I've moved!

I'm still writing; you just won't find me here any longer. If you want to keep reading my writing, head over to mollyflinkman.com. I'll keep a cup of coffee warm for you.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

cleave (land)

word of the day: cleave \ˈklēv\ to adhere firmly and closely or loyally and unwaveringly

Here is something I've learned about about myself on a much deeper level in the 10 days I have lived in Cleveland:

I have some social anxiety. 

Take the other day for instance.  I went to our local Giant Eagle (missing you, Hy-Vee). As I stood in the check-out line waiting my turn, I realized that I didn't have a Giant Eagle card.  Can you check out at Giant Eagle without a Giant Eagle card? I wonder how long it will take me to get one after she's already rung up my food and realizes I don't have one.  What if the Giant Eagle Card is a non-factor but my credit card won't work because we keep forgetting to update our address?  Either way, I'm going to have to apologize to the people behind me for the added time.  When I started mentally rehearsing my apology (and sweating), I realized I might have a small problem.

Probably one of two things happened to you while you read that last paragraph (which is 100% true and non-exaggerated, I might add).  You either stopped reading at the third "Giant Eagle Card" reference for annoyance's sake, or you took a sigh of relief knowing that you're not the only one who has ridiculous inner monologue issues.  

There is a point to all of this.  

It's going to take work for me to lay down new roots.  I've been realizing the past few days how easy it would be for me to stay inside our house and never leave.  To exist with my small family unit and never venture much past my own street.  There is rain in the forecast for the next few days which, for someone like me, is a relief because it gives me an excuse to not have to try anything new.  To stay in my bubble.  
The old bubble.  I made Jake take this unfortunate picture with me at 6:30 a.m. right before he left with our janky trailer for Cleveland.  That's right, Jake.  I said "janky."

But, the last time I checked (and I checked), God didn't say, "Stay put, Molly. Be comfortable where you are.  I'll get back to you when you're ready." 

I'm never ready.  
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
Despite my moments of panic, I feel like a blank slate.  A person cut off from distractions and responsibilities; untethered to the comfortable and easy.  

And, I've got to tell you, amidst the sweating and heart palpitations is a layer of anticipation (the good kind).  Because blank slates have the potential to be great things.  

So.  I'll start putting down roots.  I'll adhere firmly.  Closely.  Loyally.  Unwaveringly.

I'll cleave to Cleveland.  
I took this picture on Father's Day.  So far, in the 10 days we have lived here, we've seen the sun about 3 times.  That may be an exaggeration.  Maybe.  

Thursday, June 25, 2015


word of the day: root \ˈrüt, ˈru̇t\ the part of a plant that grows underground, gets water from the ground, and holds the plant in place; the cause or source of something

My parents had to cut a tree down in their yard a few weeks ago.  Said tree had been growing in front of the house since we moved in when I was five.  

Needless to say, I got all “The Giving Tree” about it and made Hannah do a photo shoot with me in front of the tree.  I’m a hopeless sentimental. 

In true Hannah fashion, she turned it into an adventure and made me climb the tree--marking the first and last time I climbed that tree in the 23 years I knew it.  

The tree is gone now. Except it’s not really gone.  A stump remains and an expanse of roots beneath the ground.  

So the word “root” took root in my brain.  

I felt unrealistically sad that this tree (the one I had never climbed) was being cut down.  But, then, as I watched them saw down the stump, I realized that the tree was still there.  You can’t very well tear 30-year-old roots out of the ground.  

And then I moved to Ohio (a phase in my life which will certainly be wrought with more words--some which are already ruminating nicely).  

As I drove away from Des Moines, last week, and in typical sentimental fashion, I listened to the song “Iowa” by Alli Rogers about 8 times in a row (The chorus starts with “Iowa, don’t know how to leave you; don’t know how to tell you goodbye” for crying out loud.  Which I was obviously doing.  And, you will certainly recognize this song if you lived in close proximity to me circa 2006).  

But I digress.  This is the phrase that stuck with me:

My soul is weathered but green
When a storm passes over the roots are unseen  
Until all is laid bare 
And the hope that I needed was already there

It hasn’t fully fleshed itself out in my brain yet, but here is what I know:

It’s hard to pull up roots.  

But hope doesn’t come from the storm that takes away the tree trunk.  It was always there and always will be there if you choose to plant your roots in the right place.  

And hope is what carries you through.