being reminded...

I just felt the need to re-post this, as a reminder to myself. It's hard for me to believe this was almost 3 years ago, and yet I still find myself handing back the pen I grabbed from God's hand and asking Him again to write my story.

Monday, February 25, 2008

applicant need not apply

I want so badly to write, but something is just completely blocking me. It's like I can't get the words to come out. They refuse.

I can literally feel a wall inside my chest and the words from my heart are trying so hard to jump over it, but they just can't make it. It's too high... and getting higher. I almost feel like the higher the wall gets, the less I can breath.

It's a slow and painful death not doing what you were created to do.

I don't know if I know exactly what I was created to do yet, but I know it involves a message I was created to share.

But this wall... everything is stuck behind this wall. How do I get over it? How do I tear it down? How do I even begin the process of chipping away at it?

I can't do it. I can't. I'm too tired, and I don't have the energy anymore. I used to want someone to chip at it for me. I thought it meant I was worth something if I was worth getting through the wall to get to. I realize my wall has allowed me to shut people out... most of which respond the same way... they don't respond at all. They give up. They walk away, and I build my wall higher.

But...

My family. I can't say the same for my family. They've never given up. I've given them plenty of reason to, but no matter how high I build that wall, they know I'm back there, and they refuse to leave me alone without ever being known.

They want to know me. Wow. They want to know me.

I'm starting to realize that I can't chip the wall down by myself... but I realize someone else can't do it for me, so what's the answer?

I think it's to meet in the middle. I think God wants to give me the strength to chip away from my side, and the someone elses strength to chip away from their side, and together we tear down that wall... by God's strength.

Lord, I don't want to hide behind my wall anymore... but I can't tear it down by myself... and I don't want someone to do it for me... so I just pray for people in my life who are willing to meet me half way.


..........................................

Hahaha... ok... so I started to write that last night, and even though there is total truth to it, I was mostly just feeling sorry for myself (there at the end) and didn't know how to reach out for help, so I figured if I could manipulate people through my writing, people would reach out to me.

What God has done in me since then is remninded me... He's got it. God's got it. God's got me. He's got me!

Wow. It all makes me smile and laugh and sing at the same time!

Me manipulating people is not trusting God. Me manipulating people is taking the pen from God's hand and writing my own story... with my own motives, my own intentions, and my own ending in sight. But that's just it... when I write my story, I like the beginning, as most of us do when we start to take control, but since it's me writing and not God, the ending is tragic.

I'm tired of having tragic endings due to selfish beginnings. And this is where I hand the pen back and say "God... please.... write my story!"

God is tearing down that wall. So I'm going to stop handing out applications for His position and allow Him to be exactly who He is... God.

dancing again

I moved into a new place today. It's another temporary place, but this time with an end to "temporary" in sight. Come January 8th, 2011, I will finally have a place to call home in Portland, Oregon. It's been a rough start in this city, rougher than I could have imagined. Maybe it's because I'm still right in the middle of it, living out of suitcases and boxes, so the emotions are still very fresh and intense, but the last 2 and a half months have been some of the hardest I think I have been through in a while.

While moving some of my stuff today, I started sorting through some boxes and pulled out some old journals. I could literally feel all of the emotions I poured out on those pages over the last 3 years of my life. I sat on the hardwood floor of this cute little studio apartment, and just cried and thanked God for how far He has brought me... again.

I tucked my journals away, reminded myself that the pain from those pages were over, put the current pain I am now facing aside, popped in a favorite mixed CD, and just danced. I danced like I haven't danced in a long time. OK, that's not totally true, I danced Saturday night, and maybe that was the catalyst for tonight's dance, but before Saturday, it had been a while since I found myself dancing.

I think that's a good sign... dancing. I think it means, for me, that I am remembering that God has got me. When things get tough I rest in that truth, but when things start to fall into place and I see or feel a glimpse of hope, I dance in it! The good and the bad, God is with me through it all, and I respond to it in different ways, some good, some bad, but none the less, God deals with my responses and He sticks with me... through it all. The last few months I've just been clinging to Him, with no energy left to do much else.

Tonight, we danced.

Thank You, Lord, for Your faithfulness. For seeing me through this hard time. For providing more than enough, even when I wasn't able to see or acknowledge it. Thank You for fighting for me, and with me. Thank You for not giving up on me, even when I yelled at You that night in the car. Thank You for loving me, and not the way people love pizza or the way I love Dean Martin, but purely, recklessly, abundantly and unabashedly loving me. I could never have done or be doing this without You.

Thank You that I get to go home next week and visit with family and friends... something I've been longing for since I moved here.

And thank You that when I come back, I can put away the suitcases, recycle the boxes, do a little dance, and finally be at home...

in Portland, Oregon.

a thrill of hope

Thanksgiving 2010, how did you get here so fast? And to think, you have already come and gone. Mercy me, not the band, where does the time go?

For Thanksgiving this year I decided to go stay with some new friends of mine in Seattle, WA. I had never been to Seattle before, and seeing as I now live 3 hours away and had nothing to do for Thanksgiving, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to jump ship in Portland and head even further north for the weekend.

Having been warned about the heavy traffic going into Seattle, even when it's not the day before Thanksgiving, I decided to head out Wednesday afternoon, hoping to at least get there by night fall. I had heard this was a most un-enjoyable drive for most people as not only is it always raining, but the road is always full of big semi-trucks, slopping even more rain onto your windshield from the backs of their ginormous tires, making it impossible for your windshield wipers to wipe fast enough. None the less, I wasn't going to let this keep me from a weekend getaway in the emerald city (I just heard someone call it that once, I should probably google that).

Despite the rumors, it was actually quite an enjoyable drive. It had just snowed the night before, so the sky was clear and the ground was white... the perfect setting for heading into the Holidays. I was quite tired as I had worked that morning at 5:30am and didn't fit in a nap before leaving, so I decided that stopping for coffee was a must. Much to my delight, once I hit Washington, many of the rest stops had signs that said "Free Coffee." Even though I was only 45 minutes into my trip, as soon as I saw the sign I skipped a lane or two, only cutting off one old woman, and tore into the first rest stop exit. It sounds funny to say, because it's a rest stop, but it was the most angelic rest stop I had ever been to. It was hidden under big beautiful pine trees that were covered in snow, kids were skipping to the bathroom as their parents darted straight to the coffee. Everything was white and it was really just breathtaking. Even something about the way the "Restrooms" sign was hung made me envision resting in a cloud instead of hovering over a porcelain pee hole.

Another side note, which will cause for a rewind, my car has been acting up a bit lately and it sometimes decides that it doesn't want to start. This problem is a recent development and the first time it happened a couple of weeks ago, I just thought the battery had died. I called AAA (thank you, mom, for that membership) and when this cute little old man came out to jump it, it didn't jump. It just sat there, as if it had temporarily checked out of it's reality of being an 11 year old Nissan Maxima. The cute little old man rubbed his bald head, pushed his glasses back up, and without saying a word just walked to the back of his truck. He came back with a big wooden stick. I sort of laughed to myself as I wondered what was about to happen.

