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4/19/12
4/10/12
{a black hole ate my brain}
Some days, I am feeling super peppy. I feel like I could conquer the world with my mind. Like I ate some magic beans that filled me with joy and thoughts and creativity and scribbles of happiness and newness that the world must know about. Then these beans made me explode and brain vomit creativity and prettiness into the universe. The first stages of this process look like this...
But I think that my beans were stolen, and that an angry and vengeful black hole (who is obviously angry because he is a black hole...duh...his life is sad) came and munched on my creativity. And stole it away, forever gone into the abyss of the universe....nom nom nom.
3/26/12
{enough right now}
Though I am neither poor, nor a widow, today I find something in me resonating with the widow in Luke 21.
As Jesus watches the people whose lives are full, rich, seemingly complete, only offer up part of what has been given to them, only offer a portion of their blessing back to God, he catches a glimpse, from the corner of His eye, of a widow.
Usually, if I am being honest, I would say I more identify with the ones who held on too tightly to their money and possessions. The ones who clenched their fists around their blessings; strangling what was once a life giving quality out of them and twisting them into odd replacements for their worship and devotion.
Usually, if I am being honest, I don't offer back very much of anything that has worth or value to me.
Side by side He sees this widow and the rich, standing, opening their palms to reveal not just coins, but their trust, what they value, whom they love, their worship. Waiting to drop all of this into a treasury in sacrifice to their God. He sees this woman, most likely dressed in modest, worn out clothing. Possibly dusty from her travels, most likely bearing the lines of loss on her face; most likely with a bit of heart ache lingering in her eyes.
Ten weeks may not seem like much to most of you. It may not seem like something that feels like second after second dragging, ticking, trickling on at a snail pace. But the past ten weeks of my life certainly felt like all of that. Jared and I found out we were pregnant at a measly 3 weeks along, and we spent the following weeks alternating between joy and panic. We vacillated between sheer excitement and total fear. We planned, we read, we told people who we wanted to be praying for our little baby, and we waited, ever so impatiently, for our ten week appointment to see and hear that little prune sized baby.
I never understood how attached women got so early in pregnancy, but the minute that baby wasn't on our ultrasound, I felt my heart splinter and the shards of it connect with every mother who has ever miscarried that small life within them. I understood in one instant how there are, quite literally, no words to help someone understand, unless you have been through it. There is nothing to explain, to yourself or anyone else, why it hurts so much, why you're heart breaks so quickly, why you suddenly feel like you failed.
It may not have been a baby to anyone else, but it was a baby to us. It was a person, a life with a heart and a soul. And for just a few short weeks, God let it be mine and Jared's. No matter how small the amount of time you spend with your baby, it matters. It always matters. And although many who have never experienced this can't understand, it is so hard to open your palms and give what feels like your last two coins back to God.
I am the woman with the two coins this time. I am poor in spirit always, but I often forget until something reminds me. I am not sure that I would have been by choice, but here, now, this feels like everything. Trusting enough to be all in, to release my grip on what I thought was mine, it feels like everything.
It isn't much to give, of the blessings I have received. Just an aching heart and an empty womb. But it is enough for right now.
As Jesus watches the people whose lives are full, rich, seemingly complete, only offer up part of what has been given to them, only offer a portion of their blessing back to God, he catches a glimpse, from the corner of His eye, of a widow.
Usually, if I am being honest, I would say I more identify with the ones who held on too tightly to their money and possessions. The ones who clenched their fists around their blessings; strangling what was once a life giving quality out of them and twisting them into odd replacements for their worship and devotion.
Usually, if I am being honest, I don't offer back very much of anything that has worth or value to me.
Side by side He sees this widow and the rich, standing, opening their palms to reveal not just coins, but their trust, what they value, whom they love, their worship. Waiting to drop all of this into a treasury in sacrifice to their God. He sees this woman, most likely dressed in modest, worn out clothing. Possibly dusty from her travels, most likely bearing the lines of loss on her face; most likely with a bit of heart ache lingering in her eyes.
He sees her, and I hope she smiled, even if just a little, as she offered up her two copper coins, next to the many that others around her were heaping in. He sees her and He says:
“Truly I say to you, this poor widow put in more than all of them; for they all out of their surplus put into the offering; but she out of her poverty put in all that she had to live on.”
Ten weeks may not seem like much to most of you. It may not seem like something that feels like second after second dragging, ticking, trickling on at a snail pace. But the past ten weeks of my life certainly felt like all of that. Jared and I found out we were pregnant at a measly 3 weeks along, and we spent the following weeks alternating between joy and panic. We vacillated between sheer excitement and total fear. We planned, we read, we told people who we wanted to be praying for our little baby, and we waited, ever so impatiently, for our ten week appointment to see and hear that little prune sized baby.
I never understood how attached women got so early in pregnancy, but the minute that baby wasn't on our ultrasound, I felt my heart splinter and the shards of it connect with every mother who has ever miscarried that small life within them. I understood in one instant how there are, quite literally, no words to help someone understand, unless you have been through it. There is nothing to explain, to yourself or anyone else, why it hurts so much, why you're heart breaks so quickly, why you suddenly feel like you failed.
It may not have been a baby to anyone else, but it was a baby to us. It was a person, a life with a heart and a soul. And for just a few short weeks, God let it be mine and Jared's. No matter how small the amount of time you spend with your baby, it matters. It always matters. And although many who have never experienced this can't understand, it is so hard to open your palms and give what feels like your last two coins back to God.
I am the woman with the two coins this time. I am poor in spirit always, but I often forget until something reminds me. I am not sure that I would have been by choice, but here, now, this feels like everything. Trusting enough to be all in, to release my grip on what I thought was mine, it feels like everything.
It isn't much to give, of the blessings I have received. Just an aching heart and an empty womb. But it is enough for right now.
1/30/12
{lessons}
I am finding, these days, that 9 times out of 10, if I am not at peace with someone else's decision
it is usually because, deep down, I am not at peace with my own.
I question based on them, rather than based on God.
I am finding, these days, that conflict as an adult is inevitable because we are all uniquely created and flawed. Getting along isn't the goal, but peacefulness and assuredness is.
Peace and assuredness in our likeness as children of God,
the understanding that we are different and yet necessary for the whole portrait of God's family.
I am finding, these days, that to hear God, you must understand that just because a Christians says it, doesn't make it true. Wise counsel is pertinent, yes, but not more so than the Bible or the seeking/asking of the Holy Spirit to move. Or to speak. These, in stillness, are the places God resides.
The three must be intertwined.
Feelings are deceptive.
Only God knows your heart.
I am finding, these days, that imagination is necessary to help people see the story of God. Not simply where it is now, but where it is going. That we must exist between the resurrection and the vision of things to come in a messy world. That imagination and art help us go deeper, understand things that cannot be spoken, and see God's heart in ways that cannot be summed up in theology.
Yes, imagination and art are crucial to our faith.
Whether we dream them up or experience what others have dreamed up.
1/25/12
1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?
Went to Cancun. Planned a whole retreat for high schoolers.
Went to Cancun. Planned a whole retreat for high schoolers.
2.Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I have no idea what I resolved to do last year. This year? Slow down, enjoy. Live more simply in the way I spend my time and money by staying on the budget, using my calendar.
I have no idea what I resolved to do last year. This year? Slow down, enjoy. Live more simply in the way I spend my time and money by staying on the budget, using my calendar.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
yes, beautiful.
yes, beautiful.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
My great grandmother.
My great grandmother.
5. What countries did you visit?
Mexico
Mexico
6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?
Peace in chaos. More time spent on relationships, less on the excess.
Peace in chaos. More time spent on relationships, less on the excess.
7. What dates from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
January 27-31: First real vacation in adulthood
January 27-31: First real vacation in adulthood
February 11-13: First retreat planned and executed flying solo
March 5: Tessa passed
April 4-8: Inner City Indy Mission trip...revolutionizing
April 26: William Fitzsimmons concert, perfect night.
July 22: first photography faceplant.
September 14-15: Chi-town to see Brosious with some good friends.
October 3-6: Funfetti
November 4: civil wars
December 14: I turned 25...
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Hmm...not so sure about that one. But I did learn a few invaluable lessons, so maybe gaining wisdom? I dealt healthily with anxiety and conflict for the first time. I learned the importance of growing in your weakness and trusting in God to be sufficient in them. I think that my mind has become more open rather than closed...so that is good. I have learned to see the flaws of the church and love and live in it despite and even when it is hard. I have begun learning to appreciate what makes me who I am and to live fully alive in that.
Hmm...not so sure about that one. But I did learn a few invaluable lessons, so maybe gaining wisdom? I dealt healthily with anxiety and conflict for the first time. I learned the importance of growing in your weakness and trusting in God to be sufficient in them. I think that my mind has become more open rather than closed...so that is good. I have learned to see the flaws of the church and love and live in it despite and even when it is hard. I have begun learning to appreciate what makes me who I am and to live fully alive in that.
9. What was your biggest failure?
Neglecting the important relationships in my life, but mostly my relationship with Jared. Putting it last on my priorities.
Neglecting the important relationships in my life, but mostly my relationship with Jared. Putting it last on my priorities.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I am always sick. And apparently I had a fake\not fake illness for a few months. ??
I am always sick. And apparently I had a fake\not fake illness for a few months. ??
