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.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
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.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, August 17, 2009
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.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
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.
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.)
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.)
Friday, August 14, 2009
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.
..........
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:
..........
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
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, June 22, 2009
A Dangerous Combination
I realized today that I am an old soul with childlike dreams and ideals.
It's a dangerous combination.
It's a dangerous combination.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
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:
Sometimes I forget God has a sense of humor.
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.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
"Martha, Martha! How Does Your Garden Grow?"
Gardens are not made by singing, "Oh, how beautiful," and sitting in the shade. - Rudyard KiplingLiving 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.
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.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, June 08, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
"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.
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!!!
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!!!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
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.
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...
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...
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...
Saturday, April 25, 2009
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.]
I hate it. Hate it. HATE IT.
The end.
[A bit melodramatic? Possibly. But, it is how I feel at the moment.]
Sunday, April 12, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
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?
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?
Friday, March 27, 2009
"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.
"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.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, March 16, 2009
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...
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...
Saturday, March 07, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, February 23, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, January 05, 2009
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!
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!
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Myers-Briggs
I am, sadly, an INFJ through and through.
For some reason late last night (we're talking 1:45am, people!) I decided to read up on some articles about my personality type. The articles were so accurate my head was reeling. It was as if someone had followed me around, studying each and every move, thought or decision I'd made... all my life!
There is some comfort in reading that Jesus was believed to be an INFJ (as were Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King, Jr.), but I am still crestfallen to realize (yet again) I will most likely (allow myself to) be taken advantage of a lot because of the fact that I thrive when helping people. I "live to serve" as one article puts it. I put others before myself and give... to the point where I am left aching and drained. Parched.
--------
A friend and I had a conversation the other day about, what else, guys and relationships and how neither of us knows how to approach/find/receive healthy ones (and normal, stable guys for that matter).
She'd divulged some insight into the mysterious creature that is man-guy, wisdom she'd gleaned from a close guy friend. Apparently, everything about me turns guys off: I am too "helpful"; too eager to dole out concern/care/advice; too available; too "religious" for most of the general population of men.
So, my options are to:
1. not be me and intentionally do everything counter to what is natural, what is me
2. join an abbey/nunnery
3. become a recluse living high up in the mountains where I would end up talking to squirrels and painting pictures with wild berry "paint" and scat
4. sign up for a stint on that Russian space station [Anyone have a million dollars you can loan me? I promise I'll pay it back! *wink*]
5. engulf myself in Jane Austen novels and pray that Mr. Darcy is really out there... somewhere
6. close up shop for good and become crazy cat-lady who schleps around in house slippers, hair nets and moomoos [FYI: I'm not too fond of cats]
7. be happy and content in who I am and trust that somehow, some way God will bring about a man who is the bees knees in every which way imaginable [There I go being "religious" again!]
Right now, options 2 and 5 are looking mighty appealing...
For some reason late last night (we're talking 1:45am, people!) I decided to read up on some articles about my personality type. The articles were so accurate my head was reeling. It was as if someone had followed me around, studying each and every move, thought or decision I'd made... all my life!
There is some comfort in reading that Jesus was believed to be an INFJ (as were Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King, Jr.), but I am still crestfallen to realize (yet again) I will most likely (allow myself to) be taken advantage of a lot because of the fact that I thrive when helping people. I "live to serve" as one article puts it. I put others before myself and give... to the point where I am left aching and drained. Parched.
--------
A friend and I had a conversation the other day about, what else, guys and relationships and how neither of us knows how to approach/find/receive healthy ones (and normal, stable guys for that matter).
She'd divulged some insight into the mysterious creature that is man-guy, wisdom she'd gleaned from a close guy friend. Apparently, everything about me turns guys off: I am too "helpful"; too eager to dole out concern/care/advice; too available; too "religious" for most of the general population of men.
So, my options are to:
1. not be me and intentionally do everything counter to what is natural, what is me
2. join an abbey/nunnery
3. become a recluse living high up in the mountains where I would end up talking to squirrels and painting pictures with wild berry "paint" and scat
4. sign up for a stint on that Russian space station [Anyone have a million dollars you can loan me? I promise I'll pay it back! *wink*]
5. engulf myself in Jane Austen novels and pray that Mr. Darcy is really out there... somewhere
6. close up shop for good and become crazy cat-lady who schleps around in house slippers, hair nets and moomoos [FYI: I'm not too fond of cats]
7. be happy and content in who I am and trust that somehow, some way God will bring about a man who is the bees knees in every which way imaginable [There I go being "religious" again!]
Right now, options 2 and 5 are looking mighty appealing...
Friday, December 12, 2008
Pwned
While playing a game of Hangman with the boys I'm watching tonight, one of them popped out a word I'd never heard...
I am deflated.
*shrug of shoulders*
I am deflated.
*shrug of shoulders*
Friday, November 21, 2008
Never [Being] Kissed
General Musing du Jour:
Sometimes I wonder if this is why I'm still checking off the "single" box?
Sometimes I wonder if this is why I'm still checking off the "single" box?
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Out With the Old...
I read this quote on a friend's profile:
I am, I'll admit it, scared to no end these days. The things and places God is leading me towards have no clear set steps to follow. I just know I must go...
... even though the economy makes it very likely that finding a "good" job will be difficult.
... even though I know I will (and AM!) scared out of my mind at the possibility of failing.
... even if I am found crying and wounded in "failure."
... even if the little I've saved so far will slip through my fingers when push comes to shove.
I must go away from here. This place that has been home and familiar for all my congizant days. This place that has been the backdrop of who I was (am) becoming (thus far).
