Simple, but complicated, too.

It’s the simple things. 

I used to imagine my life being tragically romantic & sublime—a one bedroom apartment overlooking a city-scape. A struggling artist who worked a day job to keep her passions alive at nighttime. A musician, an actress, a singer, a dancer… something exciting & unordinary. I assumed I would barely scrape together rent each month as my (fictitious) spouse and I lived off passion & pure luck. I fantasized a life where I would never quite feel as if I belonged, though I would belong to my art (must be my enneagram 4). I dreamed of a life that was tragic, flawed, complex, and full of a sorrow that made life seem joyful. I envisioned a marriage where I loved more than I would ever be loved in return. A life that may or may not produce children. A life that was lonely… but somehow lovely. Whatever my life was… I knew it was going to be exceptional, and anything but simple. 

But it’s the simple things that changed everything. 

It was a boy in a mall in basketball shorts that made me realize there may be more to love than heartache, and more to life than being misunderstood. It was a church in suburbia that made me question whether or not a lonely city was actually the desire of my heart. It was an encounter with a Jesus who loved me for all the puzzle pieces (scattered as they may be) rather than a Jesus who expected me to clean up my act before coming to the Altar that made me take a second look at my lens of Faith.  It was the simple things that shifted a tragically romanticized outlook on life into an outlook that inspired living. An outlook that inspired consistency. 

It’s complicated, though. 

If 20 year old me could see where I am now, she would probably tell me that I’ve sold myself short—she would ask me where the tragedy was. She would ask me where my passion went. She may pity me, even.  If I could tell that girl anything, I would tell her there was nothing wrong with her tragically romantic vision of her future, but it wasn’t what her heart actually needed at all. More than an impassioned love story, she needed a love that was constant. She needed someone who would look her in the eye and tell her he didn’t need any fixing. She would need someone who could make her feel brave enough to make the choice to love a career and love her babies too. She would need a person who would let her have her crazy, but make sure her feet hit the pavement in the morning rather than staying in bed for days at a time. She needed to meet Jesus: Raw, Real, Unconventional, and Un-pretty. She needed a home, a place to belong, a place to be known. She needed to look in the mirror and understand… 

It was simple. 

It was a choice. 

But it was complicated too. 

It was indeed wild & free, just not in the way she might have expected. There was something exceptional about choosing to live a seemingly ordinary life because when she looked herself in the eye, it was clear… that was the life she wanted. Un-tragic as it may appear. Un-exciting. (Maybe her definition of those very words merely needed shifting) 

I am still both people: I am a tragic romantic, but I am also a lover of joy & the every day ordinary thing. I live and breathe art (because art is in everything, you will never convince me otherwise), but I am still up at 6am with both my children making breakfast and drinking cold coffee. 

It’s the simple things now that make my marriage full of passion: A surprise vacuum of the house, an extra cup of coffee without being asked, sitting on the couch reading and not saying a word because we don’t have anything to prove. It’s the nights out, but also the nights in. It’s the stupid bickering over details that frankly neither one of us actually care about. It’s laughing at something one of our kids did, and wishing for a night away (until we actually get away and all we talk about is the kids). 

It’s spending every day at the feet of Jesus, knowing that in my overwhelming weakness, His strength is made perfect. It’s in the Presence of all I don’t know that I find peace, belonging, and the freedom to be known. It’s standing in worship…. All the puzzle pieces, jagged edges and all, and living every day surrendering to the fact that this life is but a vapor, and I refuse to spend it trying to impress anyone with my exceptionality—even if the hardest person to convince a the end of the day is the 29 year old looking in the mirror. 

I am both people. 

I love the simple. 

But

I love the complexities too. 

-Rachel