anne m. wilson

This struck me yesterday:

When Job’s three friends heard about all this calamity that had happened to him, each of them came from his own country – Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite. They met together to come to show sympathy for him and to console him. But when they gazed intently from a distance but did not recognize him, they began to weep loudly. Each of them tore his robe, and they threw dust into the air over their heads.Then they sat down with him on the ground for seven days and seven nights, yet no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his pain was very great. (Job 2:11-13)

It’s one thing to read the words and themes in Job and contemplate suffering and pain. It’s quite another to walk with people through it. Grief is something so big, indescribable, painful, numbing… that there are no words to justify it. And so often I forget that.

I feel like I’ve been attending a lot of funerals lately, and that’s because… I have. Death is everywhere and I cannot stop it–no matter how much I hate or wish it would go away. Death is always going to be apart of my life because I am a living, breathing human and until my heart stops beating and my soul goes to Heaven, I will feel and know the sting that death brings. And because I invest fully into relationships and leave very little room for barriers or guarding–I love deeply. And loving deeply hurts.

One of my former students, Tessa, died this weekend. Being a person that believes in something bigger than myself, I know this is not the end. But watching college freshmen grieve their best friend’s death sometimes makes it feel like death is the end. Trying to muster up words to say when a mother is holding her dead son’s hand certainly makes it feel sometimes, although I know otherwise, like there is no life beyond this. I know that the “why?” road is a dead-end one, and that when I get to Heaven, I will be so ecstatic that I won’t even remember all of the why questions, anyhow. And I’m learning that instead of asking why, I really need to ask, “who?” Who gave Tessa life? Who gives us hope? Who do I trust? Who created the sun, stars, and ocean? Who can bind up broken hearts? Who can bring comfort that surpasses human understanding? Certainly not me.

This year has been a rough one. I’m still trying to wrap my heart around it. I don’t know that I ever will. And I am going to ignore the longing in my soul to say cheap words to make this moment much easier to bear, when I know that right now, like Job’s friends, sitting in silence is the only real option.

Party up there for us, Tessa. I’m sure you are busy TPing houses, duct-taping Bibles, making pancakes, and creating a cool-kids-corner in Heaven. And we’re all jealous.

A few weeks ago, my mom dropped off a lot of junk from my old room in her house–mostly a collection of journals, yearbooks, scrapbooks, art projects, etc. I went down memory lane a little bit tonight (always a dangerous thing to do) and was actually a little bit surprised at what I found.

Before I got married, I pretty much saw life as pre-Jesus, post-Jesus. My life came to a dramatic halt when Jesus got a hold of my heart and it’s been a long, hard, beautiful journey ever since. But now, I look at pictures and see pre-marriage Anne, post-marriage Anne. Or, Anne Durham and Anne Wilson.

There’s this piece of marriage that not very many women talk about, and when they do, it’s difficult to define. It’s almost the “problem with no name” Betty Friedan so eloquently wrote about so many years ago, except that–it doesn’t feel like a problem, per se, just an experience that’s hard to identify. It’s the loss of an identity, but saying that makes it sound bad. It’s not bad–it’s just… a loss. A loss of a last name is only the beginning of it, of course. With that comes the loss of independence, the loss of freedom (in a good way), the loss of being… well, Anne Durham.

Not that Kyle forced me into taking his name, it was something I chose. I don’t want our kids being those kids that are constantly confused about why mommy couldn’t just be like the other moms and go with it. And on top of that, for me, I saw no reason to get married if I was going to continue on in my independence–I could do that well enough being single.

Good ole Solomon did say that the test of true friendship is like iron and iron–shaping and growing one another in the most honest (and brutal) way. And although I have not personally put the two together, I can only imagine that when iron meets iron, some sparks fly. Looking through pictures of “pre-married Anne” and “post-married Anne” tonight, I could actually see a difference in my eyes. Anne Durham, the one that thought she knew everything there was to know (and then some) about the world and people, the girl that accepted a year-long internship five states away before asking her long-term boyfriend (that she planned on marrying) how that would affect him, the girl who decided to graduate/get a full-time job/get married in the same semester (and saw no reason why that might be problematic), the girl who would’ve believed she could push a whole bus by herself if she had to, and well quite frankly the girl who ran 150mph through life just because she could.

