A Post from the Lawman and Me

 

"Honesty about our hopelessness precedes resurrection." KJ Ramsey. Every single story, every single time.

When you have friends who have walked most of this life’s trail with you, waited outside of the tombs of a hoped for Resurrection as God does his work inside the cold, dark cocoon of transformation, they are ones God shows up through to whisper through the stone you’re all praying will be rolled away, “He is good and He is here and He is coming. Also, I have your favorite snacks out here and a margarita so don’t resist what He’s doing in there, girl.”

I’ve been pondering our most recent resurrection in this long walk Home. It came as sort of a surprise when a friend asked, “What was the hardest part of moving to the farm, Ami?” I look down and notice how dirty our CraigsList couch cushions are beside her. I sometimes miss how clean things can stay when you don’t live on a farm. I sit there thinking about how I want new couches. “First world problems, Ami.” I think to myself.

Like a doctor of the heart, good friends know how to get outside of themselves and ask meaningful questions. I guess I had never thought about what was the hardest part of moving to the farm. It took me a minute before I realized it was similar to identifying what is the hardest part of birthing a child – almost everything no matter how beautiful the experience.

I honestly had not thought about our Before Life in a long time, but as she waited for my answer I remembered. Not only had we only lived in large cities all of our lives, but we had also moved across the country, lost most all of our faith community, deconstructed our faith, and sent adult children off into the world to make their way. Like digging through the rubble of your home after an earthquake when you’re wondering how to start over – that was the hardest part of moving to the farm, completely starting over and not knowing where to begin.

Resurrection sounds so amazing, like a miracle or something. And while yes, waking up from the dead is a miracle what I know about resurrection is that it means feeling like everything is unfamiliar and awkward. Therapist will tell you, at least mine does, that we return to unhealthy familiar patterns because well, they’re familiar and new patterns are just hard, hard, and harder. Like ground zero without the blueprint or the right tools or clothes or many of the people who were there at your funeral starting over is overwhelming and exhausting. About all you can hold onto is that you’re not dead and that’s something. Jesus tells us that we will be made new and He’s right. What comes walking out of the tombs of our life is a different person from what was laid there to decompose.

So much change at once, it’s hard to imagine how anything will ever feel normal again when you find yourself sifting through the severe and sudden movement of life’s tectonic plates. But like the earth we till to plant crops in, the ground will cover herself over time, making it seem like her insides were never ripped out with steel blades and left bare to the elements. Healing can come to a heart that lays ripped out of your chest in seeming pieces. It can.

I used to write a lot and I honestly don’t know how I found the time. I have three fewer kids or random people living here at home, I’m not hustling for my worthiness in ministry anymore or waking up at 4:00 am to meet other moms for “discipleship” (sorry Erin OBH and everyone else working on three hours of sleep:) or feeling guilty for not being overseas spreading the Gospel and I'm not sure this is going to work with farming. But what is true is that God will always, forever and ever keep inviting you to death, burial, and Resurrection in your life. Always. What can help, sometimes - yet not always, is hearing other stories of Resurrection. 

So much has changed in the six years since my last post, but I think I’m ready to write about it, ready to share this story of Resurrection in my life all the while waiting outside the tombs of others dear to me to walk out so we can take off the smelly grave clothes and begin a New Life together. Because New Life, that’s what He promised. Like every baby animal born on this farm begins a brand new wobbly, wet and strange New Life - New Life comes crashing around you like a felled Hemlock opening space for something different and beautiful. So beautiful.

"He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Revelation 21:5