A lot of things that are most likely unrelated.

Or, just an excuse to write a blog.

1. Mom, sister little, and I spent the whole day in our pjs, not showering, and watching Mad Men. There is something utterly mesmerizing about it. I mean, man, they smoke and drink hard liquor like it's going out of style, but the way they dress, the way they live...everything seems so glamorous and so broken all at once. Needless to say, it's almost 6 and I have just taken a shower.

2. I am obsessed with the Scene It game on facebook. Make a cute avatar, buy fake things, take movie trivia quizzes? Yes, please!

3. Next time I have a room I can paint, I think I'm going to paint it purple. Trust me. I had a vision last night. It will look divine.

4. I miss having my own house.

5. I like winter so much. I think it's a very under appreciated. But, there is this barren beauty to it. So, quiet and raw. I am in love with it. So, the fact that it is snowing outside and the sky is that winter snow grey...that just makes me almost as happy as rain.

6. Lastly, rain is one of my most used words on facebook. Who woulda though?

Stuck.

It's Christmas Eve and instead of our usual tradition of snacks, pajamas, and presents, we are in a hotel room in Edmond, OK in the middle of a blizzard, closed highways, and a declared state of emergency. A few minutes ago, I was just about ready to whine about the ruined holidays.

But, truthfully, it's ok. Stuck or not stuck, it's Christmas Eve and maybe it's even a little appropriate. To have to go with a little less instead of a little more. To make do and spend good time together. To have true anticipation as Advent is about to arrive.

And even more truthfully, something feels honest about it in regards to where I am in life right now. A little stormy, a little less than ideal, but also good, if I let it be.

So, you know what. I'm going to let it be.

Crafting

My inner craftress has been running rampant lately. I think in yarn, colors, and patterns. My fingers get an itch if it's been too long since they've been crafting. And did I mention I've developed a crotchet callous? Oh me oh my.

In other news, while the holiday season is bustling about outside, my own little world has a sort of quietness to it that I attribute to winter. A little sleepy, a little restful, and a little shut down, but in that hibernating sort of way.

The flip side of this, is that I have been, due to various situations, been experiencing some relational disconnection. Of course, though isolation often seems easiest, I have some solid, beautiful, cherished people in my life who shake me (figuratively and literally) by the shoulders and speak some sweet, loving truth into my life.

So, here it is. Winter is cold and sometimes a little lonely.

But, if you crochet enough and have some sweet people in your life, you can find ways to make yourself warm.

This and That.

I have been feeling sick. Eh, but, that just means lots of time for this.

But, then there is also this beautiful song that I love right now.



Other than that, I just hope to have a room like this someday.

A Season of Waiting and Expectation.

Today is the first Sunday of Advent which prepares us for the coming of Christ. It is filled with the tension of joy and hope that Jesus brings, but also is filled with the waiting and anticipation of it having not yet come.

This, I think is the Christian life. It has a surprising similarity to the Lent/Easter season, but truly I think it is representative of the Christian life. The hope and joy we have living in the tension of a not yet redeemed world. Sometimes, it's hard to know what to do with it.

But, I was struck with the importance of it this morning. I woke up from a dream where my little sister offered me pot (wtf?) and was feeling horribly sorry for myself and generally wallowy when suddenly the tension caught me off guard. This tension we live in is real. And we can fight it and wallow and distract, but ultimately we have to live in it regardless.

I find the tension beaufitul on days I'm not so busy striving for distraction or anxiety that we miss that it can be kinda beautiful.

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new.
And yet it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability—and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you.Your ideas mature gradually–let them grow,
Let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on, as though you could be today what time(that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will be.
Give our Lord the benefit of believing that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

That's all I got.

Gratitude.

My heart feels so warm as I sit here, smelling our fried turkey and I think of the pecan pie that still needs to be made. I am so blessed in this sticky, odd, beautiful part of life.

I think of God and his unending faithfulness. Through my disobiedence, laughs in his face, as well as, fears, insecurities, and complete insanity. I would be lost without him.

I think of my family and how they still laugh at my jokes (no matter how random they are). They still love all of my little absurdities. They still hold my hand through the dark and cheer me on in the life.

I think of my friends and how they still wrap me in love from far away. Through phone calls, texts, mail, emails, blog comments, FB, and visits. They support my crazy antics, nervous breakdowns, completely lost moments. And when I forget myself, they are still there with a look in their eyes like, "Come on, Whit" and remind me of that too.

And when you have that, you don't need much more, but I have much more still. I have more books than I can count, tivo, sweet fall days, food in my belly, smiles on my lips, and despite the occasional panic attack, quite a lot of joy in my heart.

I hope your Thanksgiving is beautiful, warm, and you take a nice, long nap.

Sadly Lacking.

I am sadly lacking some serious motivation to do any writing, and that's not good.

I have, thusly, employed creative skills in making little cloth flowers and crocheting scarves. I just finished and very large and very wide yellow scarf. 4 balls of yarn, kids.

Still, aside from crocheting, running errands, and going through some serious holiday missing my friends-ness, life is pretty mundane. I suppose it's all right. But, it doesn't make for interesting blogging.

At least we have The Hills/The City to look forward to, right?

The Hills, 1st edition.

I have made an executive decision that I hope will rekindle my blogging. I am going to start giving you my weekly take on The City and The Hills. Because nothing can produce an onslaught of delicious word vomit like unreality-reality-tv shows. Here it goes.

Disclaimer: All views expressed in the following post are completely supported and of the writer of this blog and probably some other people too, at least until we change our minds. But, for now, we stand by all the ridiculous truth we say because we feel it is our duty, here at whawhawhitney to comment on the horrifying, wonderful, sad, beautiful, plastic world of Mtv unreality. Thank you for reading.

The Hills:

This week on The Hills, we have Kristen and Brody "just having fun" after their totally coincidentally timed break ups, Spencer realizing the complexities of surgeries, Audrina and Justin Bobby mumbling in the same mess, and that cute little Enzo kid ratting out Spencer for a (gasp) nother Speidi fight. Oh, and a Jayde and Kristen battle.

First, let's address Speidi because, quite frankly, I'd rather just be rid of them. First of all, all the money in the world apparently couldn't buy Spencer a simple lesson in human anatomy, but then again, I think we were all shocked to find out a vasectomy involved thinks like needles and scissors and rather tame cartoon pictures of the scrotum, so Spencer, being the brave man he is, runs out of that doctor's office faster than you can say, "I'll be on the surreal life in a few years." All that's probably well and good, since his friend Douchey McGee recommends not telling Heidi (way to look out for scum bag bros everywhere) which all goes fine and well until little Enzo (the one redeeming character in Speidi world) spills the beans...or nuts, as it were. A fight ensues, further proving both they shouldn't be married and they should be in front of cameras.

On a side note, this stint did burden me with a new cause. I'm officially starting a charity called FSP...or Faux-lebrities Shouldn't Procreate. At the top of our hit list? Spencer Pratt.

Then there was the Kristen/Brody love rekindled. Or at least, they had a lot of fun going on dates paid by Mtv. First, let me say I like Kristen. I have pretty much the whole way (save Laguna Beach season 1, but we weren't supposed to like her yet). I like that she's direct and has a little touch of bitch crazy in her. It makes both want to be her friend and watch the drama that follows in her life. Brody on this other hand, I'm not so convinced on him. I mean, the dude used to be BFF with Spencer Pratt...how reliable can he be? And he wears to many baseball hats with button up shirts, and if that's not a flaming dude bro alert, I don't know what is. Still, we watched them go to dinner and talk about Jayde and we watched them go to his mom's house (WOAH...no words there) and drink and talk about how cute they were and all in all it seems rather suspect to me. But, hey, if Mtv is footing my bill, I guess I'd hang out with a dude bro too. Boring filler!

Then there was the big fight! You could feeling it be prepped with cue cards every time Kristen spoke! And then it happened...and then 10 seconds later it was over. The biggest disappointment of the show. Mtv, please don't be cheap. If you're going to go to all the trouble of getting two people who will fight in the same room, could you buy them so more alcohol first? Jayde is crazy though. So, maybe she had pre-funked, but Brody diffused the situation entirely too quickly for someone who is that shady. I was hoping for a slap or a punch or something.

Audrina. Justin Bobby. Mumble, mumble. Illogical ramblings. Justin never making eye contact. Audrina crawling back for more punishment from a guy in combat boots and slicked back hair (ew) whose name makes him seem less rock and roll and more white trash. I know this show doesn't have writers [ ;) ] but maybe we could get a new story line there. Still, one of them is done. Finally forever. Yeah, we'll see.

So, here's the scoring for this weeks episode. On a scale of 1-10, unless otherwise applicable.

Clever editing: 8 (I had to use the rewind on tivo to see whose hands shot out first...don't worry, it was Jayde's).

Speidi's marriage believability: -56. (Seriously, how much is Mtv paying them to be married?)

Enzo's Cuteness: 10.

Level of Crazy Bitch: 7 (Jayde always ups it, but to be honest, I was just disappointed with the whole thing. Audrina's a disappointment to the crazy bitch in us all. Seriously, egg Justin Bobby's house or key his car or steal his combat boots).

Level of Douche Bag: 14 (Too much Spencer, Brody owns too many hats, and no matter what Douchey McGee's real name is, he needs a hair cut, shave, and vasectomy).

