Stuck in a Moment...

... and I can't get out of it.

I'm realizing more and more these days that I am a limited being. In every sense of the word:

Physically
I hobble to and fro on a knee that's still trying to figure out if it wants to cooperate with the rest of my body and allow me the chance to be fully mobile once more. I want to run and swim and walk without wincing when you buckle, damn you!


Mentally
There are days I'm almost positive I'm showing signs of early dementia. Have to be... What other excuse could there be for constantly losing the remote? Or my train of thought for that matter?


Relationally
Perhaps the area of greatest deficiency. In looking at my heart the past few days/weeks, I realize more and more that I'm not as nice as you all think I am. It scares me to think that I may possibly be incapable of love. Real love. The kind that gives without expecting. That is unconditional. Without limits. That forgives and is understanding. That kind of love. And sadly, I feel undeserving of it a lot lately.

I know this particular deficiency (my limited, stunted ability to love others) is due in large part to my lackluster pursuit of Christ these days. I don't know what's going on within me or what these invisible, seemingly impenitrable barriers before me are, but... I want -- nay, need -- to break out.

I want to love selflessly and unconditionally as You do, Lord... I just don't know how.

While sitting here reading at a nearby coffee shop, I overheard one of the baristas say to the other:

Just one lonely soul left...

How very fitting, indeed.

Somewhere In Between

I've been feeling at a loss a lot lately. Displaced. Unloved. Forgotten.

Truthfully, as much as I'd rather not admit it, I sometimes need to know I matter to you -- even if just a little bit. A kind word. A phone call. A smile or hug to know that I'm not as alone as I'm feeling these days...

It's tiring for people like me to constantly be the ones reaching out. Hold out your arms long enough and they'll start shaking and ache from exhaustion.

That's where I'm at. Exhausted. Tired of reaching out only to have nothing there to grasp.

Everything inside wants to just retract from everything... Live in my head. In my tiny, solitary world. To rely on me and me alone. To not care at all for anything/-one anymore. To be like the rest of the world and think of myself and my agenda and nothing else.

I hate this place I'm finding myself these days.

Hate it.

Fighting the urge to tune everything and everyone out...

Christmastime is Here...

It's now officially Christmas. Jesus' "birthday." A time of celebration and quiet thankfulness... Or so we'd all like to think.

While visiting with childhood friends, their father (my old pastor) and one friend's new baby, it struck me how quickly Christmas snuck up on all of us and how fast 2009 has flown past. You see, this will be the family's second Christmas without their mother. It will have been a year and a half since she was killed in a tragic car accident. I still can't believe it.

As we sat there reminiscing about the old times, I couldn't help but glance about the living room at pictures of their mother. Family photos. Graduation pictures. Small momentos of a women who loved/lived/served well. It was bittersweet -- to know that she was gone from this earthly realm and would never meet her grandson or witness anymore milestones in the life of the family she loved so well.

Going about the day (and the week for that matter), my heart and mind have been elsewhere. Distracted. Drifting. In a season when my heart could have been gratefully reflecting on the miraculous, immeasurable divine gift our Savior, I wasted moments in self-indulgence and gluttony in every sense of the word.

I'm short-fused lately. People cannot/will not live up to my expectations. I feel somewhere in-between and as if I stick out like a sore thumb everywhere I go. I am perturbed to put it nicely.

All of this restlessness came full circle today as I watched everyone (including me) run around in a frenzy:
- Watching as my mom battled her guilty conscious at not being able to give anything to our old pastor's family nor to my brother or I (we've been in the habit of not exchanging gifts for a number of years simply because we'd all be broke)

- Attending a Christmas Eve service with the church I'd left, my calloused heart drifted toward cynicism, judgement and impatience.

- Going to a friend's house, I labored to tolerate friends who'd somehow decided that on Christmas Eve it would be fun to get annoyingly loud and piss-drunk playing drinking games to then go and spend the rest of the night berating people (some who weren't even present and many of whom have since left the church).

- Checking in on Facebook, I'm bombarded with statuses about last-minute Christmas shopping or gift-wrapping.

Thinking back on all of this, I can't help but fear how skewed our (my) thoughts (still) are about this all-too-important holiday season.

Lord, please forgive me/us... We know all too well what we do and don't do.

Back to the Future?

I'm realizing again a feeling of transition. Of being in a familiar state of limbo. I don't like it. I don't like me when I'm here. This place of limbo will often have me questioning and doubting everything and everyone. Questions arise within my mind and heart. Do I belong? And, if so, where? Do I matter at all? (In the grand scheme of things, no because Christ, hopefully, matters more in my life.)

It's a heaviness that I'd thought I'd finally unburdened myself of. But, Loneliness, Confusion and Melancholy are stirring up again. I don't like it.

Donner. Party of 8

I'm sitting on the floor of my living room. Bored. Out. of. my. mind. (Oh, did I mention I'm back home for the holidays in Philadelphia?)

Although fortunate to arrive a day ahead of the snowstorm that stranded at least one friend of mine who was hoping to get home, I am now cageed in my childhood home. Have been for the past 3 days actually.

Friends are all miles away, and, when your car is stuck in nearly 20 inches of snow, it's impossible to drive any distance to see them. No matter how much you want to. Not even if they may prove to be the antidote to the Cabin Fever you've suffered for the past 2 days.

My only companionship is Nigel (the laptop), cable television, my brooding brother and my incessantly nagging mother who doesn't seem to know what an "inside voice" is supposed to sound like.

I'm going stir-crazy. Someone help me... Please.

Self Portraits

I'm bone-tired. My feet hurt. My head reels. And I just want to crawl into a ball here on the floor of Fido and sleep by the construction paper fire place. Like a cat. [Maybe bear would be a better choice of words?]

If you care to know, I spent the entire day volunteering at Help-Portrait Nashville.

It was amazing. My mood, however, fluctuated.

Reflecting back on the day, I realize how very thin are the veils of patience and kindness that I profess to wear so proudly. A few people rubbed me the wrong way and my immediate response was frustration, anger and the occasional death stare.

Some of the people were impatient, others ungrateful or pushy. One volunteer completely took advantage of my helpfulness and ran off to hobnob while I tended to my group and hers.

In all of this, I learned (again) how very self-righteous I can be. As I walked around, I felt the Grinch within grumble.

