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.

Forgive the Déjà Vu

I leave for college today.

If anyone on this earth has semi-faithfully read this blog, they'd pick up on one obvious detail: I really don't want to leave. I like living in my home, seeing my family everyday, hanging out with the best friends I've ever had in my life. Why would I want it to change?

I was upset yesterday, which was really inconvenient, as I was attempting to celebrate my birthday. Don't get me wrong, thanks to some of my dearest friends, I had a great time. But the whole day was overshadowed by the finality of the past week. I've been wished well, told good bye, hugged, and photographed so many times in these last few days, it's really no wonder.

So that kind of explains why I did it.

After visiting my high school for one more (unsuccessful) farewell, I broke down. I could barely make it to my car. Once inside, I started driving. I sought out my bench, but the maintence people were at the cemetery. So I kept driving. For an hour.

I went on my favorite roads, especially the ones by our local "mountain". The kind of curvy ones where the tree cover is so dense, the sun shoots its syncopated blinks through the branches. It was good. I was able to take a break from the meeting and the talking and the packing. I could just be upset. Granted, it didn't solve my problems or change reality. (Which my grandfather confirmed that night when he ignored me as usual.)

My solace is not playing the flute, running, or even deep sleep. It's driving. The funny thing is, on my 15th birthday, I was completely terrified of driving. I was dead convinced (no pun intended) that I was going to kill someone the second I slid behind the wheel. Before I had even tried it, I decided I wasn't going to like it and that it was too dangerous. Unlike most 15 year olds, I avoided getting my permit until my mom dragged me to the DMV.

However, once I started practicing in parking lots with my pugnacious grandmother, I warmed up to it. I went to driver's ed, and actually enjoyed the interstate training. By the time I got my liscense (this time, I did the dragging), I was thrilled.

Driving's a good thing, regardless of what I thought orginally. Could the same be true with college? It's new, terrifying, and dangerous. But perhaps it'll become enjoyable and thrilling.

We'll see. For now, I'd better hit the sack. I have a long drive ahead of me.

Mountaintop Experience

I went away to the mountains for the weekend with the Young Adult group at my church. More reason to rue growing up: having to acclimate to a whole new age group, right when you find yourself comfortable in the old one. It actually wasn't that bad. I fit in. Not perfectly. But I fit. Somewhere.

We went for a hike on Saturday. "5.4 miles" and "strenuous" were the only words we could find in the guide books to describe our chosen destination... and we went anyway, most likely for the promised 70 foot waterfall at the end of the trail. Between the blisters, roots, rocks, and sweat, the way up was unpleasant at best. It took me an hour and ten minutes to make it 2.7 miles. The waterfall was awe-inspiring, though. The sheer drop off the rock face was spectacular, the mist refreshing, if not chilling.

Was it worth it? Yes. But not for the waterfall.

As we headed back down the mountain, I ended up in the lead group. Our pack of five spread out a bit as our paces changed. Eventually it was only me and one of the leaders. Then, odd as it was, we both started running. We caught up with the other three and they ran, too. Again, we spread out, and I was alone, bounding over the same rocks and roots I had stumbled over previously.

Never in my life have I felt so much energy, and never in my life have I felt more like a child of God, a wanted, accepted, delighted in daughter. He "renewed my strength" while amazing my eyes with the wonder of his creation. There's something about nature, mountains especially, that help you get focus. There's no crazy job, no confusing relationships, no college health forms, no roommate's facebook profile, no cell phone, none of the usual distractions.

So we talked. We hadn't done that in a while (that hadn't involved a meal, anyway). I asked Him to take the next few weeks to teach me. I know I'll be learning about God all my life, but there's a lot of stuff I'm missing, about who He is and who I am to Him, important stuff that I need to know. I desperately want to learn and perhaps... even be healed.

Hey, he got me running. Maybe I can still soar.

This Can't Be Good...

The Roommate. The single most dreaded aspect of college life for many incoming freshman.

First, you get a name. In the mail, at orientation... somehow, the name comes. In my case, there was a phone number along with the name. But on the day that little paper of fate blessed my mailbox, I had little knowledge of it's importance. Instead of opening the envelope bearing "No, It's Not UGA" University's letterhead, I took a nap. Imagine my confusion when I was awakened by a phone call, from the roommate herself.

"Hello?"
"Hey... it's [name here]...?"
"Oh... Hi?"
"Your... roommate?"
"OH! Hey!"
"Didn't you get the little paper of fate in the mail today?"
"It's... possible."
[discussion follows about who would bring what for the room.]

No, she didn't say "little paper of fate." But she did ask. I felt stupid. And that was when [name here] learned her first thing about me: I like to take naps.

Next, thanks to the magic that is facebook, you are able to get a nice snapshot of who your future best friend exactly is. I was able to enjoy this experience tonight, and I can't help but wonder what it all means (or what she thinks about my profile).

Profile Picture: [name here] posing happily with two friends. That's nice. She has friends. Wait. What's that? Oh! They're drinking something. Good. I like drinking liquids, too. This is great. Oh, that's funny, her can is silver... and blue. Hm. Maybe it's... Pepsi? Oh, hold on. The friend in the middle's holding a huge QT style plastic cup of light brown liquid. That says "Big Ass Beer." Ah-HA! Yeah, that's cute.

Stats: Ah, looks like [name here]'s in a relationship. Let's hope they like to talk to each other every hour I'm sleeping. And... oh, boy. She's "Liberal." Better break out the Ann Coulter books. Seems she likes every kind of music (so she won't have a problem with Coldplay?) and has no favorite books, saying she "only reads magazines." Heck, I like books enough to be an English major.

I'm starting to think we're not so... compatible.

So what's the next step? Who knows. I wrote on her wall. I think we need a cabinet or something for the TV (that she's bringing), so I thought I might offer. It's just bizarre, really. This person who probably can't pronounce my last name will know intimate details about me and how I live by Labor Day.

Man, I love growing up!

Storm Clouds

I hate droughts.

The water bans. The not-so-flourishing flora. The sticky, humid mood that blankets the air as well as your skin the second you step out of air conditioned bliss.

This summer, like every summer, we're having a drought. Thus, we deal with frustrations, such as those listed above. But more than that, the oddest thing happens to us: We forget rain.

A few days ago, I was backing out of my garage when I heard the strangest noise beating the rear end of my car. I immediately applied the brakes, completely startled by the incessant tapping. Then I looked in the rear view and saw huge raindrops plopping on the back windshield. It had been so long, I didn't recognize rain.

I think one of the reasons I was so bewildered was the stark presence of the sun. You know that weather rarity when it's pouring rain, but the sun's still in full glory? It was bizarre, to say the least. It's sunny. There should be no rain. We're in drought. There should be no rain.

Everyone in my state would agree: the few showers we've been having recently couldn't have come sooner. The rain's been a gift, much needed and much appreciated.

The idea of gifts has struck me lately. In Bible study, we were discussing Hannah in 1 Samuel. She prayed for a child, though it was a distressing situation. She earnestly believed that God would give her exactly what she needed, when she needed it. Then, when she finally received her baby boy, she gladly gave the gift back to God.

When we ask God for something, I've realized our refining comes both in the waiting and in the receiving. Often, you wait so long for something, a drought of sorts, that it takes some time to recognize it for what it is. You begin to enjoy it and marvel at it, thanking God for its arrival.

Sometimes, gifts are only for a season. Then, you are called to give them back. You must, for this is the will of the LORD.