Overall Entertainment: 6 (After Audrina and Kristen's fight last week, this week was just lack luster).

Look for The City review in the next few days. Until then...

Adios, Bitches.

Bag and Tag.

Not even close, really. I was tagged by Sarah to do this little survey, and I couldn't think of a title that had to do with being tagged that wasn't just so obvious. Ha.
Here are the rules:
Use only one word, pass along to six favorite bloggers, and tell 'em you did so.
1. Where is your cell phone? Bookshelf.
2. Your hair? Unwashedgreasefest.
5. Your favorite food? Chipotle.
6. Your dream last night? VampireOKChouseAshleyCliffDivingDoozy.
7. Your favorite drink? Water.
8. Your dream/goal? Live.
9. What room are you in? Living.
10. Your hobby? Writing.
11. Your fear? Many.
12. Where do you want to be in six years? GraduateSchool.
13. Where were you last night? Home.
14. Something that you aren't? Man.
15. Muffins? LemonPoppySeed.
16. Wish list item? Phonograph.
17. Where did you grow up? Ooooooolathe.
18. Last thing you did? Crochet.
19. What are you wearing? Nightie.
20. Your TV? Off.
21. Your pets? Nonexistent.
22. Friends? Love.
23. Your life? StrangeBeautiful.
24. Your mood? Sleepy.
25. Missing someone? Always.
26. Vehicle? Dead.
27. Something you're not wearing? Shoes.
28. Your favorite store? Target.
29. Your favorite color? Cobalt.
30. When was the last time you laughed? Yesterday.
31. Last time you cried? Night.
32. Your best friend? Heart.
33. One place that I could go over and over? Portland.
34. One person who emails you regularly? Fbook.
35. Favorite place to eat? Couch.

Here's who I tag. (Don't worry, I won't bag you).

Olivia: Even though she has currently made a disappearance from the blogging world, I think I can convince her to come back and fill this out. Besides, she's one of my dearest friends. And those are so important in these strange days.

Heather: My long time Internet friend who shares my heart in my favorite place.

LP: My sweet, high school friend who loves life and has an infectious laugh.

Nevan: My dear friend who is going to be leaving for the Peace Corps soon! I'm so excited for her and proud of her!

Jola: Sweet, beautiful Jola.

Alee: I have a dear spot deep in my heart for Alee. We also are really good and making up analogies for any aspect of life and taking long walks in the snow.

Happy Tuesday friends!

Trashy TV Goodness.

I just finished Bird by Bird by the lovely Anne Lamott and I find myself wrapped in her wisdom and beautiful and hilarious words. I feel the way you should feel when you finish a good book. Warm, peaceful, and a little sad.

In other news, I have a new, secret addiction. Gossip Girl. I first watched it over a week ago when I was having a "I just want to be alone" sort of Friday night. So, I got some Chinese food and some white wine, and popped in disc one.

To say, I was hooked would be incorrect. I was annoyed by Serena's constant whimpering and whining. And she seemed to be the focus. Yet, I couldn't get it out of my head. So, a couple of days later I got disc 2.

BOOM.

Then, I was hooked. But, I still find Serena annoying as hell. And the characters which became my favorites, well, I think they're the misunderstood ones. Blair? Love her in all her bitchy Queen B goodness. Chuck Bass? I mean, the guy's catch phrase is "I'm Chuck Bass." Which is totally narcissistic and genius. I like season 2 Nate. Dan is all right when he's not oogling over Serena. And everyone else is mostly boring. Eh.

Seriously, though. Does anyone else watch this trashy tv goodness?

I'm a G(l)eek.

This is why I love Glee, and I think I'm in love with Matthew Morrison.

Need more proof, you say...

Believe me now?

A Quiet Little Place

I have always been the sort of girl who has liked her alone time. I could get lost in aloneness like a child can get lost in a large mall in the holiday seasons. Where suddenly minutes and hours are no different because though your mother will be frantic when she finds you, you are not lost, no, you are perfectly cocooned in your quiet thoughts which don't register the fears of a mother. They just nestle you with familiar characters and the promise of adventure.

And so now, as an adult, I find myself often unlost in quiet place with familiar characters. I become engrossed in my aloneness which is both quiet and doesn't seem very alone either. But, that quiet, not the incessant ticker of anxieties, paranoias, and insecurities, that brings me comfort these odd days.

And though it's tempting to get lost in the crowd of thoughts, the characters who are familiar and a little insane, I trust the quiet little place, tucked like a precious child in between grace and faith. And even when I wake up, sweating and terrified of my dark, that is the place I always tucked into again.

Utterly Human.

For one, I love LOVE Glee. And whenever I start to feel a little down, I pop in the soundtrack, and my day feels turned around for that time. It's a beautiful thing. And I will always belt out, "Don't Stop Believin'" "Take a Bow" "Bust Your Windows" and "Golddigger" because you kind of have to. In fact, hold on a second, because "Don't Stop Believin'" just started.

Well, anyway, I've been so whiney lately. I think my most frequently used it expression this week is, "Annoyed." I just say it, much in the same way Rachel Zoe says, "Unclear," in all situations where I'm the least bit annoyed. Which, is really rather frequently.

I'm tired of the whole shabang of wait, pray, trust. I don't think that means much expect that I'm utterly human. I doesn't mean I won't keep doing it, it just means, I've hit that wall where my very human expectations of God come out and I want to demand action. I want to scream that I've had enough of this season. That I'm ready for the next. Now, deep down, I know God is still good and at work. But, sometimes, I feel more annoyed and weary than I do adventurous and...well, faithful.

I don't know that feeling this way does much except calls me back into commune with God in some strange way. I pray just as much, I just say some different things. I trust but with a little less grace. And I still shrug a lot of days and sigh at the end. I still squeeze my eyes and say, "Really?" It's just a little different place. It's just after so many days in the desert, us humans can't help but say, "Uh, I don't really get what the point of this was. Were we that bad off back there? At least we knew where we were going?"

And God will always respond with, "Let me fight for you. Just rest. Just trust."

And I'll feel a little annoyed, because I knew that. I was just hoping for, "Oh, Whit. How careless of me. Let me attend to all of what you think is most important and relevant."

Ha. Annoyed.

It's just a day full of Glee soundtracks for sanity, deep breaths, dancing, and screaming when no one is paying attention.

True Confession...

Sometimes...I lie. What I mean by this is I just sort of think it's funny to tell people untrue things about me and see if I can weave a convincing story. This, I understand, is probably not an admirable quality. I'm not trying to toot it as such, but I just have a knack for it. And the more ridiculous, the better.

Ok, I suppose I am trying to make it sound a little edgy and awesome. But, I just think it's funny. We can discuss the morality of it some other time.

I mean, I've been doing this for a long time. Like when I was in 7th grade, I convinced a girl I had gone to school with for 6 years and lived like 5 minutes away from that I had 5 older brothers she had never met.

When I went camping with friends this past Memorial Day weekend, we all took on alter egos and had elaborate back stories. I was Talon...an East Coast transplant to the West Coast Art School drop out who lived in Seattle and was a faux hippie. I mean, being one of those indie kids with rich parents who is always soul searching and hippie playing was actually a part of my back story. The stories we made up that weekend were nothing short of legendary. And we didn't drop it for two full days. We even sat around a camp fire with strangers telling stories from our boarding school days in Boston. I've never even been to Boston.

And then, there was one time I was at a bar for a friend's 21st birthday party. I knew all of 3 people there. And so, I convinced this guy (who, albeit, had been drinking a bit) that I was in the process of becoming a nun, all with a beer in one hand and a cig in another hand.

Anyway, I was just thinking about it today whilst running. And I still think each of those are priceless and endlessly humorous, if not a little amoral.

But, Jay-Z and Journey make me run with the hugest smile on my face. Because, ladies is pimps too. Go on brust yo shoulder off.

Cricks, but Not Crickets.

Here is another blog of not much. But, let's go with it. We hit it hard a few weeks ago, but some fluff might not be so bad.

I have a crick in my neck. It is really inconvienent and all I can think about is the episode of Sex and the City were Miranda got one so bad she ended up naked on the floor of her bathroom and Aidan had to rescue her. I sure hope it doesn't get to that point. Unless Aidan is around.

I feel like, due to my title, I should mention crickets. But, all I can say is I really hate crickets. Jumping insects are really...well, we just don't get on. It seems that they are just tricky little bastards. Jumping is an unfair advantage in regards to insects. And then there was one time in which my dorm room was infested by crickets. (I even made a Facebook group called "Get These Motha F-ing Crickets Out of My Motha F-ing Room).

On the other hand, there is always lots of really great reality tv to watch. Like any Real Housewives and Project Runway and Top Chef and The City. I could go on and on.

Didn't The Office just make you want a Jim?

Not Much, but Something

I don't have much to say right in this moment. Except, something.

1. I think my computer is angry with me because I always try to do about 324 things at once on it. I mean, I'd get angry too if someone was that unfocused with me. And that's what it is. I'm devilishly unfocused lately.

2. My mom's birthday was yesterday. I made her chocolate and chocolate and walnut covered strawberries. They are so good. And so hard to say no to.

3. I am in the process of making a work out mix! I love making mixes. Maybe too much. Any suggestions?

4. I am starting, tomorrow, the Couch to 5k runner in 6 weeks thing. There is probably a more svelte title, but I can't think of it. Wish me luck.