11. What was the best thing you bought?
Tickets to see William Fitzsimmons
Tickets to see William Fitzsimmons
12. Where did most of your money go?
loans, house payment.
loans, house payment.
13. What did you get really excited about?
Going to Cancun/Visiting the Keystone for Jared's 25 birthday celebration
Going to Cancun/Visiting the Keystone for Jared's 25 birthday celebration
14. What song will always remind you of 2011?
Death in it's Grave - John Mark McMillan Beautiful Girl // If you would come back home - William Fitzsimmons
Death in it's Grave - John Mark McMillan Beautiful Girl // If you would come back home - William Fitzsimmons
15. Compared to this time last year, are you:
– happier or sadder? Happier. – thinner or fatter? Same. – richer or poorer? Same.
– happier or sadder? Happier. – thinner or fatter? Same. – richer or poorer? Same.
16. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Intentional time with my husband, and time in peace to worship.
Intentional time with my husband, and time in peace to worship.
17. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Facebooking and watching TV
Facebooking and watching TV
18. How did you spend Christmas?
We spent it at home this year, with just my mom and brother. It was quiet but NOT uneventful!
We spent it at home this year, with just my mom and brother. It was quiet but NOT uneventful!
19. What was your favorite TV program?
Parenthood, Psych, How I Met Your Mother
Parenthood, Psych, How I Met Your Mother
20. What were your favorite books of the year?
Covenant and Kingdom ( ), Bittersweet/Cold Tangerines ( Shauna Neiquist).
Covenant and Kingdom ( ), Bittersweet/Cold Tangerines ( Shauna Neiquist).
21. What was your favorite music from this year?
William Fitzsimmons, Black Keys, Civil Wars, Phoenix, Jimmy Eat World, Mumford and Sons, Hillsong
William Fitzsimmons, Black Keys, Civil Wars, Phoenix, Jimmy Eat World, Mumford and Sons, Hillsong
22. What were your favorite films of the year?
hmmm did I see any new movies this year? True Grit maybe?
hmmm did I see any new movies this year? True Grit maybe?
23. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Went out to dinner several times with good friends. I turned 25.
Went out to dinner several times with good friends. I turned 25.
24. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Not worrying so much about things and not letting what other people think determine what I think.
Not worrying so much about things and not letting what other people think determine what I think.
25. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?
hipster/artsy/casual
hipster/artsy/casual
26. What kept you sane?
Good TV, good conversations with friends and mentors, and a sane husband. Oh, and my pups.
Good TV, good conversations with friends and mentors, and a sane husband. Oh, and my pups.
27. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011.
You can't ever really quit learning.
You can't ever really quit learning.
1/12/12
{bitter and sweet can exist simultaneously}
Dear future me,
You are currently about to enter another time known as a learning experience. It may begin to feel like an anxiety attack, a period of darkness and question. It may feel like stretching, like joy and excitement at open possibilities. It might sometimes feel like insecurity and doubt; confusion sometimes accompanied by answers, sometimes maybe not.
The point is, you have two choices.
You can choose to float around being all half-hearted and unintentional. You can choose to be a victim of circumstance, you can choose to be lazy and selfish and think of how much this hurts or how hard it is. You can close your front door and never leave your living room. While you practice the art of comparison, you can belittle yourself for absolutely no sound reason. You can sit your little tush down and choose to watch your life and opportunity pass you by and proceed to make bitter or sad comments as you live in what might have been.
You can keep looking at the picture of the life you have always thought would be and hold onto it for dear life, but you might someday be only left with that picture. You can choose to suffocate.
Or.
You can turn and face it intentionally. You can open up your mind and your spirit to growth. You can listen well and speak little. You can believe that you are not defined by your circumstance, but by what you do in that circumstance. You can seek wisdom in this time of change and accept what you can and cannot do. You can open up your heart to the hope you have that life is a journey and what makes it exciting is the not knowing what, but always knowing the who. You can be grateful each day for what you are, where you are coming from and the people you have around you. You can experience life authentically and fully and invite the bumps and confusion in as companions of coming to know yourself and your God more. And with intention you can choose to let this be a teachable moment that you cherish and remember, that you gain wisdom and truth from, that shapes you into a better woman and refines you in a way only this circumstance can.
You can let that picture you have been holding onto so tightly float to the ground. You can let it morph or change like a hologram. You can quit painting pictures, actually. You can choose to live.
So, as you approach the end of something, let it be known to yourself, it could also be the beginning of something else just as great, if not more so. Let it be life giving change, not a ticket to suffocation and stagnancy. We all know how well that (didn't) work out last time. And don't forget to remind yourself that you are worth more than that, whatever low bar of worth you are measuring yourself by, throw it out, because it is bigger than that. Worth is so much more than what you go through, and the journey is the best part.
You have two choices...
love,
former self.
You are currently about to enter another time known as a learning experience. It may begin to feel like an anxiety attack, a period of darkness and question. It may feel like stretching, like joy and excitement at open possibilities. It might sometimes feel like insecurity and doubt; confusion sometimes accompanied by answers, sometimes maybe not.
The point is, you have two choices.
You can choose to float around being all half-hearted and unintentional. You can choose to be a victim of circumstance, you can choose to be lazy and selfish and think of how much this hurts or how hard it is. You can close your front door and never leave your living room. While you practice the art of comparison, you can belittle yourself for absolutely no sound reason. You can sit your little tush down and choose to watch your life and opportunity pass you by and proceed to make bitter or sad comments as you live in what might have been.
You can keep looking at the picture of the life you have always thought would be and hold onto it for dear life, but you might someday be only left with that picture. You can choose to suffocate.
Or.
You can turn and face it intentionally. You can open up your mind and your spirit to growth. You can listen well and speak little. You can believe that you are not defined by your circumstance, but by what you do in that circumstance. You can seek wisdom in this time of change and accept what you can and cannot do. You can open up your heart to the hope you have that life is a journey and what makes it exciting is the not knowing what, but always knowing the who. You can be grateful each day for what you are, where you are coming from and the people you have around you. You can experience life authentically and fully and invite the bumps and confusion in as companions of coming to know yourself and your God more. And with intention you can choose to let this be a teachable moment that you cherish and remember, that you gain wisdom and truth from, that shapes you into a better woman and refines you in a way only this circumstance can.
You can let that picture you have been holding onto so tightly float to the ground. You can let it morph or change like a hologram. You can quit painting pictures, actually. You can choose to live.
So, as you approach the end of something, let it be known to yourself, it could also be the beginning of something else just as great, if not more so. Let it be life giving change, not a ticket to suffocation and stagnancy. We all know how well that (didn't) work out last time. And don't forget to remind yourself that you are worth more than that, whatever low bar of worth you are measuring yourself by, throw it out, because it is bigger than that. Worth is so much more than what you go through, and the journey is the best part.
You have two choices...
love,
former self.
1/4/12
{it's ok}
I spent most of my morning the other day crying on the couch. It was actually a cry of relief. The kind of cry you have when that loved one who was in a perilous situation made it out ok, and maybe even better than before. That near death moment that you escape last second and unscathed (for the most part) kind of cry. I realized both are true, because I feel like I have spent three years watching my spirit die, my soul shrivel up, and my life fade from being any sort of promising kingdom changer. And yesterday, I saw all three escape in the nick of time. Mostly unscathed, somewhat ragged and leaving me asking myself how I got here.
In the midst of a season of longing for answers, seeking clarity, and almost resorting to talking to myself in the mirror in hopes that it is another person and they will respond in the deafening silence, I am beginning to see it's ok.
Clarity and knowing can steal the joy from life. And in the gap where joy and peace should reside we fill it with other thing to define ourselves by. In the longest of silences, I have never shut up enough to actually listen. But clarity isn't the point. Clarity isn't the journey, it isn't the adventure, not the story I have been invited to be a part of. Knowing only means I know, but it cannot complete me in any way.
Something about 24-25 opens and closes so many of the doors I imagine in the hallways of my mind. The insecurities of adolescence seem to drift away, distant and foreign, but are replaced by the insecurity of definition. When you're 18 it seems who you are becoming is an adventure full of joy and discovery. As you grow older, the pressure builds to have an answer, to define yourself by what you do and who you know. To define yourself by success in numbers, knowledge and direction. Discovering the world around you is no longer a journey, but a daunting task to complete that is full of haunting insecurities and is like chasing the light. You'll never arrive.
It's ok.
In some ways, my desperate attempts to figure it all out has made me whore myself out to every cause, Biblical teaching, mission organization, job possibility, creative idea, and new fad that has popped into my range of vision. I find myself grabbing at anything and everything that promises definition, security and fulfillment. I pride myself in things that, in my pathetic definition of adulthood, make me look smart, put together and wedge myself right into that dark little place of allowing everyone, everything, and every word shake, shatter and re-define me. In all of this; in opening every beckoning door, in seeking to define myself standing alone and strong, I have never been more weak.
I have collected definitions for myself, like a creepy hoarder, stealing and hiding thing after thing, job after job, word after word, friend after friend to tell me who I am. Tell me where I should be. I keep yelling at God to shut up but stay close. That I don't believe Him but I can't let Him leave. I keep asking for what I want, but never acknowledging that I actually have NO idea what I want, or what I even need.
And so I cried yesterday, because after months of building bitterness as walls around my crumbling spirit. After spending months holding it together, trucking through life, snapping at everyone, and freaking out internally on a regular basis like a spaz, I froze.
I shut up.
I quit running.
