Speaking into the quiet

So it has been a while. A long, quiet while. A while filled with celebration and change and also all the regular. The summer regular. It was by no means the summer I expected, but it was a summer that brought much and took away the same. Looking back there seems to be a sort of balance in this. Of which I find myself full of gratitude for. 

A few happenings this summer:

Masters program was completed—gone. A job in a district that I loved was left behind—gone. A new job was ushered in—gift. New babies were born and celebrated—gift. Community was strengthened and leaned into—gift. Life (some of it quite hard) was lived—normal. Breaths were breathed—hallelujah.

But the words...they have not come. The quiet has held strong in the summer months. Every time I thought I could sit down and spill all the words and all the sentences of life onto the keyboard, even if just for myself, something brought pause. The words weren’t ready. They weren’t mine to tell. I didn’t quite have a hold on what it is they wanted needed to say. To expose. What the heck the Lord was doing with my words. With my life. Why so much good was stripped and the seemingly new “good” was just so hard. So different. So uncomfortable.

And so I have just been waiting. Contemplating. Allowing the quiet to reign. And quite honestly it has allowed me to see that words are not always necessary. They are not always for me to spew just because they are there. That pause is good. Even necessary. It widens the space for Him to speak into. To mold. And change. And make Himself known.

But I also do not want to forget the real life that was lived over these summer months. To keep them safely penned for all their sweetness and all their pain. So I believe the words are here. At least enough for memory’s sake. 

June

Was a stinking whirlwind of a month. Goodbyes were spoken to sweet students and co-workers, attempts at wishing them all happy summers and pleas for them to visit next year or keep in touch over the summer. I am always a tad bit mushy when it comes to the end of the school year. It is filled with the promise of summer and fun and time, but it is also so very bitter because it is really an ending. A period at the end of a year’s sentence. And this year I had the inkling that it might be my last at my long-time campus and home. And honestly that was a bit brutal. My sweet Worley crew has loved me so well over the past 7 years. They have taught me what it really looks like to be an educator. They offered me grace and extended confidence in who I am as a teacher. And there is just no word of gratitude big enough for that kind of support. So making my exit on the last day of school, while filled with hope and dreams, was also quite sad. And desperate. To remember all the good and all the people and all the days. Just in case.

And in the same breath as goodbyes, I was meeting with and selling myself and all my dreams for librarianship to a whole slew of new faces. Which is just so not my thing. It is strange and uncomfortable. And necessary. So, I traveled all across the metroplex trying to find the right fit. The right spot. The right home for this next season. And it was hard. And it was so stressful. And it was a bit heartbreaking. Not because the Lord was not faithful. And not because He did not allow for much in the way of opportunity. But because I just HATE closing a chapter. Hate to add the punctuation marks.

And in the same moments as I was interviewing my guts out, I was also taking the biggest exam to date in my post-graduate work. And while my backbone (Steve) reminded me daily hourly by the minute that I had it in the bag. That these three research papers would work themselves through and that there was no need to stress. Stress I did. I did it really well. Because it was everything at once. Everything. No control. No answers. No guarantees. Just change. And hope. And stress.

And looking back, I wish I had handled it so very differently. I wish I had not doubted or spun out or missed the joy in opportunity. But that is just my truth. I did all of those things. For weeks I missed it.

But in the end, despite myself, I passed my test (which meant graduation!). I was offered a great job in a great district with great people doing what I have been working hard to do. I was reminded that all the stressing and worrying and attempting to force answers was for not and will always be just that. I was yet again reminded of the strength of my husband and how much he is able to believe in me when I just can’t muster the strength to do it for myself. And I once again found the strength of the Lord to be far greater and more reliable than my weak attempts at keeping things straight. And sorted.

June was a dang whirlwind.

July

And then July came like a big ol’ breath of freedom.

Most unknowns had been wrapped up and it was time for a bit of summer. We celebrated 4^th of July and a big birthday with friends and family. Steve planned a surprise trip to San Francisco for our 6^th anniversary (a trip I thought would never be) and we did all the things I had been dreaming of doing there.

