a melody

my body is aching in strange places today. i'm assuming it's from yesterday evenings run at the canyon. i pushed myself, perhaps too hard. my feet were lighter with my new nikes. and the hills lost their appearance of robustness.

the earth is warmer at dusk - it has absorbed the heat of day and steams 'neath the feet of the tired and determined alike. a runner's only relief are the shadows, a chill breeze, and a swig of water. the point of my prominent chin collects sweat at dusk. and when the collection becomes too heavy it runs down my neck or drips down my shirt. classy, i know. at dawn it is different. the earth is cool from night's blanket of black-blue sky. dew is still visible on dry plants, mist still hangs low enough to wet the face. dawn has a crispness that dusk cannot bottle.

past the halfway point and before the turn out i decided to slow my pace. walking not because i needed to but because i needed to pause. selah. walking because i needed enough breath to sing a melody i have heard in familiar rooms my whole youth. a melody i have sung in a microphone, in the vastness of a congregation, and on my bed through tears.

all i have needed thy hand hath provided - 

great is thy faithfulness lord unto me. 

i may not have a full-time paid position anywhere. i may not be leading a recognizable movement of people. i may not have the excess luxuries that ease life. i may not have a large network of friends to surround myself with. i may not have notable success or talent or intelligence. but He has provided the sum of my needs. even ones i at first refused. even ones i was not and am not aware of. ones that time alone can bring to light. and He continually does so. that is enough to keep comparison at bay, to make small the beast. it is enough to loosen any anxiety that restrains me. it is enough to slow my pace and sing quietly with effort and belief at dusk. 

i've said this before but

i shall not be in want because i have not been left wanting.

period. any want i feel is usually the appetite of comparison and the beast. i know the good things in my life. and they are certainly enough. my life is full and rich on account of the people and places He has provided me with. even in my unrest and conflict He has remained faithful. almost run ins and social media and old habits and appetites might shake my confidence but they cannot shake my knowing, my experience of this. He is faithful and i am the thankful recepient of His faithfulness. 

p.s. i remember reading one time (the language is too beautiful to forget) in the psalms (psalm 37, to be exact) that we "feed upon his faithfulness." it is our food. our only sustenance. and it is enough.

my postulations

i am many things, but poised is not one of them. and i have a way with clumsiness that puts bambi to shame. to the left is a picture of my toe twenty-five days ago. the incident happened at a park within the first ten minutes. it was a field trip with the kiddos. running after an almost first grader, my foot slipped through a plastic ground covering for wires of some sort. i could have crossed over any of the other ones surrounding it but i landed on the only one that was not stable. of course. talent i tell you! my left foot was blanketed in dirt, leaves, sticks, and the like. i rinsed it with my prized dasani water bottle (me, carry water? what?) and i realized that i was bleeding not only from my ankle but from my toe. a more discerning inspection would reveal that i had a deep incision on my ankle and that i had a flap of skin hanging off of my toe, which would be eventually trimmed off leaving a bare section of exposed, raw skin. lex cleaned my wounds and wrapped them. (as much as i struggle with friendships, i can trust this lady.) there wasn't much pain besides the unavoidable sting of alcohol swabs. the whole ordeal was over after multiple cleanings, many bandages, a visit to the doctors resulting in a tetanus shot, and time time time to heal. i lack physical deftness, friends. and i am by no means as polished as my demeanor lets off. i am a fumbling oaf in a small frame. come near me with caution.

that friday triggered a series of laughable events that have inflicted my left foot since then. stubbing and bruising three toes on this foot at a water park. a wart or blister (i have yet to determine) between my big toe and the one next to it sprouting. and a bug bite the size of two quarters side by side is petitioning my nails for a scratch. when i picked up running again last week, i rolled my left ankle. of course. talent i tell you! talent!

i am almost convinced my left foot is cursed. doomed to be amputated one day, by accident or necessity. the feller thinks my postulations are silly and overstated. obviously. but it's still fun to say so. and even though my left foot is cursed, i am still so thankful for it to balance my gait, my stance. to help me move freely, if not nimbly. because some people don't have a left foot. or any feet at all. and some do have but cannot use. so i'm thankful for my cursed left foot. it will give me stories to tell.

the thief

yes, my dear it is.

