Augusts are highly anticipated, full of changes to come and memories to be made.
Five Augusts ago, with a plane ticket to Atlanta in hand, I hugged my brother with tears streaming down both our faces. We'd always been two peas in a pod, so close that when traveling, we'd take advantage of our anonymity and pretend we were twins, so mischievous that relatives would mistake us for one another over the phone. We had never lived apart from one another, and 2015 marked the first of many transition-filled Augusts to come.
Year after year, August wrapped up summer jobs and internships, bookmarked church friendships, opened the door to a new address and a new community. August brought on the friction caused by the desire to be on your best behavior rubbing against the struggle to muster up grace when you're sweating and hauling heavy crates of books up another disappointing set of creaky stairs. It often ended with more emotional pivots, the bittersweet exchange of "be good, okay?", and afterwards, the first lonely night, unpacking with music to fill the silence, wondering if this academic year, things would be different.
This August was also marked by shifts, some more welcomed than others. Certain transitions opened the curtains to new comfort while others revealed dry patches that needed watering. Each day brought new revelations of the gaps I can't bridge, exposed my Achille's heel for prestige and self-righteousness, reminded me that my aspirations to be a Mary are frustrated by my Martha-like tendencies of doing far more than I've been called to.
It's easy to say I'll shake hands with the parts of me I'm working on, far more difficult to actually offer my hand, but perhaps that's where the shaking-up of transitions come in. So often, I wish to be patient, be forbearing, be kind, but I think these characteristics are always being developed - note, present progressive. It's a process that requires a catalyst, often, in my experiences, a dose of discomfort. The grass may look greener on the other side, but it could look pretty green over here, so long as I'm tending to the dry patches. Grace remains the link between "masterpiece me" and "work-in-progress me," and I can tend to and be content with the latter when I'm wildly loved by the One who's always had these transitions planned out.
My spiritual mentor (how I miss her!) wisely shared her thoughts on Psalm 23 before my move to Boston last year.
"He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters."
She commented, "Why would he have to 'make me?!' Lie down! Enjoy his lush provision! Be content!"
August has continued to help me lay down on the grass I've been planted on, dry patches and all. Here's a little look into the month, (mostly) iPhone-style, the litmus for showing the moments in-between.
Hospitality
The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that efficiency has no place in hospitality. That’s not to say room service ought not to be delivered quickly or it wouldn’t be nice if the concierge picked up the phone midway through the first ring. Speed is certainly a component of efficiency and hospitality. But if you peek behind the curtain, it appears that the two do part ways.
Efficiency, you see, tries to squeeze as many bodies around the table as comfortably as possible, just until that sweet spot’s been achieved. These spots are reserved for the ones who will contribute optimally to the dinner conversation, who have the etiquette and poise to get along pleasantly.
Hospitality, however, plays a game of magical chairs - the kind where chairs “magically” appear when someone accepts the invitation. “Magic” in quotations because, really, hospitality’s been preparing your seat long before you realized you wanted to come. She’s been tending to the table rooted firmly in the earth that supplies the bounty before you, and she’s equally as eager to swipe a credit card for anything you want that doesn’t grow around here - without you knowing how much it costs.
Simply put, hospitality begins where self-preservation ends, and boy do I have a lot to learn from her. (8.12.2020)
Fragmented
Alongside "friction," this word's been at the forefront of my mind.
a. When distinct worlds mesh, suddenly, my hands discover they can't carry ten buckets all at once. How far do I push myself to step out when I live alone? I don't return to being a wolf without a pack. How far do I allow myself to step out before I become overloaded, too busy to be present for the people a few hours away?
b. What will become of friendships between classmates when everyone's schedules are packed and students are no longer joined in a classroom, but scattered across continents? What will become of school ministry when we move through our programs, becoming busier?
c. Due to a COVID-19 impacted schedule, August featured a new rotation every week. The areas of nutrition ranged from public health (WIC) to CKD, heart failure, pre- and post-transplant, diabetes, hypertension, prenatal nutrition, oncology, gastrointestinal diseases, and pediatric GI. Each week involved a schedule as unpredictable as the next. Some days, I didn't know if I'd have to go into the hospital until a few hours before bed. There was so much to learn and re-learn, more to memorize and internalize with the help of old flash cards, charts, and diagrams from college. New ideas surfaced, and each appointment begged me to take another look at what's already been placed on my heart and find the divine harmony between seemingly different architectural plans.
d. What place do personal projects have when school, rotations, and work pull you in different directions?
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