my lot too.

i spent the first hours of black friday* on my bed with a friend addressing the tensions over the last six months or so. the distance and avoidance. the felt separation.

from kindergarten to high school i went to seven schools. 

kindergarten at my church.

first grade at an elementary close to home.

second and third grade at a new magnet school that opened.

fourth, fifth, and sixth grade enrolled in a gate program across town.

seventh grade at a private school.

eighth grade at a public school (the private school closed).

high school at one place.

we only moved once that whole time, to the house that i now live in. but i never had the chance to keep friends because i was always in a different school. i would have a best friend for one or two years and have to say goodbye. when i realized that i had two or three friends at my church, i clung to them. i wasn't leaving my church any time soon. but those friends have since bowed out of my life. i haven't spoken to them in two or more years. and there have been new friends that have come along. some have recently moved further south. others are in their beginning stages. and i am thankful. but this does not change my upsetting history with friendships. 

my friend and i talked about ears that judge, keeping a record of wrongs, unreciprocated availability and the uneasiness that is a product of rejection. i told her i needed her. that as much as i am afraid to enter into friendships due to my history of being royally screwed over, i am willing to work through it. that as much as i want to say i am done being relegated to a spot on the edges of your life, i love you and find you to be valuable. i expect to be disappointed in relationships and that isn't fair. it isn't giving her a chance. but she has disappointed me. there will be more chances to give. making friends is hard for me, i admitted. i don't know who to trust and am used to being overlooked, replaced, and used. there was mutual sharing and apologies and forgiveness. we consecrated the moment with prayer and a hug and a promise to stay friends.

and in the morning i wept. for the friendships that have collapsed on themselves. the friendships that were not kept. who will be my friend?  i asked of the Lord. who will care for me? who will extend a hand of mercy and a word of loving correction? and who will let me be their friend? who have i to care for? who will give me place in their lives? i recognized Him as the Steadfast One, the Faithful One. He is my forever friend - this is a source of deep pleasure and comfort. and i beheld Christ who was rejected and despised among men, a man of sorrows, aquainted with suffering, the One whom people hid their faces from. i considered His experiences of betrayal and loneliness. i remembered the accusations against Him, the misinterptation of His words and deeds. His friends could not even keep their eyes open and pray by His side in His final moments of despair. and i wondered if this was my lot too. and i wept for Christ - forsaken, bruised, and killed. the light of life, extinguished.

*i know people call it 'good friday' and that's fine. but for me, it's jumping the gun to celebration. it is turning our eyes from the torture too quickly. it interupts the shock, the disorientation, the sadness. it is the Church's duty to behold Christ, the suffering servant. my gratitude deepens when i see His chest heaving for breath and, finally, still. He is faithful to the end. He is my company in despair.

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.

non-sentences.

a recap of our two year celebration (october fifth) in non-sentences.

fake glasses and pleated skirts. feasting from morning to evening. fritattas and italian eggs benedict. strawberry jam, apricot jam - housemade thank-you-very-much. brie and chicken. duck breast and quail. pork tenderloin and gnocchi. steak and shepherd's salad. other housemade items: salami, beef pate, chicken liver mousse, chocolate and banana ice cream. imaginitave flavors. pure, sophisticated flavors. food venturing on unreal, of another world. fingers laced and the familiar cadences of eachother's voice. appreciating store owners and restaurant servers. gift giving and exchanging notes. nearly-napping at a park. seeing the whole turtle - finally! strong kisses. a streak of milky starshine on a black sky. escaping run-ins with pantless men and mysterious cars parking in bushes. filing up the tank at the same stop we did summer of 2011. indulging in a slow drive through that neighborhood - yellow lights and busy sidewalks. and finally sweet goodbyes that we wished weren't goodbyes.

some actual sentences:

he is my favorite friend (but not my only friend). i'm a lucky girl. we make a pretty good team.