i have bouts of comparison. remember, the beast will be fed. whether it is by calculating the going-ons of others or by analyzing the bodies of others, it will be filled. it takes one thing. a thin waist, a full bust, a flat stomach, toned ligaments. one thing.* and these bouts fight to overtake me - despite my knowledge about retouched photographs, the variety of bodies on this earth, and my own value as a dearly loved child of God.

i am beginning to shape a healthy concept of the body. and the body in relation to beauty, which is learned by comparison. well, i have been worked over by comparison. exhausted and disheartened by it.

the other day at a water park with the daycamp i work at, a coworker asked if she should take off her shirt (she was wearing a two piece and was worried it might be too revealing). please, no was all i could think. i am well aware of her near perfect body (see my language here? indicative about my relationship with bodies.) and would rather it not be displayed. but of course, i told her it was fine as long as she felt comfortable. and she was. off with the shirt! sigh. i promptly turned to watching the children. well, to pretending i was watching the children. i was actually looking at the bodies around me. old. young. tight. loose. wrinkled. pudgy. muscular. rail-thin. voluptuous. there was so much diversity in size and shape.

i pondered their beauty. and their bodies. i watched the way the held their children. the way they enjoyed the water. the way they spoke to strangers and family. and i decided that loving [people, God, yourself] well is the goal. there is no point in maintaining a flat stomach or spending inordinate amounts of money on implants if i don't love well. the aim of life is not the preservation of some aspect of youthfulness, is not the attaining or replicating of some cultural consensus of what a beautiful body is.

fact: i, having been given new life through Christ, no longer have to answer the

demands of dominant culture. but can instead dismantle the idealogies

that oppose the gospel - that reduce me to only a body, to only my appearance.

and in doing so, i have the gift of choosing other than what 

is demanded of me by the principalities and powers of this world.

that day at the water park, i decided that their body has nothing to do with mine. their size and shape and allure (read: attractiveness, sex appeal, down right cuteness) is entirely their own. it has nothing to do with my size and shape and allure. their beauty does not negate mine. the two are separate and should remain that way. i have no business comparing myself to them. pay attention to your own life stacey. don't look to the left or the right. i resolved that self-care (eating well, exercising to maintain health) is important. and realized how self-loathing often parades around as self-care. desire for a perfect body masquerades as desire to take care of yourself. i decided that what makes someone beautiful has very little to do with their shape or size. i decided that worrying about if i come across as beautiful, the most beautiful, the most sexy and appealing is foolishness. and that i cannot continue to pick and choose parts of peoples bodies and put together an ideal body by which i measure myself by and try to emulate. i also must stop assuming that others are measuring my body against this ideal. again, pay attention to your own life stacey. don't look to the left or to the right. i can hardly handle my own comparisons, why should i be curious about how others compare me? foolishness.

more than a beautiful body, i want a well-lived life that is permeated by love. love that releases me of any fear or insecurity produced by years of comparison.

lord jesus, thank you for showing me what matters and what doesn't. thank you for providing a way out for me - one who is addicted to the praise of others, one who believes she isn't good enough the way she is. thank you for releasing me, little by little, from a life burdened by comparison and competition with others. father in heaven, thank you for being my joy, my steady - the One from whom my identity is derived. you are good. and desire that i be formed into the image of your son by the power of the holy spirit. and that image has nothing to do with my size or shape or allure. and has everything to do with the kind of person i am in light of the gospel and your great love. 


*comparison is not limited to bodies. but you already knew that. it can attack a person's talents, life situation, relationship status, economic status, job security, intelligence.... the list envelopes every aspect of a person's life. and so while i am thinking about bodies, here, i can apply it to all of these areas i find myself scrutinizing and measuring up against any and all ideals.

p.s. i always hesitate in pressing "publish" on a blog. i fear i am not as thorough as i should/could be. or that i forgot to say something. but there will be other posts. and there will be other things to consider. and there is ample time.

this!

