maybe he will.

dear girl i was avoiding,

last night we spoke.

you took the initiative and that makes me respect you.

about two hours before we spoke i was filled with anxiety. rushes of distress made me physically uncomfortable in class. my stomach began to twist itself in knots, the kind of tension that only voice recitals give me. i could not focus on my professors stories. i was apprhensive. i was full of angst. because i have known you through the years. and we have confided in eachother over time. definitely not best friends, but enough to share the deep hard stuff if we wanted. and now things are different. and the circumstances under which we would speak were unforeseeable seven years ago.

it was all so bizarre.

i had practiced what i would say. i played out conversations in my head. questions you might ask, how i would answer.

and the most curious thing was the trust in your voice, the security in your eyes. you trust him fully. you have a peace about this all, about his character and you did not ask one single question about the past. it was as if you didn't need to. you were sure things wouldn't pan out the way they did before. i could not fathom it. how could you be so sure? why weren't you reaching for information? he will not tell you. you will never know the extent of his wandering. i cautioned you. no details. just don't be so trusting. don't be naive. ask about hard things. if there is no commitment, there is a reason. and i told you the truth about yourself. you are beautiful. you are beloved. you are worth faithfulness. you are worth honesty.

there was a time when i was just as believing as you were, just as hopeful. my certainty and confidence were dashed. completely. i could never speak so surely about this man that has charmed you like he had charmed me.

but maybe it is your belief in him that will help him make better decisions. maybe your faith in him, maybe the audacity of your trust will move him to live in the light and stay there.

i used to be afraid of freedom. of walking away and living my life separate from his.

but if you are a means by which the Father restores him, i am thankful.

because we all need restoration. even those who have hurt us.

because we are all broken and need someone to believe in us and root for us.

i want to believe he will tell you. but i can't.

i think this means that part of me believes people cannot change or maybe my experience has taught me that patterns are terribly hard to break. but they are harder to break when hidden.

i want to believe he will tell you everything. maybe he will.

either way, it's not my business. it is not my life anymore.

i have no right worrying about it.

it has no right renting space in my head.

anyways, i am glad i don't have to avoid you.

and that saying hello isn't awkward.

sincerely,

a girl who is baffled by the conviction (or is it foolishness?) in your smile.

the implications

dear girl who i have been avoiding,

we could have been friends, you know? if things did not turn out the way they have i might be grabbing lunch with you tomorrow.

i think you are a beautiful person. truly, i do. but i think you are naive jumping into this all so blindly. (not that you would have any way of knowing, some things have been hidden so well and for so long.) and it pains me to see you because you remind me of wounds. wounds. and it grieves me to see you because you are worth more. because you, like so many girls before you, deserve to know the truth. and i cannot tell you unless you ask. do you understand that? it is not my job to expose or uncover. because what is done in darkness will be brought into light. that is not my job.

if you ask for the truth, i will give it to you. but i will not go out of my way and make it my business to tell you what i have learned over the years.

i am not sure you will ever ask. people rarely want to know the truth. especially if it is opposite, contradictory to what they already believe.

i hope things are different for you.

i used to be you, or rather in your shoes.

you should remember it.

you were there on the outside when it all started and when it all ended.

isn't that strange?

it is for me.

even though i am happy with my lot in life, it is.

i hope you are not hurt or deceived.

i hope you are treated well, loved well.

i wish you no ill.

i wish you only the truth, and the courage to explore the implications of the truth.

sincerely,

the girl who keeps avoiding you but secretly wants to bump into you to let it all spill out.

uprising of unbelief.

as of late, the past two weeks or so, i have been feeling the effects of old wounds, deep wounds. the result of which has been this post. who i am has largely been defined by who i am not (or who i have supposed myself not to be). the list is as follows: i am not beautiful. i am not worth love - pure, selfless, protecting, persevering love. i am not worth faithfulness. i am not worth truth. i am not a good singer. i am not as smart or successful as i should be. i am not the kind of person people are drawn to. i am not a good leader.

