eleven years

mom and dad have separated. it was eleven years in the making, which means nothing in regards to its impact. i have cried plenty: over love that does not put everything on the line, over shame that isolates, over unreciprocated attempts at togetherness.

i am convinced we are all damaged - it is the most unbearable truth of our time. we persist to escape, ignore, and hide it. what use is it to condemn such a human inclination? i, too, have lived out of a trunk of masks. i, too, have impolitely declined vulnerable conversations. brokenness resists exposure. we are all hopeless and damaged. inconsistent and contradictory and lost.

i once thought people could never change, sincerely. 'we are gorged on selfishness.' but over time, i found myself changing - the steadfastness of Others is a balm. so if i can change, then maybe others can. maybe not. it all depends on intentionality, rearranging priorities and training oneself to be good, not only to do good.

eleven years - can you believe it? some years were better than others. i wonder if that has more to do with ignorance and diligent secret keeping. some years were worse, characterized by a distinct pattern of discovery and disappointment, arguments and small changes that never turned into big changes. and here i am - here we are - at the end of it all: damaged, unchanging hearts in conflict still.

i know i said eleven years but could it be that it was two lifetimes in the making? could it be that it was the lifetimes of my grandparents and all those lives that touched and harmed and beat relentlessly on mom and dad? our personal histories are complex and layered. and doesn't it take a lifetime to unravel it all? and even at death isn't there still brokenness? aren't things still unresolved? and if we are still in such conflict at death, what does this all amount to?

so brave

i have read maira kalman's book three or four times since purchasing it against my budget's will in december. i reread it again this week, this heartbreakingly confusing week. and i keep coming back to this quote starting at "how are we all..."

sorry and proud. this is precisely how i feel this week. 

there is so much to weep over.

there is so much to relish in.

"what to do? what to do?" i wonder.

save our souls.

could a garden come up from this ground at all?

in light of yesterdays events this question is both

-allatonce-

my sincerest hopes and doubts.

oh, lord save our souls.

i am grieved by what i know.

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. 

thanksgiving: the issue of looking forward

thanksgiving was testing for me.

the impulse to move out is, no doubt, the reason. i am peeved by the constant suggestions to put on a sweater, being the joke of most interactions, having my convictions and desires dismissed, and the texts inquiring my wherabouts after eleven pm.  i am not almost-twenty-three in this house. i am not a college graduate. i am sixteen and naive. i am still the baby, will always be the baby. this is all exacerbated because i am home more often. without seventeen to twenty-one units, an internship, and a job i have time. i have two jobs but one doesn't require daily hours. so i am at home, cleaning my room or washing clothes or putting together a craft. what was once a sanctuary now feels confining. so, moving out is a viable prospect within the next 8-12 months. i am set on it.

the difficulty is the 8-12 months. thankfulness could very well find its eternal rest buried under my list of grievances. thankfulness smited by looking foward, not staying put - here, now.

Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup;

you have made my lot secure.

the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;

surely i have a delightful inheritance.

psalm 16:5-6

these verses ground me constantly. fussing is always an option. my parents may hover and be overbearing but they love me*. they have financed whatever i set my heart on. they fill the kitchen with laughter and good food.  they prioritize family first. they have given their lives to their children and welcome conversation. my siblings, well, they are boisterous and are perplexed by their introvert of a sister but will always stand by my side. and complaining about time is foolish. fussing may be an option, but giving thanks is the better choice, the more appropriate response.

i am thankful for

a home that i did nothing to earn. 

i was born and have had free room and board ever since.

a healthy body.

a family that cares about one another.

working with children.

working with my church family.

time to explore, refine, and indulge in the things i love.
time to sink deeply into who i am.

steadfast friends and the feller.

a good and faithful God.

and because i am thankful i will steward my time wisely, i will be faithful with what i have been given, i will offer up the work of my hands, i will dwell in the land and enjoy it here, now.

gratitude sometimes requires willful perspective.