People tell me repeatedly to take that leap of faith, but fear and panic leaden my feet.
To move away from this city to another farther away - to go there with no place to live and no bread to win - is foolish and rash to those who are rational. [I know this because I was once one of them.] But given the option of pursuing my heart's desire (and His, hopefully!) or wasting away where I am... I would hope I'd run after the first and heed God's call to Gideon: "Be strong and courageous."
in life we have two plans we can follow...the culture plan or GOD's plan. culture plan says to find your groove, settle & establish, earn & save, consolidate & maintain speed, & die...or you can choose to run towards GOD's plan...which is, 'follow me with abandon at every age with an eager expectation that I will use your life for MY purpose in the world. risk always. never completely settle, always look toward heaven for answers. be MINE. be different. die GLORIOUSLY!' - louie giglio
I am, I'll admit it, scared to no end these days. The things and places God is leading me towards have no clear set steps to follow. I just know I must go...
... even though the economy makes it very likely that finding a "good" job will be difficult.
... even though I know I will (and AM!) scared out of my mind at the possibility of failing.
... even if I am found crying and wounded in "failure."
... even if the little I've saved so far will slip through my fingers when push comes to shove.
I must go away from here. This place that has been home and familiar for all my congizant days. This place that has been the backdrop of who I was (am) becoming (thus far).
People tell me repeatedly to take that leap of faith, but fear and panic leaden my feet.
To move away from this city to another farther away - to go there with no place to live and no bread to win - is foolish and rash to those who are rational. [I know this because I was once one of them.] But given the option of pursuing my heart's desire (and His, hopefully!) or wasting away where I am... I would hope I'd run after the first and heed God's call to Gideon: "Be strong and courageous."
Thursday, November 13, 2008
When Waking Up is the Hardest Part
I am coming to terms with the fact that I've not been chosen. Again.
I am limping and wounded, riding waves of self-deprecation, confusion, embarrassment, bitterness and numbness. (I rather like the numb moments lately)
I'm feeling my heart close up again. The brain is pouring grout on the cracks of my heart. Sealing it up. Shellacking it.
I so just want to shut down right now... And all my friends can say is, let it out.
Let it out. It's good for you. It hurts like hell, but it's good.
But I don't want to. The pain hurts too much.
I'd rather do without, thank you, if it's all the same to you.
I am limping and wounded, riding waves of self-deprecation, confusion, embarrassment, bitterness and numbness. (I rather like the numb moments lately)
I'm feeling my heart close up again. The brain is pouring grout on the cracks of my heart. Sealing it up. Shellacking it.
I so just want to shut down right now... And all my friends can say is, let it out.
Let it out. It's good for you. It hurts like hell, but it's good.
But I don't want to. The pain hurts too much.
I'd rather do without, thank you, if it's all the same to you.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Senses Fail
I cried last night. A lot. The deep, heaving kind. The kind that rushes over you without warning like a sudden storm over tranquil seas. It was a perfect storm as they say and it knocked my off my feet.
At the advice of Rebs, I took a long, hot shower, hoping it would wash him out. Praying the streams would dissolve these aches and wounds he'd caused. They didn't.
Today I am numb. I don't want to think or feel. Anything.
The songs I play to pass the time here at my desk are just noise. Empty. Without meaning. Without tune.
I don't want to eat, but I am, because I refuse to be that girl - the one who is lovesick and achey and wasting away. Sadly, though, when I eat, food has little taste. I eat to live even when I want parts of me to die.
My heart has short-circuited the rest of me.
My senses fail.
I am a walking ghost.
At the advice of Rebs, I took a long, hot shower, hoping it would wash him out. Praying the streams would dissolve these aches and wounds he'd caused. They didn't.
Today I am numb. I don't want to think or feel. Anything.
The songs I play to pass the time here at my desk are just noise. Empty. Without meaning. Without tune.
I don't want to eat, but I am, because I refuse to be that girl - the one who is lovesick and achey and wasting away. Sadly, though, when I eat, food has little taste. I eat to live even when I want parts of me to die.
My heart has short-circuited the rest of me.
My senses fail.
I am a walking ghost.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
History in the Making (aka The Only Political Post You Will EVER See Here)
[I've been editing this while at work. Work has been BADDDD... Needless to say this blog will no doubt be choppy, confusing and hard to follow. Sorry!]
Tonight, we, as a united, free people, elected our next president. It was (and will remain) a pivotal moment in history.
I was encouraged by both candidates tonight: Senator McCain bowed out gracefully and encouraged his supporters to do the same. The hope and pure elation, the joyful disbelief and satisfaction on the faces of millions the world over, was emotional to say the least.
As the celebrations continued through the night and as many chanted "Yes, we did!"... an uneasy feeling settled in my heart. One that woke me in the middle of the night.
I could not help, but wonder if, in the midst of all the celebrations, we (God's people, Christ followers) had forgotten about His role here. To those who cheered "Yes, we did!" I wanted to remind them that we had done nothing in comparison to what He has done. And, I worry about the countless radicals out there in our land. I fear their reaction, but hope we all will learn to be open-minded and respect each other.
As excited as I am to have my choice for president in office (come January), and as amazing as it is to live in a time when we have proven to the world and our ancestors that anything is possible, I'm holding onto the hope that lies deep within me - the hope that relies on the sovereinty and wisdom of my Creator God. Without Him, our president will fail... no matter how motivated and talented in leadership he may be.