5. Have y'all been watching Glee? It's freaking fantastic. AND it's on tonight. So, how about that?

6. I love grey, rainy days.

Reconcilitation, Part 2

Sometimes, as much as I want what I want, when I want it, I'll get a moment of clarity. It usually happens much after the fact. Like, I'll look back on a situation and think, "Yes, that was right; I didn't need that. This was much better after all." But, very rarely, maybe once or twice, it happens amidst something. Before the clear evidence that something is indeed better really takes root.

But, I'm thankful for those moments, present and retrospective. They're why when I'm babysitting and I say, "You can't a bag of marshmellows because it isn't good for you," that I smile to myself and think, ah, this is why those gross injustices we feel as a child take place. Because often my parents were acting out of knowledge I didn't have. And I'm thankful for that.

Reconciliation is the same way, I think. I think it looks like God saying, "Ah, but that isn't good for you." Unfortunately, God also gives us the option of saying, "I just am going to take the bag of marshmellows anyway, but thanks for the concern."

I say that because, marshmellows taste better than vegtables.

If for no other reason that we were told to put them away.

Still, God creates this thing for us, this possibility, and he breathes it everywhere. In trees, in sunsets, in old friends' smiles. He is constantly urging us, pursuing us with it. "Be reconciled," I imagine he wispers many nights. "Come back."

And when we do. When we are. He says, "Now reconcile with each other. With the trees. With the sunsets. And most of all with your old friends."

Oh, were it so easy.

Because, we don't always come back. To God. Or to each other.

I am reminded of my friend's words, that not all things are reconciled on this side of heaven. I ache for that hope tonight. I believe in reconciliation. It gives me hope. I am rooted in it. I work at it. Sometimes, I am foolish, stubborn, prideful, but it is apart of me.

Reconciliation is beautiful when we take apart of it.

And life is just so damn hard without it.

Reconciliation.

I remember a few years ago talking to a then new, now old friend. We were talking about our lives and what we wanted to do with them. A conversation filled with purpose, that in the coming year, when the world hit me hard, I would forget in more ways than one. But, as we pulled out of the Wal-Mart parking lot, the conversation was alive.

I told said friend that I didn't know practically what my future would look like, but I knew one thing it would involve. Reconciliation/redemption. I said, "I know you aren't supposed to have favorite things about God, but if I were to, that would be it. The fact that God doesn't just save, but restores, redeems, and reconciles."

And, years of life have past, but I still feel the same way. Just awed that God would go further than saving us.

Still, when it comes to reconciling with other people, I run into a hiccup. I find myself confused as to act in friendships with grace and love and forgiveness, always hoping for reconciliation when I am being hurt. I have struggled with this through many friendships. Sometimes, the result was sticking it out in a place I shouldn't have. Sometimes it was cutting and run when I shouldn't have. But, each time, by the grace of God, I learn a little more. Get a little closer to the promise of reconciliation.

Yet, I stand at these crossroads again. I wish I felt confident and wise in action. But, my stomach feels sour and I'm at a bit of a loss. I groan in prayer. Or sometimes I just take to anger.

"You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you will never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But, this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't scale back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly - that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp."

Somehow, those words of Ms. Lamott, make strong sense to my heart in this time.

Grace (Eventually)

I love Anne Lamott. I love her because even though sometimes, theologically, I kinda raise my eyebrow, she always, always is honest and true. She struggles and whines and is delightfully human. And she has dreads, so really, how could you not love her?

And in her book Grace Eventually she says some really great and beautiful things. And it makes me remember that things like grace and healing, they're a part of that slow, hard work of life. The kind that easily gets traded into routine, or cast aside because it's not as exciting as the life we think we are supposed to be leading.

Truthfully, I'd have to say this is a sin of mine. This fantasizing about my life. Making it more glamorous than it really is. And all the while forgetting who and whose I am.

It's just, why does no one tell you life isn't as romantic as it sounds? That there is this whole huge middle part of your life that's filled with pretty much the same thing everyday. And that doesn't have to be bad. There's a lot to be learned from it. Like contentment. Commitment. Faithfulness. But, none of those words drudge up images of Fabio with Kristen Stewart hair, a Rico Swauvey open shirt, kissing your next as your bosom spills out a too small corset.

But, then again, no one writes the sequels to those Fabio stories. Ones that would read like Fabio goes to the doctor and finds out he has crabs. Or Fabio fathers another illegitimate child whom he has no more to do with than a check once a month. Or even, the illustrious, Fabio settles down, gets a job where he wears suits with the buttons, buttoned to the top, and marries the girl he got pregnant.

Now, there is a best seller waiting to happen.

But, those books, those stories, those fantasies, they all bank on magic to change us. And I, for one, watched Cinderella enough times to know that nothing is wrong with me, I am just not accessorizing correctly. Were it as simple as buying glass slippers, I'd be all over that.

Instead, it's the patience and the screaming and the scooting closer and closer and sometimes drastically in the other direction towards God. It's shrugging shoulders, raising hands. And when you think about it, it still is magic, but it's just a little more than the change of shoe. It's the transformation of heart.

And even though most days, I stomp might feet and want grace now.

I'm learning about the beauty in grace eventually.

Hopelessly Flawed

I have been a very bad blogger lately. And for that, I apologize.

The truth is, I've been in a bit of a shell. I've been hopelessly cranky and unmotivated. All I seem to want to do is lie around and watch movies. And once you start doing that, it's really easy to get caught up in other stories, one's that have nice endings or at least endings at all, and kind of stop living your own for a while.

But, this weekend has been good. Because, I woke up a little bit. I decided to take deep breaths again because nothing was getting done watching Weeds. Except for me laughing.

Still, all this means, I don't have much to say as of right now. I was just feeling like a bad blogger. And a little bit like Jo who once had a conversation like this.

Jo - It's just with all this transcendence comes much emphasis on perfecting oneself.
Friedrich - And this troubles you?
Jo - I am hopelessly flawed.

Little Women, I'll always love you.

Silly Heart.

My heart feels off. Odd. A little bit silly. But, I found this video of a video that some friends and I did for our Shakespear class. It is based on our small Christian college where people get married fast and there's some sort of division between ministry majors and athletes. It's kind of brilliant. But, I'm certainly no great actress. And Romeo and I yelled at each other a lot during the filming of this. [Don't worry, we're still friends]

Still, it makes me laugh. And I need it on a day like today when my heart feels all tangled.

Since, I'm not smart enough to embed it. Go here.

Wait, Pray, Trust.

A few months ago I was about to graduate college. I was about to have a degree that I loved, but no earthly idea what to do with it. So, I waited. I prayed. I trusted.

I didn't do this things unfailing. Often, I'd get antsy and take control. I'd forget to pray and worry instead. And I'd anxiously agonize and doubt. But, the idea, the constant replay in my life was the same. Wait, pray, trust.

But a month or so from graduating, my roommate made a hard, brave decision to move back home, which derailed my plans. I needed a job, roommate, or place to live. So, I waited. I prayed. I trusted.

I didn't do these things well. I oftened whined. Too often I took to unfaithfulness. I tried to micromanage. All of these things fell away, though, I continued to wait, pray, and trust, and my prayers were answered. Though, not at all like I expected.

So, then I moved home. I needed a job. I waited. I prayed. And I trusted.

I'm getting better at this. I still falter.

And now? Life is shifting. I feel it. I'm terrified of the things before me, and yet, three words continue in my head.

Wait.
Pray.
Trust.

Hope on a Sleepless Night

Often, when I'm laying in bed on a sleepless night, I can recall with perfect memory what those first few nights after my grandma died felt like. I rememeber lying in bed with my eyes opened wided and trying to squeeze them shut hard and feeling nothing at all. But, not the kind of nothing that a blank page might feel, no that holds too much creative, birthing possibility. It's the kind of nothing that an empty room feels after a fight. It's the kind of nothing hands feel after something has been snatched from them. It's the kind of nothing that is anything but. It's heavy like Texas summer air and it's nothingness is what makes it so full. My eyes would lose focus while staring at my wall, ceiling, window, door. There was a certain dread, expectancy. My heart would skip a beat everytime I'd pass her name scrolling through my phone book. It was like life went on, but I had ear muffs and walked half as fast as everyone else. Everything was muffled. Slowed.

The last days at the hospital, the wake, the funeral, those weren't the bad days. Something like sheer nerve that only comes out when you have nothing else in you got me through those days. Hell, I even laughed, a crude Jones woman trademark...to laugh when all else fails. It was the days that followed, as I came back to college, walked the same path I had walked for a year and a half from my dorm to class, to the student center, to the library, those were the moments that felt impossible. The hugs, the words of comfort, the somber smiles that greeted me on those treks seemed to fall beside me, and then, in my sleepless nights weigh against me. I seemed to always feel either pressing at the edge of my skin or suffocating, and usually both.

Of course all of that was just a silent prelude to when I would learn to speak again. That was terrifying, but when I said it out loud...that was something else entirely. I remember sitting in one of my best friends car. Driving down 119th street until it ended as I would continue to do many, many times. I looked straight ahead and came out with my confession, the words I had been thinking of for days.

"I don't think I'm a Christian anymore."

