When You Need A Walk

I headed out this morning. The sound of leaves, the sound of the birds, the new day sky, all of it calmed me down and lifted my chin to a new perspective.

I needed new perspective this week.

What a week we have had. The news is a black thundercloud. The more I listen, the stronger the winds grow, the darkness deepens as the world grows more and more ominous.

My feet led me to the road that borders my tiny town's cemetery. This morning I found a flood of red, white and blue. The flags were put up last weekend for Memorial Day so there were flags outlining the cemetery and by each individual gravestone tiny flags were standing proud and waving in the wind.

I apologize for the picture quality but it was the best one I got.

The sight of it stopped me in my tracks.

I have lived in the U.S. now for almost 29 years as a permanent resident. I can work, pay taxes but can't vote or own a firearm. I've been here a long time but as I stood knee-deep in the red, white and blue I couldn't help but ask "How did I get here?"

I have a confession to make and I do not mean any disrespect, but I've spent a good amount of time and energy this past year trying to figure out how to leave this place. Will graduated last May and with all three kids being done with school and moving on to their own thing I simply feel like my American Experience should be over. I have grown weary of Trump and tweets, of the 2nd amendment, the lack of health insurance and the telephone relationship with my mom and dad that only changes up twice a year when I travel home.

Done. Done. So done.

This week was tough. It was ugly and senseless.  Is this how the people want to 'Make America Great Again?' I truly don't understand.

I left the cemetery and kept walking. I didn't know what else to do. I looked up and hope continued to rise in the east.

The quiet was deep. The stillness soothed, and soon I started thinking about the Quiet People.

Did you know that Mennonites are referred to as "The Quiet People" or "The Quiet in the Land?"
That's us. That's me.

The term doesn't refer to our personalities as much as I think our quiet resolve in how we go about living. We quietly till the land, or we used to, but even though farming has changed, I would say we quietly go to work, quietly raise our families, quietly appreciate good food shared with our family, quietly try to not use more than we need. Living loud is not in our DNA. Pride is something we shun so being the best, or having the most, or flaunting our skills, our intellect, our accomplishments in any way is not a value we hold dear.

But a good potluck? Yes!

Where all the family gets together? Bring it!

So how do I, one of the Quiet Ones who surprised herself with her passion for mothering and the extent of her 'Mennoniteness', how do I live here?

I don't know.

I still want out. I'm not going to lie.

I'm pretty sure figuring out how to live and thrive here in this time and place is  going to involve a load of hard work. I'm not talking about picking up stones, baling hay, collecting eggs, giving birth three times, breast feeding at obscene hours or potty training but I am talking about doing the things I might not necessarily want to do.

It means inconvenience.

It means discomfort.

It means studying and educating myself even if I learn something I don't like about myself.

It means not throwing up my hands and saying, "Done!", but keeping my hand to the plow so to speak, and having the guts to speak out against things like:
"Aren't they over this yet?"
"I'm so tired of being blamed for all their problems."
"I'm American. I can do what I want."

There's no being done. Motherhood has taught me that. There's no end.

I'm a mother. I'm one of the Quiet People.

I'm going to keep walking through this, walking toward hope, and living here in this place in the most respectful, grateful, humble and surrendered way I know how. I want to love well and grow my family so I can mother more people especially people that don't look like me, or think like me. Most importantly I want to go open myself up and go where God takes me.

Explore me O God and know the real me.

Dig deeply and discover who I am.

Put me to the test and watch how I handle the strain.

Examine me to see if there is an evil bone in me and

guide me down your path forever.

Amen.

(Psalm 139: 23-24 - The Voice)