“L-M-N-P-Q!”
Crash!
Laughter…
“R-K-M-T-V!”
Crash!
More giggles…
It’s Livia, standing in the middle of our bed, calling out letters as she sees them from a framed piece of artwork spelling “Tredway” on our bedroom wall. She spells victoriously, jumps high, and lands in a mess of arms and legs on the mattress. Then she gets up and does it again. And laughs even harder.
Mama called the doctor and the doctor said, No more monkeys jumpin’ on the bed!
The real AFTER shots are on my Flickr account now. Tonight the neighborhood looks and feels different. Somber seems to be an appropriate word.
* I have to note that I took the BEFORE pic awhile back. Check out the centrally located tree and see how it’s grown. Also, in the past few years we painted the front doors a maroon color and some shrubbery succumbed to some shrubbery-type death. Aside from that, the front of the building remained largely the same until last Saturday morning.
When you need a break from the dust of demolition and the fast-paced world of email, a little levity goes a long way. Perhaps that, plus the need to humble prideful adults, is why God gave us children.
I sure do love this kid.
The building of Zion Church, at 9th & D, is going to be demolished tomorrow around noon. See this press release for more details.
Right now I’m feeling pretty sick about all this. I haven’t written much on the blog because I’ve been working steadily on creating/adding content to the new website and taking care of tons of details related to church life. But the gist of my feelings tonight is this: I feel terrible about demolition. It’s like I’m burying an old friend or family member tomorrow at noon and right now I’m simply trying to memorize every wrinkle on his face or recall every time he did something kind for me.
The old church building feels like a friend and I keep telling this competely inanimate structure, “I’m so sorry,” as though I could’ve somehow prevented this disaster.
If I end up seeing my counselor anytime soon, I think she and I will have lots to talk about.
Happy anniversary to my favorite man! Nine years ago we were young pups who didn’t know much about marriage, but we knew we wanted to be together. Jeremy, we’re only begining to mine the depths of true love together. May God bless our union and use us to honor Him. I love you.
Thanks to you praying folk out there. Good news: our sleep situation is improving. We are having less tantrums (Jeremy and me included, heh) and we’re slowly figuring out how to encourage Livia to sleep peacefully at night. This photo truly cracks me up considering that Liv has never been the type to fall asleep in a heap, much less in a heap in the broad daylight. Apparently her nighttime habits caught up to her and there was little I could do Monday afternoon to wake her up!
I jumped at the chance to capture images of Zion after the fire, but still I was fairly anxious at the thought of going on a walk through of the damaged building this morning. I’m glad I didn’t wimp out of this opportunity. I’ve updated my Zion fire Flickr set with the new shots.
Gary Young’s pictures
Keith Ghormley’s shots
Plus, check out this beautiful picture by photographer Alyssa Shukar, taken at the wedding of Andrew & Bethany Hansen. It’s a lovely, lovely view of the new couple and, important after Saturday’s fire, Zion’s foyer.
Right around Livia’s bedtime last night, I saw John Russnogle (fellow Zion member) rounding the corner into our yard with a large ladder. Later when I asked Jeremy about his interaction with John, he told me that we’re storing the church ladder indefinitely.
And then it hit me. Our church building is really gone.
I fell asleep and woke up again to a slideshow of sorts in my brain. Images of the church building click on and off and I try to recall all the details I can. The slideshow didn’t let me fall back asleep after 5:30am, so I threw on some shoes and clothes and rounded the city block for what seems like the millionth time in the last few days.
The east wall gapes open, the shattered innards of the church exposed. A bright red Coleman cooler, part of it at least, is easily visible on the lawn. After a few minutes of peering intently, I realized I could see the bent frame of one of the refrigerators on the west side of the kitchen. Also easily visible from that perspective are the doors leading into the coffeehouse, so carefully and thoughtfully constructed a few years ago, and the door that led from the choir room to the worship hall.
With all three lanes of 9th Street open, for a time at least, I felt an incongruity between the devastation of the church and traffic on the street. For all of us, even those of us who are grieving, it’s Monday, the beginning of a new week. Still, I wonder how many folks can get back to life as usual while I can’t tear my eyes away from my much beloved, now burned church.
I am not without hope, but my heart is greatly grieved. There’s no way to bypass the grief part… so for now my tears will flow.
