revolution + boldness. But the truth is, I don't know who anyone is, and I don't think they do either. I mean, where are the Billy Grahams of my day? Where are the Mark Driscolls and the Greg Lauries and the Chuck Smiths? Where are the Chopins? Where are the Nate Saints and the Jim Elliots? Where, for that matter, are the Elisabeth Elliots? Or the Bruchkos? The Corrie ten Booms? The Anne Franks? The Vincent van Goghs? Where are the Beatrix Potters? The Davids and Jonathons? Where are the Peters of my time? Where are the Pauls? And the Timothys? And the Esthers and Ruths? Where are the Noahs? Where are the Daniels? Where are the Amy Carmichaels?
Sometimes I think I can't see any of them.
I know that my generation is amazing and makes amazing things and has done things people before never imagined. But the impacts we make aren't rippling. And I think we just don't see that we aren't throwing our stones into a lake anymore. We're just throwing them at a brick wall. We don't make a difference. Yes, there are some people who do. There are a few who are brave + good. There are some who just go for it, but not nearly enough of us. And I'm preaching to myself as well friends. Don't think I'm just talking at you. I'm standing in the audience too. I am ashamed of how much time I waste. I hate the hours that I've done nothing with; I can't forgive myself of them. I feel terrible for all the times I simply didn't care or forgot to care.
There have been days of my life that I did nothing of worth at all.
I am done with complacency and apathy and half-heartedness. I am so done.

I moved down here with the intention of doing small things. I had a pile of more love letters with me and a few skeins of yarn. I told myself, I wrote it to myself, I said, these next two years, they're all about the small things. And I was so okay with that. I was okay with the thought of focusing on school and finishing. Because then, then I would be done. The big things are for when you have your degree. The big things are for when you have time. The big things are for when you know more. The big things are for when you've discovered enough. The big things are for later. And so I pocketed them, I folded + tied them neatly, and I slipped them into my pocket. All of those big things. I wrapped mine up too friends, I need you to know that I did that.
But I have to be honest with you, I'm sitting at our wooden table, surrounded by journals and paintings and plans and ideas and drawings and storyboards, and I can't keep them in anymore. I don't know how to do what I want to do. I don't even know where to start. But I am. I refuse to wait. Because in two years, yes I will be done. But in two years, it has been two years.
We don't always have time. Sometimes, it's taken from us. And we need to live like we know that. We need to live like that's true.
I have always been worried that I have too many dreams to fit into the length of my life. It makes me nervous just thinking about it. We were talking late the other night though, and A told me something that I'll probably never forget. Whatever God has planned for you, she said, He will make sure you can do it. No matter how impossible your dreams seem to you, they will come to pass if God designed you to carry them out. 

"God won't tie your soul to a dead-end dream."

My pastor said that once. I think I never really believed it till now. Because it's hard to reconcile my imagination with the things I know I need to do. I don't understand how I can do what I want to do in India and do what I want to do in the states. I don't understand that.
It is relief to know I don't need to though.
I just need to have faith. God is so much bigger than we think, so much more than we think. We're pitiful, puny beings in comparison. And how dare I assume a superior position and an authority on a life that's not even my own.
Here is my advice and my decision. We can't wait anymore. We don't have time to wait. Laziness is a conscious decision on all our parts. And so let's just do it. All of it. Even if it scares you, even if it's big, I beg of you, push, pursue, persist. Write the list of those things you're afraid to do but not afraid to dream of, and then go do them.
Now.

Let's stop throwing stones at the wall.
Let's be more.

Wendy

My father and my little sister just walked out the door and drove off. They are going to Romania. Some 7000 miles and more, away. For two weeks, and then for three months.
And then I am going.
Four hours from here. From this little white house. From the peach and the plum trees. From the hens. From the books and the memories and the dreams. From childhood. From youth.
From my family.
Four hours from my family for two years.

I cannot even express the pull on my heart right now. How many salty tears are trailing down my face. How my hands are shaking.

I have never loved anyone so much as I love my family.

I have always been Wendy. It became so obvious to me last night as I wrapped myself in a quilt and wrote letters to my father and my sister and I sobbed. I was always Wendy. With the flying and the stories and the loving of Peter. The full heart and the tears and the responsibilities. The stubbornness. The thimbles and the little house. The fascination with fairies. The mermaids. The dreams.
I stood on the cusp of womanhood last night. Peter pulling on my nightdress. Saying, come with me. Fly away with me. Come back to Neverland. 
But I couldn't.
I am already grown.
There are lost boys Peter, I told him, more of them than your's. I need to find them. I need to help them. I need to help people. And he cried. Loud, ripping sobs. And so did I.
The moon even cried with us last night.