Republican. Democrat. Moderate. Conservative. LIberal. Left. Right. What does it matter in God's eyes? I'm looking to my God to grant our new leader the wisdom, strength, discernment, courage and sound mind he'll need to run a country in desperate need of change.
Tonight, we, as a united, free people, elected our next president. It was (and will remain) a pivotal moment in history.
I was encouraged by both candidates tonight: Senator McCain bowed out gracefully and encouraged his supporters to do the same. The hope and pure elation, the joyful disbelief and satisfaction on the faces of millions the world over, was emotional to say the least.
As the celebrations continued through the night and as many chanted "Yes, we did!"... an uneasy feeling settled in my heart. One that woke me in the middle of the night.
I could not help, but wonder if, in the midst of all the celebrations, we (God's people, Christ followers) had forgotten about His role here. To those who cheered "Yes, we did!" I wanted to remind them that we had done nothing in comparison to what He has done. And, I worry about the countless radicals out there in our land. I fear their reaction, but hope we all will learn to be open-minded and respect each other.
As excited as I am to have my choice for president in office (come January), and as amazing as it is to live in a time when we have proven to the world and our ancestors that anything is possible, I'm holding onto the hope that lies deep within me - the hope that relies on the sovereinty and wisdom of my Creator God. Without Him, our president will fail... no matter how motivated and talented in leadership he may be.
Republican. Democrat. Moderate. Conservative. LIberal. Left. Right. What does it matter in God's eyes? I'm looking to my God to grant our new leader the wisdom, strength, discernment, courage and sound mind he'll need to run a country in desperate need of change.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
To My Mother on Her 52nd(?) Birthday
Dear Mom,
Today as the nation heads to the voting boothes and as the world waits in anticipation to witness history in the making, I look to you in thanks.
Thank you for the years of sacrifice. For the strength you've shown over the years - enduring a loveless marriage, single-parenting, second jobs to put us through school, for pushing aside your physical/emotional pains for our sake. You drive me crazy and make me want to run screaming in the opposite direction, but thank you for the (odd) way you love me (us).
Today, I pray for a good year. I know that you're worried and scared about the future, especially with the financial uncertainty you've faced this past year, but I beg you to remember that you are still under the watchful eye of a loving, faithful God. He has sustained and provided for you in the past and will do so now and in the years to come. Just hold onto Him. Trust Him. Lift your cares and worries to Him instead carrying this burden alone. It's not yours to bear. You are loved by your Jehovah Jirah, your gentle Shepherd, a loving Father.
I pray He grows you this year. That He'll stretch your faith. Whether or not you want to face it, your children are grown now. We will both be leaving soon (me sooner than you're prepared for). I pray the Lord continues to mold in you a strength and dependence on Him, and not me anymore. You are stronger, wiser and more capable than you think. And when you are not, He is, so don't worry.
I know you're still not physically as strong as you once were, and you probably won't be once the doctors give you the green light, but that's OK. Seek His strength when you are weak. Seek His hand when you've no strength to stand alone. Remember Christ suffers and bears this pain with you.
You are not alone, mom. You never will be.
I don't say this as much as I should, but... I love you. You drive me insane, but I love you.
Happy birthday, umma!
Your daughter,
Annie
Today as the nation heads to the voting boothes and as the world waits in anticipation to witness history in the making, I look to you in thanks.
Thank you for the years of sacrifice. For the strength you've shown over the years - enduring a loveless marriage, single-parenting, second jobs to put us through school, for pushing aside your physical/emotional pains for our sake. You drive me crazy and make me want to run screaming in the opposite direction, but thank you for the (odd) way you love me (us).
Today, I pray for a good year. I know that you're worried and scared about the future, especially with the financial uncertainty you've faced this past year, but I beg you to remember that you are still under the watchful eye of a loving, faithful God. He has sustained and provided for you in the past and will do so now and in the years to come. Just hold onto Him. Trust Him. Lift your cares and worries to Him instead carrying this burden alone. It's not yours to bear. You are loved by your Jehovah Jirah, your gentle Shepherd, a loving Father.
I pray He grows you this year. That He'll stretch your faith. Whether or not you want to face it, your children are grown now. We will both be leaving soon (me sooner than you're prepared for). I pray the Lord continues to mold in you a strength and dependence on Him, and not me anymore. You are stronger, wiser and more capable than you think. And when you are not, He is, so don't worry.
I know you're still not physically as strong as you once were, and you probably won't be once the doctors give you the green light, but that's OK. Seek His strength when you are weak. Seek His hand when you've no strength to stand alone. Remember Christ suffers and bears this pain with you.
You are not alone, mom. You never will be.
I don't say this as much as I should, but... I love you. You drive me insane, but I love you.
Happy birthday, umma!
Your daughter,
Annie
Friday, October 31, 2008
Annie Queries
The fear that I could have something is almost as scary as the not having it at all.
Is this normal? Do you ever get this way? Or am I the lone passenger in this streetcar named Desire?
Is this normal? Do you ever get this way? Or am I the lone passenger in this streetcar named Desire?
Thursday, October 30, 2008
As Is
That's me in a nutshell. "AS IS."
Broken.
Scared.
Wanting.
Hoping.
Caring too much.
Heart on Sleeve.
Way too tapped into her emotions.
Weepy.
Angry.
Confused.
Heartbroken.
I'm just sitting in the Clearance Aisle.
A little busted up, but so wanting to be chosen.
Broken.
Scared.
Wanting.
Hoping.
Caring too much.
Heart on Sleeve.
Way too tapped into her emotions.
Weepy.
Angry.
Confused.
Heartbroken.
I'm just sitting in the Clearance Aisle.