He asked me to hold the roof of my car up, as I don't have one of those sticks that holds it for you (guys, feel free to interject here and tell me the official name of that stick), and he took his big wooden pole, stuck it down into a crevice and began hitting something. After a few taps, he smiled, looked at me and said "that oughta do it!" I was skeptic, but I was so pulling for this cute little old man, so I walked back around to the drivers seat and gave the engine a crank. Sure enough, it started.

He explained to me, in laments terms, that the starter was locking up and that it should be good to go, but it may need "a few light slams every now and then." I asked him to show me where the starter was and so he took a flashlight, shined it down the crevice, and said "see that metal thing with the dent marks (assuming they were from the "few light slams")? That's the starter. That's what I was hitting." I'm really glad that being a woman, he assumed that I not only knew nothing about cars but was completely unable to put two and two together. Regardless, he was a darling old man and I thanked him ever so much for his help.

My car was fine for about a week and then one day after work, I got in to go home and low and behold it wouldn't start. I went back into work and got a broom. I told one of the guys I work with that my car wouldn't start and I needed help holding the roof up. He probably thought he'd be doing more than that since I was grabbing a broom to fix a car problem, but he followed me out, and did just as I asked. He held the roof, I stuck the broom down the crevice I had discovered the week before and started lightly slamming on the starter. He laughed, then I walked around to the drivers seat and gave the engine a crank. Sure enough, it started. "No way," my co-worker exclaimed and laughed even more. "Yea," I said confidently with my head held high, "I feel like a man!"

Fast forward to last Wednesday and my visit to this angelic rest stop. When I parked, I really did not want to turn my car off only to have to go through the hassle of my car not starting, having to find a roof holder, then lightly slamming on my starter with the closest tree branch I could find. I debated for a bit, and decided that I could trust this angelic scene with leaving my car on and unlocked while I grabbed some coffee and made a brief visit to the restroom. Being a bit nervous about the idea, I decided I would hurry just to be on the safe side.

Going to the restroom while in a hurry just isn't an ideal situation. There's nothing restful about it... especially when you're wearing layers. This might be exposing a bit too much about myself, but I, for whatever reason decided I could get through the whole process a lot faster if I just left my gloves on. After all, then I wouldn't even need to waste time washing my hands. I was OK with the idea until I stepped out of the stall with my gloves on, and maybe it was my own insecurity, but I felt the line of mothers and daughters staring at me as if to watch and make sure I was going to wash my hands. I walked up to the sink, opened my glove flaps, and washed four fingers on each hand (the thumbs don't have flaps). OK, I didn't wash them, I ran them under the water, but it made me feel better about the people watching. Too much information? Probably so, but oh well. Onward! I grabbed a cup of free coffee which, even though it was stale, made it taste great!

I ran out to my car with my free stale coffee and eight of my fingers freshly rinsed, and was ready to hit the road. Before pulling out onto the highway, I found some Christmas music on the radio, which I normally don't condone before Thanksgiving, but being in the spirit of Holiday road trips, I couldn't resist.

I enjoyed all the typical Christmas songs like "I'll be home for Christmas," "Let it snow," and the Jackson 5's rendition of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus." I sang out loud, I sang to myself, I sang to pictures I had in my car, I just really got into it. Then a song came on that made it hard for me to decide if I should change the station so as to be nice to the person singing it, or if I should scrap the whole nice thing and just laugh at what I was hearing. I know it may be hard for you to believe, but just as I had my finger on the button to change the station, I pulled it back and decided to keep laughing.

The song was called "Christmas in the Northwest" and it just may be by far the best worst Christmas song I have ever heard. It was complete and utter cheese. I mean I couldn't believe it was even on the radio. I started thinking about the lyrics, and even the lyrics to songs I was just previously enjoying and thought "is this really what we think Christmas is all about?" I say "we," because even though I know what Christmas is really all about, I sometimes forget and get caught up in the commercialism of it. But before I get on that thought, let me go back to the song. The lyrics of the chorus are as follows...

Christmas in the Northwest
Is a gift that we can share
Christmas in the Northwest
Is a child's answered prayer

Take away the presents
And they still will have a dream
For Christmas in the Northwest
Is a gift God wrapped in green

Maybe it's because it's my first holiday season in the Northwest, so I don't appreciate it as much as those indigenous to these parts, but really? A child's answered prayer? God's gift wrapped in green?

Now, I don't want to completely tear apart this song, for a couple of reasons...

1. I felt somewhat like a jerk when I looked it up and found out it was released in 1985 as a means to help benefit Children's hospitals in the area. Yea, I know, I felt it burn.
2. While there are a few parts in the song with more substance, I couldn't get past the cheese of the chorus (lyrically and compositionally). That said, who am I to blast someone else's work? I'm not a profound music critic, I'm just another person with a barrel full of opinions.

I laughed it off as another cheesy Christmas song, but I couldn't stop thinking about that one part "Christmas in the Northwest is God's gift wrapped in green." I literally said out loud something to the effect of "Lord, it's pretty here and all, but I am so glad that's not what life or Christmas is all about. Thank God our gift isn't wrapped in green!"

Now I know, it's just a song, and I don't need to analyze it to death, but sometimes I can't help it, that's what I do. Sure, God gives us gifts, and if you want to wrap that up in a cute little Christmas song, go for it, I'm sure He doesn't mind, but good Lord, don't miss the point along the way!

There is one song that, even though it's termed a Christmas song, may be one of my overall favorite songs. Reason being, every time I hear it or sing it, it doesn't stop there. I feel it. The words literally send chills up my spine. The radio plays it and renditions of it have been done over and over, so much so that you're almost in auto pilot when you sing it or hear it, but if you really stop and take in the words, they will pierce your soul.


O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!


There's too much for me to pick apart in one post. I don't even know how to take it all in. Whether it be because I am in a tough season right now, or because the song is just that powerful, or a lot of both, I had forgotten the truth and the hope behind these words until this commercial of a Holiday season started to roll around (right after Halloween). The truth and the hope is always available, not just at Christmas, but when I listened to these words recently and sang them out loud it shocked me to my core and I just found myself in tears.

