Update

Hey, Dad.

February 6th - it caught me off gaurd again. 50 years old today. Crazy, isn't it? I can't really imagine you topping off half a century, honestly. I guess I always think of you as young. I can't imagine your black hair peppered with grays or your twinkling eyes framed by crow's feet.

I'm doing pretty well. Much has happened since last year. I graduated high school. It was crazy, honestly. I can't tell you how much that scared me! I guess I'm a lot like Peter Pan, refusing to grow up. (And yet, people always insist on my maturity. Psh.) Mom admires that about me - that I like to enjoy every time of my life. It just goes by so fast, you know? It was weird gradutating. Everyone was really excited. I mean, I was. But it just seemed a little overdone. Great. I finished high school. Now give me a real challenge. It just didn't seem worthy of all the pomp. It was, however, a satisfying feeling walking out of the school knowing I'd done what I could, that maybe I made it a little better for having been there. That was pretty nice.

I made it to college. Now, it's nothing fancy, but I'm really happy, Dad. I was walking past the soccer field out to my car the other day (I LOVE driving! It's so amazing. No worries, I'm a safe driver.) and I just realized how much God has blessed me over my time at the University. First, I have the most amazing support system ever. My close friends love God like I do. Instead of compromising my faith, they challenge it. I can't imagine ever living without them. I have mentors who deeply care about me, who look out for me and love me.

Also, I have so many great opportunities. I absolutely love being an English major. My heart belongs to literature, and those are my favorite classes. I got to be in Hamlet this semester. Dad, it was a dream come true, to act in a Shakespearean play - and as a freshman, no less! I'm also in the flute choir here. I get so much joy in playing. I love just sneaking back to one of the practice rooms and playing for hours at night.

Mom's handling it well that I'm gone. I don't get to go home much, but we keep in touch all the time. I know she misses you, but I've never seen her relationship with God stronger than it is now. Mary's doing really well, too. She's a remarkable person - one of those that will change the world some day. She's engaged! Mom and I couldn't be happier. He's a great guy, Dad. You'd approve 100%.

And me? Well, I'm alright. I have good times and bad times, but then again, who doesn't? I've made mistakes, Dad. I'm in no way perfect, which I've proven constantly throughout this year. But I'd like to think that through the work of God, I get some things right every now and then. Maybe, it's in the failures and the weaknesses that He is most glorified... and I am most easily used.

I think you'd be proud of me. I think you'd be happy about where I am and where I'm going. I think if you were still here, we'd be close. We'd talk about theology and politics and you'd give me huge hugs when I'd finally get to come home to visit. I miss you. I love you. I can't wait to walk with you in God's heavenly gardens and hear your voice mixed with mine in praise to our King.

Happy Birthday.
Love, Jessie

Pursuit

When I was younger, out of all the necessary kid things I instinctly knew I had to do, one stood out from the rest: I absolutely had to find a hiding place. My house wasn't very accommodating when it came to secrecy, but as an eight year old, I needed a spot to go and disappear for a while. Why? I'm not really sure. Perhaps the thrill of being invisible was the draw. Or maybe I just needed somewhere to go when Mom brought out the "I want you to do something that, if left up to your own volition, you would have no desire to do" tone. Either way, after days (hours) of searching, I found it. If I squeezed myself just right between the side table and the couch in the far end of the nice living room we never used, then I was unfindable.

What is it about hiding that's so appealing? Why did it delight me to sneak back to my spot (eventually stocked with my favorite stuffed animals and books) throughout the day for a few precious minutes at a time? Why did Adam and Eve hide in the Garden after the Fall? Why do people walk around today, living behind masks, with their best and fakest faces forward?

I've always thought of myself as a hider. I often play hide and seek with the people in my life. Fulghum put it best: "Hide and seek, grown-up style. Wanting to hide. Needing to be sought. Confused about being found." It takes a lot of courage to step out of hiding, to take off the mask, to give up the act, to be found. Courage that I have yet to possess. And that's probably why God has decided to test me in this very area.