A little busted up, but so wanting to be chosen.
EDIT: "If You're Not First, You're Last"
So says Ricky Bobby. And in a way, I think this sentiment holds true in my life.
I want everyone (all of you) to be happy... even at my expense. And in doing so - in wanting everyone to be fulfilled - I'm often left wanting. Waiting. Hoping. Crying. Alone. As much as I believe and long for all of you to find your heart's desires, I can't seem to find a way to mine.
Someone has been on my heart for some time. I have prayed for him and prayed over him. Prayed that God would draw him closer to Himself. That God would pour His mercy and grace upon him so that he would breathe in the freedom of trusting and loving his Savior. Prayed that God would do these things with/out regard for my heart or how it feels, but, for his sake above anything else.
Tears have been shed as I've tried to rationalize all of this. I had hoped that I could somehow spare myself the pain of not being chosen. Again. Hoped that my brain and reason would best my heart and its whirlwind of emotions.
Mission: FAILED
Last night my city, Philadelphia, had its first taste of victory in decades. The entire city erupted with joy. For years people held on with hope and for years were left heartbroken. And as the people crowded the streets breathing in victory, a small, pea-sized hope grew in me. A hope that maybe this time love would find me at last.
Today, however, I am confused and scared once again. The edges of my heart are fraying and hardening again. The cocoon is being built up again around the soft parts. And my heart is preparing to be let down again. To be discarded and turned down again.
I don't like this. The ambiguity and possible (probable) delusions of grandeur have me dizzy, crying and itching for answers. I want to know, but I don't.
Times like these, I wish we all could win.
I want everyone (all of you) to be happy... even at my expense. And in doing so - in wanting everyone to be fulfilled - I'm often left wanting. Waiting. Hoping. Crying. Alone. As much as I believe and long for all of you to find your heart's desires, I can't seem to find a way to mine.
Someone has been on my heart for some time. I have prayed for him and prayed over him. Prayed that God would draw him closer to Himself. That God would pour His mercy and grace upon him so that he would breathe in the freedom of trusting and loving his Savior. Prayed that God would do these things with/out regard for my heart or how it feels, but, for his sake above anything else.
Tears have been shed as I've tried to rationalize all of this. I had hoped that I could somehow spare myself the pain of not being chosen. Again. Hoped that my brain and reason would best my heart and its whirlwind of emotions.
Mission: FAILED
Last night my city, Philadelphia, had its first taste of victory in decades. The entire city erupted with joy. For years people held on with hope and for years were left heartbroken. And as the people crowded the streets breathing in victory, a small, pea-sized hope grew in me. A hope that maybe this time love would find me at last.
Today, however, I am confused and scared once again. The edges of my heart are fraying and hardening again. The cocoon is being built up again around the soft parts. And my heart is preparing to be let down again. To be discarded and turned down again.
I don't like this. The ambiguity and possible (probable) delusions of grandeur have me dizzy, crying and itching for answers. I want to know, but I don't.
Times like these, I wish we all could win.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Hi. My name is Annie and I'm an...
Yesterday, I cried and pleaded with God.
I was so drunk with thought, I became nauseous. My brain was spiky and the light hurt my bloodshot eyes. The world was spinning and I was shivering, suffering a hangover of sorts.
I'm in dire need of AA for the Heart.
I was so drunk with thought, I became nauseous. My brain was spiky and the light hurt my bloodshot eyes. The world was spinning and I was shivering, suffering a hangover of sorts.
I'm in dire need of AA for the Heart.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
I Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself...
The heart - correction: my heart - is irrational.
I am, for the most part a person of reason and thought. I like to prepare for what's ahead and plan out the best course of action after mulling over the pros and cons. I'm a "just in case" kind of gal.
But when my heart is involved... even just a little bit? Fogettaboudit. It's all fogs and chaos and questions and roads that lead to Nowheresville.
*sigh* I don't know what to do. The brain rattles with thoughts. The heart aches for answers. And I am drifting as I try to find God's cool waters and rest.
I am, for the most part a person of reason and thought. I like to prepare for what's ahead and plan out the best course of action after mulling over the pros and cons. I'm a "just in case" kind of gal.
But when my heart is involved... even just a little bit? Fogettaboudit. It's all fogs and chaos and questions and roads that lead to Nowheresville.
*sigh* I don't know what to do. The brain rattles with thoughts. The heart aches for answers. And I am drifting as I try to find God's cool waters and rest.
Monday, October 27, 2008
These Photographs and the Mirror Has Two Faces
My mom tore up most of the photos of my dad after the divorce. I guess it was her way of forgetting about him and the pain he'd caused our "family."
A few years back while leafing through old photos, I came across one she'd missed. An old photograph of the two of us, daddy and me; of a tiny baby Annie, naked - save for my diaper - and laughing as I sat on my dad's lap. I took that photo and hid it. Partly to remember the dad I now mourn so... the one that disappeared years ago, and partly for my future children so they would at least know what their grandfather looked like... even if they would never meet him.
I am my father's daughter. I have his puffy, baggy eyes and his full-lipped smile. His round cheeks, short neck and stocky, muscular build. I have his chubby hands and feet that aren't graceful or lithe like a woman's hands should be, but strong and decisive and heavy. I am the female version of him. A clone in ways.
There are days when I can't bear to look in the mirror or at old elementary school pictures. Looking at my young face, I see his and it breaks my heart. And sometimes, I wonder if my mom has ever felt the same way as she looked at me. Wondered if she saw him, the man who had tore her heart to pieces, in me.
I see him, even when I don't.