and an expression from miss austen, which sums up how i currently feel:

strange as it was,

sunday afternoons have been my solace for the past few months. after church, my day is free. the feller has every sunday off. this means he comes over and we eat food my mother prepares (or my dad buys). if neither of those things happens, we get in-n-out. duh. we've been frequenting local parks with our ratty old blankets - his, stolen. mine, from childhood. we lay on them and nap. we read. we talk. we crinkle our noses. we smooch. i tell him, as we sort through future possibilities, that days at the park are enough. although we have done and enjoy both, no wining and dining needed here. laying by his side on an old blanket at a park is enough.

the clouds were theatrical, tumultuous. they wrestled with the sun our entire outing. the wind was cool. the grass was damp. the feller was warm. by any estimation, it was perfect.
i have been turning things over in my head about a difficult situation. i know my faults and where i have been wrong. where i have been unfair or too quick to turn my head. and i know where others misstepped. i am aware of the past and how it informs the present. i have been shaped by life experience. and whether i like it or not, i have to look at that experience and push back against the repercussions of it all. the betrayal, the unforgiveness, the lack of trust. what do i do with these assumptions and these feelings of uncomfortability and anxiety? how do i handle this in a way that honors and respects all parties? how do i embody goodness to those i have harbored malice against? what does the Lord require of me in this situation? i have been thinking carefully. the feller has a voice in the matter. and there is a voice i have been avoiding. so i have been thinking about avoidance and all those questions and what to do with a situation that will not evaporate.

and, unfurling from between the questions - that anxious, empty space that quivers,
arose a peculiar thought:
i have nothing to worry about, do i?

strange as it was, i believed it. if only for a minute or so, i believed it.

so i voiced this to the feller. he responded with:
no, dear.

there was sincerity in his voice. no pleading. no fight. just tenderness and understanding.
and while i love boundaries and things to be sure (above all, i want to be sure),

i know that
it is better to trust,
it is better to give chances,
it is better to extend peace and friendship.
(even if typing that makes me cringe still)

and as jonie reminded me at coffee, i have everything to be confident about.

on feeling inferior, reading into things, and trusting.

this post might as well be titled the sequel to "it seems too simple."

last night was anouther double date with the same couple, our third one with them to be exact. and it wasn't as defeating as the first one, which you must keep in mind while reading this. another thing to keep in mind? i endured a headache all day, my heels hurt, my body was achy and i had woken up several times the night before. i wasn't feeling too hot (though i looked it). there might have been recognizable dissonance brooding in me but the night was no fiasco. we ate, laughed, and walked. it was good.

phrases like representational art, conflicting american ideals, and the lesser of two evils disagreed with me. in all honesty, i know nothing of politics or fine dining or historical figures or pipes or economics. i am terrible at retaining information.  my memorization skills kick ass but retaining what i memorized? a whole other story. so i forgot what president did what or what some wars meant for our country.  i'm not well-versed in how to eat this or the art in that gallery across the street.  i don't have pointed opinions about some things. heck, i am poorly informed about many things. i am not a knower, though i wish i was.  so the beast made a dramatic appearance once again last night. and i became fixated on my lack of contribution to the conversation. i become fixated on how much i do not know (and how much they do). i become fixated on their tailored speech. the whole time, feeling inferior. feeling that i cannot be friends with these people. feeling as if i've some sort of impression to uphold and defend and prove. making assumptions on how i am being perceived.

i read into things. it is what i have been told to do as a singer. i get a song and i analyze why the composer did such and such with the melody line and why the accompaniment does such and such. i become a character and i must know every nuance of their emotions without asking them. i make up my own story, my own background and i construct (and reconstruct) the reasoning of each character in each song i sing. i sift through the possibilities of motivation behind one phrase. is she sad? is she jubilant? is she fearful? and why is she these things? and why is she deciding to give this words now? so i read into things and i construct your reasoning. and i make assumptions about what you are thinking and why. it's terribly unfair because you are a real person that i can - gasp - get to know. and getting to know someone will usually relieve me from my assumption making duties. knowing you, i don't have to assume... i can ask or trust what i already know.

i need to give people a chance. i need to give myself a chance.

stacey, give yourself a chance. you are smart, funny. 

you know about family and dailyness and alonedom. 

you know about change and decision-making. 

you are soft and a good listener. 