It was truly an act of service and love on Steve’s part. Not that he didn’t enjoy the trip as much as I did, but he made sure that anything I had been dreaming to do for the past however many years was done and done to the fullest. And isn’t that just like that guy. I forget so often of the gift that the Lord gave me in marriage. He really did provide a depth of love and generosity and help and support and grace that could just never be deserved. And while I am fully aware that neither Steve nor I are perfect or without fault in the everyday, as I sit here remembering the goodness that my husband brings to this marriage, it is so clear that the Lord uses my marriage to preach the Gospel to my weary and stubborn heart. He has and will continue to use this marriage thing. This partnership in Him to make room for Truth. It’s just a matter of stepping back and knowing Him enough to notice.

July was dang good.

August

August was work and change and boldness.

I reported to my new job for new teacher training on August 3^rd and was immediately aware that this thing...this new thing was in all regards just that: new. The job. The district. The expectations. The procedures. The hours. The people. All of it. Just really really new.

And my confidence has wavered since August. I notice it every day because this new place and post is not coming naturally. And that is all too humbling for a girl who has felt pretty confident in who she is as an educator. Who felt ready for the change and all it meant.

Humility.

It seems to always be a byproduct of change. At least in my experience. It’s a whispered reminder that I am not it. I am not the one who provides the giftings or grace or trustworthiness or plan to be confident in. I am just me. Small and weak. Yet, oh so strong in the Lord.

So August (and every Fall month since) was (has been) all about being uncomfortable and unknown. Lowly and small. And each time my rebellion has ceased and space and quiet has been allowed, there has been a whisper.

“Trust me. I am enough. I know what I am doing. Trust me.”

So, August was hard. And humbling. Therefore, needed. And good.

Oh, and we found out this really fun and surprising and hugely humbling thing.

And again we have been laid out. Humbled by our smallness to walk into so much change and new and responsibility and joy. Attempting to stay our fears, especially mine, that this would not work out. That heartbreak is just around the corner. Because I have seen that hurt. It is not uncommon and it is crushing every time. I have seen the faces of friends who have felt that devastation. Who have struggled to reconcile that heartbreak with the faithfulness and goodness of God. I have hugged and prayed and loved and cried for others who have been there. And I am still sitting in that. The humility that I am not in control. And that I have no idea what I am doing or how this will end.

But the Lord is good. He is greater. Than my fears. Than any devastation that could come. Than all of the unknown and hard.

And so with such sweet joy, I am allowing myself to rest in where we are today. Praising Him for the opportunities this sweet baby has already brought. To grow in Him and marriage and family and community. To push past barriers of fear. And to simply rest. And to trust that in all things He is good. He is faithful and worthy to be trusted. Even with our little one.

So the Crumbys are celebrating. And awaiting a very sweet day in April when our family will become just a bit bigger. Hallelujah!!

quiet down now.

I am a verbal processor. To my very core. Til I have used all the words and all the breath. I talk. And process. And work. And unwrap.

It is my way of figuring out this thing. This life. Of noticing the connection between my mind and heart in any given matter. Mundane or major. I talk.

To Steve (poor guy). To God. To friends. To myself. I just talk.

And a lot of the time it brings me to this healthy place of exposing who and where I really am. My words make me transparent. They bring revelation. Like x-rays examining my insides for cracks and breaks. God has used words to bring new life in my world. To strip away the fluff and find the core. The truth. The reality.

But May has brought something new. May has opened my eyes and heart to a place of quiet.

Not hiding. Not escape. Not shutting down.

Just quiet.

Closing my mouth and just being. Just listening. Quietly hoping. And praying. And finding.

It feels incredibly unnatural. As if my mouth is bursting to run ahead and spew every second of each day to whoever happens in my way. I desire to speak and tell and shout from the rooftops what is going on. And wear family and friends out with what I think about the constellations of life today.

But something within (or above) has brought me to a place of quiet. And stillness. And hush. Where words aren't so needed. They actually have seemed more disruptive than helpful.

And somehow upon arrival, my mind seems to have slowed a bit. Life has not stopped. All the parts are still moving. Things I would typically gab on about are still so present. But my mind is not racing. It is not moving to every what if. It has not crossed the finish line before even starting the heat. It has slowed. It has steadied.

And it has allowed for the slow and steady breaths of each day to be noticed. And felt. And celebration to be found. And leaned into. And trust to be cast out into a vast unknown. And the haze of noise that typically daunts and distracts seems a little more distant. Drowned out by waves of silence and calm.

