Dreams Haunt

Somewhere between my waking and sleeping, I had an eery dream that has left its haunting imprint on my soul all day. It lingers now beside me like a faint ghost of what is/should/may come...

I dreamt about my mother -- she was happy and smiley with her loud, boisterous hyena-like laugh ricocheting off the walls and invading the quiet of my mind.

We were celebrating something and anticipating the arrival of many guests, when... they walked in. The people with whom I'd had a bad falling out months ago as summer entered in. They looked happy to see me. I, although nervous, was happy to see them...

I have no idea why these people continue to find their way into my thoughts or why they chose to make an appearance in my dream (a rarity).

I'm baffled and confused.

I don't know what any of this means...

Hooked on a Feeling...

I've been in a rather chipper mood of late. My bet is that the vibrancy of this Autumn season is waking up parts in me. (Creativity for one. I've been drawing again and have found opportunities to snap photos at a moment's notice.)

However...

In the stillness of the last hours of work (and of Day for that matter), I was suddenly filled with a great sense of worry and fear: In two weeks' time my mom will be going under the knife.

The fear of the Unknown grips me like it did in my youth. Back when my cousins would tell me stories of the Boogey Man and Zombies that would eat my brain.

In all honesty, I don't know what to do or how to shake this feeling. What I do know is that I need off this hook... Pronto!

Moving. Being. Changing.

It’s fall – one of my favorite times of year.

Sitting here at my desk, looking out onto the lake and the geese drifting about, I had a flashback to this time last year when I drove along the Blue Route on my way to visit with EuroRebs.

I remember where my heart was then: Pained and exhausted; broken and helpless; searching for moments to breathe, to be at peace; hopeless and desperate for change; almost too far gone and at my wits end. Frazzled.

Driving along that long lonely stretch of road, I was struck dumb by the fiery leaves of Penn’s Woods. Reds and golds and maroons, greens and browns – colors so vivid that my heart couldn’t help but sigh and appreciate life, however hard it was.

Looking back now, I’m amazed and so deliciously humbled and thankful. That broken, tired, hungry girl I was for so long is slowly maturing, slowly growing into herself and finding the joy, peace and comfort that come when you jump into the fiery fields and gleefully molt the old parts so the new ones might sprout through the debris.

It’s odd though. I just spent a moment in the ladies room teary-eyed, strangely sorrowful that I’m no longer the Annie we all once knew. Like that old pair of ratty jeans or that nearly threadbare but oh-so-cozy sweatshirt you just can’t get rid of, I’m finding it hard to let go of her. To let go of her is to close the chapter on a story that was so familiar and predictable. (I wonder if I’d just become accustomed to pain. How very strange.)

People close to me have discovered - long before I had even realized - that I’ve changed and am not who I once was. They tell me in puzzled fashion how I seem more at peace – happier, lighter and calmer than I was before; that moving to this random city we all knew so little about was actually the best thing for me.

Surprise, surprise!

Surprises Around Every Corner

I’ve had a lot on my mind the last few days. A huge opportunity that I’d never asked for just sort of plopped in my lap on Friday and has been looming on my conscious for a better part of the weekend.

It’s odd when things like this happen because, well… they never happen to me. I’ve never been one for whom things came easily. Everything required some amount of pleading and praying, pain and sacrifice, patience and crossed fingers. But this? It came straight out of the blue, perfectly wrapped in pretty paper, almost too good to be true.

It scares me to realize that, at this stage of my life, nothing is holding me back. I have no huge obligations or responsibilities. Nothing. No one. I am as free as a bird, and it’s terrifying.

Last night I cried in the bathroom, pleading with God to give me some reason to stay here in Nashville.

As weird as it sounds, there are parts of me that want for someone to beg me to stay. (A bit of my romantic side coming through, I suppose.) I want for a gallant knight to come running after me, and, with tears streaming down his face, grab my hand and tell me that his world would end without me near. Sadly… that’s not the case. At all. Hardly.

As I shared the news with friends here, there was this small sliver of hope that someone would express their deep heartache at the thought of me leaving so soon after arriving. But, that hasn’t really been the case. Instead, they have been... supportive. [gasp!] One friend was even as bold as to advise me to run after any and every opportunity that this life may throw at you. You can always come back is what he said. But, I can’t chase the wind like he does or jump headfirst into the rabbit hole. The fear of dying, of failing, of getting lost in the shuffle is enough to have me running for safety.

It’s so strange that this comes now. Now, that I’m finding my footing. Now, that I’m learning to enjoy my life here. Now, that I’m falling in love with my church and these friends who’ve etched out little niches in this tiny heart of mine.