I don't know what to make of this other than the simple truth that I need Jesus. A whole lot. More than you or I could ever know...

Winter Wanderlands

every now and then, it grips me –
this feeling of wanderlust
of wanting.

perhaps these slow, silent winter nights awake within me
a yearning
my soul’s sighing

I wait for you –
(im)patiently
trusting you’ll come near

until then, I’ll rest here
safely amidst these blankets of night;
waiting for you

wherever you are


- 2009|12.10

Fearless?

During my lunch today, I went down to my landlord's office to complain about the lights in my apartment -- the lights that have not been working for TEN STRAIGHT DAYS now! I confidently (and politely) asked for compensation for the month. He told me it was fine to not pay rent until he was sure the electrical problem was fixed.

You might ask why I bother to bring this up. Why this is so noteworthy as to post on this boring blog no one reads. I mention this because, well, had this been a few years ago, I don't think I would have been as bold.

I lacked the gumption I have now (or am learning to have).

I think about how far I've come. This meek little sparrow, so prone to hide in the shadows. I'm reserved still, yes, but... I'm OK with it.

Always have been actually.

I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm... (Not Really)

I'm sitting in my tried and true little neighborhood coffeeshop, Fido, at the coveted table by the outlets. The right leg elevated and resting on a chair to give my injured knee a bit of a reprieve from a day's worth of pounding the pavement and climbing stairs.

It's cold, so cold in here. I'm wondering if the guys in the kitchen are walking around in their skivvies, cranking up the AC so they won't succumb to the heat. You know what they say: "If you can't stand the heat... turn up the AC."

But, as cold as I am, as blue as my fingers and toes are turning and as red as my nose must be, I'd rather sit here in this arctic tundra than go home to a dark apartment and watch more movies.

It's funny, Frank Sinatra was playing on the speakers a short while ago... Crooning some nonsense about how love will keep you warm. Somehow, sitting here in the cold, ill-prepared for an indoor winterfest, I'm highly doubting any amount of lovey-doviness will keep me from hypothermia's doorstep.

My Poor Mother

I’m realizing that I’m actually enjoying singlehood. A little too much perhaps.

I think of friends who suffer unrequited love or disappointment and frustration with the opposite sex; and others, still, who long to be in “a relationship.”

Maybe finding myself living this Bohemian life – taking baths and living with scarcely any furnishings (or cash to remedy that), no TV or internet at the apartment (yet) – has somehow offered me a rare treasure: Solitude.

I’ve always been a bit of a loner – forever just a tad off center and out of the spotlight; marching (or skipping) to my own tune. Quirky. Trying to find humor and lightness wherever I can… knowing that dark days are bound to visit.

There are those who lose themselves in the fairytales of soul mates. and others who daydream, seeking out their idea of “perfection” in this very imperfect world. Some sulk or beat themselves up and wring their tear-soaked hands, sure that Cupid has missed the mark or forgotten them. In all of this clamor and dizziness, I’m finding the comfort of being alone. Knowing that it is only temporary and completely out of my hands like so many other things in my life, I’m enjoying the freedom of being unattached with new freshness.

I realize that for people like me who are prone to give too much of themselves and wear their resources thin, seasons of solitude are necessary. My head spins and my emotional fortitude wane as I think of how much it would take to care for someone the way he deserves (the way I would want for him to be loved and for him to love me) when I am still learning to love and trust these people who surround me now and slowly re-living this most sacred romance with my Savior.

Some envision falling in love to be a fiery storm of heated passion, whirlwinds that sweep you away and lightning strikes that ferociously land without warning. And, all my imagination can conjure are evenings of quiet, summer breezes: warm and inviting. Or of gentle streams that flow into grand rivers and oceans over time cradling two hearts along their placid currents. All I can do is wonder as I wait… a bit more patiently then before.

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.

Morning Glories

Today, for no reason at all and without my phone’s prompting, I woke up. Early.

As I lay in bed, half-groggy, half-alert, the sun slowly rising to greet the day, I began to daydream:

Of hopes and dreams and future things.
Of love and marriage,
Of horses and carriages
Of hands to hold
and sweet kisses on foreheads

I dreamt about what could be and smiled in eager anticipation.

Then, reality struck me in the head and I awoke to the day, showered and drove to work.

Such is the story for this morning glory.

Departures

Last night a couple friends and I gathered at a small, historic theater here in Nashville called the Belcourt. It’s a captivating place, which drowns you in a sort of nostalgia of the senses. The smell and sights of old wood, of screens flanked by ornate draperies and gilded carvings cause you to feel as though you are about to experience something other-worldly, something void of time or reality in a way. And, yet, the quirky rotation of artwork in the foyer brings you to moments of giddiness as you realize how very ironic it all is. The old and the new converging like they do here? It's Nashville epitomized.

I had been waiting to see Departures for a few weeks and had convinced these friends of mine to join me. But, out of an odd turn of events and scheduling conflicts, the gang of many became a small party of three.

We purchased our tickets and headed into the theater, purposely missing the previews for Jeff’s fear that we’d be sucked back into the belly of the whale that is the Belcourt and find ourselves here again for the next consecutive weeks to follow. [I snuck a peek at one of the previews and am now obsessed with watching an upcoming French film the title and viewing schedule I have no inkling of an idea about. I confess: I have an addiction… My name is Annie and I love movies.]

I was ill-prepared for the movie. It struck chords and unearthed things in me I had thought I’d tucked away so neatly, so deeply, that I would be unmoved by what we were about to experience.

I was so very wrong!

The unassuming movie about a young man’s struggle with losing one passion and finding another was captivating. His unresolved familial issues, however, undid me. I wasn’t expecting a movie about a mortician’s assistant to move me so, to rip apart the poorly stitched tears in my heart, but it did.

I thought of my father.

Like the main character, I often find myself forgetting his face. It’s been more years than I can remember since my brother or I have heard from him. The only pictures I have lie hidden in a box back home in Philadelphia where most of my memories reside.

He is, in many ways, a lifetime away.

Lately, I have been reminded of his absence. I look back to recent pictures I’ve taken with friends here and see him in me - the way his eyes would scrunch, the way deep furrows would appear around his mouth whenever he smiled. These things, these and his hands, are all I have of him now. And I stare in a sort of disbelief, a sort of bewilderment that numbs me to the core.

