My father lives in Colorado now.
He spends this Father’s Day in a new home.
From far away I sit and ponder how
he’ll celebrate this Sunday on his own.
Without his son, who followed him around
learning from his skills and his mistakes–
and now they both are starting from the ground.
They’re freely learning from the risks they take.
Without the girl who’d ask to squeeze inside
his smallest business briefcase just to go.
I still am always looking for a ride–
The man I spend my time with now would know.
Without his youngest, spending one last time
going through the stuff up in her room.
She’ll find new roads to run, new trees to climb.
Her plants will find another place to bloom.
And so will Dad. His roots will pierce the dirt.
His sap will warm, begin to flow again.
May blessing water cause his leaves to perk,
May southern breezes blow in form of friends.
Please, let him know that he is not alone,
although for now that house seems dull and dim.
May Colorado soon be truly home,
And give us days to gather there with him.

Places I have slept in the less than two years since Nate and Hannah got married: A year ago Aunt Ruth and I were talking about how in the year since their wedding, she had only slept in that house on Kalamazoo. In the past year, she has spent one night in Chicago, two nights at my cousins, and three nights at 3184 E. Borchers Rd. I’ve still got her beat.

1. Dordt dorms
#. Did we sleep at Hofland’s that week ever?
2. 3184 E. Borchers Rd.
3. Emily’s in Michigan, a road trip with Amy.
4. South Hall. Was it room 24? I don’t know, that was a long time ago.
5. Reading weekend at 3184 E. Borchers Rd. I sang Fernando Ortega’s Don’t let me come home a stranger as I drove there.
6. My first time in a hostel, downtown Chicago, for the humanities festival.
7. Thanksgiving in Pella
8. Christmas vacation in Pella
9. and that house on Kalamazoo
10. and at 3184 E. Borchers Rd.
11. Interim in Phoenix. We camped. It was very cold.
12. It was so cold that one night we stayed in a Motel 8. That was great.
13. And back in South hall. I had been gone for a month, and we moved all the furniture around, so it counts again.
14. Easter in Pella. I hitchhiked back, in a strange way.
15. And Tulip Time. I rode with the guy I hitchhiked with the first time.
16. 3184 E. Borchers Rd. For about 48 hours. I left a moving mess for mom. Good practice.
17. Hofland’s, the night of Derek’s grad party.
18. Lynch’s, in Idaho, about twenty hours after meeting Ryan and hopping in his car.
19. Glacier Dorm. Paradise, really. But still depraved. But I still miss it.
20. Camping in that one valley. It’s a good thing Emily could come.
21. Pastor Willy’s. That was some fun Dutch bingo.
22. Johnny and Christina’s. Ryan almost forgot that I wasn’t even twenty-one. I’m still not.
23. Shelbi’s dorm. Saying goodbyes.
24. 3184 E. Borchers Rd. Mom grabbed my legs and shaved them.
25. Tibstra 33. That number. Not my favorite semester. It kind of got squished.
26. Reading weekend at that house on Kalamazoo
27. and Anita’s house. Dude, a house. Imagine.
28. Chicago humanities festival in that hostel again.
29. Thanksgiving in Pella.
30. Christmas at 3184 E. Borchers Rd.
31. and that house on Kalamazoo
32. and Pella.

And this is where it starts getting crazy.

33. New Year’s morning in a transatlantic plane.
34. One night in a hostel. Too much luggage for three narrow flights of stairs.
35. The Kirkwoods. They made London great.
36. Camarma. I had my own bathroom.
37. Calle Olivares, 3-1 A.
38. The empty hostel in Algeciras. Creeptastic.
39. The hostel in… Jerez. Hehe, that’s funny. I had to look that up in my journal. I didn’t even know we’d been to Jerez. That was back when all pueblo names just sounded like exotic Spanish words.
40. The hostel in Granada.
41. The other room in the hostel in Granada because we had to make two separate bookings because Alaina went home before all the hiking.
42. The hostel in Lagos.
43. The bungalow in Lisboa.
44. The hotel (what luxury!) in Toledo.
45. The hippy hostel in Granada, with a view of the Alhambra.
46. The cabin in Trevélez, where Rachel and I confirmed that we were the parents.
47. The pension in Matalascañas. We could’ve invited a couple friends, because we didn’t even use the beds.
48. The bus to Madrid.
49. The hostel in Rome. Yes!
50. I slept for a good twenty minutes at Rachel and Gretchens house. But don’t tell.
51. The hotel in Grazalema. Sharing a Spanish size single.
52.The bus to Madrid.
53. Camarma. It is good to return to a place.
54. The bus to Madrid, and a little more on the transatlantic flight.
55. 3184 E. Borchers Rd.
56. Hofland’s.
57. Johnny and Christina’s.
58. Lynch’s. It was easier to find the second time.