*this doesn't mean i refrain from confrontration.  i have never been in want save space and quiet and their respect. these things i can ask for in a manner that is suitable of an almost-twenty-three year old. i guess that is part of growing up.

i think

so i've decided to live. and that's not a shocking new decision. i mean how many times have you, in your realization that you've lamented one or ten months too long, decided to live? how many times have you, after you've overcommited yourself for the twentieth time, decided to live? it's too common a decision and is made by people who usually don't mean it. or by romanticists who idealize adventure, spontaneaity and the ease of life. and especially by those who don't give a damn enough to follow through.

it's actually a terrible way to put it. a description of what i mean to do might be more helpful.

i've decided to read more than self-help, christian lifestyle books. because i don't think these are as helpful as we give them credit for. sometimes i need a story. sometimes the story is more helpful with it's death and depravation and descent into humanity than the former.  it usually is.  i've decided to go out on a limb and make jokes. even if i'm not a riot like mindy kaling.  even if i'm cheesier than colby-jack. even if i know nothing about pop culture or have the wit of a rodent.  i've decided to budget. i looked over my account statements the past three months, my direct deposits, and projected my monthly income/expenses. loans are factored in. as are the upcoming trips to washington (lex) and new york (the feller and friends). as is the hope of an apartment next summer. i've decided to show up and lend a hand when friends are in the middle of moving. did the snooze button sweet talk me this morning? yes. but these people were the ones who showed me that people could actually care. that they wouldn't walk over you. that they would say sorry. that they would pursue friendship. that they could be gracious and honest. i've decided to take afternoons for myself and drink tejava and watch mean girls. i've decided to (possibly) get a third job because i'm twenty-two. i had teacher in high school. he was short, petite and wrinkled. he probably had a great left hook. he was from the east coast and had worked upwards of twenty jobs in his life. he had stories. he is the only reason i enjoyed ap u.s. history. i promise if history books were written in his voice, i would have remembered something. so i'm applying at different places in hopes of accumulating another job instead of doing the most logical, straight-forward thing that any smart graduate would do: get one job that pays well. i want stories, friends. i want deviations and squiggles. ones that are well-planned (oh, you thought i was giving in...), but circles and stops and zig-zags nonetheless. i want a beautiful life. one that is rich with agony and every strain of happiness.  one that is messy. one that is vibrant. and do you know what? do you know the secret to such a life? i think it has something to do with a steady gaze. with not looking to the left or to the right. it has something to do with being responsible for the one thing you have a say in: your life. the only one given to you.

confession is the way out.

i had a brief stint in a book club full of girls two summers ago, 2010 i believe.

we read the weight of silence and the particular sadness of lemon cake.

the first i enjoyed, the second, well... i could appreciate.
schedules are the death of many things. 

people moved and got busy, that was the end of that book club.

in 2011 i met with some friends and we opened up james frey's a million little pieces. besides the oprah scandal, which i think was overwrought and silly and don't give much weight to anyways, it was wonderful.

stream-of-concsiousness alway steals my heart. lack of quotations marks is quirky and we all know that the best break the rules. fragmentation. quick and short and long and quick. repetition. base needs given pulse in his torrential excess of words. it seemed his way out of addiction was a hole of blackness and whiteness - both blinding. the hole was terror. the hole was fury. the shovel was loss of dignity. he wriggled out with confession. frey showed me - at a time where i could continue in deception (of self, of others) - that truth is paramount. the. only. thing. that. matters.  confession is the way out. this slightly fictionalized memoir wrapped thick cloth around my wrist and dragged me through the hole. and i experienced pain and agonizing isolation and estrangement. i took heed of the destruction deception ensures. monstrosity. 

if frey is one thing, he is self-aware (distorted, depressing awareness but aware). aware of what he feels he deserves. nice things or nice people are not some of those things. small kindnesses are too beautiful a gift. pardon from his sins is laughable. he is responsible for the sorrows of others. he has ruined all good things with carelessness and avoidance. he disqualifies every human thing in him thus creating a boundary that keeps people out and away. his sentiments about light and being exposed and his uncomfortability with both are, i think, universal. darkness provides cover. his sabotage. self-loathing. shaming. are best done in the dark.  he feels akin to darkness. darkness is escape to those unworthy of forgiveness. of breath. of space. of opportunity. darkness is friend to the irreparable. 

he said:

"we are all awful."

and with little reservation, i say - yes. yes we are.

there were lots of stories of similar men and women in similar holes. and there was hope. 

but the one thing that gave me the courage last summer, was frey's conviction that the truth was the only thing that mattered. it gave me the courage to uncover lies and to stop lying. so i told the truth and was met with understandable frustration and grace grace grace (not expected, but given nonetheless). i had been awful, just awful to those i loved. but i took responsibility for it. i had been hurt by those who never took responsibility for their recklessness, for their omission, for their sins. i refused to be that. i may have been awful, but i refused to continue to be such a person. that summer i heard the voice of God in an addict. yes, frey gave me courage. and that fall i began seeing a therapist on campus that semester. we talked about loss and deception and letting go. it was good. one thing became apparent: small decisions and big decisions lead to a life style. i could choose, like frey, to say no to self-destruction. unlike frey, i knew that my salvation was not self-reliance but was instead a God of grace and power. it was the continued support of friends and family who knew me. it still is.

