it's okay

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

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

love stays.
love helps.
love prefers the other.

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

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

momento mori: remember your mortality.

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

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

for him.

dear sweet children,

i am twenty-two and at home. i am five months from twenty-three and will probably still be here. i am living off of the gratitude of my parents. and i am thankful. they have poured me milk and have left me the back parking when i am out late. i am typing on this computer because of them. i have internet access because of them. but it is difficult sharing a home with two people who don't much like each other anymore. who have suffered difficult lives. who have offended each other. who have shut one another out. who cannot hold a conversation about much.

when comparing you to your father i want it to be good things. you are creative, intelligent, curious, adventurous, spontaneous, goofy, philosophical - just like him! you honor people the way he does. you have a rough sort of affection like he does. they might not be those specific things but they will be good things. you will surely mimic all his nettlesome habits but i will not rattle on about those. i will correct where correction is needed, but i will praise you for the good things. i want you to know that i love your father. and that life and marriage can be a tumble at times but that i am for him. i want you to see - even when you are twenty-two - that we work with eachother not against eachother. i will share my bankaccount and not just my bed with the man i marry, the man you know as your father. trust, sweet ones, trust will be something tangible and bright. it will make us resilient. we will be a team who makes decisions together. we will hold each other and you will see by the way he tickles my sides and the way i trace the backs of his ear to his neck that we are a team. you will see by the way we argue. and the way we make up.

at twenty-two i want to be honest with you about the road. i want to confide in you that the road is this or that. i am not sure of the road yet. i am not on it; i am not married. but i know some things of importance. and i have some hopes for what it will be like, even on those bad terrible days where i'd rather be in alaska than right where i am. which is saying a lot, because i shiver easily.

with love,
a twenty-two year old who is praying tenderness into her parents, who is showing love to them when they cannot show it to each other, who is hopeful for the future.

wednesday morning

each morning i coax myself out of bed. i think of reasons to stop pressing the snooze button. sometimes i do this aloud, which will be a surprise for the man i marry as i mumble reasons and affirm one, each morning, with an "of course" that shoots my head off of the pillow.  this morning cereal prompted my eyes to fight the elixir of half-sleep. honey nut cherrios and whole milk are my vice (one of many). i would have it no other way. quickly suited in highwaisted pants and a grey half-tucked shirt, i wiped off left over mascara and eyeshadow from last night. glasses beat out contacts because they meant cereal was one minute closer. teeth brushed, lips tinted, and hair unwashed i left to work. the morning was strikingly chilled like a foggy glass just pulled from the ice box.  which reminds me - i wore a scarf for ten minutes this morning - a miracle considering the record temperatures that have inspired frequent use of air conditioning and lengths of bare skin.

it takes only two streets to get to work (three if you count the .2498467 of a block before i turn in the parking lot). it was at the major intersection that i saw him: black hoodie, black jeans, black boots, blue eyes, and red skin like crumpled paper. homeless. the descent of his hoodie down the back of his head revealed a spotty shave. the whole spectrum of whites, greys and blacks on his head. the numbness of those colors on his face. and in my car - my dirty, dusty car - played a triumphant song. freedom! shouted the singer. and this man passed in black. this man who i have seen in old towne and on corners and always by that denny's. what does he know of freedom?

i think

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

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

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

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.

confession is the way out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he said:

"we are all awful."

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

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

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

filled me.

in lieu of my absence here, i have been living my life well. it is like the slow unfolding movement of one's limbs mid-stretch. i can't get enough of it.

last night the feller showed me this song.



we sat at his picnic dining table. my sharp chin balanced on my hand, elbow atop the dark wood.
he traced the gentle curves of my collarbone, he pressed his lips against the subtle slope of my shoulders.
my eyelids were heavy with satisfaction, my body inebriated with rest and peace and goodness.
blake's voice filled the feller's apartment.
and the feller's love filled me.

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. 

place a fan

sweltering. i feel like i only hear this word on the news when they enlighten concerned viewers about the oncoming weather. days are referred to as scorchers. "well, folks tomorrow will be a scorcher!" to describe the current weather as such would be accurate but too close to cliche for my comfort. too close to the overused language of weathermen and women who aim at our laughter only to suffer the changing of the channel. regardless their language, they are right.

it's hot, friends. minus the cool breeze we all expected. it's the breath of a dragon after a fiery expulsion. it's the circus-mirror heat waves when you eye the concrete. it's white wine without the sweetness. and it being week ten of summer day camp - i am suffering. and so are the children. most of my days are outdoors. messy monday activities? outdoors. activity time? outdoors. water play? outdoors. team challenges? outdoors. i love summer. i mean, i love summer. bare shoulders and legs (aside from shaving. but, seriously, who does that anymore?). dresses and skirts and shorts and tanktops. and the beach. i am a summer girl who is doubting her love affair with the heat. i leave work exhausted and i come home and immediately place a fan in front of my face. for a girl who shivers at the slightest breeze, this is pretty ridiculous. the upside is that this is the last week of summer day camp. week ten might kill me but only after i've been beat to the ground by the heat.

boundary lines and a busy week.

