I collect small notebooks that turn tattered and ugly; I refuse to throw them away. They're used to record recipes, sermon notes, directions and phone numbers, to-do lists, grocery lists, wish-lists, books to read, new singers to check out, Scriptures, Spanish words I want to look up.
On top of all this, I fill the notebooks with random pieces of paper or business cards or flyers--it's all very messy.
I love a good notebook. I could never tolerate an electronic device. I want it all tangible.
One of my more recent tiny books has held a yellowed, crumpled paper that I started writing on about a year ago; the heading is simply "To write-."
I remember writing this page fairly soon after I got off the place from Peru to the US--the final time I'd cross from the Southern Americas for awhile. Here is what this almost torn-in-half paper says:
The American Dream
"having it all"
24 and married
ipads
mortgages/renting
Being something great
who we are, defined by society
If I had written on all of this in August 2010, it would have been me throwing up a load of complaints about our culture and society, progress, money and possessions, politics and the economy, expectations, etc: A diatribe on "Things that make Sarah angry." I'll spare you this, and instead describe an occurrence that made me sit back for a year and soak in all kinds of remarkable lessons that have led to healing.
There is a vivid memory in my mind, the thing that spawned this list: Sitting outside a yogurt shop with Leslie. We are in downtown Athens, taking in the late August cooldown (77 instead of 97 at 8 o'clock), chatting, but half-listening to a group of University students at a nearby table.
One girl in particular seemed to dominate the conversation while her entourage listened and perked up periodically. She was distinctly preppy-looking (I hate to presume she was in a sorority, but this is probably the case), talking to a group of co-ed's (the young men, I noticed, looking very bored). They were "discussing life," in their 20-something way, and she made a statement resembling the following:
"Oh I KNOW I'll be married by 24. I have to be--I wouldn't know what to do otherwise."
I chuckled at this comment then, and I laugh even still, now 25 and single. I've spent a year of "not-knowing." I potentially have years to come. But I've learned to rest. Maybe when I was 20 or 21, I too found it unfathomable to be a single 24-year-old. But in this year of transition, I've found a freedom in being with Jesus that I know is unique, unlike any time I'll have in the future as a wife and a mother.
I'm savoring it.
I'm learning about the invention of a so-called American Dream--we, in fact, cannot have it all.
I don't want it all.
I'm 25 and single.
I don't have a house; I'm renting a sweet apartment with Leslie as of a few weeks ago.
I don't own an iphone or an ipad.
I don't want one.
It's a daily lesson to speak the words to God: "Thank You for everything. I trust You." The days I forget to do so are pretty awful.
My potential, my beauty, my greatness, and my being are all wrapped up in Jesus and His righteousness clothing me. I do believe I have everything in Him--and I know He is directing my steps, even on days when I feel like I'm only walking along the edge of a cliff.
