I have retreated. I live a life of routine. For 8 hours, I am forced to resurface into the world, within the walls of a health-crazed dog store.

This week, I decided to reread the Harry Potter series. Probably not a wise choice, if I was planning to actually live this week.



Perhaps I should backtrack. I haven't always been this way. Just 2 weeks ago, I was driving up the east coast, stopping everywhere and anywhere along the way. We helped move some Yale kids out of their dorm, we walked purposefully and fast through Manhattan (we were very untouristy...focused more on becoming New Yorkers for the day). This accounts for why there are no pictures of NY. We splurged on an actuall place to stay in Maine, choosing a nice (and expensive) Inn, equipped with hard wood floors (my favorite) and a jacuzzi placed perfectly before the TV set..We decided that we would wear our bathingsuits when using it, but that quickly went out the window. I learned how not to notice things from the corner of my eye.



But see? I used to be alive. I didn't always exist soley through my mind and the pages before me.

Reoccuring, Restless, Reality

It's odd how different the church seems when there's nobody left in the building. The halls are cloaked in this empty sadness, and every second of silence becomes a little more eerie.
I know these halls though. I could find my way to the preschool building blindfolded, provided I don't trip and fall first...Bringing me to my first concern--a flashlight would be a comforting welcome. And flipping a light switch, would be both too easy and frightening, for just as I could see better so could anybody else.
In 1993 there were 1,285 doors in Bellevue, of course that was before they added the new wing. I've lost count now. But the point is, that of all these doors, of all these possible hideaways--at least ONE would be unlocked. Nope, the Bellevue security staff should be given props for that. I am trapped within the somber hallways and the echoing stairwells.
I just want out. Nothing else, only freedom, and the ability to turn corners without looking back. Can't I leave this behind?

a night before change

It was the night before our Savior was born--in memory anyways-- and all I could feel was..this distinct awareness of being microscopic and alone in this hell of a world. It didn't matter that I had someone to see a movie with, and then someone to come home to. Or even that I know the true meaning of Christmas.. I was still apart somehow.

I was walking Louie and Dakota later that evening. It was just us three,under the stars and circling the lake on a quiet Christmas Eve. It brought to mind the famous Bible story of the three wise men...I wondered how they had felt that night. Certainly not comparable to my mood of bleakness. Instead, I imagined they felt a lot how I used to feel on Christmas Eve...Those times when I was snuggled up under the covers with new pajamas and freshly brushed teeth. I was impatient, and charged with eagerness of awakening to the presents Santa had left me. I couldn't sleep. I could hardly stay still. The excitement, the anticipation--could this be how the Magi had felt--walking miles, on the faith of a star, to meet the One who would save us?

I longed to feel that way for something bigger then life. I can't say how many miles we walked around that lake. With me praying..begging for a semblance of understanding. I was searching for a star to guide me somewhere..anywhere else.

Sunken and disconsolate, I ended the walk and drove home. I put in a worship cd--for it was still soon to be His day, whether I felt the "right" way or not.



Never underestimate the power of music. The power of words, composed with the melody of voices. Harmonized with the struggles and strengths of other human beings.
I was in tears within seconds. I was screaming within minutes. I was letting it all go..And I was comforted. For "Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness." Isaiah 41:10

Odd Sundays & Callowness

I don't quite know what to do with myself today.

Thoughts are too incoherent to make a whole.


I am still avoiding You...
I painted my nails the color of Christmas, a happy red, far from how I actually feel.
I painted them on a Will Smith vinyl. And was almost done with the second hand before I realized that that is all I ever do with that record, which is rather disrespectful. Decided to put it on...Learned it was better for the nails.
I had an entire conversation with my dad today. And it didn't end in tears.
But a game of "Blurt" with Laura did.
Those crazy, hormonal thoughts had me sobbing about not knowing words--and yet I was an English major. It was disheartening irony.
I smoked a cigarette and oil pasteld a superman symbol on Victor's extremely belated birthday card. I then preceded to write him a poem of awful cheesiness.
I ate potatoes out of can and cooked broccoli for dinner. Potatoes..from a can.
I refused to read Ester or Job today.
Finished Blue Like Jazz instead.

"God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us." -Donald Miller

dally, dwindle, dawdle

You would think with school being out I'd be a little more relaxed...instead I'm bustling about through one task to another project, hopelessly chasing my tail, and pacing the house in utter restlessness.

Yesterday, I began a sketch book...only with my lack of drawing skills its morphing into more of a scrapbook type deal.

The day before, I came home from work--to clean my bathtub. I scrubbed. I used a toothbrush.I inhaled what's probably considered too much bleach. And rather then taking the time to enjoy my amazingly shiny and sterile work by immersing myself beneath lavender bubbles, I opted to do the dishes. My laundry.And Laura's laundry.