A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet…

I think of him on occasion. Of all the things he’s missed out on and will miss out on because of the foolish decisions he’s made. Birthdays. Weddings. Births. Grandchildren. Great-Grandchildren. And, it grieves me.

On bad days, I would rather erase him from my life (memory) completely, days when I hate even the sound of my surname. A name that has proven to bring much delight and pages of puns for some friends of mine. [I don’t mind, really, as they can (on occasion) be quite amusing.]

Sure, there are days I find myself daydreaming of the day when I will take on another’s (name) and it brings a sigh of bittersweet relief… momentarily. Yet, these three little letters (C, H and O) are my only connection to him. And, to finally let them go?

I can’t even begin to imagine the loss.

SHE

Yesterday, while at my wit's end at having spent over 4 hours driving all over town in a failed attempt to finally, legally, become a Tennesseean, I met her. In the heat of the day and in the fogginess of exhaustion, the eyes of my heart found this unassuming old woman aimlessly walking about a parking lot full of luxury cars, across from the ritzy stores of the Green Hills mall.

She reminded me of the face of a famous Dorothea Lange photo -- the same forlorn and distant gaze of hopelessness in her eyes. The same leathery face, weathered from the sun and years of a hard life, now etched on the slate of my memory.

There was a distinct heaviness about her, a shroud of shame almost. As we walked towards Starbucks, her slow, pained steps broke my heart. I glanced down at her feet squeezed into canvas sneakers much too small and knew they revealed more than I was privy to -- a confession that it had been days since she'd last known rest. I was sure she was hungry, but she refused everything I offered, only asking for money to "go home." Her words still echo in the recesses of my mind.

There are so many like her these days. My sinful heart's initial reaction is to look away, to pretend that this is not a reality when I know it is. The piles of cases and letters and stories at work can testify to the fact that for many, survival is a moment by moment ordeal. These faceless stories are reminders that nothing is guaranteed.


(Well, almost nothing.)

Time to Play Ketchup (er, CATCH UP)

First things first: I must apologize for my MIA status here in posting anything new. Fortunately for me (and perhaps all of you) no one reads this.

..........

A friend once said that she'd love to blog, but can never find the time to do so. She was too busy living/managing life. I guess it's a good thing that I've been in absentia for nearly two months then...


In the 6 or 7 weeks I've been "gone" life has indeed gotten in the way. Like a rushing, unpredictable wind, the gamut of the human experience has blown in and out of this quiet life of mine. Death and life, love and heartache, the ugliness of (my own) sinfulness, sickness and health, loss and (true) gain have all found their way here.

Friendships have been tested and some have fallen apart, crumbling into pieces so small I don't think they'll ever be forged together again. Thankfully, though, as is always the case when you are under the watchful, attentive eye of someONE so loving and faithful, I am (still) OK. Better even. Stronger despite the sadness that lingers. In losing one thing, I've gained much more... much better.

..........

Tonight I read through an old conversation I had with a once-friend-now-stranger. A two-hour dialogue about faith and the hope we find when things go so poorly and life (and love) seem to be against us. It's been nearly two months since I've spoken with him and we have made every effort to pretend the other is invisible, which proves much more difficult than I realized when you've allowed someone to enter in and see the mess that is your life and hope that same person will proceed with caution and, yes, appreciation of this heart you've let so few hold.

..........

There is an old Arabian proverb humbly hung on a wall in my office. In the five months I've been there, it's the first time these eyes so accustomed to seeing the details of life have found it. I read the sweet, honest prose and smiled:

A friend is one to whom
one may pour out all the contents of one's heart,
Chaff and grain together;
knowing that the gentlest of hands will take and sift it,
keep what is worth keeping,
And, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away

The Game of Life

I’ve been thinking a lot about life the past few days and weeks. What it means. What our purpose is here.

As I sit here praying and hoping for the best for the sick parents of two friends, I think about what an honor it is to be gifted with life. Out of millions of people and an infinite number of DNA combinations that could have been pieced together, each of us was perfectly, lovingly and wonderfully designed by the masterful hands of a great Creator God. Where we are, who we are, when we are, are all His doing.

There is a call, I think, to strive to be more than we are comfortable with being. Our lives are so short here – a mere breath in the scope of time. Deep down we all know this to be true. I think it’s the reason why we all have this innate desire to want to “make a name” for ourselves. We will toil and work endlessly, sacrifice relationships and rest, and all for what? So we can show how much we’re worth? The car you drive, the clothes you wear, the achievements and accolade, it’s all bunk. When we are gone, no one will remember you as the cool guy with the awesome sports car, or that girl with the perfect skin whom all the boys fell head over feet for. In the end, all that will remain of us is our character and how well we lived.

When I am long gone, I don’t want it said of me that I had pretty hair or that I dressed/sang/wrote/cooked well. I hope that people will remember my actions, the way I loved, the way I served.

God has placed us here, each of us, to be His hands and feet -- His heart pouring out for a broken, suffering world. It’s a high calling, and we will fail (alone), that is a given.

It isn’t easy at all to be this… even for people like me. People gifted (or cursed) with “bleeding hearts” as AllieDearest would like to say. There are days I’d rather do what I want without regard for those around me, days I’d rather treat myself well than sacrifice for another, days I’d rather be cold and selfish especially when people hurt me, days when my sinful heart gets the best of me and shows an ugliness that I cannot bear or control. But, I am learning that in being obedient, in doing as He desires, in (trying to) love as He does, in practicing forgiveness (even when it hurts to), my heart changes… hopefully. In time it warms, becomes more malleable and eventually fits a little more snuggly into the mold He originally designed for me. The one I was always intended to fit, but was too cold, too stubborn and unyielding to want to be squeezed into.

I was (am) a square peg when I was intended to be a round one.

We all are.

Quote of the Day

Only the person who has experienced light and darkness, war and peace, rise and fall, only that person has truly experienced life. - Stefan Zweig

I have experienced all these and more... But I wouldn't be as bold as to say that I have yet to fully experience life in all its temporal splendor.

Today two very iconic figures passed away just a handful of hours apart. In hearing of these celebrities' passings, I'm reminded of the reality of death. It's sobering to be sure.

