"We laugh to remind ourselves that we are not machines. . . Laughter is our very protest against a tragic world. . . ."

So much happens in just a few days around here. We have co-mingled lives and they are heavy and poignant. So much happens.

The Beehive Collective came, represented by David. The turn out was small at the actual presentation but the experience was perfect and I think enough people came. Our little knot of individuals sat close and nodded vigorously. My sister, brother, and his girlfriend came down. I don't think that they actually enjoyed or agreed very much at all, but it was nice to see them and, actually, kind of nice to have a dissenting voice. Later, David wandered Waco. We showed him the farm and he spent a while talking with our village store interns who were really excited about selling posters and things. This is good. After that, TJ took him out to the remains of the branch davidians, who are apparently living and well. And fascinating.

THEN, we all met at Bangkok (the favorite restaurant), all thirty of us, and waited for Justin to show up with Jessica which he did. And then he proposed. And they are engaged. And we all celebrated with dinner. And good times.

Then, I met up with my new friend Matt for what, it turns out, was our first date. Or something similar. I am pondering this new situation.

Then! I got a text message very early this morning saying my best friend had just gone into labor with her first child. No word yet on that one. I've heard these things can take time. But, ideally, by tonight we will have a new baby boy to celebrate.

This has been a heavy, busy two days and it promises to be a similarly crazy weekend.

Life! We are living.

We celebrate our sense of each other

We watched the Corporation at the farm on Monday. A strong, smart, difficult documentary. Watch it. Think new things. I am.

I have been playing guitar for hours daily. I have been complaining for months now about needing a new hobby. I had one all along. Thankfully, TJ is gone a lot which means I have free access to his instrument.

We had a wonderful house meeting on Tuesday. Our house +. I'm not sure what to call it. We are going to do this more and I am so glad.

Sufjan Stevens changes everyones lives. I often selfishly wish I was the only one who felt this way. He speaks true things.

"Use my hands to use my heart.
Even if I died alone.
Even if I died
alone."

On Tuesday, after school, Mayada had volleyball practice, which left me with Jeffery alone. Jeffery had a flag football game at 4:30, his first as starting quarterback, and he was incredibly excited. We rushed home to get him a snack then loaded back into the car and rushed over to the field . As I dropped him off I said,
"I have to go pick Maymay up from volleyball but we will hurry and come back as soon as we can to watch you play. Okay, kid?"
"That's Kiddo to you!" Jeffery hollered as he tumbled out of the car.
I often call them kiddo. I think this is going to work out.

Being a research assistant is turning out to be pretty hard. I need a boss to be accountable to, I think. I have never been a very good self starter. Plus, as far as the women we are calling are concerned, we're just telemarketers, and no one likes a telemarketer. We are running into lots of interesting obstacles.

Waco has been the recipient of some beautiful weather lately. A week of seventies and blustery afternoons makes me grateful for being alive. Our garden is thriving. I am blessed to live with three people who know how to love and tend a garden. It seems so easy at the farm and here in our front yard, but I'm not sure I could have done this by myself.

Two of our chickens turned out to be roosters. When we got them they were so young and scrawny it was hard to tell. We suspected, but thought that maybe there was a chance that they were just hilariously scrawny hens. However, Old Warsaw and Mr. Bultitude have blossomed into beautiful, strutting, proud roosters. We're trading them in for two more hens. Its a pity to lose animals who have already become so beloved and well named, and introducing new hens could be a little rough on our flock, but the benefits of having two more layers sort of outweigh any objections. We've only named three of our hens, and one name is in contention, so I am hoping that these new ladies show some personality (and defining traits).

This has been my first full week working all three jobs. My boss at Starbucks is becoming one of my favorite people simply for the compassion he shows for me. He has a lot of employees to keep track of but I know that he keeps me and my crazy life in mind when he makes the schedule. Today he said something along the lines of trying to give me every other morning off so that I wouldn't get burned out. It is appreciated.

I've been praying about telling the Boltes that I can't nanny for them for a while, at least while I am working for Baylor. Jessica really needs some extra money, and would be a prefect nanny (shes done it before for years and years) . The only thing stopping me is that I haven't worked for them for very long. I feel badly ducking out this soon.

