Reflections on the Eve of Change in Plans #3

It was a long week.  Found myself still in the office past ten several times this week, working frantically to get things done before coming in again early the next morning.  Somehow, this happens every time church leadership retreat comes around:  I suddenly get extra-busy at work and I don't know until the last minute whether I can even go.  I wouldn't be surprised if there is some spiritual warfare aspect to that. 

 

But then God makes it happen somehow.  This year—the third year in a row in which this has happened—I had an inkling that He would come through, because He did so the past two years.  I guess that's how faith grows sometimes: we witness God in action, experience His faithfulness, and take a leap of faith the next time around.  I think that is a theme as of late.

 

I took my very last morning walk through Brooklyn Bridge Park yesterday morning.  Mr. Squire had gone to the Y to play with his boys one last time, so I was on my own at 7 in the morning – just me with the seagulls and various sets of duck families paddling through the river.  I purposely walked right along the water, studying the small ripples as they lapped against the pier.  Though I have moved lots of times in my life, I have always lived within walking distance of some body of water, and it helps me think. 

 

During my walk, I reflected upon and thanked God in particular for giving us this park to enjoy during our three years in Brooklyn.  It didn't yet exist when I first moved to Brooklyn in 2006, so I satisfied myself with the Promenade back then.  But the Promenade is nothing compared to the Park.  The Park opened in 2010, and really began to take off in 2011, right before we moved in.  And back then, there was only one entrance on the south side – just about 100 steps from the Squires' new residence. 

 

I have often thought that God gave us—and in particular me—the Park as a consolation for keeping us in New York City.  I'm not a fan of the City, and never really have been.  I'm here for work and really, I'm here because the Extended Squires are all based in New Jersey.  I am least happy when surrounded by tall buildings, trendy whatever, fancy restaurants that sell you $5 worth of food for $50, and lots and lots of people.  Ironic that I work in Times Square. 

 

I am at my happiest when I am strolling past flowers, tall trees, interesting plants, rivers, lakes, and oceans.  When I hear birds chirp amid the rustling of tree leaves brushing up against each other.  When I see lightning bugs light up at night.  I always urge them, "Do it again!"  Through the Park—and Brooklyn Heights itself—God has provided most of that to me on a daily basis.  And it has been so, so wonderful.  Mr. Squire and I have taken countless walks through the Park in the mornings, in the evenings after work (well…not these last few weeks…), and on weekends.  We've taken friends, we've taken family.  It's been, in a way, our pride and joy.

 

And now it is time to leave.

 

But first, I had to take my one last walk.  And as I made my way through the various thematic and ecological sections of the Park (the uplands, the granite terrace, the picnic piers, the glades, the dog runs, etc), I just felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.  I felt lucky to be alive.  I don't often feel that way, but walking through the Park and reflecting on our past three years (combined with thankfulness that July has been incredibly mild so I could take walks outside in the morning) made me feel incredibly lucky to just be alive. 

 

Saying goodbye to the Park and to our home in Brooklyn Heights also made me think about what lies ahead.  I reflected on all the time I've spent in Brooklyn Heights over the years – first ten weeks in 2006, then summer of 2011 right before getting married until summer of 2014, right before Junior joins the family. 

 

A lot has happened in the last eight years.  The future looks uncertain, but I know God will come through.  I've seen him do so twice before, so I'm more comfortable this third time around. 

 

Change of Plans #1 began back in the flat flyover state that I still ultimately consider home.   I spent 22 years of my life there.  And during my junior year of college, all signs pointed toward making a life there—going to law school at the state college, joining a local prosecutor's office, and remaining there forever, I guess.  It made eminent sense, and would be affordable.  It would keep me near my family.  And while I have an adventurous streak (which has led me to snorkel in Alaska and hike steep mountains in China on a whim), I'm not very cosmopolitan.  A simple life satisfies me quite well, thankyouverymuch.  So the notion of leaving my flat flyover state didn't really appeal—or occur—to me. 

 

God evidently had other plans, though.  Three days before my LSAT (which of course I knew would be a breeze because my diagnostic score alone was more than enough to get me into the state law school), He changed everything.  There He was, placidly rolling the film in my flat flyover state for 21 years.  And then He panned the camera toward a totally different direction and said, "Do this instead."

 

That's how I ended up moving out East.  And here, I have remained for almost a decade now. 

