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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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Since quarantine started, we’ve gotten leaves. And a whole lot of them. Nothing too profound except to say that there was a time we thought winter would be forever. Don’t know what you’re convinced is too much or not enough, but I’m here to say: new seasons are coming. You can tell Jesus all you want that it’s too much for Him to cover, but you don’t see what He’s going to bring to life (or what He’s gonna prune to get things to blossom.) Give it time. It’s not the right season yet. Thanks be to God.

I’m hearing it from all sides out of the mouths of my friends who are white: I have black friends. I’m not a racist. I read (book title about reconciliation here.) Do we not realize that each of those responses is actually defending OURSELVES? That’s not advocating for our brothers and sisters. That’s trying to escape any kind of uncomfortable position on our end. And on the other side, people are making excuses to keep silent. And the worst of it? They hide behind the Bible and say things like “this is just social justice.” And as someone who loves the Bible and studied it for a freaking long time in original languages and everything like a nerd, I gotta say: don’t drag that mess into this. Don’t disrespect a God who brings actual justice by saying He’s only interested in the parts of scripture that make you feel good. Talking about race isn’t undermining scripture, it’s applying it and being held accountable. Stop responding with why YOU are in the right and start talking about how horrific it is that so much wrong is happening. You know what’s uncomfortable? Being chased on your morning run and gunned down for no reason. Or someone kneeling on your neck as judge, jury and executioner while others shout for your life to be spared and you breathe your last. Jesus didn’t die for some of us to be better off. He didn’t suffocate for us to stand by as someone does. He was well aquatinted with grief. And our brothers and sisters of color deserve a whole lot more than we are giving. And honestly: it’s a privilege in and of itself to be able to practically dismiss these events and pretend they’re not happening. We confess. We repent. And we speak out against racism, acting out our faith in a God who reigns with complete justice, advocating and elevating the voices of our friends of color because it’s what we were made to do. Not because it makes us woke.

You know that thing when you have @christynockels hair vibes and you have to document it? When the world feels like chaos but suddenly a good hair day happens (probably because I accidentally did conditioner twice yesterday 🙄) and it’s worth taking your annual selfie? Look: a lot is going on. And a lot feels weighty and uncertain. But also? 80’s hair. And frankly: so much has felt so very serious in my life lately and something lighthearted is like manna. It’s enough for today and it won’t last til tomorrow, so a selfie and small celebrations feels like a big win. Here’s to coming up for air. Thanks be to God, amirite?

Shortly after Jill got sick, I drove to Santa Barbara. I’d been visiting family in my hometown on the central coast of California. I headed south for a meeting but stopped off to process and journal and pray and ask God for a miracle. 80 days or so later, she was Home. I watched the weather go from warm to cold over those days and things went from summery to snowy. The winter felt appropriate for those early days of mourning. One night, during the early warm weeks, I sat in a friend’s driveway on the phone with Jill. I told her that if this cancer recurrence ended her life we would be mad and we would be sad and it would take a long time to heal. But I told her also that she would be just fine. I told her I’d be low-key annoyed if she got to meet Jesus first. And I told her that by the time she looked around and started to take it all in, we would be there, too. Time works differently in eternity and I’m thankful. When she died, I felt the slowness of grief. It was minute by minute. But when I remembered that today marks six months, it also feels like we were just on the phone, making plans for Eternity. I didn’t understand—and I still don’t comprehend—how time works. But I sure am glad it goes slow and fast all at once. Slow enough to soak in all those years of moments with Jill and fast enough to be full of Grace. There is certainly grace in the way these months have flown by slowly. So here’s to the weather warming again. Here’s to Jill and her ability to bring a smile to anyone’s face. For a long time after she passed, I couldn’t get her weary and pained voice out of my head. But now, six months later, I almost only hear the voice of Jill when she was healthy. Usually it’s her laugh. And that’s how it’ll be when we meet again. Thanks be to God.

A friend called me tonight and made me talk. Made me process and lament and question and be mad. And it gave me a firmer grasp. So I grabbed my keys and I headed out to the sea. I don’t know what these days hold. Yesterday was a good day. Today was a bad day. Maybe tomorrow will be something in between. I’m relearning the rhythms of actual, white-knuckle, moment-by-moment living. I threw a rock into the ocean because I can and my hand cramped for a bit afterward but I can still hear the ker-plunk of it hitting the water. And look! The leaves are almost all back on the trees. And that’s enough for tonight. Thanks be to God.

Thanks for your prayers. Keep em coming. I could tell you about allllll the unknowns that have been muting my social media or I can show you this: Little mercies. Flowers from a friend’s garden. A new cookbook. New England in spring. Enough for today. Thanks be to God.

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