But what about the times when the gift is there, present in your life, but the circumstances seem wrong, like the rain in the sunshine? It's still a gift, but is it yours to have? I'm not sure, but I wish I knew.

Vision Impaired

"Today I wonder why it is God refers to Himself as 'Father' at all. This, to me, in light of the earthly representation of the role, seems a marketing mistake. Why would God want to call Himself Father when so many fathers abandon their children?" - Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz

I think there is truth in the idea that we view God much like we view our fathers, although that conclusion gives rise to personal confusion. How does this leave me, a daughter of a father for only 7 years, viewing God?

If I view God in terms of my dad, I am left with a hazy, incomplete picture. He was there for my family. He made us laugh. I have vague memories of him pretending to suck my toes up in the vacuum, grabbing my wrist and chastising me in a low voice at Kroger, singing me to sleep, reading the family devotional after dinner, letting me ride on his back like a horse. I've heard things about him through other people. Every time I ask my mom something theological, she sighs and says how much she wished Dad were here because he'd talk to me about it. I'm told he loved plants and animals and sneezed when the sun hit his eyes just right. His books are downstairs; a couple of his shirts hang in my closet. But the man? He's hardly been here when I needed him. His memory hasn't made much of a relationship.

After he died, my grandparents moved two miles down the road, and my grandfather assumed the physical role of alpha male. I make a point of only saying physical. He was there every night at the dinner table. But if I view God in terms of my grandfather (and I'm beginning to think I do), then God must spend most of His time trying to pretend like I don't exist. He never asks about me or about my life. I could be gone for a week and not hear more than five words from him upon my return. For a while, I played along, talking about my day as if he were listening. But recently, I've given up. Just sit there until he's done with his meal, after which he goes to the living room and turns up the TV loud enough to drown out our noise. It doesn't matter how much I try to do or say or achieve, I will never be more important than the 6 o' clock news.

So God abandons me or ignores me. Either way, it explains the silence.

Happy Father's Day.

Once Upon A Time

You might be surprised. I've sorted through and dissected every feeling and emotion and concern I've had about my graduation through this blog, yet it is now days after the actual event, and I have not mentioned it. You would assume that I would have much on my mind the day of and would need to unload it all here, as is often the case with my posts. You probably expected an extensive metaphor or a sarcastic rundown or some other characteristic recounting, recorded in the early hours of the morning after.

Honestly, I just didn't know how I felt. It was all so surreal, like it didn't really happen. I was so swept up in the odd reality that I just couldn't describe anything, metaphorically or sarcastically.

But tonight, it hit me. I can finally put it into words. And yes, there's a metaphor.

You know that feeling you get after you've read a long novel for some time? You've become well aquainted with the characters. You're invovled in their lives, even parts the other characters don't know about. You know their joys, their cares, their sins, their faults, everything. Also, you're completely familiar with the world they live in. The places they visit and inhabit are places in which you vicariously exist. Finally, you've become completely invested into the plot. The events that unfold seem to directly effect you. Until you read the last page, the book is your world.

But then, the spell is broken. The plot reaches the climax, the conflicts resolve, and you might, if you're lucky, be blessed with a cheerful epilogue, giving you a small glimsp into the future of the characters. And that's it. Sure, you feel a sense of accomplishment, finally finishing the book, especially if it's a long one. But the longer they are, the more time you have to get attached. By the time your eyes find "The End," you aren't quite ready for it. Relieved, maybe. But still kind of sad. You'll miss it. You want to still be there, in the thick of it, experiencing the places and the people you've come to know so well.

But then, you move on. You pick up a new read. You find yourself in a new setting, learning new characters and experiencing new things. It always starts out rough, getting into a fresh book. But hopefully after the first few chapters, you're ready to invest yourself once again.

That's how I feel. I've finished a book. The events are stored in my memory and in my photo albums. The setting is a drive away, but I'll be a visitor if I go back, not an actual inhabitant. And the characters? Well, I know a lot of them are gone, too. Graduation day was probably the last day I'll see many of my classmates. But there are some whom I hope and pray will not go away. They, invariably, will show up in my next volume, which I can't wait to read.

My Bench

There is a bench in the city where I live. It's structure is simple: three slabs of smooth gray granite. I can tell you that this bench has been carefully placed so that it sits right underneath the shade of a nearby tree, whose branches desperately need a trim. This sturdy seat has been placed with purpose, a memorial for a man I never knew. His name is inscribed on the bench, along with a short epitaph.

24 hours ago, I had no idea this bench even existed. I probably didn't need it. Because then, I still had hope. I had faith. I believed.

Now, reality has won. I am defeated.

It was a bad morning. I was just so sad. I didn't understand. And I couldn't get out of it. There was no one to talk to, so I just started driving. After nearly breaking down in tears at Target, I knew the baby car would be my only solace, as she often is. So we went exploring. I didn't care about getting lost. That's nearly impossible around here. We just took new roads, listening to Coldplay, as I sniffled behind my sunglasses.

And then, I saw it. The bench. Nestled in an old cemetery off a nondescript road. I pulled up to where it sat next to the gravel path. It was so inviting, regardless of the morbid setting.

I sat down, a person overcome by the inevitable, broken, empty of hope, full of despair. And I just sobbed.

I stayed there for about an hour, spitting my prayers and complaints and confusion and anger out to God. People change. Relationships change. I knew this would happen. I anticipated it. Why did you give me hope that it wouldn't? Didn't you promise hope that does not disappoint? ...and so on.

I prayed someone would come and comfort me, but I remained alone. I prayed for peace, for joy, for the ability to accept reality, but I was without it all. I drove away released but oddly enough, still burdened. And very exhausted.

Nobody said it was easy.
Oh, it's such a shame for us to part.
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be so hard.

Oh, take me back to the start.

Senior Checklist

"So... you excited?"
"How's it feel to be done?"
"I'm going to miss you so much!"
"Here, sign my yearbook."
"Have I signed your yearbook?"
"See you at graduation."
"Where'd you tell me you're going again?"
"Oh. Where is that?"
"Oh! Well, that sounds nice."
"I thought you were going to UGA."
"Did you mail your announcements yet?"
"Did you mail your graduation party invitations yet?"
"Why haven't you done that yet?"
"Explain in your own words the two main themes of Jane Eyre."
"I can't sign this until you've cleaned out your locker."
"... or else you won't walk."
"Torpeders."
"What's that flower thing that goes on your wrist? Am I supposed to get you one?"
"My daughter looks up to you so much."
"Well, if I don't see you, have fun tomorrow night."
"Rosalyn."
"Would you like to join the army?"
"Now, what has this taught you about procrastination?"

Just a few sound bites that have been swirling around my life lately. The last quote was spoken by a lady in the UPS store who was mailing a priority shipped (aka almost late) scholarship application for me. It seems life lessons must always be learned with extra postage.

We had baccalaureate (or, as I like to call it, the Graduation pep rally) yesterday. I am now the owner of a new Bible with my name calligraphied on the inside. Last night was our last regular youth group meeting. I plopped my graduation announcements in the mailbox at the post office this morning, with a ceremonious "'07!" under my breath. I'm still working on the blasted orange senior checklist, getting signatures from everyone saying I can, in fact, walk. I turned in my last test today (thanks for the 523 pages, Charlotte Brontë). I attended the last small group meeting at lunch. P-ROM '07 plans are all made: I got the tickets, the reservations, the dress, the date, the jewelry, the hair appointment, the shoes, the handbag, and the transportation all set. Now I just have to enjoy myself tomorrow night, which will hopefully be the easiest thing on this list.

