If I'm planning a surprise (or am just aware of one that's being planned), I can hardly contain it. When I made plans to secretly go home over fall quad break, I couldn't tell my family, so I told everyone at Gordon that I possibly could. It was like the emotion was too much for me to physically contain, and to process it I had to let some out, a little at a time, by giving it to others.
Secrets, joyful or sorrowful, are like that. They carry weight, and sometimes that weight is too much for one person to carry. That's how they get told. From then on, every person that receives the secret carries a bit of that weight too. Whether they like it or not.
That's why it's so huge to be the caretaker of one. You have to decide. Do you carry the weight alone... forever? Or do you burden others with it for their lives too?
Having both been burdened and been the one to hand that burden others, it's hard to say. But I don't regret having to carry some things. Today I could feel someone else's weight from hundreds of miles away, and in a small way I am with them in the carrying, even if they can't feel it themselves.
I think trusting others to carry our secrets makes us brave. Holding them inside ourselves forever robs others of the chance to test their strength, and after so many years our shoulders just get tired.
As your guardian, I was instructed well
to make sense of God's love in these fires of hell
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Friday, March 13, 2015
Things I Love With All My Heart
My hair the morning after a good shower: deliciously soft, mussed up, wavy, still damp in the back.
The sound of a man shaving with a non-electric razor: the scrape of blade against stubble, like light sandpaper.
Similarly, the sound of long hair being cut with scissors and the crispness of each snip.
When I am burrowed deep into my comforter in the early hours of the morning, before the "get out of bed" guilt has set in, and it is wrapped snugly and folded up around and against my back, the perfect amount of cushion, and somehow the extra padding against my spine makes me feel utterly safe and calm.
When I am trying to massage my own neck and I press on just the right knot and it sends delicious goosebumps down every inch of my skin.
The way I can listen to Future of Forestry and hear the nights in the fall of 2012, walking the lonely streets of suburban Stafford, or hear Jukebox the Ghost and be transported to wintery car rides with Grace senior year, or hear the acoustic version of Painting Roses and see the sunny back roads through a windshield when I go home on breaks and realize I missed being alone almost more than I did being with people.
The smell of cinnamon, anywhere, anytime, especially on top of coffee.
Picking up things with my toes
The way I can go for a walk and take the person that I am around every other person in the world and shed her like a jacket. There's a whole other Self hidden underneath that comes out to play, and I'm the only person she's met and we like it that way.
Poetry about air travel (as someone who's probably spent more of her life in airports than out of them, it feels like home)
When the little strand on the left side of my head curls by itself
Having the realization that an embarrassing love for something is actually just some adorably quirky part of me that I can be proud of instead
The sound of water boiling and the knowledge that my macaroni will be done soon
Concocting incredibly elaborate unrealistic movie scenes (starring myself) to the music of another film score and pretending that if that movie was made it would still have that exact music
Being in wide-open or high places during a storm that involves heavy rain without wind, accompanied by thunder and lighting, while listening to dramatic instrumental music
Surprising people I haven't seen in ages by being somewhere they don't expect me and the look on their face and the endless hugging that ensues
The little butt-wiggle that cats do before they pounce on something
Being carried without having to ask
The sound of a man shaving with a non-electric razor: the scrape of blade against stubble, like light sandpaper.
Similarly, the sound of long hair being cut with scissors and the crispness of each snip.
When I am burrowed deep into my comforter in the early hours of the morning, before the "get out of bed" guilt has set in, and it is wrapped snugly and folded up around and against my back, the perfect amount of cushion, and somehow the extra padding against my spine makes me feel utterly safe and calm.
When I am trying to massage my own neck and I press on just the right knot and it sends delicious goosebumps down every inch of my skin.
The way I can listen to Future of Forestry and hear the nights in the fall of 2012, walking the lonely streets of suburban Stafford, or hear Jukebox the Ghost and be transported to wintery car rides with Grace senior year, or hear the acoustic version of Painting Roses and see the sunny back roads through a windshield when I go home on breaks and realize I missed being alone almost more than I did being with people.
