Gathering Eve: In the beginning I was home.

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On finding myself at home and gathered in moments, places and people.

By Idelette McVicker | Twitter: @idelette

Today I am away from home and yet, I am home. I am curled up under a blanket on a couch in some dear friends’ living room in Edmonds, Washington.

This is not home, and yet I am home here, because I am welcomed and celebrated here. I wash dishes here.

I’ve noticed how my heart can exhale in this place:

One big breath of living-up-to-expectations out.

One deep breath of Love and Acceptance in.

This is a place where my voice is welcomed and treasured. My sentences don’t all have to make sense. I don’t have to be all figured out. I can drop the guard and be fully me.

It’s a place of great Love.

Here, I am gathered up into the person God saw when Love imagined me in the beginning. In this place of Love I, too, can see me—that woman—and I am reminded again of who she is.

I am learning that being rooted and established—being gathered up in Love—has little to do with a geographic place. It’s bigger and deeper. It’s finding myself in Love in many different places, sometimes in a person, most times, for me, in moments.

It’s finding myself in the spaces that God fills. It’s finding myself in the simplest moments that make my heart feels like it’s glowing warm and bright inside my chest.

Moments like quiet time, sitting on my green chair on 58A Ave with space to think, be, reflect, read and pray. I love the big quiet at the end of a day. I also embrace the day at her beginning now, waking up and waiting for the Water of Spirit to fill me up until I am drenched. And landed.

I find home with the man I chose to spend my life with 11 years ago. The person who is there both at the end and the beginning of me. The person I share the daily-ness with of plunging toilets, folding laundry and washing little bodies, but also the one I get to share the big boom-bang days of births and weddings and five days on a Caribbean cruise. He’s the one who showed me that sometimes home, really, is a person.

I come home when I write: black letters with my favorite Optiflow pen from Staples. I love pages without any lines. Pen swishing on paper, ink marking empty pages … words filling up and expressing.

I come home in words.
I come home in sentences that propel me into the euphoria of truth.
I come home in silence and uninterrupted moments.

I come home when I walk in the woods. Or when we cross the traintracks on the south end of White Rock beach in our flipflops. Where we first have to wade through the blackberry bushes and then to be spit out onto the beach. I come home as I find a spot by a log, sit down and watch the kids lift up rocks, searching for crabs.

I come home in Psalm 23. When my world feels like it might collapse … when I’ve stretched myself too thin, when I can’t even think and need nourishment for my soul like a body needs food. I come depleted and barefoot and sit inside its words; and I find rest for my soul in its rhythm and familiarity.

“Your beauty and love chase after me

every day of my life.

I’m back home in the house of God

for the rest of my life.”

I come home in a slice of multigrain toast spread with apricot jam and grated Cheddar cheese. It’s where I turned to when my body became swollen and nauseous with pregnancy and I couldn’t quite find my landing place until I finally popped a piece of bread in the toaster and dug deep into the comfortable taste of my childhood home.

I come home in Beauty. It could be the three bright pink peonies popping their heads through the iron rails by the stairs down to Shay’s preschool class. Or the white butterfly resting on the lilac bush in our backyard. It could be remembering Table Mountain carved against a perfectly blue Cape Town sky, knowing the sound of her streets and how her white sandy beaches stretch far and beautiful on the other side.

When I take a moment and my soul goes: “Ahhh”–I’m home.

It could be the bright red lipstick on my friend’s lips as she explores and discovers her beauty. Seeing her blossom, for me, that’s home.

Or when the beauty I see around me feels so Large inside of me and I have no other way to express it than to fling my hands in the air—wide and open—into a moment of spontaneous worship.

It could be the soft, unexpected tender snuggle from my three-year-old boy as we walk to school to pick up his sister and he pleads: “Uppie, mommy!” When I scoop him up he wraps his arms around my neck and tosses his legs around my hips and he circles me with his little body. I am in the tight grip of three-year-old love. We walk this way to school and I treasure the moment, because I know that soon he’d be too heavy and too old to want to do this in public.

I come home one morning in a decision to stop the car right outside our garage and not drive to school just yet. There are three little bodies strapped into their seatbelts, but it had been a hectic few minutes and I yelled at them and I don’t want to send them into a big world without the cover of my Love. So I stop the car and ignore the school bell inside my head and we sit for a moment, take a deep breath, talk and restore Grace.

Just as I need home—a daily landing place for my soul—I want to be home for them. I want to help them know what Love looks, feels, tastes and smells like, so they can have the tools to gather themselves some day, to reach in for what makes them come alive and be restored to the picture God saw when He imagined them in the beginning.

I wish home for me, for them, for you, for us. I wish to see the way God imagined each of us in the beginning: at home, placed, glorious and gathered.

Blessing

So may you loiter,

so may you linger

in the places and practices

where the Word makes home.

–Jan L. Richardson, In the Sanctuary of Women

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I’d love it if you’d linger here with me for a moment:

  • Everybody has a list of what makes us feel at home. When and where do you come home?
  • What do you do when you get a little frazzled and depleted? What rituals do you have that gathers you?
  • Or, even, how do you like to gather yourself for a new day? What helps you feel landed and filled?

Thank you for making this online home a sacred space. I treasure you. xoox

About Idelette:
Idelette is founding editor of shelovesmagazine.com. She’s a bit intense, granted, but she’s getting to be really okay with it. She was born and raised in South Africa which shaped her longing for justice and freedom for everyone and a deep, deep love for Africa. She also worked in Taipei as journalist and discovered that Heaven might look like lingering over oohlong tea in the mountains of Chiufen. She moved to Vancouver, Canada in 1999. She is married to Scott, has three children and loves Sisterhood. She blogs at idelette.com and tweets @idelette.

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