Only when HE appeared did the soul feel it worth! And can you imagine, a weary world who for so long just layed in their own mess of sin and pain, just pinning away, until finally, FINALLY, a THRILL of HOPE! Can you imagine feeling that? Finally, after such a long and weary wait, that initial feeling of hope? Thrill seems to be the only world appropriate to describe it. What a thrill it must be to finally feel your true worth! Even now, it makes me tear up out of joy. What a Glorious morning! How can you do anything else but fall on your knees? Can you imagine? A weary world, a weary heart finally being able to rejoice! I can not hold it in! Divine night, indeed. And He, He who came and made us feel our worth knows our need. He is no stranger to our weakness. He is neither surprised by it, nor intimidated by it, He conquers it! He completely shatters that which has held us in bondage for so long! Fall on your knees and behold! Behold your King, your Savior, your Redeemer! Who better fit for us to serve? His law is love and His gospel is peace! Not even the hippies got that right! The law by which He governs is love, and the gospel by which He teaches is peace! No condemnation, just love and peace! Fall on your knees and rest in His truth! Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother! Our brother! Oppressor and oppressed shall be no more, for in His name, all oppression shall cease! O Holy night, indeed! With all of our hearts, with all of who we are, how can we but praise Him?

I surrender who I am, I surrender what I want, I surrender my power and my own glory and I fall on my knees and beg, dear Lord, if you are who you say you are, take all of me and please give me the honor of proclaiming your power and your glory... ever more, ever more!

Oh, Holy Night!

It makes me think twice about saying "holy crap!"

Dear Depression,

I see you've come back for a visit. To be quite honest, I can't say that I'm glad to see you. While there was a time when I would have welcomed you with open arms, mainly because I still believed you truly cared about me, in recent years I've adjusted to getting along well on my own, and I've realized that I don't need you anymore.

Too many times you have played your games and messed with my head. Too many times did you hold me and love me and make me feel worthy, only to disappear a short while after leaving me to feel abandoned, alone, and very much afraid. You made me believe I needed you in order to be worth something, and I did, I believed you wholeheartedly. So much so that upon each departure I felt completely worthless to point of being nameless without your name along side mine.

Just when I would start to do well without you and have even a small taste of healing from your wounds, you'd show back up at my door, unannounced, and tell me you loved me all along. You'd point out how hard the healing was without you and reasoned that the only reason it could be so hard was because we belonged together... we were meant for each other... we were made for each other.

Time and time again, I fell for your lies and collapsed into your arms, tired and worn out, and very much just wanting to be loved again. I had convinced myself that I'd rather be unhappy with you than unhappy without you, regardless of how unhealthy our relationship was. I had convinced myself that you were my only option and that I could never be anybody without you.

I'm writing to tell you that I don't believe that anymore. I'm writing to tell you that I don't believe you anymore. And I'm writing to tell you that you are no longer welcome into any area of my life.

I don't know how you found me here, but find me you did, and I commend your efforts, but I won't reward them, I won't welcome them, and I won't give into them.

Today, when you saw me walking in the rain with tears streaming down my face, I admit, I wanted you to rescue me. I wanted you to numb the pain. I wanted everything you had to offer, no matter how sick, short term, or temporary it was. I wanted it because I didn't want to feel anymore.

But I don't want to want you anymore. I don't want to be numb anymore. I don't want to taste freedom from the bondage only to give into your sickness time and time again.

And so I kept walking, and I kept crying, and I kept feeling the pain of getting along without you.


I fear the freedom, but I welcome it, as I once did you, so I don't yet know how I am going to do this without you, but I know that I can, and I know that I will.


I was not made for you.

I was made for more than this.

I was made for greater things.

I was made with Love, by Love, and for Love and I chose to live in that truth.



Goodbye, depression. This time I am leaving...

because I choose life, and because I know that I am worth it.



Without Regret,

Jennie Joy Barrows

paper doll

I'm finding my voice again, which can always be a bit of a challenge. It helps to pull inspiration from others, so I thought I'd share some of where my inspiration comes from... music. I love this song (and this artist), but I've decided that I don't want the lyrics to describe me anymore. Since the song has already been beautifully written and recorded (by someone who has no idea who I am), I guess it's up to me to make the change.

Paper Doll by Rosie Thomas
(click to listen)

Tonight I'm like a paper doll
Dress me in what you wish I had on
And I will not say a thing
I will keep smiling
I'll just keep smiling

Here I am, wordless again
You dress me up different ways
Flat and thin, speechless within
You dress me up different ways
I just can't be sure I'll ever change

And I do not like the clothes I wear
I'd sooner throw them into the air
But I will not say a thing
I will just keep smiling

Here I am, wordless again
You dress me up different ways
Flat and thin, speechless within
You dress me up different ways
I just can't be sure I'll ever change

Why is it now
That you've cut me out
of everything I was used to now
it's not that I
stand here no choice
I will choose not to raise up my voice

Here I am, wordless again
Wordless again.
And I just can't be sure I'll ever change

Tonight I'm like a paper doll
Cut from the page that I once lived on
And I will not say a thing
I'll just keep smiling
I'll just keep smiling
I'll just keep smiling
I'll just keep smiling

snot storms around us

I really thought I had things figured out. I don't want to spend a lot of time feeling sorry for myself, but I admit, it's getting hard. I try to keep busy, or at least my mind occupied. When I'm not busy I try to sleep so as not to think too much. Maybe it's not the best remedy, but it helps. And that's what I need right now... help.

Not necessarily tangible help, but support, encouragement, and an occasion hug would be greatly appreciated. One thing I've really come to miss since moving away from friends and family is something as simple as a hug. It sounds cheesy, but it's true. I so often find myself saying "I just want a hug."

I want someone to hold me while I cry and tell me it is going to be OK. I want them to brush the hair from my face and pull me tighter. I want to lay my head on their lap and drip snot all over their jeans.

OK, I don't really want to do that, but let's be honest, snot storms are a huge part of good cries! And that's what I need... a good cry.

Before you offer, let me warn you, whoever is going to be there for my good cry is in for a killer snot storm!

Truth be told, I am OK. I know I've been discouraged since moving here and I've made that quite known in previous posts, but tonight I sat down to write about needing a hug, which I automatically assumed was going to turn into a depressing post, but when I heard Jonsi, the former lead singer of my favorite band, singing "Around Us" in the background, I found myself taping my feet and even smiling while typing about snot storms.

With his Icelandic accent I could barely make out the chorus, so I googled the lyrics. The musical composition of the song is just beautiful, but the lyrical content just made it that much better. I will leave it up to your curiosities to search for the rest of the lyrics, but here is the chorus...

We all want to grow with the seeds we will sow
We all want to go with the trees we will grow
We all want to know when we're all meant to go
To a place you and I - Will call home

I'm not quite sure how to sort through it all right here, right now, but this does me good. Especially since moving.

I just wrote all this cheesy stuff about sowing seeds, watching them grow, or not, roots being, well, uprooted, and all the lovely analogies that come along with growth and such, but... I erased it.

I will save that for another day. Right now I am feeling good and I just what to bask in that! If nothing else, I hope this post prompts you to check out the genius of Jonsi. Take a listen... I'll bet you can't help but crack a smile and tap a beat.

