the fort

I built a fort the other night.

I was flying home from visiting my family in South Carolina (of which is was 70 degrees while I was there, so yes, it was amazing. I sailed... AHOY!), and on my flight from Philadelphia to Chicago, I built a fort right there in seat 22F.

When I got settled in what would be my new address for the next few hours, I unloaded my book-bag with all that I would need for the flight home...

ipod... check.

notepad (no lines)... check.

2 sharpies (one fat, one little)... check.

one blue clicky pen... check.

journal (with lines)... check.

my favorite navy blue sweater... check.

I was set.

Then my neighbor moved in... 22E.

His name was Adam. I had him pegged as being from Boston.

He was loud, proud, and whether it be because he couldn't, or just didn't want to, he couldn't/didn't pronounce his R's. He'd ask for "wawta," instead of "water."

He introduced himself to both myself and 22D (although she didn't speak much English, so the intros didn't go too far). She just smiled and nodded her head... a universal way of communicating "I have no idea what you are saying!"

Adam proceeded to tell both her and I that if he fell asleep and happened to start snoring, we should feel free to punch him in the arm. He, too, said he would feel free to do the same to us if we started snoring.

22D smiled and nodded.

She had no clue what he just said.

I laughed to myself while he enjoys thinking that I am laughing at him (or with him, I don't know), and I finally ask him...

"so... where are you from?"

"Well, originally fram Philadelphia, but now I live in Chicaago."

Dang it, I thought to myself, so close! Or was I? I don't know... I failed geography.

(OK, I didn't fail, but it sounded funnier in my head.)

He asked if I was from "Chicaago," at which point I should have said yes and made up some amazing story about being the governor's daughter, worried if daddy was still going to have his job when I got back to town... but... I was too tired, so I decided to be honest.

And of course, in being honest, he wanted to know what in the world would posses me to move from Pawleys Island, SC to Naperville, IL.

At this point I should have told him this amazing story of change and transformation... leaving the home that I knew to seek recovery and restoration from a broken past and poor choices, ultimately leading to healing and victory in Jesus Christ!

But I was too tired, so I decided to lie....

"just gettin' out of the south," I said with my southern draw and smiled (as us southern girls have been taught to do no matter what the situation).

I wanted to puke at the thought of being so fake, but considering the fact that I am a recovering bulimic, I figured that was a bad idea.

Satisfied with my answer, he tells me I picked a great city to come to, smiles, and pulls out a book to read.

Thank God! He's a reader!



As he reads, I begin to set up camp. I feel pretty privileged because I have the only spot in our row with a view (even though we all paid the same price). It's amazing what windows can do to brighten up a place.

I take my shoes off, pull my knees up toward my face, and stick my sock covered feet in the back of the chair in front of me (the pouch thing that holds the magazines).

I then take my favorite navy blue sweater and put one end over my knees, and the other end over my head, forming a tent like atmosphere (much like many of you may have done with bedsheets and chairs when you were little).

(We didn't have cable growing up, so we had to be inventive. We made a lot of forts out of bedsheets and chairs... especially when it rained.)

I hit play on my ipod, and there in my little fort, I invited a friend to come in...

"Lord, will you be here with me? I need to be held. Will you hold me?"

We talked about the year (quietly so as not to disturb the neighbors), and I cried at the thought of it being over. Not out of sadness, but out of thankfulness.

"Lord, this year has been so hard! I am so tired... I can't keep up! If you have more ahead for me, I'm going to need some energy for the ride. I'm going to need you, still."

Eventually the music drowned out our conversation and I just sat, and listened.

After a while I fell asleep, only to be awoken by the refreshment cart, which in my opinion is the best way to be woken up... "would you like a snack?"

I came out from under my fort and she gave me the price list.

Price list?


After realizing I had to pay to get my snack and my ginger-ale, I realized I no longer wanted either. I suddenly felt passionate about the economy, and the need to do something about it... except not really.

I glanced at my neighbor, who at this point was passed out (thank God), took a quick glimpse at the dark sky out of my window, and I set my fort back up.


I love flying at night, I thought to myself.

If you're going to do nothing, or chill inside and just relax, do it at night. I always get antsy when I fly during the day. I feel like I should be doing something instead of just sitting around.

As we approached Chicago I could see the city lights down below, and they were beautiful.

I tore down my fort and packed everything up... at which point I felt so exposed and out in the open... I was safe in my fort. I wanted to stay there and hide from 2009. But such is life when mom takes the bedsheets off the chairs, and reality hovers above as you see your man-made safety zone being torn down sheet by sheet.

We (my siblings and I) built some amazing forts in our living room growing up. We even had a "fort neighborhood" where we would build three bedroom forts next to each other and take turns vising each other.

I remember wanting to keep them set up forever... but the reality is... eventually company is coming over, or just for no reason at all, momma wants the living room clean!

Those babies are coming down!

With all the creativity and imagination involved in building a fort, it requires quite an investment of your time and energy... so to not only see it being torn down, but to take part in tearing it down... it's kind of hard... and sad.



Forts are built to serve as a place for protection and defense... against attacks, or criticisms. Forts to me are what nests are to birds, or what therapists like to call "a safe place."

As when I was little, when I tore my fort down the other night in 22F, I felt a sense of sadness... a sense of uncertainty. I was uncertain as to what lay ahead (or around) me that I may have to face next... without the safety and protection of having somewhere to hide... without my fort.

And sitting here now, all I have to say to 2009, with all due respect, is bring it on!

(And no, not in a cheesy Kristen Dunst cheerleader type of way.)

I'm saying that I don't need bedsheets and chairs, I don't need my favorite navy blue sweater, and I don't need seat 22F.

Life is meant to be lived...

it is not meant to hide from what you may be afraid of, or who may hurt you.

To live is to feel the fear and do it anyway. To live is to feel the hurt, and love them anyway.