So here I am, blogging at my familiar coffee spot, pondering dancing with someone who always seems to bring a smile to my face. Contemplating all my pending free time before graduation. Thinking about the summer with my youth group. Musing over the fall at "No, it's not UGA" University and all the people I'll meet, things I'll do, stuff I'll learn there.

So, to answer your question... yes. I am excited. Or at least getting there.

Grain of Salt

Reality and I haven't been on good terms lately.

What is it about human beings? We are logical, rational, understanding creatures. We are able to differentiate between the possible and the impossible. We know we cannot do certain things. We are constrained by reality and are constantly reminded of our limitations.

And yet... we hope. We hang on to that last shred of improbability, convincing ourselves that this time will be different. More than that, we dream. Our hopes are so real to us that we base our futures on them, we act on them, we believe in them.

But why? We are always disappointed. We always let down or are let down. Why do we keep trying? Why are we not overwhelmed by the reality of a situation, left in a puddle of faithless inaction?

I am overwhelmed. Reality, the insuperable juggernaut, is winning.

The reality is this: I have performed my last show; tomorrow, I will play my last concert; I will attend my last classes Friday and Monday; I will graduate; I will leave. People grow up. I am growing up. Growing means changing. I am changing, as is everyone else around me. Our relationships are changing, too. Drastically. I will grow apart from many whom I hold close now. Also, I'm finding it hard to believe in new relationships because of the futility involved. Why start now if we're all just leaving anyway?

This is logic. This is actuality. This is real.

So why am I up late once more, crying about things I cannot change and should have anticipated all along? Perhaps I had hoped it wouldn't happen. I really can't say.

But I can say that sometimes, for absolutely no discernible reason whatsoever, reality lets one slip by. A dream comes true. So you smile, scarcely allowing yourself to keep hoping and dreaming.

Reflections

When I was about 6 or so, I got to dress up for Halloween as a bride. Cute, frilly, white dress with white, Easter Sunday shoes, a bouquet of silk flowers that fell out of their bundle every time I breathed, and two elastic headband veils. The veils were what perplexed me the most. Why two? I didn't get it. Mom explained that the bride's face was covered by one when she walked down the aisle, and the groom moved it back later, when he kissed her. But my 6 year old mind found folly in the tradition. I wanted everyone to see my "radiance," if you will, and the veil only got in the way.

Recently, I've been reading 2 Corinthians. In the third chapter, Paul explains the difference between the old ministry of atonement and the new. He references Moses, who had to wear a veil when he experienced the glory of God after receiving the old, fading ministry of condemnation - the Law. Now that we have the new ministry of salvation, how much more glorious will that appear? And how much brighter will we be, no longer veiled by misunderstanding the old?

"And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit." (v. 18)

We're like mirrors, reflecting, not our own glory, but God's. Sometimes our veils get in the way: our pride, our pain, our skewed perceptions, our immaturity. But thanks to God, He is transforming us into His likeness, that we may be covered no longer.

I am beginning to realized that my life is not my story. It is God's. He is the protagonist, and He is the author. It's just not about me.

I want to be an unveiled mirror of His glory. I want everyone to see what Abba's love has done to me, for them to look at me as one who is loved, because I am. And maybe, they will be drawn by that reflection of His brilliant rays, rather than the pathetic, fading beam of my own existence. When I look around and see those who are reflecting His light into my life, I know that I am called to do the same.

When I get married, I'm not going to wear the second veil. I want my groom and everyone else to see what love has done to my countenance. Why would you want to cover that up?

So, that's what I learned in Kindergarten. I guess it's all I really need to know.

Past, Present, and/or Future

Three different people. Three different encounters.

First, a friend I've known for years. We haven't always had the closest relationship, but this year we've become very good friends. I love hearing her dreams, hopes, fears, and frustrations. She accepts my advice as well as my general complaints about the world. We need each other, and we mutually help each other. I am very grateful for our relationship. Today, as we shared a bagel at Panera, I realized how much I'll miss her next year, and I was strengthened in my resolve to keep in touch with her.

Second, another friend I've known for years. We were close earlier this year and before that. She got a boyfriend, and you know how it goes. We drifted. Significantly. I don't blame him. I understand it's the way of things. Recently, it's as though our relationship is barely holding together. Tonight, I realized it won't last past graduation. She hurt me in a very careless way. And while I can understand and rationalize all I want, the fact remains: I am no longer important in her life, nor she in mine.

Third, someone I've known for some time. I fell for him over a year ago. He broke my heart, found out about it, and has been distant ever since. In all honesty, it's fine. I realized today that I have nothing to feel for him. Not love, not bitterness, but not really friendship either.

Three relationships: one thriving, one dying, one dead. It seems all my relationships are in one state or another. Few are thriving; many of them are dying. And I'm floundering, trying to figure out what to do about it. Should I even do anything about it? Should I recusitate the dying? Mourn the dead?

Seems to be the questions that are leaving me in this overwhelming state of unsettling confusion.

Pozzo: "I don't seem to be able... to depart."
Estragon: "Such is life."

Grief

I hate April 19th.

Over the years, I've never really known how to handle 4/19. For a while, I told people about it. Mentioned it during prayer requests at school. "Could you please pray for my family..." But then I began to notice the awkward silence that hit the room as soon as I spoke. So I stopped. Maybe an off-hand comment to a friend. "Yeah, can you believe it will be __ years since..." More silence. I generally can't talk to mom about it. Just makes her sad, though I know my bringing it up wouldn't be the first time it's crossed her mind.

Today, like every year for the past ten years, I didn't really know how to handle it. It was in the back of my mind all day. Honestly, I didn't want to think about it. I wanted to be around people, just listening and enjoying the distraction. But it seemed everywhere I went, they left. So I tried to take a nap. That only gave me more time to dwell on it.

I played my flute. I've been doing a lot of that lately. It was different today, though. I played through a song full of vibrato, carrying a beautiful sadness with each note. It wasn't perfect, but I put so much heart and emotion into it, I physically shook after I played the final fermata.

Then came my monologue during rehearsal. I was fine up until "... And the mystery of death." And when I said, "Somehow, sometimes, things are just as they should be." I had very little conviction. Sometimes things are wrong. They aren't just as they should be. They hurt.

I told no one. No one asked me if anything was wrong, or if something was bothering me. Seems I'm a better actress than I realized.

But now, I want someone to know. So, reader, April 19th, the anniversary of my dad's death, is a hard day for me.

10 years without him and I still haven't figured out how to deal with it.

Blue

When I was a little girl, I had this blue dress. I loved it, for one reason and one reason only: it slightly resembled a dress worn by Belle in Beauty and the Beast. Picture: the busy day of a small town in the French countryside. Belle gracefully skims through near mis-haps while having her head buried in a book. The song she sings describes her craving for adventure, her want for more than her normal life. I, an impressionable child of four, grabbed my thickest book and, wandering around my living room, participated in the scene. And so, I felt exceptionally special whenever I got to wear this blue dress. I felt like her, like a princess, ready to run around, read books, and fall in love.

As happens with most things in life, I outgrew the dress. Mom stored it on the top shelf of my closet, just out of reach (even when I stood on my wooden child-safe stool). I was, as you can imagine, very upset at my loss. The blue dress... I could see it. It was mine. But I couldn't wear it anymore.

Today, I wore another blue dress. One I like very much. I get compliments on it, I like the a-line cut, and the color very closely resembles the Belle dress. And, to be completely honest, I feel somewhat like I felt as a child.