I gave up.
I quit trying so hard.
I gave up trying to figure all this stupid annoying stuff out.
I gave up asking. Wanting, dying in the worst way I can.
I shut up and said, I can't. Not anymore. I just. Can't. Do. It.
I just don't care about any of this anymore...I just don't. And I can't make myself...
I froze for a second of time and said out loud: "God. I can't do this. I am pressing the reset button. Can we start over?" I know i can't erase what has lead me here, but I can clear the battle field. Of the things that are strewn across it, I can take out the parts that don't mean anything, that draw my attention, that subtract instead of add. And I can be renewed. Isn't that what starting over is? It is never forgetting, just clearing the battle field. It is re-starting, re-kindling.
And I cried because of this...words that are drawing me back in with the wonder, the beginning when I first stepped out into all of this. Gently, freely and refreshingly.
I was never dying, I was changing. I know it isn't over, I am not foolish enough to think this is the end. I am not foolish enough to believe I will understand, or gain some ounce of knowledge. I am not foolish enough to believe that this is all gone, solved in one small moment. But I am just foolish enough to believe things are changing, that God is beckoning me, and maybe just maybe He is inviting me back in a new way, a way that celebrates instead of despises me. I am just foolish enough to believe that...
it's ok.
In the midst of a season of longing for answers, seeking clarity, and almost resorting to talking to myself in the mirror in hopes that it is another person and they will respond in the deafening silence, I am beginning to see it's ok.
Clarity and knowing can steal the joy from life. And in the gap where joy and peace should reside we fill it with other thing to define ourselves by. In the longest of silences, I have never shut up enough to actually listen. But clarity isn't the point. Clarity isn't the journey, it isn't the adventure, not the story I have been invited to be a part of. Knowing only means I know, but it cannot complete me in any way.
Something about 24-25 opens and closes so many of the doors I imagine in the hallways of my mind. The insecurities of adolescence seem to drift away, distant and foreign, but are replaced by the insecurity of definition. When you're 18 it seems who you are becoming is an adventure full of joy and discovery. As you grow older, the pressure builds to have an answer, to define yourself by what you do and who you know. To define yourself by success in numbers, knowledge and direction. Discovering the world around you is no longer a journey, but a daunting task to complete that is full of haunting insecurities and is like chasing the light. You'll never arrive.
It's ok.
In some ways, my desperate attempts to figure it all out has made me whore myself out to every cause, Biblical teaching, mission organization, job possibility, creative idea, and new fad that has popped into my range of vision. I find myself grabbing at anything and everything that promises definition, security and fulfillment. I pride myself in things that, in my pathetic definition of adulthood, make me look smart, put together and wedge myself right into that dark little place of allowing everyone, everything, and every word shake, shatter and re-define me. In all of this; in opening every beckoning door, in seeking to define myself standing alone and strong, I have never been more weak.
I have collected definitions for myself, like a creepy hoarder, stealing and hiding thing after thing, job after job, word after word, friend after friend to tell me who I am. Tell me where I should be. I keep yelling at God to shut up but stay close. That I don't believe Him but I can't let Him leave. I keep asking for what I want, but never acknowledging that I actually have NO idea what I want, or what I even need.
And so I cried yesterday, because after months of building bitterness as walls around my crumbling spirit. After spending months holding it together, trucking through life, snapping at everyone, and freaking out internally on a regular basis like a spaz, I froze.
I shut up.
I quit running.
I gave up.
I quit trying so hard.
I gave up trying to figure all this stupid annoying stuff out.
I gave up asking. Wanting, dying in the worst way I can.
I shut up and said, I can't. Not anymore. I just. Can't. Do. It.
I just don't care about any of this anymore...I just don't. And I can't make myself...
I froze for a second of time and said out loud: "God. I can't do this. I am pressing the reset button. Can we start over?" I know i can't erase what has lead me here, but I can clear the battle field. Of the things that are strewn across it, I can take out the parts that don't mean anything, that draw my attention, that subtract instead of add. And I can be renewed. Isn't that what starting over is? It is never forgetting, just clearing the battle field. It is re-starting, re-kindling.
And I cried because of this...words that are drawing me back in with the wonder, the beginning when I first stepped out into all of this. Gently, freely and refreshingly.
I was never dying, I was changing. I know it isn't over, I am not foolish enough to think this is the end. I am not foolish enough to believe I will understand, or gain some ounce of knowledge. I am not foolish enough to believe that this is all gone, solved in one small moment. But I am just foolish enough to believe things are changing, that God is beckoning me, and maybe just maybe He is inviting me back in a new way, a way that celebrates instead of despises me. I am just foolish enough to believe that...
it's ok.
"I am the Lord your God...
I go before you now.
I stand beside you,
I'm all around you.
Though you feel I'm far away
I am closer than your breath
I am with you more than you know.
I am the Lord your peace,
No evil will conquer you
So steady now your heart,
come into my rest.
11/15/11
{why I burp, forget to shower, and adore flowers}
I loath fake things. A part from my years of obsession with Barbie and Ken's awesome relationship, created by none other than myself and my scary little imagination, I cringe in the presence of human plastics.
My distaste for human plastics has caused me to go a bit overboard...but more on that later.
What, you may be pondering to yourself, is human plastics? No, I am not thinking of lifesize barbie, rubber bands, or any type of prosthetic. I am not even referring to the ever popular lunch mate Tupperware. What I mean by human plastics are the people who, at some point much like me, created a comfy little plastic shell for themselves. One that projects what they perceive others want them to be, want from them, or think makes for a successful, stable, and well-rounded human functioning in the world.
Human plastics like to dance around issues like they are a fire and we are all cavemen, incapable of saying what we need to communicate in any way other than scowls and smiles. That is until we can't take it anymore and we get angry and start brandishing our clubs at one another.
And for some reason, though I have been trained by a culture that continues on this weird merry-go-round of not actually talking about anything and viewing vulnerability as weakness, I have managed to put my club down and hop off.
I don't mean to sound judgmental, so if it seems that way, I apologize, but, I just can't have one more conversation that doesn't mean anything. I can't dance around the fire and never have a REASON to have the fire in the first place. I can't only communicate by holding my tongue and scowling. And it makes me cringe to see other people caught in a place where allowing themselves to be a window is unacceptable.
As much as we like to say we are learning to be who God created us to be, or we are figuring it all out, usually what we mean to say is: "We're all just trying to manage the tension between hiding most of what we are; what we are passionate about and what makes us feel really alive, and looking the part we are expected to in our cultural norm. No matter what part of the culture we are talking about, it usually sounds something like that. Whether American business culture, family culture, church culture...we're always working so hard at fitting in, being unnoticeable, and not rocking the boat so that people believe we are under control and good citizens who recycle and appreciate people who shave on a regular basis. (side note: I acknowledge this is an extreme statement, and I am not saying standards are necessarily bad, in fact some are really awesome!)
We spend so much energy trying to be "well-rounded" that we end up becoming confused or bland. We lose spark, we lose touch with ourself and our God. We feel forced into some kind of a plastic shell, no matter where we are, and when we speak out against it, we are considered crazy, ungrateful, un-balanced, too emotional. But rarely ever is this act of defiance against the expectations considered a beautiful picture of someone really working to be who God has called them to be. Rarely is this seen as encouraging, or inspiring. Not until it pays off...in the very end. We envy and adore the people who manage to do this. I know I do...
I have such a deep need for you to know me, but mostly to allow you room to feel safe to be KNOWN.
And because I so desperatly want people to be FREE in Christ (now don't confuse this with doing what you want. Freedom in Christ, I believe gives us our identity which then causes us to be obedient and submissive to our God, which in turn gives us true freedom in our identity....etc etc. This is the merry-go-round I want to be on...) I sometimes overcompensate with excessive and unnecessary vulnerability. But I want people to flourish, and open themselves up so badly. I want people to love God in a way that inspires others, instead of making others want to take a nap of join a gang of cavemen.
So I burp, loudly. Long and drawn-out-like. Man-bear like. In public, with lots of people listening. I drink beer(s). And I'm a fan of not showering...in moderation of course. But I also love flowers...I love beauty and art. I love honesty, wherever I can find it. In color, nature, humor, and in dirt, burping and flowers. I love to defy what people expect from me, a white, middle class, twenty something living in a nice neighborhood, working at a church, married....I want there to be more to ALL of us than just that.
It's like trying to look in a window, but someone wallpapered it with magazine pictures and words that have nothing to do what's inside. I just want to punch in the window and get to the inside. I want to see what's on the inside. And I will burp until you let me...
My distaste for human plastics has caused me to go a bit overboard...but more on that later.
What, you may be pondering to yourself, is human plastics? No, I am not thinking of lifesize barbie, rubber bands, or any type of prosthetic. I am not even referring to the ever popular lunch mate Tupperware. What I mean by human plastics are the people who, at some point much like me, created a comfy little plastic shell for themselves. One that projects what they perceive others want them to be, want from them, or think makes for a successful, stable, and well-rounded human functioning in the world.
Human plastics like to dance around issues like they are a fire and we are all cavemen, incapable of saying what we need to communicate in any way other than scowls and smiles. That is until we can't take it anymore and we get angry and start brandishing our clubs at one another.
And for some reason, though I have been trained by a culture that continues on this weird merry-go-round of not actually talking about anything and viewing vulnerability as weakness, I have managed to put my club down and hop off.
