more than bright, clear moments

every five years super bowl sunday is more than half-time productions, over-sexualized commercials, and my dad clapping fervently at the television (even if his cowboys fell short of actually competing in this senstionalized three hour event).  my birthday was february the third. when i was thirteen i wore baby blue pants and brought donuts and milk to church before a superbowl celebration where i would make efforts to ignore that damn pigskin that stole my day. when i was eighteen, my mother took me to see Wicked because she knew i would be ignored. my twenty-third birthday was different. i watched the superbowl. i sat on the couch with the feller and joined in unison with my dad when that one guy didn't catch the ball. i didn't learn any names of players, but i was able to enjoy the day without it being about me per se. i did wake up to red velvet cupcakes courtesy of my dad. his kind gesture was unexpected - his mother died in january. he has been sick and understandably not himself. it was nice to see him step outside of his fog for a day. what made the first day of twenty-three so lovely was that it was so fittingly understated. no big shenanigans here. cozy socks were enough. homemade sliders were enough. family was enough. we played frisbee at the park and it was enough.

that evening the feller and i went on a walk after purchasing our favorite ice cream cones. walks, for us, are a regular thing. our relationship took form on the sidewalks of our favorite old town. 

the conversation that night made a sad turn too soon for me. sadness because, though i've always known it, i am a nervous individual and many things scare me. i am working on vocalizing my opinions and feelings. you see, my words are dismissed at home. perhaps that is why i took to writing so young. a paper will never refuse ink. the conversation asked my opinion, my thoughts and, well, i was afraid of them. afraid to vocalize my fears.

lately, pressures of pending "grown-up" decisions have overwhelmed me. so, i picked up my pace when they became the topic of conversation. and because all things are connected and touching (spaghetti brain, jonie calls it) and because i am also nervous about my beauty, my gifts, and relationships i resigned to an impenatrable room of concentrated emotion. it is second nature to withdraw into myself. lord, have mercy. my steps reflected my thoughts - thrusting forward impetuously. my voice was raised and distant and teary. we walked in silence for too long. i was disappointed and angry that i had to acknowledge such sad things on a day of celebration. really? the last hours of my birthday and i am crying? it didn't feel fair. it didn't feel good. nothing was resolved when we said goodbye. we conceded that this sucks, that we love each other, and that we would talk the next day.

before we saw eachother the next day, 

i came across this:

it was perfect and precisely what i needed. 

i've had enough!

fear pushes away the good things. it erects walls in the quest for self-preservation. it assumes impending danger or pain, regardless if it is real or imagined. 

i will say that the threat that vulnerability poses to the self is a real thing worth considering. 

opening up oneself to the love of others is opening oneself up to the possibility of injury. 

speaking as one who has been injured, my awareness of the pain 

that can result due to the carelessness or stupidity or selfishness  

of others whom you have trusted

is heightened. 

so, i am nervous. and i am sad because i am nervous.

no one wants to live a nervous life.

i recognize that fear introduces instability. this instability sabotages forward motion. loosed, it is unwieldy. it requires me to escape to the bathroom during sushi with friends whispering to myself through deep breaths and almost-tears:

you can do this, you can do this, you are beautiful, you are loved. 

it is hard to fight alone. 

i was reminded this week that scripture, that an experience with God is transformative.

but life with God requires more than bright, clear moments of His word and presence. 

it requires the dailyness of relational care, of life lived with others.

i need the support and help and kindness of dear people in my instability.

i need truth in my ears and from the mouths of others.

their love, the face of God, gives me courage.

cheers to a year where the "small things" are enough.

cheers to a year noticeably marked by courage and not fear.