The smell of cinnamon, anywhere, anytime, especially on top of coffee.
Picking up things with my toes
The way I can go for a walk and take the person that I am around every other person in the world and shed her like a jacket. There's a whole other Self hidden underneath that comes out to play, and I'm the only person she's met and we like it that way.
Poetry about air travel (as someone who's probably spent more of her life in airports than out of them, it feels like home)
When the little strand on the left side of my head curls by itself
Having the realization that an embarrassing love for something is actually just some adorably quirky part of me that I can be proud of instead
The sound of water boiling and the knowledge that my macaroni will be done soon
Concocting incredibly elaborate unrealistic movie scenes (starring myself) to the music of another film score and pretending that if that movie was made it would still have that exact music
Being in wide-open or high places during a storm that involves heavy rain without wind, accompanied by thunder and lighting, while listening to dramatic instrumental music
Surprising people I haven't seen in ages by being somewhere they don't expect me and the look on their face and the endless hugging that ensues
The little butt-wiggle that cats do before they pounce on something
Being carried without having to ask
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Dear Brother,
I write from a (mostly) quiet coffee shop counter. It is the hour at which the only customers are the ones who are like me: drowsy but still focused, and content when left to themselves; every new walk-in either feels like an intrusion or destiny. Behind me, the coffee pot sizzles like a small, sad version of our fireplace at home. You don't know how lucky you are. I should be pored over the French textbook next to me, but my head and heart are filled with thoughts of you.
You, who strides with confident adolescent swagger down those high school halls like a blindfolded man through a minefield, unaware of the dangers on every side. You, who will scoff at Dad's lectures on purity but let me give the same ones ten minutes later, collapsed across my bed instead of your own. You, who still calls me after every good Castle episode just so we can yell excitedly at each other through the phone, even if only for five minutes, after which I hang up longing to hear what's really going on in your heart.
Do you have any idea where you are?
You are at the crucial point of your existence. Some might say it's when you leave home, or when you start working, but I say it's now. At the precarious, fragile beginnings of high school, when it's not cool to care yet, and you can skate by on apathy and shallow friendships.
Don't. Settle.
You have the biggest heart. The strongest voice. The things that God could do through you are unimaginable. He could transform that entire, terrifying school. I want bigger things for you than I could have ever accomplished in those four years. You have so many gifts that I don't: natural leadership, unapologetic opinions, and a knack for making friends. You are the perfect balance of strength and gentleness, and you could probably take my place at Gordon and win over everyone that I know in the time it took me to make one real friend. The Holy Spirit would spread like wildfire with you as a vessel and it makes my heart ache with preemptive pride because I know that in your heart of hearts, you know it too.
It's so unfair of me to ask anything of you. For you to deny the worldliness of your friends, give up every shred of the image you so carefully craft, treat girls as precious treasures even when none of them around you are worth your effort, and chase after God with everything you have would take miles more courage and maturity than I had at your age.
But oh brother, I wish it. I wish it more than anything. Some days, I'm enjoying a solitary breakfast, or trudging through the icy slush to class, and am overwhelmed with the sudden longing to walk every step through that school beside you and shield you from its blows. My heart breaks for you daily because I have so much love for you. You've been my friend so many times when I had none. You've picked on me one moment and picked me up the next. You've rejoiced with me, mourned with me, gasped over TV show twists with me, and made a fool of yourself on family vacations with me. No amount of thanks can cover the extent of joy you've brought to my life. I want nothing but the highest joy for yours, and I've seen where it's found: in Him. Your unrelenting zest for life and adventure would be more than satisfied by a life devoted to Him, and it's my prayer every day that you would seek it.