I don't mean to sound judgmental, so if it seems that way, I apologize, but, I just can't have one more conversation that doesn't mean anything. I can't dance around the fire and never have a REASON to have the fire in the first place. I can't only communicate by holding my tongue and scowling. And it makes me cringe to see other people caught in a place where allowing themselves to be a window is unacceptable.
As much as we like to say we are learning to be who God created us to be, or we are figuring it all out, usually what we mean to say is: "We're all just trying to manage the tension between hiding most of what we are; what we are passionate about and what makes us feel really alive, and looking the part we are expected to in our cultural norm. No matter what part of the culture we are talking about, it usually sounds something like that. Whether American business culture, family culture, church culture...we're always working so hard at fitting in, being unnoticeable, and not rocking the boat so that people believe we are under control and good citizens who recycle and appreciate people who shave on a regular basis. (side note: I acknowledge this is an extreme statement, and I am not saying standards are necessarily bad, in fact some are really awesome!)
We spend so much energy trying to be "well-rounded" that we end up becoming confused or bland. We lose spark, we lose touch with ourself and our God. We feel forced into some kind of a plastic shell, no matter where we are, and when we speak out against it, we are considered crazy, ungrateful, un-balanced, too emotional. But rarely ever is this act of defiance against the expectations considered a beautiful picture of someone really working to be who God has called them to be. Rarely is this seen as encouraging, or inspiring. Not until it pays off...in the very end. We envy and adore the people who manage to do this. I know I do...
I have such a deep need for you to know me, but mostly to allow you room to feel safe to be KNOWN.
And because I so desperatly want people to be FREE in Christ (now don't confuse this with doing what you want. Freedom in Christ, I believe gives us our identity which then causes us to be obedient and submissive to our God, which in turn gives us true freedom in our identity....etc etc. This is the merry-go-round I want to be on...) I sometimes overcompensate with excessive and unnecessary vulnerability. But I want people to flourish, and open themselves up so badly. I want people to love God in a way that inspires others, instead of making others want to take a nap of join a gang of cavemen.
So I burp, loudly. Long and drawn-out-like. Man-bear like. In public, with lots of people listening. I drink beer(s). And I'm a fan of not showering...in moderation of course. But I also love flowers...I love beauty and art. I love honesty, wherever I can find it. In color, nature, humor, and in dirt, burping and flowers. I love to defy what people expect from me, a white, middle class, twenty something living in a nice neighborhood, working at a church, married....I want there to be more to ALL of us than just that.
It's like trying to look in a window, but someone wallpapered it with magazine pictures and words that have nothing to do what's inside. I just want to punch in the window and get to the inside. I want to see what's on the inside. And I will burp until you let me...
10/26/11
{because today is all we have}
my love,
because today is all we have, I want to be reminded why I chose you if we get tomorrow.
we fought the other day. we big time fought. we "almost-slept-on-the-guest-bed" fought. we wrestled up every last ounce of energy from our wits end, our long days, our deep need to simply just be with each other and our frustrations, and we word-vomit fought.
but today I am glad. today I am thankful for that fight.
Today I was reminded that at 17, the year before I met you, I had no intention of loving anyone...ever. I was reminded of my distrust, my independence, my ability to hide behind flirting, non-committing, and humor. but you saw through that...
today I saw our memory box, and the book of photos I made you from our first year.
I saw the 3-D glasses we have from our date to Meet the Robinsons. I saw the pages upon pages of letters you wrote to me. I found the pipe cleaner heart you made and hung from my rearview mirror when you borrowed my car freshman year. I found the tickets you made me for our first christmas, the ones that looked just like real Wicked Tickets. Only we didn't go that year, remember? We forgot...so we went when we got married three years later instead. My heart felt full, whole, and light.
Two days ago we drove home from you mother's house, and we listened to the playlist I made especially for us. Well, it was really for me. Because music+how much I love you+giddy feelings in the first year=feeling like I was literally the luckiest most loved girl in the world and nothing would ever make me sad again.
We listened to the song I first put on repeat (much to my roommate's dismay) when I began to fall in love with you. And I remembered the scariness of wanting to be with someone so much but the fear of it not being reciprocated. The fear of you finding me out and changing your mind, but in my heart knowing you were like the little bear's porridge: just right.
We listened to our first dance song from our wedding. I remember that day how LONG that dance felt! We didn't like everyone staring at us, because you, like me, would rather have our friends surrounding us in the fun than watching us have it. I remember knowing that I had never met someone who loved people more than me until I met you. I remember knowing I had never met someone more peaceful and kind than you.
And I remember how easy it was to trust you...
that had never happened to me before.
So I am glad we had that fight. Because it means I still trust you, possibly more now than ever. I let you see my uglies...and me super uglies. It means we still believe we are worth fighting FOR. It means that I know, in the deepest part of my heart, you love me with unconditional love that blows me away. Love I could never earn or deserve, so I feel safe. And I trust you.
And it means you will never let me sleep in the guest room, becuase at the end of the day, we are still one. Even when we may not want to be.
so...because today is all we have, I wanted to remind you why I chose you, even in the middle of a fight....
because today is all we have, I want to be reminded why I chose you if we get tomorrow.
we fought the other day. we big time fought. we "almost-slept-on-the-guest-bed" fought. we wrestled up every last ounce of energy from our wits end, our long days, our deep need to simply just be with each other and our frustrations, and we word-vomit fought.
but today I am glad. today I am thankful for that fight.
Today I was reminded that at 17, the year before I met you, I had no intention of loving anyone...ever. I was reminded of my distrust, my independence, my ability to hide behind flirting, non-committing, and humor. but you saw through that...
today I saw our memory box, and the book of photos I made you from our first year.
I saw the 3-D glasses we have from our date to Meet the Robinsons. I saw the pages upon pages of letters you wrote to me. I found the pipe cleaner heart you made and hung from my rearview mirror when you borrowed my car freshman year. I found the tickets you made me for our first christmas, the ones that looked just like real Wicked Tickets. Only we didn't go that year, remember? We forgot...so we went when we got married three years later instead. My heart felt full, whole, and light.
Two days ago we drove home from you mother's house, and we listened to the playlist I made especially for us. Well, it was really for me. Because music+how much I love you+giddy feelings in the first year=feeling like I was literally the luckiest most loved girl in the world and nothing would ever make me sad again.
We listened to the song I first put on repeat (much to my roommate's dismay) when I began to fall in love with you. And I remembered the scariness of wanting to be with someone so much but the fear of it not being reciprocated. The fear of you finding me out and changing your mind, but in my heart knowing you were like the little bear's porridge: just right.
We listened to our first dance song from our wedding. I remember that day how LONG that dance felt! We didn't like everyone staring at us, because you, like me, would rather have our friends surrounding us in the fun than watching us have it. I remember knowing that I had never met someone who loved people more than me until I met you. I remember knowing I had never met someone more peaceful and kind than you.
And I remember how easy it was to trust you...
that had never happened to me before.
So I am glad we had that fight. Because it means I still trust you, possibly more now than ever. I let you see my uglies...and me super uglies. It means we still believe we are worth fighting FOR. It means that I know, in the deepest part of my heart, you love me with unconditional love that blows me away. Love I could never earn or deserve, so I feel safe. And I trust you.
And it means you will never let me sleep in the guest room, becuase at the end of the day, we are still one. Even when we may not want to be.
so...because today is all we have, I wanted to remind you why I chose you, even in the middle of a fight....
10/18/11
{i want to be a giver of life}
I want to be a life giver not taker. I want to enrich and nurture, not drain and dry.
I want just a small portion of that piece of Jesus to pour out of me everyday.
I want to touch things and watch them heal, not break them and watch them whither.
So today I pray that I am a giver of life.
"If there is still sin to any degree in one who is indwelt by the Holy Spirit, then there is tension, yes, contradiction, within the heart of that person.
Indeed, the more sanctified the person is, the more conformed he is to the image of his Saviour, the more he must recoil against every lack of conformity to the holiness of God.
The deeper his apprehension of the Majesty of God, the greater the intensity of his love to God, the more persistent his yearning for the attainment of the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus, the more cautious will he be of the gravity of the sin which remains and the more poignant will be his detestation of it."
-John Murray (paragraphing John Piper @ Desiring God)
10/11/11
{of which I am afraid}
For some reason I have spent most of my life poised, ready, clenching my body into a steel statue of fake bravery, ready for the worst. And the rest of the time that I am not attempting to mutate into a Hummer or a tank (Transformer style) I am attempting to medicate and numb my fear with a variety of "oh so healthy" fillers and things.
For as long as I can remember, I have never been able to be alone. Not with God, not with myself, not with a mouse, not in a house, not on a boat, not with a goat... (copyright Dr. Seuss). Being the youngest, you would think I was blessed with permanent playmates, but no. I ended up desperately fending for myself most days, to try and win friends. When left alone, I would create my own friends. No, not imaginary or invisible friends. My stuffed animals, duh. They became my children, my students in my school, my friends, my companions. I created a world of imagination where people who always liked me existed. Where I was meaningful. Where I was never, ever alone.
My family knew, without a doubt, I was starving for attention. Mostly because I am a born performer/creativist with a deep need for approval and conversation. Also because the worst thing they could ever do to me was put me in time out. I doubt I have ever been more depressed than the five minutes I spent alone with my moms creaky wooden chair and blue wallpaper. You might even say this was the darkest "hour' of my life.