Thank you, Lord, for the good moments that make me smile and remind me...

life ain't all that bad!

be calm

I went to see one of my favorite bands perform about a week ago in Southeast Portland, and it was, to say the least, amazing. Well ok, the venue wasn't that great and the number of teeny boppers greatly out weighed the number of "older, more mature concert goers" such as myself that I thought would be there, but audience surroundings aside, the performance put on by the lead singer was out of this world.

As I think about it, maybe that's what was so great about it, maybe he wasn't really "performing" but just being real with the audience. The emotion you felt as he sang about his heartache just made you want to smile and cry all at the same time. Smile because, as he put it, he's finally happy, but cry because the songs he sang just poured out such heavy emotions that thinking of him going through such a hard time was just too much for you to take in, even if you only knew him as someone on stage.

As he started to sing my favorite song of his, he pointed out that it had been written on the very street we were on. He said he was here in Portland visiting his sister and they were walking down Hawthorne street, which is coincidentally one of my favorite streets in Portland, and it was just a really rough season of life for him. As they walked, they passed a homeless man who just kept singing over and over again to himself "be calm, be calm, be calm." Nate, the lead singer, wrote it down and the words stuck with him, until this song came out of it.

There's one place, as of right now, where I can go and feel at home. When things are hard, or I am sad or lonely, or I just want to read and write, I go to this little coffee shop in Southeast Portland, on Hawthorne street and I sit and feel as if every thing is right with the world. In fact, as I sit here and type this I am in that very coffee shop, feeling very calm and peaceful even though I know when I walk out that door, I will have to face the heartache that I feel I am experiencing during this time of transition.

And so, I think back to the song I heard that was written on this very street, and as I prepare to head out and walk down that street, I hum this tune and remind myself to be calm. I know I feel like I am breaking down, and everything's wrong, and that it gets so hard sometimes, but JJ, just be calm.


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

Be Calm by fun.

As I walk through the streets of my new city
my back feeling much better, I suppose
I've reclaimed the use of my imagination
for better or for worse, I've yet to know
but I always knew you'd be the one to understand me,
I guess that's why it took so long to get things right.
Suddenly I'm lost
On my street
On my block

Oh why, Oh why
Oh why haven't you been there for me?
Can't you see, I'm losing my mind this time?
This time I think it's for real, I can see

All the tree tops turning red
The beggars near bodegas grin at me
I think they want something
I close my eyes, I tell myself to breathe

and be calm.
Be calm.
I know you feel like you are breaking down.
Oh I know that it gets so hard sometimes.
Be calm.

I'm scared that everyone is out to get me.
"These days before you speak to me you pause."
"I always see you looking out your window."
"After all, you lost your band, you left your mom."
Now every single crack, every penny that I pass,
says I should either leave or pick it up
But with every single buck I've made
I'm saddled with bad luck that came

the moment I was baptized
or when I found out one day I'm gonna die
if only I could find my people or my place in life
a when they come a'carolin'
so loud, so bright, the theremin
will lead us to a chorus
where we'll all rejoice and sing a song that goes:

Oh be calm.
Be calm.
I know you feel like you are breaking down.
I know that it gets so hard sometimes,
Be calm.
Take it from me, I've been there a thousand times.
You hate your pulse because it thinks you're still alive
and everything's wrong
It just gets so hard sometimes
Be calm.

I don't remember much that night,
Just walking, thinking fondly of you
Thinking how the worst is yet to come
When from that street corner came a song
And I can't remember the man,
The panhandler or his melody.
The words exchanged had far exceeded any change I'd given thee.

Oh be calm.
Be calm.
I know you feel like you are breaking down.
Oh I know that it gets so hard sometimes,
Be calm.
Take it from me, I've been there a thousand times.
You hate your pulse because it still thinks you're alive
and everything's wrong
It just gets so hard sometimes
Be calm.
Be calm.

peace out, Portland

I can't sleep.

I have to get up for work at 5am and I've usually been asleep for 2 hours by now, but alas, this evening I find myself lying in bed, wide awake, 2 hours past my usual 9pm bedtime.

I know, I live an exciting life. I was reminded of how exciting it is when I went to update my profile and change my age from 26 to 27. "Am I really changing this again?," I thought to myself. Followed by, "do I really usually go to bed at 9pm?"

I'm sure it's the endless sea of thoughts sloshing about in my head, or the coffee I had way too late in the afternoon (geez, I do sound lame), but either way I'm feeling quite rebellious staying up "so late" to write. While I admit, I can't do this every night thanks to my lovely work schedule, it is a nice change of pace to do something out of the ordinary... something that reminds me of a time in life when I was really happy. Something as simple as staying up late, listening to good music and recording my thoughts... sometimes for myself, and sometimes to share with others.

It's been hard to share how I feel since being in Portland, mainly because I'm not really sure how I feel. If I could only use one word to describe it would be, without a doubt, "confused."
Without a doubt, I am confused! At least I'm not confused about that.

There's so much going on and so much happening so fast that I don't really know how to begin processing it all. Within a week of being here I have started a new job, started school to study graphic design, something I have no background or even an inkling of understanding in, and have stayed two different places without a permanent place to call home yet. On top of which, I have been completely stripped of my support system, by choice (no one forced me to move here), and have rediscovered my good old friend, the three hour nap, which is especially nice on days when it rains. And guess how often it rains in Portland?

Now don't get me wrong, yes, I am overwhelmed and confused, and am having a harder time (emotionally) than I ever thought I would, BUT, that said, for whatever reason, unbeknownst to me, I have peace about being here. It sounds crazy, I know. And I don't get it either. But that's just the kind of God I serve.

Something is going on, and I'm not quite sure what it is, but I have never felt so stretched before in all my life. I've been through a lot, some of which I didn't think I would make it out of, but my time here, though still very new, is so different than anything I have been through before. It's different than just moving to a new town. It's so much more difficult. I've moved before, I know what it's like to start over again somewhere new, meet new people, acclimate to a new community, but this is more than any of that. For not having any clarity about what is going on or why I am here, I am completely aware that something much bigger than myself is going on. Something much bigger than myself is always going on, that I know, but lets just say I easily get caught up in my own self-centeredness that I'm not always aware of things much greater than little ol' me, which is a shame because those things are, well, much greater.

I'm confused about school. I don't know if I like what I'm learning, but I don't know if that's simply because it's not what I thought it would be or if I don't like it because I'm frustrated that I don't understand it. Since I am learning all of these computer programs from scratch I keep thinking I'm doing horribly, but then I get my work back and I'm actually doing much better than average. That's confusing!

