ploughs forward.

two weeks ago i took the cbest. friends said it was easy and i believed them. that is, until the the night before. in true stacey fashion i was rattled with nervousness. the assault of worries :
i should have prepared better! math is not my strong subject. my first c was in math, for goodness sake. i haven't written a timed essay in years. why didn't i practice this? 
i looked up tips and review questions on my android. curse around the clock accessibility to the internet. what should have placated me only exacerbated my angst. i woke up exhausted at 5:30 am but rolled over and slept thirty minutes more. i could afford a half hour of uninterrupted rest. God knows, i would have spent it worrying.

what redeemed the forty minute drive south was the delightful green parading springs coming. it served both as distraction and anchor. a distraction from the reality of taking a standardized test in a high school classroom. an anchor to the reality that life and time and things keep going. spring will burst through winter's barren, endless white and summer will scorch springs' life and fall will strip summer of whatever radiance it has left. but the trees still grow if you lose your job or you get a promotion. life ploughs forward.

for three years, i have been a playground/after school supervisor. it offers flexibility and brief shifts. this was ideal my final two years in college. work never overtaxed me. it could be reenergizing, at times. and it has been nice working here post-grad in addition to my position at my church. it has aroused concern:

minimum wage, no matter how much i love my job and how many hours i scour from sick employees, isn't a sustainable income.
playground and daycare are easy. i enjoy preparing snacks, assisting with homework, and running around with those rascals. there are days when no body wants to listen and things go south, but discipline isn't difficult. my job is too easy.

the cbest offers an answer.

if i ever plan on moving out, getting married, paying off my loans i need a higher income. substitute teaching provides this, without nixing children whom i love.
it is also something i have never done and will challenge me. i've been encouraged by several friends, older, wiser, who have substitute taught or been full-time teachers. it will help me walk taller, command the room with authority and kindness, be sure of what i have to say (or humbly admit i have no idea what i'm doing). they say the classroom is the best training room for being a speaker, a leader. i need work in this area.

i took the cbest and i passed. some of the questions were less intuitive but i passed.
eager to know how well i did, i scanned the page for my score.
the minimum passing requirement is 123, i scored a 172...

out of 240.
ouch. before i could celebrate the fact that i passed, i felt pummeled by disappointment. i am an idiot, i thought. my reading was my highest, math my second highest, and writing my lowest.
ouch. i love to write. sometimes i aspire to take writing classes and compile my words into a children's book? a collection of poetry and observations? into something true and alive. i am an idiot, i reminded myself.

i called the feller with the news - all of it. he is so good to me.
not until we hung up did i concede that i am not my score. in 11th grade AP english, my teacher talked with us about this subject concerning the looming SAT test we would be taking soon.

isn't this great? i says so much about our society's obsession with measured academic achievement that creates a hierarchy of intelligence and, thus, worth. i am not here to argue the validity of these tests, only to say that the scores reflect the ability of the test taker to apply selected information and skills in a standardized test (and test setting - ugh). these scores say nothing about who the test takers are.

i am good with kids. i can guide and direct and discipline and encourage them well.
their little successes make my heart leap.

so, while i could retake the test for a higher score, i know that it isn't necessary as it is incosequential to my getting a job. it would only be to satisfy my need for an A, which is a conditioned desire rooted in the human aspiriation for meaning and value. thank you, 'merica. thank you, childhood. 
i don't need to satisfy that need. i know who i am. and i am not an idiot.
i don't need to get hung up on this even though the idea of upcoming interviews almost paralyzes me.

in other news: after i hung up with the feller, i attempted to make cream of mushroom soup. cooking is relaxing. i cook slow and enjoy the process, the simmering, the melting, the mixing. it helps me think and focus. the cbest scores must have really put me in a funk because i forgot to check if i had the right amount of each ingredient. i am a planner, checker, double checker but my measurements were off. i continued cooking with fingers crossed. there was too much flour. down the garbage disposal.
i succombed to my new fallback: the grilled cheese with spinach and tomato.
slowly cooked to perfection and instantly satisfying over an episode of glee.
so while i felt disappointed that even my mushroom soup was a fail, i still managed to give thanks that life mercifully ploughs forward.

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. 

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.

all grown and facing giants!

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

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

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

"look at you all grown and facing giants!"

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

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

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

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.

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. 