I have no idea how many breaths are left in these lungs nor how many beats this heart will toll before it is forever silent. Who knows? No one does, except the One who first breathed life in us (me). In all honesty, I don't like it, not one iota. Being the planner that I am, I'd like to be prepared so I might attempt to accomplish things I've been too financially/emotionally hesitant to tackle.

But it's not up to me, is it?

All I can do - all any of us can do really - is to be good stewards of this gift of life we've been given. To love freely. To give and sacrifice for one another without keeping tabs. To pour out grace, mercy and forgiveness. To reflect Him who gives life and conquered death.

After the Dust Has Settled and the Cannons Have Cooled.

I am in mourning over a friendship I knew had ended months ago. One that I had hoped would still work, despite differences. Sadly, it cannot. At least not right now. Perhaps never.

Last night, after all was confirmed, I went to Centennial Park to join the crowds watching Batman that night. I had hoped it would distract my heart and mind for at least a few hours. But, I was in no mood to watch. Instead, I called my good friend Jess and poured out my heart to her.

I cried. A lot. Tears at being so hurt. Tears for hurting people. And I wonder where God is here. What purpose there was to all of this. What I am to learn. How I am to grow and stand as bruised as I am.

I had always lived by a motto of hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. But, in this situation, I don't know what the best is. I don't know what to hope for nor what to hope in for that matter.

I just pray nothing worse happens. I don't think I can handle it.

A Dangerous Combination

I realized today that I am an old soul with childlike dreams and ideals.

It's a dangerous combination.

Utter Randomness

Yes. Randomness. It is Tuesday after all. Tuesdays are sort of like middle children - forgotten and under-appreciated.

Dear Tuesday, this one's for you.

Happy (Birth)Days

Last night a bunch of people gathered for a friend's birthday. It was my first invite to something celebratory as that since moving here and it warmed my heart to see her face light up as she opened the present some friends had chipped in to get her. Her face was illumined with utter joy, shock and thankfulness. Like a child opening up presents on Christmas day she squealed with delight and exclaimed repeatedly how grateful she was. It was a good night -- full of laughter, wine, sweets and song. It's nights like that that remind me why I love this town. Why I was drawn here in the first place. It will hopefully be part of the reason I stay... Should I stay.


Aging Gracefully

I read this verse today and it made me laugh:

Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life. (Proverbs 16:31)

Sometimes I forget God has a sense of humor.

"Martha, Martha! How Does Your Garden Grow?"

Gardens are not made by singing, "Oh, how beautiful," and sitting in the shade. - Rudyard Kipling

Living here in Nashville, I've been perplexed and saddened at the overwhelming sense of individualism and self-centeredness. I see it most prominently, unfortunately, in the eyes and walks of those who profess the same faith I do. Their relationship with Christ, like every other relationship in their lives, is theirs -- you will have no access to it unless it is at the volition of the individual. They set the rules for how long or deep it will go, of how deep they'll let God move or impact them. And of how comfortable they are in making Him visible/tactile in their lives. Like every relationship, they determine and set the guidelines for how they encounter God and how/when they meet with Him. I'm learning in my own life that I have done the same. (They say you will see your deepest sins in the people around you.)

There are days when I want to ask people what Christ, His death and resurrection means to them because more often than not confessions won't match character and actions will deceive words. We all want to say that we believe Him, but only when it's convenient.

I'm not saying that we need to be fanatics (I certainly am not one!) or that we need to be clanging bells with our faiths (definitely not) but there is concern when faith/belief is expressed so subtly that it could easily be overlooked and missed. Forgotten.

I am relearning that I need to have Christ at the center of my life and every relationship whether "Christian" or "secular." If He is not, than I am lost to my heart's emotions, the waves that crash and break and disrupt the stillness and confidence He provides, the dark thoughts that flood my mind in times of utter loneliness. I will drown in disillusionment, in the expectations of myself/others, in the brokenheartedness and foggy, sludgy mire of a life not focused on Him.

I need Christ. I need for Him to matter.

Some may read this and think me pretentious, haughty, naive, accusing, judgmental or lofty, but this -- this need to have Christ drive every moment, is me -- this is what my heart longs for and needs to survive. This is the air that fills my lungs, the strength to take another step, the courage to stand. This is how I must tend to this garden. This is how and where God will take plow, shears and hoe to hand to remove the weeds of selfishness, self-reliance, doubt, fear and worry. I need for my heart and mind to be more intentional and proactive in their actions. (I fail at this. Daily.)

There's a lot of work that need to be done here. A lot.

Dede (Edit)

I had a very deep conversation with a fellow Ellie's Run for Africa volunteer named Dede this morning.

I've always been drawn to older people ever since I was a child. Perhaps it's the general sense of calmness that surrounds them, the quiet assurance and confidence that comes from living life and learning from the many mistakes of the past? I don't know. All I know is that I was completely at ease with Dede as I poured out my heart to her under the shade of a tall tree at the edge of the course marked out along the grassy terrain of Percy Warner Park.

We had met on Friday and decided to be partners in tearing down one of the tents (a proposedly furious storm that night threatened to rip apart every tent pitched up earlier in the afternoon). We talked a bit about my move here to Nashville, about her move here from Texas years ago when she and her husband were still dating. I shared a tiny morsel of my family and my past.

This morning as I headed over to the park to help tear-down at the conclusion of the race, I ran into Dede again. Her face lit up, she ran over to me, wrapped her arms around me and told me she had been praying for me last night. I was touched.

A couple hours passed and I wandered around talking to a couple musician-friends/acquaintances, people I'd met back home in Philly when I helped out with some of their shows. It wasn't until the end of the morning that I ran into Dede again.

We stood under that tree and talked. I poured out my heart -- all the frustrations, fears and hurts I'd experienced in the short time I've been in Nashville. She understood. Completely. And as I shared about 2 friends who'd hurt me the most in my "short" time here, the ones who've caused me the greatest heartache and from whom I've felt the most rejected, she could only say 2 words: Release them. Release them from the obligations your broken/needy heart has placed on them, from the hurt they've caused you, from their inability to understand you (or want to for that matter). When you release them, you'll finally be able to fully forgive them.