My friend just waited, knowing there was more to it than just that. I continued on, explaining that I hadn't stopped believing in God, but being a Christian was more than that. I had been a Christian since I was five, and just now in these weeks of losing my grandma did I suddenly find something missing. I just simply figured there must be more, I, however, didn't have it. And I didn't feel strong enough to find it.

No earth shattering revelation was made to me in that moment. I simply said something out loud and was met with a sort of deep understanding that there was something very wrong, but neither of us could really place it. In face, from there, I had no way of knowing how much longer that journey would last. How many more times I would find myself in the throes of confessions that were really just saying, something is very wrong and I feel too weak to stand up? How many times would I find myself crying and curled up in my bed with only the bunny my grandma gave me and the blanket my grammie made me for comfort? How many more times would I walk into church smiling and leave red hot angry and want to give up again? Countless. In fact, I still do sometimes. But, I've found that thing that was missing, the thing that comes out after sheer nerve is gone and keeps you still going.

So many brilliant minds have put it so many ways. Shane Koyczan said, "I've been through enought wretchedness to know some flowers still grow through the garabage."

My friend, Eric, says, "In a world that promises rocks and dust, live like diamonds exsist."

Mary Oliver paints it as a red bird who comes even in the winter, firing up the landscape.

The rest of us, just call it hope.

And as I find myself in this strange new place, where I sometimes have a good attitude, but often don't, I cling to it. I choose not to just see myself as a 22 year old jobless college graduate living at home, but an obedient daughter of God who is gripping on to God's goodness tightly as I sit waiting.

And when I can't sleep at night and my mind wanders back to that time and I think, Oh God, I can't live through that heartache again. Or as I curl up in a ball thinking of how my blanket and bunny are packed in storage still and so many relationships I'm in feel so broken, I hope. Because if anything, I've been through wretchedness. I've been in darkness. My heart's been shattered. My soul has been shaken. I have fallen completely apart. But, great, beautiful flowers now grow in the cracks of myself that once seemed lost forever to me.

And that, dear ones, is the simple, deep, beautiful truth of hope.

www.incourage.me

On Disappearing, then Coming Back Again.

As the weather here in Texas changes from "so hot I contemplate peeling my skin off" to "thank God for AC," I too change from "if I don't interact with the world, it can't possibly keep spinning" to "oh, hello, world, you still there?" And it's all in good stride because sometimes we all need to shut off the world for a few days (erm, 2 weeks).

But, as I open my eyes and stretch my limbs, I find something unexpected. A cocoon, of sorts, which allows me to keep on growing, processing, but maybe in a better way. Because no matter how good and delicious Burn Notice is, it isn't really doing anything in the way of this crazy journey I'm on. Except, I do know that a cell phone plugged into a USB outlet on a computer makes for a perfect bug.

And so here I am. In the one city I had so vehemently sworn off with a new humility that God is indeed the point, not my affinity for a city (among other things I'd like to think are more important). And this place I am in feels nearly indescrible to everyone else, except for these few who just know without me saying. And who somehow hear, "I just got to process all this fear and heal and rest a little, so I can do that thing I need to do," when I say, "Oh, you know. I'll get to save money. Spend time with my family. Figure out what to do."

And the thing that woke me up today, that made me literally stop dead in my tracks, take a deep breath, and look a little crazy by speaking out loud to seemingly nothing was God. I just stopped and said, "Ok, let's have this conversation, I've been putting off." And so we did, and I cried a little, but it was a good cry that you have with God and when it's over you take a deep breath and think, "So this is it. This is what has to happen." And then you just trust with your whole being and when you can't trust anymore, you trust that God will fill in the rest.

So, that being said, I'm back. But, I'm dancing a little slower, listening a little harder, and trying to write a lot more.

Texas.

Things I am learning from this crazy move.

1. Wallowing isn't even fun after about 12 hours. Probably sooner, really.
2. God is still sojourning with me through all this. He is going out before me. And anywhere He is, there is light. So, I just have to keep my eyes open, and I'm in light.
3. Every place has treasures. Some places just also have concrete mountains instead of real ones.
4. Isolation does not become me.
5. Rest is hard.
6. I am whiney and self-involved. Much more than I thought.
7. We're all trying to figure the same things out.

I wish I had more to write, but honestly, I'm trying to just listen right now. I'm not doing very well at it at all. But, I'm trying.

What more can you do?

A long goodbye.

I feel the sort of slow heavy from not getting enough sleep for 10 consecutive days. Where you start to get weepy and are liable to cry over anything really, and even though you reassure yourself that you are simply dead exhausted, nothing really changes the fact that you're now crying just so you can squeeze your eyes shut.

And I don't mean that in any sort of dramatic way. I have a flair for the dramatic, I am well aware, but I mean it in a simple way. In the way that your skin begans to crack in the winter because it's dry and in the way your heart does the same after wear and tear. I am just full and empty.

I have found myself amidst an unexpected journey. I suddenly find myself desiring to find, once again, the tenderness that has been heaped on with pain and bitterness. I did not realize it would be so hard to unearth. I did not realize it would actually happen either. It's funny, isn't it, this life?

But, in other news and on other arenas, I am moving tomorrow. This week has been one long hello and goodbye as friends come back to the city I am leaving. I trust, even though I don't always trust well, that this will indeed be good.

Farewell, sweet city. So long, dear friends.

The good, hard work of life.

I had a conversation with a friend last night which summed up some thoughts I'd been having on the subject. The good, hard work of life. The work of taking this theology and these ideas of who God is and bringing it down to everyday life. This is hard. But, truly, this is important.

I think of this on days when I feel so tired and I don't want to drag myself out of bed and I don't want to be sweet and generous. On days when isolation and self-indulgence seem much, much easier. And, admitedly, some days I think of this and isolate and self-indulge anyway. I crawl into bed and watch the Office and don't answer my phone when people who love me fiercely call to see how I am. This wallowing can't do any good for too long. It's just a broken disguise for life giving rest.

The good, hard work reminds me on these days that I am doing something, that this being alive thing maybe the simple truth of it all. That sometimes it is good and enough if the greatest thing I do all day is to love one person (even myself) a little bit better, then that's revolutionary. The good, hard work reminds me that this life, the light should truly shine in all corners of my ragged self. And that those places where I'd rather wallow in darkness are simply lies. And there is an everyday work to shining light places of yourself into dark places of yourself. We want these grand footings, these sure places, these places where we can then control, navigate, and, "No thanks God, I'm doing just fine." And all the while God is right there sojourning on with us. Crying and weeping and sometimes screaming, although, I'm sure with much more grace and love than I do it with. But, if nothing else it makes the hard, good, everyday work of it possible. Because God is an everyday sort of person, and though it's hard to see, it's the work of redemption. Slow. Hard. Sometimes a little painful even.

And this sort of hard work, it takes courage. It's in the folds of the dailiness. It's in the mundane moments. Today, for me, this courage was simply waking up. It was knowing my car currently wasn't starting and that I had stayed up too late. It was desparately wanting to fake illness and stay home all day long, curled up in said bed watching said Office episodes. I didn't want to ask for help with my car. I didn't want to go nanny boys are are rascally and often rude, but still sometimes cute. Last night, that hard, courageous work looked like admitting fault to a friend. Writing a facebook message to someone I didn't much know. But, in these small ways, in these daily ways, through this hard, good work, we're courageously creating pieces of light, here and there, we're building communities, and sometimes we're just planting trees for the next person to sit under. It's that simple. It's that hard.

But, in the end I love it. I love it because it is always good because God is always good. Even when it hurts like hell and I can't remember that God is good, God is still good. And that's the sort of thing I can hold onto.

And when I can't hold onto it, that's the sort of thing that holds onto me.

www.incourage.me

New Tears. Same Doubts.

Some days it just feels the same, no matter what gets thrown at you.

I need a red bird or two.

Late Night Drives and Salty Eyes

I can't help but to feel a familiar pull on my heart on nights like these. Where the moon is full and high and smiling, the air is crisp and alive, and I fall in and out of love with every breath. I guess all of this hasn't hit me, this leaving, this growing up, these changes. Instead, they come as taps on my shoulder at unexpected times. Tonight, I was tapped. Tonight, the night which begged me to come lie down with it for a while, got up abruptly. Tonight, I cried.

It feels damn near impossible sometimes, this being alive thing. I don't mean it in any hard way, I just mean that the every day hard work of it feels like so much sometimes that it seems almost an odd relief to get caught up in the ordinary things. The showers, the work, the tv, the driving, the errands, the dailiness. But, lately, the dailiness holds no secret sanctity for me. I find myself struck with long buried questions during the most ordinary times. While driving to work, while in the shower, while standing in line at Target. Some little darkness knocks and I feel a little unprepared to embrace it and invite it in for dinner. To shine the light parts of me onto the dark parts of me. And so instead I nod to acknowledge its presence. I let the question come full into my conscious, but that's all. I don't try to answer it. And when tears tempt my eyes, I stay steadfast to all four parts of me that are false stoicism. I try to believe I am hard and strong.

But, it's all for naught, because I know I'm not hard and strong. In fact, all the while these deep and fearful questions have been striking me, I find myself meeting the tender parts of me. I find myself often moved deeply and tearfully at the pain in the world. At the suffering. Even when the suffering is my own. I sit quiet and on my own exploring the abandoned roads and veins which bring me to different, old, same, new parts of my heart. I find myself slowly sinking into the truth of my tenderness, vulnerability, fragility, and not finding it a weak fault. But, all that has left me also feeling unprotected when it comes to those questions which are best faced by false stoicism or lest crying for days.

