Poop and Blog

I have been ridden with a weird assortment of dietary hangups lately, resulting in days worth of constipation or (sometimes) the opposite. And that's not really relevant but last weekend, Joe said, "you know what you  haven't done in a while?" And I panicked because I thought he knew. But then he sweetly said, "blog," and I sighed a relieved, "you're right." So here's to blogging. And hopefully the other thing I haven't done in a while will happen soon.

It's April 19. Every square inch of my agenda is covered with to-do lists and countdowns. I have a test I should be studying for but hot-gluing boutonnieres sounds better. Graduation is right around the corner, followed by a week of what Joe House calls, "Just Chillin," and then moving everything we own into an apartment, making an eternal covenant to each other, partying in Mexico, and starting life as husband and wife. It feels surreal. 

Everything I do is the tempura mutantur. The time where everything changes and the decisions I make today are carried into my new sort of life. It's a weird mindset. I find myself pondering things like, "if I cut my hair now, that will be my hair when I lose my virginity. Is that okay with me? Or had I always pictured it with longer hair? If I buy new Birks does that mean we will not be able to eat dinner? Should Joe and I stop talking for a couple months so we have plenty to talk about on the honeymoon?" And that doesn't even crack the surface of the mind-racing that is sweetly and excitedly robbing my sleep and sending me into crazy countdown-agenda mode. If my journal got published it would immediately be banned. I have never been so excited for something and yet so simultaneously aware that life - because of that something - will never be the same. I get excited for vacations, rollercoasters, Thanksgiving, and bedtime, but the changes that result from those events are so fleeting: tans fade. The food digests. I eventually wake up and life is relatively the same. 

But to be married?  To be married is to eagerly await an instant moment where you are no longer one, but joined in flesh, knit together, covenantally bound to a person who is called to love you, shape you, sharpen you, and provide for you as you strive (by God's grace) to do the same. It is a call to unity, to teamwork, to making decisions together and to choosing to never go without the other. It's a call to strip away the old life of independence and self-serving "me time" and wholeheartedly pursuing Jesus with the greatest gift God has given me. To be awaiting marriage is, in some ways, to be awaiting a new life.

It's the best thing I can imagine. A change I would never wish to forego, even if it means sacrificing my routine of doing devos in the dark and cleaning out my fishbowl (more on Calfin later) to use for popcorn on solo-movie nights. Joe House is an emphatic yes to the abundant mystery ahead, no matter what or where or when. I have no idea what lies ahead, but I know who is in the future and I know it is Jesus and Joe. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life walking in step with sweet Josey as we run after Jesus together. 

This only begins to unravel the winding stream of never ending thoughts and dreams and giddiness that has marked my most recent months. 46 days. I'm going to work on blogging more.


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