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

 

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

you have made my lot secure.

the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;

surely i have a delightful inheritance

psalm 16:5-6

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

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

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

i am tired but 

i am thankful for 

my lot, 

my cup, 

my portion,

and for the One who initiated it all.

therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; 

my body will also rest secure,

because you will not abandon me to the grave,

nor will you let your Holy One see decay.

you have made known to me the path of life;

you will fill me with joy in your presence,

with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

psalm 16:9-11

and smile.

"miss r, you look like an adult."

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

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

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

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

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

invite them both.

dear little ones,

i do hope you aren't holding a grudge because of the silence between this letter and the last. look over it, please. i said some things about being brave and change and about my job with children - daycare kids. i am going on my third year at this school. i don't get paid as much as others but i enjoy it so. i am in the thick of my second summer day camp (theatre camp included) and will be running the whole daycare sha-bang with alexis next year.

i wonder if you know her. if she knows you. i hope.

one day there will be a time when you experience a spell of stillness.  as if the future is painfully bashful or playfully hiding or proudly ignoring you. and like most things, you will be both thankful and worried at once. thankful because you need a break. worried because you wonder what comes next. invite them both. let gratitude loose you to learn new things and forge good friendships and know who you are and what you like and what you, quite frankly, don't like. but never let thankfulness slip into entitlement or complete frivolity (i say complete, because sometimes to do lists must be left unchecked for the sake of your own humanity). and let worries motivate you to be responsible and practical and frugal and wise. but never let them immobilize you 'neath the weight of impossibilities. the bills will be paid. things will get done.

*

truth be told, i am tucked so tight in this lull i wonder if it might ever pass. if you get these letters, it is proof that it does (if only to interrupt my life again in a few years). in grade school you press towards middle school. in middle school you aspire to high school. in high school you plan for college. and sometimes the schooling continues. and sometimes definite long term plans unfold. but i have no masters program in mind. and there is no full-time career beckoning me any time soon. and so i am, in some eyes, plodding forward for no good reason. i am aimless, in the worst sense. the lull is a euphemism for doing nothing. this, of course means being no one. but can i let you in on a secret? i run at a canyon three-four times a week. and this saturday i am officially learning to ride a bike. and i might just take up swimming too. i am in a book club with friends and loved ones. people i share meals with and couches with. people i watch redboxes with (do we do that?). and i am committing eighty percent of each paycheck to loans. i am paying for my own voice instruction. oh! and since i've graduated, i have become quite the cook! i plan services and lead intermitently on sunday mornings at a church i can walk to. and i am learning about life from these people. about being generous with your home and time and money. and i still play mancala with children. uno. shark attack (duh). hide and go seek tag. sticks and rocks tic-tac-toe.  jenga. i still cook with them and make books with them and organize relay races. i still diffuse conflict and teach them about forgiveness and kindness and about being a good sport. and for the first time, i get to teach them specific bible lessons. i get to pray with them. i get to walk them through lifting their hands and kneeling and dancing and worship. i get to see them close their eyes. and know whatever is happening in that room between them and God is real.

there are times when i am convinced that i am doing nothing. because, shocker, there is no goal to be fulfilled in the near future. but, little ones, i am building a life. with thanksgiving and worry. with bravery. and with joy.

sincerely,
a twenty-two year old who enjoys reading and writing and singing and the local church and children but has no idea where she will end up.

