Wearing a blue paisley dress, brown ankle boots laced up, wild wavy hair (I had once thought my hair was straight in Idaho, but apparently my hair is just forever wavy curls now) I sit here at this big, warm, wooden table.
I’ve been in Idaho almost nearly two weeks. Home old, home anew. Oh my home, how are you, how dare did I leave? Not in the last year and a half have I felt so peaceful, so welcomed, so loved, so wanted by earth, by wind, by sun, by souls, by place, by faces.
Walking downtown in familiarity, yet picking out the new buildings, new restaurants, new brew pubs… Boise is everything I didn’t dare hope it would be. It’s a warm, worn blanket-wrapping me in love and comfort. It’s a new, fresh start… fresh as the mint growing in the earth a big Idaho block from me calling out to me a purpose afresh.
Panic and anxiety have subsided almost entirely, though triggers still make me fear for my life (i.e. being alone in a room with two men that I don’t know very well.) I’m even eating food (a small bit) that has been entirely taboo for a long time and processing it through my body fairly well… small victories.
I have friends here. Family. Old and very old. It’s the comfort and safety I’ve so been longing for. I fit here. I rest here. I LIVE here.
Days have consisted of seeing a friend or two or three, working at my new job which is an absolutely fabulous fit for me, shopping at the local co-op for food that nourishes, strengthens, and heals my body, walks in the warm (too warm?) sun, sometimes seeing my husband when he’s been here, reading books on Catholicism, laughter, smiles, tender moments.
Can you see it? Can you smell it? Can you feel it? Can you taste it?
The glory of it all.
I do find it odd (God?) that as this new chapter unfolds a new chapter in my faith seems to be unfolding as well. The relics, traditions, beauty, history, mystery, liturgy of the Catholic Church draws me and renews my faith in ways I didn’t think would ever be possible after all that has happened. But it is happening.
And for Ben, because he asked…
Simmer down, love.
Lift up your tristful head
I promise, some day soon,
we will learn to starve our
We must learn to teach our lungs
to breathe patience,
our souls to cling
and somehow, someway,
find what will make
our hearts feel
a little less
A modicum of poetry. Probably. Definitely terrible, but it’s there.