One of the most beautiful things in my life is this: TJ walking up to me and quietly handing me a book of poetry open to the appropriate page. Charles Wright. Scar Tissue.

So, in summation, my life is good and I enjoy it.

Though you wander...

I am home.

Our little house is bursting with belongings. We are going to get it all sorted out sometime soon.

I visited my beloved farm today and found it much changed.

How to explain?

I love this farm with a love that does not change with time. I am jealous of the people who are soaking in its splendor. I am torn between a gratitude for all that has shaped me in the last year and a desire to share it and have it shared, and an envy of those who are experiencing it all for the first time. What is it about we peoples that makes us cling so tightly to experiences that, of necessity, are passing us by? I have learned what I was to learn, I have become who I was to become, and in my vacating the farm I have opened a place for another to come and learn and be changed. This is glory. This is the kingdom.

The landscape is surprisingly lush. The corn towers above me and the pomegranates are ripening on the bush. The road is dusty and the grass is brown and yet, even in the midst of a Texas summer we see bounty. I know this bounty comes from the sweat of the brow and the hard work of the hands. Isn't it beautiful to see Gods people at work? There is no clearer analogy, no more blatant picture of the kingdom of God than the beginning, middle, and end of this farm.

Ah.

So I am home. I had a good time in Atlanta with my sister and her roommates. There were myriad attempts to convince me to stay, to move to Atlanta, to garden there, build community there, work there. But how could I? There is life there. Yes. There are people there. There are the more mundane and less romantic things like Starbucks' there as well.

But I have this.

A goat named Eleanor

My move off the farm is in progress. It is progressing in that I have moved most of my belongings to our new house but am still sleeping, showering, and eating at the farm. We won't have electricity until Monday. That and I don't own a bed. When I say things like that people say, "Why don't you get a bed." And I say, "I'm too young to own a bed." Which they, rightly, think is ridiculous statement. But really.

Today Jessica and I spent about four hours researching paint colors, an hour and a half playing in Lowes, and two hours actually painting. Our house is amazing.

We are going to have a party, a Party Attack in fact, in late June after Jess gets back from India and I get back from my all encompassing trip to the east coast. Look forward to it.

Also, Triple had triplets. Patrick, Barrett, and Eleanor.

Gillian and I make on hell of a team

I am preparing for moving off the farm. Jessica and I signed a lease and we move into our new house, which is beautiful, on the 15th. After all the up-in-the-airness and indecision it is nice to have a plan that I am happy in and with. However... I am leaving the farm.

People always ask me what I am planning on doing next, and I am always saying that I don't know, or lying and saying that I am planning on going to school. Maybe thats not a lie, or not always a lie, but it feels like one right now. This reoccurring question and answer session has led me to the realization that in this farm and these people I have found the fulfillment of most of my dreams and desires.

The sky in Texas is immense and during the change over between seasons (spring and fall being change overs more than seasons here) there is nothing stopping the big, burly wind from shouldering its way down our farm lane. It blusters here. The wind dances crazily around your ears and through the leaves of that one amazing cottonwood until all you can hear is ocean waves and you forget that you are in the middle of the prairie.

We all sit outside on the grass. Someone (probably David) pulls out a frizbee and starts tossing it around. Communal, non-competitive sports. We sprawl, barefooted and tan, laughing at Toby, coaxing Elliana to walk from one set of arms to another. We cut each others hair. Eventually, as the sun begins its lazy decent the guitar is brought out only to be monopolized by Toby's awkward, not quite three-year olds arms. The skies blue sinks into orange, the orange into pink, the pink into purple, and the purple into a velvety black, blanketed with stars.
"Its amazing how clear the sky is even though the highway is just over there."
"This farm is magic."

Dear World Hunger Relief,
For all the hours of sunshine; for the patience to walk along side me as I grew; for the enlightenment and encouragment; for every hour of earned sleep and every bite of earned food; for the breaking down of numerous walls and the building up of uncountable strengths; for being the best model of heaven I have yet encountered; for the creation of best friends; for biceps and hamstrings; for lentils and quinoa; for these past nine months;
thank you.