I Like You

I’m not saying this to complain, it’s just…

People keep asking us what we’ve been “up to” lately. The truth is, besides working, sleeping, making the occasional run to the grocery store, running loads of laundry and putting out the garbage every Sunday night, our main activity over the past two months has been…being sick.

Not what most people imagine newlyweds might be doing with their free time, but we’ve had kind of a rough go of it lately. Multiple colds, lingering hacking coughs, stomach flu, etc. From our honeymoon until now, it’s been one giant germ-fest at the Case house.

We’re hoping that at some point our germs will make peace with each other and all will be normal again. But until then, if we haven’t called you or seen you lately, please don’t take it personally. We’ve just been busy with our new hobby.

I didn’t grow up in a liturgical church. In fact, I believe I was in college before I ever heard the word Lent uttered, by my friend Jess who was commiserating on the trials of having given up ice cream for Lent.

It was several years after college when I began to actually be interested in this whole mysterious time of year – Ash Wednesday, the Lenten season, Maundy Thursday, and the trappings of High Church. Growing up evangelical, we pretty much skipped from Palm Sunday to Good Friday.

In recent history, I’ve started paying more attention to the observances of these seasons of the church calendar. There’s something to be said for making space in your heart and your life to ponder the stories and themes of each season. Much like watching leaves bud from barren branches each spring, and then turn colors and drop to the ground each fall, there is a cyclical pattern in the life of faith that helps me feel grounded, and part of something bigger than myself.

This year my little faith community had an intimate gathering on Ash Wednesday. For anyone accustomed to such rituals, it probably wouldn’t have seemed particularly noteworthy. For me, surrounded by some of my fellow sojourners, it was an evening fraught with the pull of gravity.

I loved that we had “technical difficulties” and started 20 minutes late…there was more silence. I loved that out of a community of more than 100 people, only fifteen showed up…it was intimate. I loved that the space we used was borrowed, not our own…it felt foreign and weighty.

Leaving the gathering, I was self conscious of the black smudge on my forehead. Driving home, I felt certain that anyone in passing cars must be noticing my unkempt appearance. I felt stained by it. I could almost feel the grime burrowing into my pores, becoming part of me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get it off.

I stopped at the gas station, and had the urge to wipe my brow with a paper napkin from the glove compartment. Willing myself to leave the ashes there, I asked the attendant for a fill. He smiled. “You look like supahstah!” He announced in a southeast Asian accent. I wasn’t sure whether the shadows concealed my blemish, or perhaps whether he was trying to make me feel better about my unsightly appearance, or whether maybe he honestly thought the asymmetrical dark smudge made me look like a celebrity. Hard to gauge.

Back at home, I looked at myself a long time in the bathroom mirror before washing my face. I realized how silly I would feel getting pissed off at another driver with ashes on my head. Or gossiping about someone. Or being unkind or lazy or petty.

I think if I walked through life with a visible smudge on my face every day, I would be a different person. I’m glad there’s at least one day every year that reminds me.

Picture rail mouldings are great in theory, but…whenever I try to hang something from ours, the frame doesn’t hang flush against the wall. Instead, it tips forward with the top of the frame hanging an inch or two away from the wall. It’s annoying. Any ideas?

It’s just around the corner…

On March 8th, Jonathan and I board a plane bound for what some people consider a “fifth world” country — meaning no hope of recovery – Haiti. We will be going under the auspices of Northwest Medical Teams, working with an organization called Haiti Foundation of Hope, to provide medical relief to a poorest-of-the-poor village in northern Haiti. (It has been a year since I was there, in Terre Blanche, on a similar trip.)

The last two months, our lives have been full of so many adjustments — a new marriage, owning a home, figuring out how to merge our schedules and social lives, etc. It hasn’t given us much time to prepare mentally, emotionally, spiritually or financially for this trip.

Haiti will require much of us in all of those areas…and we depend on God to buoy us up and provide His goodness in those areas where we are sorely lacking. (Medical expertise is just the first item on that list!)

If you are the sort of person who talks to God, would you please bend His ear on our behalf? For safety in travel, for energy to work long days in the hot, dusty village, for purposefulness about our work in the pharmacy (counting pills all day can seem a bit…mundane, but it’s important to do it well), for compassionate eyes and warm smiles to extend to all those we meet, for provision of funds, and most of all, for the villagers we will leave behind at the end of the week — whose heartache will go on, long after we have left.

We’ve decided that since we’re not really television people, we’d rather not pay for cable. Jonathan is a film buff, and I would much rather watch a good movie than some re-run of Everybody Loves Raymond or King of Queens (sorry, Bob), which is what is usually on when I flip on the tube for the purpose of vegging out. Still…sometimes I need to unwind with a little easy entertainment, but I don’t want to flush two hours down the tube.

So, as a compromise, Jonathan is helping me find entire seasons of TV shows I really like on DVD. (We either check them out from the library or he finds them online and downloads them.)

My first request: Gilmore Girls. I love the quirky small-town characters ala Northern Exposure, and the deadpan lightning-speed witty banter between Lorelai and Rory.

And I am happy to say that even though some people think it’s strictly a chick show, Jonathan has watched the first three episodes with me and actually likes it. Jonathan, who usually prefers spaghetti westerns, movies featuring samurais, or projects directed by David Lynch.

Gilmore…not just for girls anymore.

Anyone have recommendations about what we should watch next?

We took possession of our house on Saturday, December 2nd — which means we have been the owners and residents for eight and a half weeks now. I’m embarrassed to say that we still haven’t hung a single photo or piece of art on the wall! I think I have a mental block about hanging art, which is largely related to the following issues:

1. Due to our charming circa 1930s lath & plaster walls, I am paranoid that no matter what I do, my attempts to hang things will result in large, crumbling holes in our walls.
2. I have a fear of commitment when it comes to positioning. I can’t decide where exactly to hang it, and once I pound the nail it all feels so FINAL.
3. A lot of the things that looked good on the walls at my old house, just don’t really work in this one. I need an art revamp, but that sounds pretty expensive.

Anyone have any ideas? Art to swap? Expertise in hanging things? Knowledge about lath & plaster?

Please help — I need a pep talk.