To live is to enjoy what comforts your fort may bring you, but to be strong and courageous when the time comes to tear it down... and leave your hiding place behind.

We weren't meant to hide forever.




The world is waiting...


make your move.

journal entry 12/9/08

late night.

listening to sleeping at last, laying on my shag carpet.

can barely see except for the colored christmas lights beaming out of my broken lamp.

my room is finally warm thanks to a space heater that was given to me a few days ago.

my blinds are down, but when i open them everything outside is bright white. the snow is so beautiful. it took me 45 minutes to get home today... a trip that usually takes 10-15 minutes. some people drove slow to be careful. i drove slow to sight see.

i drove through neighborhoods to see the lights against the snow. it was beautiful.

i can't believe it's almost christmas... again. i feel like i just wrote that same sentence yesterday, even though it was last year.

my mom had surgery today. i was really worried. it's scary when it's your mom. even when everyone else says it will be fine, even when you're the one always telling other people it will be fine, it's scary when it's your mom.

the doctors removed the lump, but we won't know anything till monday.

i wish i could hold her hand. i wish i could wait right beside her. i wish i could run my fingers through her hair and tell her how much i love her.

i love you mom. the thought of you not knowing that makes me cry.

i don't think you can ever tell your mom enough how much you love and appreciate her.

don't wait for the lump to appear...

tell her now.

share my thoughts?

It's cold.

It is so cold.

I put on layer after layer... and I am still...

cold.

So cold.

You should see the view from my window...

it's beautiful.

The ground is blanketed with layer after layer of snow, and it's beautiful...

but it's still...

cold.



I want to be held.

I don't want another jacket. I don't want another blanket. I don't want another pair of thermal underwear...

I have that... all of it...

and I don't want more of it.

I want...

to be held.



I can't buy what I want...



and it sucks.

the untitled rant

I'm too angry to write.

Something hateful may come out.

This is me having a filter, but this is me being honest, saying, yes... I get angry, really angry.

Angry about injustice, angry about lack of passion, angry at those who don't get angry.

I can't stand Joel Olsteen... just get angry, dude... Jesus did!

You know who I'm talking about? The "preacher" on TV who always smiles and is all about the warm fuzzies and holy hugs and whose message is basically "Jesus wants to make you rich so you can live happily ever after."

Happily ever after happens when we die, a morbid thought to those who don't believe in a God who died as a sacrifice, and rose again so that we might have life and have it to the full, but it's true.

Don't preach about my Jesus and say you never have a bad day. Don't tell me Jesus wants to make me rich.

Jesus wants to give me LIFE...

but I guess it depends on what your definition of life is.

I guess, Joel, that means your definition of life... abundant life... is to be rich... financially successful... wealthy and "happy."

That is so sad to me.

It sure is a good thing you are storing up your treasures here... especially since we can't take them with us.



I know, I know... love wins... God is love... me sitting here typing about Joel Olsteen is no better than him preaching to the masses about a God who smiles all the time... I get it...

I'm called to love Joel... fine.

But I don't like him.

Jesus flipped His lid when the money changers had all their tables set up as a market in/on/outside of the temple. He not only flipped His lid, He flipped their damn tables. Passion for God's house. Passion for what is right. Passion to stand against those who even with the best of intentions just didn't get it and needed to be set straight.

Jesus was a man of Passion.


Where are such men?

And women?

It's not just on the men... it's on women too... where are you? All of you?

Seriously?



I think I am somewhat calmed down to further explain my anger...

It started yesterday.

As I've said before, a group of us go downtown Chicago on Sundays to hang out with our friends who live on the streets. Yesterday we went earlier than normal.

The whole process of the day is a-whole-nother blog in and of itself, so I'll save that for later. I want to talk about the end of the day... or at least the end of our visit.

Our visit ended with everybody (from Naperville) meeting back up in Union Station before leaving to head back. As my friend and I approached the group, I noticed our friend Al was sitting on one of the big, long, brown benches right in the middle of everyone. I smiled when I saw it was him, and he did the same when he saw it was me...

"There she is..." he said, "there's JJ!"

I gave him a hug and asked him how he was doing. He answered in his oh so cheery voice, "I'm doing fine, just fine."

"You staying warm?" I asked, and then plopped down on the floor next to his feet.

He laughed... "I sure am trying."

It wasn't even five minutes after sitting down before I see a cop walk up with a very stern look on his face.

I hear Al mumble under his breath, "oh no, here we go."

The officer doesn't even bother looking anywhere else but straight at Al, and in a very uptight voice loudly questions "if I told you to leave before, why are you still here?"

Anyone who has grown up around women knows that it's all about tone... it's not so much about what you say, but how you say it. Can I get a witness?

This man, to say the least, had tone, and it bothered me, but I didn't say anything... right away.

Al starts to get his stuff together, making it clear he is leaving, but the officer continues...

"If I told you to leave, why are you still here?"

Al continues to gather his things, finally I look up from my Indian style position on the floor and ask "what's the problem?"

The officer blatantly ignores me, and continues to tell Al to leave. I start to stand up and say "NO... WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?

And yes... this is where my tone came in.

The officer looks me in the eye and says he (Al) is not allowed to be in there.

I look him straight back in the eye and ask "why not? He's hanging out with us! This is a public place, if he wants to hang out with us in here he can."

At this point I know the cop is going to B.S. me and tell me that it's not a public place... that it's privately owned (which I verified as not true because I researched it online and found out that, after being owned by four different companies, it is now fully owned by Amtrak, which is a government-owned corporation, whose preferred stock is owned by the U.S. federal Government... not an individual, nor a private corporation. The president of the United States, himself, appoints Amtrak's board of directors).

And I was right... he said just that and said he could tell whoever he wanted to to leave and they had to.

I think cops think they can say whatever they want to and assume you will believe them just because they cops.

