HEAVEN AND EARTH

Last night, our twentysomething group from church had a wonderful time at our vespers service at Bethune Beach ("vespers" is an archaic word meaning "evening"). It just seemed that God was smiling on us the whole time. The weather was beautiful - sunny, with a robust wind - and the attendance was very surprising. We had new people come out, college kids who were back in town for the summer, and even our PASTOR'S family. I mean, I know pastors aren't super-stars, but to have the head pastor of the church come out to support an event felt significant. We had the perfect amount of food, and we even had a gifted guitar player named Aaron show up, so I didn't have to struggle my way through the chords of praise songs; I could just concentrate on leading the singing. And Philip did great at delivering the devotional message.

The sunset was almost mystical ... creamy ... it put me under a bit of a spell. There's nothing like a sunset over the beach. A group of us went for a walk all the way down to the National Seashore ... It must have been a couple miles. We talked as the waves washed over our feet and the stars slowly filled up the sky. The night was just one big amen ... friends and nature and food and coversation and worship ... it was joy.

However, upon returning to Orlando, Philip and I overheard something that made us instantly mourn. People very close to us had made a destructive decision that instantly sent our spirits into sadness. Then on my drive back to my house, I called my dad, who shared with me his discouragement over an ongoing situation with my grandma. The reality of life was heavy on me as I lay in my bed thinking.

While there are moments of extreme beauty and togetherness in life, there are also harmful choices, lack of self-control, and selfishness. Here in this life, we will always have to deal with the foolish things that we do, and that those around us do. There is just no escaping sin. And these situations are always complicated. They're not black and white; they're not isolated. They're messy and intertwined; their stories have multiple sides and ripple back through generations of problems. And as I thought through the two situations in particular that I was confronted with last night, my heart was low. I was confused about how I should respond. I was heartbroken for the people most directly involved. It was pain.

But I tried to recenter my thoughts on my evening at Bethune Beach, which had given me a slight taste of what heaven will be like ... when the scenery will always be breathtaking, when friendships will always be rich and fulfilling, when the food will be delicious, the ideas inspiring, the songs thunderous and moving. When there will be enough time to do the things you want to do. When there's no more mess or maintenance. When there's no more rushing ahead because there's no more waiting - it's all happening, right now, in surround sound on an IMAX screen. When we're in the presence of perfection, light, beauty, wholeness, goodness, power, life ... the very presence of GOD HIMSELF, in the flesh.

That's the hope I have as a Christian. That's what allows me to fall asleep peacefully and not despair over all the brokenness that surrounds me each day. That's what gives me a clue as to how to respond to difficult and painful situations ... and what allows me to enjoy a night like the one at Bethune Beach even more deeply and fully.

TWO YEARS

Yesterday marked two years since Philip and I met and began dating. To commemorate, we drove out to the Orange County fairgrounds, where roadies were setting up for Cornerstone Florida. C-stone FL debuted in 2003, and Philip and I met there when we both helped set up the Relevant Media Group vendor booth.

Driving onto the grass next to the tent area, Philip and I were both hit with the powerful realization of how much had changed in the time since we drove up on that grass two years ago. All at once, I just began to ball. Blowing my nose in an Arby's napkin, I couldn't even express what was making me cry so hard at first.

I was just thinking of all the change... all the friends we had lost, all the friends we had gained... the places Philip had lived and I had lived... the job changes... his grandpa's stroke and my grandpa's death...

But most of all, I was thinking of the me who I was two years ago, lonelier than I'd ever been, trying to twist and struggle into adulthood without the near support of family or good friends... flubbing and faking my way through my role as a young professional, not even valuable enough to the company at that time to be a full-time employee... living in the spare bedroom of a Best Buy manager, my personal belongings not even numbering enough to fill up my Saturn compact. God, it's making me cry again now.

And then Philip came along, and everything changed. And kept changing, and kept changing. I have a church home now. I am a writer now. I am planning a wedding. I have friends. I am busy. I have a place to live that belongs equally to myself and my roommates, where I am free to keep my own schedule, use the rooms as I please, put my food in the fridge, and decorate to my tastes. And I have a best friend, someone to share life with... to talk with, explore with, cry with, learn with, laugh with.

He was my savior two years ago, the beginning of a whole new life for me in Florida, one that is full and fun and messy and hard and beautiful.

I never thought I'd stay here, but that night at the fairgrounds two years ago, I met the one. I met the reason I'd end up sticking around, even after my time at Relevant was done. And with him, we've built this whole world together... and it just keeps changing. It'll change again in two months, when we become husband and wife and I leave this suburbian house for Philip's cozy downtown apartment.

And so I mourned for all the change last night... even though much of it was good, because change - even good change - is difficult, because it forces you to sacrifice things that are comfortable and familiar, even if those things oppress you.