Last week I had a project due using illustrator, a computer software that if you don't know what it is please ask somebody to explain it because I get a headache just thinking about it (which isn't good because it's one of the most commonly used graphic design tools). I worked so long and so hard on this project, meeting with a tutor each week just to figure out the program before I could even start the assignment. By the time I was at least "not completely uncomfortable with it" (the exact words I used), the project was due within a few short days. I completed it, which is good, but I was so unhappy with how it turned out. I hated it. I thought it was "ugly" and I didn't feel like it was anything I would ever want to put my name on. None the less, I reluctantly turned it in.

We got our projects back last night. Before the professor handed them out he said he selected a few of the grade A projects to be displayed in the hall. He held up one project specifically and asked whose it was and my heart dropped... it was mine. He said it was excellent and the only issue with hanging it in the hall would be that I needed to trim the edges of my illustration board just a fraction of an inch smaller. I was in complete shock. He handed me a paper with my grade on it and it read "EXCELLENT, 98.5%." I sincerely couldn't believe it. I immediately thought this professor was not qualified to do his job. I almost wanted to protest and point out what I thought was wrong with it but then I heard myself say "shut up, dummy!." At right about this point is where one might think I'm schizophrenic because I quickly retorted, to myself, "please, I got a 98.5, boiiiii, whose the dummy now?"

I started to wonder why I so quickly assumed that I had done poorly and my professor was unqualified to grade my project instead of believing I had actually done a good job and was given an excellent score by an extremely talented professor. Why is it so hard for me to believe the latter? Why is it so hard for me to, excuse my cheesiness, believe in myself? I started to accept the fact that I had actually done a good job (I'm still working on believing that it was excellent), but it only led me to more confusion about being in school. If I don't like what I am doing but am doing it well, is that reason to continue? If I'm going to be in debt for the next 20 years of my life, possibly more given the expense of the Art Institute, is it really worth it?

I don't know. I don't have an answer. I'm supposed to register for next semester's classes this week and I don't know if I'm going to. If I don't go back to school, what am I doing in Portland? Isn't that why I came here? The logical answer would be to go back to Chicago, right? Then why do I not feel at peace about that option? And who knows, maybe I'm looking too far into this "being at peace" thing. The 60's are over and maybe I need to get over it too, but this peace, this peace that I have, it passes all understanding of the reasons I have to leave Portland. This peace that I have is one without clarity and as much as I want the clarity more than the peace, the peace is what I have been given, for now. There is only one type of peace that I know of that passes all understanding and it is a peace not of this world.

It is the peace of the God I serve.

When someone asks, how do I explain myself about how I feel since leaving Chicago? Well, I'm learning that I don't have to explain myself to anyone, at least not in this situation. But, if I choose to explain myself, I'd tell the truth...

I feel sad, and confused, and terribly alone, but very much at peace with right where God has got me.

snickerdoodle

Have you ever noticed a tip jar at your favorite coffee shop or cafe in your area? I'm sure you have. And I'm sure you've put money in the jar when you have noticed it. The reason I'm sure you have is because the tips in those jars go to people like me, who work for minimum wage to pay for rent and bills with their paycheck and then use the tip money from those jars for necessities throughout the week like food, gas, and occasionally a good beer.

At the coffee shop where I work we get our tip money every Friday. The tip money is collected during the week, thrown into a pool and then distributed to each worker based on hours. Every Friday I know I'm going to end up with at least some cash in my hands, which is part of why I love Fridays. And no different than any other Friday, I got my tip money today. I looked at my little brown pastry bag (which is what the money is put in, I don't know why) of hard earned cash and on it read "JJ $98.00"

SCORE!

It is at this point that I am assuming I put my "smiling money," as I call it (because of all the smiling I had to do to get someone to throw an extra nickel in the jar) back in my pocket. The reason why I am assuming is because this is where my usual Friday turned into an unusual Friday.

The nutshell version of the story goes something like this...

Tips were distributed at work around 10:45am, right before I got off of work (the only benefit of starting work at 5am is getting off at 11am). I drove over to school to meet with my tutor at 12pm. My tutor and I met for 3 hours and I stayed for an extra hour after he left. I went to the equipment cage at school and checked out a camera for the weekend. I was so stoked about finally getting to take pictures of my stay here in Portland that I was basically skipping on the way back to my car. When I got to my car I put my bookbag in my trunk and decided I would walk around the city to take pictures. I decided to just take the essentials with me... my phone, my wallet and of course (some of) my new stash of cash. When I opened the little brown pastry bag that I thought had my tip money in it, I didn't pull out cash, I pulled out a half eaten snickerdoodle cookie.

You see, before I left work, I had a cookie, and I didn't finish the cookie so I stuck it in a little brown pastry bag (which is where cookies belong, not money) and put it in my bag. I had a few more bites before going to school and just maybe quite possibly I decided I wasn't going to finish the cookie, so I reached into my bag to grab the pastry bag and threw it away.

About 5 hours later, I realized I didn't throw the cookie away.

I immediately jumped in my car and drove back over to work to retrace my steps. I looked everywhere hoping maybe it fell on the floor. The guys that were working said they already took the trash to the dump. I walked back to my car to look again and decided that the dump was not beneath me going through for $98.00.

One of the guys walked me to the dump and even pulled the trash bags out for me, but then left me to search through them. And I did, thoroughly. The worst was when I thought I had found my little brown pastry bag of tip money at least 4 different times because everyone else's little brown pastry bag of tip money was thrown away after they had taken their tips out. Smart.

I dug through coffee grounds, banana peels and plastic cutlery and only found traces of everyone else's trash. I walked back to the store to tell the guys I couldn't find it and to wash my hands for longer than 20 seconds.

While I was washing my hands I saw the parking police making their rounds. I figured I should cut the scrub a few seconds short to spare myself a $34.00 ticket (especially after losing $98.00). Thankfully they were walking in the opposite direction of my car. I ran out and I quickly realized why they were walking in the opposite direction of my car... they had already walked by my car, slapped a ticket on it and kept on walking.

I started to get frustrated and tear up a little bit because I felt like that should be my natural reaction, but for whatever reason I felt remarkably calm. I almost tried to make myself get upset about everything because it just seems like that would be such a normal response, but over and over again I just kept thinking "it's not my money anyway!"

And so, instead of getting upset I just kept repeating to myself "it's not my money anyway." It's still a bummer, for sure, but it didn't ruin my night. I'm not saying it's OK to go around being irresponsible by misplacing money, but I think, for me, I learned that I can't cling to money, which is exactly what I start to do when I start to make it. It's easy to share when you're poor.

While standing on a street corner retracing my steps, I started to accept the fact that I wasn't going to find it. I started to ask God why he couldn't just let me find it, but instead, whether out of manipulation or sincerity or a little of both, I thought about church on Sunday and said "I have nothing to give you."

At that point I didn't audibly hear anything, but as clear as day I heard and I felt God say, "good. I'm not asking you to give me anything. Just spend time with me." I laughed, mostly at myself, for thinking God would want me to find my tip money just so I could tithe on Sunday.

