We’re gettin’ hitched.

I promise.

1.) Ran into the groom’s (apparent) grandmother.

By which I mean…I actually ran into her. While dancing. In my defense, I was backing up
(as Ben had just let go of me in some amazing move I’m sure would put some ice dancers to shame and cry like babies), and the groom was dancing with her (it was a fast song!) and I slammed into her pretty hard. He didn’t seem too happy, even though I apologized a lot.

2.) Spilled a large amount of red wine all on Ben’s white shirt.

Seriously, it was bad. I should probably note at this point that I was NOT, I repeated NOT inebriated at said wedding. I know, I know, after the running into grandmothers and spilling wine all over the joint, I would make certain assumptions too. But those who know me well know that I’m just a clumsy oaf. Ben took it like a champ. Danny (our staff chaplain, and one of my favorite people) says: “Dude. I have a shirt for you. I’ll be right back.” He comes back from the car with a shirt that says: “I’m really excited to be here.” He wore it the rest of the night. And we danced. I was impressed with Ben’s complete calm. He didn’t let it stop him from dancing. That’s my boy.

3.) Took stain advice from a lady with purple hair.

Actual, dark purple hair, and very large, black-rimmed glasses. I told Ben as soon as I saw her that I wanted to hug her and make her my grandma. In the restroom, I was wetting down Ben’s wine-stained shirt so as to hopefully assist in getting out the stain later (it did come out later, by the way), she informed me that apparently white wine gets out red wine. Who knew? Bad news? They were out of white wine by this time. Confound it all! Cute lady with purple hair and large black-rimmed glasses shakes her head at me, seemingly very sorry for me, says I might just have to buy him another shirt. Since it was Banana Republic, I’m glad I got the stain out. Thanks for your help though, lady with purple hair. I miss you. Maybe we could be pen pals.

4.) Wore a dress that cost $9. And I looked GOOD.

Thank you, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Steve and Barry’s. It may fall apart tomorrow, but that does not matter in the slightest, since the wedding is over. And your purple peep-toe shoes that I also paid $9 were surprisingly comfortable, all things considered. I have no doubt that you probably use babies and/or fetuses working 20-hours a day in sweatshops in Indonesia so that I can afford a dress to go to a wedding, and it may make me feel a bit bad, but in the end, I really didn’t have time (or money, really) to look at any other stores. So, thank you as well, baby fetuses.

5.) Messed up pretty much all of the Cha-Cha Slide.

This probably did not help my “I am not inebriated!” case. But somehow, we ended up at the FRONT of the group, rather than the back, where I can watch what people are doing. And it’s not like you ever ever do the Cha-Cha Slide, unless you are at a wedding or prom. And we got the edit of the song that had less instruction than the other one (this was confirmed by Ben, who has used another edit for weddings in the past) that we’d danced to at our friend’s wedding in January (where I did much, much better). I had no idea what was going on. I’m still not totally sure what to do when I should “turn it out”. I can “criss-cross!” and I can cha-cha real slow now, til the cows come home…but please do not make me stand in the front of the group again. Ever.

I have joined the long defeat
that falling set in motion
all my strength and energy
are raindrops in the ocean
so conditioned for the win
to share in victor’s stories
but in the place of ambition’s din
I’ve heard of other glories

I pray for an idea
and a way I cannot see
It’s too heavy to carry
and impossible to leave

I can’t just fight when I think I’ll win
that’s the end of all belief
and nothing has provoked it more
than a possible defeat

I pray for an idea
and a way I cannot see
It’s too heavy to carry
and impossible to leave

We walk a while we sit and rest
we lay it on the altar
I won’t pretend to know what’s next
but what I have I’ve offered

I pray for a vision
and a way I cannot see
It’s too heavy to carry
and impossible to leave

I pray for inspiration
and a way I cannot see
It’s too heavy to carry
and I will never leave

(”The Long Defeat”, Sara Groves)

—–

Last December, Ben and I sat in the balcony of the Ryman Auditorium, and heard Sara Groves sing “The Long Defeat”. I’ve long found her voice hauntingly and simply beautiful, but this song was spectacular enough to draw tears from me. It still does, but for different reasons.

