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Saying Goodbye

To my dear dear friends and followers,

Times, they are a-changin’. It seems I’ve just about outgrown this space. Maybe, almost, and well, it doesn’t even matter because I’m moving, regardless. 

This small blog has seen three (more or less) years of my life documented— in photos, words, stories. It’s funny how sentimental I am about this internet space. It houses these past years, these very important years. I have cried through writing some of these, and looking back over them now, I will still cry. I graduated, moved out, tried to be independent, failed, tried to make community, sometimes failed, but also sometimes not. I got better at the independent thing, and I started dating Chris. We got engaged, and eventually married. Now we are newlyweds, and living around our closest friends. 

This story reminds me that a life, even this young, idealistic, fumbling life, can have growth, progress, fruit. And that I could not have planned for my life to be this rich. Truly, these stories humble and encourage me. 

But now, I am moving to here, a new blog. A bit more direction, a bit more tailoring, but still my voice and my heart and my (our) faithful little life. Please keep following. 

Thank you for listening. All my love. 

www.stillhouseblog.com 

missing life

I’m coming, I’m coming back. 

Just not yet. The Kinfolk book project, starting a new job, and life (being married, having a family, committing to my lil’ book club, and a few friends) have been occupying all my time. I’m running on empty, more empty than ever, but working through it. 

More later, and a new space next week (hopefully!). Until then, I’l be here. With my pens and journals and wine for friends. Missin’ you life and all your beautiful distractions. 

fifteen

Our church celebrated 15 years of existence this weekend and I’m proud to say I was there for all of these 15 years. It’s hard not to get nostalgic at moments like this. It’s hard not to count all the ways this place has shaped my life, my family’s life, the life of my friends and the life of the Richmond community at large.

I could say so much about what this place has meant to me, but I will say just this: I was blind, and now I see. I remember kicking, literally, and crying, literally, going to our former church. Our first day at Hope, even as a child, I was engaged, known, cared for. At Hope, I was given a chance at a faith in Christ that is authentic. Not to say that I have not doubted, that I have not wandered to and fro, but without Hope, I don’t know if there would have been anything to doubt, or anything to wander from, because I never would have known. 

It changed the life of the family I grew up in. It changed us into a family with an incredible story of commitment and grace to one another. And, it created this new family. It is where I met my husband, and it is in Hope’s sanctuary that I said my vows to him and to my Creator, in front of a great cloud of witnesses.  

The person you know today, who writes about food and culture and faith and justice, is a direct product of this place— not the building but the community, the ideas, and the challenge that lives amidst the people who belong there. 

My older sister and I, and our husbands (who we both met because of Hope), served on the party planning committee for the 15 Celebration. I cannot imagine a more appropriate way for me to honor Christ in the work He has done in this place, than help to throw a party. A party that felt more like a wedding, an honoring of commitment and faithfulness. A great outpouring of joy; a planting of the Lord, for the display of his splendor. 

isaiah 61.3

A Half Anniversary

This one’s for my main man. On Sunday/Monday we celebrated six months of marriage (because there is no September 31st…). We know it has been a brief stint, a blink in comparison to many of the marriages we encounter everyday. But we are proud. And I am, apparently, unashamed of that pride. 

I often find myself thinking, he is such a better person than I. More caring, more thoughtful, more sweet. Marriage is humbling in that way. But it is also motivating in the same way— because I cannot stay here. I want to be better, I want to be more caring, and more thoughtful, and more sweet. From what I’ve seen of it, in my short 6 months, this is what marriage is good for. Keeps you getting better. 

Not to mention, living every single day with the person that knows you, respects you, and who loves to share a beer with you is, well, incredible. 

[ Sorry for the sappy-sappyness. If I turn in to one of those twenty-something, newly-married, lets-blog-about-my-latte person, punch me. Seriously. Punch me till I wake the hell up. xoxo. ]

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Much to my own chagrin, I did not post on this here blog at all like I was hoping to while we were traveling. Seriously, one post in three weeks?! I, more than anyone, understand this as an affront to my blogging career. Sincerest apologies. Please be kind to me.

That being said, the trip was indeed a whirlwind. And on the tail end, I came down with some sort of noxious cold, a real low point to the whole ordeal. Other than that, I ate the most delicious meals, saw those rolling English hills I’ve been aching for, and met charming people who I now call friends. Writing for Kinfolk is a delight, particularly because the people they work with are a delight. Delightfulness begets delightfulness, I suppose. 

There were  bakers, cheese makers, head chefs, mothers, wives, writers, photographers, food appreciators, and food creatives. My heart was as overwhelmed as my stomach. And having Chris with me for most of it kept me at ease and freed me to enjoy the time, as much for the work as for the sweet marital memories. 

