the scared

this is the reason i have worked with children for three years (also, why i do not fast forward through the new at&t commercials). they have perfected nonsensical sound effects.  zwee hyuh tzerooowhoah! their imaginations thrill me. a playground is a ship and a jump rope is a snake and they are all kittens or puppies (unless, domesticated animals aren't your thing). reality is for the classroom and home, perhaps. but every moment in between reveals that impossible is not a real word. 

"the scared is scared of things you like." 

the scared* is threatened by the good, beautiful, and true. it suspects them of false advertisement. it reacts with exclamation: 

flee! hide! this is too good to be true! 

it learns what to be scared of from people and media and culture and history. it learns what to be scared of from experience. it learns that not all cookies taste as good as they look (especially the ones shaped like keyboards!) and that friends lie. and it worries that this will be the case everytime. it expects disappointment and pain.

i have tried thinking about things i like. it works sometimes, so, i would say that dear asa is onto something. thinking about things that are true helps more. being quiet and in the presence of God and loved ones. the scared doesn't go away without a fuss, however. it throws tantrums because it likes being around poking my side with questions when i am trying to live. 

the scared shows up when i am eating pizza with new friends or tasting a flavorful, layered beer in hollywood. the scared shows up when i'm ironing perler beads or trying on a snazzy dress. the scared shows up before dinner with almost family when a phone buzzes and i know who it is. the scared shows up at jack and the box when the morning has been good and the evening looks promising. the scared shows up when something i love is happening or just around the corner. 

when i introduce the scared to the good, beautiful, and true - when i confront what it sees as dangerous - it must either transform its demeanor towards those things (into love or appreciation or understanding) or go. elizabeth green and mark gibson write in The Modern Conductor: "we must learn right from the beginning, to recognize tension when it exists and to command it to relax."  they are speaking of shrugged shoulders and anxiety and about maintaining a relaxed stance so that the entirety of expression in our gestures, during a performance, may be from a place at ease. 

this video and my conducting book remind me that:

i want to, with authority and grace, confront the scared.

i want to live from a sure, composed place.

*are the scared and the beast the same thing?

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.

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 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

the thief

yes, my dear it is.

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

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

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

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

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

demands of dominant culture. but can instead dismantle the idealogies

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

because i drift

anchors.

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

anchors.

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

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

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

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

but straight through

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

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

come on stacey, you could have done that.

you could have gone further.

be honest with yourself.

push through.

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

and at the same time

the beast could probably narrow its focus to a handful of people and subjects. there is always room for expansion - for it favors and welcomes all information, but still only a few tighten its throat with maniacal pleasure giving way to squeal after squeal of ecstasy. and these people and these subjects... well, i can't help but be enraged by them. enraged by them - not the beast. because the obliteration of them would mean the sure death of the beast. provoked by their allure, i hope to do just this. my ambition is their demise. wishing them ill. harboring malice upon malice. but this is foolish. this is not sound logic (oh, spock). this is not a wise response in light of the gospel (which turns all things on their heads). because i know well that the people and the subjects have shifted over time. because there will always be room for expansion, for the inclusion of new people and new subjects to devour. the beast will have its dinner. pork or chicken or lamb or veal. it will be fed. and yet i am enraged by the meat, the people, the subjects. not by the beast. what absurdity! to look upon people and subjects with suspicion as if they are cheering it forward, this spry monster. as if they are the guards to this madness i sometimes feel. what tragedy! to forget their form - dust, yes. but more! image of the living God. sigh. what tragedy. to perpetuate disunion and brokenness. in myself and others.

i am seized by fury at them and subservience to the beast

and at the same time

i am seized by the good and right desire to love love love without suspicion, with trust, with patience, with gentleness and starve the beast.

the latter one i want more.
and i am not sure how long. i always wonder how long. you see, i can speak about it so because i know it so. i know the madness and i know the beast and i know the rage and i know the tragedy. and i wonder how long. because how does one change the set of the heart? how does one change involuntary emotions? how does one change unjust biases? three questions is enough. three is always enough. last night i discovered words to describe my distorted dispositions. suspicion and fear have become hallmarks of my equilibrium. if only to survive the devastation i have experienced over the years, i accepted suspicion and fear as permissible ways to navigate through life. they became filters through which every person and subject must pass. and so the bent and misshapen, the seemingly unbalanced became my only way of feeling at ease. here, i will turn to experiential psychologist, carl whitaker. though his methods were unorthodox (and would probably be deemed unethical today), he sought to shake people (specifically, families) out of their equilibrium that they might find a new equilibrium. a healthier one, more conducive to a rich life. you see, the beast keeps my equilibrium just so. meaning: i can function in all of my daily activities and be a productive member of any group i am a part of. however, when it comes to real situations... i am paralyzed. even my filters turn on me. everyone is criminalized. and i am enraged. there is also confusion as to why i am in the same place (i am using same loosely. i know well i am not in the same place as i was a year ago. but it is not too far from it in this area). ah, some clarity at last.

i am in need of a new equilibrium.
one not governed by suspicion and fear.
one not governed by the beast or by rage at its choice meat.
one forged by hands that are not my own.
because my own have not served me well thus far.
i still wonder how long.
and in the words of David, i join in lament:

"have mercy on me, Lord, for i am faint;

heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.

my soul is in deep anquish.

how long, Lord, how long?

turn, Lord, and deliver me;

save me because of Your unfailing love."

psam 6:2-4

and with the saints, i join in hope for things i do not see, things that might take a while. but, nonetheless, things that have been promised.

p.s. forgive the length of this post. i feel it should have been divided into two parts. but i am tired and will be running at 5:30 in the morning. 

details are delicacies.

i attended a play a few weeks ago and the main character, mad with bloodlust, said of his cousins 

"they are concerned with things that are not their concern." 

reclined in a dark theatre, unventilated and sticky, i felt exposed. 

click.