And I wouldn’t have changed a single thing about that girl. But marriage did.

I know this will not surprise anyone, but I was pretty naive about marriage before heading into it. I didn’t think I was, of course. Even eight pre-marital counseling sessions later, I was still so oblivious. Life was all about me and my plan, my dream, my vision. I can remember thinking–while planning that whole graduation/job/wedding business, that I could handle it because a wedding wasn’t going to change much for us. Sure, we were going to now be living in the same place, which had never happened. Sure, there were quite a few physical changes about to take place, but lots of people go through that, right? Sure, Kyle and I had been dating for three years, what else was there to know (this makes me laugh out loud just writing it)? Sure, it’s no big deal to get married on a Saturday and drive two hours back to school on a Monday. Marriage doesn’t change that much, just my last name and well… just about everything.

A week after we got married, in between drives to Cincinnati and Indianapolis, I can actually remember sitting in one of my favorite coffee shops in Northern Kentucky thinking to myself, “My life is actually going to be different when I go back.” That sounds so silly when I say it aloud, but seriously, I thought that. Thinking about coming home to a husband instead of an empty room, planning out meals so that we could spend quality time together at the dinner table, and well just about every circumstantial/intentional/life-changing/superficial decision changed for me.

I am no longer the girl that can drop everything and move within a day. I am no longer the girl who can visit people in different cities on a whim just because I can. I am no longer the girl who can lay out options 1, 2, 3 of what to do with my summer: Africa, North Carolina, or Cincinnati and legitimately consider trying them all at once. I am no longer the girl who can come home to a house full of girls and walk to dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant just because it’s Tuesday. I am no longer… Anne Durham.

But, I will tell you what I am…

I am the woman who gets to love the most amazing man I know. I am the woman who gets to dream and pray for a life that will glorify the Lord of our hearts. I am the woman who gets to share my life with my best friend. I am the woman who gets to sit across from the dinner table and share my deepest secrets and laugh until I pee my pants… all because I am sharing a meal with the one my soul loves. I am the woman who gets to encourage the man I married on a daily basis. I am the woman who gets sharpened in the most beautiful and painful way I’ve ever known because I chose to share my life with someone that does not think the sun shines out of my rear (and tells me so). I am the woman that is loved like Christ loved the Church in a real, visual way… because I gave up Anne Durham for Anne Wilson.

Marriage is a sacrifice. No one forced me into this covenantal relationship, I chose it and I chose it gladly. No one forced me into loving Christ, He chose me and I chose Him back. I didn’t know what I was giving up at the time. When I chose Jesus, of course I was naive. I thought life with Christ meant that problems go away… not that your eyes become more aware of the world’s pain and that your heart becomes more vulnerable to it. When I got married, I didn’t realize what it meant to be one, and what that really meant I was giving up. Yes, it’s hard. Every relationship worth having is hard. But I wouldn’t choose that girl over this woman any day, even on the hardest of days.

“What is real?” asked the Rabbit one day.

When they were lying side-by-side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real, you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real, you can’t be ugly except to people who don’t understand.”

-Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged/updated/ranted/expressed myself through written word, and so today, I will confess, this will not be poetic or lovely but simply a medley, a mixed bag of information of the last month or so. I completely understand if you check out now.

We were grateful beyond reason this year to spend so much time with people we love… family, friends, students–ah, it’s been so good. Kyle had his first experience of “teacher break,” which–who knew, by the way, that teachers look forward to winter break more than students? Affter the first two days of pure slothdom/recovery passed, he couldn’t sit still and ended up doing house projects, playing basketball, reading up for his J-Term class, and hanging out with people he normally wouldn’t be able to. I had a bit of a lax break, as well, as the office at Chapel Rock was open sporadically and as a youth ministry we take it easy in December, which is nice. We had all kinds of people over throughout the holiday–college friends, Chapel Rock friends, Covenant friends, westside friends, our families… man it was good. And once again, I was affirmed of our decision in taking the house plunge. I love hosting and all that entails.