But I am not the little girl who spun around her couch, singing happily. Not anymore. It seems I have grown up. I have new things to think about, cry about, laugh about. And I have no idea how that happened. I'm not entirely sure I appreciate it.

Sure, there are benefits. I can reach the top shelf in my closet now.

Today, in the new blue dress, I realized that not only have I changed, but so have those around me. And they will continue to do so, as will I. I've understood for some time now that they will not be a part of my daily life, but it was only today that I realized I will not be a part of theirs. I won't know their newest crisis, nor their newest joy. I won't be the ears for their complants, nor the arms for their hugs.

In forty or so days, I will wear another blue gown. And I will be a different person then than I am now: a high school graduate, if nothing else.

I will graduate from their school... must I graduate from their lives as well?

Spring At Last

Amazed... there's no other word for me right now.

I know it's absolutely corny, but the illustration holds true: I've experienced an autumn of change. I've been through a winter of pain, doubt, and confusion. But here I am, at the promised spring of peace. All the stuff before had to happen, otherwise I never would have made it. The old leaves had to change colors, die and drop on the ground, or the tree would never have know the beauty of new growth.

I know where I'm going next year. Even though it wasn't what I expected or even wanted at first, I know, without a doubt, that it is where God wants me. And I am so pleased to be wrapped up in the will of God, finally in the right place, with peace-filled assurance. And - here's the greatest part - He has made me glad! I am so excited about next year. Finally! I have a destination, a purpose, a place that God has chosen for me, his daughter... to give me a hope and a future.

"See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come..." - Song of Solomon 2:11-12

You give me hope, and hope it gives me life
You touch my heavy heart, and when you do you make it light
As I exhale I hear your voice
And I answer you, though I hardly make a noise
And from my lips the words I choose to say
Seem pathetic, but it's fallen man's praise
Because I love you
Oh God, I love you
And life is now worth living
If only because of you
And when they say that I'm dead and gone
It won't be further from the truth

Like a Child

I volunteered in my church's nursery this morning, or, as I affectionately (and perhaps more aptly) refer to it, "nursery duty." Funny. Nothing can take your mind off your problems like a bunch of little kids, all clamoring for your attention.

Everytime I'm in the nursery on a Sunday morning, I'm allowed to witness what I call "separation disillusionment." The baby arrives, happy in its parent's arms. Then, it is passed on to a smiling volunteer, such as myself, ready to cater to its every whims. This transaction is normal and very necessary. Does the baby think so? No. It proceeds to ruin the volunteer's ear drums, far past the damage done by her daily ipod use. All the baby knows is the utter loss of normalcy. And no, it's not about to listen to the calm reasoning of "It's ok, they'll be back."

Turns out, the effect of a limited perspective is quite detrimental - to the one misunderstanding and the one being misunderstood.

Babies are extremely dependent, needy creatures. They can do nothing on their own. Even when signs of progress are being made, such as chewing cheerios without choking or toddling around without crashing into furniture, they still must be watched constantly. Even their beds resemble prison. You can't trust them to their own devices. They don't get it yet: what life is or how extremely fragile and unprepared they are for it.

It's a frustrating job, being their caretaker for an hour every month. The leaks, the bad attitudes, the understandable narcissism. Even though you have every right to give up and walk out, you don't. Because, as strange as it may be, their little offering of love, be it in a smile, a laugh, or an earnest invitation to play with them, is impossible to refuse. And you love them back. See, you don't walk in and expect to find adults. You know they're babies, and you accept all the crap (literally and figuratively) that comes along with it.

"Have faith like a child." he says. Well, turns out I am one.

First Day of Spring

The weather was perfect today. I drove to my grandparents' house using the long way, just enjoying the warm sun shining through my open windows, listening to the right CD, going goodness-only-knows-per-hour, observing the cherry trees as they steal the spotlight from the Bradford pears. I went down my favorite road, the one that has that steep hill and if you go down it fast enough, you get that anti-gravity feeling in the pit of your stomach, like on roller coasters.

I used to love driving. It was my escape, a time where I could think without interruption or sing without self-consciousness. Now, thanks to my aversion to punctuality, the time I spend driving is tense and distracted: a means to an end.

But today, driving was driving again. And I needed the head-clearing.

I haven't understood certain emotions, feelings, thoughts I've had lately. As I blazed through the familiar paths in my car, I began to get it.

I realized that I will be replaced. I will head off to college, and new people (or things) will come up where I used to be. I will not be my friends' ears, nor will I be their ride. I will not be the one to play the flute solo next year in band. I will not plan See You At the Pole 2007. The hard part, though, is that even though I will not be there, everything will continue. Without me.

And so, I am jealous, of the friends my friends will make in their freshman classes, of the girl who is second chair flute right now, of the current juniors who will plan Homecoming 08. But jealousy is not becoming on a young lady, nor is it something I am used to.

65 days until graduation... where's the brake pedal?

Flat Tire

There was a nail stuck in my tire today. It was wedged pretty deep in the tread. The tire is intact and will be saved with a little patching. It had leaked badly, though, gauging less than 10 on the pressure reader. I was driving around for a while on the wall of the tire, because it had so little air.

The thing is, I had no idea. I would have kept on driving. Thankfully, a couple at my school noticed. When they told me my tire was low and that I needed to get some air, I must have given them the most hopeless, distraught look, because they quickly took me to the Citgo and taught me how to fill up my tires with 75 cent air, which they helped pay for because I was out of quarters.

Never in my life have I felt so helpless. I didn't even know how to fill up my tires, much less notice that the one was so low.

I kept thinking, If Dad were here, he could help me. He would've taught me. He wouldn't have let me get my license without knowing this stuff.

And the more I thought that, the more overwhelmed I became at the gaping hole in my life that he has left. Things I will never be taught unless someone else comes along and teaches them to me. Things I will never do that many people do on a daily basis. A man that I will never know past a vague impression, yet whom I still fully love. It seems I am missing out, to the point that I am sorrowfully feeling the deep effects of my loss, realizing its emotional as well as physical consequences.

Tomorrow night, there will be yet another show he will miss. In a few months, he will not rejoice with me over my college decision. Come May, he will not attend my high school graduation. In the fall, he will not load up his car with my pathetic pile of worldly goods and deliver it and me to the aforementioned college. He will not want to beat up every male who shows an interest in me. He will not meet his son-in-law or his grand kids. He will not walk me down the aisle or sit in the hospital waiting room, bursting with pride while going crazy with worry.

And I am sad.