And so instead of continuing my search, I let it go and said out loud "it's not my money anyway!"

authentically weird

I know I've only been here for less than two weeks, but the church hunt has already begun.

Week 1: Door of hope... trendy, young 20-30 something year olds who make going to church look extremely cool. Appealing, right? Sure, especially because its the perfect place to bring a non-believer so you can prove that church is hip and relevant. But hopefully that's not the sole reason that draws people in, at least not the ones looking to get spiritually fed.

I've been to churches that were cool to go to, but the actual teaching wasn't really much to rave about. The actual gospel didn't have much life, and isn't that a key point in the gospel?... that Jesus not only offers us life, but life abundant?

I'll be honest, upon first entering the "church," which is really just a body of believers who meet in a theater of some kind, I questioned how much substance these people would have; especially the pastor who looked like he just stepped right off the stage of a fleet foxes concert and got tattooed by Kat Von D on the way down. Don't get me wrong, I thought he looked cool as hell, and truth be told, I would have totally listened to him for that reason alone, but when I realized that was the case, that I'd listen to him for how he looked, I realized I needed to have a higher standard for who I want to be pouring spiritual truths into my life. I decided not to judge by appearance (whether good or bad) and just listen to what he had to say.

He opened his mouth to pray the the words that came out were like gold coins pouring out from a slot machine... I couldn't get enough of them. I just wanted him to keep praying and praying. He prayed with more vulnerability and transparency than I thought most pastors ever would (especially hard core looking pastors with tattoos).

He prayed and he taught, straight from scripture, and I don't know what all the big and little hipsters around me were thinking, but it was awesome.

He talked about how it's so common these days for people to have open relationships with each other, not really committing to any one person, but keeping their options open while holding onto plan B just in case nothing else worked out. And after talking on this subject for a while he asked me (well, he asked all of us) "Do you have an open relationship with Christ? Is there compromise in your life?"

Now again, I'm fresh in to the city of Portland, so I'm not going to claim to know everything about it, but one thing that I have picked up on is that it is a very free-spirited, open to everything, don't put all your eggs in one basket kind of place. There's a lot of spiritual stuff going on here, but I wouldn't say its all positive. It's portrayed as positive because you hear a lot about self awareness, self improvement, self enlightenment, and anything else that involves reaching a higher self, but when its all rooted in self and self is the foundation upon which you improve yourself, that's not very positive... its selfish, and its lonely.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a firm believer in taking care of yourself. I believe way too many "Christians" just serve, serve, serve thinking that if they take one minute of time to themselves they are being selfish, but I wholeheartedly disagree. It is not selfish to take care of yourself. It is scriptural. Jesus rested. Jesus spent time alone. Jesus wept. Jesus went off away from the crowds to be with His father. Are we not called to model after Jesus? Even Jesus knew when enough was enough and the time had come to be alone... to allow God to minister to Him the way Jesus Himself had been ministering to other people.

That said, when our foundation in who we are is solely dependent upon self alone, no matter how hard we attempt to take care of ourselves and find fulfillment, we will still be unsatisfied.

I think many people (myself included) want a cafeteria style type of faith... they want to go through the line, pick out all the good and appealing stuff, and leave the rest untouched. We can do that, no one is stopping us, but that's not real faith. That's compromise. That's being a Christian when it is fun and easy and relevant, and being something or someone else when the Christianity thing gets too hard, or too offensive, or too weird.

And I started thinking, how often in my life do I compromise who I am and who Christ has called me to be? I hate to say it, but its often. More often than I would like to admit. Being in a new town, certain anxieties have risen within me that I didn't even know where there. I mean yes, I have felt sad about who and what I have left behind and I have spent a lot of time grieving, which is part of why I haven't felt much like myself, but truth be told, the fear of what people think of me has become so strong that I have felt completely paralyzed in my own skin. Each morning on the way to work I have to pray, "dear God, help me not to fear man, but to fear you alone."

I admit, like most trendy and relevant Christians, I hesitate to use the word "Christian" because of the stigma associated with it, but once again, that's being afraid of what others think. When asked what I believe, my mind scrambles... "Oh great, if I say I'm a Christian they're going to think I'm some kind of stingy, staunch conservative who can't have fun and condemns those who do, so I better think of a cooler way of saying I believe Jesus is the son of God, died and rose again, and plays a crucial role in the Holy Trinity. Maybe I should leave out the part about flesh and blood... hmmm..."

The harder I try to be relevant, the more I feel the world chipping away at my confidence in Christ. I lose sight of Christ for the sake of relevance, and Christ is the whole reason I was trying to be relevant in the first place. Yet seeking relevance instead of Christ causes me to compromise a lot of what I believe, simply because when I'm trying to relate to the world, Christianity really does begin to sound weird to me (flesh and blood... really?)

I'm not saying relevance isn't important at all. I think a degree of it is good... we need to be able to meet people where they are at and relate to them in love they way Christ would, but when I begin focusing on relevance alone, I begin drifting from truth, and that is where I personally need to be careful.

To be a Christian is to be called out, to be set apart to be different. Let us never forget that as we find ourselves trying to be relevant in this world.

Towards the end of the sermon, the pastor, whose name I am now realizing I don't even know (so I'm going to call him Pastor Pecknold because he resembles Robin Pecknold, the lead singer of fleet foxes), said that Jesus offends us often because we are bent creatures. Pastor Pecknold warned us to "stop trying to present an unoffensive Jesus!" And he's right! People don't crucify an unoffensive man for no reason. The reality is, Jesus did and still does offend a lot of people because he brings to light what we hide in the darkness.

Paul said it best when he said,

"I am not ashamed of the gospel."

"The gospel would have to be offensive for shame to even be an issue. We are called to hate the things Christ hates, and He hates them because they destroy, not because He is cruel or a killjoy."*

So going back to compromise...

I can not continue on in partial faith or partial obedience for the sake of being relevant.

Pastor Pecknold laid it on the line and said it like it is...

"partial faithfulness is unfaithfulness and partial obedience is disobedience."

I can try and justify partiality, but the reality is, if I am being partial in what I am allowing Christ to have control of, I'm not really letting Him have control at all. And isn't that what He is asking for? For my all?

I don't claim to know much, but one thing I do know is that I'm tired of the show. I need to reconnect with my friend, authenticity, and live fearlessly sold out for the one who called me not only into existence, but into relationship with Him.

People, including my grandfather, warned me about the spiritual darkness of Portland, OR before coming here; and I won't lie, they are right... it is a very spiritually dark place. But what I've come to find is that because of that darkness there are real authentic communities of people searching hard after Christ, longing for truth and as a result of, set completely apart not only from unbelievers but even from other "Christians" I have met and known along the way.