all grown and facing giants!

i had opted to leave my hair salty and my skin still freckled with sand that evening. i applied coral-red lipstick and half-tucked my white lace shirt. en route to the night's festivities i talked to myself, of course. i talked to those i expected to see. i weighed words and juggled phrases and cut my language with precision.  i prayed that change would have a voice and a body in me that night. that fruit would be tasted of. integrity. wholeness. honesty. confidence. peace. it is one thing to perceive yourself changed. it is quite another to be confronted with the past, faces and environments with which you clung to only a year ago, and to feel the change that took place. this was the test of that change. did a year provide the time to get my bearings straight? would i lose them in the presence of the past? i wondered what i would feel. if i could handle it. aprehensive, i parked near a car i spot everywhere. but only because it was the closest parking spot - and still, it was far far far from the house.  the image of that grey truck is knotted to memories. i am a visual person. and images are what i see when i close my eyes. are what i see when i read or sing.  without looking i see that truck, though owned by others, and know the past has a say in my future, but is not the authority within whose power it is to decide my future. i walked briskly to my dear friend's home that i have ate, slept, and showered in. this time round, the grass would have fixtures of my past, the air would be filled with an old familiar murmur. past these fixtures i walked into the home to help with an item for the party and to confide my hopes and fears of the night to this friend who is more like a sister. yes, i walked briskly but turns of heads and first looks were not lost on me. images and pictures and all things visual stick, remember? there was shock. my presence was obviously unexpected. [i had a personal invitation from the one going away, but not the official event invite on facebook.] the shifting and uneasiness was, well, understandable. it had been a year or so since i had been with ninety-five percent of these people. after sharing in confidence my hopes and fears of the night, i headed to the yard. and i passed you who i knew at one time. and you were a stranger. there was only the conversation of acquaintances not deep dish pizza sharers or late night callers or entangled desperate lovers. because we are not that anymore. freedom. release. walking away without wondering, i felt it. we are separate people, living separate lives. and it is better this way. and i would not change the way things are for the world.  other people filled me in - they had moved out and have roommates, they want to do administrative work, mothers are moving closer, brothers are living with aunts, they want to move from performance to sound work.. on and on. i was honored to listen, to be trusted - if only for a night. and they asked about my life. actually interested. and i, freer than i've ever felt, could answer for myself, for the life i chose, for the only one i am responsible for. i could be happy and proud of it, for it. He has brought me to a spacious place. the boundary lines have fallen in pleasant places. surely, i have a delightful inheritance.  for the first time, i could engage with those i once felt threatened by. i could look in the eyes of those speaking without my periphery curiously reaching for evidence of berayal.  there was none of that. ah, freedom. we didn't speak again and i didn't hang by your side. and i didn't even cling to my dear friend. i was confident. i held my own.  and it was wonderful. years of horrific confusion and constant sadness. and, today, i am a wholer, healthier person. restoration came. is still coming, mind you. but it came! driving away, i was aglow. each time i recount the events, the subtle nuances to the evening and what they mean, i become light. content and grateful. alive and awake.

the transition from one life to the other was much too quick in some ways. the decisions made about a year ago set me flailing and circling and in a completely different - better - direction.  but there were questions. there were doubts. can she be alone? she hasn't taken time to be her own person. i think i wondered too. but that night provided me with assurance that i am my own. i don't need someone by my side to know know know i am somebody. i can take ownership of my life. i know that if things fell apart again, i could handle it*. i am strong. i am rooted deeply. i know who i am. and i'm pretty damn awesome.

before i pulled out from that evening my dear friend said goodbye, that she was proud of me. it meant so much to me to hear that. thanks, lex. and that evening as i got home and laid down (after already falling asleep on the fellers chest while watching a redbox and sleepily driving home), she sent me a text:

"look at you all grown and facing giants!"

i am glad to face giants with her by my side. with other dear friends and family. with the feller. all by my side. i am glad to have faced the past. and to have come out of that experience feeling sure that yes was the right answer a year ago. 