graduation meant that the furtherance of any post-graduate work was up to me.
now, of course this means the idea of a masters. but beyond that amorphous idea, is the more important one of studying voice regardless the absence of recitals and juries. what would be the point, afterall, if it would not be part of a program where i would receive a plaque or paper for my efforts? the point is not achievement. nor is it success. you see, i am not writing my own music. i have no band. no record label. i sing regularly. and, for as long as i am able, i want to sing regularly. the point has something to do with my junior year. i began to rediscover, primarily due to a change in instructors, the satisfaction of singing well - hard work and all. the unearthing of such delight took me entirely by surprise. i did not forsee, did not expect the bravery and confidence that would enliven my efforts. my instructor, heather, knew how to teach me. how to correct and encourage simultaneously. she is enthralled with song and it is contagious. it frees me. reminds me to not be so afraid of the notes and languages and lines that are too long. but to try. and fail. and suck. and be okay when my body is too tired or sick to produce a clear sound. and to not consider that, the uncontrollable reactions of my body, as failure on my part. because sometimes our bodies just need to rest. her belief in me has freed me. it began sophomore year. and along the way i became enamored with french, the drama of music, the light and openness i felt when my sound is placed perfectly, and crisp diction. with growing courage, i was able express my connection with a piece of music outwardly. no rolling of the eyes here. no fidgeting movements of self-disapproval. this, this! is the point.

there was no question that i would continue studying with her in june. this time the money would be my own. continuing private studies, i decided, was worth it. and already i look forward to rehearsing, to embodying each song - every word and turn of phrase. i have no intention of becoming a wedding singer or producing an album. i want to explore my instrument - to train it and free it.

p.s. the feller laughs tensely when any song i connect with comes on. i tell him my body feels different. physically feels different when certain songs come on. but it is true. the same thing can be said of the songs i am singing with heather. i feel physically different when i sing them. i feel powerful and energized, even in my vulnerability. i feel more myself. i feel beautiful in my song.

i know know know

ten pm hit me like two am last night. exhaustion due to eight hours at a water park with thirty five children in 80-90 degree weather tucked me in. i recall traces of thankfulness* running through my mind before my body yielded to a heaviness only yesterday could produce. waking up, i dreamt of strange things. things that had nothing to do with thankfulness, with the things i was thankful for. without indulgence and without delay i turned my confusion towards God. why should these things and people i haven't encountered for months (some, a year) still haunt me? still, with the rudeness of a wrecking ball, cut into my dreams? i think i still have much to learn from that time in my life but, oh!, i do want to move on. i am.

the rest of the day went swimmingly, save this afternoon. work has been a joy but the resurgence of favoritism (counselors choosing two or three students and making them, and them alone, exceptions to the rules) unhinges me entirely. as a sidenote, i am a rule keeper. rules give us order. rules put us on the same playing field. rules make things fair. rules give us enough leeway to have fun and excel but help maintain a safe and caring environment. ahem. leaving unhinged (and still tired from yesterday), i turned my frustrations towards God.  how do i deal with counselors undermining each other's authority, especially if it affects the children's perception of said counselors? is it worth confronting those in charge, especially since it is growing more consistent?

via.

i may still have questions but He is there, if only i look. and what is so good about getting to know Him, building trust with Him, actually counting on Him (because time has proven Him reliable and faithful!) is that my instincts are changing, my impulses are different. fruit, at last! it may be fruit only i can see. but it is fruit! resorting to my own self-destructive devices isn't my first turn of thought. my eyes are beginning to turn to Him with the quickness of a child to their parent when something unnerving occurs. i know know know He is pleased with my gaze. and knowing His delight, i find myself drawing nearer.

*it still surprises me, this life i have been given. like that feeling when i see silhouetted mountains to my right as i drive down the hill and home. a lovely greyish lavender - surreal, breathtaking. a loveliness so brilliant my fingers tingle. thinking about my life is like that. the people and the places are like those grand mounds of earth - vibrant, astonishing. i have so much to be thankful for. i shall not be in want (because i have not been left wanting for anything).

loose everything.

long, greasy hair. black angel hair noodles pressed behind his ears with his strong left hand. and tan skin weathered by the sun. loose everything. his frame was too thin and fragile for his adult clothes. but the cigarette in his right hand was an adult decision. fueled by addiction or recreation or boredom, i'm not sure. but he smoked like it was the only thing he'd spend his money on. he smoked like it was the first and the last thing on his agenda. he smoked like he was whispering secrets to an old friend. and passing a fellow smoker (but complete stranger) in front of a 711, he was wished a happy fourth of july. the stranger proceeded to his car with much more than smoking to accomplish. happy fourth of july. happy fourth of july. the statement of goodwill stopped him - his gait faltered and his cigarette balanced between two fingers three inches from his mouth. shit, it's the fourth already? whatever appearances he was maintaining before (we all maintain some sort of appearances, yes? usually appearances that justify our importance.), he forgot them. he was revealed for the disconnected member of society he was. a transient, an outsider with no plans for the holiday. with no idea that the holiday was, in fact, that day. immediately it became apparent that he was not attached to any community that would recognize this holiday. no job. no church. no school. his pace continued more fractured then before. in figure eights he muttered to himself this is why i don't celebrate... black shirt against the terra cotta wall he cursed the government and business never... nicotine easing his anger, he gained his composure and left.