Being told to go play by myself was like sentencing me to a desert with no water or sandals. Painful, desolate, and seemingly stretching time into an eternity.
The other day, a friend of mine asked me a question that struck this chord, then plucked at it and played it for quite some time. It keeps haunting me because, I think I already knew the answer deep in my heart.
For as long as I can remember, I have never been able to be alone. Not with God, not with myself, not with a mouse, not in a house, not on a boat, not with a goat... (copyright Dr. Seuss). Being the youngest, you would think I was blessed with permanent playmates, but no. I ended up desperately fending for myself most days, to try and win friends. When left alone, I would create my own friends. No, not imaginary or invisible friends. My stuffed animals, duh. They became my children, my students in my school, my friends, my companions. I created a world of imagination where people who always liked me existed. Where I was meaningful. Where I was never, ever alone.
My family knew, without a doubt, I was starving for attention. Mostly because I am a born performer/creativist with a deep need for approval and conversation. Also because the worst thing they could ever do to me was put me in time out. I doubt I have ever been more depressed than the five minutes I spent alone with my moms creaky wooden chair and blue wallpaper. You might even say this was the darkest "hour' of my life.
Being told to go play by myself was like sentencing me to a desert with no water or sandals. Painful, desolate, and seemingly stretching time into an eternity.
The other day, a friend of mine asked me a question that struck this chord, then plucked at it and played it for quite some time. It keeps haunting me because, I think I already knew the answer deep in my heart.
"What would it be like to just be alone with God?"
I stammered. I spluttered. I attempted to use my gift of words to make up some crappy fake answer. Take note that this came after a period of mandatory 5 minute silence. This was a rough outing for me.
I couldn't answer. I had nothing. Well...that isn't true. I didn't want to answer. Because I knew, all along, that being alone meant there was an opportunity to be "found out". And there is nothing I fear more than people really knowing me in my deepest, scariest parts.
Being alone means there is empty space for my brain to expand, and if any of you know anything about me, my brain confined is already scary enough. It doesn't need any room, because giving it room is like letting a wild horse that was taken captive run free again. Rampaging, scary, afraid, determined to run down any form of reason.
Allowing my brain room to expand means thinking. Thinking means fixating. Fixating means anxiety. Anxiety means self-loathing. Self-loathing means destructive behavior and anger. Anger means pushing people away because, in reality, I know I am not so great.
Anger means being honest with God about who I am and what I think. Anger means there are things that I do that God hates, and sometimes things I know I should be doing that I am not.
Allowing my brain room to expand means thinking. Thinking means fixating. Fixating means anxiety. Anxiety means self-loathing. Self-loathing means destructive behavior and anger. Anger means pushing people away because, in reality, I know I am not so great.
Anger means being honest with God about who I am and what I think. Anger means there are things that I do that God hates, and sometimes things I know I should be doing that I am not.
Allowing my brain to expand means self-examination, confession and repentance, change, and needing grace. It means admitting things I can't do, and apologizing for when I try. It means really facing the pieces of myself that absolutely disgust me. It means staring anxiety itself in the face. It means looking at fear and trying to say "I don't believe you" (when I secretly still do...). It means acknowledging the ways I have let people down, fallen short, hurt the ones I love the most, and sinned outrightly against the will of my one true love; God.
So you see, being alone is the thing I fear the most, because of the place it leads me.
Although I will forever be a people lover, needer, obsessor for life, although I will ALWAYS be more energized by talking, relating, and just plain being with people; a small part of me knows that there is a piece to that which comes from my deepest fear.
So maybe I need to learn how to give myself adult time-outs. Maybe I need to take my toe over that self-inflicted line and step into my fear altogether; to learn to be alone with God.
10/2/11
when things change.
I am self admittedly a lover of all things change.
I love fall. Not only because of the much needed relief from Indiana humidity that pastes the very wind to my skin like a wet suit. But because I get to watch leaves change brilliant and unashamed colors of red, gold, yellow and orange. I get to watch trees transform and shed for the coming winter months.
I usually get antsy about once every three months. Antsy for something to be different. This will often result in a hastily made hair dye decision. Or disaster. Take your pick. Or it involves rearranging the furniture. Or starting a craft (usually never finishing it).
I take long drives, and usually end up creating new ways home just so I don't feel so stuck. Sometimes I purposefully miss my house just to keep driving and feel like I am doing something different.
I always try to find new places to eat, drink, and be merry. You know, the usual cliche.
I get bored easily, especially with routine. Mundane, normal life. Details. Schedules. These all make my eyelids want to pick up a match and set themselves on fire. If they had hands, I am convinced that somedays they would actually do this. Fortunately for my eye balls, as well as the rest of my body, they do not.
I can always be depended on to change the plan. To live in spontaneous land, ruled by feelings and whims. Some call it flaky, I call it life.
But recently I have began to see that as much as I live and thrive in the chaos of indecisive whimness (yup, just made it a word)...there is one place that picks at my very heart when it comes to change. One place that takes every ounce of flexibility, understanding, love and patience. Things that usually come natural, but in this one place are more rare than unicorns.
I never. Ever. Know what to do as people change.
Weird, right? Alien life form weird. Talk about a punch in my brains face. I, the queen of cool, the master of go with the flow, the ruler of the land of indecisive and change. I, the least likely to have a plan, the most likely to wing it and rebound in flying colors. The best on the spot decision maker and non-regretter. I don't know how to live while the people around me change.
I wish I could say I am all calm and supportive and positive. That I root for it, encourage it and love it. That I celebrate it with every turn. That I want to write songs to it and make it a cute hat for christmas.
But I hate when change comes knocking on my door in the form of people I love.
I suddenly get awkward. I lose all social skills. I revert to the verbal competency of a four year old and can't find my way out of my own shell-shocked brain. Ridiculous. People change. They should. It is beautiful and good and lovely and healthy. I know this, because it has been for me. But...I can't ever get to this place with other people.
I want to hold on so badly to memories. To special moments and inside jokes. I want to take the love, the fun, the bond, the timely words, the connection of souls, the conversations, and just bottle them up in a Ziploc to carry with me permanently. I want to freeze time on friendships as badly as I wish I didn't know Katie Perry exists. And that is an intense wanting.
This realization struck me as so freaky that I tried, for a long time, to fix the part of my brain that wasn't quite up to speed with the rest of the wheels making it work. I tried to be able to come and go like other people. To be a constantly open or revolving door. To let people come in when the time was right...and to let the relationship revolve into something different and equally as beautiful when the time was right.
I think my revolving door just keeps getting stuck. Or maybe I keep sticking a rock in it just big enough to stop it from moving all together. Then the people inside freak, feel incredibly uncomfortable and suffocated, and at the first sign of freedom run screaming.
I hold on too tightly to security in friendships. I hold to tightly to "how things are". When you grow up like me, sometimes you begin to feel like you can't count on anyone. You begin to feel like everyone who is supposed to hold you will let you fall, but not just sometimes and on accident; all the time on purpose. Life can't be summed up with contrite phrases like "no one is perfect and everyone will fail you." Mostly because that translates as "sometimes people mess up." True, but for me, it felt comparatively bigger than that. Like every single moment of my life was ruled by this failure.
I'm not saying this as an emo tastic feel bad for me, I want attention, woe is me, my life is awful thing. To be honest, my life is cake and gummy bears compared to a lot of other people. I just think I finally understand why my crazy brain can't let people change.
When I found people who I let in. Whom I began to trust with all of me. I found others who I would let hold pieces of me at a time, and with tightly held breath, I waited and waited for the pain of rejection to come. It didn't. And thus began the creation of a new kind of family in my heart. I have held tightly to this ever since, my heart begging for the home it found in the souls of others I have come to know and love so, incredibly much.
But I hold a little to tightly. I lean a little to hard. I squeeze a little to much. Like a helicopter parent, I hover and need and beg for others to call me family, too. To need friendship like I do. And I know I am trying to rest in all the wrong places.
My heart is big and full and dying to love way too much. But when people change, I get so scared. I get scared that I ruined everything. I get scared that the link in our souls has been broken, irreparably. I get scared that I am going to fall down again...just like before. And I quickly snatch everything I gave them right back into the deadbolt safe around my heart and lock it fast, before anymore love or truth can escape.
It is no one's fault but mine. No one deserves my crazy idea of friendship and neediness to gnaw on their lives all day.
So...in all my love of change, the one constant that is like crack to me is people. It isn't fair to anyone, not even me. But I am just trying to love with my hands open and my heart off of lock down.
I am not there yet. I don't know if I will ever arrive. But this year, I am going to try and let the fall teach me a thing or two about the beauty, not the fear, of change. Change in the things nearest and dearest to our hearts.
I love fall. Not only because of the much needed relief from Indiana humidity that pastes the very wind to my skin like a wet suit. But because I get to watch leaves change brilliant and unashamed colors of red, gold, yellow and orange. I get to watch trees transform and shed for the coming winter months.
I usually get antsy about once every three months. Antsy for something to be different. This will often result in a hastily made hair dye decision. Or disaster. Take your pick. Or it involves rearranging the furniture. Or starting a craft (usually never finishing it).
I take long drives, and usually end up creating new ways home just so I don't feel so stuck. Sometimes I purposefully miss my house just to keep driving and feel like I am doing something different.
I always try to find new places to eat, drink, and be merry. You know, the usual cliche.
