Things Behind Things Behind Things

My dear Beloved,

I’m planning a dinner party. Not a dinner party where you would braise octopus overnight and then, grill the suction cups to perfection, releasing the rubber and moving it to tender. Where we’d scout out our green-haired friend Jenna to suggest the right surprising wines for each course and discover the Sauterne for the candied mandarin cake I made enhanced the almonds for our finale.

It’s the imaginary pairing of guests we would release in the atmosphere and volley back and forth to make sure everyone would have a good time. Jesus was a regular, but the others on the list depended upon who we were rubbing elbows with at the time and what combination would make for lively banter. You’d always throw in a wildcard just to keep things interesting like Amy Winehouse or Wes Anderson. I rationally played out scenarios through to the end in the hopes of eliminating eye rolling and awkward moments of silence.

Recently, (because the list is constantly changing) I’ve walked the paths of Oxford with C.S.Lewis. You remember my old friend, who wiped the dark glass and showed me the color of glory. We share the same “invisible blanket between the world and me.” A plaid tartan of blue and gold where an unfurling thread trails behind giving way to days of complete unraveling. Lewis lost H. after three years of marriage, and we’ve shared stories over clotted cream and date scones made by the kindest of friends.

But, I don’t think Lewis is invited this time. Your list starts with Paul Kingsnorth, Richard Rohr, and Emily Dickinson (you’d want to share bird songs and compare notes on the buzzing of flies….remember the poems I shared with you on your birthday over hummingbird cake and Elvis Costello, who couldn’t always hit the high notes anymore?), but I convince you to drop Emily because frankly, she wouldn’t accept the invitation. She carries fear in her pocket and doesn’t leave her room. Ella Fitzgerald is a contender, but the other day, I found Krista Tippet and Justin Vernon from Bon Iver sitting on stage in NY and heard Justin speaking “Chris-ese” during the interview. I’m inviting him. He mentioned John Prine and numbers and time and his return to God and well, all the things Chris. Were you speaking to me through his revelation of curiosity in others instead of judging? Did you take Justin’s voice and form the “O’s” and “Ah’s” of his cadence to mimic the coyote choir that lulled me back to sleep when I camped in the Narnia canopy last weekend? I think Justin would be good company. He’s moving from his long stint with melancholy and climbing up a tree right now And everything is peaceful love And right in me (him).

You’re everywhere, and I long for you. Cantaloupe sangria has become spicy. The melon slush of our backyard wedding which drank smooth and dictated our color pallet swigs with jalapeno now. Leaping Lizard changed the concoction ever so slightly, and once again, I remember the only constant is change. Our anniversary sirens called out, and the marriage mirages at home were too thick, so I drove to the beach a few days ago.

I asked a friend for her beach condo, and she graciously pointed out the key and told me where to find the wine. But of course, there’s no escaping you. It’s the same condo complex where you used to live, and I brunched at Leaping Lizard Saturday with Lindsay to toast the spicy cantaloupe. Lindsay told me about the letter. The secret love letter you placed in her shoe which rubs a new blister when walking through the familiar grief grotto. It was a beautiful moment, and I’m glad she shared. My grief river rock remains. As the calendar churns, I find the strength some days to carry it confidently, or others take a turn, but this past weekend it’s been an albatross.

I’ve made friends with the twins though; truth and trust. Truth wears a tight silky brown bun at the base of her neck. Always in ironed jeans, she knows the sunrise time of each day and when the missing dryer sock will resurface. Trust, on the other hand, is more of a free spirit. With a smattering of freckles on her nose, she rides with no hands on a banana seat bike with iridescent colored streamers. The twins aren’t always together, but they share a Curious George and man with a yellow hat kind of bond; practical, care giving, and full of adventure.

Truth sat next to me at First Presbyterian Church in Norfolk yesterday. I reminisced about our visits here and how the last time was Easter of 2024. After the service, I was approached by a kind eyed staff member who asked if it was our first time visiting. I started to speak of our history and love of the church for a variety of reason and was stopped by a flood of tears. The kind lady didn’t look away but held me in grace and waited patiently. Wiping my eyes to explain, she spoke to Truth and said she was glad the church had been a place of healing. We moved towards lighter conversation like going to Stella’s Cafe across the street for brunch. Remember my first taste of shakshuka and how your recreation of it at home was always better no matter how many restaurants we tried? Returning to the car, I did more healing, blew my nose, and walked to Stella’s.

The quirky mismatched shop had changed. Expanded walls of gray still held the chalkboard menu with shakshuka, but currently there are bao buns and avocado toast with pistachios, and I didn’t see pour overs. I noticed the back hallway though and found the thick paint of mustard gold and exhaled, remembering the original Stella’s once again. When we first came, you and I, we sat on patchwork pillows while you updated Abi’s blog after her passing, and I didn’t fully understand. I understand now. That portal has been opened and only a select few have taken the Matrix blue pill and see a different world.

But Trust just walked in and asks for a napkin to wipe the bike chain grease from her calf. She’s been off-roading in the valley on her Ninja turtle painted Richey. I tell her about all the changes. Quoting Isaiah, Trust says, “Forget all that-it’s nothing compared to what He’s going to do. For He’s about to do something new. See, He’s already begun! Do you not see it? He’ll make a pathway through the wilderness.”

“In fact,” she says, “I rode through a field of gold where butterflies rose like flames of fire with a backdrop of azure blue. Want to go see?”

Dumping my dishes in the bucket, I head outside with Trust to think about the new landscape. “One final thought,” she says. “Those of us with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, and are being transformed into His image with ever-increasing glory….(2 Corinthians 3:18)”. The sun feels warm, and I hear the words of Bon Iver:

Oh, how everything can change
In such a small time frame
You can be remade
You can live again
What was pain now's gain
A new path gets laid
And you know what is great
Nothing stays the same

Moving forward towards glory and….

Always with,

Kathryn