Perhaps one day, when you have crossed the minefield and are preparing to embark on a life of your own, I will tell you these things with my hands on your (much higher) shoulders and you will hear the truth in the tears that choke my voice. Until then, I remain behind this quiet coffee shop counter, praying with an aching heart.
Be brave, pal.
You, who strides with confident adolescent swagger down those high school halls like a blindfolded man through a minefield, unaware of the dangers on every side. You, who will scoff at Dad's lectures on purity but let me give the same ones ten minutes later, collapsed across my bed instead of your own. You, who still calls me after every good Castle episode just so we can yell excitedly at each other through the phone, even if only for five minutes, after which I hang up longing to hear what's really going on in your heart.
Do you have any idea where you are?
You are at the crucial point of your existence. Some might say it's when you leave home, or when you start working, but I say it's now. At the precarious, fragile beginnings of high school, when it's not cool to care yet, and you can skate by on apathy and shallow friendships.
Don't. Settle.
You have the biggest heart. The strongest voice. The things that God could do through you are unimaginable. He could transform that entire, terrifying school. I want bigger things for you than I could have ever accomplished in those four years. You have so many gifts that I don't: natural leadership, unapologetic opinions, and a knack for making friends. You are the perfect balance of strength and gentleness, and you could probably take my place at Gordon and win over everyone that I know in the time it took me to make one real friend. The Holy Spirit would spread like wildfire with you as a vessel and it makes my heart ache with preemptive pride because I know that in your heart of hearts, you know it too.
It's so unfair of me to ask anything of you. For you to deny the worldliness of your friends, give up every shred of the image you so carefully craft, treat girls as precious treasures even when none of them around you are worth your effort, and chase after God with everything you have would take miles more courage and maturity than I had at your age.
But oh brother, I wish it. I wish it more than anything. Some days, I'm enjoying a solitary breakfast, or trudging through the icy slush to class, and am overwhelmed with the sudden longing to walk every step through that school beside you and shield you from its blows. My heart breaks for you daily because I have so much love for you. You've been my friend so many times when I had none. You've picked on me one moment and picked me up the next. You've rejoiced with me, mourned with me, gasped over TV show twists with me, and made a fool of yourself on family vacations with me. No amount of thanks can cover the extent of joy you've brought to my life. I want nothing but the highest joy for yours, and I've seen where it's found: in Him. Your unrelenting zest for life and adventure would be more than satisfied by a life devoted to Him, and it's my prayer every day that you would seek it.
Perhaps one day, when you have crossed the minefield and are preparing to embark on a life of your own, I will tell you these things with my hands on your (much higher) shoulders and you will hear the truth in the tears that choke my voice. Until then, I remain behind this quiet coffee shop counter, praying with an aching heart.
Be brave, pal.
Monday, February 9, 2015
The White Masterpiece
When you have to shed 3 layers just to sit down in class without spontaneously combusting, or you've run out of warm-enough socks long before laundry day, or you've trudged through the millionth snowdrift just to get to your dorm, it's easy to complain with everyone else that winter will never end and why can't it just be warm again and so on and so forth.
But tonight, as I gaped at pristine, untouched, massive drifts and took a bite from one (yes, I ate snow- it was perfectly face-level, can you blame me?) and watched the sparkly, cold white fairy dust swirl and dance around itself in corners and under streetlights and across the snowplowed pathways that quickly filled up again, I couldn't help but feel a little magical about it.
Yes, I have moments where I hope I never have to tug on these mediocre-quality, clunky, gaping-open-at-the-top snow boots. Yes, I feel like a marshmallow every time I pass girls wearing nothing but leggings, a North Face and those cute, hand-knit ear warmer/headband things (that I will never wear) while I'm wearing 3 pairs of pants and 2 sweaters and a huge coat and a giant scarf(yes, the leggings/Uggs/fleece jacket trend never actually goes away just because it's 12 degrees and windy at 3pm). Yes, it might be nice to be able to do something with my hair besides stuff it inside my coat and pull it out, snarling at me and frizzy with static, hours later.