Groves explained that she wrote the song following her reading of Mountains Beyond Mountains, the story of Dr Paul Farmer, who worked among the poor in Haiti, and still works in international health and social justice.

In late February, I took my job at Outreach, Inc. I’ve never suffered under the notion that the position would be easy, or that it wouldn’t break my heart. We walk alongside youth ages 14-24 who are “homeless or at-risk”. It’s a broad category that includes poverty, generational sin, drugs, lack of education, poor choices, lack of hope, rebellion, prostitution, pregnancy, abuse, neglect, welfare, food stamps, and suffering. Mostly, my job includes the simple walking: lunches, talks over coffee, discussions about their choices, telling kids they can be more than what they are, that they were created for more than this, that they are loved beyond imagination despite whatever they may do to themselves or others, no matter what has been done to them. Any given day, I have shared discussions with my clients over books on apologetics, made up formula for girls’ babies, taken girls to their daughters’ t-ball practice, driven girls to pick up job applications, pled with girls to not do what they are about to do, driven girls to detox, driven kids to the free health clinic, celebrated a new job or the birth of their child, marveled at the fact that sometimes they appear to actually be listening to me. We climb to the 4th floor of warehouses long abandoned by anyone except the homeless, we decend below bridges that the general population would never imagine are inhabited by small communities of “The Invisibles”.

Specifically, I waited over a year to be able to work at Outreach. But really, I waited 26 years. I’ve never had a job I love, even when most days feel like one step forward and three steps back. I’m pretty good at detatching myself when I go home (I do not believe I can be as effective in my job if I cannot ever set it aside to renew my spirit), but it would also be irresponsible in a sense, to separate my life wholly from my work. This stuff impacts each area of your life, simply due to the fact that Love impacts each area of your life. Sometimes love means letting someone do what they will do. Sometimes it means throwing yourself in front of the train. Wisdom is knowing the difference.

I am busy building things these days. Each day, both in my work and in my personal life, I am being asked - called - to build relationships. I have, for quite sometime, failed to see the serious work of “building relationships”. Too often, we see building relationships as taking what comes most easily to us (hanging out with friends), rather than forming bricks, waiting for them to harden in the sun, carrying those bricks on our backs (however long that road may be) in order to build something new, in a place we may not prefer to go. I cannot read the Bible without seeing this picture of calling on all of His children. It’s much, much harder than we would like for it to be. It took Jesus to the cross. I’m not sure why we assume it would not bring our own drops of blood and sweat.

The blood, sweat and tears would be much easier if we could see the pinnacle, if we were assured victory with each of our relationships. But this is never guaranteed.

We spend a lifetime building a marriage that eventually crumbles under the weight of another persons choice.

We raise our children with love and kindness, only to see them spit in our faces.

We spend years walking alongside a friend or relative with an addiction, watch our hopes and their hopes raise with the hope of freedom, only to watch it crash with a devestating blow.

And so, we stare at the bricks on the ground, at what is left of time, energy and emotion invested, that has all fallen. And we walk straight back there and pick up the first brick again.

Because we were never meant to build the wall with our own tools and materials. We came with neither. And we may never get the wall done. We may never get further than a few bricks before other person decides to take their bricks and run. There is no way of knowing now.

But I can’t just fight when I think I’ll win. It’s the end of all belief.

The belief lies in knowing that ultimately, the fight will be won, whether I believe it or not, whether I can see it now or not.

The day is coming…when everything sad will come untrue.

He is teaching me to love.

It’s impossible to leave.

…I wish I were a songwriter. So many things are better communicated in a song. It’s like a beautiful language that I only took for a semester in middle school once. I could maybe order breakfast in said language, but I certainly couldn’t carry on a conversation.