you are primarily a feeler, but you are a thinker too. 

you are beloved. 

and because you have weathered life for twenty-two years

under the grace, faithfulness, and leadership of a good God

you can contribute to the conversation in unique and enlightening ways.

i get lost in surging assumptions and violent fears and i forget that i know a God who stills these things with faithul love. he is my anchor, yes? i've got to bring this to mind on nights like last night. i've got to trust this so deeply that nights like last night become rare - preferably nonexistent. 

a big plus of last night? learning to eat an artichoke the right way.

there is always a silver lining.

it's okay

saturday afternoon i was sleepy. having a friend over the previous evening after a whallop of a day at work was difficult. being present when i am sleepy is probably one of the hardest things for me to do. feel especially pleased with yourself if you are a person who unravels my sleepiness and makes me awake. others can't do it. saturday afternoon proved what i already knew: this friend could not. but i tried my hardest to honor her and her time. to listen to her stories and worries. to discern when to use my tongue, which often resulted in not speaking because, well, it wasn't necessary.  she is a beautiful individual and i must always meet her with the same loving attention i do the sleep unraveling ones.

my dad had been having back problems the evening before. the remote was on the ground and wanting to fast forward through the commercials he walked over, extended his arm, bent his back and suffered terrible muscle spasms.  he was able to get in bed with help. saturday morning he couldn't get up because of the pain. age had absent-mindedly forgotten it's tightly clenched dentures in his lower back. there was a brief time span where he was able to walk and eat breakfast and protest, of course, that he was not in need of immediate medical attention. pride said no to a hospital ride. my mother couldn't break his mulishness and such a division cut off her opportunity and impulse to help. she took my nephews to a soccer game and i, who had been planning on attending a surprise birthday party, was his only helper. i assured him that if he was in need of help i was there. this is something i am working on. helping. putting aside myself for the sake of others. i'm not playing martyr but i am trying to good to those i love.

love stays.
love helps.
love prefers the other.

the call was made, despite his embarrassment. i have never been immobilized and i could imagine his embarrassment.  for a man who only truly confides in his own strength and ability to get things done this is as welcome as chinese water torture. he is a lone ranger in a family of fixers, helpers, and talkers.
 
he insisted to the dipspatch that he wanted no sirens, no lights. both were present. they came. five or six of them. i can't remember anything really. i just remember thinking thank God it's only his back. not his heart. not a stroke. no blood. still conscious. just his back. these men were friendly. they made jokes. they eased the tension. they are professionals and could save his life, but their presence was more than steady hands and knowledgeable minds... they made my dad laugh. thank you paramedics for being more than smart and able. you are kind, funny. you helped in many ways. they made themselves at home. i stepped back. they moved tables and pushed back couches. they asked me questions. thank God it was just his back. rolled him on a paper gurney. then he was placed on a real gurney. he was rolled out of my house and into an ambulance. it was just his back. i had to keep reminding myself of this because i am a fan of csi - the great perpetuator of fear and worry. i have watched them all. i have also watched all without a trace episodes and cold case episodes. i'm starting to enjoy criminal minds but i can't help but be hesitant for one reason only. anyways, i was about to drive off when i realized my curling iron was still plugged in. i was curling my hair before we made the call but had forgotten about it in the midst of five or six men making themselves present. not wanting to see these men again about other business, namely a slightly toasted house, i ran in and turned it off. i followed them. i sang. i gave thanks. i remembered He is my anchor. i hoped He would become my dad's anchor.

i arrived. and waited in a room full of wheelchairs and crying babies and laughing children. i dislike hospitals. mostly the clamy feeling they give me - i swear, those flourescent lights and AC kill me. not to mention that the easter bunny left his pastel fingerprints on the tile and walls. i waited. not long after, i was given access to his room and sat there for three hours. he got shots and pills. i heard him moan in pain. there was fear. there was helplessness - i could not ease his pain or lift him up.  i could do nothing about his condition. i wondered if he felt embarrassed in front of me. i wondered if he felt out of control. probably. maybe it was lack of control that frustrated him. wanting to get up, but not having the ability to do so. weakness is embarrassing. i gave him a card last week telling him it's okay to be weak. i hope he remembered some of that saturday. he is better and i am still thanking God that it was just his back. i love my dad. and was reminded that he - as well as my mom or any other person of significance - is not guarenteed to be around as long as i idealize.