There is wisdom to be gleaned from our elders, from those to whom we've been fortunate to be bound to in God's beautifully full family.

I am thankful for Dede and am thankful for each of you -- for the ways you pray for, encourage and challenge me to grow. For the ways you remind me of the Truth that I can't seem to see during the hailstorms of life and in my stubbornness.

A Storm's a Brewin'

After the goings on at work today, I'm nearly positive that my time there is coming to an end. It's been a daily concern lately, wondering when I'll be called into the director's office and told that they won't be needing me to come in anymore. Looking at my paltry "savings" and wondering how long I can realistically "live" here before I start making plans to move back home where I will be in the same situation I am now, but living rent free.

I am physically queasy. My innards are nervous and knotted. I want to rip my skin off because all of this discomfort.

Tonight as I lay here on my bed, the fear and worries molesting every part of my heart, mind and soul, it rains. A storm has been brewing all day and the clouds have finally released their tears. The sky is grumbling as lightning plays a game of peek-a-boo behind heavy blue-gray clouds.

Part of me wants to go and stand in the middle of the storm -- to be physically and emotionally drenched. I want the outpouring of heaven to wash away all these fears.

I have no idea what to make of this, nor what tomorrow will hold. And, quite honestly, I hate it!

It's sink or swim, fight or flight time and all I'm feeling is defeated, deflated and discouraged beyond belief.

If you're in a praying mood... now is the time.

Retro-Active

I'm quieting my mind at the moment, having just left AllieDearest's house a short while ago where we watched a New In Town and chatted about Nashville life (men). I feel full now, even as my stomach threatens to growl and demand (post-)midnight snackage.

Throughout the day I've been considering whether or not I should return to Philly. Life is hard here and is so full of uncertainties. Songs and chords left open, unresolved. I wonder if I'm made of tougher stuff than I think. And wonder if wisdom would agree with my rationale: that going back home would be easiest and the least traumatic on my finances.

I've no idea what next month looks like. I may (or may not) have a job by then. As thankful as I am that my church-life here is starting to shape up nicely, I'm worried about a lot of things.

I know I ought not worry, but I do.

Life and Death and Everything in Between / Vagabondage

The Meaning of Life: The Great Debate (This One's Not)
There is a sudden urge to think of deeper things tonight.

It's still Monday as I type this, but just barely. My mind is sluggish as I've been fighting the pull to nap and sleep in fear of waking up before the dawn (again). As I recline here on my bed furnished by my very generous roommate and as I fight the desire to go out and buy more cute summer dresses (a first for me) and sandals I can't afford right now, I think about death and life and everything in between. There is a sadness stirring up. It's a sigh deep within me.

I think about the friends and family I left behind in Philadelphia, about security and creature comforts. I feel for my uncle and his family as they grieve the loss of his mother last Sunday, just short of a year after his father's passing. Wishing I were nearer. Wishing I could be there for my cousins. But, I am here in Nashville, almost 900 miles and 3.5 states away.

And, oddly, in thinking about transient and eternal things, of life and love and sickness and health, I think about the footprints we leave -- about the trace shadows and whispers of ourselves that echo in the souls of the people we touch. I think about all that we leave behind -- the fragments of self we are so stingy to dole out in the craze of schedules and appointments, of deadlines and dreams. And, I wonder if people will see me when I leave or the One in whose shadow I so drunkenly and crookedly stumble to follow.


Life as a Vagabond
I've been thinking a lot about the word home. I never quite felt at home in Philly and am definitely not feeling that here in Nashville. I fee like a vagabond most days -- wandering about the day, filling up time and space. Directionless. Lost. Bewildered. Alone.

Just last week JWoo asked how I was feeling about my move here. She wasn't the first to ask that week as I had a few others checking in on me as well. As I told her how settling in was proving to be slower and more difficult than I'd imagined, she asked if there was somewhere else I needed/wanted to be, if possibly another move was in order. The only response I could give was a shrug and an "I have absolutely no idea!" But, the more I ponder that, the more I realize like AnnieP shared last month at Bible study, I will never feel at home here. Perhaps I'm not meant to? Perhaps this constant uneasiness that I'm able to suppress most days was birthed from a deep longing and need inside me? Maybe this unyielding ache is my soul's beacon (beckoning) for the God who breathed life into it? A tracking signal for the One who already knows me, has already found me, and who never lost me in the first place?

I wonder how to remain present when all I can think of is the future and what it has/doesn't have in store. I wonder which of these friendships and ties will break and wither as I begin to feel the pain and hear the tearing and fraying of the ropes that bind us/me together. I wonder at my calling and purpose in life, about job security and benefits and all those things "entitled" to me. I long for something permanent, but am living day-by-day in the temporal. It's as if I'm staring into the face of an ominous black cloud and shaking in confusion.

I'm hoping in time I'll realize (and remember) that I'm not going head-to-head with some mysterious smoke monster, but simply walking in the cool shade of my Father's shadow.

Rolling Thunder, Hear My Cry!

Nashville has had its share of torrential storms in the past month. Today, for instance, sheets of rain fell from the sky unexpectedly while I sat at my desk and watched.

The funny thing about these storms is that they have a way of unearthing debris. As soon as they stop the pond just outside my office floods with broken branches and litter of all sorts. At once the pristine waterfront is covered with messiness.

It's a metaphor for life I think. Storms are evident in our lives and they will come and go unexpectedly leaving behind debris. Things we've kept hidden so well will rise to the surface and the messiness of our lives will show itself for all the world to see.

But, as with all things, life springs from the destruction and cleansing comes from the letting go of the waste in our lives.

The rain, the tears, bring a freshness that's often hard to see as you're running for cover and waiting for the storms to pass.

"Tell Me All Your Thoughts On God"

Today, after a gruesome 9-hours at work, I, on a whim, headed to Centennial Park to read. Up until now, I'd never done more than drive past it, but today was just too glorious a day to waste sitting in a coffee shop (however wonderful Fido can be).

I parked my car, pulled out my yoga mat from the trunk and found a quiet spot under the shade of 2 tall trees just a stone's throw from the lake and its fountains.

