Living History

The long and winding road took the kids and me to Iowa these last few days.  It took us to the doorsteps of three friends who have marked my life in countless and profound ways.  All 4 of us Iowa State alumni.  All of us RAs in the dorms.  All of us lovers of God and words and children and home.   

First to Mara's, where two squash plants have nearly overtaken her yard, which is the perfect metaphor for how she plants good things and how they grow abundantly.  She has always planted seeds in me, challenged me to try new things, invited me to fall in love with history and plant life and books. 

Mara reminded me we met in Freshman English at Iowa State and that I had written a long-forgotten paper about homeschooling, which she thought made me interesting enough to pursue in friendship.  I'm sure back then  my paper had portrayed homeschooling as ridiculous (painful wince.)  Mara led me to a summer job at Living History Farms in Des Moines, and it was in the little pioneer church on the grounds where I married Dave, with Mara at my side.

And then to Tracy's, who is restoring a beautiful, big Victorian in Boone.  She is endlessly creative and is a re-junker, with a business called Once Was.  Our history goes back to middle school, where we were each desperately, awkwardly, painfully trying to figure out who we were. 

Tracy planted the most important seeds in me back then.  Seeds of faith that would not grow until college.  But when I heard the knock and cautiously considered opening the door, Tracy is who I called, and she has always cared deeply about my roots and my fruit as a believer in Christ.

Finally, to Becky's, the author, whose stories get into my marrow and won't leave.  Becky, whose tales touch and challenge me to live boldly for Christ.  Her family adopted 4 year old Joshua from China last year. 

Joshua taught me the most, in that moment when I drew him to me for a story, and he taught me the words for tree and dog and bird in his language of signs.  If I did it wrong, he gently touched my hand, shook his head with the solemn brown eyes, and showed me again.  After we shared that precious time, he ran to me often, let me hold him, "chose" me as a friend.  Strange how a boy with special needs could make me feel special.

Our final hours were spent walking the beautiful campus yesterday with all but Tracy, feeling strange and old among the backpack-laden college students, with our duck trail of 11 children skipping among us.  We paused for a picture under the campanile, where each of us had stolen kisses with our future spouses so many years ago.  See what has come of that!  Living history indeed.