*the feller and i talked about this. we are far from falling apart. and even though he chants momento mori and even though we visited a cemetary on his birthday, he was unsettled by my cheeky but truthful phrase "darling, i am pondering the end of us." the end. oh! the end. i don't want it. but, finally, i am sure of myself. of who God says i am. and it is liberating. so much so that i can ponder the end, knowing full well that i will be okay if it does end. the first time around i was sick with fright. the feller and i - we don't want the end. we can handle life alone. but we are choosing each other. the sharing. the tears. the quiet nights. the discussions. the kisses. the sacrifice. the laughter. life is good with him. he thinks life is good with me. we make meals together and spend days off with each other. we go on walks and make cards for each other. we know each others families. and we treat each other well. we point each other to truth, even when it necessitates change. we argue and discuss and worry . but we treat each other well. we have been through a lot but, i suppose more than treating each other well, we love each other well. he is quite the catch. :)

p.s. i hope addressing you doesn't upset or confuse anybody. the only reason for addressing you is because you were involved in the horror, the change, and (once we both relented and abdicated our place in the other's life), the good. thank you for relenting, for leaving, for releasing me. for living your own life.  you live so near and i don't know you anymore, but thank you - to be frank - for going away. it has been the best thing for me and by the looks of it for you - i think you would agree. 

boundary lines and a busy week.

i shall not be in want because i have not been left wanting. i've said this before. i will continue to say this. because it is a reminder that i have everything i need. that i actually live in abundance. because it points to truth. last year i did not have this vocabulary, this conviction. last year i had tears and headaches and a quiet yes, a wriggling obedience. my recalcitrance was confronted by scripture.

 

lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup;

you have made my lot secure.

the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;

surely i have a delightful inheritance

psalm 16:5-6

last year my ill-behaved wants terrorized every good thing. destruction would come, i was warned. the matter, the stuff that held my life together - those miniscule binding components - shook in violence. my portion and my cup could change. but i know the Story. sometimes the cup is suffering. sometimes the portion is blood-sweat. and being in one place necessitates not being elsewhere. and having one life necessitates not having another. my lot would change and my home, my dwelling, my land (and all the things within) would be on the other side of the fence. then and there my yes and obedience hinged on my belief that the new home, dwelling, and land would be good. that the cup and portion would be good. 

there is the promise and then there is all the time before the promise becomes reality. the time before - the changing and moving - would follow the Story. and the only way to experience the reality of things hoped for but not seen was to go through with it. and i did. safe pasture (green pasture!) was found within the loveliest of fences. and what lies outside of the fence is not of importance, is not mine to consider. 

today - all week - i have been a busy girl. i made a centerpiece. i cooked zucchini boats. i cried in the presence of the dearest of friends. i discussed a book. i made plans for the next book. i prepared a surprise, of which the feller was the recepient: took a train, explored shops and buildings, contemplatively walked through a cemetery, napped on grass, interacted with strangers and ate too much. i was number eight in laser tag. i had expectations of friendships. i doubted they would be fulfilled. i feld cared for and cherished because they were. i talked through things. i exercised honesty. i had multiple tiffs with my father. i moved in the direction of reconciliation. i understood he must want it too. i swam in a pool with new(er) friends. today - all week - i have dwelt in the land that was the product of a quiet yes, a wriggling obedience. 

i am tired but 

i am thankful for 

my lot, 

my cup, 

my portion,

and for the One who initiated it all.

therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; 

my body will also rest secure,

because you will not abandon me to the grave,

nor will you let your Holy One see decay.

you have made known to me the path of life;

you will fill me with joy in your presence,

with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

psalm 16:9-11

and smile.

"miss r, you look like an adult."

this was the confidence of a fourth grader at the end of her 2011 school year - 

despite my tussled hair tightly secured in a messy bun and my bare face. despite golden feathers the length of my pinky nail hanging from my ears and the feller's least favorite shirt, incidently one of my favorites at the time, her eyes widened with admiration and discovery - i was an adult. something magical and to be desired. 

i felt the change but could not name it then. she was perceptive enough to take note and say something. and i knew, then, sitting on mustard lunchtables that i would remember her words and her face. thank you, mckenzie for noticing. and for saying so.

nothing is more adult-ish than knowing oneself. my twenty-first year was one of the most difficult for this reason.  to know oneself is to see oneself clearly. among other things, i was selfish, deceptive, a contradiction, and deeply, horribly insecure. the process of knowing myself, which is on going and never quite sufficiently completed, revealed good things too. tenderness. creativity. the ability to care. i digress. as i was saying, knowing onself is a sure marker of adulthood. scrutinizing oneself is invaluable. scrutinizing with gentleness and graciousness. never the mean kind that cynics and unhappy people do.  that day at the lunchtables i knew who i was. the terrible and the terribly good. i looked at the trajectory i would soon be headed and was at peace.  i could sit across from myself and smile. knowing my worth and knowing my strength and knowing my beauty. knowing i would not go at it alone.  of course, i doubted all these things. and sometimes i still do. hello, human condition! you are a predictable one. but in those moments i sink myself in the truth. i do combat with truth. i come up breathing with truth. and in the process i am becoming a young lady. an adult of sorts. how adventuresome and peculiar and mysterious and wonderful to be taking shape, to become.