As I lay there reading, the last bits of sun dancing softly through the trees, I took a moment to breathe it all in. Reclined under the coolness of these tall arbors I was reminded of how very small I am in the grand scale of things. And yet, my Creator sees even me. As I observed the birds and squirrels dancing in the trees, a peace filled my heart (a first here) as I reflected on Matthew 6:26. And as I reflected, I heard God speak into the depths of me a promise to provide and satisfy my deepest longings and needs. A call to trust and wait on Him, my loving Father and attentive Creator. A command to set my worries, anxieties, fears and hurts aside.

Live each day with the courage and boldness to follow your convictions.
Love as I have loved you... even if others reject you.
Forgive.
Wait.
Trust.
Show compassion. Breathe mercy.
Love and forgive. Again and again and again...
Be joyful no matter what the situation (even when life hurts like hell) because you are dearly loved.
Find your hope and satisfaction in the One who knows you completely, intimately and wholly.

100!

Back when Korea was still war-torn and "developing", when infant mortality was mercilessly high, people valued each moment and breath of life. If a child survived her first 100days of life, the entire neighborhood was invited to join the family in celebration of the child's dol. The dol was (and is) a celebration of prosperity and longevity, of a strong and healthy life ahead.

June 7th marks my first 100days here in Nashville. It seems so insignificant to many, but to me it's symbolic because, in ways, I am an infant here. Everything is new and unfamiliar. Nothing is what I'd thought it would be. I am learning each day and finding the strength to walk. I am naive to this life here. But, I am growing more and more into who I am to become. These tentative steps I take now will become graceful strides wreaking of confidence soon enough.

I thought I'd never survive this long. I thought this day would never come. There were days I wanted to die and others when I just wanted to crawl under covers and weep (and I did... more often than I care to admit).

As stupid as it sounds, I want to celebrate with my lovely Nashville-folk, particularly those who've seen me through the roughest patches during the last 3months, when to be around me was unbearably uncomfortable and unnerving.

Hmmm... Maybe a picnic in Centennial Park is in order?

EDIT: A friend has brought to my attention an error I'd made. 100 days is a baek il not a dol. I was wrong! Either way, it's a long time coming. And I mean a LONG time coming!!!

The Changeling (or Metamorphosis)

I’m sitting here in Philadelphia International Airport, on my way back to Nashville from a visit home that was all too short.

The funny thing about going home after being away from it for any length of time is that the ties that connected you to it seem to oddly fray and loosen until they aren’t as taut as you had hoped or remembered. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, yes. But, it also makes the heart strings slack.

I’m going through a season of transition that is often times excruciatingly painful and hard to bear. There are days I walk about leaving a trail of tears, feeling as if all is coming undone within me and all anyone can do is watch - if they even choose to do that much.

Most would turn away, shake their heads and say, “[S]he’s still got such a long way to go.” - Remember Your Chains by Steven Curtis Chapman

In their attempts to “help” me, many people have tried to remind me how “strong” I am. How I’m tougher and more fit to bear this cross than I realize. That I only need to wait out this storm and “chill out” before all is well.

But I’ve realized that in going through all of this - in being torn apart and ravaged as it were – that God is doing something. He’s opening my eyes to my own folly. He’s showing me my weaknesses, my sins, my idols. It’s gruesome and painful to endure. I want to die! And, maybe, that’s what He’s calling me to do? To die to myself. To my need to feel appreciated and loved. To my loneliness that eats away at my sanity. To my need to matter.

Maybe this is where true strength is found? Not in pumping myself up or pulling myself together, but in opening up my hands and letting go of the fraying rope I’ve been holding onto for dear life. In letting my Creator break apart the pieces of this house I’ve constructed so He can rebuild me according to His design.

It’s not going to be pretty and I’m sure it’s going to be an ugly thing to watch. And, there will be moments when I’ll need LOTS of prayer and an encouraging word (and maybe even a hug every now and then).


I’m just hoping He speeds up the process...

… please, Lord?

"Baby, I Apolo-gize For All the Things I [Haven't] Done"

To all my (3) readers:

There is a ton I've wanted to share with you here, but I'm finding my words stifled and my mind cloudy these days. Please accept my apologies.

I will try my best to put these thoughts to words as soon as I am ready and able.

Stay tuned...

Clearly...

Trying to be transparent in an opaque city/world sucks.

I hate it. Hate it. HATE IT.

The end.

[A bit melodramatic? Possibly. But, it is how I feel at the moment.]

Reflections of the Way Life Used to Be...

Today is Easter. It is also the first holiday I've spent away from home since years ago when I'd gone to an Urbana conference Christmas/New Year's week. It was full. I am drained and wondering how I'll function in the morning, but would not trade it for anything in the world.

Pulling into the church parking lot, I prepared myself and legs for a long trek, but was happy to find someone from the earlier service pulling out as I was turning the corner. Knowing I was 20min late I assumed I'd be standing like Danny and I had to do weeks before and was second-guessing the wedge heels I'd worn. I'm no fan of blisters or sore feet. By the grace of God (really!), I found a seat up in the front and made myself comfortable around my fellow brothers and sisters. Everything was right for once.

We had a very celebratory time of reflection and worship today at church.

Shortly after the special choral program, a few volunteers participated in what was dubbed "The Cardboard Testimony". One by one, each person went up to the front holding a large sheet of cardboard and on it was posted their deepest secrets and hurts - the "before", if you will. Slowly and joyfully, they flipped the sheet to reveal the glorious "after", the ways in which God had brought restoration, forgiveness, healing and redemption. I was floored and could not help tearing up throughout the entire presentation.

A few of the stories hit close to home for me and for a friend of mine. I thought of him and his many hurts and my heart ached for him to be at church with me to witness this; to be reminded once again of the great, unfathomable, unsearchable, unending love of the Father. To know that He was not alone in his hurts, that others had suffered and overcome them, and that he could, too.

As I reflected on these lives, these hearts turned whole and full by the grace of forgiveness and mercy, I was struck silent, at once both thankful and heartbroken, in unease and yet happily at peace. Reflecting on where/who I once was and where/who I am now: A work in progress still. Ever growing. Ever faltering. Forever loved and forgiven. Accepted even when I am not. His and not my own.

You, Too in 3D

Lately, I've noticed a growing trend: Unavailable Availability.

