drawing by Renee MatherOne of my best friends drew this, and showed it to me last summer in Romania. After telling her my first impression-that I liked it because it was full of potential in it's mystery-I wrote this from my perspective.
I usually love old houses so—especially ones destroyed. I like to imagine another time when a family like mine had a life full of things, mundane to them, but which I’ve only read about in books. It’s a sad state, though, when it works the other way around: when everything is the opposite. I’ve come to this house bitter-sweetly, deliberately, I didn’t stumble upon it adventurously. And I found it completely in tact. The people that lived there probably don’t even know that I know what vibrant childhoods have been spent in those walls—but no longer. They don’t know that I know everything about a girl who took her first steps in that living room, stored pull-ups in that bedroom closet, sledded down that hill every winter—especially on her birthday, or had adventures in that tree house as an orphan, or an actress. I don’t only know everything about her, I remember it all. I remember her.
But I forgot myself. So I’m on an obscure street, one in a million in Minnesota. I’m back on her doorstep—it’s hers, not mine—I’m only back here, with tears in my eyes, hoping to find a wrinkle in time; praying her spirit, which haunts these halls, would enter me so that we might be one again. I want to forget, to stitch over the years where I lost her somewhere in Bucharest. Such a sprawling city that is, where she found it easy to believe that no one wanted to find her anyway. I think I’m the only one who even knew she wasn’t living with us anymore. Did she even move out of America at all? Yes, I’m sure she did. But by the end of the first month or two, Lies and Self-consciousness lured her away and then led her to Doubt and Fear; they taught her how to be homeless, through and through. That is to say, they drug her into obscurity. But they must not have succeeded in killing her there. Why else would I still dare to pray? Why else would I hope that by coming back to where I knew her completely I might become more like her? Jesus died so she could not—for He made her how He wanted her to be, to live and to love. He’s seen her roaming all this time and has not given up. He’s seen her all the wandering while, longing so, I’m sure, for her—for me—to see we can’t be one except in Him.
A stitch in time does not save nine, though I wish that it were so. I have forgotten, however, He doesn’t need to use a needle to restore ½ a lifetime. When a child returns, she’s a child indeed and a child again, in full. Thus I will be! I must believe that by coming back to this house He’s already begun the rebirth. “Alyssa Joanne Smith, are you ready?”, He says, and his eyes blaze with creativity and joy. I must trust that my nine years of stitching profitlessly alone won’t be wasted—nor need be undone. I can look forward to what a woman I’ll be when what wisdom and maturity I’ve accrued in that time is salvaged and combined with the little girl who’s been rescued off the streets. My Inventor’s genius is proven in the truth of such paradoxes: I will be made younger and older at the same time. I can’t wait.
I can’t wait to so openly imitate and desire to be Someone, like I once did Anne Shirley of Green Gables. I am going to imagine again, and I’m going to have dreams of miraculous and adventurous futures. I’m going to play and explore and have energy. I will again be “alive to simple joys” and delight in silly and ridiculous moments, and hope for the best in the bad. I’m going to write unashamedly; be dramatic and free and connect through great depth of expression! I will read, read, and read, and learn to my heart’s content. With Him as my teacher, there’ll be no end! I’ll take every opportunity to revel in a new experience. I’ll both make new friends and love old ones with an innocent appreciation for their companionship and an observation of the reflections of their Designer in them. I’ll believe in the reality of things unseen and pray with simple faith for miracles. I’ll wonder at ants and at my own body and mind. I’ll ask God my questions that others think are pointless. I’ll enjoy being different and lofty and a little bizarre. I’ll wake up every day and ask Jesus, like I asked my mom: “So! What are we gonna go today? Do we get to go anywhere, see anyone?” I will sing at the top of my lungs as if I had the voice of an angel, ‘cause my Daddy loves listening to me. I will dance with joy like I would for the camera and perform because I like to. I will act and pretend and embellish life. I will write like I’ve always wanted to write, and share it like I’ve wished I could—because I love it. I will study any language I please—because I love it. This time without fear, for I will not be afraid that it’s not okay. No longer homeless and hopeless, but with Love Himself and inspired by the Spirit of abundant Life. Fear and doubt will have to set me free, and flee.
And thus I will be more gloriously myself than I was before I had to choose to be a child. This time I’ll be home wherever I go, for because He first loved me and killed death itself, it will be permanent: I will life in Love with Life. There will be no more shadows of life or love that used to be. No more haunting from the past, no more just hoping my future is bright. Every shadow is put to flight, and the eternal sunrise of childhood is now. Those falling leaves represent no end, but a beautiful beginning! Let me imagine the life and love that has yet to live in my heart. It is not as run-down as it seems. He will rebuild it, and let in the Light. I will live in Love with Life.