A few years back while leafing through old photos, I came across one she'd missed. An old photograph of the two of us, daddy and me; of a tiny baby Annie, naked - save for my diaper - and laughing as I sat on my dad's lap. I took that photo and hid it. Partly to remember the dad I now mourn so... the one that disappeared years ago, and partly for my future children so they would at least know what their grandfather looked like... even if they would never meet him.
I am my father's daughter. I have his puffy, baggy eyes and his full-lipped smile. His round cheeks, short neck and stocky, muscular build. I have his chubby hands and feet that aren't graceful or lithe like a woman's hands should be, but strong and decisive and heavy. I am the female version of him. A clone in ways.
There are days when I can't bear to look in the mirror or at old elementary school pictures. Looking at my young face, I see his and it breaks my heart. And sometimes, I wonder if my mom has ever felt the same way as she looked at me. Wondered if she saw him, the man who had tore her heart to pieces, in me.
I see him, even when I don't.
There Goes My Hero...
A few days ago a friend and I had a LONG discussion on matters at the forefront of both our hearts. He shared his anger and frustration at the social injustices he witnessed all around: at work, on the streets, everywhere. It enraged him to see the poor slighted and dismissed, uncared for and forgotten. The growing chasm between the those in the upper echelons of the financial caste system and the poor breaks his heart. And yet... He was heartbroken and ashamed to say that he does nothing to help reconcile the situation. Another victim in a growing trend of self-preservation.
If you have kept up with the news lately - in between the latest democratic-republican brawl for the white house - you may have learned that former American Idol contestant, Jennifer Hudson's mother and brother were murdered. (I've learned that police believe her young nephew was also believed to have been killed as well). Police believe an estranged and recently paroled family member may be the culprit. The reason for this killing spree? A car. A crappy, piece of metal and chrome.
Times like these I, too, wonder where God is and when He will bring about His righteous justice. Especially when His calling us to patience and trust results in so many people suffering. I just don't know.
Yesterday one of our assistant pastors , Jared, challenged us to believe and trust in the sovereignty of God. When things are grand and life is good. But, especially when times are rough and confusing and pain echoes in the faces of the people around us. Seek the greatness of God in these times.
Trust in His wisdom, not yours.
Trust that He will make right all that has gone so terribly wrong.
Trust His heart breaks, too.
Trust that He's coming, running, racing towards us (all of us) with grace and mercy in His hands.
He, the Great Judge, will set things right.
Just hold tight and wait... Hope is coming and redemption is in the air.
Times like these I, too, wonder where God is and when He will bring about His righteous justice. Especially when His calling us to patience and trust results in so many people suffering. I just don't know.
Yesterday one of our assistant pastors , Jared, challenged us to believe and trust in the sovereignty of God. When things are grand and life is good. But, especially when times are rough and confusing and pain echoes in the faces of the people around us. Seek the greatness of God in these times.
Trust in His wisdom, not yours.
Trust that He will make right all that has gone so terribly wrong.
Trust His heart breaks, too.
Trust that He's coming, running, racing towards us (all of us) with grace and mercy in His hands.
He, the Great Judge, will set things right.
Just hold tight and wait... Hope is coming and redemption is in the air.
Avril Lavigne Has Me Down...
Why is it that I'm drawn to complicated things when all I want to do is to take the high and easy road?
Why do I have to go and make things so complicated?
Why do I have to go and make things so complicated?
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Project: Runaway
I once asked a friend how she ended up in Philly. Having been raised here for most of my life, it was hard to believe why anyone would willingly come here of all places. She told me she needed a change of scenery.
Later on, however, she admitted she had come to Philly to run away from her hometown and from the skeletons that lurked about as constant reminders of issues and problems she wasn't quite ready to face.
Lately, I've had this need to run away myself. Not so much from problems, but towards something. To my detriment, I was (am) always sensible and reliable. The girl with the good head on her shoulders. The one who'll take care of her mom.
I don't want to be that anymore. I suffocate under these burdens. I thrash and recoil. I want to run for my life, but feel this unseen familial tether ground me.
On Friday (the most depressed I've ever been), I sat with my mom in the kitchen eating dinner. I ate in silence, forcing the food to go down, eyes studying my bowl of rice cake soup. And I wondered if this was my lot: to be at my mom's side.; her constant companion and the sponge to soak up all her concerns and distresses. I almost cried.
A few days ago, as I was exiting a nearby mall, I saw a woman in her late 50s pushing her elderly mother around in her wheelchair. It was obvious to me that theirs was a co-dependent relationship.
I watched them as the daughter wheeled her mother to their car. Listened as she spoke. Observed my current situation plus 25 years traverse across the parking lot and drive away to an all-too-familiar life.
I watched and felt my heart sink deep into the waters of hopelessness. Lord, surely THIS isn't the life you are calling me to? I can't. I need to be free from this, Lord, as selfish as it is, I want my own life. To be happy and loved. To do things at my leisure. To live.
I cannot walk any longer in these filial daughter shoes that my heritage seems to have bound my feet in. I cannot. Will not. And come hell or high waters or the scorn of my family, I will escape from this. For my mom's sake and for my own.
Later on, however, she admitted she had come to Philly to run away from her hometown and from the skeletons that lurked about as constant reminders of issues and problems she wasn't quite ready to face.
Lately, I've had this need to run away myself. Not so much from problems, but towards something. To my detriment, I was (am) always sensible and reliable. The girl with the good head on her shoulders. The one who'll take care of her mom.
