Here. Chair.

Hi. My name is Kari and I used to blog a few times a week, for over two years. One day it stopped. Not that the feelings I had went away, or that I didn't have words to articulate said feelings.

I think in some ways I changed.

Something shifted. Something stopped making sense.

So instead of articulating my way through what no longer made sense, or making small talk... I just quieted. I retreated. I fell silent, and took refuge in becoming removed, away from over exposure.

Not to say that I'm back because to say that I feel an obligation to recommit to what I'm not sure I'm ready for, though I did tell my friend Julie today that I would start blogging again, so I'm here. Not back. Just here. That's easier.

You might be wondering "Where is here?"

Well physically I am in Oregon. Far removed from civilization, and neighboring town Antelope with a population of 37 (that's what the sign said, so I believe it). I am not in an entirely unfamiliar place, though it is new. I am nestled into the comforting leather chair that belongs to Andrew Piper that moved here for his new position with Young Life and their camp hidden in the Canyon of this most beautiful landscape.

Two weeks ago today I boarded a plane to visit this Andrew Piper person, whom has been written about consistently on this blog for two years, so if you don't know him, but have read me- then you and Andrew/Tex go way back. I was supposed to visit, hang out in Seattle on a road trip, then a week or so later pack back up, board a plane, get home and move four days later to Indianapolis. Suffice it to say, that didn't happen. Well, the part of visiting, the road trip to Seattle, and packing up did happen. I didn't board a plan thanks to an act of Jesus with Delta, and since I've been here working through what the next steps of life are, now some things are on hold.

I know, I know... ambiguous and not specific. Truth is, if you know me right now you know exactly what I am talking about- and I suppose I find comfort in leaving it at that.

I'm learning a lot.

The view from this room is breathtaking, and on the arms of this chair are two patches I stitched to the leather to repair the wear of time before it and its owner moved all the way out here. I hated this chair when Tex lived in Lexington. It was comfy for awhile, but I'm a little short for the high back to be able to snuggle in an comfortable angle. I also preferred the couch- spacious and accommodating and after awhile I broke up with the chair for the couch, and would argue with Tex about where I'd sit when we'd watch TV or play Tiger Woods. Now, its different. I think the truth is, everything is different. Except... the two patches that remain on either arm of this caramel colored, weathered, worn, wonderfully broken in piece of furniture. My fingers trace over the seems of red thread and I remember praying for where it was going as I spent time piecing it back together before its move. I prayed that Tex would be able to rest in the chair, that he would remember to take me with him on the journey, I thought quietly about how the patch and stitches would hold the broken leather below, and prayed that the Lord would hold us close and sweetly in the transition and change.

Sitting here four months later, and all that I know since getting here I amazed at the resiliency we can attain for those we love. It's been a great time in Oregon, full of exploration of new city skylines, and back roads. But it has also been a time in which I have been forced to be open and vulnerable in a relationship I have desired so dearly to be focused on Christ. It has been a struggle and exhausting, and I often wondered how much longer I can go while being so tired. I can't say for certain how I feel about the day, or moment- except that I am humbled greatly by the strength and support built into my friendship the past two and a half years with Mr. Piper as we determine and pursue the future. It's an extraordinary time. I'm thankful for it.

On hold. Waiting.

I feel a lot like this chair. Weathered, worn, beautifully broken in, and used as a safe place to rest with affection, faith, and truth. It's scary when moving forward not to bring doubts and fears, and pain or resentment from the past into the present moment. To trust boldly and bravely that we are desired to be intimately in love with our Creator, and with those chosen to walk through this life we are able to see that in a tangible and beautiful way. The stitches, the patches, the wears and tears... are part of the story.

I sit here. With you, whomever has chosen to find their way back to me in this place- wishing to tell you that the silence has been golden, and while I determine my footing in the moment, know that I am well. I am open. I am hopeful. And most of the time- just freaking excited about what is to come.

Plane will come Sunday night. This time I'm going home. But everything, and I mean more specifically, myself then topical details, is different.

And that's all I've got today. Probably see you tomorrow.