I get bored easily, especially with routine. Mundane, normal life. Details. Schedules. These all make my eyelids want to pick up a match and set themselves on fire. If they had hands, I am convinced that somedays they would actually do this. Fortunately for my eye balls, as well as the rest of my body, they do not.
I can always be depended on to change the plan. To live in spontaneous land, ruled by feelings and whims. Some call it flaky, I call it life.
But recently I have began to see that as much as I live and thrive in the chaos of indecisive whimness (yup, just made it a word)...there is one place that picks at my very heart when it comes to change. One place that takes every ounce of flexibility, understanding, love and patience. Things that usually come natural, but in this one place are more rare than unicorns.
I never. Ever. Know what to do as people change.
Weird, right? Alien life form weird. Talk about a punch in my brains face. I, the queen of cool, the master of go with the flow, the ruler of the land of indecisive and change. I, the least likely to have a plan, the most likely to wing it and rebound in flying colors. The best on the spot decision maker and non-regretter. I don't know how to live while the people around me change.
I wish I could say I am all calm and supportive and positive. That I root for it, encourage it and love it. That I celebrate it with every turn. That I want to write songs to it and make it a cute hat for christmas.
But I hate when change comes knocking on my door in the form of people I love.
I suddenly get awkward. I lose all social skills. I revert to the verbal competency of a four year old and can't find my way out of my own shell-shocked brain. Ridiculous. People change. They should. It is beautiful and good and lovely and healthy. I know this, because it has been for me. But...I can't ever get to this place with other people.
I want to hold on so badly to memories. To special moments and inside jokes. I want to take the love, the fun, the bond, the timely words, the connection of souls, the conversations, and just bottle them up in a Ziploc to carry with me permanently. I want to freeze time on friendships as badly as I wish I didn't know Katie Perry exists. And that is an intense wanting.
This realization struck me as so freaky that I tried, for a long time, to fix the part of my brain that wasn't quite up to speed with the rest of the wheels making it work. I tried to be able to come and go like other people. To be a constantly open or revolving door. To let people come in when the time was right...and to let the relationship revolve into something different and equally as beautiful when the time was right.
I think my revolving door just keeps getting stuck. Or maybe I keep sticking a rock in it just big enough to stop it from moving all together. Then the people inside freak, feel incredibly uncomfortable and suffocated, and at the first sign of freedom run screaming.
I hold on too tightly to security in friendships. I hold to tightly to "how things are". When you grow up like me, sometimes you begin to feel like you can't count on anyone. You begin to feel like everyone who is supposed to hold you will let you fall, but not just sometimes and on accident; all the time on purpose. Life can't be summed up with contrite phrases like "no one is perfect and everyone will fail you." Mostly because that translates as "sometimes people mess up." True, but for me, it felt comparatively bigger than that. Like every single moment of my life was ruled by this failure.
I'm not saying this as an emo tastic feel bad for me, I want attention, woe is me, my life is awful thing. To be honest, my life is cake and gummy bears compared to a lot of other people. I just think I finally understand why my crazy brain can't let people change.
When I found people who I let in. Whom I began to trust with all of me. I found others who I would let hold pieces of me at a time, and with tightly held breath, I waited and waited for the pain of rejection to come. It didn't. And thus began the creation of a new kind of family in my heart. I have held tightly to this ever since, my heart begging for the home it found in the souls of others I have come to know and love so, incredibly much.
But I hold a little to tightly. I lean a little to hard. I squeeze a little to much. Like a helicopter parent, I hover and need and beg for others to call me family, too. To need friendship like I do. And I know I am trying to rest in all the wrong places.
My heart is big and full and dying to love way too much. But when people change, I get so scared. I get scared that I ruined everything. I get scared that the link in our souls has been broken, irreparably. I get scared that I am going to fall down again...just like before. And I quickly snatch everything I gave them right back into the deadbolt safe around my heart and lock it fast, before anymore love or truth can escape.
It is no one's fault but mine. No one deserves my crazy idea of friendship and neediness to gnaw on their lives all day.
So...in all my love of change, the one constant that is like crack to me is people. It isn't fair to anyone, not even me. But I am just trying to love with my hands open and my heart off of lock down.
I am not there yet. I don't know if I will ever arrive. But this year, I am going to try and let the fall teach me a thing or two about the beauty, not the fear, of change. Change in the things nearest and dearest to our hearts.
9/23/11
[the stupidest problem]
Dear America/world,
If you could stop making all foods by adding unnecessary ingredients like stupid sugar and stupid yeast and vinegar and other great things I can't pronounce, which makes me just supremely positive they must be super healthy. If you could stop growing animals into mutants by adding things that make my body hate you, like antibiotics and hormones. And if you could stop being overall and in general eaters of all things crappy and go ahead and start being realistic about the state of the food you are trying to sell us, that would be awesome.
Because then maybe you would quit selling me poison labeled "CHEESE PUFFFFFSSSSS EAAAAAT MEEEEEE!" and make actual food. It would be labeled "Hey...I'm just food. I am not trying to be all jazzy and cool. I just make you feel awesome...and also I make your body work right. It's pretty cool, I guess."
Because then I could eat something other than rabbit food for every meal every single day. Since it would no longer contain said unnecessary ingredients and such.
just a small request...
for the stupidest problem ever. (this said only because I acknowledge that there are greater problems in the world than this one.)
love cait
If you could stop making all foods by adding unnecessary ingredients like stupid sugar and stupid yeast and vinegar and other great things I can't pronounce, which makes me just supremely positive they must be super healthy. If you could stop growing animals into mutants by adding things that make my body hate you, like antibiotics and hormones. And if you could stop being overall and in general eaters of all things crappy and go ahead and start being realistic about the state of the food you are trying to sell us, that would be awesome.
Because then maybe you would quit selling me poison labeled "CHEESE PUFFFFFSSSSS EAAAAAT MEEEEEE!" and make actual food. It would be labeled "Hey...I'm just food. I am not trying to be all jazzy and cool. I just make you feel awesome...and also I make your body work right. It's pretty cool, I guess."
Because then I could eat something other than rabbit food for every meal every single day. Since it would no longer contain said unnecessary ingredients and such.
just a small request...
for the stupidest problem ever. (this said only because I acknowledge that there are greater problems in the world than this one.)
love cait
9/19/11
why I suck at blogging....
I have always been about ten steps behind the times. To any onlooker, I look normal enough.
I finally caved to skinny jeans, I cut my hair regularly, I have even been known to shower from time to time. All that being said...there is a dark side to my seemingly average life.
I didn't get a cell phone until I was *gasp* 16 years old. And I didn't even have texting until I was graduated from college...which was only two years ago. I didn't get my license at 16, and I wasn't allowed to color my hair until high school.
I didn't even get a blog until after I started college.
Needless to say, I was always about 1 step behind everyone else my age.
Sometimes, it makes me feel like a caveman, because I scour the internet where my other friends tweet, text, update, facebook, and blog like champs. Their life is all put together and decked out in GAP and other adult clothing. They have regular photo albums and awesome blog thoughts that change the world everyday. They are probably super popular too, if you counted popularity by how many people follow their twitter. I start to feel like I missed the boat...again. And all I have to offer technology is the drool coming from my mouth and my body sweat, both attributed to my jealousy and the stress it causes me to realize that I am failing as a human.
It's like there is a competition for who can be the most connected and best updater...and frankly I am not sure I even qualified to enter this race. But I am sucked in nonetheless simply because of my age.
Somedays I get really brave and attempt to do things that are technological. That help me stay connected, hip, cool, and trendy. Like the other day when I started a second blog. Or when I got a twitter for my photography. I am not sure why I think adding more to my life means I will actually follow through with it. I think maybe I have convinced myself that if I feel more pressure I will preform better in the blog awards, or something. Like I will feel more legitimate about myself if I know I have written about my life that day, or tweeted where I am eating dinner, or who I am with. And I get really excited......because I think maybe finally I have found the key to staying up to date with technology, just pressuring myself into it. A twisted peer pressure.
That lasts for about 5 minutes. Because then I realize my life is boring, and also no one else is as interested in me or thinks I am as funny as I think I am. And I go through instant bloggers/tweeters/facebookers/emailers block.
I also think of about 50 other things I would rather be doing, than blogging/tweeting/facebooking/emailing. Like reading. Or talking to another person. Or eating some good food. Or staring at my dogs. Or making a craft. Or stalking people on facebook.
So then I do those things and I feel great about my decision. The only problem is, I get to the stalking people on facebook like a crazed fan part, and a twinge of guilt settles into my stomach. At first I think I am hungry again. Or perhaps a burrito was a bad idea. But that little twinge starts to grow into full throttle shame that, even at the age of 24, I can't seem to actually follow through with things.
Things that my fellow twenty-somethings seem to have mastered with ease and talent. Crap. How do people do it? So my guilt and shame grow just enough that I update a picture or two...only because I feel bad, I finally email that person back (even though I have been thinking about it non-stop...I just haven't sat down to actually do the responsible adult thing) and I update my blog with something useless about my life.
Sort of like this.
So although I wish I was responsible, tech savvy, and excellent at follow through...I am pretty sure I can go ahead and nominate myself for the suckiest blogger award. And win by a landslide.
I finally caved to skinny jeans, I cut my hair regularly, I have even been known to shower from time to time. All that being said...there is a dark side to my seemingly average life.