I don't want to be that anymore. I suffocate under these burdens. I thrash and recoil. I want to run for my life, but feel this unseen familial tether ground me.
On Friday (the most depressed I've ever been), I sat with my mom in the kitchen eating dinner. I ate in silence, forcing the food to go down, eyes studying my bowl of rice cake soup. And I wondered if this was my lot: to be at my mom's side.; her constant companion and the sponge to soak up all her concerns and distresses. I almost cried.
A few days ago, as I was exiting a nearby mall, I saw a woman in her late 50s pushing her elderly mother around in her wheelchair. It was obvious to me that theirs was a co-dependent relationship.
I watched them as the daughter wheeled her mother to their car. Listened as she spoke. Observed my current situation plus 25 years traverse across the parking lot and drive away to an all-too-familiar life.
I watched and felt my heart sink deep into the waters of hopelessness. Lord, surely THIS isn't the life you are calling me to? I can't. I need to be free from this, Lord, as selfish as it is, I want my own life. To be happy and loved. To do things at my leisure. To live.
I cannot walk any longer in these filial daughter shoes that my heritage seems to have bound my feet in. I cannot. Will not. And come hell or high waters or the scorn of my family, I will escape from this. For my mom's sake and for my own.
The Sound of Silence
Me: Hello blog. How are you today?
ANNIBELLE: ...
Me: Hello? Is anyone there? I have so much I need to talk to you about! Please respond!
A: ...
Me: Please?
A: ...
Me: Fine. Whatever. Hmph. [Storms out]
A: ?
[end scene]
ANNIBELLE: ...
Me: Hello? Is anyone there? I have so much I need to talk to you about! Please respond!
A: ...
Me: Please?
A: ...
Me: Fine. Whatever. Hmph. [Storms out]
A: ?
[end scene]
All in the Family
I just skimmed through an article on MSN today about how birth order effects one's success.
After reading the articles findings on First-Borns, I'm beginning to wonder if I have older siblings out in the world somewhere or if I'm adopted because nothing could be farther from the truth. I'm more akin to the personality-type of the youngest sibling (minus the "wanting to be the center of a attention" thing).
[You can read more on the article here]
Monday, October 20, 2008
Dumb
For days now I have needed some outlet for what's in here (points to heart and head), this low, barely audible, almost subliminal droning and moaning I can feel agitatingly pulsing within.
Sitting at my piano and tickling the ivory keys left me unfulfilled. And, strumming my guitar made me wish I knew more chords since the song that needs to be released in me is in minor and flats [Unfortunately, I know mainly bright, happy major chords.] My fingers betray their duty.
I want to draw or paint, but cannot: Hesitation and a lack of inspiration cripples me. I think the only things that will result are sad stick figures, barren trees and homeless puppies.
I write and nothing makes sense and sounds just sooooooo melodramatic and depressing, I want to delete/cross-out/tear into little itty-bitty pieces/trash EVERYTHING.
I guess this is what people call a funk, eh?
Sitting at my piano and tickling the ivory keys left me unfulfilled. And, strumming my guitar made me wish I knew more chords since the song that needs to be released in me is in minor and flats [Unfortunately, I know mainly bright, happy major chords.] My fingers betray their duty.
I want to draw or paint, but cannot: Hesitation and a lack of inspiration cripples me. I think the only things that will result are sad stick figures, barren trees and homeless puppies.
I write and nothing makes sense and sounds just sooooooo melodramatic and depressing, I want to delete/cross-out/tear into little itty-bitty pieces/trash EVERYTHING.
I guess this is what people call a funk, eh?
I Wanna Hold Your Ha-a-and
[Like many previous posts, the following makes absolutely no sense. At all. You have been forewarned. Continue reading at your own discretion]
Most days I forget that I'm a woman.
Let me clarify for those of you who are perplexed: I forget the "womanly" parts and needs within.
Lately I've stared at my hands. Studied them. Wondered if someone will ever hold them or if they'll be as empty as they are now for all my days.
This sense of longing and wanting I just can't describe pulses through my entire being. These feelings invade and corrupt every part of me like foreigners in a land whose inhabitants and daily goings-on I'd known and expected.
Yet these hands, my hands are the most sorry casualties of this emptiness I feel lately. They feel hollow. Unwanted. Without a home.
They suffer from the seven (plus 23) year itch, I suppose.
Most days I forget that I'm a woman.
Let me clarify for those of you who are perplexed: I forget the "womanly" parts and needs within.
Lately I've stared at my hands. Studied them. Wondered if someone will ever hold them or if they'll be as empty as they are now for all my days.
This sense of longing and wanting I just can't describe pulses through my entire being. These feelings invade and corrupt every part of me like foreigners in a land whose inhabitants and daily goings-on I'd known and expected.
Yet these hands, my hands are the most sorry casualties of this emptiness I feel lately. They feel hollow. Unwanted. Without a home.
They suffer from the seven (plus 23) year itch, I suppose.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Please Clarify.
Over the past several weeks people have mentioned how I have a good head on my shoulders. I have no idea what that means.
Please clarify.
Please clarify.
Friday, October 17, 2008
1000 [Moments] of Solitude
It's odd: all morning and afternoon I was in hyperdrive. Spinning like a top and bouncing off walls. I felt like I had the energy of 10 grown men and would have run around the block if I wasn't chained to my desk and the projects that piled up. Now, however, I am in a mellowed, semi-somber place. Beneath the still moon I sit, pangs of unknown longings filling the void.
These feelings come and go more these days. And I am left at a loss for words. Words won't satiate what it is that I am feeling at this moment.
