In Your Absence

This week another friend left the office. Without a word or warning, he was gone. The news of his departure came as a shock to everyone, most especially to me. Returning to the office today, the air was heavy and still. It was as if the walls and everyone within were holding their breaths. Stunned. Like a punch in the gut, we were collectively gasping for air.

Everyone pushed through the day wearing plastered smiles. People busied themselves – heads down, working hard, near silent – faces betraying the confusion inside. And no one – NO ONE – mentioned him.

While I was away, they’d quietly gone through his office and tried to erase his presence. After seven years there, four in that little nook in the corridor, they went about the day as if he never existed. But I remembered. And as I made my way out, closing up shop for the week, I found myself in his office, something I tend to do with each of the coworkers (friends) who have now since left the office over the months.

I took inventory of the state of the near sterile room. New was a sign taped to a chair reading “Please vacuum and dust in here.” Gone were the piles of wires and cables, programming CDs and manuals. Gone were all the little kitschy souvenirs sent to him over the years – the carved wooden turtle from his brother’s trip to Greece years back, the beads from the office Mardi Gras celebration the year before – everything about him had disappeared and was replaced by a trash bag slumped in the corner.

I stood there for a moment and looked out the window, recalling the sound of birds and the sweet smell of rain that would waft through the halls when it was too warm in the office and he’d decided to crack the windows. I slid by that wall I spent many a day propped up against as we shot the breeze; walked past the table where I would sit my things on occasion when my hands were full and the 5-minute check in quickly became a 30-minute conversation, sprinkled with laughter and stories. I made my way to his desk and remembered the times I sat against that corner as he’d walk me through a problem I was having with my computer or the latest collection of photos he’d taken. I looked at the now empty chair and nearly cried. The weight of his absence still teases, still haunts.

As I sit typing this, the glow of dusk slowly seeping into evening, I wonder what’s next. For me. For him. For us. There’s a hope that we’ll continue these conversations and our lives will still intersect, but I just don’t know for sure. I’m realizing all too well that I’m more sentimental than I fear; that absence doesn’t necessarily make the heart grow fonder in every situation, or for everyone. That we all get wrapped up in our own little lives and our attention to those in the periphery becomes less and less a concern. So many slip through the cracks. So many already have. I hope this will be spared. Only time and grace know for sure. But for now, I miss him.

Pardon Me

You'll have to excuse me - I've not been in a very good place lately. Don't know when these gray clouds will lift, but I'm hoping they will any day now.

Until then... pray for me, friends. I'm in desperate need of some encouragement, time and kind words.

Roller Coaster

Within the next few days I'll find out one of three things:
1.) I'm being laid off
2.) I'll be put on "temporary" part-time status
3.) I somehow survived the most-recent round of cut-backs (Hallelujah!)

As a crowd of people enjoyed themselves at some friends' housewarming tonight, I told my friend, Bekah, about the stress that has me threadbare and running on fumes. As she shared about a dream that reminded her of God's faithful trustworthiness, I confessed that I felt like I was on a roller coaster - chugging along and fearful of the impending, unforeseeable drop.

It's going to be fine - you'll see! He's gonna come through and do something amazing! Just trust that God loves you and cares for you; that He's got you in His hands... I hope you find rest [in that]!

I hope so, too, Bekah, because well... I hate roller coasters. Like, A LOT.

The Marathon of Despair

Running from God keeps you from "breathing" and living the life he intended for you to live. You thereby rob other people of the blessing God intends to give them through you, because you're less than you were meant to be...

[an excerpt from Surprised By Grace by Tullian Tchividjian]

It's Not You, It's Me...

No, really! Maybe it is me after all...

I've been thinking a lot about why I'm still single. Completely unattached and having never even come close to it (the being attached). I'm beginning to believe something may actually be horribly wrong with me...

While on a short drive the other day, I realized something that saddened and scared me to the core - I have a problem trusting people, men in particular. The lingering aftershocks of my dad's betrayal of our family, I suppose.

There was a time in my life when I was completely at ease with guys. In fact, I'd had more guy friends than girls for most of my teen years. I was one of the boys. I look back on these last years since my parents' divorce and see that the faces in my circle have changed a great deal. Nary a man has been allowed to come close enough to see (and know) the real me. Save for one who took that privileged opportunity to see me and ripped my trust in him apart. And now here I am "[thirty-one], and well past my due date," to borrow from My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

I'm (still) more broken than I feared. The cracks I've piled mortar in continue to tear. No matter how desperately I try to smooth out the surface, debris is everywhere lately. I'm falling apart.

