Tag / community

by bcmiller2014

Us

I see the her in you, the

me in him, the woman in
the man set high as though
he were above. We’re all
connected. My feathers 
are your fur that are the 
scales of gecko feet. We all 
have skin underneath, wrinkled
in varying places depending
on the lives we’ve lived,
fragile just the same. 
His silence is her shouting or
perhaps a quiet smile. We
don’t know without words that
don’t know without all the
culturally relevant nonverbal 
expressions to light them 
like candles in a darkened 
room. We need linguists. We
need actors. We need each 
of us to learn 25 languages
just to survive but in school 
we are only taught one. So
many species. Only one 
creation. We’re like God 
that way, being many in a
singular way. 
by bcmiller2014

Together

Somehow being with someone
else makes it better, all the 
major and minor tragedies
of every day. She knew this 
was true as a human, because
even though her dad would’ve
been no good in a fight, she’d 
felt safer at night when he was
home. Anyone who’d intended
to kill them would’ve succeeded. 
No matter. Being alone is
worse. Unless it is better. 
Unless the other person is
the person breaking in, with a
knife, and a mouthful of 
slicing in it. Except for 
that. But mostly, a connection,
an exchanged smile, a kind
eye, someone who doesn’t mind
the idea of saving just about
anything from pain, makes
the world better and 
inexplicably safer, even when
nothing has changed. 

by bcmiller2014

Impossible Soup Part, IV

KBM_A0110 One day when we were standing together at church Jason looked me in the eye and said, “I’m not the last brother you’re going to have.” He had that serious look when he said it. And he had the gift of knowing seemingly impossible things, so I believed him even though it made me sad. He’d let us know that he was applying to MFA programs in theater all across the country, and we knew he’d be snatched up if there was anyone smart left in the world. Our time with them living close by was drawing to an end, and I didn’t like it one bit. I couldn’t help but be happy for him, though. He’d sacrificed so much, and his heart so obviously yearned to be involved with work on the stage. Keith and I were both thrilled and heart-broken.

We knew already, I think, that the Friday Friends as such could not survive without them. They were the glue. Jason naturally ran interference between a couple people who cared about each other but weren’t really compatible. Linda was the planner. She gave our little troupe of eccentrics stability and just enough structure so that group events actually happened. They both had a gift for building bridges between people who wouldn’t otherwise get along.

Before they left we celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. Keith had vowed to himself that it would be a big deal, because our honeymoon had completely and totally sucked. I’ll leave that for another post. Just think band camp, Wisconsin, car problems, emotional meltdown, canned fruit and Precious Moments figurines. It was all kinds of bad at epic proportions. Anyway, the up side is that Keith splurged on our tenth. Keith’s Dad had been a spy (yes, really) and I claim he inherited the spy gene. He’s profoundly gifted at sneakiness, in the best possible sense.

He created our anniversary as an event that would unfold for me bit by bit. Dinner at a nice restaurant was first and he made sure there were flowers waiting at the table. When it was time for dessert he managed to subtly steer me toward a different cafe. When we went inside he spoke to the hostess and we were magically whisked to the front of the line. As soon as I went through the doorway I saw, sitting there as though they didn’t live 2000 miles away, my childhood pastor and his lovely wife. I think I may have squealed. These were people with whom my family had spent holidays. Tom had married us ten years earlier and had proven himself trustworthy and kind in immeasurable ways. They’d known me since I was eight years old and my heart was already full with the grand surprise when they said they were going to visit Barbara’s brother the next day and would love for us to come along. I was over the moon.

The next day Keith ran off on some mysterious errand and returned with a friend’s red, Mustang convertible. Then off we went in style, but strangely, when we finally got to Barbara’s brother we only stayed for five minutes and left again. It was somewhat surprising since they lived so far apart, but none of my business. I happily tagged along until I finally realized we weren’t in fact headed toward home. We actually had arrived at the ferry to Orcas Island. The four of us were going to spend the night at one of my favorite places on earth, in a lovely little inn overlooking the east island bay! Heaven! I don’t think I’d ever been so happy. I was happy on our wedding day, of course, but I was too nervous to be what you’d call “giddy.”