But come on:
The branches have traded their leaves for white sleeves,
all warm-blooded creatures make ghosts as they breathe
But tonight, as I gaped at pristine, untouched, massive drifts and took a bite from one (yes, I ate snow- it was perfectly face-level, can you blame me?) and watched the sparkly, cold white fairy dust swirl and dance around itself in corners and under streetlights and across the snowplowed pathways that quickly filled up again, I couldn't help but feel a little magical about it.
Yes, I have moments where I hope I never have to tug on these mediocre-quality, clunky, gaping-open-at-the-top snow boots. Yes, I feel like a marshmallow every time I pass girls wearing nothing but leggings, a North Face and those cute, hand-knit ear warmer/headband things (that I will never wear) while I'm wearing 3 pairs of pants and 2 sweaters and a huge coat and a giant scarf(yes, the leggings/Uggs/fleece jacket trend never actually goes away just because it's 12 degrees and windy at 3pm). Yes, it might be nice to be able to do something with my hair besides stuff it inside my coat and pull it out, snarling at me and frizzy with static, hours later.
But come on:
You can't help but be wistful whilst walking through this every day and night.
I'm also sort of glad it's been so windy today and yesterday. It means that no matter how diligently Snow Crew plows the walkways through campus (and to be honest, it's not incredibly effective to begin with), there will always be a few inches to walk through at all times, and I like the excuse to walk through snow. It makes keeping my head down against the freezing wind not so bad when I can watch my toes kick through fresh powder. I'm still dying to wade all the way across the quad at least once, but I should probably do some leg workouts first. (Some of the unplowed areas are almost chest deep at this point. Not kidding.)
Never take the glory of nature for granted. It's majestic and creative and is practically screaming at us to look up and acknowledge the coolness of the God who imagined it.
The branches have traded their leaves for white sleeves,
all warm-blooded creatures make ghosts as they breathe
Friday, January 30, 2015
Catnap Appreciation
I've never been one for naps. I either a)lay half-awake for 30 minutes before falling dead asleep for 3 hours, wake up not knowing where I am and remain groggy for the rest of the day, or b)lay half-awake for 30 minutes before falling into that weird state where you're having 10 dreams at once but you're never completely asleep for about 40 minutes, whereupon I still wake up disoriented and groggy.
But: can we take a brief moment to appreciate the fact that I took not one, but two successful, single-hour naps today?!
One was after lunch when I was super tired for no reason, and the second was between tonight's callbacks for the spring show (which ended just after 10), and my closing shift at Chester's (12:30 to 2:30am). I finally get all the hype! I wasn't jumping with energy afterwards, but it was just the little amount of sleep needed to take the edge off my drowsiness.
(Downside: it's 3:20am and I've never been more awake in my life. However, that might be because of the rare cup of actual, caffeinated coffee I drank at the beginning of my shift.)
[This has been: A Moment of Excitement Over A Totally Normal Occurrence.]
But: can we take a brief moment to appreciate the fact that I took not one, but two successful, single-hour naps today?!
One was after lunch when I was super tired for no reason, and the second was between tonight's callbacks for the spring show (which ended just after 10), and my closing shift at Chester's (12:30 to 2:30am). I finally get all the hype! I wasn't jumping with energy afterwards, but it was just the little amount of sleep needed to take the edge off my drowsiness.
(Downside: it's 3:20am and I've never been more awake in my life. However, that might be because of the rare cup of actual, caffeinated coffee I drank at the beginning of my shift.)
[This has been: A Moment of Excitement Over A Totally Normal Occurrence.]
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Subconscious Tornados
I have a hard time believing people have just one "fatal flaw." We're all sinners who commit multiple sins. It could be said that I have infinite fatal flaws that are all deal breakers in one deal or another.
But one of the more significant ones is my tendency to overthink everything.