I have spent hours on the piano. Hours on the internet--Christmas shopping.Hours walking dogs that don't belong to me. Hours of frivolousness. But nothing compares to the hours I spent Monday (my official day of freedom) on MATA bus 285.

It was too tempting. If the bus would have just stopped a few feet further down Walker Avenue instead of blocking my path to the parking lot, time would have passed differently. But I was finished with classes, with finals, with thinking about birth control and its relations to chemistry. I was liberated. And the bus door was ajar. And the driver was smiling. And there was no hesitation.

I rode. I people watched. I thought. I learned Ms.Gerda's entire bus route. But I didn't come out any different a person, as I think I hoped for. There were no lessons or secrets learned. Just time spent, doing everything but what I've been avoiding.

this may not make sense in the morning..

two sides to every girl. And I can't become one over the other.


it's not a simple good verses evil, or Holy Spirit verses me. it's just a division of thoughts, perception, and identity.

I am shy. I care what you think of me.. Love me. Like me. Just accept me. I embrace this world and thank Him daily. A smile comes with the reds and oranges of autumn, the sunsets of July, and the scarves of February. The music. The living for God despite everything. The loving. The lessons. The waiting..

And yet I am direct. Blunt, and usually sarcastic. I say what I think and honestly delight in making people flustered. I believe in eye contact and meaningful conversations. I am wild and spontaneous, which usually ends with guilt and sincere confessions. I pray for change. And ache for every broken heart and those with lost loved ones. I see the world. The violence. The pain. The misplaced lust. The pointlessness. And I am simply waiting.


two sides to this girl..Neither one better then the other, but simply apart in their surviving ways.

Points of Destination and Clarity

The trip to Hazel Green did nothing to enforce equanimity. If anything, I was too free, yet somehow enslaved to my frenzied, cynical thoughts.

Like the erratic weather, I couldn’t find a word to construe my mood. Depressed? Yes, but that’s been there. Like a background noise, to every thought, a constant whir to every hope. Unloved? I defend this notion with thoughts of my mom, roommate and coworkers… I’m reminded of the Only One who even matters…And so thoughts drift to why I wanted to pick ‘unloved’ as an adjective in the first place… I can’t replace him. I can’t replace him. I can’t replace him. Lonely? Always. Sad? Sometimes. Numb? Daily. Happy? Only when I feel I have a purpose, something to strive for, a reason to not stay inside my haven of books and busy work…What happened to that point?

Lord, as your child, am I not suppose to be demonstrating a life of contentment? A life where despite the odds, I am joyous for I know You, Your love, Your gift, Your vision…But instead I have nothing but knowledge of your gift to set me apart from the lost--so it seems I am just as lost as they are. Satisfy my heart, oh Lord ,with You and only You. Help me to shine over the pain, to learn what you teach, and to be contented with solely YOU. I am Yours. Please hear my prayer, for You are my only point.

Detached

It always takes some event, some shift in my daily routine to put me back to this spot.
It’s not depression. But rather a state of confusion. I get this inability to think. Instead my thoughts are everywhere, lost and tangled in a web of intricacy. I am not in a daze, but part of it, existing solely in the fatuous dreams of my mind.
All the while the external me is caught in a state of comatose. I read the pages and comprehend nothing. I sleep, yet forget to eat. I realize. But I can’t seem to wake up.

Somewhere in between Habakkuk and the child I am.

It seems growth for me was halted a long time ago. Countless devotional books, prayers, and several churches later--I am still in the same place.
A friend recently recommended that I read through Romans-- no devotions, no commentary, only the Bible.

I began today. What's amazing to me is the fact that so many of us Christians only focus on the main point. The summary, the ultimate lesson, the Biblical cliff notes..and we completely miss all the lessons in between. During my reading time today, I went over every word, every sentence structure and word placement. I paused on specific words and asked why Paul chose that one. I actually payed attention to references from the old testament and took the time to flip backwards and read the entire verse in context.

And I have never felt so entirely foolish. Duh--the Bible is HIS word, the power of God and I have simply been speeding through it, desperately searching for the answers. To finish out the FOOL scribbled across my forehead, every hero I've ever had- have had extensive faith and knowledge of the Bible--not just the concepts, but all the verses and wisdom in between..You'd think I'd note that similarity and the light would have flicked on sometime near frozen frustration. But while my cheeks turn red, my heart smiles--for I am moving forward. I pray now for the ability to see...and to ask the hard questions.

Love in Christ.

Isn't it funny how our eyes open only after a particular event occurs? Until her death or that job, we were somehow different, less evolved, just coasting through life..simply to keep from being bored.