Wrong.

Especially not in Illinois, whose own governor was just arrested last week "on charges of conspiracy to swap political favors for cash" (including trying to sell President-Elect Barack Obama's senate seat). Talk about corrupt government.

I actually sincerely do hope Obama had nothing to do with it. When he's president, I'd like to talk to him about this "homeless" thing... or at least Amtrak's board of directors... and how maybe I might be able to get a seat amongst them. And if that doesn't work, then maybe I can get Gov. Blagojevich to sell me a seat, since he refuses to resign.

Anyway... sorry... rabbit trail...

Back to the cop...

I call his bluff and say he can't just tell whoever he wants to that they can leave.

He insists he can and even goes so far as to say that he could walk around the whole train station if he wanted to and ask to see everyone's ticket and if they couldn't present him one that he could tell them to leave.

I tell him to present me with papers and prove that it was a privately owned building in which he had the authority to make whoever he wanted to leave.

He stared me in the eye. So I stared him in the eye and waited for a response. He just smirked, real smug like... "I said he has to leave."

And my tone may have increased at this point... "So you're gonna be that much of a jerk and tell this man to leave, who isn't doing anything, just because he is homeless?"

"Yes, I am ," he says.

"Why?" I ask (in a not so polite manner).

He looks at me and I can see his smirk... "because I can."

He starts to turn around to walk away, and I yell out to him that I hope he sleeps good tonight.

He turns and responds "Oh I sleep just fine," and keeps walking away.

As he walks away I mumble under breath... "asshole."

Am I proud of that? No. I actually didn't want to add that part, I wanted you to think I handled myself maturely... but I didn't.

In that moment, I didn't think about what was mature, I didn't think about WWJD, I just blurted out what I know a majority of the people were thinking... "asshole."

Regardless of who thought it, I'm not proud I said it... I'm actually kind of embarrassed...

but at the same time... I wouldn't change any of it.

I'm tired of people who sit in silence and watch other people get pushed to the side. I tired of not being able to express how I feel simply because it might offend someone else. I'm tired of people not getting angry, or maybe getting angry, but letting it just sit inside while they watch injustice take place. I'm tired of being the nice, quiet, Christian girl, which I don't think I necessarily have that reputation, but I'm tired of trying to be somebody I'm not.

God is love... absolutely.

Which is why I'm trying to figure this thing out... this love thing. How do I love people? God loves that police officer just as much as he loves Al. I can't wrap my head around it, and I can't understand it.

In that moment of the cop and I both being rude to each other, God loved both of us.

What?

There's no victim here... there are three equals... the cop, Al, and myself. To be honest, I don't like placing myself as equal with the cop no more than I think the cop would want to be placed as an equal with Al, "the homeless man," but the reality is... that's what we are... in God's eyes, we're all equal.

I'm trying to understand that just like Al, that cop has experienced hurt too (you'd have to to talk to people that way). I'm trying to understand that he too has a story, and I'm even trying to love him simply because he is a person, with feelings, who might not deserve love, but who needs it. I'm trying to embrace the reality of that concept.

But at the same time, I'm trying to embrace the voice that God has given me...

and while trying to except His love for all, I'm not trying to stand aside in silence while someone I love mistreats someone I love.

I can love you, but it doesn't mean I will agree with you.

As far as how I handle that... that needs more prayer.

I know God is going to help me with my manners, but one thing is for sure...

I will not be silent.

Poppy

I met him yesterday.

We were talking to guy who quickly became one of our friends, and while doing so I met Poppy.

Poppy came up asking for money.

We told him we didn't have any money, which was true if you don't count credit cards, but we said that we had some food.

He was so excited... "Oh food, food, yea that works too, I'll take some food!"

So we begin pulling out all sorts of snacks that we prepare to bring down to the city every weekend for moments such as this.




It's a group of us... we go downtown Chicago every Sunday and look for new friends to spend time with... friends without homes, without money, without anywhere warm to go, and we just spend time with them... love on them, if you will (or won't, I don't really care).

We look them in the eye, we call them by name, and we just sit and listen to them talk.

It's a pretty transforming experience when the "homeless" no longer become the "homeless," but instead become actual people with real names, and family stories.

Kim has 5 children... and she is beautiful! Maybe a little rough on the outside to the human eye, but sit and talk with her for a while and you will begin to realize just how beautiful she is. When I first met her she cried. She cried because we looked her in the eye. She cried because we sat and talked to her. She cried because she couldn't believe that someone would actually take the time to sit next to her and listen to her talk instead of just throw a dime in her cup and walk away.

I have numerous stories I would like to tell about so many of the people I have met downtown... but I want to find the boundary between sharing my experiences and exploiting my new friends. I have many stories, some of which I am glad to tell, but maybe much like my new friends, only on a more personal level instead of with those who just pass by.

Kim is my friend. And I love her.

That's all that matters.



So yesterday a group of us found ourselves back downtown, this time approaching the experience a little differently. We split up in twos, each with a bag of food, and we set out looking for old friends, in hopes to find new ones.

To be honest, I was hoping to find Kim.

But I never did. It was the first weekend I hadn't seen her, and I was slightly bothered as I was so looking forward to seeing her. I had to leave to come back to Naperville early, but when the rest of the group got back, they said she showed up about an hour after I left. My emotions were mixed... I was so bummed I didn't see her, but I was so glad she was seen.

While looking for Kim, my partner and I, and two others, ran into a 21 year old guy named David. You could tell he was freezing as he kept blowing on his glove-less hands. My roommate handed him some gloves and some hand warmers to put in them. We gave him some food and just stood there and talked to him... in the freezing cold. We told him we were going over to the train station and he was more than welcome to come hang out with us... "you probably won't make a buck," my roommate said, "but at least you'll be warm, and among friends."