Excerpts From a Journal

3/6/07
This journal is a gift from a friend. I had a feeling she would give me one for this trip, so I neglected to bring my own. Poor other journal. At home, missing the "adventure of a lifetime." I haven't written in it for a while. Regardless of my (un)faithfullness in recording what's gone on in my life, God has been working. It has been an absolute joy, absolute struggle, absolute pain, absolute healing. God has decided to teach me about love: His love for me, my love for Him, others' love for me, my love for them.
I have learned that love is selfless. "Love" acted out only in the benefit of self is not love - it is lust, infatuation, greed, or just self-centeredness. Love is putting the needs and even wants of others before your own. It is wanting to invest time in another person, if only to see them become a better person. Love means giving up your cave time because someone needs your ears. Love means speaking the truth, even when it can be taken the wrong way. Love is receiving the truth, even when you want to take it in the wrong way. Love is not running away. Love is chasing. Love isn't based on emotions or feelings or even the fluttery heart thing. It's based on the knowledge of who a person is. Love them for them. Sometimes, God tells us to love someone. Sometimes, it comes naturally. Sometimes, it's both. Love is God's greatest command - first Him, then others. Nothing can compare to it. It is stronger than death (on a cross even), than the grave, than the horrible, sinful, depraved people that we are. Love is the fulfillment of the law. Act in love, and you obey all of the commandments. So that is what I mean when I tell someone I love them. And that is why I do not say it flippantly or to everyone.
I'm beginning to grasp God's love. Barely. He's been pouring it out to me for so long, teaching me ever so gently, ever so slowly that He loves me. Other people love me. They, too, have been patient with my confusion and unbelief. But I'm starting to get it.
And now, God is asking for a return on his deposit. Here I am with my senior class. I'm here for a purpose. I'm going to love these people, or at least act in love toward them because of my love for Christ.
So far, we haven't done much. We're at a seminary: cold showers, but awesome food. I'm just sitting in the sun, feeding the bugs, and avoiding soaring sporting equipment.
Yesterday, after we arrived, had dinner, and got settled, we had an amazing time of worship. God laid it on my heart to share about my college struggles, along with Isaiah 40 (He is God, I am not). The thing isn't really what college I go to, but that I follow God where ever He leads me. That works for now, so I'll stop worrying about it.

3/7/07
Yesterday, after our free morning to hang out, we went to a high school. We played / sang a few songs. Lawler wanted us to sit amongst the kids, which was tough for me. Turns out I'm pretty shy. The kids weren't really into the singing or the preaching. But they liked the soccer game.
Then we went to the inner city of San Jose to pass out tracts. Once again, turns out I'm very shy. I hated it. I felt so out of my element, so imposing, asking people to take a piece of pape from a complete stranger concerning something so personal as one's relationship with God. But, "How can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?"
I guess I'm just not good at selling the gospel. I know what it entails: the heartache, the pain, the process of being emptied and refined. But I also know the joy, the healing, the process of being filled. When it comes to telling others about God, I feel dishonest only hitting the high points.
This morning, we woke up extremely early and drove across the country. We got souveniers and pottery. Aby used the pottery in his lesson tonight - more "I'm God, you're not: I'm the potter, you're the clay" stuff. I need to keep thinking that. Then we went to a big open field and sang for some little school kids. Onto another small town with another amazing time of worship witht he local kids. We had them all dancing to "Marvelous Light." It was awesome.

3/8/07
Well, we've spent the day doing nothing. Right now, I'm looking out at the resort's cove of the Pacific Ocean, sitting on the towel I had to rent from them, surrounded by grass, joined by Jake and Arthur. The sun is beautiful, reflecting off the water around the pier. The flags are standing stiff gaurd on the pier, not of their own volition - the wind has decided their upright position. The humid force is also wafting the birds gently in the air as they cry out to each other.
Seems I'm in a pensive mood. Today has been a perfect day for relaxation, socializing, and letting go. Last night's words come back to me, and I pray they will never leave. Mr. Campbell spoke about unity and how it is bound by love. Why must I be constantly faced with the thing I am so bad at? I remember, in the summer, God was preparing me for this lesson. He had me speak at the student government retreat about love and humility and how it all builds unity.
Maybe I've been a loner for too long. Perhaps this is God's way of telling me to be better unified with His people. So much has happened since that retreat, so many tests that have strengthened my ability to love as well as my understanding of it. I want to be better at it, but it's such a big task. I'm discouraged.
But He remembers that I am dust...
Clay. It's just dust. But with a little water, the right pair of hands, and the pottery wheel, it can become more than dust - beautifully shaped and molded.
I am the clay. He is the potter. He knows what He is doing. He's carefully molding me into the woman he wants me to be. I'm by no means a finished product,. I've been fried, turned, twisted. I'm getting there.
And so, my frustration will last. But I pray to see progress everyday. And I think I am. It's just a process of getting over me - not being so self absorbed and self centered. It's not about my desires, my shyness, my past pain. It's about the absolute command to love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love my neighbor as myself.

3/9/07
I am more exhausted now than I have ever been in my life. I'm laying in bed, eating dark chocolate M&M's (a gift which flooded me with happiness). I am quickly realizing the detrimental effects of an open bag of M&M's on someone trying to write in a journal.
Today, we went white water rafting down one of the world's best rafting rivers. We floated and paddled through the rain forest for 5.5 hours. I never got tired of looking up and seeing the tall, dense walls of trees surrounding us. Our foursome paddled our arms out. It was intense and tiring but so fun! I'd do it again in a heartbeat. We even had lunch right out on a sandbar. They just flipped over a couple rafts and started laying out fruit and stuff to make sandwhiched with. It was like a picnic. In the rain forest. Never to be forgotten.
My selfishness contiues. I am constantly sickened by my instinctive desire to please myself before others. I know this would happen - a trip like this heightens flaws. Why does it bother me so much to simply share my pringles, or to talk to the loners of the group instead ob the friends I'm comfortable with? Praise be to the One who know my heart's design completely, yet still loves its owner.
Opening night for the play was tonight. Is it wrong that I still feel disappointed about missing the first two shows to be here? The Potter wants me in Costa Rica, though. People paid money for me to be here. They're praying for me. I'm supposed to be here, not at home.
What are you up to, God? This clay has blown it the first four days she's been here. Sure you haven't made a mistake? She's snapped at people, hastn't offered to share with anyone, missed an opportunity to witness, sar by while other people made fun of her friends, fallen asleep during prayer, complained, been introverted, neglected some of your servants, didn't help wash the dishes, didn't thank the bus driver, fumed because of sparse leg room...
Are You sure?

3/10/07
We're pretty tired. I know this because Joy (my roommate) has been laying on the bed, pencil poised ove the pages in her journal, motionless for about 20 minutes. Yeah, it was a tiring day.
We did a lot of ministry work today. We started out early and headed to Aby's church. It's small, but beautiful. Gladys made breakfast (rice, beans, and eggs - five days in a row!). Then we went to a large enclosed gym. The children of the village came and we played witht hem after presenting the gospel. It was amazing, definitely a highlight of the trip. They were precious, all running around with baloon hats Louis and Lizzie had sculpted for them. At one point, we had a big game of keep away going. Tip's hat was the ball. Gringos v. kids - and they played dirty! I had the hat, and they wrestled me to the ground somehow. A little boy grabbed part of the hat, and I hung on to the other. All the kids were tickling me ruthlessly while I laughed and yelled, "No tickle!" and to the kid with the hat, "Damelo! Damelo!" (Give me it!). It was awesome. I can assure you: I didn't think about college once. Turns out, there ARE more important things to consider and ponder.
After the kids left, we went to lunch and headed back to the gym to minister to the teenager with music, testimonies, and lots of soccer. I played for a bit. I haven't been feeling well today, so I'm glad I only participated for about 10 minutes. I was a defender, whatever that means.
We finished tonight with a very Spirit-filled worship / devotion time. Mrs. Carr came over and prayed for me. It was funny. She knew all the doubts I had about myself and my future. She addressed them all, mentioning my passion for God and how it will always guide me and lead me wherever God wants me to be. She prayed for my peace. I cried. Those words will echo into eternity. I told her all the stuff about how inadequate I feel and all the failures I've presented God with lately. She didn't gasp and take back her prayer. She just calmly said that Christ's sacrifice would have been purposeless if I were perfect.
The desire and passion to do what is right.
The capacity and tendency to do what is wrong.
It's so hard sometimes. But He understands and He still died for me. That's why He died. I think my sin is here to humble me, to perpetuate my reliance on God and His strength in sanctification.
Today, I gave away M&M's. The dark chocolate ones. Without regreting or loathing it. That, journal, is the work of God.
It's like Mrs. Carr said, though. It's a process. I think that's at the core of my frustration: I want glorification now. I want to be complete in God.
But not yet. The clay must be shaped, molded, wet down, fried before it can be glazed over and decorated.