I didn't get a cell phone until I was *gasp* 16 years old. And I didn't even have texting until I was graduated from college...which was only two years ago. I didn't get my license at 16, and I wasn't allowed to color my hair until high school.
I didn't even get a blog until after I started college.
Needless to say, I was always about 1 step behind everyone else my age.
Sometimes, it makes me feel like a caveman, because I scour the internet where my other friends tweet, text, update, facebook, and blog like champs. Their life is all put together and decked out in GAP and other adult clothing. They have regular photo albums and awesome blog thoughts that change the world everyday. They are probably super popular too, if you counted popularity by how many people follow their twitter. I start to feel like I missed the boat...again. And all I have to offer technology is the drool coming from my mouth and my body sweat, both attributed to my jealousy and the stress it causes me to realize that I am failing as a human.
It's like there is a competition for who can be the most connected and best updater...and frankly I am not sure I even qualified to enter this race. But I am sucked in nonetheless simply because of my age.
Somedays I get really brave and attempt to do things that are technological. That help me stay connected, hip, cool, and trendy. Like the other day when I started a second blog. Or when I got a twitter for my photography. I am not sure why I think adding more to my life means I will actually follow through with it. I think maybe I have convinced myself that if I feel more pressure I will preform better in the blog awards, or something. Like I will feel more legitimate about myself if I know I have written about my life that day, or tweeted where I am eating dinner, or who I am with. And I get really excited......because I think maybe finally I have found the key to staying up to date with technology, just pressuring myself into it. A twisted peer pressure.
That lasts for about 5 minutes. Because then I realize my life is boring, and also no one else is as interested in me or thinks I am as funny as I think I am. And I go through instant bloggers/tweeters/facebookers/emailers block.
I also think of about 50 other things I would rather be doing, than blogging/tweeting/facebooking/emailing. Like reading. Or talking to another person. Or eating some good food. Or staring at my dogs. Or making a craft. Or stalking people on facebook.
So then I do those things and I feel great about my decision. The only problem is, I get to the stalking people on facebook like a crazed fan part, and a twinge of guilt settles into my stomach. At first I think I am hungry again. Or perhaps a burrito was a bad idea. But that little twinge starts to grow into full throttle shame that, even at the age of 24, I can't seem to actually follow through with things.
Things that my fellow twenty-somethings seem to have mastered with ease and talent. Crap. How do people do it? So my guilt and shame grow just enough that I update a picture or two...only because I feel bad, I finally email that person back (even though I have been thinking about it non-stop...I just haven't sat down to actually do the responsible adult thing) and I update my blog with something useless about my life.
Sort of like this.
So although I wish I was responsible, tech savvy, and excellent at follow through...I am pretty sure I can go ahead and nominate myself for the suckiest blogger award. And win by a landslide.
9/8/11
tolerance and love.
In a world where tolerance is the new definition of love...
How can we as Christians portray the healing and healthy love of Christ to those who don't understand it?
And what is more, how do we as Christians not fall prey to the lie that love means tolerating others choices, or even supporting all their choices, but still ACTUALLY love them despite?
...whew...this is hard work...
Share your thoughts?
How can we as Christians portray the healing and healthy love of Christ to those who don't understand it?
And what is more, how do we as Christians not fall prey to the lie that love means tolerating others choices, or even supporting all their choices, but still ACTUALLY love them despite?
...whew...this is hard work...
Share your thoughts?
9/2/11
If anything has ever described...
I can't stop laughing at this post I just found at http://sortacrunchy.typepad.com/sortacrunchy/
This post is for Stephanie Norwood (and me...because it is literally us in every way) I need to find this lady and be her best friend, because clearly she stole my diary:
"WARNING: The person you are meeting, speaking to, reading, or emailing is most often experienced by others as flaky.
She operates in the world of The Big Picture, and therefore details often fall off of her radar screen.
She will most likely:
1) Read your email and need to think on a response. She will then forget to email you the response, even though she has spent a good deal of time thinking about it.
2) Hear your prayer concern and feel a great deal of empathy for you and your situation. She will probably think about you for days, praying for you often as you come to mind. She will, however, neglect to tell you this.
3) Recognize that you are going through a difficult time and think of no less than a dozen elaborate and thoughtful ways to minister to you in your need. She will probably act on none of these ideas, even though she has given them all a great deal of thought.
4) Be your biggest supporter and cheerleader at the beginning of a project. Her enthusiasm will eventually fizzle. She is distracted easily by shiny things. Going the distance is not her strong suit.
5) Agree to read and review your newest book or project. Weeks will pass before a review is finally published. This does not mean that she did not love your project; on the contrary, she probably loved it so much that she feels her review of your work must be absolutely perfect before she can publish it. She is often crushed by the weight of her own standards which propels her directly into inaction accompanied by guilt.
6) Interrupt you. Her mind is constantly making connections, often at a speed which outpaces human speech and good manners.
7) Astound you with her incredible clumsiness. This may or may not be related to her personality type, but you should have fair warning nonetheless.
8) Start a multitude of projects and finish few.
9) Not take criticism well. She is keenly aware of her shortcomings and imperfections, always hyper-aware of the ways her outward actions don't meet her inner standards. When those imperfections are recognized by others, it can be crippling.
10) Personify capriciousness, fickleness, moodiness, and procrastination. She is also prone to being driven by her feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings.
If you have the great misfortune of partnering with her on a project or serving as her editor, please know that she will accomplish absolutely nothing without a deadline. Be assured, however, that she rarely misses deadlines altogether as she is capable of intense micro-focus and dedicated energy as a deadline approaches.
Finally, if you are counting on her to take an action of some sort, she will probably disappoint you. And even if you aren't actually disappointed with her, she probably thinks that you are."
I am thinking of making this my signature at the end of every email. What do you think?
love cait.
8/29/11
why.
The church classic VBS, wall hanging, and, hauntingly enough, homemade vest from my childhood all share this common, most epic story.
Noah's Ark.
But the real question is, why...
Why what, you may be asking yourself, suddenly intrigued because I mentioned a delicately sewn, classy little story vest. Yes, Noah's Ark, tails and all.
There are a few "why's" the world needs to pause and ask themselves whenever they happen to cross paths with this cheery tale depicted in art.
Why #1: Why does it always look like Noah only made it to Africa and North America?
Did Noah only make it to the African Plains and Old McDonald's farm when he gathered his collection of furry friends? Did he lose his "Don't forget to" checklist somewhere on that behemoth and then suddenly decide to improvise and hope God wouldn't notice? Did he gather a variety of 13 animals, after years of building, to suddenly go "Well...at least we got one with a long neck...good enough close the doors."No...you say? No, Caitlin...how could you? After all the VBS and children's church you have lived through, how could you not think that all our furry and feathered (and scaled...) friends didn't make it aboard this fine floating device? How could you not picture them all cuddling and full of joy as one giant zoo full of love? And maybe even a unicorn or two? I will tell you why. Because some genius artist who grew up on a farm and has only ever read a book about African animals has drawn every single depiction of Noah's Ark to date.
Because apparently, Noah only grabbed a cow, a pig, a giraffe, an elephant, a zebra, some monkeys, a horse, a sheep, some lions, an alligator pair, and a bird. Sometimes a bear. Occasionally a hippo or an ostrich. If your lucky, you see a penguin or two. Maybe a deer.
Thats it. Noah quit after that. Because clearly, waiting around for animals was too exhausting. Never mind that he spent half his freakin life building the thing. He just didn't have the energy to sit and put checkmarks on a list as the animals walked onto the boat.
So we ended up with a zoo drawn from the brain of a toddler. Congrats. Why...why are these the only animals ever depicted on Noah's ark? Can't the groundhogs get some love?
Why #2: Why the bird?
Somehow, in more than half the depictions of Noah's Ark, there is a parrot -like-bird. This is nice. I see we are branching out to new life forms that possibly existed at the time. But...just wondering...why is this parrot always piggy backing on some large animal like an giraffe? Do they have a special bond? Did the giraffe save this parrots life in 'Nam and now they can't be separated? Are they Romeo+Juliet-ing it against their parents will in love? Does that just seem like an obvious place for a bird?
"Oh look a giraffe....but something isn't right here. Hmm it has spots...and horns....there is it's freaky tongue. Oh wait I know...where is it's parrot?"
Get it an eye patch and call it Captain Hoof. Because apparently that would be all that is missing the giraffe gone out to sea.
Why #3: Speaking of Giraffes...
Why is it, that even if there is NO OTHER ANIMAL in the picture, there is always....ALWAYS a giraffe? Is this the world's best representation of animal life? Are these animals just commonly found around the world?
"What was that noise in the basement, honey, it sounded like clip clopping..."
"Hmm...we must be getting giraffe's down there. I'll call the exterminator tomorrow."
No. If anything, Noah should have a pair of rats chillin on his ancient shoulders.
Noah's Ark.
But the real question is, why...
Why what, you may be asking yourself, suddenly intrigued because I mentioned a delicately sewn, classy little story vest. Yes, Noah's Ark, tails and all.
There are a few "why's" the world needs to pause and ask themselves whenever they happen to cross paths with this cheery tale depicted in art.
Why #1: Why does it always look like Noah only made it to Africa and North America?