Kyle is teaching his first J-Term class right now. Covenant does January a little different than most high schools–teachers are allowed to pick a subject (with very little limitation) and teach it for 3-hour blocks during the day for two weeks. Some students choose internships with companies during that time, some get to go on mission trips, and some choose classes they want to take. Kyle is teaching a class on the Civil War, so as you can imagine he is loving every minute of it.

And as for me, I am getting ready for the new year… planning, creating, dreaming, exercising, and all of that. I have been seriously lax in the health department, and whenever I think about how disciplined I used to be about exercise I want to kick myself. It’s not about weight, it’s about being healthy (I keep telling myself that). And because of my history, it is necessary for my mental and emotional sanity that I spend time with my endorphins. Therefore, to motivate (and guilt) myself into exercise, I signed up for the Mini-Marathon in Indy this Spring. Yes, you read that right. I (not a natural runner) will be panting my way through jogging 13 miles this May.

There you have it, there’s your Wilson Update for the new year. No official resolutions (although my dream of meeting Ellen Degeneres is still on the list) or crazy stories. Our hearts were filled to the brim, we ate way too much, and are now getting out of the holiday-funk that both of us set into without routine. So here’s to a new year! I promise something meaningful next time…

I’m writing this from my little Droid phone, so please ignore typos and misspelled words. This year, Kyle and I decided to send our Thanksgiving holiday with his family in Cincinnati, and it’s been wonderful. Yesterday, his dad and step-mom hosted and we got to spend quality time with a lot of people… which of course we love. Today, after our morning visit to IKEA, we went over to his cousin’s to celebrate with his mom’s side.

You never know how you’ll feel at an in-laws holiday… will it feel like home? Will I get their jokes? But I can say without hesitation that I absolutely feel so at home with his family. I love it so much, and am grateful for my husband’s family.

So here’s to a new Thanksgiving… you’ve been sweet to us this year.

I’m feeling a little “off” today.

Today is the first time in 23 years that I have not spent the night with my family on the eve of Thanksgiving. Tomorrow will be the first time I spend Thanksgiving without the Durham’s or the Cadwell’s, the first time I go without Grandma’s chicken noodles or Gram’s corn pudding, the first time I don’t either see my Cadwell cousins or my Durham cousins. The first, the first, the first…

There’s a lot of history with Thanksgiving for me, as with every other family, I’m sure. Thanksgiving has always been the most non-complicated holiday in my family’s life. Stay with Mom on Wednesday/Thursday, go with Dad on Thursday night through Saturday morning. To be honest, I don’t really remember what my Thanksgiving was like pre-divorced parents, but I know that post-divorce, it was a time for stability, consistency, the same faces, familiar foods, familiar places, etc. And for the rest of you kids-of-divorce out there, you probably know what I mean. No matter how crazy your schedule is shifting between parents, you can savor Thanksgiving, no matter what family you’re with. Because there’s a plan. Because it means that for one day (or in my case, three), you get to just sit and eat with your family, and not worry about anything else.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little sad about this year. Don’t misread me: I LOVE MY HUSBAND’S FAMILY. They are more than I ever could have dreamed in a family, and I really mean that. They’re funny, real, quirky, weird, and the very opposite of straight-laced. I fit in perfectly, because let’s be honest, I’m the weirdest person I know. But to say that I won’t miss spending the morning with my mom, or driving to Evansville with my dad, brother, and crazy dog, or wish I could play, “Oh, hell” with the Durham’s for hours would be like saying I don’t really like GLEE: pure denial.

And so on this Thanksgiving, I am grateful. Thanksgiving could be a painful memory because of divorce, but because my parents are so stinking awesome, it’s not. They made sure Thanksgiving was a time of joy, food, turkey, stuffing, and Christmas Vacation. And for that, I cannot say thank you enough. I know that life has not been perfect in our little dysfunctional family, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. So even though I’ll miss you Durham’s and Cadwell’s, know that I am being taken care of by an equally crazy family that loves me in spite of my Durham-ness.