 

Things worked out that first time around.  The adventuresome side of me accepted the change in plans.  I was only in my early 20s at the time, and the change actually made sense in light of the calling I had felt since age 9.  So I was okay with it, and went with it.

 

And God provided richly along the way.  In law school, He gave me real Christian community for the first time in my life.  Just this morning, when I woke up in my little convent room, I was lying there for a while with my stuffed hippo in my arms, reflecting on some of my friends from law school. 

 

I thought about Charles and Yoona, who live half a world away, yet send so much love through prayers and emails of encouragement and support. 

 

I thought about John and Grace, who continue to check in on me with deep concern about how I'm faring in family life, work life, and God life.

 

I thought about our oldest brother, Chris, whom God sends to me (or me to him) every time I have a big life change (starting first firm job, right before marriage, between clerkship and new firm job, right before Junior).  The most important thing that happens when Chris and I meet is that we pray, and he prophesies.  This only happens every couple years, so his words and prophecies stick with me for a long time, until the next installment.  Usually his prophecies relate to visions of what I will do.  But this last time, his prophecy was different.  The word from God that he received was a message that I need to know that I am deeply loved.  And there is nothing that I need to do to try to earn God's love – He already loves me as I am, and I should rest in that.   I shared that with the women I was praying with at retreat last night—because I think the message is for them as well.  As women, we work so hard in all areas of our lives.  Where men tend to find confidence and satisfaction just in who they are, I think women chronically struggle with feelings of inadequacy, which leads to endless (and exhausting) striving.  So that's been a good message to reflect on over the last several months since I last saw Chris.

 

There are others.  But these are the handful that I was reflecting on today.  They are people whom God used over the course of three years and beyond to shape my life and spiritual self.  They continue to shape me from faraway places—DC, Hong Kong, Beijing. 

 

Change of Plans #2 was more recent.  Around 2011, when I was due to start my clerkship, it seemed as if all signs were pointing toward a permanent life in Brooklyn.  It made sense, given my internship, clerkship history, and certain connections I had formed in the area.  It made even more sense, given Mr. Squire's teaching job at a charter school in Bed-Stuy.  Our future was set:  two public servants eking out a humble, but very satisfying, life together in Brooklyn's most beautiful neighborhood.  It was a thrilling prospect.

 

And then things fell apart and I suddenly found myself in the University of the Desert without a map, compass, or clue of why I was there, and how long it would take me to get out.  That last part scared me.  And all of it made me question so much of what I thought I knew about my relationship with God.   Had I really heard His voice before?  Was my calling real?  If so, what happened to it – had God changed it?  Was I just imagining things, like the clarity of God's will for me, all along?  These were devastating questions and worries that plagued my soul for a very. long. time.

 

For about eighteen months, my soul wandered about in a forlorn state, licking its wounds with a droopy head, despondent and confused and shriveled.  Sure, I had rays of hope and encouragement here and there, but I could no longer trust my spiritual ears or eyes.  I felt blind and deaf and really, really dumb.  I felt as if I had been following a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night for years—for decades—and all of a sudden the pillars disappeared one day and left me all alone.  Change of Plans #2 was nothing like Change of Plans #1.

 

We're between Change of Plans #2 and the next thing, whatever it may be.  It has taken a long time to emerge from the funk of Change of Plans #2, but I'm pretty sure I am out of the woods now.  Still kind of in the desert, but the desert now feels like home.  And I think that's actually what God wanted.

 

Looking back, Change of Plans #2 has been really good for the Squires.  Without going into detail here (though we can talk about it in person), the latest round of Change of Plans has been incredibly healing for both Mr. Squire and me.  Mr. Squire has been restored to his old self, and much of the damage I experienced through various work circumstances from a few years back has been repaired through my latest work circumstances.  In hindsight, Change of Plans #2 could aptly be called the Refurbishment Stage.  I'm pretty sure God used this period to mend our bruises and clean us up.  In other words, He used it to care for us and show us love.   

 

I'm at a point far enough in the distance now where I can actually see that.  And that's why I believe we are at the brink of yet another change.  Having experienced God's faithfulness the first two times around (though in drastically different ways), I am not approaching Change of Plans #3 with trepidation so much as quiet anticipation.   The road may be lined with incredible blessing (as in Round One), or it may sting and hurt like no other (as in Round Two).  But whichever form it takes, I believe, now more than ever, it will be orchestrated by God deep compassion, love, wisdom, and generosity.