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. 

spent

the drive home was all nausea and headache.
it was tiredness and dismay.
it was fury and fraility.

the demands of these last five weeks intimidate me.
school, work, internship.
relationships with family and friends.
and the looming decisions i must make, though i feel pressed and pressured and backed into a corner by the loved and the loathed.
i feel as though the loved and loathed have determined to dismantle what little rest and peace i have right now in my busy, busy life by questioning me (desiring only my submission) and having me reevaluate and restate my reasoning until i feel as if my very reasoning is no more than the unbalanced, delirious logic of an equally unbalanced delirious young woman.

i am spent.
i feel the quiet fracturing of my will.
my patience.
my wonder.
my stamina.
my passion.
my trust.

in all of my undone-ness i slipped out of today's apparel and into my sister's eighth grade basketball sweats and the feller's t-shirt. i borrow clothes. i keep the clothes i borrow. within five minutes underneath white sheets and watercolored comforter, i fell asleep. heavy, deep, and deserved. and while i am no more made up than i was before the nap, i have the advantage of a more rested body.

the fracturing is still there.
some things are too difficult for me to do.
some things i just refuse to do or further discuss.

and in my ungraceful collapse under the difficulty of situations and my own refusal to comply to the wishes of the loved and the loathed,
i am spent.

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

for admiting it so recklessly.

there are so many good things happening.

the discovering of myself and of others. letting people in. understanding that i do have friends if i make time for them. they want in. i need to let them in. fun times at plays. at lunch. at dinner. on the couch. watching without a trace. even though my dad gets mad that the dvr is 46% full of them. reading a book for book club. laughing unrestrained. crying unrestrained, mostly with people. it's harder to cry by myself. it never used to be this way. but more recently it has been. i don't know what this means. but my heart is aching.

we are separate people living separate lives now.

and even though there are good good things happening. friday night was filled with me missing you. and places. and the plans we had. i will never dance that dance holding your hand or smelling your shampoo that i think smells weird. and i can't describe the realness. the rawness. how it overcame me. how it filled every cell. how i could explode with longing. how i wanted to say something. but shouldn't and didn't and won't. mostly because i said i wouldn't. because i have to learn how to keep my word. always. yes be yes. no be no. i cannot confuse things. i cannot reentangle myself. even though i am desperate with yearning. friday. yesterday. today. you are the funniest man in the world and i miss the way i laugh with you. a laugh uncontrollable. a smile inconceivable. i miss it desperately. desperately. i miss the understanding. i miss the confidence. i miss the frozen pizzas. i miss round eyes and big teeth. i miss knowing you will always respond. i miss always being together. even though it means that we were unhealthy. unhealthy for so long. so long. even though it means that we did not know who we were without eachother. i miss security. even though trust was broken many times. even though i had reason to be insecure. i was always secure. because you were my safe place. i miss car fresheners and talking about jesus. i miss worshipping with you. connection. knowing without saying. leading eachother. mutual submission. trusting eachother up there. releasing each other up there. planning and unity. i miss seeing you grow. i love seeing you grow and discovering gifts. i miss encouraging you and telling you it's going to be okay. i miss having a place with you. always having a place with you. i do i do i do. and part of me feels horrible for this. for even typing it. for admiting it so recklessly. but it is so true. and sometimes writing it, more specifically typing it, is the only way i can make myself feel. is the way i can make what is being repressed surface.

it pries open the cellars of my heart.

the basements with secrets and pain and wounds that are too deep.

far deeper than we know they are.

last night it took an hour and a half of restlessness to fall asleep. it took putting my head where the feet go. it took reciting words over and over in my head. knowing they are true.

He is kind. and in His kindness He has brought me to this place, this aching place of desperation. i have to trust this. if i believe He is kind and good and true - the truest realest person i could ever know- then i must trust. i must call to mind His tender mercies. i must remember remember His faithfulness. His deep deep love. even though lately i have not felt anything. not one drip of it. i want more than knowledge, i want experience. i want a knowing.

it feels good to cry. to feel. to lean into the sorrow and the loss. as well as the good good things that are happening. even if it means i need to do my makeup again.

i can't do anything about this desire. this eagerness to be with you.

i wonder if it will ever go away. i wonder if a few months from now i will feel this. i wonder if i will ever see you again after friends have weddings and events cause us to haphazardly bump into eachother. i want to see you whole. healed. delivered. free. i do i do i do. i wish i could help with it. but i can't. instead i am trusting you to the One who can. the only One who can. sometimes i get afraid you won't run to Him. that you will run to other things. things that are destructive. things that sabatoge intimacy with yourself, others, and Him. i release you to the One who is strong. who is enough.

