Wednesday, March 27, 2013

on conclusions and a city of yellow

From the space in between the blinds, I see a full moon shining boldly on a dark, clear night, piercing my eyes, eyes that should be sleeping.  It’s early in the morning, a time I’d never be stirring, but the anticipation…  rears it’s head and it’s weary of me pulling in the reigns, it no longer wishes to be tamed or managed at suitable levels of calm.  The anticipation sneaks in during the last nights and steals me from silent sleep, and in the stillness of the dark, exactly 1,000,003 thoughts are swirling and spinning in my head. 

On March 28, 2010, we arrived in Minnesota in a yellow truck, with our one and a half year old son.  Matt had been unemployed for thirteen months and we never could explain why Minnesota, because certainly, it’s nothing we would have picked.  But, there was a small still moment in the decision process, where our Minnesota? was met with undeniable peace.  And that was it.  So there we were.

It was never a long term thing, we always knew.  We never felt that magic that whispers home, except maybe during a sunrise on the rocky north shore of Lake Superior or in moments by Lake Minnetonka when the sun dances across the rippled water and the wind captured and contented my soul. 

Yesterday, for our last little Minneapolis adventure, we took the kids to the Guthrie Theatre to the Amber room,  an observation deck on the ninth floor that tints the whole city in a shade of radiant yellow.  Just to the right stands the place where Matt worked and just to the left, the flour mill ruins and the beautiful warehouse lofts overlooking the river, where we never did live.  (Although, not without help from an internet scammer, who was just dying to rent their unit to us and only needed X amount of dollars in exchange for a key that would certainly appear in our mailbox.) 

Suspended in a yellow box, we paused and experienced the wonder with our kids, as their eyes came alive with excitement and matching amounts of fear.  Cars, bridges, roads, construction cranes, buildings, the river, everything that is normally so big was tiny below their feet.  As their delight and squeals and endless chatter  echoed through the empty room,   I imagine we allowed the wonder and excitement and fear to sink in too. 

As this chapter concludes, for all the beautiful and perfect, the lonely and restless, the struggles and the belonging that never came, for the long days and longer winters,  this season will always be remembered.  Beyond that, it will always be with us, because it has been so crucial and formative to the people we are and the ones we are becoming.  

On March 28, 2013, we will leave Minnesota with that same undeniable peace that is leading us exactly where we are meant to be.


It’s still dark and the moon still radiant, I’ll just sit in the quiet with the wonder, excitement, fear, and peace for a while before the day begins.


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