Reports from the Honeymoon

Three months home. Two with Alivia.

I have days where Seth comes home, the house is clean, dinner is in motion, wine is poured and, I don’t know, like, 100 apples are put up as apple butter. Then there are days where we trudge around in our filthy home eating hotdogs, where naps are interrupted and I don’t so much as get to move one load of laundry from the washer into the dryer.

I have not yet figured out what sort of black magic separates the accomplished days from the wasted ones. I suspect it has something to do with the quantity and quality of poops in the house.

I’m still a-buzz with energy. There is great joy in slowing things down, examining each object consumed or used or cleaned or obtained by the family unit. There is seriously some kind of Awakening going on and it is obnoxious to everyone I’m sure. The bad news is that I’ve a long way to go and so much more to learn.

But there is a flicker of unrest every now and then. Something is missing.

I thought maybe it was people. Going into town, talking to people about the issues of the day. Mocking Occupy Wall Street protesters or something. But then when I did that, I still came up short.

I’m afraid it’s my old suitor who has come calling again.

Oh, hey Jesus.

As fulfilling as it is to be here meeting the needs for my home and for my family, I need to figure out how I can broaden. Reach out. Compassionate self-sufficiency. Can that even exist?

And these Occupy protests have my inner hippy in turmoil. I am going to make a list of the Top Ten corporations we vote for with our dollars, and … I don’t know … try to justify our purchases in my own mind I guess. Figure out how we can make our own (________).

I do miss my boyfriend Jesus. Church has been on the backburner as we travel here and there on Sundays, or stay at home and be lazy when we finally get a weekend off. But even church is insulated. Arguably, dressing the kids to attend a church service and hearing a sermon is not helping anyone. We’re worshiping the Lord, sure, but I doubt he needs to hear me singing.

I’m only halfway joking.

I need to do something for someone else. Something that can prompt Jesus to say “Well done, faithful servant.” Not sure the things I have accomplished with no-knead bread will qualify. I need to reconcile this lifestyle with the life of communal living that we are called to in the Bible. Can you have a community if you don’t live within walking distance of other humans?


And in this community … how do you deal with the people who have hobbies like 24-7 dirt bike riding or constant target shooting?

How do I find people who are hurting in the hinterlands?

I can’t help but feel these are the kinds of things that insecure white people ask themselves when they can’t sleep at 3 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

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