 

 

Thoughts on the Mimosa Tree

I rounded the corner of Joralemon to Columbia Place late this evening, lost in thought (mostly about the super-bright bishop-crook street lamps they recently installed along Joralemon), when I suddenly became very distracted by my sniffer.

A sweet, clean, floral scent wafted past my nose -- subtle, but definitely present.  I sniffed and sniffed to my heart's content, breathing in the lovely smell and thinking of the lofty throng of funny-looking, delicate, pink and yellow pompons from which they emanate.  There's just one mimosa tree on our block, but when it is in bloom, you know it--even in the dead of night.  The scent gives it away and reminds you that it's there.

The thing that came immediately to mind in my sniffing frenzy was the verse in the Bible (II Corinthians 2:15) that says that we are called to be the fragrance of Christ, both among those who are saved and those who are perishing.  In other words (I think), we are to live our lives in a manner that unmistakably testifies to Christ, His love and beauty and heart for the world.  

In pondering this subject more deeply, I have just as couple observations and musings...

1.  You can't see a smell.  And you don't need to see, in order to smell.  If you can smell it, you know it's there.  I think God must have chosen to call us to be the "fragrance" of Christ rather than the "vision" or "picture" of Christ for this reason.  Whether you are living and walking in the light (and therefore able to see) or  perishing and walking in the darkness (and therefore not), you can smell the fragrance of Christ wherever it may be found.  That is how evident our testimony of Christ must be in our daily walk.

2.  My friend Jen and I were discussing Christianity over dinner tonight and commenting about how so much of our Christian life (and our Christian circles) is culturally Christian, rather than essentially Christian.  Where's the line between culture and essence -- what's real, and what's fluffy costuming so that we look the part? I found this dichotomy very challenging, and I want to give it more thought.  In reading John 6 this week, one verse keeps sticking out to me -- the part where the people ask what they must do to do what God requires, and Jesus responds that "The work of God is this, to believe in the one He has sent."  First and foremost is not to run soup kitchens, attend Bible study, host fellowship meetings, or even share the Gospel... the first and most important work of God is just to believe.  But how much of what we--forget about we--how much of what I do is just filler-fluffer costuming so that I can look the part, but avoid the heart of the matter, and that is sitting at Jesus's feet and believing in Him?

Bringing this thought back to the mimosa tree, I am reminded that the sweet fragrance I smelled today emanates from the essence of the fruit of the mimosa tree.  I could walk past a fake mimosa tree that looked every bit the part--but it would be of completely no interest to me, and indeed I would barely notice its presence, because nothing would draw me to it.  Same goes for a book about mimosa trees.  But when I walk down the street, and the fragrance completely envelops me?  That's captivating and compelling.

The stuff I do to talk about Jesus, or just try to be like a Jesus-y person, doing Jesus-y things that Jesus-y people do... a lot of that is window-dressing.  That's masquerading as a fake mimosa tree and bearing absolutely no fruit.  Or propping myself up as a book about mimosa trees.  But what about actually doing the work of God - and believing in Jesus...learning about Him...allowing Him to change me...and becoming more like Him.  I could see that leading to becoming the fragrance of Christ, both captivating and compelling.

Which will it be from this day forward?  

Two Weeks Out

Two weeks.  In just two weeks, we say goodbye to my beloved Brooklyn Heights and set out to stake out a new life for three in Jersey.  It kind of seems real, and it kind of doesn't.

My last day at the YMCA was yesterday.  Joining the Y was one of the very first things I did after moving here in June 2011.  I remember being almost gleeful about it; I was very proud of being a member of the Y because it is such a great community organization (and I kind of eschew the big gyms and always have).  Will--one of the front-desk guys--was the first person I met there, and over the last three years, I've said hello and goodbye to him countless times.  About a year ago, I finally got Hobey to sign up for the Y, too, and soon Will was saying hi to both of us.  Hobey would get up super-early to play basketball with a bunch of folks who grossly underestimated the lanky Asian kid and came to love having him on their respective teams. I would follow, then go find him, and we'd walk home from the gym together, saying goodbye to Will on the way out.  Now it's just goodbye.  That makes it seem real.