i know that the decisions that have been made are right. are the right ones.

but they hurt. this all hurts.

like loss

today is june the first.

today feels like loss.

after so much peace.

and crying.

and prayer.

and the smell of anointing oil on my face as i sleep.

today still feels like loss.

that doesn't mean the peace wasn't real. or the prayers are unfulfilled, unheard. it just means that this morning i woke up to a new reality. where we would not talk. not even to say hello or how are you. and i would not see some faces as much as i want. and i would not sit in black chairs three times a week. and i would not have to think about bringing a jacket with me because the air conditioner is blasting. now, i will be pulling into new parking lots. meeting new people. cultivating friendships i never could yesterday. because of entanglement and control and insecurity. but i can do this all today. i can do this because i said yes to change and freedom and discovering myself and Him.

there is loss, yes.

some days will be worse than others, yes.

but some days will be good and full.

i am not looking forward to either right now...

they both mean change has taken place.

and today, june the first, this very moment, i am not sure about much.

i shake my head at change.

many things seem daunting, i am afraid.

beyond cure.

normally falling asleep is easy. effortless.

the closing of my eyelids is my escape.

where i need not think or process the stuff that i ought to.

it is so difficult sometimes to discern what one is to do.

or to say.

the heart is deceitful above all things.

it is beyond cure. who can understand it?

and i mislead myself. all. the. time.

i have faults that i am not aware of.

my heart hides and disguises destruction so well.

but no one likes to discover their brokenness.

especially if they have convinced themselves that all was right and good.

and whole.

i hate that i cannot understand myself the way others understand themselves.

sometimes i am overwhelmed with pure assurance. sheer security.

but it is a vapor.

and i cry.

but most of the time i stop myself.

but right now i can't.

and it's this hollow unproductive sadness and disappointment.

with no resolution in sight.

it's just that i am so broken.

and don't even know where to start.

i am so glad He came. and i know He is present. and real. and alive.

and abounding in love and mercy.

but i don't even know where to start.

He comes with light.

and i desire an outbreak of this very light in my thinking.

in the movings of my heart.

to expose the things hid. the things quivering with fright.

that they would be made visible. so that my true nature i can see.

and so that this kind Savior, who remembers that i am dust, may quiet my stammering and stuttering anxieties with love. a love that i do not understand and feel unworthy to receive.

but he calls me beloved.

worth love.

i am so glad He came.

even though i am scared. and broken.

i am so glad He came.

because He makes all things new. and whole.

good news. good news.

this is my joy. my song in the night.

i am so glad He came.

shut up long enough

as of late, in all this busyness, fear has made itself a presence.

a very loud and demanding presence.

and i don't know how to make it shut up long enough for Peace to rush into the lowest parts of me.

quiet my heart with Your love.

call out to the turmoil ''be still.''

make me lie down in green pastures.

above understanding, though i desire it.

above direction and wisdom, though i need it.

i long for You to rush in.

i know You are willing.

so come.

before i was conceived

yes, life is feeling new.

but can i reiterate how newness is so scary.

because it might mean a complete uprooting. and what scares me the most is the possible death of another expectation. a new expectation. because i've been grieving and sifting through the loss of a previous expectation for quite some time now. i can't handle another one. you see, my expectations are linked to huge life things. (though, this might be the crux of the problem. putting things like marriage. ministry. career. all, simultaneously in one single expectation.)

but if i'm not meant to be there with those people. and i'm not to meant to be here with you - you, who have already established exclusively tight knitted relationships with others - then where do i belong? where does my connectedness begin?

and this is why i am so thankful i can put these words in my mouth.

and soon enough in my heart.

" my soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him.

he alone is my rock and my salvation;

he is my fortress, i will never be shaken.

...

find rest, o my soul, in God alone;

my hope comes from him.

he alone is my rock and my salvation;

he is my fortress, i will not be shaken.

my salvation and my honor depend on God;

he is my mighty rock, my refuge.

trust in him at all times, o people;

pour out your hearts to him,

for God is our refuge.

selah

...

one thing God has spoken,

two things have i heard:

that you, o God, are strong,

and that you, o lord, are loving."

psalm 62:1-2, 5-8, 11-12

p.s. i normally hate it when people skip around a passage of scripture, only picking out certain parts that they like. but these are just parts that stuck out to me. and they are true. firm foundations. a refuge built before i was conceived. a refuge waiting for me enter in.