p.s. tomorrow is twenty-two months with the feller. eeks!
p.s.s. i bought a bathing suit today and had a wonderful experience. this week i will write about it i promise.
p.s.s.s. book club is this week. brave new world. hoorah!

this time last year.

today is june the first
today does not feel like loss.

i think i will always remember this time last year. though the months that followed (not unlike the years before) were crowded with foolish choices, it was the first time in my life i made a pivotal decision. it took time to order the rest of my life with that decision, but i chose. a well-ordered life brimmed with health was my aim. health does not come easy. this i have found to be true.  adjustments were made. habits were done away with. and health can still be hard to come by. the human condition, marked by a clear depravity, is sure to inhibit health here or there along the way. this i have also found to be true. the heat of a california summer will always remind me of this. it was the first time i recognized my own humanity. my wretchedness. it was a dawning of every selfishness. small rebellions crossing the horizon. blood sunrise. not light but darkness.  and on i rode obliterating all hopes, taking back every promise in the name of self-preservation.  yes, there was part of me that fought the decision. a part that, being allowed to do as it pleased for so long, was threatened and reacted in horrendous ways. a part that was a coward in the face of change, despite its layered armour. and cowardliness made way for foolish choices.

the confessions that followed (and there were many) made way for wise, right, good choices.
confession paired with action gave me back the resolve to choose life.
a year later i can do nothing but give thanks for the graces given me.



and today, june the first, this very moment, i am


relishing



indulging



delighting in



the change that took place.
the chances i was given.
and the life that has resulted.

painting via.

i graduated.

two weeks ago today i graduated.
and as i said here, it was a different experience than most. for example, i didn't have groups of people to take pictures with before or after baccalaurette and graduation. i had family. and the feller, who also graduated. and his family. and a handful of friends. but it didn't bother me like i thought i would. i know why things are like they are. and i can accept my blunders and be thankful for the strong pillars of support and generosity i have surrounded myself with. they are wonderful people.

the evening before, i sat with the feller crying. thankful for my school and the four years spent there. but feeling as if the whole experience was compromised - what did i accomplish? who have i become? i said to him i am the same, nothing has changed. of course, that is a limited, dreary outlook. but i still become ill with insecurity about my body. i still tremble at preposterous assumptions and suspicions. i still worry worry worry. and i told him it's taking too long. it's tiring. it's hard. change will never happen.

we talked. and sat. and cried. concluding that He is faithful to complete the work He started in me, in us. that change comes slowly. but that change has come (hello, look at the last year!). and that change will come because He is able to turn a heart of stone into a heart of flesh. that, in the words of thomas merton, an apple ripens by sitting in the sun. that perseverance is of utmost importance. we concluded that there are good things to look forward to even if we must pass through the threshold of fear and doubt.

vulnerability is a brilliant opportunity to expose oneself as they are.
and though i hate it at times (who likes to be seen as they are? sometimes we are monstrous, hideous, broken creatures.), i am thankful for this intimate sharing.
sharing words. sharing tears. and pressing our lips against the salt and sorrow, against each others' tan taut faces.
yes, vulnerability is a brilliant opportunity.

two weeks ago today i graduated.
and i am a different girl from four years go.
and i am a different girl from even last year.
and He is faithful.

psalm 126:3

the Lord had done great things for us,

and we are filled with joy.

niv

p.s. pictures to come. 

confess

"no, it isn't easy living with hearts like ours: let us confess it."

-carlo caretto, the God who comes

and i trust.

and before i start to type and memorize and type more,

i am anxious about life after graduation.
not because i won't have a job, because i will.
not because i won't have a place to live, because i will.

but because of all the uncertainties that change brings -
remember eleven months ago?
my life completely shifted.
you have no idea.
did things turn out wonderfully?
yes.
but it's that same shifting that my stomach is in knots about.

i won't have school to schedule life around.
and for someone who indulges in a full planner,
it's frightening.
and for someone who likes certainty,
it's worrisome.

click ^.

and so i look to the One who i know,
the One who knows me.
and i trust.
trust trust trust.

matthew 6:34

therefore do not worry about tomorrow,

for tomorrow will worry about itself.

each day has enough trouble of its own.

niv

so don't worry about tomorrow,

for tomorrow will bring its own worries.

today's trouble is enough for today.

nlt

so no worry bout tomorrow,

cuz tomorrow get plenny fo worry bout.

every day get nuf trouble fo dat day.

hawai'i pidgin

p.s. the last one is fantastic. sometimes hard to dicipher, but fantastic. 