As a teacher, I usually plan big things for my summers. I make lists of all that I hope to accomplish and check off throughout the two(ish) months that are all mine. I stuff and stuff those days to the brim with new and sun and friends and lunches and pools and trips. And it is good. But it is rushed and loud too.

I have started to make those summer lists this week. My students are making their exit along with lesson plans and grading and emails and meetings at the end of this week. And there are these two months that stand in my eyeline waiting for their filling.

And today I am trying to hold off on the noise and clutter. All the words and letters that could fill the summer list. I am setting my heart on quiet and true and meaningful and purpose. I am hoping for a summer which honors something more than myself and my plans and my minutes. Something that doesn't require talk as much as it requires love.

Because the quiet has brought a little tag-along friend. It has brought the notion that this life is not so much about all my stuff and plans and knowns. It is so much more about offering my now. My heart. My minutes and days. My unknown, silent space. And simply laying it out to be used.

So while my list looks short and a little lazy so far. I know that the Lord will fill those lines and days and minutes with the unexpected. The joyful. The selfless. The more. The quiet. Where it is less about me and my thoughts and more about Him and Truth.

nothing is wasted.

So I am driving to school this morning (late as always) with my eyes set on the clock. Just watching the minutes move forward. Reminding me of how, yet again, I have not made the best of my morning. That my time could should have been better spent.

And this song popped up on the Pandora station I had on (chosen to adjust my state of mind from frantic to less so before actually having to speak to anyone).

"Nothing Is Wasted"

Image found: http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/5a/14/72/5a1472ff889c415f3bbd67ca5423bd1d.jpg

This season has not been an easy one. It is not the season I would wish for. Not terrible by any stretch of the imagination. But not the ideal. Not where I feel I should be in this time in life.

And I have worked my way through all forms of reactions in this time. I have cried (a lot). I have talked (a lot). I have wished and dreamed and envied and prayed. And in the end, I am still here. Sitting in this season. Where little is known. Where most is hanging above my head or hiding right around the corner. Either way, just out of reach.

And finally, I have given in to the fact that this season is here to stay for a bit. Maybe even a long bit.

And the past few weeks have met me with a hard but beautiful realization about seasons.

They are a gift.

The hard. The unexpected. The ideal. The worst.

They are such a gift.

Because in this unwanted season, I have seen the unmistakable hand of the Lord. When I have looked for it, I have easily seen it. Seen Him. He is here in this mess of unknown. He is present. And He is making Himself known in this time. He is shaping my heart. And my marriage. And my perspective. And my mind. In this time. And in a way that I am not sure I would see in any other season than this.

Because my weakness is completely evident in this day. There is no escaping how miserably weak I am when things aren't just so. I may be able to avoid it when life looks how I would choose, but not in the hard. My words and reactions reflect the piercing shards of brokenness within. They slice through their paper skin covering and show themselves for what they are. Harsh and broken and shaped by a sinful and selfish spirit. The inclination to turn inward and sort it out alone. The quickness to let feeling reign supreme and rule my heart. To cut off and avoid and shut down in a measly attempt at protection.

But then there is a breath. A pause from the self-pity. There is truth. That His strength is made perfect in all of my weakness. All of it. That His righteousness covers it all and guides me toward Himself. The opportunity to find Him is not wasted in my weakness.

And I feel like this is a common thing. This unwanted season thing. This desire for something that feels more like what should be happening instead of living into what really is. I look around and see so many who are fighting for what comes next. What is around the corner. What the future holds. Far away from now and here and present.

But then there is this

nothing is wasted.

Not one thing. 

Not this time. This season. This day.

And that is just huge.

It is for good. It is for better. It is for holiness.

And so it is sacred. And of value. And to be seen through eyes of gratitude. Gratitude that we would get to lean in and experience it at all. And all that it brings. The transformation. The breaking of sinfulness for that which is better. The light that hard seasons shine on the darkest places in us. Some of which we might not have even noticed before.

I have been encouraged these past few weeks that this season is one for whole-hearted trust. It is one for complete dependence on Him. Nothing less will do. And honestly, isn't that enough? Doesn't that change absolutely everything?

Because that is the ideal. That is best. What more could I hope for in any season?