3/11/07
Last day. How bizarre. I was just getting used to tico time.
We went to church this morning. The service was a mix of Spanish and English. I really enjoyed it.
Then, after church, the sweetest thing happened. A little boy named Stuart, full of love and energy, came up to me and presented me with a necklace. "Por me?" I said. He nodded yes. "Porque?" (Why?) I wanted to know, completely confused. I had done nothing to earn this child's esteem. All he responded with was a big hug, and he walked away.
Before lunch, a few of us went down to the store in Guacimo. Several of us got coke in a bottle... apparently, they keep the bottle to redeem later, so they poured our drinks into plastic sandwich bags, stuck a straw in it, and handed it to us. So there we were, walking down a Costa Rican gravel road, dinking coke in bag.
We left for San Jose, and stayed at nice hotel where I reunited with Casa number 7, my beloved roommates from the beginning of the week. We had some good girl time.
After dinner, we had an amazing service. Mr. Campbell prayed for us, blessing us. We sang and had communion.
Stuart really brought it all home for me. All this stuggle I've had over selfishness, all my frustration over my lack of humility, it was needed to teach me what it means to follow Christ. It's not about me. It's about God. I am not the lead character in my novel. God is. He's the author, too. Stuart showed me what unconditional, selfless love is. He gave me the necklace just because. How hard, then, is it for me to give my time, my love, my patience. I hope and pray I will not soon forget this lesson. Stuart has already given me a physical reminder.

3/12/07
We're on the plane, heading home. I am granted a few hours to reflect on and add to this journey before all the craziness of life back home begins again.
I have seen absolute wonders of God's creation. Mountains, forests, oceans, rivers, waterfalls, clouds, sunsets, moonrises, stars. God's creation will never cease to hold me in awe. I can't help but praise Him for the world He has given us to live in, even if it is fallen. I see the Creator's hand in his earth, and I feel His pleasure in my delight.
God is a God of love: absolute, unconditional, unrepelable love. A person enters this world with a sinful nature, unable to understand love. All they know is selfishness, and they act accordingly. God intercepts this path of depravity and begins to teach us right from wrong. We can no longer live as we used to. We are being taught what the truth is, what it means to love, what it means to have life and have it to the full.
I had skewed views of life, love, and myself: life is lived how I desire, I love only for reciprocation, and I am worthless because I live unfulfilled and I love unreturned.
It is a process. God must get rid of these old views and in their place provide the truth: that I live for God, I love because He loves me, that a life lived for Him is full of purpose, love given in Him, to Him, and from Him is good, and that He has given me worth, redeemed me.

Romans 12:1-3

Doesn't Play Well With Others

Here, have a senior class trip. Go to an awesome country and tell the people there about God. The trip's totally paid for, because people back home think you're the right person for the job. Remember how "commissioned" you felt when you got the first donation in the mail? So there, Jessie: an all-expenses paid work trip / vacation to share the love of God with others and to create some awesome memories that will last a lifetime! It's yours!

So what's wrong with me? It's mine. It's almost here. My camera batteries are being charged as I type this. I mean, this is going to happen. But I'm not excited. In fact, I'm kind of dreading it.

Fear of the unknown. One of my most long-standing battles. What in the world will this be like? Honestly, the thought of working side by side with 43 other members of my senior class discourages me. I know how well I do in groups. Not well. I get frustrated easily. I am a person who enjoys people. But then, when I reach my time limit, I need space, my cave time, my "don't talk, just think" time.

And I know, without a doubt, God is asking me to sacrifice this. He's been doing that a lot lately. A certain friend of mine is constantly commandeering my free time. During the most recent occurrence, we were talking about love. Turns out, I know more about it than I thought, and God decided I needed to share it with her. I was trying to explain what selfless love was and I remember saying something to the tune of, "You see, it's like you and me. I spend time with you, not because I'm trying to get anything out of it [which I'm not], although I do get a lot of joy from our relationship [which I do], but because I love you [which is also true] and I want to see you become a better person."

Condemned by my own words, which were, oddly enough, not even mine to begin with [seems they made an impression]. Do I love these people? Then I'll put up with their crap in the hopes that I can help them. Turns out, when you ask God to take your life and let it be consecrated to him, he takes you up on the offer.

So that's my prayer request for this trip: that I'll be able to act in love, sacrificing my cave time as others have done for me, open to the odd opportunities God gives me to share in someone's life. God's work: draining and fulfilling. What a satisfying paradox.

Star?

I used to be enthralled by the Oscars. The beautiful dresses, the funny comedians, the talented Hollywood people. I completely bought into it. During spring break in 8th grade, I even got to go out to California and stood on the Kodak Theatre stage. I think that's probably when my fascination began.

I tuned in this year. I missed the first hour or so because I was at church. As I watched Al Gore receive two standing ovations and Ellen Degeneres meander around in her white tennis shoes and Clint Eastwood stumble over the intro for the honorary oscar (because he admittedly "should have brought his glasses"), I lost my enchantment. I saw it for what it really is: the Hollywood system giving itself a big pat on the back. Is this what people live for? A moment of fame? A little gold statue? A 30 second acceptance speech that's cut off by music anyway? Oddly enough, I became fairly ecclesiastical: it is all meaningless.

Tonight, I went (with my extremely proud mom) to a banquet honoring seniors with outstanding SAT scores, myself included. We sat at our assigned table behind our large name cards (I took mine home) with people we didn't know. I left the table for two minutes and came back to find that mom had already filled our table mates in on my constantly changing college plans: "She's applied to A, B, and C. She got into B and C but she hasn't heard from A..." I could recite it in my sleep I've said it so many times. Turns out, the other spectacular test taker at my table is also interested in A. More conversation about how ironic it would be.

To the buffet line we proceed. Pasta with two options (two!) of sauce: marinara or alfredo. As with my ever-present college decision, I could not choose and solicited the advice of the man in front of me. Turns out he couldn't decide either and had two separate piles of noodles with a different sauce on each. "It's like a cruise ship!" he says. "I've never been on a cruise ship." "Well, you better marry rich then!"

Back to the table. Mom disappeared for a while and things got awkward. All adults stared at me, the teenager whom they know not, and one asked the question. "Well, [glances down at the large name card] Jessica... what's next for you?"

What kind of vague question is that? What will I do when I get home? Next week? Next year? "Next? Like... after high school?" When she replied in the affirmative, I panicked. Mom had already taken the usually litany of A, B, and C. So I opted for the "give them something to laugh at so they'll leave me alone" escape route.

"Well, I'm definitely going to college." They laugh - of course she is! She did so well on the SAT! I push my advantage. "Actually, I decided that in fifth grade, so I've been ahead of schedule for some time." More laughter. They catch the irony of my current lack of plans with the existence of them seven years ago.

Keynote speaker. I don't remember anything she said. It was so cliche, I just tuned it out. Oh, well. I can always marry rich.

Was it just a big night of pats on the back? Perhaps. Was it meaningless? Maybe. I'm glad I went, but I don't put too much stock in it. It's no fun chasing the wind.

My Active Realization

It appears that I am a senior. Yes, I've known this for quite some time now. I know that I am a "can leave campus when I'm not taking on of my five classes / sits in the front row for chapel / doesn't want to do homework because of senioritis / yells proudly "07" to anyone who will listen" senior.