Tonight, I arrived to a dark and still house. With no one in sight, I sat at my out-of-tune piano and let my fingers wander across they keys, playing odd diddies, trying to find my heartsong. When that wouldn't suffice, I gathered myself and reached for my guitar, playing chords, plucking my way through melancholy tunes. Unfilled and realizing its dire need of restringing, I reluctantly put it down. Its dampened voice can't quite project what I need it to say anyhow. There seem to be no words for the longing I feel inside.
I am still, yet restless tonight. I feel as if plunging into the depths of the ocean will release me from this, whatever it is that feels like a boulder resting on my heart. It is bittersweet in my mouth. I want it to go away and leave me in peace, but it is familiar in it's ambiguity.
A long night awaits me, I guess.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Daft Drafts
I wonder how far, how "open", I'll make myself to you here on this blog. I write, but get scared/nervous/self-conscious... so, I save some posts as "drafts" like the hoarder I am.
Here in my posts they (these weepy-eyed things) are safe. Protected. Cared for and loved like baby birds who've lost their homes. Some may find themselves out and about with their big brother blogs, but some, the weepiest ones will have to come to terms with the fact that they may never see the light of day. They'll sit in their idle state, waiting for me to look back on them again or to forget about altogether.
Here in my posts they (these weepy-eyed things) are safe. Protected. Cared for and loved like baby birds who've lost their homes. Some may find themselves out and about with their big brother blogs, but some, the weepiest ones will have to come to terms with the fact that they may never see the light of day. They'll sit in their idle state, waiting for me to look back on them again or to forget about altogether.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Anywhere But Here
I have found myself hesitating to speak and write lately. To let you into my life, into this turmoil. I want to speak the truth, but right now, it ain't so pretty. More like a steamroller running off its tracks, careening into piles of rubble.
I cannot write... literally. I've never really thought of myself as a good writer, but at least my earlier posts were easy to follow (get through), "poignant" or witty. Lately, however, they seem to be a jumble of words - prickly and erratically pouring out like lumpy curds of rotten milk down the drain.
And oddly, the lack of comments on my posts leaves me wondering if people have tuned out because I've depressed them so. If they've found better places to go. Sites that make them laugh or take them on the Funship cruise of life.
This is my life, folks. I'm sorry if it bothers you or dampens your day, but here it is. It's not been pockets of posies, I'm afraid. Just coals. Fistfuls of coals that I'm hoping/praying/waiting to become diamonds in due time.
For now, this is it. Do with it(me/this blog) as you will.
I cannot write... literally. I've never really thought of myself as a good writer, but at least my earlier posts were easy to follow (get through), "poignant" or witty. Lately, however, they seem to be a jumble of words - prickly and erratically pouring out like lumpy curds of rotten milk down the drain.
And oddly, the lack of comments on my posts leaves me wondering if people have tuned out because I've depressed them so. If they've found better places to go. Sites that make them laugh or take them on the Funship cruise of life.
This is my life, folks. I'm sorry if it bothers you or dampens your day, but here it is. It's not been pockets of posies, I'm afraid. Just coals. Fistfuls of coals that I'm hoping/praying/waiting to become diamonds in due time.
For now, this is it. Do with it(me/this blog) as you will.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Early Christmas Present?
I would be ever so grateful if someone would get me one of these for Christmas.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
How Does Your Garden Grow?
In case you haven't noticed, I'm going through a pruning process.
It hurts. The wounds from the shears are still exposed. I feel stubbly and ugly and naked. A tree with no leaves. Deformed.
I don't like it one bit.
It hurts. The wounds from the shears are still exposed. I feel stubbly and ugly and naked. A tree with no leaves. Deformed.
I don't like it one bit.
Where Do We Go From Here?
It's Sunday. I'm at home waiting for someone (Uncle?) to come and help me jump poor Dino.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an old note a friend had once written me a few years back. Realizing how so much has happened since he penned that note to me, I am at a loss for words now. Nostalgia sets in as I remember how close we once were, and how much things have changed. Once like siblings, we're like acquaintances now, just that far from being strangers.
This seems to be a pattern in my life: people coming and going. (Or maybe it's just me?)
Years have passed. Everyone busies themselves with "living." Slowly we tune each other out - draining the life out of our relationships 'til they (we) are unrecognizable to each other. Ships passing in the fog in our private little worlds. Physically near, but oceans apart. Alone even when we are together.
If I am sentimental about anything, it's about the times I spend with the people I (wish to) hold dear. No matter what those tests say, I express and receive love through spending time with each other. But, it's growing evermore difficult now since I left my old church. Though I never quite fit in there and no one really understood (or wanted to understand) me, and though I was often made to feel like the constant downer with my idealism, it was familiar.
I worry what will happen in the coming months. Will I have to file away most of these relationships when I move, only to pull them out like old photos on rainy days?
If I am brutally honest with myself (and with you), I want to matter. I need to matter. I need to know that there is some secured place in your heart for me, a space devoted solely to me (us).
Maybe it's self-centered/selfish of me to want to matter, to be missed and wanted? Maybe it's self-consciousness and fear of being left out? Maybe these fears have made me too cautious and apprehensive in being more available for/to you? With so many people coming and going, is it any wonder why I pull away? (Yes, I know... "That's no excuse, Annie!")
I have no idea.
All I know is that I miss you. All of you. I miss the sound of your voice. I miss the echo of your laughter.
I miss you.
And, sometimes, I just wish things were as we once knew them... Even if it was dysfunctional at best, it has to be better than silence and chance encounters, right?
