Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Pregnant Thoughts in the Afternoon

Les disciples Pierre et Jean courant au sépulcre le matin de la Résurrection. Eugène BURNAND, 1898. Musée d’Orsay.

Let's see if I can get this out before I have to run for refuge in the bathroom. (If I use bigger words than usual it's because I get that way when I am sick and tired. . . just a quirk I fully realized recently.)

While in one of my many horizontal positions yesterday, feeling particularly afflicted and needy as I groaned under the blanket that I wear like a cape when it isn't over me, I caught a glimpse of these two anxious fellows on my wall.

The first time I met them was during my days as a post-mission traveler in France, cruising through the culture-doused streets of Paris with nagging anxieties about my future clawing into what should have been a care-free vacation with a good friend (whose rich "uncle" was paying for the whole shebang!). While I should have been joyfully diving into patisseries and appreciating only the layers of butter and air, I was worrying about that whole husband thing. Would I ever meet him? The One? Would I be too flawed for him to love me back? There were no prospects at the time and while I was prepared to run to him with open arms, I had serious doubts that he actually existed.

We wandered through museum after museum, feeling that floaty sensation that carries you through truly good art--the one where you feel like the paint is lifting you with soft fingers over the crowds and over all your woes just because it is there in front of you. Snapping into an ethereal connection between creator and audience, like they created it just for you in that moment.

In the Musée d'Orsay, I could almost hear the ghost trains sighing out steam around us as we wandered the hallways. That's when I saw Peter and John. That's when I saw me in their worry-ridden faces and clenched hands. I was them, running towards the unknown, not knowing what its face would look like when I saw it.

But I couldn't deny the beauty of that breathless morning behind them--all around them. Something bigger than what was inside of them was all around them. Undeniable despite not being seen. . . yet.

The fact that they were frozen in the tension just made it more breathtaking, more like how I felt most of the time.

I bought a print in the museum store and carted it around with me the rest of my trip, bringing it home a wrinkled mess after all of the travel, which was fine because it seemed more appropriate that way.

The rest of that particular chapter is family history. He did come. He did love me. And I only had to wait two aching years to make the dream real.

So yesterday, Peter and John reached out to me again. They were me again. They are me again. So much unknown. So much stillness. So much hope. So much frozen motion. . . and motion sickness.

And yet the sunrise is there too. I have so much beauty ahead. It will come because it always does. He always does.


Tiffany said...

Um... wow. I mean, wow. I love that you not only captured your emotions, but captured them so eloquently. THANK YOU!!!

Eden said...


Mel said...

Love this. Ahh, your write so well. Thanks for the insights.

Christine Gilbert said...

Thank you for sharing this. I love to hear your thoughts. Hang in there. We love you!

Karin said...

It's fairly obvious why you teach what you teach - you are amazing. I am always impressed with women who have such difficult pregnancies yet they know the worth once it's done so they do it again - I am thrilled for you all and wish it didn't have to be so hard. you have always been a great example to me with your faith, patience, and strength. I appreciated your friendship so much when I was experiencing some trials in my life. I hope there is someone there for you now. I'm praying for you - Karin

Angela Jensen said...

Ahhhh, Sarah. I have about 5 clever things to say about MY memories of that trip, but this post was just too well written for me to say any of them. I have the same print. Hope you feel better soon. Hang in there.

And please! Call me!

Penny said...

Simply beautiful.......

Anonymous said...

You never cease to amaze - or inspire! You really truly are one of the most amazing people I have ever met. I love you!

I think of you often and wonder what I can do for you. I hope that if there ever was anything you would call...

and bunco is just not the same without you. i hope you can make it next time, we have much to catch up on!

Shelly said...

Oh Sarah... well said as always! Hang in there!

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