But now, I've become a "will graduate in 3 months / has to decide on the far away future today / will leave my school / will leave my friends / will leave my teachers / will leave my church / will leave my life" senior.

And, honestly, it has undone me.

I'm so tired of contemplating the future. My plans rarely hold up under scrutiny: I want to reject admission to one of the best schools in the state, I want to go to a "buy a small house with the money you spent on tuition" expensive, 5 hours away college, my scholarships are falling through, my second choice might not work out. It's all so tangled and messy. I hate tangled and messy.

My Father knows His plans. I do not. But I know Him. That's enough.

What's really been heavy on my mind lately, though, is the future of my current relationships. I've gotten close to people this year: my mom, my friends, my youth group, my teachers. The hardest thing I see myself facing is letting them go. I must. I'm beginning to acknowledge the changes that will come to these relationships. For now, I can't bear the thought; I usually end up crying when left alone to think about it.

And so, I am once again confronted with a choice: if I am going to enventually let go of these people, should I loosen my grasp or tighten my fist? Should I begin withdrawing from their lives and pushing them out of mine or should I savor what time I have left with them? I want to run, with the desire of making it easier on myself in May, and to finally rid their lives of the burden I am for them, no longer victimized by my selfishness.

But I have found that what I want is usually not what God wants. And I am seeing the work He is doing in my life, for part of me longs to throw myself into these relationships selflessly. But then the other side of me worries once again about reciprocation and poses the question: "What if they will not miss you as you miss them? What if they cannot or will not return your love?"

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town to another due,
Labor to admit to you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lovéd fain
But am betrothed unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Take It All

Back in middle school, the swirling cauldron of life lessons it seems, I decided to try out for the middle school praise team. It was my first time auditioning for anything (unless you count the time my best friend and I tried out for the talent show - I don't). I walked in and saw Goodwin behind a folding table with my audition sheet under his pen. I was scared. Very scared. He asked me what I wanted to do in the praise team. I remember mumbling something about being able to sing and play the piano (badly), guitar (barely), and flute. He turned to whoever was next to him and said, "Hey, wouldn't that be awesome? To have a flute?"

Thus, I was in the middle school praise team, playing along with the guitar cords, being miked at the wrong end, and attempting to not be heard.

Fast forward to the next year's auditions. Same room, same table, same Goodwin. This year's interview posed a new question: "Why do you want to be the middle school praise team?" Caught off guard, I told him the first thing that came to mind: "Well, I believe God has given me a gift for playing the flute, and I want to give it back to Him."

Tonight, I attended the concert of arguably the world's greatest flutist. He conquered every piece with absolute brilliance: his vibrato was heartbreaking, his double tonguing astounding, his fingering remarkable. He had perfect joy in his work; the audience's standing ovations were merely auxiliary factors in his delighted satisfaction.

It seems as though I have lost my joy for many things in my life. I get so caught up in the crazy scheduling, the fruitless rehearsals, the frustrating people involved, that I lose the whole reason I do anything: to glorify God, and then, seeing Him pleased, bringing happiness to others and maybe even myself. I love those moments where I'm up on stage, playing a solo on my flute straight from my heart, feeling God's pleasure on me. That is where I find true joy and satisfaction. Trust me - I've searched other places.

I want to give myself - my talents, my gifts, my hopes, my dreams, my potential - back to God. I want to be one in whom He is well pleased.

Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to Thee... Take my hands and let them move at the impulse of Thy love... Take my feet and let them be consecrated, Lord, to Thee... Take my voice and let me sing, always, only, for my King...Take my lips and let them be filled with messages from Thee... Take my silver and my gold; not a mite would I withhold... Take my intellect and use every power as Thou shalt choose... Take my will and make it Thine; it shall be no longer mine... Take my heart it is Thine own, it shall be Thy royal throne... Take my love, my Lord, I pour at Thy feet its treasure store... Take myself and I will be, ever, only, all for Thee...

A Very Cliche Topic

I hate it when things are not reciprocated. Looking over the patterns of my life, however, it seems a constant thing I must deal with. If I respect you, shouldn't you respect me? If I'm kind to you, shouldn't you be kind to me? Most would agree. Nevertheless, there is one area in life where all of us have failed: love. Unreturned love is devastating. As I've posted before, to love is to be vulnerable. When the love is not reciprocated, the vulnerablity is attacked. The pain is deep, personal, and confusing.

I know.

And because I am familiar with rejection's sting, I am brought to a different understanding of God. Hosea is one of my favorite books in the Bible. In it, God commands his prophet, Hosea, to marry a prostitute, have children by her, find her when she runs back to her sin, and buy her back. Gomer the prostitute represents Israel, God's runaway lover. She has turned away from God and given herself to other gods. Hosea records God's words, full of fury, love, judgement, and tenderness. That's what I love about Hosea: reading it gives us insight into God's emotions - the part of Him that responds to us. And His responses are overwhelming.

With Israel as His lover, God first wants to "expose her lewedness before the eyes of her lovers" then wants to "speak tenderly to her."

With Israel as His child, God calls down judgement on him, then asks, "How can I give you up?"

And finally, God promises restoration. This part hits me hardest: "I will be like dew to Israel; he will blossom like a lily. Like a cedar of Lebanon he will send down his roots; his young shoots will grow."

Israel - a tree stripped bare, no leaves, no branches.
God - sees Israel, has overwhelming compassion, nourishes it back to health.

He loves me. There's no unreturned love I could ever give Him. In fact, I often fail to reciprocate. But even so, His compassion is so great, that He sees me, cries over me, wants me, changes me, provides for me. And I have yet to even comprehend a small piece of this love.

February 6th

When I was a child, my dad worked a lot of late shifts. He took us to school in the mornings, since my mom had to be at work early. Thus, he worked evenings. Every night, after my mom tucked me in, he came home from work, climbed the stairs and checked in on me. If I was still awake, he'd sit on the edge of my bed and ask me about my day. Then, he'd sing me to sleep. His favorite was "Amazing Grace." Even now, I hardly need the hymnal when we sing it in church. What is to many a cliche Christian song, for me, it is the sweetest memory of my dad. It breaks me; it mends me; it depresses me; it strengthens me.

The idea of grace has struck me recently. It seems no matter how much I feel I disappoint God, the reality of a second chance is always mine. I have rejected His love, His healing, His peace. And yet, he still offers it to me. Not only that, but because of His unfailing love, I am able to love others, something that has never happened to me. He breaks down my walls. He gives me ineffable joy. I can't begin to describe it. Even though I fail and grow weary, He gives me strength.

His grace is not just enough. It is overflowing.

And so, I remember my dad. The one that some could blame for my reluctance when it comes to grace. I, however, only remember his calm, tenor voice, teaching me of the grace the relieves fears, that sustains through dangers, toils and snares, that found me when I once was lost. And I know that he is there, bright shining as the sun, praising God to His face.

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.

Sleeplessness

"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." - C.S. Lewis

It's Sunday. Very early, Sunday morning. I'm far from sleep, from dreams, from rest.

Conflicted. It's the only word that suits me at this early hour.

I have a choice to make. My bare instincts scream at me to run as fast as possible in the other direction, to absolutely sever the ties that keep me bound to one of the things I fear the most. I want to completely hide myself, to climb into the coffin of my selfishness and wait for this to pass.

