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. 

and at the same time

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

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

and at the same time

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

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

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

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

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

my soul is in deep anquish.

how long, Lord, how long?

turn, Lord, and deliver me;

save me because of Your unfailing love."

psam 6:2-4

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

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

details are delicacies.

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

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

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

click.

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

but keep your eyes on Me."

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

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

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

dust.

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

dust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that better life might grow

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

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

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

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

urban t. holmes III

spirituality for ministry

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

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

this time last year.

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

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

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



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


relishing



indulging



delighting in



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

painting via.

in other news:

it is five and i have spent most of my day (after sleeping in) sniffling, blowing my nose, sneezing and drinking liquids. in between these activities i have eaten breakfast (fruit) and lunch (albondigas soup), played harry potter on the wii with my nephew, played legos with my nephew, and have finished the last pages of The Help by Kathryn Stockett. The last three hours have been quiet. passing cars - metal cutting through air. birds, i wonder what kind. mom and dad are both visiting their mothers. the former in san diego tending to gma's shingles and inconsistent diet. the latter in a hospital nearby while my gma regains the ability to independently do things for herself. it reminds me of death. of their age (and of how young i am). of how fragile our bodies are. of how decay is guarenteed. of how it only needs time to torch the harrowing trail to hospital beds and nurses and doctors and medication and and and. it reminds me of life. of friday morning, alexis bringing me oatmeal and packets of emergenC and good conversation.  of yesterday spent with the feller and his family in san diego. both of us were sniffly (he actually got me sick) so we didn't make any plans to go out. but we lounged. cooked. talked. laughed. went on a walk. of this morning spent with my mom and dad and nephew - with questions about my symptoms, about the trip to san diego and with a list of their worries about their mothers. i know i am not saying much today. nothing worth erecting a monument about. but all of these moments - the lego moments, the heating up of soup mother made for her mother and me moments, the hand of the feller's younger brother as we walk around their new neighborhood moments... are worth remembering, worth examining, worth giving thanks for, worth noticing... and i am much more interested in these moments than the one's that would naturally draw more attention. the small less than monumental moments. those are the moments for me.

in other news:
i need to write more. because this is poorly written. slightly cheesy (the end? sigh.). and my syntax, my pattern of speech and organization of grammar is so predictable. is this a bad thing?
book club starts up again in june. Brave New World. hoorah!
i will be running a canyon a few times a week in the early mornings starting this week.
i have been cooking healthy meals. let's break that down: i've been cooking. WIN. healthy. WIN. meals, emphasis on it being plural. WIN.
summer is in full swing, which means life is in full swing... this means working a lot and spending time with loved ones when i can. it also means paying off loans. eeks.

grace.