But I forgot myself. So I’m on an obscure street, one in a million in Minnesota. I’m back on her doorstep—it’s hers, not mine—I’m only back here, with tears in my eyes, hoping to find a wrinkle in time; praying her spirit, which haunts these halls, would enter me so that we might be one again. I want to forget, to stitch over the years where I lost her somewhere in Bucharest. Such a sprawling city that is, where she found it easy to believe that no one wanted to find her anyway. I think I’m the only one who even knew she wasn’t living with us anymore. Did she even move out of America at all? Yes, I’m sure she did. But by the end of the first month or two, Lies and Self-consciousness lured her away and then led her to Doubt and Fear; they taught her how to be homeless, through and through. That is to say, they drug her into obscurity. But they must not have succeeded in killing her there. Why else would I still dare to pray? Why else would I hope that by coming back to where I knew her completely I might become more like her? Jesus died so she could not—for He made her how He wanted her to be, to live and to love. He’s seen her roaming all this time and has not given up. He’s seen her all the wandering while, longing so, I’m sure, for her—for me—to see we can’t be one except in Him.
A stitch in time does not save nine, though I wish that it were so. I have forgotten, however, He doesn’t need to use a needle to restore ½ a lifetime. When a child returns, she’s a child indeed and a child again, in full. Thus I will be! I must believe that by coming back to this house He’s already begun the rebirth. “Alyssa Joanne Smith, are you ready?”, He says, and his eyes blaze with creativity and joy. I must trust that my nine years of stitching profitlessly alone won’t be wasted—nor need be undone. I can look forward to what a woman I’ll be when what wisdom and maturity I’ve accrued in that time is salvaged and combined with the little girl who’s been rescued off the streets. My Inventor’s genius is proven in the truth of such paradoxes: I will be made younger and older at the same time. I can’t wait.
I can’t wait to so openly imitate and desire to be Someone, like I once did Anne Shirley of Green Gables. I am going to imagine again, and I’m going to have dreams of miraculous and adventurous futures. I’m going to play and explore and have energy. I will again be “alive to simple joys” and delight in silly and ridiculous moments, and hope for the best in the bad. I’m going to write unashamedly; be dramatic and free and connect through great depth of expression! I will read, read, and read, and learn to my heart’s content. With Him as my teacher, there’ll be no end! I’ll take every opportunity to revel in a new experience. I’ll both make new friends and love old ones with an innocent appreciation for their companionship and an observation of the reflections of their Designer in them. I’ll believe in the reality of things unseen and pray with simple faith for miracles. I’ll wonder at ants and at my own body and mind. I’ll ask God my questions that others think are pointless. I’ll enjoy being different and lofty and a little bizarre. I’ll wake up every day and ask Jesus, like I asked my mom: “So! What are we gonna go today? Do we get to go anywhere, see anyone?” I will sing at the top of my lungs as if I had the voice of an angel, ‘cause my Daddy loves listening to me. I will dance with joy like I would for the camera and perform because I like to. I will act and pretend and embellish life. I will write like I’ve always wanted to write, and share it like I’ve wished I could—because I love it. I will study any language I please—because I love it. This time without fear, for I will not be afraid that it’s not okay. No longer homeless and hopeless, but with Love Himself and inspired by the Spirit of abundant Life. Fear and doubt will have to set me free, and flee.
And thus I will be more gloriously myself than I was before I had to choose to be a child. This time I’ll be home wherever I go, for because He first loved me and killed death itself, it will be permanent: I will life in Love with Life. There will be no more shadows of life or love that used to be. No more haunting from the past, no more just hoping my future is bright. Every shadow is put to flight, and the eternal sunrise of childhood is now. Those falling leaves represent no end, but a beautiful beginning! Let me imagine the life and love that has yet to live in my heart. It is not as run-down as it seems. He will rebuild it, and let in the Light. I will live in Love with Life.
"Then his flesh is renewed like a childs, it is restored as in the days of his youth. He prays to God and finds favour with Him, he sees God's face and shouts for joy. He is restored by God to his righteous state. Then he comes to men and says, 'I sinned and perverted what was right, but I did not get what I deserved. He redeemed my soul from going down to the pit, and I will live to enjoy the light!' " --Job 33:25-28
"I too will have my say, I too will tell what I know. For I am full of words, and the Spirit within me compels me. Inside I am like bottled-up wine, like new wineskins ready to burst. I must speak and find relief, I must open my lips and reply!" --Job 32:17-20
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