lies, all of them.
lies, which are the products of hurt.
lies, which can be easily stirred. (and believed).

i have spent many moments redirecting my thoughts from lies to truth. it is a vexing business, accepting the truth when all you want to do is shake your head at it, salty rivers at the corners of your eyes, unbelief burning in your throat.

tuesday evening on my indian red front porch and in the sun and shadows of dusk i sat with a friend i never planned on having. and after sharing the details of a new school year, new jobs, and stories about daily occurrences i pondered disclosing this uprising of unbelief. she knows my story well enough. she has sat with me in dark places. and listened generously. she has placed her hand on my knee, exhibiting one of the most tender display of empathy i have experienced, as i sobbed. she has been there. and poured courage into me. i am thankful for the gift she is. i never planned on knowing her. what a wonderful surprise. as we stood in silence for a moment, i wondered if my story would make her late to her previous engagement or if she would ever get sick of hearing about my journey. but assured that she loved me, i pushed forward.

i am over feeling this way.
i want to come out of this.
i am ready to come out of this.

you see, wounds have a way of making themselves known.
my brokenness, the parts of me that are still in shambles, will show.
every tear

cut

puncture

trauma

will affect how i understand and treat myself and you.

and upon seeing a picture or two, upon seeing the change and progress (if one can call it that) in the lives of another, the wounds and the lies that those wounds produce in me made. themselves. known. there i was driving or eating or holding conversation with friends and simultaneously being confronted with pain. entangled. overwhelmed. snared. distressed. for two weeks. unceasing anxiety. even in prayer. even in song.

this is what i shared through vehement tears:
the frustration at still being affected by wounds.
the difficulty of knowing the truth and not being able to believe it.

and as i finished, two ladies and a young girl walked up my steps asking if either of us needed prayer. i must interject here that i do not believe in coincidence. i do not explain away miracles. i do not use my smarts or my skepticism to deduce the goodness of God to mere happenstance. the combination of receiving ministry rather than giving it and the exactness of their prayers (how they lined up with my own, word-for-word) left me in awe. a wonder i have not felt in a very long time.

He is so good.

He is so loving.

i am fascinated by the God i serve. the One who goes out of His way to make His kindness known. the One who rescues me because He delights in me. the One who vows to be my refuge, my rock, my fortress... and delivers on His promises. for His attentiveness to my cries and especially for His powerful, detailed response, i am thankful. filled with gratitude for His ways and character.

i am thankful for a very real and significant encounter but i, knowing this experience must be walked out daily, am even more thankful for His grace and strength to continue to serve Him and love Him rightly.

to enable us

"O God, our Father, we remember at this time... how the eternal Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

We thank you that Jesus took our human body upon him, so that we can never again dare to despise or neglect or misuse the body, since you made it your dwelling-place.

We thank you that Jesus did a day's work like any working-man, that he knew the problem of living together in a family, that he knew the frustration and irritation of serving the public, that he had to earn a living, and to face all the wearing routine of everyday work and life and living, and so clothed each common task with glory.

We thank you that he shared in all happy social occassions, that he was at home at weddings and at dinners and at festivals in the homes of simple ordinary people like ourselves. Grant that we may ever remember that in his unseen risen presence he is a guest in every home.

We thank you that he knew what freindship means, that he had his own circle of men whom he wanted to be with him, that he knew too what it means to be let down, to suffer from disloyalty and from the failure of love.

We thank you that he too had to bear unfair criticism, prejudiced opposition, malicious and deliberate misunderstanding.

We thank you that whatever happens to us, he has been there before, and that, because he himself has gone through things, he is able to help those who are going through them.

Help us never to forget that he knows life, because he lived life, and that he is with us at all times to enable us to live victoriously.