And, deep down I know. My heart is full, but there is an empty ache that all this tenderness is pointing me too. An ache past my heart where I daily find new wounds from the wars I wage and are waged around me everyday. Sometimes they're solider wounds, and sometimes they're just wounds of a person at the wrong place at the wrong time. Scrapes, bumps, bruises, brokenness. All these beckon, beg, for healing. And I find myself strangely silenced. Strangely stoic and impersonal, objective even. Or perhaps just passive. Everything is pointing me to the same place. All the questions have the same answer, my whole life is a magnet back to my Abba, but I find myself trying to hold myself together, when it's so obvious the whole point is to fall apart.

A week of moving, goodbye, laughing, and other things too.

This week I moved out of my perfect little ivy house. This turned out to be quite an adventure because I have a sprained ankle and we somehow have a shit ton of stuff. (Yes, it's a scientific word).

We slept on couches and futon pads even though they weren't comfortable just so we could stay up late soaking in the goodness that was our house and to watch lots of Sex and the City and recount beautiful memories that happened within our walls in the past year. Great joys, great sorrows, more laughter than one can count, and all sorts of crazy shenanigans.

And then last night we slept in what will be my home for the next 2 weeks as I continue to pack up and say goodbye to my dear city. It will be hard, but I believe that this next step of life will be good. And who knows where it will take me?

Still, the whole process of moving is exhausting. Not just physically packing up all your stuff, but finding new places for your life, and knowing that some of it can't go with you. So, if you want to hang out this weekend, let me tell you, we'll most likely be doing one of two things...moving the last few boxes or laying around.

Still, this is good. Life is funny. I will trust in this place.

Sometimes, I...

Sometimes, I'm scared I'll wake up and too much life will have passed by without my permission.

Sometimes, I worry that I'll get stuck in a job I hate.

Sometimes, I'm scared if I get stuck in a job I hate, I won't leave because it's too hard.

Sometimes, I worry I'm doing this all wrong.

Sometimes, I'm scared I'll grow lukewarm.

Sometimes, I worry my friends will forget me.

Sometimes, I'm scared I talk bigger than I should.

And sometimes, I worry that my mascara is smudged.

So, I try to hold on, cling to for dear life, the knowledge that all of that worry isn't even the point. God's love is. And my fears and worries are important to God, yet incredibly small. I try to remember that no matter which of those things or others come to fruition or don't, I belong to God. And I'm trying to learn that that is truly enough.

I just want to crawl into a cave

And not do this week.

I don't want to pack and move things. I don't want to work. I want to have a woe is me week. I want to curl up in a ball and watch movies with Chelsey while our stuff gets packed and moved for us. I want to spend time with people without feeling like, "Oh...this is an almost goodbye." And at the same time, I just want to be home. I just want to be moved.

Which just makes the kind of nonsense I like the best.

So, aside from crying all the time. Aside from trying to move with a sprained ankle. Aside from the weariness. I'm just sad. It's not a horrible sad, and this post is kinda whiney. But, I just am. I am sad and extremely exhausted.

Good thing, in the back of my head and deep in my heart there is the knowledge that I am not how I feel right now, and that it will be all right.

May All Your Weeds Be Wildflowers.

It has been a long time since I've done some of the things that I used to do all the time. Like paint or art of any sort. Like spent a day writing just because it helps. My creative juices seem too often limited to blogs, facebook statuses, and text messages. I need something more.

And today, limping around Estes Park, looking at all the art in galleries, my heart quickened with the possibility of it all. All the art that's yet to be created. All the truth yet to be expressed in a different way. It's all beautiful.

I feel like I can do it again. But, I can't help but to also feel a little terrified.

Going Out With a Bang...

Let me tell you a fateful story about a girl and a bike.

Once upon a time there was a girl named...Britney. She never took much to riding bikes, and in fact, never really got passed training wheels before she decided she just wait until she could drive to move along on wheels. However, in recent years, the thought of riding a bike had become somewhat appealing to her. And she did try on two separate occasions, both with veritable success, however, she was terrified the entire time.

Especially going downhill.

Now, when her roommate...Belsey...came home one day and asked her if she wanted to go on a little bike ride, a shot of adventure ran through her. She was a college graduate. A grown woman, practically. She could ride a bike. And so, she threw on a pair of shorts and her favorite fringey boots, and off she went. It was an interesting endevaor, but mostly she didn't enjoy it.

Especially going downhill.

But, Belsey told her that it would be ok. That going slow made it harder for her to control the bike. So, as they approached their devestatingly perfect house, going downhill, Britney decided to let go a little. To enjoy the wind in her face. Because, she figured, even if she crashed, she probably wouldn't break anything.

Until she realize she wasn't sure how to stop.

At that moment, there was only one thing to do. Try to crash in a way that would prove the least damaging. She took the turn, hoping she'd naturally slow down on the flatter ground. She did. But, she also lost control and starting heading for a curb...and a tree. Naturally, she started breaking, put her foot down, and in hopes of not hitting the tree, tried to get off a moving bike.

This did not go well.

In fact, it went so poorly that she now has a sprained ankle a mere few days before she is to go Colorado with her family. But, Belsey did tell her she crashed gracefully. And for that, we'll count the bicycle ride a success.

And besides, she had a lot of fun right before she crashed.

Checked Out Before I Get in Line.

I realize, that by that title, this post could be about a great many things.

However, it's just about one thing.

I'm already feeling myself checking out of here. I feel myself shrugging off hanging out to sit and home and read or watch tv with Chelsey. Which isn't all bad. But, certainly isn't all good. And I'm a little uncertain how to stay engaged here while I'm here. Or maybe, there is a certain level of checking out and detangling that is necessary. All in all, I don't know.

And then, there is this other part of me, the part of me that wants to check completely out. The part of me that's still sitting in the cafeteria in jr. high feeling so awkward. The part of me that's super insecure and is arbitrarily taken by bouts of, "none of my friends here will talk to me when I move."

And deep down, I know it's silly, because I've moved before and some people talk to you and some people don't. But, all in all, it's ok, because when other people move, some people you talk to and some people you don't. But, I can't help but to feel a little scared that some of my favorites won't.

Still, until mid-August, I'll work, read, watch tv, and regularly laugh off the day with Chelsey, grab coffee with Jess, spend Sundays with Lauren, and miss everyone in Washington.

Holidays and Holy Days.

I've been thinking, as I can barely open my eyes this Monday after the holiday weekend, and feel as though I've been a glutton, about holidays. And more still, about Holy Days.

I think about the calendar and rhythm I live in. 12 months in a year. With 5 day work weeks. With 2 day weekends. 1 day for doing whatever I want. And 1 day for church and rest. Every month or two, there's a three day weekend. Memorial Day, 4th of July, Labor Day, Martin Luther King Day, maybe a good Friday, President's Day, or Columbus Day thrown in. And every few months we get longer breaks, Thanksgiving, Christmas, a vacation of some sort in the summer. And then the spattering of holidays that just provide fun. Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, New Year's, Halloween, Father's Day, Mother's Day, a birthday, an anniversary, a few just because parties, and there's the year.

And then, I got to thinking about the liturgical calendar. But, also the Jewish calendar. I started wondering what it would be like, not to orient myself around 3-day weekends, vacations, and just because parties, but to orient myself to a calendar like this, which, of course, was and is meant to orient me toward God and the gospel.

Of course there are pitfalls, but if there is one thing I've learned in life it's that there are always pitfalls. But, holiness and being set apart, these things have an important to them, or we wouldn't be called to them. Pitfalls and all, God doesn't ask things of us in vain.

So, I wonder. How we do this. How every part of our life is pointed toward rhythming with God. How we get out of what everyone else says rest and work looks like.

But, I can't wonder too long, because the holiday has made me tired. And something doesn't seem right about that.

Deep Breaths and Weekends

I love the weekend. 48+ hours to do whatever I want and to be wherever I want. I love that freedom. And then they're over, and I just have deep breaths and 5 o'clocks to get me through to the next weekend.

That being said, I feel, blog world, it is time to make my official announcement, as I have told most people I felt needed to hear it from me first. I am leaving this fair city of Oklahoma. I am moving to Texas. Fear not, though, it is not permanent. Well, my move from this city may be permanent, but my move to Texas is not. I am living with my parents for a while, working, and trying to figure out what exactly I am going to do with this little life of mine.

This is, most of all, unexpected. I feel sad, leaving this place which has concooned me for 4 years and taught me more things about myself, the world, and God than one blog post could hold. So, deep breaths, weekends, 5 o'clocks, will get me to early mid-August. And then, I'll move.

And, you know what, it's ok. Because sometimes, you just have to move on.

Immortal Tales of the Babysitter (and probably some other things)

A direct quote from Jon, one of the 10 year old twin boys I nanny, on discussing why the movies aren't free, in response to my answer of, "Well, then no one would make any money."

"Well, the government takes all over our money anyway, right?"

Sometimes, I don't even know how to respond. All of my big, fancy words don't mean much to kids who just want some unconditional love and support.