He didn't even hesitate to say he wanted to come with us.

Sometimes people want more than just your money. Sometimes they just want your fellowship. They just want community.

While we are standing there a little round African American man, probably in his late 40s, early 50s, walks up and asks if we can spare any change for a homeless man. We ask his name, and tell him ours. He smiles and you can tell he is wondering why we care...

thus begins our conversation about not having any money, but having some food.

"Oh food, food, yea that works too, I'll take some food!"

He tells us we have good hearts and proceeds to hug each one of us. We invite him to come hang out with us at the train station, but he said he needed to earn some money. He then told us to listen closely and his voice got real intense, but sincere...

"I know I may be out here on the streets right now," he put his hand to his mouth and started to tear up, "but I know God has a plan for me! I know this isn't it!" He paused and put his hand back up to his mouth and whispered "excuse me." He was full on crying at this point, but firmly pronounced "I know, that I know, that I know, that God has a plan for me, and this isn't it!"

I put my hand on his arm, and stood in silence. What do you say to someone whose shoes you don't understand what it's like to walk in?

So I say the first thing that pops into my head, regardless of whether I understand his situation or not...

"Absolutely, He does... and don't let anyone take that from you! Don't let anyone take your joy!"

He begins to cry harder and excuses himself... "I got to go," he says, "I can't handle this."

We all stand there silently as he walks off and I can hear him crying as he walks down the street.

That can't be it, I think to myself, but I don't know what else to do.

I yell to him that we love him and he turns around to say he loves us too, but I want him to know that we really do, I really do love him, I don't even know why, other than I just do.

I just want to hug him...

And with that thought in mind, I drop my bags and everything I have in my hands...



he made it to the end of the block before I yelled out...

"POPPY! WAIT!"

At this point he was almost bent over crying, but he just kept walking. So I yelled again, "POPPY!" He finally stopped, and I ran up from behind him, swung my arms around him, and just hugged him... tight.

I held him in my arms and he just balled. The more he cried the tighter I held him. I kept whispering in his ear that he was beautiful.

This grown man has his head buried in my shoulder, balling, and I just remind him again and again that he is loved.

His crying started to slow down, and I heard him whisper "thank you! I needed this! Boy I really needed this. Thank you!"

I drew back, while still holding him, looked him in his teary eyes, and said "I really hope I see you again."

"absolutely you will," he said, "absolutely you will!"

"Good!"

And with that, I gave him one last hug, he took a deep breath, wiped his tears, and we went our separate directions.

Looking back, writing about this, that wasn't me.

It was my body, but it wasn't me.

I absolutely was filled with love for that man in that moment, but it wasn't an earthly love. It wasn't even a love that I think I can understand. I know, that I know, that I know, that it was God's love.

A love so powerful it makes a grown man cry. A love so powerful that God can take a little white girl out of south to the suburbs, and out of the suburbs to the city, to hold a grown man living on the streets of Chicago.

Do you get this?

I am from South Carolina... born and raised for 23 years.

What the hell am I doing in the city of Chicago holding a black homeless man?

Excuse my political incorrectness, but I think it needs to be said in order to be understood.

That is the power of God.

Only God is capable of making such a transformation.

There's that one popular song out on Christian radio that, to be honest, I don't like, but the words are so true...

"I'm not who I was!"

I'm not! And it's not because of me!

You can praise me for going down to the city and hanging out with the "homeless," Poppy can thank me for hugging him and telling him he is loved, I can even think I am great for doing so, but one thing, you, he, and I need to know...

it's not me!

Don't thank me...

Praise God... that I'm not who I was!

Praise God!





And with that, I thank Poppy, because he is the one who showed me what love is, and who reminded me to thank my Father above for not allowing me to remain within the mess that I once lived in... just as I know,

that I know,

that I know,

that God will do the same for my Poppy.

dear dad,

Teach me how to dream again... how to build sand castles and make snow angels. When I get to Heaven, can I do them both at the same time?

After seeing You I'd like to see Nana, and Uncle Johnny, and who ever else may be there by then.

Please, please tell me that Biscuit will be there... I still miss him, and can't wait to hold him again.... OH... and Harley and Mooney too!

I would really like to meet Peter, and Stephen (does he have bruises?), Ruth and Boaz, and mostly... the thief on the cross who hung beside you and asked for forgiveness upon his dying breath. I would really like to hear what he has to say about that moment.

I would love to see old movies of Noah's Arc, the parting of the Red Sea, and the feeding of the five thousand (I'd love to try some leftovers... I heard you had lots).

Is Janis Joplin there? I know she lived a rough life, but I hope... well, I just hope she's there. I hope she's still singing.

Speaking of singers, Ray LaMontagne and Brandi Carlile would be fantastic additions to the Heavenly choir. They got soul... and no one knows that more than you. Keep your eye on them, will you?

I want to fall backwards and not worry about who will be there to catch me. I just want to fall... maybe even keep falling... like Alice in Wonderland, and have a cup of tea on my way down.

I want you to scoop me up, and I want you to hold me... for very long periods of time. Will there be time? If not, just hold me for however long that works.

People always paint a picture of Heaven as being white... all white. I hope not. I hope it's so full of color our eyes will explode. I hope we can breath in the colors, and feel them, and taste them.

Christmas... what's it like there? Do you do the whole 9 yards with crazy cool lights on a tree? Oh man, I bet you laugh hysterically at our Christmas trees... how glorious we think they are (and they are pretty) but man what a joke "pretty" must be to you. I can see you laughing now.

Although, you probably cry when you think about what we have turned Christmas into. I'm sorry we've missed it somewhere along the way. I'm sorry we forgot.

Even those big lit up plastic manger scenes... I would like to drop a note on the front step of those homes and say "nice try, but I still think you've missed it."

But don't worry, I won't.

