Writing the Truth

"If she tried to write him anything definite about her work, she immediately scratched it out as being only partially true, or not true at all.  Nothing that she could say about her studies seemed unqualifiedly true, once she put it down on paper."
from Song of the Lark by Willa Cather

This is exactly how I feel about writing right now.  For instance, I was going to tell you how discouraging it was that I could not find a gallon of milk in this town for under $4.00.  Since then, I've found it twice at $3.98.  Who knows when I'll find it for $3.95 or even lower???

So I will update you on what I believe to be unqualifiedly true, though I may be wrong, for being new means a large learning curve.  I told some men at church on Sunday that I keep thinking I'll be back in Vancouver soon.

When I look at the orange mums on my kitchen window I picture the thick, lacquered kitchen ledge in Vancouver.  When I look out the living room window, I can almost truly see the VanNostern's place.

And when I pull in the drive here and push a button for a garage door to open, I can fully visualize pulling into our drive, no garage opener, but a lovely Magnolia, two gray cats, and a flowering welcome sign.

I can hear Skylar knock on the door and say "Can Conner and them come out and play?" and see the park next door...feel my eyes straining to see who's out there now.  I can see Earline's smile at church and feel Diana's hug.  It is strange when past reality feels truer than the present.

I miss things, too, for we'd found a rhythm of days and weeks, months and seasons.  Right now I am pining away for fresh boquets of dahlias.  Brian used to go to the U-Cut dahlia farm near the church and bring some home to me every week or so in the fall. This year I found a pot of mums at Walmart for $3.99 and called it good.

We'd pick blackberries at our beautiful, secret spot.  Brian would put them in the fridge and ask if it was enough for a cobbler.  Or was it a pie?  Crisp?  I would make one and it would always be different from what he'd ask for.  But it would be good!

I'm having a little gathering this weekend for the people who built this parsonage we are living in.  I find it absolutely remarkable that they were able to work together to accomplish such a project.  I can't wait to hear the stories of God's provision.

In this town, it is almost essential that employers provide housing or subsidize housing for their employees.  The housing market is expensive and it is difficult to find a place to live at all.  So the people of the church decided to build a parsonage on some of the church's property.

It is now our dwelling, a new place to create new rhythms.

As I attempt to embrace these new days, new times, new places, new people, I wonder what rhythms and memories will embed themselves.  I take a picture at the little Minot zoo, the children in front of the zebras.  Will I take a picture here with them next year?

Or will my memory treasure counting vultures on the cell tower across from the local grocery?