A year ago around this time of year, I walked down the aisle. The photo you see to your left was from the rehearsal day, when my nerves were on high-speed and Erin escaped with  me to get my mani/pedi in the morning. :) Tomorrow, along with eleven other girls, I’m doing the same. Erin is walking down the aisle in TWO DAYS… and really, there are no words to accurately express how much I love and admire this girl woman. A friend ten years in the making, I could not be more honored to stand beside her. She is a woman of integrity, purity, honesty, love, compassion, passion, joy, and words could go on and on. What I love even more about Erin is that she is whole… whole in Jesus and no one else. Josh is an excellent addition to her life, but he does not complete her life. Jesus does. There will be more to come later, but for now, I’m just excited.

Over the past few days I’ve been re-introduced to a book I bought a couple of years ago, The Autobiography of Martin Luther King Jr. I purchased it at The King Center in Atlanta, GA on a youth ministry event a while back, and have just now gotten around to reading it to its entirety. I’m pretty ashamed of myself that prior to my visit, all I knew about Dr. King was “I have a dream,” and that he was a pretty big initiator in the Civil Rights Movement. Shame on me, I know, hit my wrist… I’m embarrassed, too.

So anywho, I pulled the autobiography back out again this past week as I was searching for wisdom for our upcoming series in youth ministry world, and five hours later, my nose was still in its pages, as if Dr. King was sitting in my office bestowing all kinds of wisdom on me from 50+ years ago.

I don’t know why I have the tendency to forget that the battles I’m fighting have already been fought, that somewhere, someone has echoed the same sentiments about ______, _________, and _______. But today, I am thankful for Dr. King. Not just because he told people about his dream, but because he lived in a way that no one could ignore. Today I was struck by these words in particular, from The Poor People’s Campaign.

I read Das Kapital and The Communist Manifesto years ago when I was a student in college. And many of the revolutionary movements in the world came into being as a result of what Marx talked about. The great tragedy is that Christianity failed to see that it had the revolutionary edge. You don’t have to go to Karl Marx to learn how to be a revolutionary. I didn’t get my inspiration from Karl Marx; I got it from a man named Jesus, a Galilean saint who said he was anointed to heal the broken-hearted. He was anointed to deal with the problems of the poor. And that is where we get our inspiration. And we go out in a day when we have a message for the world, and we can change this world and this nation.

Thanks, Dr. King, for reminding us that we are not the only ones that believe Jesus can change the entire world.

There’s sort of been this re-occurring theme over the course the past 23 years, and it goes like this, “Hey change, what’s up? I’ll take you on all at once. I know it would be better for my health and sanity to spread you out, but why not just tackle you all in one month, or one year. That way I can just go go go and eventually fall on the floor and cry.”

All of that was true except the falling on the floor and crying part. I usually do my crying in the shower. :)

So-are you ready for this? Kyle and I are closing on our first house today. In one word, I’m ecstatic. Everything about being a homeowner excites me. Here’s just my short list: pulling into a garage, taking the garbage to the end of my driveway and not a dumpster, opening the back door to let Abby go run and play, our kitchen and living room being a place of rest, relaxation, and fellowship, our guest bathroom being clean for more than a day, sitting on the back deck with friends in the fall, spring, and summer, playing in the yard when it snows, building snowmen, getting mail from our mailbox, oh there’s so much more. It’s the little things, people!

It’s funny, just a few years ago at Thanksgiving I was laughing and making fun of my cousin and his wife for spending an entire Thanksgiving day clipping coupons to buy things for their house. I remember saying, “Really? That brings you joy? To find out that an iron costs $29 instead of $35?” I couldn’t imagine that life. Now I’m rejoicing about washing machines and paint colors, too. And the thought of having takeout in our new living room while we are surrounded by boxes and opportunities tonight is just sweet.

I love this phase of life. And I feel bad for the 19-year-old me that scoffed at it.