I have always mothered. It feels to me like a central force of who I am. When I was a child, I didn't have one doll I took care of, but four. I played house for hours, even by myself, organizing and reorganizing how everything fit into my playhouse. Cold, snow, rain, I was still out there. So, you'd think I'd grow up to be some sort of ideal housewife in the making. But, somewhere between the fairy tales, Dr. Seuss, and some firey and strong and sassy as hell parents, came me. Who nannys. Dreams of grad school. Uses words like prudent in everyday conversation. And reads books like Women and Religion just for kicks.

And who everyday thinks, "How in the hell does anyone ever have kids?"

Still, I shrug my shoulders. I have the past day or so found a rythmn. Where I can't see how it will all work out, but I choose to trust anyway. And it's terrifying, but pretty damn beautiful too.

Healing and Rest

I've been thinking a lot about healing and rest lately. How they go hand-in-hand, and how it's something we all sometimes think of as a bit of a pipe dream, and it's something we could always use a little more of.

I am not always the most creative. After all, too often, I lack the creative vision to even believe it is possible to be outside of a situation. It all feels too real. Emotions do that. They intice you to believe their truth, their reality, and in the end, you find yourself trapped by them. And that's the easiest way to spot a lie, because truth always sets you free.

I found myself in a very quiet place this weekend. One where I was alone most of the time and I didn't talk much, which may seem obvious, but I have a borderline nutty habit of talking out loud, so it isn't all that obvious to me. So, I just thought a lot. I thought about this great thing it is to be a woman. I thought about the bitterness in my own heart. I thought about the possibility in life. Sometimes my thoughts were good. I felt encouraged. Other times I cried. I don't much worry about crying anymore either. I figure it's something we have to do now and then, and if we were all a little more honest with ourselves, we'd all probably cry a little more.

But, mostly, I just felt myself shutting down, but not all in a bad way. I just felt this little whisper in my soul that I needed to slow down, smell flowers, and take to loving myself as fiercely as I love those around me. Because that's the thing about loving your neighbor as yourself: it comes with the assumption, that you love yourself. (Which of course only works, only makes sense after loving God holistically).

So, that's what I need to learn. I've spend so much time taking care of other people, I've forgotten somethings. I've resigned myself to be a little less than I am. To doing less. I've grown some weedy bitterness. I've harbored some bad habits. I've justified, rationalize, and other things that sound like that.

I'm starting to remember that it's not that I can do anything. It's that I truly can do what I am supposed to do.

Rest. Pray. Heal. Love. (And laugh and eat pizza inbetween).

What the Heat Does

1. Makes me cranky.
2. Makes me a bad babysitter (see #1).
3. Makes want to curse and scream (see #2).
4. Generally lowers my happy disposition.

Sun, dear Sun. Must you shine so brightly? Must you beat down so hard? Must you hate me so?

My Red Bird (or, A Reminder or Two)

I am a very blessed girl.

It would seem as the tidal waves of life come swooping through the ocean, and I find myself frozen on some beach of indecision, my God is my help. You see, since graduating 1 month and 3 days ago, I have been on the edge of constantly breaking down. Fears of inadequacy and other friendly qualls seemed to be hiding just beneath the surface of my skin. And then, Wednesday happened. And to say it happened is not an understatement, because nothing really happened. It was Wednesday, I worked, went to the library, and then cried.

I mean, I wept. And I wish I was a beautiful crier. Someone who looks graceful and regal, but I, alas, am a snotty nosed, red and scrunched up face, hyperventilating crier. It isn't graceful; it isn't regal. But, it is real. So, I cried for an hour or so, cried for all the things I thought I couldn't do, but needed to, cried for all the times I'd given up, cried for wanting to give up so badly, cried help, cried please, cried. Then, as I lay in bed, wondering what to do, I got up paced around and walked to the kitchen. I looked out the window on our red door onto our porch and saw it. A red bird. A red bird sitting on the chair on our porch looking at me. We held a gaze, I listened to its whispers, then it flew away.

Deep exhale. Deep inhale. Peace.

I don't know if you remember about the red bird. A poem by Mary Oliver (see "I'm a Calendar Girl" in January, I'm not savvy enough to put in a link). But, my heart was flooded. I will be ok. Then, I was reminded of my own words earlier in the day in an email to a dear friend.

I was reading my Bible this morning (a small miracle in itself, I suppose) and today's Old Testament reading comes from Deuteronomy which is kinda fun to say, really. It's part of Moses's song and I am reading it but not really reading it, you know, when all of the sudden a verse pops out at me and I just started crying. It was "In a desert land he found him, in a barren and howling waste. He shielded him and care for him; he guarded him as the apple of his eye." And I just remembered. I remembered that no matter what happens in August, God is and that is not the most important thing but the only thing. And the fact that God loves me is more. And I know I know this, but sometimes it just becomes another thing I know and then suddenly I really know it again. And it's more beautiful than the last time because in all that in between time I see how God was still there, faithfully working even when I was winey and grasping at the straws of the illusion of control. I mean, things are stewing.

I will rest in that. And I'll be on the lookout for red birds and reminders.

A Prayer For You

On these days filled with sunshine, humidity, and a lot of netflix movies, I find my life sometimes boring to myself, and yet, I sharply inhale sometimes to realize that I have these great people around me. And all of these things that are happening around us that are scary, exciting, heartbreaking, boring, and have us feeling a little shaken, I find myself praying these prayers.

A prayer for a barefoot heart. A heart that allows people to come into life, kick off their shoes and rest. But, also, a place buried in that heart where one can find rest and meet with God.

A prayer for holy laughter and holy tears, because both will always be CPR for the soul.

A prayer for a warm blanket and a warm community, and truly common unity.

A prayer for a spot that no one can hit but God, and the strength to call out.

I truly feel as though I have so few words these days, but these words will have to do.

Rainy Wednesday

This is what my life is like:

A rainy Wednesday and just listening to Daner tell me one crazy story after another. I secretly love every bit of it.

God has been good to me. I have been praying, frustrated, untrusting for answers, and God keeps revealing who He is to me. And I keep stomping my feet and demanding answers. I kept telling God that He wasn't giving me what I wanted and that wasn't good enough. I kept slapping Him in the face and crossing my arms and throwing tantrums.

Yet, last night, as repentance crept into my heart as I was reminded how faithful God is. How over and over again God faithfully reveals Himself, and I go chasing illusions and shadows of truth, and God is faithful. I have a moment of faithfulness, and God is faithful. I have days of mistrust, bittnerness, and God is faithful.

I even told God, grumpily, that I wanted some rain. And look at this day. Just the shade of grey that lets me breathe, and God continuing to remind me of His glory, His faithfulness, His love.

Because, after all, that's what it is about.

So, I'm still just waiting, praying, and trusting. Because God is faithful, and that's all I can do.

I am...tired.

There's not much creativity flowing through my brain, mostly it has been about getting the weekend. I have a to do list the size of a...something rather massive. (See, I can't even think of a brilliant simile. Literary fail). Actually, the to do list thing is a bit of a misnomer. It's more a list of things I should put on a to do list, in my head, in hopes that this weekend I will find a few moments of energy and productivity and do something besides read memoirs and watch Netflix movies.

Not to mention, I keep vainly hoping, I'll somehow get relieved of work. Not that I'm currently doing much, just that I could use a nap and a shower and my beloved futon.

Everything is still very odd. I find moments of harmony, though, tucked all through out the doubt and fear and insecurities. The questions, be them as they may, sometimes have me tensing my shoulders and fighting back tears, but the moments when I stop. When I uncurl my toes and unclench my fists and join hands with the suffering (sometimes the suffering is myself - and often that takes form in prayers) I can settle into a peace and I think, "Oh I've got this."

"One does not discover new lands without constenting to lose sight of the shores for a very long time."
- Andre Gide

Bring it on, big girl world.

It doesn't matter how many times you grow up, sometimes you still find yourself crying because you are scared of the dark. It doesn't matter how many rationals otherwise there are, you cry your big, thick, humid drops of tears because when it comes down to it, you are scared.

And so I sat on the futon yesterday, having just gotten through a sniffly conversation with my mom, where after listening to me talk faster than a used car salesman about everything I have been thinking about lately she asked me, "Are you sad?" I was struck, because yes, I was, and yes, I am. And I have resigned to my sadness. I have chalked it up to grief and graduating, but I have let it sit in me like a still lake and the days are getting hotter. I am still learning what it means to be an adult. What those reactions look like, and as someone who is just leaving behind her green, I so badly want to do well. It is my lack of grace for my own self which turns against me.

Yesterday, I got home from work, laid on the couch and read. I so happened to glance up only to see that there was a daddy long leg the size of a coaster on the wall. I jumped up and screamed. And then stood there next to it, trying to guess if I should kill it, catch and release it, or just try to ignore it.

I feel exhausted with all of my thoughts and opinions and my stacks of books grow larger by the day. I find myself longing for community, and yet reading instead. I have only hung out with my roommate all summer, really. There have been a few exceptions, but most days that is the most that I get and I can't help but to feel a bit crazy as well as all right.

My humid tears fell last night, like a slow breaking of a lake to a stream, that someday might grow into a river that flows right into the ocean. Until then, though, I sit most days, like a child squeezing her eyes shut so tight in hopes that she can shut out all of the dark around her, only to realize, now she has to see the dark within her.