i stink

sometimes i must say to myself,
in the face of distraction and wanting to know:

just stop caring.
mind your business.
live your own life.

i have a feeling this will be my most difficult lesson to learn -
as evidence by the years it's taken for me to even say those things to myself.
i stink at learning it.

with the confidence

a week from now i will be taking my last final of my undergraduate career.

there is still so much to be done.

so much.

but i've decided to care for myself.

to let the quiet on the inside grow.

to focus on the task at hand.

to sleep a good amount of sleep.

to avoid some social media.

to rest my voice.

to spend an hour or two daily with friends, family, and the feller.

to wake up early instead of going to bed late.

to take things one day at a time.

i think my graduation experience varies from the majority of people here at school.

for the past four years i lived my life mostly outside this campus and community.

i had other communities, other friends, other ways to spend my time.

and while i've gleaned much from my professors, i didn't develop friendships with them outside of a coffee here or there.

i went to school for classes, not friendships.

and not until recently did i begin to subtly change how i approach this all.

especially on choir tour. 

that being said, i'm not sure how to approach this graduation experience.

i still, after so many years of feeling this way, see myself as an outsider in some ways.

and wonder if i create that boundary, if that's inherently a bad thing -

being an observer and not particpator. 

more reflection on this later.

today the quiet in me swelled under a grey sky.*

sleeping more than usual, with the confidence that an assignment turned in late won't affect my grade.

wearing kick-back clothes and no make up, with the confidence that i am beautiful apart from high waisted shorts and colored lips.

driving in the silence, with the confidence that i need more silence in my life.

walking an empty campus, with the confidence that i am impacting these children's lives.

and while waiting for children to be dropped off at 6:45 am.

there is always a lull after i clock in and before the first one arives.

and i always, to-do list aside, dedicate this time to the Lord.

because He is deserving and because it aligns my soul in everywhich way.

i began reading through psalm 121 this morning.

(the one that has been made into songs again and again and again).

and took solace in my Helper - the Maker of heaven and earth.

and took delight in this watchful One, this One who cares enough to stay awake, alert, engaged.

today will be a good day. 

much to do tonight after classes and work.

but good nonetheless.

*i am painting my bathroom grey soon. next week, i'm sure. thinking about it makes my heart glow.

my fatigue

the truest fact about friendship is that it takes work.

there was something odd about yesterday. you see, it is not a friendship i would have fallen into naturally. it is not a friendship i was even sure i wanted a month or so ago. what is it then? this is what i am trying to identify, to determine. what is it? i can say emphatically that it is forced, that it is a result of arguments and being fed up and choosing (oh, that word) to give chances and leave room for growth and the possibility of God-knows-what. this is a forced friendship. however, it being forced does not detract from the opportunity in front of me and from the undeniably exquisite individual that sat adjacent to me on a forest green couch. she has dreams, opinions, a sharp personality. solid girl. and i never doubted this - except for the outbursts i eavesdropped on and was told about. but even in those theatrical displays of emotion, i knew it likely that she was finding her way in a messy situation. how i wished she would have held her tongue! how i desired of her only one thing - to let go! i know the urges well. and have, like her, had to deal with the repurcussions of such foolishness, regardless the many ways we justify our rants and interjections and clinging. i know the pangs of heartache and the fatal realization that what once was real, solid, tangible is now slipping, quickly, through one's fingertips. yes, i could contextualize my contempt for this young lady and, while trying my hardest not to rationalize it and give it an 'okay,' understand where she is coming from (and, honestly, relate).

this is all vague. all horribly vague. but the outcome of this all... is friendship. an awkward extension of my hand (and hers) in hopes that something can be salvaged, restored.

what was odd about yesterday had nothing and everything to do with her. my speech, the way i carried conversation had no direction. i have recently discovered that i often interupt myself. the order of stories evades me. all easiness is far removed. this is usually with those i am not intimately acquainted with. and given the circumstances, it makes sense that this is the self i put forward. guarded. detached. fake laughs (or should i say, nervous laughs). the appearance of being something, fueled by the need to be something. if she ever over the course of our time together yesterday questioned, as i did: why am i doing this? why the hell am i choosing this? i had to give her a reason. i felt the obviousness of my false self. i wonder if she noticed.

probably.

but the thing is: i was trying. perhaps too hard. i must admit, the only thing i felt afterward (soon followed by thankfulness) was exhaustion. i felt as if i just completed a full day at work. my voice was tired. my head was pounding. and my heart sunk as i recognized how pathetically i relied on a shell of myself for five hours. my fatigue was not a suprise, considering this.