I know in my own way, in my own humanness, as much as I think I've got it, I'm sure I've missed it too. A lot of it.

I can't wait to get there. I can't wait to get it. I mean, I'm in no rush, don't feel the need to speed up the process, but while being terribly afraid of the unknown, I so look forward to collapsing in your arms and just resting.

And You know what? It just clicked... just sitting here thinking about you (and a conversation I had with my roommate... who is awesome... thank you for that), something clicked...

Love. I get it. Faith, hope and Love, but the greatest of these is love. I finally get it. It is the greatest because it is the only thing that lasts... that is never ending. Not even faith and hope (two of our greatest needs) will last because one day, when we meet you face to face, our faith will be fulfilled and our hope will be met. There will be no need for it anymore, and all that is left is love.

Wow.

Thank you. And wow!

Maybe the Beatles did get it... all you need is love! (Speaking of, I'd like to see a Beatles reunion when I get there. Maybe we can sing that song.)

I'll say goodbye for now, but I know I'll talk to you soon.

I love you... as much as my human heart can mean that... I love you!

Love,
Your J


P.S...
Can we dance? A lot?

Even the Baptists... can they dance with us? A lot?

I sure do hope so!

about me

impact

This is my buddy, Luke... the little white kid with long blonde hair.

I got an email from his dad today saying he was looking over his son's shoulder and found him making this video. A group of us went to Africa in June, and it's now nearly December. As Luke's dad said in his email this morning, "I guess I know where his thoughts still are..."

Just wanted to share with you the impact Africa had not only on my life, but obviously Luke's as well...

Nice job, Luke! Hope we make it back to Africa together.

the sleeve

11/11/08

I laid in my bed last night, room mate beside me, and I cried.

I cried as I told her about my whole day... how it wasn't necessarily bad, but it wasn't necessarily good. I just couldn't stop crying.

It was emotional, to say the least.

I was emotional.

And no... it's not "that time of the month."



Just let me explain...





A friend of mine shared with me her hopes and fears of a relationship/friendship that may or may not be forming between her and somebody that she cares about. She told me of her past hurts and how they cause her to be insecure in the situation she is now in.

She also revealed to me how honest she was with him about it. She didn't pretend to have it all together, she got real with him and told him how she was feeling.

I was shocked when she told me he actually responded. Not even necessarily in a way that she would have wanted him to respond, but he responded.

Props to you, sir.

I think deep down I've always thought that as soon you share your feelings with a guy, he disappears. And if not right away, it will only be a mater of time.

Now, I realize that's my own stuff from my own past hurts, but I've seen it way too many times... way too many.

She revealed. He responded.

There's something so beautiful about that.

And while thinking about how beautiful that was, I started to think of the initial risk she took in the first place... the risk of revealing... the risk of rejection.

I started to get upset because I can not even fathom the idea of revealing myself to someone. The very idea made me hurt. And I cried. Not dramatically, but I teared up as I sat in the window at Starbucks, staring at the passer-byers, wondering what their stories were.

Before our conversation I was working on where I want to be and what I want to be doing 5 years from now. My excitement for the future was interrupted by the reality of life... the reality of relationships.

My thought process took me on a few girls' journeys though their past hurts.

And it hurt.



I thought about an innocent 14 year girl getting involved in a serious relationship that was much more complicated than a girl her age was able to handle.

I thought about an 18 year girl who trusted someone with all her being and whose world was shattered when she saw with her own eyes how that trust had been broken.

I thought about a 20 year old girl who finally met someone different... someone who invited her to church, who made her feel loved, who made lots of girls feel loved, and who eventually disappeared.

I thought about a 21 year old girl who tried to be everything she wasn't just to please the one she was with, until she finally realized he didn't like her... he liked his idea of her.

I thought about a 24 year old girl who said no, and the pain that was caused when he didn't listen.

I thought about the girls that I haven't mentioned, and how some of the stories repeat themselves... and how some, thank the Lord, do not.

As I thought about them, I cried.

My crying was less about past hurts and more about fear of the future.

Fear of revealing myself to someone. Fear of rejection.

And while I know I am confident in who God made me to be, even the most confident women have a voice deep down that whispers "what if?"

"What if I'm not good enough?"

I sat in my fear, let a few tears fall down my face, before wiping them away with my sleeve, and I took a deep breath.

-------------------------------------------------------------

11/14/08

I don't think I knew how to finish.

And even now, sitting here, looking back on what I wrote, I wonder... what do you say to that? What do you say to a girl to make her believe that she is good enough, that she didn't deserve that, and that he should have listened?

What do you say?




What would you say?




Knowing that words won't make the pain go away, what would you say?



Sometimes there's nothing you can say.

So you know what you do?




You sit... in silence... and you just hold her.

You hold that girl and you let her know, that despite what life has thrown at her, she is loved.


She is loved.


Somewhere, deep down, isn't that what we all want to know?

That regardless of our scars, we are loved.




And while thinking about this, I got in my car the other night and I said a quick prayer before the busyness of the night came upon me.

This remains my prayer and my reason to be thankful for who I am...

"Thank you, Lord... for wanting me!"


I may have experienced hurt, but I don't feel sorry for myself.



I feel blessed. I feel loved. I feel wanted.

I feel this way because I have been rescued...

which is something that I would not have had the opportunity to feel, had I not had hurts that I needed to be rescued from.




And so... I leave you with this...


If you are hurting... don't just sit in your fear...


let a few tears fall down your face, before wiping them away with your sleeve, and take a deep breath. Then be still... and rest in the fact that, despite how it feels, you are loved...


because there is someone who is waiting to rescue you.

I once was blind...

but now I see.

Literally.

I spent Saturday morning in the emergency room.

I went home to South Carolina this past weekend to visit with my family... which was great, but we ended up bonding in the emergency room of the Waccamaw Medical Center in Surfside Beach.

It starts like this...