I thought for a time (much like I assume Adam and Eve did) that the sin that initially alienated me from God created an immovable block between us. Somehow, I was convinced that because I was responsible for the distance I felt from God, it was my job to fix it. But the more I tried, the more imperfect I proved myself to be. My mistakes piled up. The block not only remained, but grew wider as I began to hide from God, ashamed that I kept failing, guilty that my sin remained on my shoulders. Finally, I got so frustrated. Why can't I just turn back to God? Why can't I get over this? Why can't I improve and do better?

Then it hit me: This isn't about what I can do. Somewhere in me, I was convinced that Jesus did His work on the cross, and now it's my job to finish my sanctification. But honestly, isn't the inability for broken people to fix themselves at the heart of the Gospel? Isn't that why Jesus came in the first place and why the Holy Spirit is in us now, changing us each day? For, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick." I'm starting to think maybe God's forgiveness doesn't depend on prerequisites. I don't have to wait around, get my act together, and THEN come to God. I don't have to hide, because He already knows the sinful state I find myself in, and even there, He pursues me, never willing to give up seeking me.

Jesus didn't say, "Come to me, all you who are able-bodied and perfect, and I will give you more work to do. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am tyrannical and demanding in heart, and you will find guilt for your souls. For my yoke is really heavy and my burden cannot be handled by weak, pathetic Christians who sin all the time." No! He knows I'm weary, weak, and burdened. That's not a surprise. So why not come to Him, honestly, in that state, and seek his strength? It might just be worth trying.

Meanwhile, I'm finding God refuses to just simply teach me to trust Him with the messy side of me. He wants me to trust others, persisting on working in me to change the old, "run away and hide" mentality. And I'm honestly finding my old hiding spots less of a comfort, getting restless behind the walls I've built. I want to be sought. And perhaps, I'm ready to be found.

Hope Deferred

I have a rock. It's not just any rock. It's actually pretty special as far as rocks are concerned (and some of you reading already know about this rock... my apologies, but the analogy perfectly fit me once again). I was in England with my family for a few weeks, just seeing the sights and enjoying some time off. We were part of this huge tour group that travelled around together like a flock of ducks, snapping photos and squawking loudly about everything in our big, American accents. One of the few teenagers in this decidedly older group was my first summer fling. We didn't really do much, except entertain each other on the frustratingly long bus rides through monotonous English countryside. During the trip, we toured Belvoir Castle in Rutland, a beautiful estate currently inhabited by the Duke and Duchess of Rutland. The sights were distinctly fairy-tale esque with overflowing gardens, spiraling staircases and a touch of magic everywhere you turned.

After the tour, I got back to the bus. Summer Fling wasn't far behind, bearing an unorthodox souvenir. He presented me with a palm-sized rock he found in a corner outside the castle's wall, presumably a chip off the structure itself. "I'm taking home part of the castle!" he claimed. I found this to be a brilliant idea, but had no time to go back for my own piece. Summer Fling, the Prince Charming he was, broke his piece in two and gave me half. As I type this post, it stares at me from its seat on my laptop. And I wonder, if someone presented me with the offer of trading my dear little rock for the rest of the castle, would I refuse? Would I hold on fast to this small, sentimental pebble only to lose the whole estate?

This rock has come to represent a lot for me over the years since England, Summer Fling, and fairy tale settings. It's my hopes, dreams, desires. The most secret inmost part of me, the part that's afraid to come out for fear of seeming ridiculous and unrealistic. I've changed a lot since that summer, so much so I've given up on wishes and dreams. I've let my own cynicism convince my heart of its folly, and I've allowed the actions of others to confirm my convictions.

But now, it seems I have an offer. God wants me to trade my little, banged up, damaged rock for a castle. I've made a mess of myself, really. My desires and hopes have been ravaged by reality and insufficiently fulfilled with poor attempts at genuine love. But He still seems set on trading this out and giving me more than I can possibly imagine. Sounds like a pretty obvious choice, right?