And, I have to ask in all honesty, Why now, God? After three years of waiting and watching Him open doors to come here… Why… now? I’ve only been here six months. A blip in the radar. A mere paragraph’s worth in what I thought would be a chapter of my life. I feel as if the story, in many ways, has yet to fully unfold.

It's true, I can always come back. But... to what? Who knows how the sands of time will mark us (me) or how distance will loosen heartstrings? I already feel the strain of change in my relationships with the people back home in Philly. And Nashville, I am afraid, is just as transient a city as Philadelphia. As hard as I may try to keep in the loop, it's inevitable that phone calls and emails will be missed or spread apart as I live my life and you live yours.

I honestly don't know what (or to whom) I'd be returning.

I think of my friend Cameron and the tough decisions he needed to make when he was preparing to leave for the Peace Corps. He'll be away for two more years, and I wonder at the anxiety he felt as he realized that life would continue without him here, that he (this city and everyone else for that matter) would be different.

Reason would tell me that I should take the opportunity and run with it, gain all the experience I can, tuck it under my belt and head back here or onward to some other city. Caution tells me to tread softly – that to leave this position I’ve now had for a mere 4 months would be professional suicide. It tells me that I need to stay at least a year, gain experience, investigate and search out opportunities to work with the existing refugee populations and use these resources to the best of my abilities. And Faith tells me that either decision will be for His glory in the end. There are no mistakes in the grand story of Grace, after all.

It’s all too confusing. And, I’m having mild panic attacks. Daily.

#TruThursday (on Friday... Oops) aka If You Ever Wondered Why...

There is a brilliantly talented guy here in Nashville, a photographer by the name of Jeremy Cowart. In an effort to connect to people, he's started a little Twitter project called "TruThursday." The concept is that every Thursday he'll share things about himself he's normally not so open to share. Some funny, some embarassing, others defacing.

Because I don't Twitter, I wasn't sure how I would contribute to this "#TruThursday" concept. Instead of caving and getting a Twitter account, I decided to make a Note on FB. Below is my contribution:


[Here's my attempt at it. Untagged. If you stumble upon it, then, so be it... If not, then it will sit in this void]



I've been staring at the full moon the past couple of days in a sort of wanderlust mixed with the faintest of melancholy.

Tonight as I "ran", Sleeping At Last's "Keep No Score" playing on trusty, old Engelbert Humperdink (aka iPod), the perfume of wet Earth and fresh laundry wafting through the night air, I felt my heart begin to tear. Memories I hid deep within taunted me as they forced themselves up to the surface and flooded my eyes.

I thought of my dad and my heart broke. Again.

It's been a dozen years since the divorce. Half that since I last heard his voice or saw his aging face.

As I think of him, I am filled with a longing, with a deep sense of... emptiness.

Running through the darkness, the memories soured within. Like bile, my body heaved unsuccessfully to rid itself of them.

If I am to be utterly honest -- and if I really allow Truth to illumine my heart and reveal its hidden parts -- you would see that I am quite scared and find it terrifying to trust others at times. I am prone to fears of abandonment and rejection, of being unloved. Unloveable. Forgotten.

For the past few years, I have consciously let people see all this brokenness (well, at least the parts I allow them to see). I've unwrapped these broken wings and hoped for gentle hands to take care in handling them (me). However emotionally risqué and draining, letting people in has been cathartic. Ironically, though, the fear is rising up again...

As I let a new set of people in and give way to this life unfolding in Nashville, I am nervous. [Truth be told, there have already been some here who have not taken heed to my pleas to be gentle and patient and who have instead trampled my heart to the ground.]

All this I confess to say that I am angry with my "dad". Still. Even now. 12 years later. [I thought I was passed it all.]

This man who was ordained (charged) by Heaven itself to protect and steer me bailed when things became difficult. LONG before the divorce. Just when I was growing into me, into my skin (into a woman), he was checking out emotionally. [Parenthood just wasn't as fun as he'd thought, I suppose.]

This person who was to show me how a man should treat me and what one of godly, God-fearing integrity looked like, didn't. Instead he was absent at best; angry and burdened by us at worst.

I was supposed to be the apple of his eye. He was supposed to tell me that I was his princess. That I am beautiful. That only the luckiest, most special of men would be worthy of me. But, he didn't and never has.

Most days I can repress these fears and thoughts. Most days I am able to laugh and love and live. But, every once in a while, I find a way back to this Trail of Tears. And when I do, it's a struggle to remind myself of the Truth. That...

I.
AM.
LOVED.


Deeply and wholly and intimately.

