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?
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