We cannot always stay young.

This is the hardest thing I've ever done. Saying goodbye, but also saying, I'll be back. I promise I'll come back. My mouth is full of salt and tears. I've never had that happen to me before. And I have cried, I have wept my heart out. But never this, this taste. Mingled with my breath and the blankets I press against my mouth as I try to catch the scent of my favorite girl, the one flying across the world. Part of me says that I can't do it. The little Wendy says that. Barefoot in her nightgown. Trembling at the window. I just want to sit down and give up and quit. I just want to stay. I can't do this, she says. And it's the truth.
But then I look in the mirror.
And she's already older. She's already a woman. She has to do this. She couldn't even remember how to fly if she wanted to. It's all gone now. And so, she can do this.

I can do this.

When I was tiny and smaller and little, I used to wish my heart out to leave this place. It seemed lonely and godforsaken. But I was just selfish.
Now I wish I could take all of that back.
Can I just say that? Can I just really be honest? This seems too big. This seems too hard. God has captured my heart so kindly and gently this past year. He has shaped me and directed me in a new way. He has pushed, with a strong hand on the small of my back. He has led and guided me in a beautiful way. And now my eyes are open. Now I am less selfish. Now I see where I am supposed to go, what I am supposed to do, this mountain I am climbing. This mountain I am to move.

Today that mountain seems too big.

And that's okay. I am learning that. I am learning it is okay to doubt. To think you can't do this. To just fall on your face and weep. I am learning it is okay to miss people before you're even gone. Because God is with me. He is building me, growing me. He gives me things that seem too big.
Because nothing is impossible for me.
Even when I am that woman-Wendy, and I run back to the nursery in fear that someone will tell me to grow up. Someone will dare me to move, to change. Someone will make me. And so I sit in the rocking chair with my knees pulled to my chest trying to make myself smaller, trying to will myself to fly. Trying to disappear. I know, even then, that nothing is too hard for me. That nothing is too big for me. That nothing is impossible for me. This threshold I have to cross over is huge, a gap that is yawning, a chasm that is wide. But it is not impossible. It feels that way, but it is not.

I laid in my bed last night and tried to remember everything. All of my best and greatest moments. All of the loveliest times. It is so important right now that I do that. This change, this transition, is heartbreaking. It is gut-wrenching. It is full of sobs and blossoming with newness and aching in my bones with growth. To remember right now makes it even harder, but it also speaks to the gorgeousness and the grace of this. I am not alone in it; I am never alone and never have been. There are people near and dear to me who feel the same things. Who suffer through these changes with me. And it is that mutual suffering that makes this state of being all the harder and all the better.
I need to make room in my heart for new memories. For new people. For new friendships. I am not saying goodbye, I am only leaving for a little while. And then I will come back with all of them, and share and share and share. We go on adventures to tell those that we love about them.
So I am reminding myself of that. And I remembering everything else.
It is very possible, that I have lived one of the most magical lives. One of those itseemstoogoodandtooperfecttobereal lives. The ones with forts in the backyard and rope swings in the maple trees. With hours of searching for fairies and days of living in palaces. A life with a hundred books. A childhood with a million dreams. Years of discoveries and experiments and challenges. With butterflies collected in teacups and dragonflies hidden in pockets. With secret meetings in the pear tree. With stargazing on the roof. With picnics in the hot sun on a quilt your mother made. With hands pressed in the cool dirt, the earth, as you plant tulips in a row. A life of mystery. A childhood of pages and pages of poems. Years of love and love and love and friendship. The sweetest friendship with your sisters and your brother.
A life of togetherness.

And then there's the salt again, in my mouth.

I never thought I was Wendy. That's probably why this is too hard. Why this mountain is too big. Five years ago, if you would have looked at me and handed me "Peter Pan" and said, it's you. You are her, I would have scoffed. Threw back my head and laughed. Now I wring my hands and cry. Because it would have been the truth you told me then. I am so pitiful I did not even know myself.
This is the best thing about me, that I cherish like this. That I love this hard.

I am Wendy Darling, and I never want to be anyone else.

I miss so much this morning, that pushing mountains is something I won't do today.
And that is okay.
I am fine with that.