You come to find what authenticity really means when you are removed from your Christian bubble and see people surrounded by darkness on every side, yet still living a life unwilling to compromise their convictions. It is truly inspiring.

I may be in a new place, dealing with all of the emotions that come along with moving, but after going to church a couple of times (will write later about church visit #2) I realize I have a choice for what my experience here is going to be like.

And so I am excited. I am excited to be here and to be getting involved with these communities. I am excited to be doing life with people again, from all different walks of life. Portland is known for being weird and being full of weird people (there are signs and bumper stickers all over the city that say "keep Portland weird!"), but let's be honest, we're all weird in some way, shape or form. So why should I fear what other people think?

I shouldn't. I should be authentic, even if that means me being considered weird, or even weirder than the weird... the weirdest of them all. Who really cares?

Portland is growing on me, and I'm slowing beginning to feel like I fit...

as a misfit.

And I admit, I like it!

------------------------------
*Pastor Pecknold

maybe

creative juices are greatly lacking.

maybe it's the move, or maybe it's the annoying voice of the girl sitting beside me, but i can't think of what to write to save my life.

i don't have to write, i know that, but i want to write.

herein lies the problem... i don't know what to write about.

let's start with the basics...

i live in a new town where i have been going new places and meeting new people. sounds simple, but it's not. for whatever reason i have found myself not at all enjoying what has become a task... the task of meeting new people. i make myself do it though, i make myself be involved (for the most part), but i can honestly say i have not enjoyed it (for the most part).

why? i don't know. and the more i try to figure it out, the more frustrated i get.

i used to love this. not only love it, i used to be good at it. meeting new people, are you kidding me? pull out the clipboard, write my name on it and sign me up!

not this time, not this move.

i just want to find a place of my own and i want to hide. i want to hide from the people, i want to hide from the city and i want to hide from the reason that i have come here.

i want to hide from the reality that it was my choice to leave behind the place and the people that i have called home for the last three and a half years. i want to hide from my grief because every time it creeps up i am only reminded that i have brought it upon myself.

and so what now? how do i manage all of these emotions along with adjusting to a new town, a new job, a new school, and hopefully a new community? who do i tell how i feel? who do i reach out to? who can i be real with? and who will listen without expectation of someone greater?

maybe the expectation to be great is one that i have placed upon myself. maybe no one expects this of me at all. yet the truth of the matter is that there is this voice, whether it be one of truth or one of lies, that tells me i need to be great... i have to be great, and i don't know how to silence it and allow myself to just be.

so maybe i'll stop looking. maybe i'll stop looking for someone to confide in. maybe i'll stop looking for somewhere to hide. maybe i'll stop looking for the girl i used to be and instead just rest.

and maybe God will show up and find me here, resting and waiting. and maybe then i will be ready for what He has planned for me.

maybe it is all actually only when i stop, be still, and know who He is that i will ever really find myself and find where i fit in this life, regardless of where i am.

maybe, just maybe, this isn't really about me at all.

embrace

I've moved to Portland, Oregon.

I'm laying in a bed right now that is not my own, along with the roof I am under and the clothes I am in. Most, if not all, of my belongings are sitting in my car right now which is hopefully still outside.

Without much to my name, other than boxes full of memories without a place to show them off, I feel slightly misplaced and somewhat of a burden to those who take me in, even if only for a brief while. My skin doesn't even feel like my own.

It is uncomfortable and a little bit scary, but with that said, I can't say I completely dislike it.

I feel scared, but not enough to paralyze me.

I don't know where I'm going to live, where I'm going to work, or how this school thing is going to work out without the sufficient funds, but after all, I chose to come here... I chose to move. I can choose to go back... I can choose not to feel this way anymore.

I admit there are moments when that seems like a good idea... to go back to what I know, to go back to what is safe, to go back to a place where I know I am loved. But there are even more moments when I feel this fear of the unknown and cry out "Lord God, please help me conquer this!"

As overwhelming as some of these situations may be, none of them are as overwhelming as the feeling of leaving behind the people I love. My greatest concern is not that I find a great place to live or a job to keep me afloat. My greatest concern is how my heart will handle being so far away from someone I dearly love.

I know I am here for a reason. I know God has got me. I acknowledge this as truth and I don't doubt it for a second. But I also acknowledge the painful reality of loss, even if only by distance. And so, I will allow myself to feel the hurt and question what I have done or why I have gone. And despite how much I may want to numb the pain...

I will embrace this broken heart of mine, knowing that it will draw me even closer to Him who loved me first.

unfolding

I've spent a lot of time being confused about relationships... specifically between men and women.

Physicality aside, could you possibly get anymore more different than a man and a woman? The differences are enough to drive people crazy, and believe me, they do.

I am proof of that.

Sometimes mis-communication is so thick that it often feels as if I am trying to wall through a brick wall, only getting all the more frustrated with each attempt to clear it up, or "break through," if you will. I'm sure it doesn't help being intimidated by the person you are talking to or being insecure about how you words things outloud (seeing as how they make so much sense in your head), but how can a person possibly understand what you are saying when you literally can't even put your thoughts into spoken word without spitting up the all intelligent use of "like" or "whatever" or "you know."

No... they don't know. That's why you're in this mess, spit it out!

I admit, I stutter and putter around my words when trying to voice them out loud, but that aside, why is mis-communication so hard to clear up? And why do men not understand women?

OK, OK, and why do women not understand men?

How is it possible that when you ask a guy what he is thinking and he says "nothing," he literally means that there is a void of thought in his head? How is this possible? And if it is possible, then why is it so hard to accept that as a valid answer?

And so the cycle begins... it usually takes place after an argument of some sort for the purposes of seeking clarification, but sometimes it's a conversation starter that completely ends the conversation all together...

she: what are you thinking?

he: nothing.

she: but what are you really thinking?

he: nothing.

she: how can you be thinking nothing?

he: I don't know. I'm just not thinking about anything.

she: you aren't thinking anything at all right now?

he: yes. that's what I said, nothing.

she: I know that's what you said, I'm not asking what you said, I'm asking what you're thinking.

he: and I told you.

she: you told me nothing.

he: because that's what I was thinking.

she: but how could you be thinking nothing?

he: I don't know how. I just am.

she: do you not care about anything?

he: of course I care.

she: then how could you not be thinking about anything?

he: I don't know... I'm sorry.

she: I don't want you to be sorry.

he: then what do you want?

she: I want you to think about it!


I realize in looking at this, the woman seems kind of crazy, right? But if she's crazy, then we're all crazy (and that includes you Ms. Tomboy or Ms. guy's girl who hates girls). There is something in the way women are wired that just cannot and will not comprehend the mind of a man, and vice-versa, but let's face it, that's probably a good thing. Good things aside, it's still enough to make you more than a little irritated. And who hasn't allowed irritation to turn into a little bit of crazy?

