Anchors in the Storm

I remember having a question posed to me, at some point in the last decade or so, about what I would run back into a burning building to save (inanimate objects only). I think Todd asked it and I think it was one of those times where you don't want the date to be over, and you don't want to say good night, so you just keep talking, even as the twilight settles in deeper and the minutes tick away until you have to wake and be ready for class. I'm not sure what I answered that night, but like so many other things, I came back to it. I'm not sure if I'd run back into a burning house to save many things. My wedding pictures are all digitally saved in two remote locations, so reprints aren't a problem. I have a cherished picture of my great-grandmother (whom I'm named after) that I might consider, but I'm sure someone in the family has another copy. Of course I have trophies and plaques that I worked hard for, but they mostly collect dust now. But I told Todd then about a book I wish I had, so that if I ever had a chance to run back into a burning building to save something, I'd have that one to save.

See, I'm a book-ie.  My favorite days in teaching were the ones in which a solid block of time was set aside to just read- for both the kids and me. In fact, when I switched schools and didn't have that "set aside" time, I started a 7am Friday morning book club, just for that purpose. I like all kinds of books. There's something about reading, or hearing a story, that makes it part of your consciousness. I believe in the power of words but I also believe that some books become more than just books. They become living, breathing... a part of you like a favorite old blanket that's done LIFE with you.  Books have the power to help you see through a situation clearly, experience wisdom and perspective, and can give voice to thoughts and feelings you simply could not have expressed.

Todd asked me why this book, this small book with less than 50 words in the whole thing was so important, and I told him. I told him its because that book was dutifully read to me, no matter if it was the first or hundredth request to hear it. It was the first book I could "read" (although I'd really only memorized the words) and it was the first book that made me want to share the pages with others. It was a small little children's book with dark and slightly droopy pictures, but I loved it.  Now, that book is lovingly packed away, safe and secure in a crate within a shipping container somewhere over the Atlantic.  And once again, I come back to my book.

Because in so many ways, I feel exactly like that book right now.  Packed in solidly so even if I want to move, forward, backwards, doesn't matter, there is no place to go.  Stuck.  And like that book, I'm amidst comfortable, familiar surroundings.  I've known this furniture, those kids, these friends, that mini-van for over a decade.  Todd and I have washed these pots and pans while dating, before kids.  Emmerson slept in a laundry basket in the office closet.  It's not like we're completely devoid of love and familiarity.  And yet, I feel so adrift wishing I had something to anchor my soul.  I'm feeling so incredibly useless, like your left foot when you drive an automatic car.  I know this is a season.  I know that things will change.  But right now, as my heart is going through the ups and downs of missing home, missing my way of life and my friends and MY pots and pans to make MY family's Christmas Eve-Eve extravaganza meal, I'm wishing I was somewhere else.  I'm wishing I was in a better space.  I'm wishing my heart would stop hurting and I'm wishing I could just get out of this funk, this groove that seems to be getting deeper.  Because I want to look up, look forward with excitement to so many things.  And right now, I simply cannot do that.  All I can do is hold fast to a verse God gave our family, and strangely, that's enough.

Hebrews 6:19
We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, 
a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain,

Eugine Peterson put it this way...
We who have run for our very lives to God have every reason to grab the promised hope with both hands and never let go. It’s an unbreakable spiritual lifeline,reaching past all appearances right to the very presence of God

Just as reading my book out loud to my kids will never be the full measure of love and warmth I felt listening to it next to my Grams, it's enough to hold on to the memories of what that book represents.  It's enough to remember the warmth of her lap, the sound of her voice.  And it's enough to hold on to the hope that someday, maybe my kids will have the same warmth and affection for my book as I did... because I loved it enough to read it to them.  I loved them enough to share the memory.  I loved enough to cling to that book, those memories, that place of goodness and safety when I didn't feel very good, or very safe... just as I cling to the promise that this isn't it.  This plodding through life isn't enough, and there is more, oh so much more in store.  I can anchor my soul to that.