Refill

I just took the pictures down from the walls.

I don't dust.  Ever.  So where the pictures were, there are now a faint, gray outlines.  Single nails.

And with that... I began the ending.

I remember moving into this apartment and hanging those pictures on the wall and getting Eli to help hang the curtains.  Rachel and Thad showing up during a thunderstorm, to sit on thrift store chairs, and drill holes into the walls.

I remember thinking that the season here, by myself, in this tiny studio apartment would be a great one.

And it was great.  As great as a story could ever be.  With drama and romance and conflict and success and fear and excitement and defeat.  It, perhaps, was not good.  But it was great.

It shouldn't be hard to pack up such a small space.  But I've crammed it full -- full of secrets and dust and proof of paid bills and good intentions.  There is a rocking chair filling up my entire kitchen space right now.  The first physical manifestation of this baby boy who will be here soon.  My first indicator, the first sign I needed more space.  There isn't enough room here for the life about to happen.


I told a lot of lies here.  Believed none, but ignored many.  I played a game.  And curled up next to faint, lingering hope.  I woke up in the mornings beside too many mistakes and laid down beside too many more.  More often than not, this door was opened, letting light from the hallway cast a small square on the floor.  I would hide behind there, peek my head around, "this is where I live, this is my spot, welcome to my whole.... space."

I celebrated a lot of life and growth here too.  I don't look at this tiny space with as much resentment as I do a milestone.  A very transition piece in my story.

I'm ready for more now though.  More than just a bedroom.  I'm ready for a kitchen table.  For a couch.  For closets and a bathroom counter.  To introduce the world, only bit by bit, to my son and my space.  To determine, with discretion, how far one comes.

I knew all this would come unravelling as soon as I moved the first thing out of its place.  It's time to go.  Just like always.  Except there's a sweet little whisper in my heart... and I can't help but think that maybe I'll make the next space a "home".  A home with a baby.  That maybe with a little effort, I could find or better yet, build a place I want to stay.

~

My sister had a scare this weekend.  One misstep on a house boat and her leg is bruised and for far too many hours, her son was quiet in her belly.  Her son.  My nephew.  

I took a walk last night.  To the grocery store to buy blackberries.  As I was walking, I was willing my own son to start moving around again because now I was nervous.  Now I was anxious, wishing this little boy would kick me.  Hard.  Just so I knew he was there.  And as I walked, I prayed for my nephew.

A little boy named Elijah who will have, undoubtedly, the most beautiful green eyes any of us have ever seen.  I'm hoping that a small Rector comes into the world with a good mix of both my sister and his daddy.  I hope that he comes a few days before my Judah does, because I want to hold him in the hospital on one of the first days of his life.  

I walked to Kroger, praying for that little guy.  The little boy who I also prayed for five months ago on the floor of a friend's house.  Back then I prayed he just existed.  I wanted Elijah to be real.  I wanted my sister to have him.  I wanted my brother to have him.  I asked God for him.  Without knowing God had heard me far in advance and he already existed.  This time, walking down Columbia Avenue, I just prayed for those tiny legs.  And those tiny arms.  Much the same way I pray for Judah's heart.  

And I prayed for my sister.  Because regardless of how hard the last few months have been for us, only each other can even fathom the stress and fear and excitement happening in our lives right now.  Only I... in this moment... could even fathom the sort of fear you feel, when you trip through the damn door.

Elijah is moving again.  And I breathe a deep sigh of relief.  Good job, little man.  

~

I went to the library today.  Almost like one goes to the gym, even though they are tired.  

When I am out of words, I go find more.  

When you are empty, it is time to fill up.  

Something good this way comes... and people are starting to see the hope come back into my eyes.

And when it's time, I want to have the words to be able to tell the story.  

Starting next week, I can no longer call my blog "from Apartment 6".  So not only is it time for new space, new love, new words... it's time to find a new name.  For a new season.  For a new chapter.

Help me come up with something?