*i think the spell looks like this. do i play? do i sit? do i walk? and if i do, to where?

a melody

my body is aching in strange places today. i'm assuming it's from yesterday evenings run at the canyon. i pushed myself, perhaps too hard. my feet were lighter with my new nikes. and the hills lost their appearance of robustness.

the earth is warmer at dusk - it has absorbed the heat of day and steams 'neath the feet of the tired and determined alike. a runner's only relief are the shadows, a chill breeze, and a swig of water. the point of my prominent chin collects sweat at dusk. and when the collection becomes too heavy it runs down my neck or drips down my shirt. classy, i know. at dawn it is different. the earth is cool from night's blanket of black-blue sky. dew is still visible on dry plants, mist still hangs low enough to wet the face. dawn has a crispness that dusk cannot bottle.

past the halfway point and before the turn out i decided to slow my pace. walking not because i needed to but because i needed to pause. selah. walking because i needed enough breath to sing a melody i have heard in familiar rooms my whole youth. a melody i have sung in a microphone, in the vastness of a congregation, and on my bed through tears.

all i have needed thy hand hath provided - 

great is thy faithfulness lord unto me. 

i may not have a full-time paid position anywhere. i may not be leading a recognizable movement of people. i may not have the excess luxuries that ease life. i may not have a large network of friends to surround myself with. i may not have notable success or talent or intelligence. but He has provided the sum of my needs. even ones i at first refused. even ones i was not and am not aware of. ones that time alone can bring to light. and He continually does so. that is enough to keep comparison at bay, to make small the beast. it is enough to loosen any anxiety that restrains me. it is enough to slow my pace and sing quietly with effort and belief at dusk. 

i've said this before but

i shall not be in want because i have not been left wanting.

period. any want i feel is usually the appetite of comparison and the beast. i know the good things in my life. and they are certainly enough. my life is full and rich on account of the people and places He has provided me with. even in my unrest and conflict He has remained faithful. almost run ins and social media and old habits and appetites might shake my confidence but they cannot shake my knowing, my experience of this. He is faithful and i am the thankful recepient of His faithfulness. 

p.s. i remember reading one time (the language is too beautiful to forget) in the psalms (psalm 37, to be exact) that we "feed upon his faithfulness." it is our food. our only sustenance. and it is enough.

my postulations

i am many things, but poised is not one of them. and i have a way with clumsiness that puts bambi to shame. to the left is a picture of my toe twenty-five days ago. the incident happened at a park within the first ten minutes. it was a field trip with the kiddos. running after an almost first grader, my foot slipped through a plastic ground covering for wires of some sort. i could have crossed over any of the other ones surrounding it but i landed on the only one that was not stable. of course. talent i tell you! my left foot was blanketed in dirt, leaves, sticks, and the like. i rinsed it with my prized dasani water bottle (me, carry water? what?) and i realized that i was bleeding not only from my ankle but from my toe. a more discerning inspection would reveal that i had a deep incision on my ankle and that i had a flap of skin hanging off of my toe, which would be eventually trimmed off leaving a bare section of exposed, raw skin. lex cleaned my wounds and wrapped them. (as much as i struggle with friendships, i can trust this lady.) there wasn't much pain besides the unavoidable sting of alcohol swabs. the whole ordeal was over after multiple cleanings, many bandages, a visit to the doctors resulting in a tetanus shot, and time time time to heal. i lack physical deftness, friends. and i am by no means as polished as my demeanor lets off. i am a fumbling oaf in a small frame. come near me with caution.

that friday triggered a series of laughable events that have inflicted my left foot since then. stubbing and bruising three toes on this foot at a water park. a wart or blister (i have yet to determine) between my big toe and the one next to it sprouting. and a bug bite the size of two quarters side by side is petitioning my nails for a scratch. when i picked up running again last week, i rolled my left ankle. of course. talent i tell you! talent!

i am almost convinced my left foot is cursed. doomed to be amputated one day, by accident or necessity. the feller thinks my postulations are silly and overstated. obviously. but it's still fun to say so. and even though my left foot is cursed, i am still so thankful for it to balance my gait, my stance. to help me move freely, if not nimbly. because some people don't have a left foot. or any feet at all. and some do have but cannot use. so i'm thankful for my cursed left foot. it will give me stories to tell.

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.

this!

graduation meant that the furtherance of any post-graduate work was up to me.
now, of course this means the idea of a masters. but beyond that amorphous idea, is the more important one of studying voice regardless the absence of recitals and juries. what would be the point, afterall, if it would not be part of a program where i would receive a plaque or paper for my efforts? the point is not achievement. nor is it success. you see, i am not writing my own music. i have no band. no record label. i sing regularly. and, for as long as i am able, i want to sing regularly. the point has something to do with my junior year. i began to rediscover, primarily due to a change in instructors, the satisfaction of singing well - hard work and all. the unearthing of such delight took me entirely by surprise. i did not forsee, did not expect the bravery and confidence that would enliven my efforts. my instructor, heather, knew how to teach me. how to correct and encourage simultaneously. she is enthralled with song and it is contagious. it frees me. reminds me to not be so afraid of the notes and languages and lines that are too long. but to try. and fail. and suck. and be okay when my body is too tired or sick to produce a clear sound. and to not consider that, the uncontrollable reactions of my body, as failure on my part. because sometimes our bodies just need to rest. her belief in me has freed me. it began sophomore year. and along the way i became enamored with french, the drama of music, the light and openness i felt when my sound is placed perfectly, and crisp diction. with growing courage, i was able express my connection with a piece of music outwardly. no rolling of the eyes here. no fidgeting movements of self-disapproval. this, this! is the point.