Both of my hands are raised.

All this to say, I don't think one mind is better than the other... the mind of a man or the mind of a woman... they're just different. If we spent too much time trying to make the other think the way we think, I think it's a lost cause... but that's just me. Don't get me wrong, I think it's well beyond important to try and understand each other and understand where the other is coming from, but the mis-communication, the disagreements, the separation... it's all going to continue until both accept the fact that they are different and chose to love each other despite their differences.

Differences not only in being a man and a woman, but differences in their stories. I think it is vital to understand that every one has a story. How we respond to each other, react to situations, handle tough circumstances... a lot of that has to do with where we have come from and what we have been through. Seeing as that no one person has the exact same story, there's room for a lot of misunderstanding.

While I think it's important to understand and know each others stories when living in relationship with one another, I think it's also important for each individual to take full responsibility for their actions and decide whether or not they are going to continue acting based or past experiences or present circumstances.

Most importantly, there has to be grace.

I'm guilty of treating people based on past experiences. I have taught myself to hide my heart so far away that even people who dearly love me have a hard time getting in and seeing the real me. I present myself well. I would say most people who "know" me know that I am a fun, outgoing person. And don't get me wrong, I am... I love to have fun. I love to meet new people. But it's the people who get close to my heart that see a side of me that I would say most others don't. The side that's been hurt. The side that's still angry. The side that still holds resentment.

It is these people, usually the ones I care deepest for, who see such an ugly side of me because they are the ones I fight so hard against to protect my heart from. Fighting can reveal anyone's ugly side. And even though these people may know me better than the ones on the surface, they still don't get to see the real me when all the anger and resentment is removed.

Why do I fight so hard against people who not only love me, but who I care about? Fear of abandonment? Rejection? Broken heart? Fear of going through it all over again?

And while I think these are valid fears, I am starting to realize that the more I protect my heart, the harder my heart gets; which makes it all the more hard to love people, to understand people, and to give grace to people, who much like myself, don't deserve it.

These people I just mentioned... the ones who love me but have seen this ugly side of me... they have given me a tangible taste of God's grace for his people... a broken, hurt, angry, resentful people. A people who don't deserve, but so desperately desire to be loved. And a God who is so ready and willing to give it to them, despite their constant mistrust in who He is.

And so maybe I started out with the intentions of writing about the differences between men and women and my frustrations with the two, but maybe this has turned into me realizing that I can't continue to blame gender differences for (all) the mis-communication and mis-understanding I have faced in my own relationships. Maybe I need to work harder to loosen the death grip I have around my heart and allow God to work in it regardless of what the outcome may be.

Abandonment? Rejection? Broken heart? Going through it all over again?

Maybe.

But I will never be able to fully exercise my faith if I continue to allow myself to live in fear of what may or may not hurt me. And I will never learn to fully love others and show them the same grace that has been shown me if I continue to live with my heart selfishly wrapped in my own hand.

It's time to unfold.

love

I love the pacifist, masochist, heretic and lunatic.
I love the sick, the week, the meek, and the bold.
I love the ugly, the pretty, the average, the absent.
I love the silent, the loud, the empty, the cold.

I love the skeptic, the cynic, the doubter and doubted.
I love the young, the old, and right in between.
I love the needy, the needless, the many, the masses.
I love the sacred, the scared, the unmanageable teen.

I love the slave and slave master, the cop and the crook.
I love the mom whose lost hope and the dad who's not there.
I love the principal, the student, the offender, the offended.
I love the merciful, the grateful, and the ones who don't care.

I love the German, the Jew, the Christian, the Agnostic.
I love the blind, the deaf, the rich and the poor.
I love the broken, the healed, the dead and the wounded.
I love the virgin, the pure, the tainted, the whore.

I love the heart that lies within no matter how badly infected.
I love the ones who make it nearly impossible to love.
I love the insecure, the hurt, the "perfect," the liars.
I love Him who without I can't love the above.

dripping wet

Alexi Murdoch told me a secret about God and it was beautiful.

I saw all of humanity covered with flowers and dripping wet with rain. It smelt of honey and the bees were there but there was no sting and no pollen. It was peaceful and quiet, but not the least bit eerie. There was no such thing as normal and though it was quiet, through the stillness all you could hear was laughter. We were all the same yet all so different, and it was in our differences that we found a type of love that had yet to be experienced here on earth. I cried when he told me this secret, not because I was sad, but because I so longed for it to be a reality.

I went to bed and I dreamt I lived in an atmosphere so thick in love that it became all of who I was and all of what I saw when I looked in the eyes of another person. Even when the response was hate, I loved. Even when the response was anger, I loved. Even when the response was absent, I loved. It was in this love that I found a desire to live that I had never felt before. A desire to live not for myself, but for this Mysterious God who planted me here and asked me to grow for a while. I woke up and I planted a garden. Then I prayed for it to rain.


I wanted to thank Mr. Murdoch, but then I realized...

we've never even met.

p(r)aying for school

I'm spending my Friday night on Fourth of July weekend applying for loans to go to school. I thought I'd take a break to share with the rest of the world wide web how incredibly cool I am.

Before applying for loans I was packing up my books and CDs and calling used CD and book stores to see if I could sell them. Man, the more I write, the cooler I get.

Before that I was taking pictures of my bed. I'm gonna sell that too. I'll post a picture of it and if you're interested in a super nice, most comfortable twin bed ever, let me know.

I know you can't imagine it getting any better than this, but I have a few other things that I can't post online, legal of course, but they were gifts and I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings in case they read this and find out I am selling something they gave me... but if you're curious and interested, let me know.

For those who are really curious... I will mail you a small mystery box* for the low low price of $25 (shipping included). I know it's kind of steep, but that's what you pay for a good mystery and a good cause!

If I can manage to part with them, I want to start selling some of my paintings. That's the problem with being an artist... I want to make a living doing it, yet I seem to want to keep everything I make. Aye aye aye.

I'll keep you up to date as other ideas come to mind. Until then, I've got to get back to my loan applications and my chocolate milk.

Goodnight.

creating beauty

Some of these photographs are not my own, but ones taken by dear friends and loved ones. In addition, some of these photographs are my own and I was blessed to actually come face to face and spend time with the ones I photographed. I love the diversity of the people portrayed, as well as the differences in each of their stories, but most of all I love the bond that all of us (sometimes unknowingly) share... the deep human need to be loved.

Not just these people, but all people, people we know and love, people we often overlook, are all so beautiful in ways that not even we as humans can comprehend.

I want to try harder to look for the beauty in people... all people. Whether we admit it or not, all of us were created in the very image of God, who sees Christ Himself when He looks at us.

Jesus is not religion, Jesus is love. As you look at all of these photos, I hope you see Jesus in each and every face.

Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.

-Isaiah 40:28*

*emphasis added