There is One who painstakingly and thoughtfully, penned every part of my story and weaved every inch of this tapestry that is my life. There exist pages in this book He's written in me that are stained with tears of joy and heartache, others He's dog-eared and bookmarked as important life-changing moments in my life He'd like to keep record of (for my sake).

I want to be thankful for it all, honestly, I do... But... it's a hard pill to swallow sometimes when there's a full moon on the horizon and you're body is retching to let go of the pain.

Elmer Fudd-isms (or Just Plain Duck Hunting)

It’s That Time of Year Again: Duck Hunting Season (Not Really)


My office looks out onto a lake/wildlife preserve just outside of downtown Nashville. It’s really a pristine and relaxing view to be able to look out upon. All day ducks, geese and heron placidly drift through the water.

Within this gaggle of geese and paddling of ducks, you’ll find a peculiar specimen: an odd looking water bird. I am told he belongs to some weird species of duck that is much larger than his mallard brothers. He is possibly the ugliest thing you could see -- a mugwort breed of duck and buzzard with a bleach white head and red patches above his eyes.

In ways he reminds me a lot of myself. Like him I often feel quite awkward, a bit out of place, swimming about in the pond with the rest, but at my own pace and in my own little world. I mostly feel like this as I try to figure out this man-woman, duck hunt called “dating.”

It’s a strange phenomenon, this whole mating ritual. Guys strut about town, their feathers out in display for all to see. (Here in Nashville they take on the plumage of tattoos, emo-wear, low-cut V-necks and band-age) The girls do their share of primping, corseting, curling, and painting themselves as well.

Then, there’s me.

On good days I feel presentable (at most) and hope my character (however marred and in need of editing) would make up for my deficiencies. But, like that water-buzzard, I feel strangely out of place. Different. Following from a distance. Observing. Watching (and waiting) for a sign of interest. (A mating call, if you will.)

I realize more and more why so many of us are still single, still searching, still out in the fields with our whistles waiting for someone to take notice. We’re all stuck in our heads. In our ideals. In our daydreams of what “perfection” looks like.

More and more, I feel as if time is buffing out the things that were so precisely carved out of my own Pygmalion creation. I’m learning that the heart -- a man’s character and beliefs -- his integrity and passions are more attuned to how this heart is moved. Looks matter, yes, but the heart (of a man) is what I’m hoping to understand, to hold, to cherish. All the rest is just peacock plumage - pretty packaging that fades and wears and, more often than not, distracts from what is inside.

May(Be) December Romance

You might tire of me,
Because our December sun is setting;
I’m not who I used to be...
["Brothers On a Hotel Bed", Death Cab For Cutie]

Recently, I’ve held strongly to a posture of vulnerability. Of trusting and entrusting. It’s scary to be this open though, especially for people like me who are held together with fraying ropes. To allow others to see the brokenness and the refuse of life you’re so apt to sweep under a rug or stuff in a closet to forget about is... horrifyingly terrifying.

It’s a gamble every day. A high stakes game. And, yes, sometimes we’ll tilt or go bust. Sometimes people will take advantage of us, hurt us and run off with the part of our hearts we’ve been so happy to share.

BUT…

If I (we) am to grow into a more loving, honest, grateful person, I need to proceed with abandon (as hard as it is).

I’m terrified. Really terrified. Scared-cat-on-a-tin-roof-during-a-lightning-storm terrified. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart, romantically speaking. And, in all honesty, I’ve done such a bang up job of building a wall of disinterest and “friendliness”, remaining in these daydreams with all their overly-romantic Jane Austen-esque ideals , I’m afraid I don’t know how to steer through the stormy seas of romance.

* * * * *

A dear friend and I once shared how we were always stuck in the most-hated “friend zone”— she for one reason and me for another. But, I realize she is, in ways, more apt to navigate these waters than I. I am much too scared to even take a step forward. I straddle the line - one foot in the rocky boat with all its promises of love and warm embraces (and possible heartbreak, tears and pain) and the other foot planted firmly on the dock of singleness that I’ve grown so accustomed to. Suffice it to say, I am a land-lover... apparently.

To be honest, I don’t even know what it would feel like to be the object of someone else’s affections. To be counted beautiful, not “pretty.” To be thought captivating and enchanting, not odd or strange or weird. To know that a man would want to (would choose to) know me… and love me. For me. Not because of my talents or my "it" factor, but... Just. For. Me.

It’s so much easier to play in the waters of friendship. But, I’m finding my heart pulling me towards the unknown depths a lot more these days. The currents of time are pushing me out farther and farther from the shore without my knowledge, without my consent.

I guess we can say that our little Annibelle is growing up.

How terrifying.