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Melissa Zaldivar

Some things are temporary. Some things are eternal.

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About Melissa

Melissa is a dream defender, Truth cheerleader and a lover of Jesus, sandwiches, and all things ordinary. She currently resides in Nashville, TN.

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I am certain that we need the wisdom of those older than us. I am sure that “Okay Boomer” is the kind of attitude that’ll hurt the church. I know that the generations before us are to be valued not just because it’s tradition but because it’s travesty if we neglect them. When I moved back to New England I wanted to join a small group at my church that would be multi-generational. I was raised in a church that had women and men who poured into the younger ones, even though we thought we knew everything. Newsflash: we don’t. We aren’t more aware or more wise or more experienced. We don’t get to write them off because we may disagree. In fact, I have found that these people value the Word of God and kindness and connection more than millennials at times. They write letters and make phone calls and when my friend passed away, one of them asked me to see the program so she could get a sense for what her memorial service was like. She commented on Jill’s beauty and asked if those who shared were siblings or parents or friends. They’ve got a lot of years of noticing under their belts. And though I may not always understand them, and they may not always understand me, they are precious to me. They pray for me. They ask me about my life. They sing hymns and make good cookies. So stop what you’re doing and go thank someone who passed down a legacy of faith.

For the last 11 years, I’ve run a photo company and captured thousands of images from over 40 weddings and countless portrait sessions. It used to take me around 35k miles a year so in recent years, I’ve intentionally slowed down. However, in this new season of vocational shifting, I’ve decided to get back after it. Got a wedding or event or has it been a minute since you got non-phone photos of your kids? Let’s have some fun. I don’t believe in overcharging, photoshopping or fake filters. I just believe in capturing moments both celebratory and simple. Check out my new photography page at the link in my profile, friends. Here’s to getting some last-minute Christmas photos (and helping me pay my rent!) P. S. If you’re in California, I’ll be there around Christmas so let me know if we can snap a few!

People don’t tell you about the both/and nature of New England Winter. About how everything gets covered in snow but then it melts. And the sky’s never seemed so blue. Sure, it’s hovering in the 20’s and 30’s, but when you’re wearing layers, it’s really not a big deal. It’s not like you’re in a tee shirt out here. I find that grief is the same as the cold. It’d be too much if I wasn’t prepared. It’d hurt too deeply and the shivering wouldn’t stop. But if you grab a coat and make space for warmth, it can be survived. It doesn’t make the cold less cold to have a coat, but it certainly helps. So this weekend, the “coat” is breakfast with a friend that puts me at ease, cleaning my apartment, watching the ice melt, listening to good music and decorating for Advent. I’m sure I’ll hit a wall. I’m sure the wind will kick up and my body will feel the freeze of sadness. But that doesn’t mean I can’t stop and watch the river flow or hop out of my car to snag a photo.

Back in New England and we are buried in over a foot of snow. Which means piles around town taller than your car as the plows try to move it out of the way. It also means unburying everything and lots of cardio if you want to go anywhere at all. I got home after midnight and realized I had a counseling appointment this morning at 9am. So with the help of a friend, I unburied my car and today I’ll tackle the stairs and porch because I live on the second floor of a house built in 1900. Today feels like starting a few steps—or maybe miles—back. Gotta dig things out of ice before we can even think of getting anything done. So maybe it’s grace. See, a lot of people don’t get why I’d move here after growing up in California. Why I’d willingly be cold. But here’s the thing: we get to be warmed. We shovel and it warms us up. We insulate our houses better. Everything takes intentionality. In a hurryhurry world, I have to plan to do less and take more time to do it. I will have space to think and process and keep grieving as I move the snow to the side. Time to be thankful for small things like space heaters and wool socks and good gloves and an able body. Winter means effort, and I’m already exhausted, but I know I’ll sleep better and build muscle and everything so white and still is a good view while I begin to sort out what the last 14 weeks have been. So in a strange, worn, bundled up way: Thanks be to God.

Yesterday was Day 1 of Advent. And we gathered together to remember @jillianchristinajoy as the sun started to set over the lake she and @dan_gudim would walk around, dreaming of brighter days. It was tearful and thoughtful and strange and sacred. We didn’t want this day to come, but I’m so thankful to have been able to make the trip to honor one of my dearest people. To laugh and process and cry all the way home. To see college friends and hear about new marriages and jobs and look one another in the eye. Jill was radiant and kind and earnest and her presence was missing in the park and the car and the living room. I kept thinking she was in another room and even could have sworn she walked in but it was always someone else with blonde hair or a small frame. Here’s what I know: facing death at 28 is a horrible thing. Walking with your friend to death’s door is a horrible thing. Looking a widower in the eye and telling him how proud his wife was to be his wife is hard to do. But goodness, we have to show up in grief and say the things our quivering lips don’t want to say. We have to look it up and down, text a few friends for prayer, and go thank God for what we had.

I’ve started this post a half-dozen times. Grief is a stomach punch that knocks the wind out of you. I’m either totally motivated and “fine” or weeping in my car. There’s not much of a middle ground. It’s been five days without Jill and it’s been a minute and also an eternity. I needed to not have to do things this week. When it came time to do, I came up short. I couldn’t make meals. I couldn’t book a flight for the funeral. But somehow, Jesus knew I’d need help. Being single in grief is an advantage in that I can move at my own pace, but it’s a challenge because you don’t have a built in person to care for you. I guess that’s why we need the people of God. This week, someone brought me food and made me eat. Someone said “Let’s book you a ticket” and freed me from having to confirm a flight to say goodbye to Jill. Someone is covering a rental car. Lots of people texted that they were praying in moments I needed it. Don’t stop sending those texts in the coming days and weeks. I was so afraid I’d be alone when I got the news she’d passed. But someone was with me and I reached over and held that dear friend’s hand. And @drewholcombmusic was on the radio in that moment shortly after I took this photo. As the chorus arrived and he sang, “I want you to live forever,” I read a text that said “She’s home.” Christ is near. But His people have been near, too. And that’s been the dearest gift to me: for months that have been and for months to come, this tragedy has not been void of community. Thanks be to God.

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