i believe, am i really saying this?, that something good can come of this. that friendship can blossom. that restoration can happen. now, the only catch is that she respect everything we discussed prior to this hopeful prospect. but, assuming she will, not much more can go wrong. i suppose the other catch (yes, there are two) is that i put forth my real self, my full unapologetic self. even if a deep level of intimacy is never reached, i still want to do this, must do this.

for strangers.

for friends.

for family.

for acqaintences.

so that i can be a true, consistent presence in the lives of others.

p.s. we ate lavash and hummus. this is one of my most favorite snacks. if it were up to me, my parents would purchase items like this instead of the ice cream, cookies, candies, and other preservative infused foods that line our pantry and refrigerator. when i get a place of my own and purchase my own groceries - they will be much more healthy.

finally, relief.

last night (and) this morning i wore saturated red corduroys.

i wore my mother's jewlery.

i wore a thrifted shirt.

i did a smokey brown eye.

i curled my hair, of course.

the result: feeling like a young lady.

last year was hard, no doubt. hands down it was the hardest year thus far.

but today, on the lap of the feller - after a filling lunch of homemade quiche, after conversation about God and church and life, after kisses in the warmth of the sun - i felt like a young lady with so much ahead of me. so much promise and adventure. i felt relief. finally, relief.

i'd like to believe it was those red cords (the outfit in general is banging. yes, i said banging).

but it was the relief that only a new year can bring. relief because i bore the weight of goodbyes and the inevitable separation that followed. relief because i said yes to His ways and can experience, this moment, the fruit of obedience - sometimes carried out of fervent love and other times, begrudging discipline. relief because i survived, for lack of a better word, the difficulty of last year.

today, i am welcoming the new year.

today, i am filled with gratitude that He was faithful, that He proved himself strong in my weakness, that He was compassionate and tender, even in my wandering and rebellion, and that He is

making me new.

p.s. i told the feller i didn't want to forget today. today, where our skin is young. today, where our bodies our able. today, where we are twenty-one and have one semester until graduation. it really was wonderful sitting on his lap. he sweetly reminded me that it has been over a year that we have been dating. (and it was a hard hard year). and he, then i, talked about the possibility of two years and five years and seven years and and and. there really is nothing else like sitting on his lap in conversation, in silence.

ruined for love

the holidays were wonderful in my corner of the world.

there was an easiness about them. and a fullness.

and there was joy.

i am so lucky to see those i love as frequently as i do.

and the thing is, it takes planning and excitement from both parties. ahem, from you and me. and finally (miracle of miracles!*), i have people in my life that share the same sentiments about me that i do of them. finally, i am not the only one figuring out dates and places and activities. i am surrounded by good people who desire me in their life. and instead of rejecting their love, as i have conditioned myself to do - often on assumptions that they don't really want to share food and a couch and a sidewalk with yours truly - i am accepting it. saying yes to love. and saying no to the assumption that i will, at all times, never belong. the business of choosing rightly is arduous. you see, i am suspicious of love and skeptical of people. i cannnot easily rely on the integrity of others; few people hold my confidence. this has always guided my interactions - this underlying belief that people will pull the rug from under my feet - that they will leave in hopes of greener pastures (or, in my case, in hopes of becoming acquainted with a more [insert any adjective such as sexy, funny, etc.] individual). ah, the painful sting of betrayal. it is the culprit. well, it is one at least. i have suffered the violence of half-truths and omission. and having suffered, find myself unconvinced by earnest pledges of love and friendship. all this i have dramatized and written about, spoken about, sobbed about. this is not to say that the dramatization of my pain forfeits the realness of it all. and this vivid (and sometimes, i must admit, theatrical) representation of my history with betrayal has fed all the assumptions listed above, perpetuating my wariness of all interpersonal relationships.

but i am not ruined for love.

and i will not (choosing against my natural inclinations) crucify you for the acts of others.

and because of this promise to you, i will not play detective: sniffing out nuances in your language, dusting through the commentary and stories of others, researching your whereabouts.

all of these, i have done.

all of these, i have done obsessively.

but i am through with anxiously reaching for information with the expectation that i will be disappointed in you, whoever you may be. being beguiled has filed down my faith in others, that is certain.

however,

this is changing.

because what is also certain is that being confronted with the brilliantly steadfast love and friendship of a few (and saying yes to this all) is changing me.

the holidays were good.

candy cane lane. old christmas movies. shopping. babysitting. making gifts and cards. christmas tree decorating. christmas light viewing (wow!). starbucks. gingerbread house. third annual christmas dinner. the engagement of close friends. gift exchanges. appetizer contest. san diego. twenty-six pound turkey. gift returns and store credit. mao. redbox. pizza and the office and talks into the night.

late nights. early mornings (except that one day i slept until one... pm).

friends (new and old). family. the feller.

and this life - the life i am living, my life, the only one i am responsible for - is terrifically multifaceted and colorful.

today - as i have been for the past eight or nine days - i am thankful for this life. and for the change that is happening in me.