With technology excelling as it is, new products and programs out on the market, Blackberries and iPhones, texting and Tweets, I've realized that many of us are becoming hermits. Even as I sit here typing this, I'm having 3 "conversations" on Facebook. All within the comfort of my own room. All without vocalizing a single thought or word. I find it more and more disturbing these days...

Am I bashing technology? No, of course not. Facebook and G-Chat offer the opportunity to communicate with friends and family across different timezones and continents. But, there is a coldness and distancing of ourselves I think.

My ears long to hear the distinctly personal inflections, patterns and rhythms of the human voice. My eyes take delight in seeing a warm smile or the way a person's nose might crinkle when s/he laughs. And, my heart warms when hearing a hearty laugh.

These little trinkets remind me that we are all the same: All human. Flesh, bone and spirit. Breathing and living this same life. All sojourners on this short, unmapped road. All struggling to find hope. Peace. Happiness. Fulfillment. Love.

I want to experience life with you. All of you. I want to hear your stories and know your heart. I want to witness the ways in which God is working out His Grace and Redemption story in each of you. To discover a facet of Him that only you possess, the individual markings left on you by your Creator that no one can quite see until we're inches from the canvas.

But, it's hard to do when I'm sitting here in my room, clicking away words that have not been uttered to ears that haven't really heard a word.

I think we need to do something about this... Don't you?

"I'm Going Nowhere And I'm [Having] to Take My Time"

It's Friday night. I'm now roughly 24 hours from a major milestone: 1 month in Nashville. Instead of being out and about the town, I am here... again. Alone. Again.


"Time after time"
I'm realizing more and more these days how little patience I have. As I sit here clicking away at the keys, I'm aggravated and stressed after a failed attempt to watch Kings on Hulu. I'm about as close to the window as I can possibly be without actually being outside and am still playing tug-of-war with borrowed internet signals. After an hour or so of trying to watch 30-minutes of the 120-minute, 2-part premiere, I've given up. Surrendered. You, Borrowed Signal, have won. Again.


"I won't leave, I can't hide, I cannot be, until you're resting here with me"
All day, I've been craving human contact. A hand to hold; a warm body to sit beside. But, as stated before, I am alone. Save for a few minutes down at the MOCHA office and at the Brentwood Harris Teeter, I have been alone to stew (ferment) all day.


"It's just the nearness of you..."
Loneliness heaves itself on me at the oddest moments and refuses to leave once it makes itself home. I've wanted to cry a lot tonight.

I never knew an introvert could ever hunger for social interaction. But, like many things about me, I've learned that I'm not quite like everyone else. I'm an anomaly in every way imaginable and it confuses me as much as it does all of you.


"Chase all the ghosts from your head... smarter than the tricks played on your heart"
My mind tells me that something is wrong with me. That I'm not fun/interesting enough to be around. That I'm not worth others' time or concern. And when I come across days like this, it's hard to believe otherwise.


"Wasn't trying to pull you in the wrong direction, I just wanted to make a connection..."
I want to discover and experience these people who have now entered into this part of my story, and in turn, I want to be discovered/experienced by them. Yes, it's unnerving and uncomfortable, but the beauty of being found is so worth it... at least to me.


"Yeah, you're working; building a mystery, and choosing so carefully..."
Days like this make me wonder if anyone wants to make that sort of effort anymore. If we're all satisfied with Tweets and comments on each others' walls. If the brief and superficial banter is enough. It's not for me - I'm left longing and hungry for more..


"In the still of the night..."
I want to take a walk in the cool night air to clear my head. To walk by shops and people simply to be physically near people. But, that would require me getting in my car and driving nearly half an hour to do so. The thought of having to do that is unbearably agitating.

So, I'll just sit here in the dark with my imagination... A scary thought I'm sure we've all come to realize.


"Your picture on my wall, it reminds me that it's not so bad..."
Lord, on days like this - days that seem so void of hope or comfort; days when I'm almost inconsolable - remind me of You. To know that the nearness of you is enough. To know that even when the sky is downcast like it is today, the sun still shines and fights to warm this heart and this face with its glow.

You Don't Always Get What You Ask For

I'm quickly learning that I need to erase any notion of what I thought to be life from my mind. I'm no longer in the city. Far from it actually. I am in the burbs!

Today was especially glorious. A cheery 70-degree day, full of sun and singing birds. It was quintessential Disney at its best.

In hopes of enjoying some part of the day (after spending the afternoon reformatting and sending out my resume) I put on my gym clothes and hiking sneaks and headed out to the trail my roommate recommended. As is the case with any outing I make now, I had to hop into Dino and drive to the neighboring development to go for my hike.

I was extremely excited.

All throughout the day I had envisioned walking along a gravel or dirt path with the scent of spring wafting all about me, happy birds singing their lovely songs above in trees that swayed with the breeze. Sadly, however, the trail was nothing more than a tiny winding sidewalk that wound all along the development's labyrinth.

I forced myself to walk along the "path" for about an hour (getting lost along the way) before I headed back to Dino and drove home unfufilled and desperate for nature.

Tomorrow, another gloriously beautiful and warm day, I, upon the recommendation of a friend, will head out to a honest-to-goodness nature trail. In the woods. Amidst trees. (I hope) Then it's off to Franklin to spend the night with some girls watching chick flicks.

Wish me luck.

Who Wants the Funk?

I don't, but it certainly has made itself quite at home here.

Last night I suffered a bout of homesickness. It hit hard in the most random of places: the Pei Wei in Green Hills.

After visiting another church, famished and unable to find anyone to join me for dinner, I went alone to Pei Wei. I ordered something my friend highly recommended and sat at a long table flanked by 2 couples enjoying dinner together.

My food came out and I was puzzled. The side of lo mein I'd ordered was nothing more than a bowl of dry, noodles. Perplexed I had it sent back and asked for the stir-fried version with veggies. The server returned with a bowl of the same dry noodles and steamed vegetables on top. Tired and hungry, I gave up and ate the odd concoction until my stomach would no longer allow me to.

The combination of visiting a strange church alone where not a single soul came over to say hello, eating alone again, not having spoken to anyone all day and now filling my mouth with weird "Asian" food, cracked the shell of confidence I'd successfully held up for 2 weeks.

I began to miss home. First, it was the yumminess of Chinatown. Then, the great restaurants in Philly. Then, Philly. And, finally, friends and family back home. Sitting in the middle of Pei Wei (by that time the only person left at that long, empty table), I was beginning to feel the aches of homesickness.