You can blurt out that it's because I'm a woman, but the truth is that it comes from my idealistic, imaginative side (from my mother) and my logical, analytical side (from my father) colliding in an infinite tornado inside my mind that roars around, knocking over things, and overcomplicates any and every situation it can.
So when the opportunity to take a leap of faith comes along, you can imagine the mental atom bomb that ensues.
Of course, the first thing I love to do is picture all possible outcomes, and my wonderfully unhelpful brain points out dangerous possibilities in each scenario. But lately I've been learning more and more to give God control of every part of me, even my mind. So I have to let him take care of the things that haven't happened yet.
I have to accept that me making the "wrong" decision isn't going to stump him. ("What? Why did you do that? Boy, that sure screws up my whole plan for your life. Now what?") No matter what I do, He's in control.
Even if I make a wrong decision, He's in control.
Even if I do nothing, He's in control.
There's freedom in not having everything up to you.
There's faith, too.
Life's scary, that ruthless wizard.
But one of the more significant ones is my tendency to overthink everything.
You can blurt out that it's because I'm a woman, but the truth is that it comes from my idealistic, imaginative side (from my mother) and my logical, analytical side (from my father) colliding in an infinite tornado inside my mind that roars around, knocking over things, and overcomplicates any and every situation it can.
So when the opportunity to take a leap of faith comes along, you can imagine the mental atom bomb that ensues.
Of course, the first thing I love to do is picture all possible outcomes, and my wonderfully unhelpful brain points out dangerous possibilities in each scenario. But lately I've been learning more and more to give God control of every part of me, even my mind. So I have to let him take care of the things that haven't happened yet.
I have to accept that me making the "wrong" decision isn't going to stump him. ("What? Why did you do that? Boy, that sure screws up my whole plan for your life. Now what?") No matter what I do, He's in control.
Even if I make a wrong decision, He's in control.
Even if I do nothing, He's in control.
There's freedom in not having everything up to you.
There's faith, too.
Life's scary, that ruthless wizard.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
What No One Says About Bravery
It's better to be brave than to sit around and wish you were.
And while it's true that you'll regret the things you didn't do more than the chances that you did take, sometimes you're tempted to regret taking those chances too. When they backfire, for example.
And even if you ignore all that advice about not thinking and being spontaneous and letting "whatever happens happen," and instead you plan out every possible scenario, sometimes the one thing you never expected to happen.... happens. And this one horrible situation you never imagined you'd have to face is staring you down and all you can do is stammer at it awkwardly and repeatedly ask yourself what on earth is happening.
It's awful. Hollywood and popular culture love to show us the happy results of taking chances, but the hard truth is that sometimes being brave isn't enough, and life rewards you with a good slap in the face.
Does that mean we just pick ourselves up and continue to be brave? Or was that a sign that we should be more careful next time?
I don't know. Here's hoping I figure it out eventually.
They tell you not to drive while texting, but no one says anything about driving while crying.
They say you'll never regret being brave, but what happens when you do?
And while it's true that you'll regret the things you didn't do more than the chances that you did take, sometimes you're tempted to regret taking those chances too. When they backfire, for example.
And even if you ignore all that advice about not thinking and being spontaneous and letting "whatever happens happen," and instead you plan out every possible scenario, sometimes the one thing you never expected to happen.... happens. And this one horrible situation you never imagined you'd have to face is staring you down and all you can do is stammer at it awkwardly and repeatedly ask yourself what on earth is happening.
It's awful. Hollywood and popular culture love to show us the happy results of taking chances, but the hard truth is that sometimes being brave isn't enough, and life rewards you with a good slap in the face.
Does that mean we just pick ourselves up and continue to be brave? Or was that a sign that we should be more careful next time?
I don't know. Here's hoping I figure it out eventually.
They tell you not to drive while texting, but no one says anything about driving while crying.
They say you'll never regret being brave, but what happens when you do?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)