*saying this reminds of a beautiful poem, written by antonio machado.

read it here.

the condnundrum

leaving a place i considered home was a formidable task.
even the consideration of leaving made me shudder.

looking back, six months back i can see that the shuddering was fear.
violent, robust.
there was this feeling that i would be the only one grieving the fallout. perhaps i would be the only one experiencing this goodbye as an eruption of reality. as a complete debacle. perhaps the chalky dust-filled air and accumulation of rubble only meant ruin for me. and for them, well, it was life as usual: people come and go and it becomes easier each time because life goes on.
there was this feeling that my absence would not be felt. i cringed at the likelihood of my replacement.* and how that meant i would soon be forgot, or worse remembered. and to be relegated to a memory felt like failure. specifically, being a memory without impact. i wondered if i had made an impact, one enough to miss.

approximately two months ago i began to get messages.
imissyou messages.
and i wrestled with the conundrum of imissyou.

what does it even mean?
that i've passed your mind like the fact that you need gas in your tank or like the test you need to study for? that i was, to quote the infamous juno macgruff, "a piece of furniture in your weird life" and you miss that old chair or coat rack? that you realized that we haven't talked in months and decided to make mention that you finally noticed?

i expect a follow up to imissyou.
because the words, though i love them - need them at times - are insufficient. it seems so imprudent to do nothing that corresponds with longing. if you miss someone, you do something about it. right? and when you say you are going to make plans, you follow up. right? and if you can't meet up because you're busy, you make it happen because you miss that person and they are worth shifting a schedule or working out a day to meet. right?

i am grieved that imissyou has become a courtesy rather than a true expression of desire.
i want to matter.
miss my smile.

miss my laugh.

miss my conversation.

miss my presence.
miss my ideas.
miss my kindness.
miss my silliness.

when you don't express that you are still there and haven't forgotten, i will assume you have moved onto bigger and better things. and that my being gone had something to with that. i need to know that you would still be there, even though we don't see each other often. or at all.

i just want you to acknowledge that i was important to you, at one point at least. that a text message, facebook comment isn't enough to satisfy the relationship. that you want relationship with me.
(this is by no means saying that i am unhappy with the ones i have here and now. in fact, there is so much more room to engage in deep relationships because [lots of changes] took place inside me and outside me).

then and there, i said hello and how are you to many but not much more. i had other concerns. what a terrible waste of opportunity. i took advantage of the four years i had to build relationships and develop into myself. and i spit on them and chose to stay. stuck. i failed to be present for people and was preoccupied with self-preservation, manipulation, control, and the desperation to be loved by a single person - nobody else mattered. perhaps that is why these imissyou messages seem so empty. i never gave people something they could miss enough to do something about it.

so when you say imissyou, i don't really know what it means.

and it makes my heart hurt because

i know

i know

i know

you won't follow up (with me at least).

*replacement is a funny thing. i know in function i can be replaced. but i refuse to believe that i can be replaced as person. the qualities of another may be similar to mine but they are not mine. i am an altogether unique being, in the sense that the combination of knowledge, experience, fears, etc. are mine alone. i am not unique in the sense that at the end of the day i am human and we are not as isolated from each other as we like to believe. the human experience is a shared one. but who i am, the person of stacey is largely unique. i suspect i've been replaced in many ways. and i see it in pictures and the way people don't talk to me anymore. didn't we hang out three days a week for four years? and i think it shocked me at first. i resented them. and sometimes, in all honesty, i wonder why i wasted time with people who don't find me valuable enough to keep talking to me, to keep hanging out with me, etc. and upon seeing [the replacement] i just kept thinking, over and over again, "get your own friends. get your own life. go. away. they. are. mine. and we would all be better off without you. take that daft smile. that flowy hair. that genuine personality. that ever-so-likable quality that has people swarming around you. and go. away. because you are living the life i wanted for so long but was too unhealthy to live. because you are making this harder than it needs to be." and that may be rude. but nobody likes to be replaced. and nobody likes to fall into the hole of comparison. and come up with a pile of reasons why they have been replaced. nobody. and even though i am convinced that the person of stacey is largely unique, wonderfully unique and special. it is hard to live that out. even after six months.