Friday afternoon I took a nap, and I was woken up by an extremely sharp pain in my left eye. I figured it was just my contacts, so I went upstairs and took them out and let them soak for a while.

My contacts are supposed to be thrown out every 2 weeks, but I try to cheat the system and save a little money by throwing them out every two months.

Apparently there's a reason they tell you not to do that, however still not having any serious side effects thus far, I just figured I needed to change them soon.

After letting them soak for a while, I put them back in. My left eye was slightly irritated, but the pain was gone, so I thought I was fine and that the irritation was just a result of the long term use... again, nothing serious.

As the day when on, I started to notice a haze in front of my left eye. By dinner time, the pain started in again, and I could barely see past the haze that had now become a glaze, like that of a Krispy Kreme doughnut.

I took my contacts out, again, and basically just continued to rub my eye thinking that the pain was just going to go away and the glaze was just going to clear up.

I did manage to fall asleep, but woke up a short 2 hours later, by the pain that was now burning.

I sincerely thought I was going blind in my left eye.
This is it, I thought, this is where God gets me back.

Why I sometimes think that God is waiting to avenge me for stupid choices I have made is sometimes just as stupid and confusing to me as it is to my mentor when I tell her such things.

I can hear her now... "Snap out of it, J! Who do you think God is?"

She's got attitude, and I love it... it keeps me in place.

And she's right... there are consequences for bad choices, or disobedience, or what have you, but God isn't some angry little kid sitting on an ant hill waiting to burn me with a magnified glass.

For hours I tossed and turned, and tried to go back to sleep, but the pain kept getting worse.

I would get up and flush out my eyes in the bathroom repetitively, but nothing would work. I started to get scared when I realized the pain wasn't going to go away. Though I can not even begin describe how badly my eye hurt, it took me hours to accept that something was wrong.

I got mad at Jesus because I just wanted him to heal me.

"You healed lots of blind people," I told him, "please just heal me. Just make this go away... please... you can use mud, or spit... I don't care."

No answer. Just pain.

When I didn't hear anything back, I went downstairs, crept into my parents bedroom, and lightly tapped my mom on the arm. After a few taps and a few "mom"s that turned into "MOM"s, she popped up and stuck her arms out like when I was little, and in her half awake voice asked if I wanted to jump in bed with her.

I jumped in, and she held me.

I told her that I been up for hours and that my eye was getting worse. I was crying because it hurt so bad, but it hurt even worse to shut my left eye lid, so it hurt to cry.

We went out in the living room and she gave me some benedryl hoping that it would either help the irritation or that it would knock me out. It did neither.

We sat on the couch, in the dark, and we prayed. She's much more patient than me when it comes to prayer... and she knows her scripture, so she called God on it.

She kept claiming His promises and instead of focusing on how amazing His promises are, I was thinking, "yea, go mom!"

After praying, she went to wake up my dad.

So, my dad came out into the living room and sat with us, on the couch, in the dark, and he prayed.

By 5am my dad and I were on our way to the emergency room. We didn't know if they could help, but we knew the eye doctor wouldn't be open until at least 9am, and the thought of sitting there with that pain for 4 more hours made me cry even harder.

My mom made coffee (it's amazing how addicts will wait for coffee, even on their way to the emergency room), filled two little thermoses for my dad and I, and we were on our way.

After giving the nurse at the front desk my whole life story as to why I was in the emergency room, she typed it all in the computer, printed my name on a little bracelet and told me to follow Bob, or Earl (or some form of an older man's name with one syllable) back to room seven and wait for the doctor.

My dad followed Earl-Bob and I, and I plopped down on the bed in room seven.

Another nurse came in, and I gave her my whole life story as to why I was in the emergency room, because apparently the nurse at the front desk didn't forward the information to the nurse in the back (who was going to examine me) what had happened.

After she listened, she looked me over, said "ouch," and then said the doctor would be in shortly.

"Ouch"... yes that would be why I am here... "OUCH!"

The Doctor came in and wouldn't you know it, I gave her my whole life story as to why I was in the emergency room, because apparently the nurse in the back didn't tell the doctor (who was coming to examine me) what had happened.

I started to feel much like Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke, when he escapes from prison for like the third time, and the cops catch him, for like the third time, and he's hiding in this church...

he stands up, looks out the window, and out comes that famous line...

"What we have here, is a failure to communicate!"

Then they shoot him... which sucks... but seriously, it just proves his point.

I felt like saying that to the doctor about her hospital...

"What we have here, is a failure to communicate!"

I didn't feel much like getting shot (though I did think of it taking my mind off of the pain in my eye), so I just patiently tried to re-tell everything... for like the third time.

Machines in my face, drops in my eyes, and she still couldn't figure out what was wrong.

She told me she was going to put eye drops in that would numb my eye long enough for her to paint my cornea so she could look at something through a different colored light or something, and it worked... the numbing, that is. The eye drops felt amazing, but the feeling was temporary.

She wrote me a prescription for antibiotic eye drops, gave me some percocet for the pain, and then told me I had to go see the eye doctor, because she couldn't really find anything.

Before my dad and I left, he asked the doctor if she could give me some more of those eye drops that made my eye numb because the numbness had worn off... he asked in a sort of "one for the road?" kind of way (I love my dad).

Right away the doctor was like "Oh no, no, no, those are only to be used once or twice so I can get to the eye without her feeling it... if you continue to put those in, it will burn right through your cornea... they're only temporary... a quick fix."

Startled at the thought of a burnt cornea, I said nevermind.

My dad looked at the doctor and I think he kind of laughed at the thought of my cornea being burned out... not in a bad way, but in a way that was like "even with eye drops... a quick fix will never fix the problem."

He even made the comment... "the good feeling never lasts long... this is true in most of life."

