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.

Utter Randomness

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

Dear Tuesday, this one's for you.

Happy (Birth)Days

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


Aging Gracefully

I read this verse today and it made me laugh:

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

Sometimes I forget God has a sense of humor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need Christ. I need for Him to matter.

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

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

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.

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!!!

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...