I need to be restored. Again. I need to remind myself that I am loved. I need God to open my eyes (and heart) to the romance He started before a breath was taken or a word uttered from these lips. The love my wayward heart is so desperate to find - this life-altering, epic, shake-you-to-the-core love I dream about and long for - has already happened. It's already been poured out. I've been in the thick of this heated, passionate pursuit of His and turned a blind eye to it. Thankfully, despite me, His love (and forgiveness) knows no end. No matter how foolish, no matter the times I run toward other loves, Christ's love for me remains pure since the day He poured (His) life into me. And I know that as I crawl back, broken heart in hand, rejected and dismissed, He will remain.

Thankfully, this love story continues. Not because of anything I do. For once, I'm glad to say that it actually isn't about me at all.

Solitude

There are days when I need to be alone, completely holed away like a troll. To rest. To think. To recharge. To... be.

True, I could have wandered out into the blazing heat, walked along shaded paths, baked in the sun or found a pool to swim in. I could have had my fill of ice cream or refreshing lemonade out on the patio of a nearby restaurant or cafe. But instead, I decidedly chose to be a hermit.

Delusions of grandeur make me feel a lot better about myself.
- Jane Wagner

Stop! In the Name of... What?

It's a funny thing when your heart has decided upon someone. Because no matter what the rest of you thinks, the heart will undoubtedly continue on its wayward path. Often misguided. Usually along a winding, convoluted road of no return. I wonder if my heart is at that place right now.

The man I have decided against still makes my heart skip when he says my name; still brings a flush to my cheeks whenever I see him; and still steals my breath when I'm not careful. I want to be indifferent towards him, but I can't.

I want out of this, but how? How do I move on from someplace I never quite set foot upon? How do I stop the daydreams? How do I stop the waiting and hoping? How do I stop him?

Contemplation is Name of the Game

At Waterloo, the English troops obeying orders fell on their faces for a time and let the hot fire of the French artillery pass over them. Then they sprang to their feet and rushed to the thickest of the fight and beat back their foes. The Lord wants His people flat on their faces, before they attempt to meet the great crises of life. - A.T. Pierson

God's people are always in process. Jim's closing words today at church. They're still ringing in my ears right now as I sit here typing...

I'm realizing that I've spent far too much time pacing back and forth or tapping my foot impatiently waiting on the Lord to give me the things I want (the things I "need"). Job security. Financial security. A love life. Marriage. Children. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Maybe it's time I stop and stare at bit more at the Cross and less in the mirror...

Auf Weidersehen. Adieu.

Yesterday I watched as the last of the people in my section of the company said their farewells. It's a sad thing to watch colleagues (friends) pack up their things and leave. It's sadder still knowing they had no choice in the matter -- the unfortunate side of company downsizing.

And, while I remain, I wonder at my longevity here, in this city and at this company. I wonder if I'll have a say when it's my time to leave or if, like them, I'll be told that "there's nothing left for you here."

This afternoon I head down to East Nashville for the third time this week to hang out with one of my friends who is leaving for Portland, OR in a matter of days. I'm trying to prepare myself so I won't cry, but who knows what's to happen.

I really hate good-byes...

Ants in Your Pants

Lately, I've been a bit restless, a tad antsy. Not knowing what's to come and living in a fog of confusion and unanswered questions.

All Quiet on the Western Front

Tonight I met up with two girlfriends at a small Japanese restaurant near my first "home" here in Nashville.

I sat and listened to these beautiful girls share stories of the new love interests in their lives; watched as each giddily read texts from said men and sighed in anticipation. As they shared and compared notes, I sat quiet. There's really nothing noteworthy to report here. All's quiet on the Western Front.

They inquired about my love life and probed as best they could. They told me how ridiculous I was being when I joked that I repel men. But really, when you've no other proof you start to assess and make assumptions. And sometimes, these assumptions aren't good ones.

Oh, I could have told them about the man I'm still quietly interested in. I could share about how I daydream about tender moments with my Yet-To-Be, but I refrained. Too shy to risk the ridicule; too nervous to spill the beans.

Red Light, Green Light

Sometimes all you really need is a definitive gesture.

A sign of some sort. That's all I'm after.

Do You Have to Let It Linger?

Late last night, and into the wee hours of the morning, as rain soaked the earth once more, tears soaked my pillow and my sleep-filled eyes.

