A Broken Hiatus + Manifesto

photo-3{Photo by Jay Carroll of @onetrippass via Instagram}

Hiatus: “High-aye-tuss”; noun – a pause or gap in sequence, series, or process

Whelp, that pretty much sums it up.  A process paused is what the last year of my life has felt like. Even more accurately, I’d say it was on rewind. But “hiatus” just sounds cooler than, “oh yeah, I took steps backward by moving home to my mother’s house and now live in her basement.” You know? And it sums it up all the way up until today, which just stood still as if there weren’t enough hours or minutes or seconds to launch this thing so near and dear to my heart.

Of course I wish this long “trip” of sorts had involved a whimsical train-ride to a far-off, distant place worth photographing, but that’s just not the case. Not even close; but it has involved left-overs and living pay-check to pay-check, buckets of tears and hours of sleep lost.

Call it transparency, call it foolish: I want to finally talk about this past year, what I’ve walked through, where I am now, where I see myself {and this great endeavor} going one day. Because there are so many dreams, you guys. So many places I’m headed.

And honestly, the fact that some of you have been awaiting this return to the blog {I’m not sure how many, but even a single handful is so humbling and sobering and astonishing and…} well, it means the world to me. It means you believe in my story, my writing, my ability to tell other people’s stories with integrity and grace {or sass or sarcasm, but mostly not, I hope, because I swear I’m 28 and an adult some of the time}.

It means somewhere along the way, you’ve been inspired, or you’ve felt like you can relate. Maybe God has even spoken to you through me. 

Whatever the reason you’re stumbling upon this page, know I’m grateful beyond words on a screen. Also, accept my sincere apology, because butofcourse, being the chronic procrastinator that I am, I didn’t have anything prepared for you like I thought I would as I mulled over this website in my heart and mind for the last nine months. Of course I wrote entry after entry, thinking surely one would fit the bill and make the cut. Nope. Ew. No way! Scary. Not happenin’.

A year is a long time, right? And yet not. But long enough. {Also, our lives are but a mere vapor, so that makes a year, like, not even a puff, if my scientific evidence of smoking Hooka that one time counts for anything…}


hello there{image from @hanuelofficial via Instagram}

It’s funny, the things we assume will be. 

I thought I’d have so much to say, that I’d come running up to you like an old friend at the airport who’d been traveling overseas for years, out of breath and a bit weary, but mostly excited, with a heavy pack filled with souvenirs and duty free goods for you and your gram. I figured words would be spewing out from every angle with nowhere to land but onto your screen, into your heart, all over your tables.

I figured surely I’d have developed my styling business, with a rip-roaring portfolio to hand in for your approval like a student handing a well-worn assignment into their teacher.

I was sure I’d have progress to talk about, recipes oozing out of my kitchen’s pores, and amazing new ideas for you to try around your home from the experience I’ve gained in styling and organizing. {But let’s be real–there’s nothing new under the sun, amiright?} Also, this will never be a “Pinteresty Mom-Blog”, sorry not sorry. If anything, it will house a place for the “unmoms” of society {but more on that later, k? I’m pacing myself here.}

The thing is, I have none of these things for you today. I don’t have much to impart, but I’m getting there, slowly and surely filling back up. I’ve pouted and pursed my deflated lips, cried like a baby, and drown in my own confusion of life and technology woes {thank you, Carl Wilson, for putting up with me, oh my gosh, just who are you even for being a website super-human?}

Life is hard, you guys. If there’s one thing you can expect on this new blog of mine, it’s the brutal honesty of that, my battle with depression and anxiety, confessions of a modern missionary’s life gone “secular” where my curse-word vernacular has only multiplied, coupled with the praises and progress as I’ve learned to rise to the occasion and defeat the hard days with God as my help.

Sure, you’ll be inspired.
I hope.
But mostly…

I want you to be met. I want you to feel seen, known, and understood here. This place is truly an extension of my home {as empty as that sounds because I don’t even own a home or a have a guest-room or use a dining room table}. Even still, my heart’s desire is to host you with a gentle hospitality that seems to stay “Pull up a chair. Stay as long as you wish. There’s no agenda here, just grace upon grace.”

You’re not even required to bring anything to this table of mine. Potlucks are all good and well until someone cross-contaminates the salsa with the bean dip, and well we just all know what happens next, so let’s avoid it, k?

And for crying out loud, I’ve given up on entertaining! If you want that, go to a circus. I hate the idea of loud music and blaring lights and performers with rehearsed acts, and empty stares from across a sticky arena with peanut shells all over the ground and really mistreated animals.

If there’s any correlation with a blasted circus here, let it be the part where the flying-trapeze artist makes her descent into the mesh net that catches her with strength and ease, softening her blow, propelling her back up to her feet, easing her burden of ever having fallen.

My sweet friends have listened to me whine for moons and tides, and this is what one of them reminded me of today: Hosting is worship. I’m inviting people to gather – and perfection doesn’t need to be a part of that. Especially not at first. SO picture the messiest house on the block, front lawn a mile-high, no candles lit or wine & cheese laid out, and me in my soft-clothes {sweats} with no make-up on, hair in a disheveled top-knot.

Are you envisioning it? Are we there together? 
Okay, good. That is what you’ve stepped into. 

And I could not be more thrilled or proud or terrified.

For the record: I wish I was the girl on the train, full-steam ahead, onward to my next adventure. But I’m learning the adventure is in the mundane, ordinary places where God meets us in our longings and turmoil and becomes the peace in our troubled seas.

For the record again: I like wine & cheese. Sometimes, you’ll see some of that put-together-stuff here, too.

photo-4
{Photo source: still investigating}

Comments

  1. Sarah Cason says

    Beautiful Suzy :) I love how you share your heart, and what God is doing in this season. Thank you for sharing!

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