And yet, I remember who I belong to. And sometimes I think this is what Jesus meant when He oh so mysteriously said we should be like children, or at least, this is part of it. That we should know so much who we belong to that it shapes all of what we do, who we turn to, what we say, why even our name.

So, really, I prefer to think of it less as an identity crisis and more as an identity refinement. I'm at the cusp of something. It's hard to push into the last part of those choices, but I am trying.

By God, I am trying.

And the cycles and rhythms of each day, they fight against each other like waves, and it seems like it would be all to easy to get lost in them, and not even be sure where you started and where you ended. So, in this case, I'll stretch for the moon and melt into the water. I'll be wave pulled my moon, instead of driftwood tossed about. And when I come upon some driftwood, I will not try to pull them under. I will try to murmur the tongues of the moon.

You belong.

Lately

Upon graduating, I felt a myriad of emotions ranging from incredibly empowered to incredibly terrified. It's all a part of it, I kept telling myself.

Since then, the incredibly empowered and incredibly terrified continually switch places leaving me, on good days, a little frazzled, but still peaceful, and on bad days, feeling absolutely bonkers, desparately clinging onto the knowledge that I will be ok, by the grace of God.

And I guess, if I'm honest, that's all I need. I don't much like feeling bonkers and desparate, but I'll take it because never have I felt so...whole and free. This feeling is just not what I thought it would be.

I don't know what I thought it would feel like. I don't know exactly what I thought was happening all this time. I just know that at this new place I'm all right. I still struggle, fight, mess up ridiculously, but I'm all right.

And that's worth all the tears.

Lessons From a Recent College Graduate

I know I have more to learn. I know I'll have to relearn and learn better some of these things. But, this is what I have learned.

I've learned that...
First impressions say just as much about us as they do the person we've met.
Sometimes the only thing to do is call your mom.
You should always apologize as soon as you realize you are wrong, even if that means calling someone back five minutes after talking to them on the phone.
If a friendship is worth it, you'll both work at it.
Sometimes, it's ok to let go and walk away from someone, and is best when done with forgiveness.
Forgiveness is something we give, not because we are better, but because we are the same.
We have all been the mean girl.
We have all been picked on by the mean girl.
A soft heart speaks louder than any cynic's tongue.
Often, the person that is hardest for us to love is who needs it the most.
Sometimes, the most important thing to do is just show up.
It's ok to say no.
It's ok to say yes.
It's ok to say, "I'll think about it," as long as you really do.
The fear of messing up should never be what stops you.
Prayer is transformative.
It's ok to not be a grown up all the time.
Sometimes, you just need Chipotle and a movie to make your night better.
Good roommates make life lighter.
It's ok to voice your needs.
It's ok to talk about whatever you need to talk about, but you have to listen too.
Sometimes, trashy reality tv, is really brilliant.
Laughing so hard your stomach hurt will always turn your day around.
Crying is healing.
It's ok to do what you have to do.
It's ok to do what you want to do.
"The only reason they think they're beautiful, is the same reason they think you're not."
Sometimes, the only thing to make it seem manageable is to drive out the country and scream in your car.
Everybody is at least a little weird.
Just because it is, doesn't mean it should be.
Every little thing needs love.
If you don't think you're crazy in this world at least some of the time, then you must be crazy, because it's crazy.
It isn't all right.
It is all right.
Your family will always be a little bit or a lot bit crazy, but they are always your family.
Everyone (including yourself) is hard to love sometimes.
Dr. Pepper makes a hard day better.
It's ok to be mad/sad/frustrated/screaming angry; it's not ok to get lost in it.
Sometimes PMS makes you feel insane - remember that you're not, and in a few days, it won't be so bad.
We must take care of the suffering, even when the suffering is yourself.
Truth is real.
Friends and coffee are life savers.
It's ok to be selfish sometimes.
If no one is taking the last pita bread, just take it, but be the one to ask the waiter for more.
Be crazy and carefree whenever you get the chance.
Cry as often as you laugh because they both heal different parts of the soul.
Speaking to understand accomplishes more than speaking to be understood.
Sushi and PBR don't mix.
It's ok that it's hard sometimes.
It's ok when something is easy.
We have to do things that are hard for us, but those things are often also good for us.
Grief is a part of life.
Hope is something everyone needs.


Finally,

I've learned that being able to rest in God is...well, it just is.

Still.

Even though life abounds and chaos there with it, I find myself strangely still.

Even though anxiety creeps and reaches for my throat, just to tighten a little, I find myself strangely still.

Even when those around me seem to not care, I am finding myself strangely still.

This is beautiful. This stillness, hard and odd as it maybe, is teaching me to loosen my death grip, give people a break, take deep breaths, and stop pretending like I have this all together.

Even though, I may be and always will be a bit of a mess, I find myself strangely still.

A shrug and a sigh

Sometimes, I see myself reaching and grasping at straws. Sometimes, I feel myself fighting so hard. Sometimes, I hear my heart weeping. Sometimes, I feel like I'm a dervish, spinning, spinning, spinning.

I see it in other people too. I guess it's one thing we all have in common. The struggle. The fight. Sometimes, I think we get lost in it. Sometimes, I feel myself fighting, and I can't figure out why. Sometimes, I am just sleeping.

I am not profound. I am not wise. I just am. That's the imago dei. Are amness. The problems happen when I definition becomes centered in doing or was being or will be. These are components of amness, but never the end of.

I am just shrugging my shoulders now.

There are no words for right now. Sometimes, that's the way of my incredibly overly articulate life. Sometimes, there is just quiet. And that's my heart right now. It is just quiet.

And that is ok.

A Moment or Two

I can't explain why I haven't written lately. I have been asleep for a week or two. It is the easiest way to cope with transitions, but not always the wisest. I have had half thoughts that I've lost behind closed eyes of too much sleep, and no real rest. What can I say?

And, yet, this weekend, as I roused a little weary, from my 100 year sleep, not from a kiss from a prince, but from a cut at the heart (which can sometimes be the same thing), I found myself aghast, a little startled. Like I woke up from sleep that I didn't realizing I was having until I woke up.

But, this heart cutting comes in ways I can't describe. It's come from off handed words, as well as, well thought out ones. It's come from cries in my own heart, as well as, gentle prodings from elsewhere. It has come like the raining. At moments, so hard, I think it might flood. And at others, gentle, lulling reminders of grace and forgiveness.

I find myself torn between joy and sadness. Between laughing and dancing and weeping and screaming someties too. And the fact of all that is that confession drips from my lips in a way I don't believe I fully understand.

I don't know how to explain this well. I've been wont. A little lazy. A little whorish, really. And the same question comes to my mind, that has for a while now. It was the same question Chelsey and I asked each other, in so many words, while I sat curled up in her papasan chair and we listed the things I needed and didn't need to take care of myself. How, in this culture of individualization and complete tolerance, do we embark on the part of community that requires accountability? That requires rebuke, at times? How do we live like that?

This has been all over the place. This has been a half-assed attempt to reach out a bit, to say, this is where I am at, but I am a little bit stuck in my own mud. This is me saying, even stuck in my mud, I am rejoicing still.

I am rejoicing still.

There are no words, sometimes

There are no words sometimes for the sadness inside us all. I don't mean this in some depressing, absurdist way, I just mean, sometimes we have to be sad. Sometimes we have to be sad becomes something awfully sad happens to us. Sometimes because something terribly sad happens to someone else, and sometimes, I think it's just a reminder that we are foreigners here.

Because, while there is something beautiful about being a sojourner, a nomad, there's something sad about never having a home, or always being on your way home. There's something sad about life here. It's like hearing a whisper of, "No one belongs here more than you." But, it's been carried for centuries to you. And even though the backs of the bees the carry this message believe just as much as the one who sent it, it's still a little sad. Because here, isn't here, it's there.

So, all that to say, I believe in grief. I believe it's a companion in life to remind us that this is right, and that's ok. Weep and rage about the wrongness of it all.

But, I also believe in hope and truth. And that they're great friends to grief when she seems close to drowing herself, they remind her of who she is, and why all of this isn't right.

And, I guess, that's all right. That it may not be the most comfortable way to live, but at least when we're quiet we can hear whipsers being sent in messages in bottles that will fight to make it to the sea shore, because the bottles need to know that they aren't floating aimlessly, but swimming with a purpose towards someone who is marked by love to tell them something simple and so profound.

No one belongs here more than you.

And even if here is there, I'll sojourn towards there until it's here.

Sadness

I'm sad.

I don't mean this in any earth shattering way. I don't mean it in a feel sorry for me way. I mean it simply in a, "I went to the grocery store after work" way. I feel like a rainy, cloudy day. In fact, this sunshine feels a little foreign to me.

Things are changing. It's a little bit terrifying. I feel small. I feel young. I feel uncertain. There's nothing like a bit of change to help you discover what's real in you, and what is just you being comfortable in your surrondings.

But, I don't mean to say that I am a sad person. Or a small, young, uncertain person. I mean that to say, as I try to lift up my heart from my knees, or toes each day, I find a resillence that is real. I find a strength that I forget I have.

And yet, I don't feel it.

So, what I'll do it this. I'll take my sadness, my uncertainity, my weariness, my sometimes double middle finger frustration, and I'll stick it in my haven't washed since Saturday hair. And I'll keep it there while it gives me good volume, and forget the fact that it's dirty and messy too. And when it's time, I'll wash it out. I'll find some rain, shampoo, and maybe even a prayer, and wash it right out.

