Friday Wine & Poetry

New Haven

Now that I'm home,
manicuring my image
of maternal nurture,
mastering the moving parts
of a makeshift family machine,

I'll spend
a full two minutes
removing one cat hair that has woven itself
into the fibers of an afghan,

half an hour
arranging handsoaps and lotions,
all gifts, all half-used,
all so aromatic and unlikely
to ever make it onto skin.

It's the order that's therapeutic.

For afternoon coffee,
I take my time,
choose a mug that matches my mood
and what I'm wearing.
Today it's the thin lime stripe in my plaid pajama pants.

I don't always wear pajamas all day—

This time I was storm-soaked in the market parking lot.
(At home, I changed.)

And now
I find the time to write you,
to tell you everything I'm taking
and finding,
the ways I'm making it home,

and that the rush of passing traffic
is the same as the sound of shores
and fountains,
a constant waterless washing
pouring in the windows.

Floor Plans

Most of you reading this post know that Darren, the kids and I will be moving up to New Haven, Connecticut in the next month or so. While waiting in a doctor's office today, I started to think of the many, many things I will miss about Athens once we leave. Since I was trying not to lose my composure completely, I steered my thoughts toward one of my favorite aspects of this little town—the food. That is, I started mentally listing all the amazing dishes that I know I exactly where to find in Athens whenever the mood strikes me.

Just as I was beginning to debate (yes, with myself) about where each dish would fall in a top-ten list, I had a sudden, vivid recollection of the last time I made a major move. I was so much younger that, believe it or not, I hadn't yet developed the near-obsession I have with good food today.

I'm sitting in my seventh-grade English classroom at Sweetwater Middle School, having just moved to Lawrenceville from Raleigh a few weeks beforehand. The school system here is completely different than the one at the magnet school I've been attending in Raleigh, and all the material in my classes here is review from the past two years there. Needless to say, I am bored and utterly tuned out to what is going on around me.

Here's the weird part, which I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit because I'm sure some of you will think, “That's weird.” To bide the time until my next class, I start drawing, to the very best of my ability, the floor plan of my old middle school in Raleigh. To my 12 year old brain, my old school was far superior to this tiny place. It had three separate buildings, two of which had two stories and were enormous. The third was a later addition where such classes as dance and painting were taught. It did have trailers, like any middle school, but they housed not only French and Spanish classes, but also Russian, Japanese and German. I remember even explaining to a friend of mine how we needed a full 10 minutes for class changes because the school was so big that it was like high schools in Georgia.

But seriously, the floor plan?

And until today, I couldn't quite make sense of why in the world I would obsess so much over that. Now I think, just like my need to list in order of most importance my favorite entrees and desserts in Athens, I was trying to somehow quantify the experience of missing a place that felt so much like home. Then, most of my days were spent in that school. My most meaningful interactions took place there, and I discovered a lot about myself in the year and a half that I attended it.

Here, I have spent an unbelievable amount of time building friendships, studying, and even working in my favorite restaurants and cafes downtown. I know I've dumped obscene amounts of money and time into these places in exchange for the social interactions, and the incredible treats, they have provided. And I know it will be a very sad day when I start to crave Five Star Day's Chicken and Dumplings, and I have to scour a new city in hopes of finding anything that even remotely compares. Or anyone to call up at a moment's notice to meet me there...

I know there's no way to quantify the way that the past 11 years have turned Athens into the only place I've ever really called home, and I know this is just one of the many tricks I will try to play on myself to make it less painful to leave. But just for kicks, here's the list, or at least a rough draft:

Top Ten Foods I Will Miss in Athens:

(in no particular order, because I got distracted from that debate with myself)

1. Mirko's Tiramisu

2. Five Star Day's Chicken and Dumplings (also, Fried Green Tomatoes, Soul Chicken Pasta, Garden Club...)

3. Cookies'n'Company's Curry Chicken Salad on a Croissant (yeah, they've already closed, but I still miss it!)

4. The Grill's Fries and Feta

5. Cali'n'Tito's Tostones

6. Walker's Coffee (hey, coffee is food.)

7. Trappeze (everything. beer is also food.)

8. Casa Mia's Latin Sushi Roll

9. Ike and Jane's Elvis Donut (peanut butter, banana, bacon. on a donut.)

10. Chick-Fil-A (it's not just Athens, I know, but what are the chances of finding one in New Haven???)

Fount of Every Blessing

Come thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy grace.

Streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet sung by flaming tongues above.

Praise the mount; I’m fixed upon it, mount of God’s unchanging love.

Today was a good day.

I woke up slowly next to a husband who loves me more than I will ever be able to comprehend.

Lily was stirring in the cradle, which had been hand-carved by a dear friend’s father and lent to us as a symbol that we are not just friends but family. Darren picked her up and laid her in the bed between us. Even a month after her birth, we still are so taken with our second child that we just gazed at her quietly together.

Next, Will came down the steps and into our room—a rare occasion since he usually calls to us to come upstairs when he wakes up. He snuggled up with the rest of us, giggled and played with his toy trains for a while. Even our cat curled up at my feet to complete the magazine cliché of a happy young family. The intellectual in me considered making some joke about how we had finally attained the bourgeois ideal of happiness and security, but I found myself too content to risk ruining a moment of such quiet joy.

Of course, the day picked up steam. Coffee, Thomas videos, showers, breakfast, dishes, email. Just as I was rushing off to my karate class, Darren handed me the credit card to do a little post-maternity shopping. At class, I was invigorated to be able to exercise at almost my pre-caesarean level; shopping for new clothes at my pre-pregnancy size was even more exciting.

In the late afternoon, our whole family went to a relaxed, delightful party at a local park. Even the weather was perfect. Darren went to meet a friend for a round of golf, and I took the kids home. Lily stayed asleep while I put Will to bed a full hour and a half early, then she woke up right on time for her early evening feeding. She went back to sleep immediately, and I drew a bath with aromatic lavender bubbles that were a gift from my (step)Mom when Will was born. And I poured a glass of red wine that another close friend had brought over earlier in the week.

It was while I was sitting in the bath that I began to reflect on how incredibly good the day had been. Here I was, soaking in a garden tub in a house we should never have been able to afford, drinking wine that I didn’t buy, and reflecting on all the goodness I’ve just described. Afterward, I would put on brand new pajamas (not the only thing I bought with the Discover card) and a rich lotion that came as a free gift with my purchase. For a moment, I thought, “I should feel guilty about this. It’s all so frivolous and unnecessary, and there are so many people who deserve this more than I do.”

That led me to the question, “Where is the place for luxury in the Christian life?” Surely, comfort and luxury are not to be sought after; we are to seek after Christ. But there are times, like today, when luxury seems to be dumped in our laps. What are we to do? Should we renounce them categorically, since our only true need is for God’s love and the redeeming work of Christ? Or, should we enjoy them with the mindset that God has created wonderful things both for His pleasure and our own? Is mere thankfulness enough to justify this enjoyment? Where does sacrifice and ‘dying to self’ fit into this picture?

Then, I began to reconsider the question altogether. I am calling these things luxury: a loving family, a beautiful house, a peaceful evening. But that must mean that there are things to which I feel entitled, things which I don’t consider luxury but necessity. Food, shelter, work, peace of mind. These aren’t blessings—they are things I assume God should give me.

In light of the Gospel, however, I know I am a depraved sinner who deserves nothing but God’s judgment and wrath. Both Darren and I have become keenly aware of this truth in the past year, and particularly in the past couple weeks, as we work through some incredibly difficult situations together. It is a truth that leaves little room for categories: anything good is luxury, and I don’t deserve any of it.

I don’t write this out of guilt or asceticism. Quite the opposite—this points at the true freedom found in the Gospel. I can enjoy a bubble bath with thankfulness just as I enjoy having food to feed my family or a job to pay the bills. There is no difference. God is the Fount of every blessing, and for the Christian, everything is a blessing: “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).

Not only that, I also don’t have to fear losing the things I love or enjoy. They are not the source of my contentment or peace of mind, so I know that God will sustain me with or without them. In fact, even our struggles and sufferings are good because God uses them to refine us and to prove His complete provision for all our needs: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2-4).

Most of all, knowing that I am not only forgiven but loved by a God who knows every evil thought I’ve ever entertained and every sinful action I’ve ever committed is the most freeing truth of all. This grace and love are the true luxuries, and they are absolutely at the center of the Christian life.

Let that grace now, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to Thee.