I sat there and thought about that, in between my thoughts of my cornea being burnt out, and thought about how true that is... anything that numbs... drugs, alcohol, eating disorders, cutting, sex, porn, you name your struggle, or your form of coping... anything that numbs doesn't stay numb for long. Eventually, you have to deal with the problem... at least if you want to rid yourself of the pain.


So, I sucked it up, and sat with the pain again, that at least had decreased a little, and got back in my dad's truck to head back home.

On the way back we stopped by McDonald's, and apparently I got a chicken biscuit. I love those things, but to be honest I don't remember it too well because I had already taken the percoset, so by the time we left the hospital it was well into effect. When we got home I ate my chicken biscuit, looking slightly like a drunk, and then I passed out.

I woke up around 1:30pm.

By 1:40pm we called the eye doctor.

Her office is in Georgetown, which is 15 minutes away, and the receptionist tells us that they close at 2pm on Saturdays.

"If you come now," she tells my mom, "the doctor will see you really quick."

I jump in the car, still halfway in my pajamas, but wearing jeans, and we set out for the eye doctor.

We get there at 2pm.

My mom drops me off at the door while she parks, and after running into the door, I safely make it in.

The doctor was true to her word, and she waited for me.

After examining my eyes she tells my I have a bacterial eye infection that is caused either from wearing my contacts too long or wearing them while I sleep.

"I don't wear them while I sleep," I said.

She looks at me... "didn't you say you were taking a nap when they started bothering you?"

I was kind of surprised, "naps count?"

She did that 'your kidding me, right?' laugh.

So I did that 'you know I'm just kidding, right?' laugh.

Communication without communication.

She wrote me a prescription for new eye drops that were specifically for my infection and tells me I can't wear contacts for over a week... "you can only wear glasses," she says.




First thought... I lost my glasses last year!

Second thought... It's after 2pm on a Saturday afternoon, where the crap am I gonna get glasses?

She writes me a prescription for glasses and tells me if I order them from her office it will take a week for them to come in.

This math is not making sense to me... I can't wear glasses for a week, so I need to get glasses, but it will take a week for them to come in.

We tell her I am only in town for a few days, which I suggest everyone doing when they need something from their doctor because then they let you in on the secrets of quick service. She tells us of another place, 30 minutes in the other direction, that can make glasses in 24-48 hours.

That sounds great, but let's get real... it's still Saturday afternoon... they won't be open Sunday, and I leave Monday morning.

Regardless of how impossible it seems, we get in the car and we head to "the other place."

We get there at 3pm.

They closed at two!

While reading their hours, a couple walks out, and the door is open... so I walk in, pretending not to know they are closed.

A young man walks out, and just as nice as can be says "come on in, we're closed, but we can still help you out, what do you need?"

I told him my situation and he tells me to pick out some frames.

I started looking at my options and a woman came out to help me with prices and styles. She was very honest when they didn't look good.

I kind of felt like she was rushing me, but she was still one of the sweetest ladies I have ever met... with the deepest southern twang you have ever heard, and the brightest pink lipstick you have ever seen.

I didn't realize it, but she was moving kind of speedy because the guy who greeted me was waiting for me to pick out frames so he could cut them for me right then and there... "we want you to have those today!"

We picked out a pair and while he got to work, the sweet southern woman rang me up... "we'll getcha a good deal," she said, "y'all are so lucky... we always close at two, but that couple before you just happened to stop by and stay for an hour."

That's a pretty amazing thought.

When my mom walked over to where we were sitting, the woman pointed to her necklace... an icthus... or to those that don't know that term... the Jesus fish.

"Oh I just looooove your icthus," she said, "that's sooo purrty!"

Obviously, a Christian. Obviously, a conversation was started.

When the man finished with my glasses, he brought them out, rubbed them off, and handed them to the woman to give to me. She put the glasses on my face, and then put her hands on my head and prayed "Lord Jesus, I just pray for heelin' on this young girl's eyes!"

She hugged us and God blessed us, and by 4pm we were walking out the door, and I could see.

The pain was gone. And I could see.

Honestly, that was a flat out miracle... think about it...

I'm in the emergency room from 5:30-7am. Pain killers knock me out until 1:30pm. We get to the eye doctor at 2pm, which is when they close. They see me anyway, prescribe me meds, and tell me to get glasses that will take up to a week to come in. When we say that's not possible, they tell us that we can try a place in Surfside beach, which is 45 minutes back in the direction of the hospital... that we might be able to get a pair within 24-48 hours. Knowing that they aren't open on Sundays and that I'm leaving first thing Monday morning, we drive up there anyway. We arrive at 3pm, but notice the sign says they closed at two. We see a couple walk out, so we walk in, in which they say they are closed, but ask how they can help us anyway. I explain my story, the man tells me to pick out some frames and cuts me a pair of glasses right there on the spot. The woman places them on my face and prays for healing, or as she said... heelin'... on my eyes.

I basically just summed up this whole entry in one paragraph... which is basically what God did with me when I questioned how good He is that night in bed. He summed up His goodness in less than 24 hours.

I'm not always aware of God's goodness, but sometimes I get a glimpse. It make take 24 hours or it make take 2 years... it's never the same, which is why I can never figure Him out.

But instead of living my life trying to figure God out, I have actually figured out that I should just be thankful... for the stuff that may seem small, that I may take for granite, but stuff that is a true blessing to have... stuff like the gift of sight.

On my flight back to Chicago I had already forgotten that I was thankful I could see... until my drive back to the house when I saw all the leaves changing colors. They were beautiful... and how amazing it was to see them.




I was, and still am, so thankful that I have been given the opportunity to know for a fact, because I have seen with my own eyes, that fall is beautiful.

.green pear...blue moon.

The other night I met up with an old family friend.