This is it. This is the time. For becoming more like Christ. Today. Now.

And so I will choose gratitude instead of complaining. Thankfulness instead of wishing. Because nothing is wasted. Not even this. Praise be to God.

Boxes and bubble wrap and change.

Written last week. Pre-move. Things got a bit crazy and tired before I could post...


I have been staring at walls this week.

Not because I am bored and have nothing better to do with my cloudy and cool Spring Break. But because there is that saying that insists that "if these walls could talk..."

And I am wondering this week, after 5 years of viewing the Crumby household... just what they might disclose if given the chance.

Because the boxes are packed, friends. There are only a few left that await their filling. A very few last minute belongings to tuck in their place to carry to another home.

The rooms are empty and exposed. The cabinets are bare. Preparing themselves for the next person to come and fill them. With memories and laughter and tears and all the moments.

And I just can't help but beg these walls to talk. Perhaps if I stare at them long enough they will. Perhaps they will remind me of all the growing I have done within them. In this house. This first house.

You see these walls hold so much together. Or so I have thought. They have stood and stared upon a baby marriage. Two people trying to figure out this thing of sacrifice because of great love. They have bore witness to the ugly moments and good alike. The kindness and the scars. The giggles and the tears.

They have watched as friends and loved ones curled up on couches and around tables and on carpet to gather and be together. They have heard the stories and heartaches and the deep freeing laughter that comes when people gather and stay.

They have welcomed in those who needed some refuge. Homeowner and guest alike. They have warmed them with home.

They have accepted a maddening array of color. And have been gracious to allow us to swipe a brush and change our minds until it was just the right shade of Crumby.

And boy have they celebrated alongside us in the big things and small. They stuck it out in the hard and unknown. They reflected our joy in holidays and graduations and birthdays and sleepovers.

And even now as I continue to pour over all they have seen, I am wishing that I could remember it all. Because it has been so good. These walls have provided so many good things. So much more than I expected when I let myself in their door 5 years ago.

And I hope that they have seen hope in our living. Joy in our days. Kindness in our speech. Grace in our forgiveness. The hospitality of Christ. I hope that this place was not void of the eternal. That its use was for His mighty work.

Because while they are simply walls. And it is simply a house. If there is anything I have learned in my first years as homeowner, it is that the Lord can use the space. He can fill the walls. With so much that is lasting.

He honors the sacrifice of giving homes over to Him for best things.

And I am hurting so deeply to give up this particular space this week. I love it. It has been my safe spot. My refuge. My happy place. The place where I can breathe and sink in and stay.

But I am thankful for the perspective of what a home can be. Whatever shape it may take. A home is a space that the Lord can use. And I am breathing in hope that this space can continue its eternal use with the next owners. And that whatever space comes our way can be just as useful.

So this is my goodbye. To the house with the blue door. You've been good to us, old friend. You tell the story of the faithfulness and goodness of a loving God. Who stands for our good. Who knows our very depths. Who sees our needs. Who fights for our lives. Who is the very picture of sacrifice.

You are a part of our story. Our heart. And that just won't change.

Don't mind all the pictures. I need them to remember. I can't bear to forget.

update: december-february

Ahhh an update. It has been a while and some very big things have been happening. In all the whirlwind of holidays and a new year and getting back into the swing of things and the million other daily things, there has been little time to digest all that has come in these past few months. But now is the time. They must be documented if we are I am to fully remember.

So, here we go…

Steve Graduates

The week before Christmas, this giant thing happened. And I do mean giant. That hubs of mine walked across a stage at Southern Methodist University and accepted his Master’s in Business Administration.

Seriously. Just like that. He made his way, one foot in front of the other, and closed this gigantic door on school. Can we just pause for a minute to sing the Hallelujah chorus for a while?  It was so good. It was so fun. And it was so celebrated.

Because this journey has been a long one. Much longer than the 2 years he spent in those lecture hall seats, and study group rooms at the library, and in the quietest places he could find in our house. It has been a journey that reaches back and touches times long before we were married. Perhaps even before we graduated from high school. This journey. This long road. Has been one the Lord has been paving throughout Steve’s life. I can see it. Not fully of course, but what I can see is astounding. It blows my mind any time I think about it.