This we ask for your love's sake. Amen."

william barclay

prayers for the christian year

orchestrate

thankful for

words of life and assurance

from a dear friend,

from two strangers and the little girl with them,

from my mother,

from my father.

a God who is deeply concerned with my life,

who will orchestrate the most unlikely occurances

just to show me He cares.

a smart movie.

yesterday i saw this movie with my feller.

it was such a smart movie.

it's characters playful and witty with language.

it's truthfulness - the sting of loss and joy of love - refreshing.

the lighting was perfect. the casting was perfect.

i laughed and tried to remember quotes.

it made me want to read the book so badly.

being strong with joy.

recent circumstances have challenged me to excavate and explore the vicious, constricting thing we call insecurity.

here is my working thesis on the beauty of the self.

ahem. the beauty of myself.

doesn't that sound wonderful?

(indulge me, please?)

i promise the actual thesis itself is not impressive.

and is far from an actual thesis.

it is more of a ramble. stream of consciousness stuff, you know.

i have some idea of what beauty is, some faint insight into what it means to call something beautiful but i have never known myself to be beautiful (on a consistent basis) apart from physical intimacy which objectifies me and at times the other. i have never known myself to be beautiful (on a consistent basis) unless i was being devoured by the eyes of hungry men and my hips were pressed against his. what a tragic life to lead. what a wretched way to waste one's youth. it may certainly be an exaggeration, but it is not far from the truth. not at all.

we are up for grabs.

and what most are grabbing has nothing to do with personality, intelligence, grace, integrity, gentleness, elegance, etc.

we are up for grabs.

and we allow this.

i allowed it.

i allowed another -

not just one person but many -

to transform my vision of beauty.

to the subjective and fleeting.

all flesh is grass fading away,

only You last.

only You remain.

reference:

1 peter 1:24-25

isaiah 40:6-8

and i know it is not profound or new to say that the media shaped how i understood beauty, but it has and did so at such a young age. i inextricably linked beauty, the shifting standards of culture, with worth. if i did not meet or follow the pervasive, unfair and twisted code that says one is only beautiful when one is perfect, when one is sexy then i was worthless, unwanted. i believed people would not want to know me, that people would leave if i did not adhere to this code, if i did not embody the pinnacle of this. i wanted to be the most beautiful to hold the attention of others. desperate for someone to stick around long enough to notice my worth. to speak worth over me with their actions. and i would prove i was worth something even if it meant allowing myself to be disrespected and lied to. enter competition. enter false perceptions of reality. enter disillusionment. enter comparison. might i add, comparison to the unattainable, which can only lead to disappointment. mix in betrayal and the subtle deteriorating significance of phrases like "you are beautiful" and "i love you" and you have got one seriously toxic tonic.

for years i exchanged the truth of God for a lie.

sometimes i still do.

most of the time i am not sure how to combat the lies, how to take every thought captive. it is hard work and requires perseverance. oh, how i've learned about that - perseverance.

i fight with laughter and sillinesss. it is not escape through playful diversions or a repression of unhealthy feelings. it is me, resurfacing. being strong with joy.

do not grieve,

for the joy of the LORD is your strength.

nehemiah 8:10b

i fight with conversation that points to the truth. i am begining to know myself to be beautiful as i walk out my life with those who love me.

no man is an island.

john donne

and in the resurfacing, especially in safe places, perfect love is casting out fear and self-loathing.

there you go.

shorter and not all-encompassing at all.

but it is what i have.

and i will hold onto it until the truth of my beauty,

my belovedness,

of His love for me

becomes a reality i walk in.

leap in.

dance in.

rejoice in.

consistently.

and knowing.

thankful for

days when i am most myself

and less controlled by the opinions of others.