I've been on a fruit-buying binge for the last two months, consuming pounds of white nectarines, white peaches, yellow peaches, black plums, grapes, bing cherries, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, pineapple, and watermelon every day.  The trusty Japanese/Korean produce stand on Atlantic has the very best produce around, and always at reasonable prices.  As excited I am about living across the street from an A&P Fresh in Jersey, I'm not ready to part with what is simply known as "the Japanese place" in our household.  That part isn't real yet.

And what of the friends we've made here?  Calvin, Lisette, Elijah, and Zuri - our fellow fifth-floor neighbors...  Wes and Diane, our fourth-floor friends who always have an interesting story to tell (and a fun magic trick to share)... Salah the friendly face who greets us at all times of day and night from Iris Cafe or Willowtown Store #7... Mohammed, the plucky Yemenite kid who works at the laundromat and wants to be an FBI agent... Kareem and Thuza, our cashier-friends at Key Food, whom we've seen grow and develop in pursuing careers in air-traffic control and accounting?  How do we say goodbye to them?  How can we just ... up and leave?  Not real yet.

At the same time, working my way up to our fifth-floor apartment is getting harder and harder to do.  I'm slower now, pokier, and I never know when I'm going to develop a random side cramp that makes me slow down to 90-year-old grandma pace.  Sleeping is now the most painful part of the day, because keeping blood flowing to Junior means NOT sleeping on my back, and sleeping on my side means serious hip pain. On both sides.  The stuffies are starting to ask me:  "Three more months, and then we probably won't be snuggling at night like this every day, huh?" and "When do we get to meet Junior?"  And of course, more and more people at work are figuring out that I'm actually only really getting fat in one area of my body (although, at six months, I'm surprised at how many people just haven't noticed yet--especially women!).  We're doing more and more research on strollers, cribs, diapering, swaddling, birthing, feeding, changing... we're praying, praying, praying, praying.  And the concept of Junior is becoming more real.  I see pregnant people everywhere now.  And I see little babies and think -- man, that's going to me in ... three months.  *gulp*  All that feels real.

So it's a mix.  It's an odd mix.  Because at the same time that all of that's going on, work is also busier than ever.  Not kidding. Thank goodness my appellate brief is done (yay for diligently putting aside three months' worth of Saturdays for justice!), or else I think I would explode.  Instead, I just race around the office day after day, putting out fires, chopping more wood, feeding more flames, cooking up meals, planting more trees... I'm taking my first deposition in a week. I'm defending a couple more in a month.  I'm doing my oral argument before the Second Circuit in a couple months, unless our adversary gives me a chance to postpone until after maternity leave.  LOTS going on.  Lots of new things. Exciting things. Non-Junior things.  

And it's like I lead a double life... expectant mom, ambitious associate.  Homebody who plays with her stuffies and is seriously going to grieve time away from her stuffed children, busybee out making dreams come true.  Diehard Brooklynite (of this part of Brooklyn, anyway), Jersey nester.  No wonder it all feels kinda real, kinda not.  Everything is a big paradox anyway.

And at bottom, I am grateful.  I feel very lucky at this point in my life right now.  As nuts as things seem at a granular level, I really am pretty happy with my life--most parts of it, anyway.  It feels like an adventure, and I don't know where it's going.  But for the most part, most of the time, I actually things it's going to turn out okay.  And for that, I am extremely grateful. 

Reason #38427934 Why My Hobey is the Best

Excerpt of our gchat conversation at 5:45 PM, a couple hours before we are due to be in Williamsburg for fellowship group tonight:

Me:  uhhhh... looks like... we might be filing our big motion tomorrow?  I think it will be impossible.  But if that is what they want to do, i will literally have to come back to work and work all night

Mr. Squire:  tonight?

Me:  my guess is that they will not choose to do that.  yes.

Mr. Squire:   :(

Me:  no idea yet

Mr. Squire:  if so, i can come back w/you and work from your office

* * *

I know it sounds too good to be true (i.e. like an empty offer), but it's actually not.  I don't often come into the office to work on weekends (instead, I just hole up at home and do work every Saturday), but when I do, Mr. Squire is invariably with me.  He camps out across from my desk, props up his feet, and either does work of his own or watches a movie.  And I get a lot more done and feel a lot better when he's there.  When Junior comes, those days will be a thing of the past.  But they'll always occupy a very special place in my heart.  My giving, sacrificial hobey.