The hesitancy I feel is what throws me. I can't let go. I can't seem to unclasp my grip from the thing I know in my head is not God's best for me. I'm afraid of hurting someone I care about, of losing temporary security that feels really good right now. I can't do it. And I kind of despise myself for it.

So once again, I find I lack the strength to be weak, the confidence to be vulnerable, and the courage to be afraid.

A Word?

As a fan of the English language, I happen to have a few favorite words. Cahoots, mellifluous, behest, glib, capitulate... I could go on. Sometimes I think the words we use are paltry substitutes for the myriad possibilities at our disposal. Really. We could do better. But I digress (into sciolism, most likely).

All this to say, I have found a single word in our vernacular that I despise: Maybe. I love Yes, can handle No, and will often appreciate Probably. But Maybe? Well, that is simply cruel.

Yes will give one affirmation, even if it is in answer to a negative thing. What was expected is verified. Yes wipes away all incredulity with three simple letters, finally confirming what has been supported and consequently, assumed. Yes is freeing in its encouragement. Hope is satisfied and may continue to flourish.

No is more difficult to receive. What was anticipated has not come to fruition. Although it is negative, No allows the receiver to finally walk away in dignified defeat. No is releasing in its finality. Hope has been disappointed, but now it may cut its losses and invest elsewhere.

But Maybe is another response entirely, if it even counts as a response at all. Maybe fuels confusion, simultaneously giving reasons to give up and to hold on. It creates insecurity in a place of no absolutes or guarantees. It feeds blind hope, enhances vulnerability, and destroys confidence. When Maybe gives way to No, one feels ashamed for ever having expected something from an empty and noncommittal answer. However, when Maybe becomes a Yes, the final security is that much more satisfying, having risked so much in the face of so little assurance.

So what to do when faced with a Maybe? When one's initial instinct is to run far away from the hurtful path of instability? Or perhaps to rush ahead and anticipate the No before the Yes even has time to arrive?

I suppose it all comes down to faith, though what happens when one is found with less and less evidence to support any kind of reasonable hope? Ah, but is that not the very definition of faith? Being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see? So must one keep hoping, waiting for the inevitable verdict of Yes or No?

Maybe. Just Maybe.

ὑπόκρισις (hypokrisis)

I love acting. Granted, I know I'm not the best, and perhaps one can say what talent I do have springs from my love of literature, not actual understanding of the art itself. I, however, think I'm merely empathetic. I may not know how to perform a character's life, but I often find myself knowing exactly why they do what they do and say what they say.

I could leave it at that. But if I introspect a little farther (as I often do) I realize I enjoy being something I'm not. I like the feel of living in someone else's skin. Maybe it sounds like a glamorous vacation, becoming another person for a little while. But I see it as a sheltering escape. Finally, I'm no longer me. I can be someone who charms, entertains, and captivates. For a few blissful moments, I don't have to deal with reality. Which is nice, because reality generally isn't.

I went home last weekend for Fall Break. I saw my old places, my favorite roads, my coffee spots. I got together with friends, family, and teachers. I saw all the people who made me who I was back in August headed toward the University. Those who, up until that moment in my life, had the greatest influence on me, who poured their lives into mine, giving me exactly what I needed to accomplish everything, come back, and glory with them in my success.

I felt as though I had let them down.

Considering all I came to college with, I'm quite the failure. I'm a bad daughter, granddaughter, and sister who doesn't pick up the phone or email enough. I'm the bad friend who forgets birthdays. I'm still the same student who can't be disciplined enough to not procrastinate or be late for class. And I'm still the same Christian who finds herself in constant need of grace and the humility to accept it.

But this weekend, months since my last stint as an actress, I was on stage again. The audience was unaware. They think I have everything together, that I'm a great success and the University is lucky that other school didn't snatch me up. After returning to campus on Tuesday, I have yet to stop. I'm still playing out the character, finding very few who see through the act or care to look for the reasons behind it.