[you know, when you take the liberty of carrying on a conversation with others (in your head, of course), which always leaves you as feeling less. or when you get ahead of yourself and use the incredible gift of imagination to make conjectures about what they think as opposed to what they say. here i often infer, quite irrationally, that they are sizing me up, calling my bluff, analyzing my language, appearance, and disapproving. always, disapproving. people are tricky and i am skeptical of them. but they aren't as interested in me as i suppose. at least, they aren't absorbed in sifting through my faults. (in other words, they aren't as consumed by critiquing myself as i am.) and what is so self-revealing about those above mentioned internal dialogues is that they are all about managing an image of myself, an impression of who i am or who i am not...

rather than being gracious to myself - the yet to be untangled mess of weakness and strength that i am - and with much bravery and strength stop comparing who i am to others. ]

here.

it is wonderful, becoming oneself.

and knowing with

certainty that cannot be tossed easily like the waves of the sea

that i am beautiful and beloved.

precisely who He intended me to be.

not mine to allocate

give me my mornings and i will love you well. all i ask for is an hour. without the sighs and cracks and morning stories and voices of others. these all will serve as an annoyance as i wake and walk. know that i need this hour above all else to warm to life, to pull back the curtains and blinds window by window, door by door. it is sacred, the sounds of heavy curtain fabric gathering and thin plastic blinds tapping. click. click. tap. like crackling incense. these traditions are my hello to the world. the sensations of morning beg my devotion. wood floor, frigid from the night, kiss my feet and cool my body. the railing on the stairs, chipped paint and all, greets my hands that are too wrinkled in a similar fashion. an empty house is ideal for such tradition but if you are there, you will be peripheral to the movements and motions of my morning.

give me my mornings to pull a small handful of almonds sans shell, smooth and pale on the inside, from the water-stained glass container with orange trimming on the kitchen counter. the outer layer, brown with many grooves like unsanded bark, will soon get stuck in my molars. the only cure for such a predicament is watered down orange mango juice that is too sweet on its own and an uncut banana. cold. hard. mushy. textural juxtapositioning.

and even though time is not mine to allocate, give me my mornings.

and if you cannot give me my mornings give me my nights.

one day, some day my request for alonedom may change.

but if it does not.

be gracious. and honor small petitions for silence.

dumbledore

leave it to dumbledore.

wrestled my own snugness

press play.

it was morning. and though i was mindful of the morning and its call to lift the covers and stretch my well-rested body, i lay in bed. underneath a watercolor comforter. above white sheets and a blanket soft as sleep. above a matress that creeks like damaged floor boards - the kind that creek louder when you are alone and the sun has set and you have watched too much csi to ignore fear of the highly improbable - and while it is not always comfortable, it is my bed. and how fortunate i am to have a bed.

it was morning. and i lay in bed because my day was relatively unscheduled, the time i rolled out of bed insignificant. i lay in bed well-situated between dreams and conciousness, snug. i lay in bed aware of a familiar sound. unsure of where to place this sound, being between sleep and awake, i wrestled my own snugness and opened my eyes. the sound kept sounding. soft splashing. on leaves. on roofs. sheets of rain. in july. i pulled back one of my curtains, forgetting to tie it back with yellow ribbon, surprised by the spontaneity of rain, by its outright disruption of clear skies. i slid my window open enough to rest my forearms on the window sill.

it was morning. and i could smell the rain. i could appreciate its albiet unexpected arrival. it was not cold. the heat of summer would not retreat so easily. it reminded me of costa rica. of the drive from one school to another. and the sheer pleasure of sticking my head out the window. the warm rain on my tan face and in my soiled hair. the wonder. the whole earth is full of Your glory.

it was morning. and in my room i experienced wonder again.

, you know?

last week i had words. and i spoke them. and shared them.

i let them bounce on the inside of me. fill me.

beautiful words and expressions.

but i did not write them. though i wanted to.

tonight i have no words.

except that i waste too much time.

and that it is hard to live a well-ordered life.

i must make it a point to write words when i have them, you know?

even the weakest of attempts matter. the smallest of efforts.

so i will publish posts that are meek.

i will write when the words are malnourished, anemic, barely there.

shadow words.

words like shells without substance.

because i am learning the power of doing.

of following through.

in smallsmallsmall ways.

in weakweakweak ways.