momento mori: remember your mortality.

i would rather think on it now, come to terms with the ash i will become - that taunting pile of dust that will claim us all - than to still mortality's voice. what good what it do to shove it in a corner with sewn lips? it will make itself heard in tragic ways, regardless. 

p.s. the feller will love me for my latin reference. it's one of his favorite things to ruminate about.

it seems too simple,

saturday night the feller and i doubled with a couple i wasn't well-acquainted with. and before i could think about their kindness or their humor or appreciate their uniqueness, i assumed. and based on assumptions, which were (probably) true i tried to correct everything they (might) have been told about me.  because well, when people are angry with a situation they talk - a lot - and to a lot of people. i worried they were measuring me up against the picture sketched with the frustrations of another. i, the young woman who was sure of herself weeks ago, was confident she could hold her own weeks ago, was worried. while twirling my linguini around my four pronged fork and making swirls in the marinara sauce, i thought. thinking, in my case, can lead to devasting conclusions. i am a class one, self-diagnosed (appropriate, yes?) hypochondriac. and i worry about red eyes and slightly bulging veins and tight breathing. my hypochondria isn't limited to medical emergencies. no, i look behind me when i walk to my house from the street at night. i check my back seat before i enter my car lest a murderer or rapist be lurking (or contorted) in the back seat somewhere. and when it comes to relationships and friendships it might be worse. sometimes i conclude it's better to leave everyone (because they secretly want to leave me but won't out of pity), to suffer the losses, and prepare for the next time i'm forced to leave (because they secretly want to leave me but won't out of pity). i worry. my thoughts tend towards the worst outcomes. saturday night i thought of things they might have been told. i thought of how their opinions of me have been swayed. i wondered if they were comparing me to you. i wondered if they could see you at the table rather than me. i was less myself because of these worries. i laughed less and couldn't think of the right things to say.  it was still a good night. my sheepishness likely went unnoticed since they don't know me well. the feller knew. he knows. i love that.
early sunday morning, God reminded me who i am. daughter. strong. silly. wise. beautiful. and who He is. anchor. rock. truth. He reminded to keep my gaze steady. you see, i do look to the left and to the right. i look. and i worry. i assume. and i worry. i think. and i worry. a steady gaze sheds worry.  a steady gaze requires i not overanalyze, twirling thoughts like i do linguini. it is good to be reminded that, at the end of the day, one persons sketch of me as this or that holds no water like His does. but until i lock my eyes with His, i will torment myself with the what-ifs of that sketch endlessly.  the former is just a better way to live. sunday night, in an attempt to escape my easy-bake-oven of a house, the feller and i went to in-n-out and our faithful gelato supplier. i was honest with him about our double. he assured me that proving myself benefits nobody, achieves nothing. that he loves me and that the sketch isn't worry-worthy. vulnerability is great, friends. it builds trust. it increases intimacy. it gives space to bleed. it gives space to heal.

a note on this post:
i penned the above yesterday morning. but on my bed last night, after a bout of anxiety that only preys on the sleepy and sensitive, i opened my bible of ten years. (because sometimes you know you aren't strong enough to pass up the good words of a good God). the leather cover isn't attached to the pages anymore but i still stuff the bound pages between the cover like a pita.
john 5. jesus asked "do you want to be made well?"there was not even a "yes" or a "no" but a reason as to why he hasn't been able to be well. he is an invalid. he needs the assistance of another. no one will help. other people are made well. he is overlooked. and i'm sure he is used to this. perhaps even looks pessimistically towards getting better. perhaps even looks bitterly at passerbys. jesus didn't need a "yes" to know. and He wasn't off-put by the mans pessimism or bitterness. apathetic as the man may have been, He made him well. last night i was reminded that jesus asks me if i am through with sitting on my mat, crippled and despising my condition. he asks me if wellness is my hearts desire. am i through with being a victim of sickness and mistreatment? well, yes. but i have been walked over lord. i have been dragged through shit. and there are people who help me (the feller, lex, sister, jackie, etc.) but sometimes i don't let them. i am understandably jaded, lord. and at the end of the day, it is hard to shake the familiarity i have with the titles invalid, victim, and (because of these things) worried skeptic. despite my condition and my titles He still asks. and i say yes. it seems too simple, but i say yes. and he says "stand up, pick up your mat, and walk!"

