a posse ad esse

Sometimes a Latin dictionary comes in handy:

When dealing with your fiance's pet: Feles mala! cur cista non uteris? Bad kitty! Why don't you use the litter box?

When registering for wedding gifts: Furnulum pani nolo. Thanks, but I don't want a toaster.

When taking a bath: Ubi est mea anaticula cumminosa? Where's my rubber ducky?

Back in the day, I had some friends who thought quid quid latine dictum sit, altum videtur! Anything said in Latin sounds profound!

But now as I'm packing up my apartment in preparation to move to Kansas City, or Our Town, as I like to think of it, I find myself questioning my a) need and b) desire to hang on to such a relic of my former linguistic glory.

But it's not just space on the bookshelf that matters. This dictionary represents a time when I was awkwardly searching for my intellectual, social, and spiritual worth and identity. It was a rough couple of years.

But the people I was trying to impress (aka the boys I liked) aren't a part of my life anymore.

The doubts I had spiritually have been relentlessly proven wrong.

I am certain of God's faithfulness to me, and my purpose in His kingdom.

I have moved a posse ad esse. From possibility to actuality.

I am not hiding from the past, or from struggles that the Lord lead me through, but I don't want a reminder of my old self taunting me from the bookshelf. I choose to put off those things.

I also don't want to have a place of retreat for my brain and heart to linger, when life with my future husband becomes frustrating. I don't want old voices whispering through the pages, "This is who you used to be...think of whom you could have become..."

I am committed to choosing to be who the Lord says I am today.

A posse ad esse. From possibility to actuality of faith.

Where do you go?

The man I am going to marry has adventure running through his veins. Unmapped lands, untried combinations of spices, untested methods of fixing garbage disposals or lawn mowers...he'll figure it out. If there's a tree on the prairie, he'll try not to fall out of it, waving at me from the top branch.

And the crazy thing is that he's asked me to come along. Into uncharted territories, unnamed cities and undefined spaces, into undiscovered places in my own heart and mind. He's Superman, Peter Pan, the last action hero. And me? I'm...I'm with him.

It's scary sometimes, leaping off cliffs and splashing through waterfalls. I feel like I often dig my heels into familiarity and resist his outstretched hand helping me fly.

Look at these pictures of Lois Lane and Wendy. Do you see the trepidation in Lois' face? Can you tell from Wendy's grasping hands and flailing feet that she'd rather be on the ground?

He loves the Five for Fighting Superman song that goes

I can’t stand to fly
I’m not that naive
I’m just out to find
The better part of me

I’m more than a bird...I’m more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
It’s not easy to be me

Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I’ll never see

It may sound absurd...but don’t be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but won’t you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
It’s not easy to be me.

It's not easy to be him, but he's been given the grace to dream big dreams and go big places. And he's invited me along. I'm with him, for better or worse. That's my choice.

I will try.

Thanks, Dave Matthews, for putting it in words for me...

I am no superman not at all
I have no answers for you
I am no hero, and that's for sure
But I do know one thing
Where you go, is where I want to be

Where are you going? Where do you go?
Are you looking for answers
For reasons under the stars
If along the way, you are growing weary
You can rest with me until a brighter day

I am no superman, that's for sure
And I have no answers
I am no hero, oh don't you know
But I do know one thing,
Where you are is where I belong
Where you go, I do know, is where I belong

grease monkey

I get my car(s) fixed a lot.

The guys down at TiresPlus (Michael, Tom, Will, Matt, and the cute one I flirted shamelessly with for a year and a half) know all about my rims, my oil pan, my transmission, my masters degree, my sub jobs, and my fiance.

The guys call me by name when I walk in and let me change the channel on the TV in the waiting area. The first summer I lived here, I remarked off-handedly that TiresPlus should have a punch card like Subway, where every 10th repair is free. They think I'm pretty funny.

This relationship has survived two and a half years, three apartments, five roommates, two cars, a million miles, and nearly that many dollars. I can only hope that my fiance and I do as well.

I know very little about spark plugs, carbuorators, mufflers, or ignition switches. But I'm learning. The guys at TiresPlus are always eager to show me what they're working on, and tell me about the variety of ways my car(s) had been injured.

As a girl, I feel fairly vulnerable when I walk into a car place. I am at the mercy of these men and their oil-stained hands. And who knows...maybe my fiance or my dad could get a more honest opinion, or a better deal, or give the mechanics specific instructions about what to fix.

I'm usually a little vague. What's wrong with my car? Well, it's "a scary humming sound" or "a wobbly feel" or "a suspicious-looking puddle in the garage." TiresPlus teaches me to trust, and have hope, and depend very practically on God's providence and mercy and the wisdom of others.

So the other day I had my car in to have the wheels aligned and the tires balanced, although I asked for it the other way around. As usual, I sat and waited, watching TLC and tying ribbons on wedding invitations. When the guys were done, I went up to the counter to pay.

Tom, who's in charge on Tuesdays, took the bill out of my hand and signed his name across the balance due. He grinned at me and said, "This one's on us. Your punch card was full."

Grace from a grease monkey.

I love TiresPlus.

the long way home

Grandpa Detrich always liked to take the long way home.

First we'd go to the Dairy Queen for a scoop of chocolate ice cream in a cup...then out on dirt roads where wild turkeys scuttled into the ditch...over rickety bridges spanning dry creek beds...past the field where the '52 flood brought an underground spring suddenly to life...up to the top of Indian Hill to look at the new housing developments or the mist settling grey around the grain elevator and all the way to the eastern horizon.

He liked to drive across the Milford Lake Dam, and the back roads by Easy Jack's, or through the Oak Grove or the Bonebrake, pointing out the skeletons of ramshackle farmhouses and stone structures that used to be somebody's "place."

Grandpa Detrich always had to go check on something...a real estate deal for a new family in town, a property dispute out at the quarry, a file down at the office, or the fence along the creek at our aunt's farm.

Nothing was ever quite on the way and I think Grandpa liked that.

Peacocks roost by walking under their designated sleeping spot and jumping straight up into the air to land precariously on that branch...Clive Cussler writes himself and one of his classic cars into every Dirk Pitt novel...the best cherry pie in the world is made by the women from the Alida-Upland church and sold at Chris Bletcher auctions...a Pizza Hut mint will last over an hour if you just set it on the top of your tongue and try not to suck on it.

That's the kind of stuff you learn on the long way home.

The neighborhood cats will leave the birds alone after a couple of shots from a pellet gun. Other rummy players will overlook what you've laid down if you keep your piles close to the edge of the table and out of order. There is a bottomless pot of coffee at the Senior Center, and an endless game of "guess the number" to see who pays for it each month.

Homemade ice cream tastes best eaten outside. Don't mow the lawn when the grass is damp. The human body is fragile, and prone to mysterious injuries that need bandaids and iodine. There's nothing better than a nap with a lap full of sunshine and prism rainbows.

Small towns in Kansas are worth saving... worth celebrating.

That's what Grandpa taught me.

I pray he found the long way home at last.