wide open spaces

I'm not a country music fan.
I don't have cowgirl boots, belt buckles, or stories of racing for prime real estate at the Country Stampede.

The last time I had "big hair" was 1986-ish and my hair was pink and spiked.

But all morning, I've been thinking about that song, "Wide Open Spaces." It could be that Madi has begun her senior year in college or that Kenan's about ready to graduate from nine weeks of scrambling in the woods.

It could be that I'm a little scared. Unqualified. Overwhelmed with what lies ahead and underwhelmed with my ability to meet it in love…all the time. 

Rest & Wandering: I am so grateful that I will be heading west to help my aMayesing friends paint, clean, and move. I'll see the Konza prairie from it's highest point on Radio Tower Hill, past Lizard Rock, around the Hokansen homestead, and into the wild wide open spaces. Just thinking about this makes me cry and sniff and grab for coffee and a hankie.

There is a freedom out there – among the familiar and hard-won friends that I never expected to know when I first rolled back to the Flint Hills.

There is a freedom now – as this Georgia season draws to a close – that I never expected either. No longer am I willing to allow one person to consume all of the air out of a room with their drama or speak offensively about people I love, like, or tolerate – just because they can. The statute of limitations on putting up with that tripe has long ended. 

It is not a Christian thing to allow someone else's wallowing in the muck to drown you and the people you love with mud and filth. It is not love to willingly stand in front of someone's angry tirades and selfishness just because they are related and want to toss some stink into the fan or stir up unhealthy dependence. I don't have time for that.

It seems to me that hard truths, spoken in love, with a hand out to help along the way – that this is a greater expression of love than the cowardice of hiding, hoping, and hopping silently along on broken glass.

I have time to do my best. To speak life and truth and to hear them – even the hard truths – because that is love. Love is not an invitation to carry someone else's dead bodies and absolve them from personal responsibility. That is creating unhealthy dependence, entitlement…misery.

Sometimes love is summed up in, "Get over yourself and take part in the hard work of living. You may find that you'll be happier for it." Or my current favorite, "time for you to learn a little self-rescue. You can do it. I'm here to toss you a line if you need it as you swim to shore."

Too many of us pander and creep along on eggshells to appease an irascible selfishness that will never be satisfied. We keep offering our best stuff to the black hole of a cipher…pearls to pigs. I can't do that anymore. I've offered pearls and I've been the pig.

My favorite people are the one's who love me enough to call me on the carpet – usually with humor – often direct – always in love. It takes a lot of maturity to love like that. My kids and the world changers I get to work alongside are really good at this. 

Do I have it figured out? Uh no. Not in the least.

But I love these people in my life and desire a relationship with folks who are not yet safe. So I'm still thinking about it. And praying. And looking for hope.

Because soon, I'm going to marry a man from Marlin, Texas, who's strength and gentleness and wit and faith takes my breath away. He deserves my imperfect best. 

And I do believe that I am going to love that man – and our Brady Bunch of kids and grandkids – Forever and Ever Amen.

"Wide open spaces…room to make a big mistake." That's what we get to offer one another. All that good space in imperfect earnest love. 

Isaiah 26:3
You, Lord, give perfect peace 
      to those who keep their purpose firm 
      and put their trust in you.