He's a good friend of my dad's and he was actually my high school chemistry teacher, when I was whatever age you're supposed to be when you take chemistry. He was like 23 when I was in his class, so it's kinda weird if you think about it, but actually not that weird that we would be hanging out. To some, maybe, but to my family... not at all.

He called to say he was staying in the Chicago area and wanted to know if I wanted to meet up.


Last I knew, he didn't know I was in the Chicago area, but as word gets around in a small town and makes it all the way to California, where he now lives, he eventually found out.



He told me he was staying with a friend in Wrigleyville, so we decided to meet up around there on Monday night.



I get downtown, we meet up at his friend's apartment, and I wait for him to get ready... it's good to see an old friend. He asks about my family, and of course my dad. When I called my dad to tell him to guess who I was meeting up with, he knew right away it was him... nothing gets past your parents, no matter how old you get.

My dad wastes no time to mess around with him via text message...

"Remember God is watching, and he keeps me in the loop."

We laugh. He tells his friend my dad is a pastor who has been trying to convert him for years. I love that a conversion doesn't have to happen in order for them to be friends. My dad loves this guy, and he loves my dad. He's much like a big brother, and Monday night, my big brother was looking out for me.

Over dinner he asked about life, and I was honest...


"It's hard...


but it's good."


I shared with him why I came to the Chicago area in the first place. I shared with him my story and my faith.

Last time he saw me (3 years ago) back in South Carolina, I wasn't doing too well, but he didn't know that... nor did anyone else. Prior to that I was in his high school chemistry class, dating my high school sweetheart, who often got kicked out of his class. My boyfriend and I were quite different when it came to school... I loved school, but I loved that boy, so I didn't mind him getting kicked out of class.

All over dinner, we talked about old times, good times, bad times, and times to come. The conversation was great, but the story lies in how the night progressed, and what exactly dinner looked like for the two of us...

After leaving his friend's apartment we walk down Clark St. toward Wrigley Field. We pass a few places, most of which closed, either because it is Monday or because of the economy, so we keep walking to explore our options. As we walk, I point out a comedy joint and tell him I have been to a few shows there, in which they do long form improv, and that it's pretty funny. I say there is a show that evening, but it's not one of their better ones, so that alone is my reason why we shouldn't go.

He's still interested in going... "I may fight you on that because I'd really like to see a show..."

I realize I have to be honest...

"OK, here's the thing... that might be kinda awkward for me. You see, there's this guy and we used to hang out, but we don't anymore, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to talk to me, and well, he takes classes there, and it's kinda 'his spot,' and I don't really wanna run into him, I mean I do, but I don't, and it would just be really awkward... for me"

He gets it, and we keep walking. He asks if the bar next to the comedy place is too close to the comedy place, but I say it's fine.

We go in, we sit down, and we order dinner.


This is classic...

He asks what I'm going to order and after I tell him, he says he is going to feel like a woman. After he tells me what he is going to order, I say he should feel like a woman.

I ordered the "Black Angus," a rather large cheeseburger with a side of fries. And to wash it down... a 20 oz. Blue Moon... probably my most favorite beer ever.

Not only did he order a salad, he ordered the "Pear Salad." And to wash all that manliness down... a tall glass of Pino Grigio... probably the most un-manliest wine ever... not that it's not OK for men to drink it, it is... but, you know, there's a time and a place.

I laugh at him, but he laughs too, so we know it's all good. He says he is secure enough in his manhood to order a salad (I remind him it's a pear salad) and a Pino Grigio. I tell him that's good because I'm secure enough in my recovery, and in my womanhood, to order a cheeseburger and a beer (all the while thinking about how I am totally going to blog about this).

The night goes on, and we enjoy our opposite meals, only every now and then distracted by the Patriots playing football behind us.

To give him credit, I didn't finish my whole burger, so I get the rest to go. When we walk out the door he says he'll carry my leftovers because he'd at least like to feel like half a man. I tell him we'll just pretend that he had the cheeseburger. He feels good about that.

We walk back down Clark Street and he says he doesn't know of any other places to go that are still open, and before I think about what I am saying, I tell him about a little cafe I know about where I like to go and get coffee. He asks where it is and I say it's right down the street and I point to one of my favorite little joints with big windows and funky relics... unsure if I actually want to go there.

"Let's go," he says.

I fess up again...

"OK, here's the thing... that also might be kinda awkward for me. You see, there's this guy that works there, who asked me out, and it was really weird, and..."

I stop and think about what I am saying, feeling the need to clarify...

"OK, I realize it sounds like I get around, but I really don't... I've only been asked out twice this year, and one was from the guy at the comedy joint and the other was from a guy at this cafe... so it just so happens that these two places, that I seemed to mention, and that you seemed interested in going to, are actually places that are slightly awkward..."

He laughs before I finish what I'm saying.

"Don't worry about me," he says, "it's not awkward for me... but if you want me to make it awkward for him, I can do that."

I laugh. Then he adds, "but if it's awkward for you, we just won't go."

I think about it... I really would like to go to this cafe. And I've gone there long before that guy even asked me out. And I don't want that guy to be a reason for me not to go anymore. And ultimately, I don't care what that guy (who I don't even know) thinks of me going to "his work" with another guy because I know the truth... I know I'm there with my big brother... so to speak.


And, I think to myself, if it is awkward, it will make for a great story.


I nervously open the door, but we go in and sit down. I feel safe once we make it to our seats. The waiter recognizes me, but fortunately it wasn't you know who... he wasn't working... a sigh of relief.

We sit and enjoy coffee and tea. He tells me about his girlfriend and we talk relationships again.

"Your dad would kill me if I gave you relationship advice," he says.

I laugh, because knowing his dating life, I know he is right.

He hesitates, and all he says is...



"Don't settle. Don't ever settle."


I smile, because I think that is the best relationship advice that someone can give another person.


And I laugh, because my dad would actually agree with him...




"Don't settle. Don't ever settle."