Carla, Amber and I spend a ridiculous amount of time talking about liking and loving and dating and marriage and trips to the muddy east coast and hiding dentures and early morning greetings and children and parenting and…a whole bunch of largely unnecessary things.
This has now become a fairly significant part of our nightly ritual. We start with a party in the bathroom, to wash our feet, since both Carla and I have issues with dirty feet in our beds. It then turns into dancing and singing and teeth brushing and face washing before we make it back into the bedroom, plop down on the bed with various bottles of moisturizer, music, and a bible. In the dimly lit room, we take turns reading, talking, and rubbing each other’s feet. And I can’t help but feel that in the week since this feet rubbing began, I’m coming to understand so much more the depth of friendship.
As Amber massages my feet, I’m in a beautifully relaxing, refreshing free point of openness, partly brought on by my lack of sleep in recent weeks, but I think it’s more than that. We switch places, conversation moves to marriage – and how deeply I desire to have a family of my own, and how impatient I am for that part of life to start (and how fervently I pray that it is part of God’s will for my life) - I realize how unready I am, and how blessed I am to be in this exact moment, lying beside Carla on my twin bed, rubbing cream into Amber’s feet.
Because I’m learning that I can know people so much more, and that people can know me so much more. And I’m learning to value friendship in a way that is deeper than it has been in the past. I’m learning a new part of love and realizing that I need to grow so much in faith and in friendship before I can even begin to know how to love a husband, or to let him love me.
Amber and I often stay up long after Carla, recognizing our need for sleep, says goodnight and goes to her room. We tell each other about the boats we are in. I’m alone in a heavy white rowboat with a wooden rim, in the middle of a lake. I can see most of the shoreline, but I don’t know it. The boat has everything I need to survive, I’m warm and safe in a red lifejacket, but I only have one oar. The water around me dances, but not enough to push my boat to the edge of the lake. And I can dive in and enjoy the water: the lake is small enough that I could probably swim to the other shore, but my boat is precious. I can’t abandon it, and I’m not strong enough to pull the boat ashore. I can panic, and paddle desperately with the oar I have left, but I just spin around in circles, exhausting myself, getting nowhere.
I’m not hopeless. I’m not scared. I wish I had another oar, and I go through cycles of patience and impatience trying to get somewhere, but I realize that I have to wait. I have to wait for God to send along wind and waves to push me to shore, or for Him to send someone with another oar, or a boat strong enough to tow me home. Truth be told, even in my impatience I’m thankful that there is no risk to being in the boat. I long to be on the shore – but I’m grateful that, where I sit surrounded by water and sky there’s no chance of being lost in the unknown forest.
One night, we talk until we can smell breakfast: a feast being prepared before the sun rises and many of our neighbours begin to fast. We fall into sleep.
I don’t really remember the last time I blogged. And I know I didn’t really write about anything that was going on. Really, I’m just working a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I miss being in my apartment, seeing neighbors, eating dinner with my roommates. I miss having more than an hour of “free” time in a week. I miss having a social life. I have one more week of work, and then a week off before school starts…and I’m eagerly anticipating both. Well, almost.
This summer has been nothing at all like what I imagined. It’s been long: in the sense that school seems like it was sooooo long ago. And all the things that were going on seem like such distant past. But at the same time, it’s just whizzed by. I can’t believe that school is two weeks away! I’ve been blessed with two really great jobs that are stretching me in amazing ways. I’ve rediscovered my LOVE for God’s word, and a deep deep craving to know it more.
I haven’t died in the heat: infact, I’ve loved the weather. The warmth that coats the world and builds and builds until all tension is let loose and washed away by intense storms. I’ve enjoyed many a night, running outside really late to be soaked by massive falling drops, engulfed in pure joy as I share the experience with dear friends. I really miss going camping, swimming at the Sooke Pottholes, canoeing on Kemp Lake, walking the boardwalk, or just hanging out on a beautiful beach until it gets dark and I have to catch the last bus.
But my love for this place is increasing too…so much.
The love story of my life is so full of things I didn’t expect. And I’m so grateful for its unpredictability. After all, who doesn’t love a pleasant surprise? And how much more exciting is a story where you know the ending is good – but you have no idea what it is?
(It’s probably annoying for the parent, reading the story, while the child constantly asks questions, not realizing if they just listened, they’d find the end sooner!)