there was no question that i would continue studying with her in june. this time the money would be my own. continuing private studies, i decided, was worth it. and already i look forward to rehearsing, to embodying each song - every word and turn of phrase. i have no intention of becoming a wedding singer or producing an album. i want to explore my instrument - to train it and free it.

p.s. the feller laughs tensely when any song i connect with comes on. i tell him my body feels different. physically feels different when certain songs come on. but it is true. the same thing can be said of the songs i am singing with heather. i feel physically different when i sing them. i feel powerful and energized, even in my vulnerability. i feel more myself. i feel beautiful in my song.

i know know know

ten pm hit me like two am last night. exhaustion due to eight hours at a water park with thirty five children in 80-90 degree weather tucked me in. i recall traces of thankfulness* running through my mind before my body yielded to a heaviness only yesterday could produce. waking up, i dreamt of strange things. things that had nothing to do with thankfulness, with the things i was thankful for. without indulgence and without delay i turned my confusion towards God. why should these things and people i haven't encountered for months (some, a year) still haunt me? still, with the rudeness of a wrecking ball, cut into my dreams? i think i still have much to learn from that time in my life but, oh!, i do want to move on. i am.

the rest of the day went swimmingly, save this afternoon. work has been a joy but the resurgence of favoritism (counselors choosing two or three students and making them, and them alone, exceptions to the rules) unhinges me entirely. as a sidenote, i am a rule keeper. rules give us order. rules put us on the same playing field. rules make things fair. rules give us enough leeway to have fun and excel but help maintain a safe and caring environment. ahem. leaving unhinged (and still tired from yesterday), i turned my frustrations towards God.  how do i deal with counselors undermining each other's authority, especially if it affects the children's perception of said counselors? is it worth confronting those in charge, especially since it is growing more consistent?

via.

i may still have questions but He is there, if only i look. and what is so good about getting to know Him, building trust with Him, actually counting on Him (because time has proven Him reliable and faithful!) is that my instincts are changing, my impulses are different. fruit, at last! it may be fruit only i can see. but it is fruit! resorting to my own self-destructive devices isn't my first turn of thought. my eyes are beginning to turn to Him with the quickness of a child to their parent when something unnerving occurs. i know know know He is pleased with my gaze. and knowing His delight, i find myself drawing nearer.

*it still surprises me, this life i have been given. like that feeling when i see silhouetted mountains to my right as i drive down the hill and home. a lovely greyish lavender - surreal, breathtaking. a loveliness so brilliant my fingers tingle. thinking about my life is like that. the people and the places are like those grand mounds of earth - vibrant, astonishing. i have so much to be thankful for. i shall not be in want (because i have not been left wanting for anything).

loose everything.

long, greasy hair. black angel hair noodles pressed behind his ears with his strong left hand. and tan skin weathered by the sun. loose everything. his frame was too thin and fragile for his adult clothes. but the cigarette in his right hand was an adult decision. fueled by addiction or recreation or boredom, i'm not sure. but he smoked like it was the only thing he'd spend his money on. he smoked like it was the first and the last thing on his agenda. he smoked like he was whispering secrets to an old friend. and passing a fellow smoker (but complete stranger) in front of a 711, he was wished a happy fourth of july. the stranger proceeded to his car with much more than smoking to accomplish. happy fourth of july. happy fourth of july. the statement of goodwill stopped him - his gait faltered and his cigarette balanced between two fingers three inches from his mouth. shit, it's the fourth already? whatever appearances he was maintaining before (we all maintain some sort of appearances, yes? usually appearances that justify our importance.), he forgot them. he was revealed for the disconnected member of society he was. a transient, an outsider with no plans for the holiday. with no idea that the holiday was, in fact, that day. immediately it became apparent that he was not attached to any community that would recognize this holiday. no job. no church. no school. his pace continued more fractured then before. in figure eights he muttered to himself this is why i don't celebrate... black shirt against the terra cotta wall he cursed the government and business never... nicotine easing his anger, he gained his composure and left.

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.