because i drift

anchors.

despite the fact that they are latest trend (all things nautical, that is), i have been thinking about things - on our tongues and in our hands - that prevent us from the drifting. because i drift more often than i am comfortable to admit. there are days when i am bewildered by a tempest, violent and uncouth. my drifting here has more to do with shock and the helplessness that follows. there are days when i choose the tempest, set my course for her paying no mind to my hazardous behaviour. essentially i think i can handle the drifting. proud creature, i am. arrogantly greeting a billowing storm, welcoming it, thinking i can tame it, survive it, and steer myself to safety. but the latter isn't what i care to discuss. that starts and ends with foolishness.  it is the former - the drifting that i do not plan, do not want, and do not think i can survive.

anchors.

growing up there was a wooden cross, not bigger than the size of my palm, that i received from a group at church. and at night, when nightmares came of conniving theives and murderers i held it. there was a bible given me by the same group. it is my favorite one. i held this too. held on because the figures inside my mind were near tangible. blue-green veins like small rivers rose feverishly underneath my transluscent skin. and i remembered i am safe. i am safe. i have nothing to fear. He is my peace, my protector. shh, shh. go to bed. back pressed against the wall, knees to stomach, eyes shut tight tight tight.

there was a phrase i used in the fall of 2009. ah, here it is. it was inspired by a chapter in richard foster's publication prayer. whenever the tempest began to stir, i whispered this 'neath my breath. i chanted it desperately. i clung to it knowing it was the truest thing about me. whatever i had placed my identity in prior to that fall was exposed - lit with truth and honesty - for the sham it was. that phrase was an anchor, grounding me to a reality that was being fiercely challenged by my experience.

the phrase i shared here is the same. it pulls me in and keeps me steady. keeps me from the helplessness that follows the shock. keeps me from looking for the tempest. it keeps me.

anchors.
metal or stone.
words or objects.
securing me to truth.
fastening me to reality.

but straight through

the past week has been fun, to say the least.
pushing through (never around or over or under but straight through) hard days or moments is becoming easier in the sense that i am pushing though. rather than wishing i could. or feeling wobbly with tiredness. or feeling woozy with insecurity. whatever wobbliness or wooziness i am presented with (or have created over time and is now surfacing. ahem, the beast?) i know that i can.
it occurred to me at around 5:48 am a few weeks ago, sweat on my brow and the marine layer dissipating, that i have the tendency to give up right before i reach a goal. or perhaps i should say, i cease putting forth my best effort near the completion of a goal.

example: when i run the canyon with my friends i set markers. run to the tall teetering teal plant (excessive, i know). jog to the forrest green bench still covered in dew. walk to the 2.5 mile marker on the wooden fence. markers. goals. often, usually on the running markers, i stop. i stop right before i cross the marker. my heart rate increases. my breath feels tight. and though my body can make it to the marker (further, if i dare to be honest), i stop. i slow to a heavy trot, which slows to a walk.
running, i have determined, is an exercise in discipline. i don't much care for the figure i achieve. but i have more energy after my 5:30 runs. my body feels lighter. headaches are less frequent. and i am learning discipline. i am learning perseverance. i am learning to have integrity, even in my running.

come on stacey, you could have done that.

you could have gone further.

be honest with yourself.

push through.

i am not after a self-masochistic regime, where i beat myself into achievement. i am aware of my limits. i have high regard for self-care. but i know that when i begin to trot or walk before i reach a marker, i'm just not giving my best. and because i've allowed that habit to become a sort of life philosophy, i am fighting it back. and teaching myself new habits. because if i don't learn these virtues now and begin ordering my life by them, then i will bear no fruit. all my efforts will be in vain, will be for sport. and soon, all my efforts will end with an apathetic oh well that relinquishes me from caring about the my own fruitlessness. i refuse to be a branch that is cut off. instead, i will offer the parts of me that bear no fruit to God and leave the cutting to Him. He is gentle but He does what is best. knowing this, i can trust Him with these decaying branches. i can trust Him with an axe. and i can trust that it is for my good and the good of His kingdom.