When I went out to walk this morning, I wore my red Mu Kappa t-shirt. That made me think of Dave Pollock, who died on Easter Sunday six years ago. I have thought of him many times since the earthquake and wished I could talk to him. He was visiting our school on September 11th, 2001, and prayed and counseled with us and our kids. He prayed for me after my miscarriage. He helped me and so many others understand who we are as TCKs and embrace the challenges and opportunities that our lives bring us. I probably only spent a hundred hours with Dave but I loved him and miss him.
As I was walking I thought about Tara's first run after the earthquake. (I think that is the third or fourth time I've linked to that post, but if you haven't read it yet, go read it.) I don't, honestly, think about it every single day now, but often enough.
I listened to Greg Boyd's Easter sermon, "Sehnsucht." (Another one for the "Favorite Sermons" folder.) Sehnsucht is an intense longing that can't be satisfied by this world. If we live a life where every desire is immediately gratified, maybe we can suppress some of the yearnings we have. Boyd encouraged his listeners to let themselves feel those deep longings, and to find the Resurrection.
Speaking of yearning and longing, I thought a lot about my husband while I walked, too. He is hoping to come soon for a visit. Last night we talked on the phone - the first time in a few days I had heard his voice - and tried to make some plans. It's hard, still, for me to think about the future. I always think something will come along to ruin any plans we make. Maybe something will, but it still felt good to talk about him being here for a few days. I miss him so much. This time apart has been a reminder for me of what a source of strength a happy marriage is, and how grateful I am for my husband, for our history together and our love.
I asked him about bringing a few things. One is the bag with our bathing suits in it. I hate to buy a bathing suit, in common with most women my age, I am sure. I already have one that is all right, but in spite of all my suggestions, he couldn't find it while we were talking. The other thing I wish I had brought is some jewelry. I wear very little of it, but I do have some Kenyan bracelets I like a lot and I also asked for my silver Hershey's kiss pendant. Those things are trivial and unnecessary but I have learned that having little touches like that makes me feel like myself. If I ever have to pack an evacuation bag again, I will do a better job. Tomorrow it will be three months since I have set foot in my house in Haiti, and I shudder to think about what it must look like now. My husband told me a month or so ago that he had said to the doctors who were staying with him that week, "My wife must never know how this house looks." I was thinking about my house and my possessions as I walked this morning. They are just things, and yet they are special to me.
So many emotions in the heart of one ordinary middle-aged person walking down the street! I have thought a lot lately of the words from Paul Simon's song "Graceland": "Losing love is like a window in your heart; everybody sees you're blown apart, everybody sees the wind blow." I feel that my losses - and Haiti's losses, which make my own pale - are so visible to everyone, that everyone knows that we are blown apart.
At least "I've reason to believe we all will be received in Graceland."
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