In my NASB (New American Standard Bible), where it usually says "Be still and know that I am God"--somewhere in the Psalms--it says "Cease striving and know that I am God." I might only like it because I haven't heard it a million times, but I really like it. Until I'm asked to do it, at which point I begin to think maybe it's not so great. I figure every time I can cease striving for even a few minutes, that's something.

I'm signed up for ASP, and probably going to AWP, and I anticipate a lot of saying one when I mean the other. Wasn't going to do AWP until I realized it's the one year I really ought to network. It's late this year, in April, so maybe I'll have a job by then. In that case, I'll just go have fun. ASP (Appalachian Service Project) sounds awful in that beautiful way, with sweat and dirt and probably me crying a lot because I can't hammer right, but somehow those are the times none of us would trade. I love having a lot to look forward to.

One of my friends said she saw a PBS special on Seagrove (not Craft in America, but something old), and I put my hand to my chest and said, "Aww, who did you see?" as if those people are my long-lost friends. Which, in a way, I think they are. Philip said you won't be friends with people you write about after the project is over, but I'm pretty sure I'm still going to be showing up there. Probably less often, but I couldn't stop any time soon. That place is proof that things are basically OK.

Certainty

We had supper club last night. The hosting family has four kids, so most everyone brought theirs, which added up to ten or eleven, all boys. A lot of them looked like they could be brothers, straight blond hair, and a few were even dressed similarly. We had a new family come and were only missing one regular couple, so the cars spilled over into the street for a long way--it was epic. The food was as delicious and mismatched as ever, man are we all good cooks, and people were popping in and out of different seats all night, kids on the floor intentionally grinding crackers into the carpet, others on parents' shoulders or in arms. When we moved outside, the night had us almost convinced it was fall. It's a rich feeling, being surrounded by all that goodness, and these days a feeling that sways into bittersweetness because I don't know how long I'll be able to keep it. Stupid money, stupid jobs, making me have to think about leaving all this. I thought last night, "I want to do this every Thursday," and I didn't feel like I had anything to prove to anyone there, which is rare, and I realized I haven't wanted to move in months. Usually I have an itch under my skin to pack up and relocate constantly, but lately I've felt like stretching out some tentative roots. It's a strange urge for me, the urge to stay put, and of course this is the one time I really might not have that option come May. Even in a good economy, this town doesn't have good jobs for writers, and now, well, I try not to think about it too much. There's a lot I can do from home, though, which may yet save the day.

But even if it doesn't work--wretched thought--even if I have to move yet again despite my certainty, at least I will have for once been sure of something. I can't remember the last time I was so sure. I can't decide on meals, can't commit to a movie, so this sureness, this is something. For what may be the first time, I'm not wondering what I'm missing. I don't wish I were elsewhere. I want to follow this thread as far as it will go, live right here with these people and watch them grow and eat their cooking and laugh a lot so hard the Sunday School across the hall is continually and politely shocked. I think that means I'm growing up. Which is a different problem altogether, but probably not the kind that needs solving.