It's exhausting being what I am not, but it's disheartening being what I am.

So what, so I've got a smile on
But It's hiding the quiet superstitions in my head
Don't believe me
Don't believe me
When I say I've got it down
Am I living it right?
Why, why Georgia why?

Night

I've always loved the night sky. I still remember the first time I took time to notice it. I was in 5th grade, on track to be the school's greatest overachiever. We had been studying stars, the earth, moon, heavenly bodies, what have you. Later that week, walking around outside my church after the Wednesday night program, I looked up. I didn't see little dots or "pinpoints of heaven". I saw Orion. Or more specifically, his belt. And I stood there, for a very brief moment (I was only 10), in recognition that what I saw was a lot more than I had ever seen before.

A few years later, I decided I wanted to be an astronomer. I made the mistake of reading a Christian Purpose-Finder type book, which posed the question, "What could you do for a long time without getting bored or tired?" My answer? Look at the stars. Thus, the astronomer dream was born. While I've realized since then my calling does not involve science or math or anything connected to either, I still have a tender, if pedestrian, love for the night's lanterns.

Tonight, after running around the last few weeks like crazy making friends, going out places, and keeping up with classwork (no easy task, I'm finding), I was able to look up again. I had spent the night participating in a whole-campus mission: impossible style scavenger hunt, covered in shaving cream (my team was ambushed). As I walked toward my residence hall, I continued past the front door and on a whim, headed for the vacant soccer field. There, in the seclusion of the cool grass, I reclined and stared up at the dark heavens.

And I thought, I really like college.

Somehow, in this huge universe extending for unfathomable light years in all directions, I am important. Not in a "the world couldn't run without me" kind of way. Just in a "Someone thinks I'm significant" way. Who am I that He is mindful of me? If His blessings are any indication, then apparently, I'm quite something.To Him, at least. He put me here, at "No, it's not Davidson" University, my personal Nineveh, and has blessed in spite of myself. He's doing something. He's using me and guiding me to certain places and people on campus, and only He knows where we're going to end up. Although I'm surprisingly excited to see where that will be. Perhaps it's not as bad as I always anticipate.

"And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun."

Mixed Emotions

I'm here. I've actually been here for a week now, although it feels like a month.

I have an announcement to make: I like my roommate. She's great, and I regret the time I spent worrying about life with her. We both believe in the "Be Considerate" attitude, and what's more, we've had some really great conversations about deep stuff. It's true, you become friends fast in college. That's also held true with one of mine and Roomate's suitmates. She's so kind and genuine. The other suitemate will be interesting to live with, considering she came in drunk at 5:00 am the first day we were here. We'll see.

I've been really enjoying the whole experience. I think I can handle this level of independence, being able to do what I want when I want. The making friends thing isn't that hard, either. People are sad and scared. Putting on a confident, happy face draws them out in droves. It's nice to be their comforter.

That said, it's getting tiresome. The whole week I marvelled at my adjustment (as did Roommate: "Aren't you homesick?"). But then my car's battery died - twice [see last post to understand how devastating that was]. And Roommate went home for the weekend, as well as Nice Suitmate. Drunk Suitmate is goodness knows where. I probably won't see her until tomorrow afternoon. I locked myself out of our room, but no one was there, so I ashamedly had to call security.

I'm really homesick. I miss my family, my friends, my life. I just want to recognize a face or hear a voice I know well. I wish my "I" key wasn't sticky because I let Drunk Suitmate borrow my laptop. I want someone to say my name without a question mark on their face. I want to stop "getting to know" and just "know". I want to make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I want to visit a familiar park bench. I want to hug my mom and pet my cats. I'm tired of forgetting people's names. I want to let down this pretense of having it all together. The empty dorm room is getting lonely, and I sincerely wish I had gone home this weekend, that the thought of going home so early wasn't viewed as such a weakness or detriment, that Labor day weekend was closer.

The saddest thing in life is to be needy, because the shame you feel from your condition prevents you from ever directly seeking help.