A heaviness of melancholy heaved itself on me. Tears began to well up and I did my best to push them down. I made it to the WholeFoods parking lot and into my car before the dam broke and the tears began to pour.

I cried all the way home.

It was the kind of cry you'd expect from a child who had gotten herself lost in the middle of an amusement park or a department store. It was a cry of silent desperation full of sighs and deep breaths that were never quite long enough to catch enough air. Pangs of loneliness and fear filled me. I felt lost and was in desperate need of consoling (and lots of long, warm hugs).

By God's good grace, a friend called me. The sound of a familiar voice was uplifting. And it made me realize how much I needed and missed the sound of loved ones' voices. To hear the warmth and weight of each word fall on my ears. The sound of laughter. The intonations and inflections of every syllable like heartbeats. [I need more of this. So much more of this.]

Today, the homesickness and loneliness linger. They sit beside me now as I type, whispering their sad songs in my ears. I am unmotivated to do anything productive. Rather I'd just like to sleep or eat tons of chocolate.

I'm really hoping this feeling goes as quickly as it came...

City Mouse, Country Mouse

I write to you, my lovely (i.e. 2) readers, from the familiar comforts of Fido, one of my fave coffee shops in the area. The "area" being Nashville, TN. Yes, folks, I am finally here.

It's been about a week since I left Philadelphia in all her gloomy, cynical wonderfulness to move here. In fact, if memory serves me correctly, about this time last week, Dino and I were driving through Virginia. It took forever to drive across that God-forsaken state. I've now added VA to my hate list. (If any of you are from VA or know anyone in/from VA, please accept my apologies, but yeah... I pretty much hate it now.)

Learning to settle-in here has been an interesting season of transition. I never quite new how much of a city girl I was until I came here. Everyone seems to move a bit slower here. Life is set on cruise control for a better part of the population in Nashville. Yet, here I am, mind and body still wanting to race, to press down on the pedal just a tad more. As Ricky Bobby would say: "I [still] wanna go fast!"

I'm beginning to wonder if I actually know how to rest. I mean to really rest. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. It worries me sometimes.

Case in point: Upon the advice of friends, I have taken it easy this week. Done my best to acclimate to life here. But, now that I'm unemployed, I've realized how long a day can be. How many hours can go wasted. I'm a bit stir-crazy. And, sadly, it's only been 2 weeks since I gleefully left my job.

I don't think I know how to relax and enjoy this season of life quite yet. Every part of me wants to go out and do something. To be productive. To take the bull by the horns.

I wonder what drives this deep-seeded yearning. Why I want to take a pick axe and make headway before the land is surveyed, before I've had the chance to fully take in my surroundings.

In so many ways, I still feel out of my element.

This city gal is gonna need some time before she can get used to this "country" lifestyle.

A Foray

The time has come. In a matter of days, I'll be shoving my things into temperamental yet faithful Dino and heading down to Nashville.

I can't believe it...

This weekend was the start of a long process of saying goodbye to everything (everyone) I've known to be "home."

Saturday found me misty-eyed as I drove through the familiar streets of downtown Philadelphia. I gave a respectful nod to old Billy Penn perched high atop City Hall, looking down over his dear children, we Philadelphians, who so often forget his presence until, like me, we go away. I laughed as once again I missed a turn and had to take a long detour to get back on track. (This seems the story of my life.)

Last night I spent an evening with my dear friends from my old church. A mishmash of people I've known for almost a decade. Most of these relationships have grown (evolved) over the years - from the days when I'd taught them in Sunday School or College to our present state as peers. Brothers and sisters. Friends. And as they came over to tell me how excited they were for me, how much they'd all miss me and expected me back for visits, as they each one-by-one gave me their final goodbye hug, I felt a tiny crack surface on my heart and tears burn the backs of my eyes.

In an hour I meet with a friend for lunch. Tonight I'll be surrounded by dear city friends, old and new. The rest of the week will be a whirlwind of packing, tying up loose ends, shopping for last minute things and a few more goodbye dinners strewn about.

I'm starting to realize how hard this is going to be/get.

Danger! DANGER, Will Robinson!!!

I am now 3 weeks away from the big move. I'm excited. Really excited, but scared out my gourd lately. Being constantly reminded of "the state of the economy" helps little to quell the nervousness invading my senses.

This is a dangerous place I find myself in. Every part the control-freak, I'm floundering here. I can't see past the next step (if even that). Can't make my usual 4 or 5 contingency plans. I am completely and utterly out of my element. And God is in no way drawing the curtains back to give me a sneak peek into what's to come. Instead He's calling me to trust Him.

Trust in [Me]. Lean not on your own understanding or what you think is best or rational. Acknowledge Me... even HERE in your worrisome state. Watch as I move mountains for you, child. I'll clear the path before you. Just trust Me and walk where I lead.

I'm hoping against all hope for this burden of fear to lift come daybreak.

The End of One Thing... The Beginning of Another

In about a month and a half, I will be leaving Philadelphia... finally! In 6 weeks I will packing my things and heading down to Music City (aka Nashville).

It's been a long time coming - full of detours and pitfalls - but, it's happening. Really, truly happening! I am leaving this bubble, spreading my wings. And I'm crap-in-my-pants happy/excited/scared to death.

17 Days or 2.5 Weeks, If You Prefer

In roughly 2.5 weeks (17 days to be exact) I'll be saying saiyonara to my twenties. I couldn't be more scared or thrilled about it.

These past 10 years have been a journey. Full of hills and valleys, and laden with detours. It's been exhausting and confusing trying to find me along this untraveled, uncharted path. I have hated it.

But, finally, FINALLY, I am coming into my own. Finding my stride. Breathing freer.

It's almost as if the little plastic flakes in my snow globe of a life are finally settling in. Falling into place and resting softly. And as they do, I think I'm able to see clearly... Now that the storms are passing... Now that the skies are parting and the sun is breaking through.

The next 2 months are going to be scarily heartwrenching: Saying good-bye to the old me, to this "life" I've "lived" for so long and to move on from here. To move on. To run away and run towards something else. Blindly. Without reason or certainty.

It's terrifying, but I can hardly wait!