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.