59. Sol Duc Hot Springs Resort employee dorm. I’m sitting here on my bed (my second since I’ve gotten here), trying to tune my ears towards the children shouting “Marco” and “Polo” in my backyard and away from the Sex and the City that one of my four roommates is watching. Aromas waft up from the kitchen below. Mountains stand on each side of this place, and clouds cover it over.

It’s hard to get enough sleep here, with all the things that surround me. But still I say, “I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.”

I hesitate to admit it– here, amidst the mountains, in the thick, mossy forest of the Olympic Peninsula, forty-two miles from the nearest grocery store and almost as far from any cell phone reception: I have internet access. After I type this from my perch high on my bunk in the small room I share with five other college girls, I will bring my laptop to the lounge, plug in the ethernet cable, and put this on the internet.

Why don’t I want to have internet? Because I just want to be here. I want to focus on my tasks here: my job (busser), my friendships (still to be formed), and my ministry (not only leading the Sunday morning worship services in the ampitheater between this dorm and the campground, but being a light in this group of seasonal workers).

I don’t want to have internet just because last summer we didn’t have internet. I am pathetic.

And I don’t know if I’ll blog as much. Don’t expect it. This summer will be defined by the people here, their standards, what they do… and how I react. My written reactions will be in my journal, not on the internet.

Please pray a lot for me.

I can’t believe it is already the end of the semester. Today is my last day of class. I don’t want to go. I hate saying goodbyes.

I looked up ‘goodbye’ in my journal, hoping to learn from things I learned before. A song that doesn’t have a tune yet, from March 9:

I hoped and I prayed
for you to be
there with me.
I couldn’t do it without you.
While at the moment
of each prayer
you were there
and everywhere else, too.
Because there’s nowhere to run,
nowhere to go,
nowhere under the sun
where you aren’t already.

You were already here
when I landed.
Before I planned it
you knew I’d be coming.
You were ready and willing
to let me know
wherever I go
I won’t be running.
Because there’s nowhere to run,
nowhere to come,
nowhere under the sun
where you aren’t already.

You are back at my house
with my sister.
How I miss her,
But I know she understands
that you’re still with the ones
I hugged goodbye.
Don’t have to cry.
You will be there when I can’t.
Because there’s nowhere to stand,
nowhere to stay,
nowhere in any land
where you aren’t already.

You are there where I’ll go.
All my plans
are in your hands.
You will never be surprised.
What peace and amazement
that you know
where I’ll go.
I couldn’t hide if I tried.
Because there’s nowhere to run,
nowhere to travel,
nowhere under the sun
where you aren’t already.

You’ll be there when I leave.
On the plane
you will sustain.
And you’ll prepare my heart
to be as ready as can be
to go home.
I’ll always roam,
But from my home in you I’ll never depart.
Because there’s nowhere to run,
nowhere to go back,
nowhere under the sun
where you aren’t already.

When we went back out into the waves, they were crashing harder, as if there was something bothering them. They were the kind of waves that don’t mind if you smack them right back. The punching commenced: the first few punches just because it felt good to throw all my strength into one thing, and then a punch with the shout, “And that’s for making me leave Spain!” That brought up anger further down: “And that’s for making me leave Mount Rainier!” Then a punch for not knowing Spanish yet. Then more personal punches: “And that’s for making me leave…” There were tens of names I wanted to enter, and as the waves kept coming no matter how hard I hit them, I kept naming friends. I hurled at least five punches for having to leave Rachel, then dove beneath the waves, hoping the Atlantic ocean would make up for the tears I can’t seem to cry.