After breakfast the following morning we went back to our rooms and Keith pulled out a dress of mine that he’d packed with his things, along with the shoes I’d worn to our wedding. I’d been purging our 600 sq. ft. condo earlier but he’d snagged them out of the bag to Goodwill. Now here they were, transformed by an artist friend to match my dress. It says something about my commitment to yoga pants that he still had to convince me to dress up. I did finally consent and he took me out, across the street to the adorable white clapboard church I’d fallen in love with when we’d been to the island before. And then I recognized it. My pastor’s deep baritone came rumbling a hymn out over the lawn and my knees began to tremble. I made it up the steps and through the front doors, and there were most of my dearest friends, all gathered together to celebrate the two of us as we renewed our vows. There was a full reception following, complete with a professional video message Keith had made to tell our story.

Yes. It was the most romantic thing ever and I felt surrounded by love. Most people wait until later, maybe the 25th anniversary, for a splurge like that. Most couples haven’t overcome all that Keith and I have. Keith also said he felt a certain urgency about it. Jason and Linda were still with us and the Friday Friends were still intact. We didn’t know how much we’d need the memory of that special time, but we did know that life is short. We’ve always wanted to live in the now, and not wait to do everything we dream of at a much later date. So in that time, with all those precious friends, we knew we’d done something important. It wasn’t just fun and romantic, although it was both. It was an alter of sorts in both our lives. We could look back and be reminded of the many great gifts we’d been given.

by bcmiller2014

Impossible Soup, Part III

Some of the Friday Friends on the beach at Whidbey Island

Some of the Friday Friends on the beach at Whidbey Island

It’s a remarkable thing to have a community, like a big extended family full of people who wear you out and fill you up, annoy you and have your back. They hold you with love, acceptance and the perseverance to work through the myriad of things that can be relationally difficult. Coming from a tiny family, just me, my parents and my grandparents who were far away, the gift of community has been profoundly wondrous, occasionally perplexing and sometimes exhausting. But it’s always been worth it. I think the hardest thing about it has been the lesson that things change, and the members of that intimate circle shift in availability. Change is a natural part of life.

While we met with Jason and Linda and the group that formed around them, we met every week on Fridays. We called ourselves the Friday Friends, and determined that our overarching goal was to be family to each other. Different people came almost every week. There were people who were from our church but there were others who Jason had usually met in some way. It may sound trite, but he really was magnetic, and he had a huge heart. Jason was an actor who worked for a non-profit organization focused on providing affordable housing to struggling families. He was great at it, but he always longed for the stage. His love for his wife and daughter meant he needed to spend evenings at home, so he let that go for a while.

Every year we’d all chip in and rent a big house on one of the local islands. We’d hang out and play games, go to the beach, and take long walks. We’d also gather to share the real stuff that was going on in our lives, pray for each other and simply be with each other in hard times. Jason would make traditional Indian chai in the morning. Linda had taught him how, and she’d spent a couple years teaching music in India, so she knew how to make the real stuff. Waking up in a house with so many people in it, I’d be a little overwhelmed until I’d stand next to Jason while he served up the chai. Somehow then I knew I was safe. He was the first man I’d ever felt safe with, besides Keith.

His protective brother-ness helped me out at church, too. We’d always sit in the row in front of the Francai (Francis, but plural), and I knew that with Keith next to me and Jason behind me, nothing was going to hurt me. I suppose that even included God, since I was quite afraid of him. Jason was spiritually gifted in remarkable ways, and since he was okay with me it seemed like he created some kind of bridge that I could stand on and be near God and not be destroyed.

There was a profound sweetness about that time with them, even though I was extraordinarily desperate in other ways. We always knew that Jason and Linda would leave eventually, but we thought they’d end up going back to India and having occasional furloughs back with us. I tried not to think about it, which I think was the best thing to do (or not do). The sharing of one’s heart naturally implies that it will be broken. The only way to prevent this is to live without giving one’s heart away, and that’s no life at all.