And after all this, I think we may move to England. I have never felt quite so at home in a foreign land as I did hiking through the tall grasses of the English countryside, with a fox terrier by my side. Until we can go back, I will dream about those days and pine pine pine away. And sigh. 

Now, to write, here in my beloved hometown of Richmond. A town I missed dearly. A town that welcomed us back with cooler air, and turning leaves. Oh, she knows us so well. It does feel good to be home. 

copenhagen

So here we are in Denmark! SInce we arrived here two days ago, we have not stopped— meeting people, eating, walking, eating, meeting more people. And me, furiously taking notes. As far as I know, the whole trip will be like this.

The sights here are surreal, and that’s the only word I can find to convey this place. Danish folk talk a lot about openness, about inviting others into your home. About making your home an environment that intentionally fosters connection and warmth. They call it hygge. We, much to our own misfortune, have no word that compares to this. A fellow named Austin, who we ate with last night, wrote once for Kinfolk that hygge “smells like cinnamon and feels like a child’s Christmas.”

They play soft music, light long tapered candles, and linger at the dinner table for hours. This experience is what we came for, and I am beginning to understand it. And while I do think we do this at home, we may not have the language for it.

But don’t worry, we are working on creating one.

Other than this, I miss Richmond. Even after 48 hours, I miss Richmond. It is my home and my place of being known and connected. As I am away, I am convinced more and more that it is a good place, filled with good people, many of whom I am proud to call friends.

And now, more writings, more interviews, more travelings. We have rented our bikes, and now we are (bravely!) going to use them.

PS. I cannot figure out how to get my photos on here from my iPad. Hmmph. Until then, I have been posting some on Instagram, and I will try to do a better job of also posting them here and on Twitter (@becca_parker).

departures

So, tomorrow I leave for Europe. Another trip across the seas. This time with a husband and for a more definable purpose— a purpose other than self-discovery. I will be traveling with my dear Kinfolk Magazine, collecting stories, and putting words to special lives. 

But more or less, it is the start of something new. A symbolic upheaval of my recent life. 

And boy, am I ready. Armed with a comprehensive compilation of Doc Watson songs, and a stash of my favorite pens in my purse, I am leaving. I will come back to Richmond, but lucky for me (and for everyone who has heard me gripe), I am not coming back to the same life. I am humbled/overjoyed/scared/etc. 

Leaving for a few weeks, when you live in rich community, is a hard thing to do. But home will be here when I return. 

I miss you I love you I will see you soon. 

And as per housekeeping: I will be updating this blog (hopefully) regularly with photos and literary snapshots of our time. My favorite man will be joining me, somewhere on the English countryside. So while I will enjoy being fully present to the joys of travel and the struggles of writing, I will try to keep the audience (namely the closest family and friends) updated best I can. 

if i had a boat

My baby girl is leaving for South Africa on Tuesday. Coincidentally, (trips booked weeks/months apart) I leave for Denmark the same day. We both fly to Amsterdam, and arrive in the same terminal, before parting ways. So I can give her one more hug and shed one more tear before she goes deep into the Southern lands for a too-long semester.

It’s funny that we leave together, its a perfect parallel to our year together. Growing so close while living together, then me, getting married, ruining all our fun. She is still a welcome and frequent guest in our home. And when she leaves next week, our home will be entirely less cool, entirely less vibrant. We grew together this year, and we will grow together even if for a few minutes in Amsterdam.

I’m so proud of that girl, my sister. I’m proud to be related to a young woman so full of fire and compassion. I (and my husband) are tremendously sad to see her go, but know that its in her blood to go, and to serve, and to love.

I’ll be counting down the days till she returns, drinks our coffee, and crashes on our guest bed again.

"Such a writer will be interested in what we don’t understand rather than in what we do. He will be interested in possibility rather than in probability. He will be interested in characters who are forced out to meet evil and grace and who act on a trust beyond themselves–whether they know very clearly what it is they act upon or not. To the modern mind, this kind of character, and his creator, are typical Don Quixotes, tilting at what is not there."

Flannery O’Connor, “Some Aspects of the Grotesque in Southern Fiction”

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Our lives are occasionally photo-ops. And even the moments when they are, they mostly pass uncaptured. It’s fine by me, of course, because it means not for a second is one person pulling out the phone, getting the right lighting, choosing the perfect filter.

There are times when I wish I could capture it, just for my own rememberance. That time we were sharing around the dinner table and it was so sweet. That time when we stayed outside drinking wine for hours around the fire. That time we played that game and laughed so hard our stomachs hurt.

This night however, I snapped a photo. And I’m glad I did. It was one snapshot of a larger evening filled with rich conversation and music and celebration. And even looking at this photo, I feel full. Because all that happened this evening, and all the other evenings, is still carried with us. Even if you don’t have a photograph, you still carry it. It still changes you, it’s still with you. I’m so thankful for that.