it reminds me of isaiah 1: "stop doing wrong, learn to do right." or in john 8: "go and sin no more." these are unnervingly direct commands. there are no prefaces or buts or ands or ifs. there are certainly no explanations, which usually stave off change and quiet courage. sometimes they come after His kindness or healing. even so, they say we have a part in being made well. so i recognize my weakness and i say it. i describe it. i learn it. i do this so i can spot it from afar. i do this so i can articulate situations to loved ones in the most true way i can. it equips them to help. or to tell me to help myself! i do this so i know where i need Him most. so i can make specific requests of Him. so i can invite Him into these areas to do as He desires. i stop worry in its tracks. and i don't, out of boredom or stress, navigate social media sites such as facebook and blogger and twitter. i kill the beast. i redirect my thoughts. i replace them with the current state of affairs, which are lovely. i exercise confession and honesty. i present myself bare before loved ones. i rejoice in vulnerability. and i celebrate the ones who make vulnerability possible.

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!

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. 

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.

all of that energy

fact: i am busy

this week:
fifty short answer questions for worldview
first (and) second round of scenes from doubt for acting
finale project for midi
interview due for abnormal psychology
voice recital
voice performance class
start and finish research for presentation for world civilization
attend two hour classical music performance
usher at a play
prepare for onslaught of exams next week

next week:
four exams (abnormal psychology, cognitive psychology, music history/literature, and worldview)
reason project for midi
paper about play i ushered at
and on friday i will leave for choir tour, which happens to be placed during spring break (my only possible opportunity for rest dashed!).

[all of this in between classes, work, and an internship]

fact: i do not have time to work things out and extend myself to remedy situations. i do not have the energy to even try and approach such things. because all of that energy is being poured into all eight of my classes, my own attempts at self care and my disciplined and joyous care for those i am closest too.

past all difficulty.

this week i am learning that life getting better doesn't mean you have gotten past all difficulty. it also doesn't mean that you won't be bothered by the things you thought you resolved days, months, and years ago.

and while i would love for life to be this way. while i wish some people would disappear completely (because, let's face it people are messy and i'd rather leave the excessively messy ones behind. or at least the ones who stir things up that i'd rather be left alone. oh, and the ones who just won't go away and insist on being an impeding presence in some area of my life.). while i wish things could be resolved once and once only.

i know that something good will

come out of this...

more self-love

a surer sense of who i am

a well-primed ear to listen

a well-trained tongue to speak

better conflict resolution skills

strengthened relationships

it doesn't mean i always want to push through and cry through and work through and think through and talk through and process process process. because it's tiring and i have had enough of life's difficulties. and i have exams to study for and papers to finish and presentations to prepare and an internship and work to attend. the busyness of right now paints processing as not worth it, not productive, not conducive to maintaining low-stress.

but this evening, as i cared for myself in small ways,* i was able to gain some perspective

and some clarity. and while the fog hasn't lifted completely - feelings never lift and clear easy, do they? - i know that the processing is worth it. even though i hate it at times.

*making my bed. folding a weeks worth of clothes i wore and didn't wear piled on a chair. putting dark clothes to wash. working out. long shower. plucking my eyebrows. it's amazing how these small things soothe a mind weary of unresolved conflict.

p.s. i also wrote out five pages today, in between classes and on breaks, to help me think more clearly in preparation for a conversation that is happening tomorrow. i only do this in situations that are tangled like hair that hasn't been brushed.

p.s. i wish difficulty didn't come at such an inopportune time. my birthday is friday for goodness sakes! but i cannot schedule in difficulty. how unfortunate.

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.