I had a dream that I loved someone. Dearly loved him. We were happy. I believed he truly loved me as well. And he did... or so I thought until a friend swept in. He fled his heart (and mine) for hers. I was left picking up pieces of my broken heart and our broken life. Vanishing. When I awoke, I was so heartbroken, so convinced that what I had dreamed was reality, that I cried.

Perhaps there is a small part of me that fears my love life will resemble my mother's and it was only in that safe place, the foggy places of our sub-conscious, that my heart decided to dwell upon it.

How lovely. How lovely indeed...

When In Doubt... Retreat?

Is it strange that whenever I am remotely attracted to someone, I suddenly become deathly afraid that I'll be found out (by him and others)? Terrified that my tiny heart will be trampled and I'll be scoffed at? Fearful of rejection or thought a fool?

Some may say that "it's better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all", but I think the verdict is still out on that.

Pandora's Box

There are a couple recent posts I've taken down and kept hidden. Partly for fear that I'll be discovered. Partly because I'm afraid that by putting them out in the open, anything could happen - good or bad.

I don't like the Unknown, it doesn't always play out in our favor.

Just look at what happened to Pandora.

Road-Trippin'

To a state called Confusion.

The Imaginarium of the Heart

Men are confusing. The whole lot of them. Just as you’ve decided to not like one – and have made every effort to move on – he will do something, say something, reveal something about himself that will cause the frosty disposition you've grown comfortable building, to thaw for him again.

The man I had liked, then decided I mustn’t, and from whom I have kept a very professional distance, let loose a side of himself I hadn’t had the opportunity to see until this week. As we talked, his words were warm and comforting like summer rain. We spoke of things outside of our respective jobs: shared interests in photography, writing and other arts, cooking, stargazing, and moon-chasing. He looked at me and with all sincerity, told me to run, to seek out and hone my gifts. He was excited for me. He made me want to be excited again.

He told me how much he admired my imagination, the ability I had to step outside my surroundings, and to lose myself in thought or stories. And as much as I do enjoy this particular quirk, I wanted to tell him how dangerous it was for me. To always walk the fine line between reality and dream, of truth and imagination, of the tangible and the ephemeral, is to allow for vulnerability, hesitation, disappointment and a constant, nearly insatiable yearning.

It’s strange. As much as I enjoy these feelings -- the flirting and smiles, the shared laughter and occasional brushes -- I am still so hesitant, still so fearful. I realize all the more in my melancholic self-consciousness, that I am still so very naïve when it comes to these sorts of pursuits of the heart.

I am in danger of falling before any foundation is set. Every word uttered, every glance and grin, every hearty laugh, will have me undone soon enough.

It's all fluff for the foolish.

Life in the Minor Keys

I. am. drained. Exhausted. Fighting to stand and breathe. Falling apart.

For the past week or so, an all too familiar and never welcomed companion came to visit me. Sorrow. That invisible beast that burdens your soul and causes your feet to drag, your eyes to well up with tears, your shoulders to slump. The stress of work and then a minor tiff with a friend just about did me in. It was all I could do to NOT weep at my desk.

I'm beginning to think I may have mild depression. (Don't know why I just shared that. Fortunately for me and my pride, only 2 people read this, so, I suppose, I'm pretty safe.) If there was even a nano-second of silence, and my mind was quiet, I could feel the pressure of hot tears collecting just behind my eyes. My mind would start to wander to dark places as I desperately tried to quiet the voice inside my head and ask the Lord to deafen the cacophony with the soothing sound of His. No comfort could be found. Not in the warm embraces, affections or kind words of friends. Not in the sunshine. Nadie. My only solace were a few minor chords I strummed, then plucked, on my trusty guitar.

Life in the minor keys... D minor to be exact. It's pre-tty awesome.

Birds of a Feather

Lately the urge for future things has grown stronger. Case in point: While on my way to get my hair cut this morning, I drove past the cutest little Arts&Crafts-style bungalow. There standing on the front porch was a man holding his baby boy as he discovered the new numbers on the front of the house, running his tiny little fingers across the grooves and layers of paint. My heart skipped and a pang resounded in the deepest parts of me. And for a moment, impatient hope ran a muck as I daydreamed about my future family -- about the still faceless dark-haired man, the one who haunts me in my scarce dreams and of the tiny ones I'll carry and hold...

They say that Spring stirs something in you, that it awakens the soul and warms the heart that ran cold all winter. I'm starting to think they (whoever they are) may be on to something.