"don't look to the right or to the left

but keep your eyes on Me."

this gentle instruction to have a steady gaze is saving me from an intrusive urge to, well, intrude.
unwelcomed investigation. overeager concern. voracious meddling. call the actions what you may, but i know the beast by name. and it knows mine. it is certainly more than action. it takes shape when there is a lull in my schedule. i think it becomes braver at night. i always feel my curiousity spike when my head is on my pillow and my phone is near my head, its searing orange LED light a call to look look look. technology is its friend. it spoon feeds it, really. sifting through papers and scrolling through pages satiate it, keep it at bay. but it returns greedy for information. it lacks all sensibility, all wisdom, all control. it wants to know. anything. everything. details are delicacies.

oh, but this song. and miss johnson's sweet, spontaneous reminder near the end of this song point me to a God who is steadfast. a stronghold, a fortress, a refuge. my strength. the One worthy of my gaze. i do not need to know. i do not need to search. looking at Him, i am sure of this. and the beast shrinks back when i turn my gaze and look full in His wonderful face. and the beast grows dim in size and strength. yes, the beast grows dim and i am made free. and i become braver. and i become sure that it is better to trust than to know. what a dreadful thing if i were to devote my existence to this beast! this indefatigable beast whose demands steal my time and my energy - steal my gaze and give it to unfruitful things. no, i want a fruiful life. remember? intended growth. i want a trimmed life. without the sort of excess that will make me lazy and ungrateful and a sqaunderer of time and energy.

so i starve the beast of my gaze and give it to the One who is worthy.
and He will instruct me where, what, and who to share my gaze with.
of this i am sure.

dust.

with the start of summer day camp this week i am reminded of my finite form:

dust.

don't get me wrong, i love my kiddos. i equate their scribbles to van gogh. they are silly. they are curious. they fumble through hellos with ease and forget offense in favor of a team game. and their discoveries illumine every contently slouched and apathetic part of my heart.

i am working roughly thirty hours a week at summer day camp. with children who desire friendship and leadership. my responsibilities range from leading worship through music, coming up with skits, bible lessons, etc. to leading team challenges to being attentive to what the little ones are up to (they are always up to something) and, at the same time, being attentive to the older ones who want a game coordinator, referee, and participant.

this doesn't include my job at my church or family time or date time with the feller or friend time with lovely individuals or running or cooking or cleaning or voice lessons.

and today i can feel myself pulling inward, starved for hardy portions of quiet.
it is the reading, writing, crafting, lounging, eating in quiet (read: alone) that i covet.

it is the quiet that i want.
and as an introvert it is more need than want.

i am dust.
i flourish like the grass and flowers...
and am gone when the wind blows.
my frame is weak.

and so i carve out time.
no, i guard my time.
and i lean on the One who is strong.
and i find that in my leaning, my admittance of weakness
i am strong too.

that better life might grow

one would think that graduating college would give me more time to write.
and i suppose it has but i just haven't made it a priority like i have
friends
family
running
reading
working
or
resting.

i will get back on it soon.
it just takes one post. and another.
and the courage or motivation to write another.

but today i have a quote, and my reason for posting this quote?
i am memorizing john 15:1-8 right now.
and upon opening my devotional this morning i was delighted to read this quote.
and think of my tiny roses given to me by the feller that sit on my window sill -
whose leaves grow green but lack buds.

"any good gardener knows that beautiful roses require careful pruning. pieces of living plant have to die. it cannot just grow wild. we cannot simply 'celebrate growth.' it is more than to be regretted, it is tragic that we seem to have lost the insight that growth in Christ requires careful pruning. pieces of us by our intentional action need to die if we are to become the person that is in God's vision. we are not cutting away a cancerous growth, but making room for intended growth. mortification refers to that intentional action of pruning of life that better life might grow by God's grace - just as better roses grow by God's grace."

urban t. holmes III

spirituality for ministry

there is more to it but this is all i can swallow at the moment.

today my niece and nephew graduate high school and middle school respectively.
they will undoubtedly shy away from pictures, contorting their faces or hiding behind hands or tough exteriors. but we will all take pictures. and they, looking back, will be forced to recall how aggressively they recoiled from the camera.
i love them.
i am filled with hope for them.

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. 

mystery of mysteries!

this morning i am reminded of how much my heart desires oneness with Christ,
how my heart delights in simple devotion to this King and Friend.

it thirsts for Him.
i know that imagery is used ad naseum,
but His word is life to me.
it doesn't just give life, it is life.

and while i need this Sustainer to be my strength, my rock, and my help in time of need (hello, it's finals week!) He is so much more than a fulfillment to my need. He is so much more than a therapeautic idea.

He can be known. mystery of mysteries! He can be known.

my heart's cry for oneness, for closeness, for knowing can be heard even in the midst of my exhaustion and anxities.
and my heart, deprave as it is, not only needs Him but longs for Him.

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. 

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.

the lord reigns

the lord reigns, he is robed in majesty;
the lord is robed in majesty
and is armed with strength.

the world is firmly established;
it cannot be moved.
your throne was established long ago;
you are from all eternity.

the seas have lifted up, o lord,
the seas have lifted up their voice;
the seas have lifted up their pounding waves.
mightier than the thunder of the great waters,
mightier than the breakers of the sea -
the lord on high is mighty.

your statutes stand firm;
holiness adonrs your house
for endless days, o lord.

psalm 93