But, until then, we'll settle in the fact of this dirt. This oddness. Because, it's not life. It's just life right now.

Life in Moments

Most of the time, the concept of time completely alludes me. Minutes can seem like mini eternities, and often hours come and go in the blink of an eye. So, I find myself living in moments. Some moments are days of something, and others just nanoseconds, but I take them all and one by one they create the cocoon of my life to surrond me.

Sometimes, these moments look like trying to make deep eye contact and smile at everyone I pass. I call this sometimes afternoon and sometimes community.

Sometimes, it's a moment called harmony and it's spent sitting cross-legged on the floor of a bookstore, where I caress the spin of every book and try to soak up it's secrets. I sit there in silence trying to learn a lost language, and my heart is filled with this moment.

Or last night, I had a moment called balance, where I drove through blurs of trees and street, with my best friend listening to broken hearts sing us to peace. And as my heart gravitated to my throat up from my knees where it usually falls, I found myself holding my breath to both keep the moment and my heart from throwing through tears in my eyes. And found that maybe when all you have are the headlights of your car and the stars from heaven lighting the road, well, maybe then you'll find your way.

And sometimes these moments are like a great sadness I call anything from grief to suffocation. And sometimes I laugh through the sunshining days, only to find that when I lay down at night, my heart, unachored in my chest, falls to hit my spine so I can't stand, or my lungs so I can't breathe, or my ribs, so I wonder if it won't just fly away. So, I lay in my moment and pray simple breaths of, "Help me," and try to breathe focused enough to close my eyes and find a moment of rest.

So, my life is that of moments, long and short. And though they are sometimes laugh moments, sometimes cry moments, sometimes yell and double middle finger moments, I'll take these moments over hours and minutes that traipse on past me, unconcerned with me at all.

Rain and Sandy Bones

I'll tell you one thing, some days are just hard. There's nothing more to them. Today is hard. My bones feel like sand and I can hardly stand upright. These days are odd, because I am a strong woman, or at least, I'm supposed to be, and I can list things all day long that I can do for myself.

I can cook a pretty damn good meal; I can check the oil in my car. I can change light bulbs, clean lent traps, check air filters, clean the hair out of the drain, hold a baby the proper way, multi task homework, making a cake, and cheering up a friend. I can write most papers under 8 pages in no more than 2 hours, articulating clearly a point, which I may or may not care about, and get a good grade.

I can do a lot of things.

But, one thing that seems to allude me, on this rainy day, with my sandy bones, is not melting when a friend who is no true friend leaves a comment after not hearing from them for 2 months. I can't help but melt. I can't help but want to call, or at least comment back. I can't help but to want to forgive and forget that I've been used, abused, and treated poorly. All I can remember is the time he grabbed my hand, kissed it, and told me he was there. Because he's not. And I can't help but feel completely frustrated and devestated at it all.

Being a strong woman seems to crumble on days like this. On days where I stare out blankly on cloudy days and watch the sky cry like a waterfall and the only thing the stops me from crying too, is the fact that the phone rings at work, and I have to answer. "Kimberley Manufacturing" seems to be my only grace.

So, then, there's no direction for days like today. Inbetween days when I don't feel confident, sassy, and bold. Days when I don't even feel gentle, caring, and charming. Days when I feel something of an unresolved, syncopated poem. One that doesn't quite carry the beauty of it all, but at least isn't contrived. Cosmo fails me today. Bitch fails me today. Because I'm neither woman. I'm just trying not to fall apart because my bones are made of sand. And the only thing the rain seems to be doing is making my own tears turn my bones into something sort of moldable, and potentially beautiful if you have the knack for it. But, today I don't. Today I can't. Today, all I can do is wet the sand.

And I guess, that gives it a little more substance. And I guess, that's something.

On Twilight

I read the entire Twilight series in about a week. The only reason it even took me this long was because it was during my Fall finals week, and some studying must be done. I came in as a skeptic. After all, I’m an English major, and I can smell a poorly written book from miles away. You’ll need more than a few cheap tricks to impress me. Needless to say, I am a bit curious, if not downright nosy by nature, so I had to read these books that everyone seemed to think were the next Harry Potter or Romeo and Juliet. I had had a guy friend of mine swear to me that I would hate it. He said he could kind of see why so many girls had the hots for Edward, but he was sure, in not so many words, I would be above that. That I would read Bella as a weak female character and unimpressedly throw them aside. I have to admit, I would have liked to have been so couth.
And I was unimpressed. At first. I read a few chapters at a friend’s house while waiting for her to get ready and shrugged and the dullness of it all. The only redeeming quality I could think of was that it took place in my beloved Pacific Northwest. But, then it happened. Thoughts of Edward Cullen and Bella Swan slipped into my normal reverie like they had always been there. They were there like the lyrics to “MmmBop,” dancing with smiles, knocking at my heart with knowledge, that soon, I’d let them in. And I remember letting them in, that in that concession, I felt like I had slightly failed my Dorothy Days, Gertrude Steins, Susan B. Anthonys, and my sisterhood as a whole. But, as I sat on my bed, and thought of all the women I loved and respected who gave in, it seemed rather harmless. I had a friend who was nothing short of a strong woman who swore that redeemed her belief in romance. My feminist best friend was to be found at the midnight book release of Breaking Dawn. I mean, it couldn’t hurt, could it?
A few days later, I found myself in a frantic depressed state. I couldn’t eat. I was listless. I was on the verge of tears at any moment. I would stop after walking halfway up my stairs and just stand there thinking, “Why?” And why? Because Edward had abandoned Bella, and suddenly like an unexpected winter storm in April, everything froze, and I (and Bella) were left alone.
And I absolutely abhorred the weight of it all. I refused to tell most people that I was reading them. Friends would call to hang out, and I would make up some lame excuse, never wanting to say, “The thing is, Bella and Edward are just more important.” I felt an enormous sense of guilt about the effect it had on me. I would spend time, sitting cross-legged on my bed trying to intellectualize my way out of the spell. I would pick fights with my other friends who loved the book, in vain hopes that I could convince them I was beyond that, my feminism was surely more developed than all that. But, every argument would end with a tiredness in bones and a mumble of defeat, because there was something there that was not in any article of Bitch: A Feminist Response to Pop Culture, or even Bust: Women With Something to Get Off Their Chest, but it wasn’t enough for me to forgo Edward and Bella. Neither was enough. I was left feeling as I often do, feeling strange and lost, and holding on by simple strings of faith and hope.
But, where did that leave me? I read articles in Bitch outraged at the characterization of Bella and the creepy relationship that now so many girls longed for, and I chuckled to myself, because I am always in this in between place of trying to figure out how to be a woman of stronger stuff than Bella without completely letting go of the hope that anyone should love me fiercely forever. And sometimes you have to chuckle at yourself because it feels awfully unfair to always be told in not so many words that you have to choose. You can be a strong woman, all of who you are, but you’ll probably be alone, because the only way you can be all of you, is if you forget ever being in a relationship, because that would put you under a man’s control. And if you want the benefits of inlovedness, you’d better be willing to sacrifice who you are. And I know this is a lie, somewhere deep inside of me. But, it’s hard to know the dishonesty of it in a large way that gives you goosebumps and makes you jump up and yell. Instead, it feels more like a small itch of a lie, that most of the time is just there and unnoticed, but every once and a while, it creeps somewhere like the bottom of your foot and you think it might be the most irritating thing in the world. And even then, who has a cure for itches? All we can do is itch is until it goes away, but then often we’re just left with red skin and the memory that we were awfully lied to and there’s nothing much to do about it.
Part of me wants to believe that the intense trust between Edward and Bella exists. Just like part of me wants to believe that I can be strong and gentle, loud and quiet all at once. But, I’m continually being told to pick one. I can’t be a strong woman in love. I am either a feminist or not. So, I’m searching for an in between, because I believe there has to be one. I believe there’s something ok in seeing something beautiful in Edward and Bella, and I think there’s something ok in seeing something wrong in Edward and Bella.
So, until then, and in the between times where it’s far too hard to face it everyday, this is what I pray for. I would like a little escape that's far enough a way to see as many stars as my eyes can hold. A place where there's room for trees to grow tall enough to kiss the clouds and stretch their languid branches to hug each other, hold each other, all the way. A place where the sky is so blue that it's no longer a color, but a feeling in your soul that whispers like a grandmother, "Oh baby, we love you here; we want you here; we need you here." And the wind laughs and tossles your hair playfully, and the only reason it's cold at night is to bring our bodies and stories and hearts as close as we know they should be. And when I laugh, the wind carries it up to the trees and the clouds and they hold it gently, like a newborn, and speak in quiet whispers, because my laughter is so light, so beautiful, so free, so new. And if I cry, each tear is dear, and they hold the tears as tightly as they hold me, the stars, the trees, the clouds, the wind, and the lady in the moon weeps with me, her and her man. And by the end of it all, we're breathing together, singing together, weeping, and laughing together, and it's all one great sound that before I go, with a kiss in the forehead, they bury that sound, like a rushing river in the depth of my soul, so no matter where I go, I have it and them with me. And I would imagine, it would be enough, to give me the courage to take deep breaths and try my hardest to find my in between place.