But if I do this, I will continue on, locked up forever, and become incurable. To run is to forfeit the joys and the reciprocation, to disobey my Lord's 2nd greatest command, to hurt someone who is very close to me. If I keep running, I will never be caught. I will never know the honorable, Godly, righteous love that could be mine and that I could return. I will be even further away from understanding that which frightens me, and when I truly fall in love in the future, I fear I will never be able to take off my running shoes.

This is hard. Ima go try to sleep.

Lessons Learned

I've learned a lot over the past few months. I thought I should probably document these lessons, just in case I have to learn them again.

I've learned that it is never a good idea to catch a curling iron that is plugged into the wall.

I've learned that just because he doesn't talk to you for a few days, it doesn't mean he's not interested. It could just mean he's busy.

I've learned that I am definitely not a math / science person. On the filp side of this, I've learned that I am gifted in literature / theology. They are my passions, and I want to spend the rest of my life exploring these area of the world.

I've learned what a paradox senior year can be. The closer I am to becoming an adult, the more independent I am. I want to live on my own. I want to make my own decisions. The more I think about it, though, the more it scares the dickens out of me.

I've learned what it feels like to be looked down on because I attended a prayer meeting. I'm sure I'm not finished learning this lesson.

I've learned how important it is to say goodbye to people, even if you know you'll see them tomorrow. It's important. It just is.

I've learned that when I get older and have a husband and kids, it is not a good idea to leave suggestive love notes to said husband in the exact same place where the nanny always looks for her paycheck because this makes the nanny feel very, very uncomfortable.

I've learned that I am an introvert. Yes, I greatly enjoy the company of people, especially close, small groups of friends. But I will always need time to reenergize and hang out with myself.

I've learned that worshipping God doesn't necessarily mean singing. True glorification of God means doing everything for His pleasure. This manifests itself in school work, playing the flute, acting on stage, getting coffee with your friends, just listening to someone who needs to talk, and everything else we do. We must use what has been given to us to give it back to God: our time, our talents, our dreams.

I've learned that the people I spent most of High School wishing I could be friends with really don't have more fun than me and my friends. I will never be friends with everyone. Not everyone will like me. And that's ok.

I've learned that people, no matter who they are or how much they care about you, will always let you down. Conversely, I will always let people down. Human beings cannot be heros, nor can they be perfect. Only God is completely reliable.

I've learned that people get so used to seeing the side of me that I let them see, that when I show small parts of my true self, it scares them and they rarely know how to do deal with it. Thus, I've learned patience and trust is key.

I've learned that the approval of others is an impossible and exhausting goal. The Apostle Paul said it best in Galations 1: "Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ."

Finally, I've learned that all I really needed to know I learned in kindergarten. Life gets complicated, but somethings always stay the same.

Why Chekhov Was An Idiot

Black and white.

It seems I'd be able to see them. I know what's right, what's wrong. But what do I know about the middle stuff? The gray?

I have found that nothing that happens to me has the ability to affect me in a purely good or bad way. And so, I am frustrated. Everything has its downside or, for you optimists, its silver lining. How do I deal with what should be good turning bad? I'm honestly getting very tired of disappointment. I'm afraid, though, that if I constantly expect the good things to turn out bad, that I'll never enjoy anything and I'll lose hope.

Take, for instance, Lady Macbeth. I've never had a significant female role on stage before. I've always been overshadowed by more important roles, and that's fine. I love Shakespeare. I want to play her, and I want to do it well. I want to be challenged. I want to experience being significant. And now I have the opportunity. I was cast as Lady Macbeth (in an adaptation of sorts, but still Shakespeare).

A seemingly happy, good thing, right?

Of course not.

Due to scheduling and personal reasons, it might not work out. Gosh, I want it to. A lot.

Next, we have the boy. There's always a boy. I've found them to be sorry things to peg one's hopes on, but still I persist. He finally asked me out. Himself, not through anyone as I expected. I was really happy. Really, really happy.

But also due to scheduling and personal reasons, it might not work out. I might never get the chance to say yes to him. I want to, though. A lot.

It seems that while I'm sucking the marrow out of life, I'm choking on the bone. I want to live and experience and commit myself. I want to thoroughly enjoy my last few months at NCCS. But now it's getting in the way of the things I really want to spend my time doing.

So, no, Chekhov. We cannot draw from personal experience to elicit only one emotion for a scene. Single emotions do not exist. The coin has two sides. Deal with it.

On Soaring

When I was in 8th grade, I anchored the 4x400 meter relay on the track team. My last race as a middle schooler was that relay on the day of the championship. The girls who ran the first three legs lost a lot of ground. By the time I had the baton in my hand, we were next to last. I completely forgot everything around me, the crowd, the baton, the other girls on the track. I just ran as fast as I could. I remember coming around a bend and seeing my coach ecstatically jumping up and down, motioning for me to keep going. I didn't feel tired. I didn't really feel anything except the absolute joy of running my heart out. I finished the race 5 meters away from the 2nd place finisher.

One of my favorite chapters in the Bible is Isaiah 40. It always seems to put God and myself into perspective. Basically, He is big and I am not. He is in control, and I am not. It's a tough lesson, but Isaiah adds comfort. As almost any Christian runner could tell you, Isaiah 40 holds a very famous verse.

"but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary;
they will walk and not be faint." (v. 31)

The thing that gets me about this verse is how aptly and concisely it describes life. You have times when you soar: when you realize you've fallen in love, when you hold your child for the first time, when you're on a spiritual "mountaintop" like on the retreat. You have times when you run: that's everyday, ordinary life. Finally, you have times when you walk. This is the hard stuff: when you've fallen off the mountaintop, when you're being hammored and refined, when life is just hard to live.

As I said before, Isaiah offers a lot of encouragement. Through all these times in our lives, God is costantly present. He will renew our strength. We will not grow weary or faint, even when we're getting breathing cramps or have to start walking. We might have to take it easy for a little while if we get injured, but God will always be our sustainer.

Right now, I'm walking. Sometimes it feels like I'm going so slow. But I'm always moving forward, regardless of my speed.

"He gives strength to the weary..."
"...hope in the LORD..."

I look forward to when I can run and even soar again.

Never Say Never

As I sit on my couch listening to mediocre pop artists ring in the new year, I think about time. I'm sure I'm not the only one contemplating where it went or where it is going. It's that time of year, really. It seems to me that the last 17 years have gone terribly quickly, and that the next however many years I have will go at the same rate.

It's here. 2007. The year I graduate. The year I become an adult (according to the government). The year I move out.

I see Dick Clark, still recovering from his stroke, not able to follow along as the rest of the world counts down the New Year. I hear my grandma talk about my great aunt attacking her nursing home roommate with her walker. I see Meatloaf, way past his prime, still attempting to be a bat out of hell for an audience that is unable to dance or sing along to his lyrics.

So this is where I'm heading? Yeah, there's a lot to be enjoyed and experienced and despised and learned in between here and there. A LOT.

But I'm still kind of nostalgic about where I've been and mindful of where I'm going. It's become important to me to savor life now (and on until it ends): being able to hang out with my closest friends every Friday at Starbucks, making P-rom 07 plans, going to discipleship at my church, flirting using the magic that is facebook, hopefully performing on stage at NCCS again, watching my eagles play, anticipating and going to Costa Rica, talking waaay too late on Saturday nights/Sunday mornings... all these things are going to stop happening some day. I realize this. We're going to grow up, get married, have kids, have grandkids, and new things will become important - so much so that they replace the old things.

So now, I'm going to enjoy it for all it's worth. All of it. Until I die.

Or come up with a better game plan.