Because this dude. This guy who is smart and capable and kind and hard-working and determined and a million other good things. This guy has not always know where he was headed. He flew blind for the majority of college. Not knowing where his passions in work lay. Not knowing which “life” to choose. Because in this particular culture, your career is kind of your life. It determines everything. And that guy. That one who is sure of so many things, he just wasn’t sure of “life”.

Gosh and that has been hard. If we can be honest. That has been so hard. For him. For me. For parents and friends. Because not knowing requires mounds of faith that whatever is to come is best. A best that you can’t imagine. That for good or bad in this world, what is best is what is ahead. And that is a hard reminder in the now. In the then.

So he tried his hand at teaching. And he was good. He loved those students well. He worked hard to be what they needed, both as an educator and as an advocate. He was just really good. And I know that that time was not without purpose. There was so much that that time brought for his character and for our marriage and for many other things that I am surely not aware of. Stability. Confidence. Compassion. Eyes to see how others live. Grace to live when others aren’t kind.

But that didn’t quite work. It wasn’t a forever thing. And again that was hard. Hard to quit without anything left to stand on. Hard to determine what came next. Hard to search and search and search and seem to come up short without something substantial.

But the Lord was so good. He was so very present in the search. In the pause. In the seeming Limbo. If there is ever a time that I doubt the Lord’s goodness, that time of searching is what I look back to. Because while Steve was absolutely a rock and did whatever he could to provide for our family, we could not have made it without the Lord’s kindness in provision. There is just no way.

And again there was growth. Humility in knowing we were in no way in control. The Lord was. Strength in our marriage as we leaned in and trusted one another where we might not have otherwise. Open eyes to spot the provision of the Lord each month. Each day. Each breath.

And finally after a year and a half of searching there it was. A job. A full-time job. At a really cool company. So much opportunity. So much to learn. And we breathed. For two years it felt like we just breathed.

But there was this constant nudging in Steve’s mind that he should go back to school. It would not leave. It would not relent. And so school, as scary and expensive as it was, started. In the most humbling of ways. It shoved us both out of our comfort zone and forced exposure in places within us both that needed some adjusting.

And Steve worked. He worked at school and he worked at work. And all the time the Lord covered us with His kindness. Building confidence in us that His purposes were good. All the time.

Jobs have shifted multiple times since school has begun for Steve. And each time he transitions, there seems to be this unmistakable reminder that the Lord had this thing the whole time. This crazy path that we have taken (and I am sure we are still on) wasn’t (isn’t) for naught. There is purpose in our days. There is reason for our movements.

And so to watch that man walk that stage was huge. It was so big. Because the Lord has done big things. The Lord is doing big things. And that stage and that diploma and that moment was this giant reminder that He is up to something. And it is good. And it is best. And we can trust that in all things. In all seasons. That there is purpose in our days. There is reason for our movements. They are not in vain. They are useful. Hallelujah! And Pony Up!

                  

                  

                     

NYC!!

And so to celebrate this massive thing that had just happened, we hopped on a plane and flew to one of our favorite cities. And it was simply wonderful.

It was meant to be a celebration for just us two. Time to just be and do and go. And sometimes my steep expectations cause disappointment. I have experienced a lot of this in my time. I build and build and build my expectations of a perfect something and then am terribly hurt and disappointed when it doesn’t look just so. So I was wary of putting too much on this trip. Of causing it to break before it ever had a shot at being good.

But this trip was the opposite of disappointing. It was pretty perfect actually. All that we wanted to do was done. There was walking in a city filled with people and the tallest of buildings. And there was riding on subways, which just never gets old. And there was food. Oh, there was food. And there was Central Park and time to just sit and breathe and feel light and free. And there were shows. So many shows. Musicals and plays alike. And they were wonderful. Because there is just something about being in the theater in New York City that cannot be reproduced. And there was beautiful, not-so-cold weather for which I was beyond grateful. And there were giant Christmas trees and festivities of my favorite kind.

It was just so good. Such a celebration. Of the closing of a big fat school door. Of the opening of whatever door is next. It was just good.

Steve Is an Adult

That’s what 30 means to me at least. Adulthood. And Stevie is there. He did it. He made it.

And we celebrated by playing. That’s the adult thing to do, right?

We played sand volleyball in the middle of January. And we ate pizza. And we ate cake. And we invented hashtags.