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an old note a friend had once written me a few years back. Realizing how so much has happened since he penned that note to me, I am at a loss for words now. Nostalgia sets in as I remember how close we once were, and how much things have changed. Once like siblings, we're like acquaintances now, just that far from being strangers.
This seems to be a pattern in my life: people coming and going. (Or maybe it's just me?)
Years have passed. Everyone busies themselves with "living." Slowly we tune each other out - draining the life out of our relationships 'til they (we) are unrecognizable to each other. Ships passing in the fog in our private little worlds. Physically near, but oceans apart. Alone even when we are together.
If I am sentimental about anything, it's about the times I spend with the people I (wish to) hold dear. No matter what those tests say, I express and receive love through spending time with each other. But, it's growing evermore difficult now since I left my old church. Though I never quite fit in there and no one really understood (or wanted to understand) me, and though I was often made to feel like the constant downer with my idealism, it was familiar.
I worry what will happen in the coming months. Will I have to file away most of these relationships when I move, only to pull them out like old photos on rainy days?
If I am brutally honest with myself (and with you), I want to matter. I need to matter. I need to know that there is some secured place in your heart for me, a space devoted solely to me (us).
Maybe it's self-centered/selfish of me to want to matter, to be missed and wanted? Maybe it's self-consciousness and fear of being left out? Maybe these fears have made me too cautious and apprehensive in being more available for/to you? With so many people coming and going, is it any wonder why I pull away? (Yes, I know... "That's no excuse, Annie!")
I have no idea.
All I know is that I miss you. All of you. I miss the sound of your voice. I miss the echo of your laughter.
I miss you.
And, sometimes, I just wish things were as we once knew them... Even if it was dysfunctional at best, it has to be better than silence and chance encounters, right?
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Oy!
This is me today...
I feel like my forehead will split in half and my tiny little brain will come oozing out from under my eyelids.
I feel like my forehead will split in half and my tiny little brain will come oozing out from under my eyelids.Wednesday, October 01, 2008
She Hulk and the Pretzel Gal
I feel like a pretzel again. The day was quiet for the most part 'til about 2 o' clock, when hell broke loose. Again. Having worked here for over a year and a half now, and watching all the moronic activity that goes on constantly, you'd think this crap wouldn't phase me anymore. But, it does.
I am so tired of this. This constant cycle of unproductivity that stems from an inability to learn from past mistakes. This thinking that "we" are above reproach and can smile and lie "our" way out of things. I'm pretty sure there's a proverb somewhere that says something like "a fool is one who refuses to learn from his mistakes."
Last night while enjoying dinner and a show with some liberti folk, my friend Arlene and I started to talk about life, particularly my work life. I shocked her with my mean-spiritedness, something I can't quite remember if I was born with or if it's grown on me, like putrid, rotting fungus this past year and a half working here. I laughed it off in hopes of buffering some of the shock I had instilled. But at the end of the day, I felt awkward. Ashamed. Uncomfortable. Unhinged (again).
I can be two-faced. The definition of polar opposites. None of you know this about me because I can hide it pretty well... most of the time. (I think?)
I can turn on a dime when provoked. And, if you watch close I bet you can see the change: I'll shut down, not speak a word, fold into myself and skulk about as if under a storm cloud, waiting hopelessly for the ugliness in me to pass. I'll be electrified with rage. A wall of ice and jagged rock will form and there is nothing that can be done, but stand back and wait for it to pass or watch for the train wreck that will undoubtedly take place. It's uncontrolable.
I wish I was more patient, more understanding, more compassionate, but I am not. I am none of those things.
If I've tarnished the image you had of me, of this funny, jovial, happy-go-lucky gal, please accept my apologies. You see, if you look really, really close you can see the ugly, monster within. All the cover-up and concealer in the world can't hide that.
I just hope and pray that the fires of Christ's redemptive work will destroy all of me, the "good" and the bad. It's just so obvious that without it, I'm a hopeless, raging mess.
I am so tired of this. This constant cycle of unproductivity that stems from an inability to learn from past mistakes. This thinking that "we" are above reproach and can smile and lie "our" way out of things. I'm pretty sure there's a proverb somewhere that says something like "a fool is one who refuses to learn from his mistakes."
Last night while enjoying dinner and a show with some liberti folk, my friend Arlene and I started to talk about life, particularly my work life. I shocked her with my mean-spiritedness, something I can't quite remember if I was born with or if it's grown on me, like putrid, rotting fungus this past year and a half working here. I laughed it off in hopes of buffering some of the shock I had instilled. But at the end of the day, I felt awkward. Ashamed. Uncomfortable. Unhinged (again).
I can be two-faced. The definition of polar opposites. None of you know this about me because I can hide it pretty well... most of the time. (I think?)
I can turn on a dime when provoked. And, if you watch close I bet you can see the change: I'll shut down, not speak a word, fold into myself and skulk about as if under a storm cloud, waiting hopelessly for the ugliness in me to pass. I'll be electrified with rage. A wall of ice and jagged rock will form and there is nothing that can be done, but stand back and wait for it to pass or watch for the train wreck that will undoubtedly take place. It's uncontrolable.
I wish I was more patient, more understanding, more compassionate, but I am not. I am none of those things.
If I've tarnished the image you had of me, of this funny, jovial, happy-go-lucky gal, please accept my apologies. You see, if you look really, really close you can see the ugly, monster within. All the cover-up and concealer in the world can't hide that.
I just hope and pray that the fires of Christ's redemptive work will destroy all of me, the "good" and the bad. It's just so obvious that without it, I'm a hopeless, raging mess.
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