Did Noah only make it to the African Plains and Old McDonald's farm when he gathered his collection of furry friends? Did he lose his "Don't forget to" checklist somewhere on that behemoth and then suddenly decide to improvise and hope God wouldn't notice? Did he gather a variety of 13 animals, after years of building, to suddenly go "Well...at least we got one with a long neck...good enough close the doors."No...you say? No, Caitlin...how could you? After all the VBS and children's church you have lived through, how could you not think that all our furry and feathered (and scaled...) friends didn't make it aboard this fine floating device? How could you not picture them all cuddling and full of joy as one giant zoo full of love? And maybe even a unicorn or two? I will tell you why. Because some genius artist who grew up on a farm and has only ever read a book about African animals has drawn every single depiction of Noah's Ark to date.
Because apparently, Noah only grabbed a cow, a pig, a giraffe, an elephant, a zebra, some monkeys, a horse, a sheep, some lions, an alligator pair, and a bird. Sometimes a bear. Occasionally a hippo or an ostrich. If your lucky, you see a penguin or two. Maybe a deer.
Thats it. Noah quit after that. Because clearly, waiting around for animals was too exhausting. Never mind that he spent half his freakin life building the thing. He just didn't have the energy to sit and put checkmarks on a list as the animals walked onto the boat.
So we ended up with a zoo drawn from the brain of a toddler. Congrats. Why...why are these the only animals ever depicted on Noah's ark? Can't the groundhogs get some love?
Why #2: Why the bird?
Somehow, in more than half the depictions of Noah's Ark, there is a parrot -like-bird. This is nice. I see we are branching out to new life forms that possibly existed at the time. But...just wondering...why is this parrot always piggy backing on some large animal like an giraffe? Do they have a special bond? Did the giraffe save this parrots life in 'Nam and now they can't be separated? Are they Romeo+Juliet-ing it against their parents will in love? Does that just seem like an obvious place for a bird?
"Oh look a giraffe....but something isn't right here. Hmm it has spots...and horns....there is it's freaky tongue. Oh wait I know...where is it's parrot?"
Get it an eye patch and call it Captain Hoof. Because apparently that would be all that is missing the giraffe gone out to sea.
Why #3: Speaking of Giraffes...
Why is it, that even if there is NO OTHER ANIMAL in the picture, there is always....ALWAYS a giraffe? Is this the world's best representation of animal life? Are these animals just commonly found around the world?
"What was that noise in the basement, honey, it sounded like clip clopping..."
"Hmm...we must be getting giraffe's down there. I'll call the exterminator tomorrow."
No. If anything, Noah should have a pair of rats chillin on his ancient shoulders.
8/23/11
wasting my life.
We spend so much of our lives trying. Don't you?
Trying to succeed at our job. Trying to make more money. Trying to be taken seriously. Trying to make a difference. Trying to get good grades and make good friends. Trying to keep our marriage going. Trying to be different but not stand out so much that we break the social norms we live in.
Trying to be a good person and trying to be right. Trying to be educated and smart.
But I feel like I spend so much time managing my "trying" that I quit all the "trusting".
I spend so much time internally examining myself, or comparing what I am doing to what I should be doing at the age of 25, that I somehow have quit believing in what really defines me. Do I have the right job? Do my clothes fit the norm? Do I sound like an adult? Am I making educated comments? Am I reading the right books? Am I teaching well?
am I good enough?
I recognize I am not. I recognize that to the world I live in...I look like I am wasting my life.
But realizing when Jesus said "If the world hates you, remember that it hated me first. The world would love you as one of its own if you belonged to it, but you are no longer part of the world. I chose you to come out of the world, so it hates you."
He was talking about this too. He meant also, that people, family, friends, bosses...many will tell you that you are wasting your life. Wasting your potential. Wasting talent.
And they will shake their heads and say "remember what's her face? Yeah, then she got all weird and quit doing such and such to do this." They will say "remember when she got all crazy and religious", or "remember when he went to that college or that job, and with a brain like his? What a waste...". "THey could have made so much money, or gained so much respect, or been so famous, or (insert description here)."
I fall for this trap of self-worth. Defining myself by the standards of success my culture has set before me.
Because in all honesty, what I believe, if I really believe it, will soon make my life look as though it is wasted. If I give up the idea of fitting culture, raising kids a certain way, working a job because I am supposed to, making a certain amount of money, making educated adult like comments, being perfect or faultless, being in charge, being successful in everything I do from relationships to my work here at church,
I will look like I am wasting my life.
And in all of that, I have to trust what He said was true. He is the vine, we are the branches. He will sustain everything we need, everything to fulfills, everything that brings peace, joy and life. None of it can be manufactured by any amount of success, recognition, education, like-a-bility or money. I have to quit trying so hard and start trusting in the absence of that trying.
It is not that any of these things are bad. Being educated, making wise choices, earning a living, taking care of family, being successful. I suppose it is mostly about how important that is to you, and if you let that run your life.
And in all of that, I have to trust what He said was true. He is the vine, we are the branches. He will sustain everything we need, everything to fulfills, everything that brings peace, joy and life. None of it can be manufactured by any amount of success, recognition, education, like-a-bility or money. I have to quit trying so hard and start trusting in the absence of that trying.
It is not that any of these things are bad. Being educated, making wise choices, earning a living, taking care of family, being successful. I suppose it is mostly about how important that is to you, and if you let that run your life.
So maybe I am measuring success wrong. Maybe from now on, I should take our culture's idea of success, compare it to what I am doing, and if I look like I am wasting my time trying to communicate the love of my God, giving up something "valuable" or being too devoted to being last place, I will know I am wasting my life...
in the exact way I was supposed to.
So...here I go...continuing to waste my life.
wish me luck.
8/20/11
angels on your pillow...
Tradition has always held deep meaning to me. Not because it is the way things have to be done, but because it feels like coming home after a long time away. Do you know what I mean? Like putting on your favorite sweater. Like egg nog on Christmas eve, like Catch Phrase and sweet potato casserole every Thanksgiving. Like my family repeatedly saying "Caitlin, what part of no don't you understand". It feels like dancing a familiar dance
And I easily remember the steps as I fall into a place that is cozy and full of memories.
As long as I can remember, since I was a little girl, my Mema would always tuck me in with a kiss goodnight and say, "angels on your pillow", just before she would walk softly from the room. It became so familiar, so homey, that I almost forgot about it, zoned it out of my brain, like it was second nature. Almost, until today.
My 93 year old Great Grandmother passed away today. She was an amazing, tough old lady, full of life through to the last second. In one of her surgeries over the past few days, the doctors came out and said she had the "bones of a 30 year old" and they were shocked at how well she was recovering. Yup...she was too stubborn to even let her body get old.
My first memory of my dear, stubborn Great Grandma is from when I was around 4-5 years old. My mother, grandma and I were driving to Pennsylvania to visit her and Muffy, her cute little white dog. As per my usual fashion, I tried to roll down the windows on the highway and when I was told "no", I decided a better option would be to open the door instead. One of my finer moments, I believe...
Later that night I snuggled in for bed in my Great Grandmas home, and as she was tucking me in and walking quietly from the room she whispered, "angels on your pillow"...and I knew where my grandma had borrowed the phrase. It is a piece of my family. Like a family heirloom, or an extra hug. An extra note in the symphony of my families story, the one that adds flavor and harmony.
Yesterday, her daughter, my Mema wrote this...
...one two three one two three...
And I easily remember the steps as I fall into a place that is cozy and full of memories.
As long as I can remember, since I was a little girl, my Mema would always tuck me in with a kiss goodnight and say, "angels on your pillow", just before she would walk softly from the room. It became so familiar, so homey, that I almost forgot about it, zoned it out of my brain, like it was second nature. Almost, until today.
My 93 year old Great Grandmother passed away today. She was an amazing, tough old lady, full of life through to the last second. In one of her surgeries over the past few days, the doctors came out and said she had the "bones of a 30 year old" and they were shocked at how well she was recovering. Yup...she was too stubborn to even let her body get old.
My first memory of my dear, stubborn Great Grandma is from when I was around 4-5 years old. My mother, grandma and I were driving to Pennsylvania to visit her and Muffy, her cute little white dog. As per my usual fashion, I tried to roll down the windows on the highway and when I was told "no", I decided a better option would be to open the door instead. One of my finer moments, I believe...
Later that night I snuggled in for bed in my Great Grandmas home, and as she was tucking me in and walking quietly from the room she whispered, "angels on your pillow"...and I knew where my grandma had borrowed the phrase. It is a piece of my family. Like a family heirloom, or an extra hug. An extra note in the symphony of my families story, the one that adds flavor and harmony.
Yesterday, her daughter, my Mema wrote this...
"I don't know if Mom will understand, but please tell her I love her and give her a kiss for me. I know that 'angles are on her pillow' and surrounding her. She is in the Hands of Our Father and Her Father. He will keep her with Him. "
In these sweet and sorrowful moments that have come to pass, I am grateful for this family that God built. I am grateful for the chance to have a "favorite sweater" kind of feeling. To have something hidden in my family, even though it is simple and silly to any onlooker. But I have something to hold onto...I am a piece of a small puzzle, and we fit together a certain way.
Great Grandma left a lot with us. Courage, bravery, happiness in simplicity, and the genetic stubbornness that winds through our family like a cord. She even had a hand in my blue eyes. But she also left us with a "cozy sweater", with traditions that belong to our family, and something for me to tell me children as they grow and drift into dreamland. A small piece of what makes my family mine...
So, dear great grandma, goodnight...sleep tight...sweet dreams...and angels on your pillow.
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