And it was so fun.

Because that guy who graduated this year. Who became (in my mind) an adult. He loves fun. And I love the reminder in things like a birthday party that I married someone who will never stop enjoying life. That my choice in him was to live life. And to have fun doing it. Because Stevie ain’t living life any other way. And I so need that reminder. The Lord is good to give it to me through my sweet husband.

And so fun it is. For better or for worse, we will live this thing. And we will laugh as we do.

Sis Turns 27

And yet another birthday has greeted us in this new year. My sweet sister is now a year older. And it has been a doozie of a year. It has been all of the extremes. And it has revealed much in the way of what this life really is.

And I am stumped. Because there are just no words sufficient enough to explain all that I think of my sister. But blogs are about the words. So this is my best offering.

She is three years younger than me and the absolute wisest person I know. She is in this crazy, deep pursuit of the Lord. She desires with each of her days to develop His character. Really unlike anyone else I have ever met. She perseveres through the hard seasons with bravery and grace. And in it all she praises the Lord for His goodness and kindness in letting her experience any of it.

Seriously, I think every prayer I have heard her pray begins with praise. Because the Lord is just good. And she fully accepts that. Despite the way her days appear at times. 

And so, she is just my heart. I really feel like that’s the best I’ve got. She is just my heart. She gets me in ways no one else really does. She see straight to the heart of me in a way only a sister could possibly do.

She is who I aspire to be when I grow up and get real with God. And so we celebrated her birthday (or close to it) the best way I know how: praising the Lord for his goodness at an All Son’s and Daughter’s concert. And it was so good.

The Politte Babies Are Here!!!

Oh, gosh. Those babies. Those two perfect and tiny babies. We were able to meet those little guys on the 14^th after seemingly the longest 3 days of waiting ever. Schedules and sickness prevented our visiting them any earlier, but our time with them was so very sweet and full of love. Perfect for a day such as Valentine’s.  

To say that we love Nat and Stephen would be a giant understatement. They are the sweetest of friends. So to see them in this new role of parent was beyond exciting. They were so good and so willing to do whatever necessary to take the best care of their two little dudes. Who by the way are perfect. Did I say that?

It was such a fun time of visiting and snuggling and picture snapping and just breathing in this new and crazy change. They are parents. To two. It is so insane and so well-suited. Those little guys are beyond lucky to have such sweet and intentional parents.

And as I paused to look back on my years and years of friendship with my sweet Natalie friend, it was (and is) oh so evident that the Lord’s hand has been there. Guiding our conversations and our paths to continually parallel and intertwine. And I just cannot be thankful enough for this next step. These two additions to the family. I cannot wait for the conversations to come. For the honesty to come. For the joy to come. I cannot wait to walk this journey alongside this sweet little family.

10 Years Down

It has been ten very full and very sweet years since I started dating my husband. A decade. Seriously.

And what is there to say? It has been such a ride. Unexpected and fun and playful and hard and character building and prayer-filled and a million other things. He holds all of my firsts. First boyfriend. First date. First kiss. First love. And I am happy to say that it was him. The Lord was gracious in allowing him to be mine.

And so Saturday the 14^th we celebrated big. We celebrated ten years of being best friends. We celebrated ten years of living life together. And it was a sweet, life-giving day. A day of reminders to hold tight and love deep. To take advantage of time and opportunity.

Because the past few weeks have been hard. They have been the weeks that every married couple knows. Where things just don’t click like they normally do. Things just seem to be off. No one means the other harm, but things seem to constantly be harmful.

And so this celebration was one that served as a reminder. Of love.

That love is hard. And it is work. And it requires constant laying down of self. It is sacrifice. It lives out the promises it made all those years ago. It sometimes keeps quiet to protect and other times shouts out for the same reason. It believes in the other person. It sees their good. Even when the clouds of resentment or self-righteousness surround. It fights against the urge to become stagnant and comfortable. It presses in when things are off. When kindness and grace are needed most. It does not harbor the errors of the past. It looks forward and dreams of what might be. It cries out to God on behalf of each other. It holds hands just because. It is there always. It does not fail.

Reminders like these are so desperately needed.  And Saturday was filled to the brim with them.

So ten years it is. Ten years of sweet days. And I am praying for tens and tens more.