And I mourned for that girl I was two years ago, who was so lonely and lost and confused. I released the pain of growing up and letting go. I said good-bye to all the other roads I might have taken, because I took THIS road, and it lead me here, to where I am, where I belong, at Philip's side, serving together in the ways we serve now.

There is something wonderful about mourning. It's cathartic, cleansing. Jesus said the mourners are actually blessed - happy. I agree.

LIFE MAKEOVER

I have a cousin who is wise. She is not exactly my cousin... her mother is my dad's first cousin, so she is whatever that makes her to me. She lives in South Carolina and studies the earth and pours her life out for students and climbs rocks. In her last email to me, she said this:

"Sounds like you are coming to a real point of transition in your life. Of course you will be transitioning from Ms. Larson to Mrs. Hueneke, and also the transition into new work in the writing world/new books you may be authoring. But also a transition in setting up how you want to go about your life. You are in between zones right now... the single, fulltime-for-relevant past and the married, writing-as-career future. And this is the time where you can kind of step back and think about what system you want to operate under. You get to renovate your soul, do a spring cleaning. Assess what is functional (like, really functional for who you truly are) in your life and throw out what is not. Might as well make these changes too, while you are changing everything else! ... So yeah. Exciting times. It sounds like your soul is yearning for a change, a makeover in how you do life. And what a perfect time to do that, when its all changing anyways."

I was thinking about these words as I drove to Philip's apartment this morning, the apartment that will be my home in three months. I was thinking about these words and listening to the Garden State soundtrack. In the film, when Natalie Portman's character meets Zach Braff's character, she says, "Listen to this song. It'll change your life." And she puts the headphones on his head, and it is the song, "New Slang," by the Shins. The song, of course, doesn't change his life; his life is already going through massive transition. His mother has died, and he is somewhere between the past and the future, between college and a successful career, between hope and despair. He has broken away from his parents but hasn't started his own family yet. Sound familiar? No wonder we twentysomethings connected so strongly with the movie.

A makeover in how you do life. Think about what system you want to operate under while you are going through change anyway. Throw out what is not functional. I would like to think that is what I did with Relevant. I wasn't running away; it was just not functional for me to continue working there. And it is not functional for me to continue living in my house, with disrespectful people whom I don't enjoy being around. I don't know how long this life of sitting at home by myself on my computer writing about things I only half care about will be functional for me... There is still something in my heart crying out to be brought to life. Part of it is this aching to be Philip's wife at last, to make it official, complete. To make our home together, not have to clean up other people's messes, fall asleep together, create a comfortable and safe space that is ours.

But that is not all of it. Walking away from Relevant was the first step to getting somewhere. Becoming Philip's life partner is the second step. But I know this longing will still be there after these steps have been taken. I don't know what exactly it is pointing to, but I suspect it has something to do with writing things from my heart, with music, with young people. With finding a balance between work and play. With spending enough time in the sun and enough time working hard. With exercising my body and my mind, reading books, stretching and moving my muscles. I believe my life is moving in this direction. I do.

Chelsea, yours is too. As you wait for your husband to return from war and hang in the balance, your next step is coming too. Step one is being together and building your home. Step two is him finishing school. One step at a time, moving in the right direction, toward connection, balance, using your gifts and talents.

And we are okay in the meantime. We really are. We have what we need to survive, even to laugh.

P.S. Friends and readers, read my "cousin's" blog: www.refiningfireburns.blogspot.com.

MURTLE THE TURTLE

Writing is a brutal way to try to make a living, and I'm a little bit T.O.ed at God for making writing the one thing I'm good at and the only pursuit out of which I could make a viable career.

Consider: To write, one must be alone with no distractions (i.e., other humans around).

To write, one must be a self-starter, disciplined and able to find one's own motivation (i.e., outside of a boss' watching eye).

To write, one must be willing to face a lot of rejection, criticism, and general skepticism from a pragmatic world that scoffs at the idea of making a living with the arts.

Okay, so we've got loneliness, lack of motivational assistance, rejection, criticism, and overall cynicism. Sounds like a trip. At least I have a window to look out of now.

But what would the world be without the written word? The world needs writers ... to make you smile, think, cry, remember, laugh, hurt, heal ... which is why I think I won't discourage my nine-year-old cousin from aspiring to the ranks of authorship. Below is a short story she wrote, which her mother, my aunt, emailed to me. After reading it, tell me if it isn't worth it for some people to abandon the nine-to-five for a pen and paper. Or a laptop, as it were.

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Once upon a time in the bottom of a pond lived a small turtle named Murtle. Murtle loved to bask in the sun on a rock. In the summer she would swim around in her pond, but in the cold winter weather she would swim to the bottom of the pond and burrow herself in the mud for her long winter sleep. When it was summer again, she would do the same old thing, but she didn't seem to care that she does the same thing every year. Murtle loved to do the same things alot!!

THE END
Written by Brooke Marie Schmitt
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