Nothing quite makes the tech week experience complete like getting your period, getting an almost migraine, and getting the flu. Combine that with half of the female cast and crew also getting their periods and the emotional tension of tech week being upped significantly by that and then the fact that I’ve spread the flu around as an early Christmas present, and you have the recipe for a smash success on your hands.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, tech week for “The Way of the Wolf” is in full swing, which for this particular show means that we have one more two-hour rehearsal, another run of the show with a preview audience and a notes session and then we open. It’s actually not that bad except for the added bonuses mentioned above. This show is a lot of firsts for me – my first student show without production elements (yeay!), my first show with idiotically fast costume changes (gah), my first time singing solo in a show (which I like), the first time doing rehearsal with the flu (which I didn’t like), my first experience doing fight work (cool), and my first time of getting my period at intermission during a rehearsal run (not so cool). Also, I’ve never played a raccoon or a nighthawk before. It does seem like every show I’m in my character has either a near-death or full-death experience, so the fact that the raccoon dies isn’t that new to me…but getting shot and falling off the mezzanine is a new, cool thing I’ve never done before.
I’m probably so chipper about the whole thing because I’m actually pretty much over the flu, and getting my period doesn’t really phase me that much – and the almost migraine is a thing of the past. I’ve opened shows before, and I’m not worried about this one. We’re ready. Whether everyone else in the cast feels that way is open to question, but I know that we are and if there are some opening week hiccups, I’ve had those too. They come, they go and the show goes on.
Having the flu was actually not that bad of an experience this time. I never did throw up, and being achy and feverish wasn’t so bad with S. there to make me tea and watch movies with me, and shower me with concern and tenderness. My mother will be happy – every time I get sick she wants to come and baby me until I’m better, so the fact that somebody else did will be music to her ears. All the TLC may have actually gotten S. sick, in which case I intend to reciprocate the attention and make him tea and tend to his every need – where my schedule allows. I got sick on a weekend, so that made things a little easier. I suppose I could always get my mom to come down and take care of him.
There is an old superstition that bad things come in threes. I just realized that I got all of my opening night bad luck out of my system already. If that isn’t a good omen, I don’t know what is.
Benefits, indeed.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Learning
It has happened.
My boyfriend and his ex have been paired up in class to perform a scene together.
I'm glad I thought about this possibility before I agreed to date him - but even with that, it has presented challenges that I don't know what to do with.
The scene? It's from "The Taming of the Shrew", with S. playing Petruchio and M. playing Kate. Petruchio is wooing Kate to be his wife, and Kate is resisting his every move. It's a pretty physical scene - at one point S. sits M. down on a chair and straddles her.
The strange thing is, watching them perform doesn't bother me. Knowing that they are rehearsing doesn't bother me. No. What bothers me is seeing the slight hesitation in M.'s body, the tension she obviously feels when they touch. It bothers me that as soon as they finish the scene, M. looks to me to see if I'm okay, if I still like her, if I'm having a hard time watching her be physical with my boyfriend. She is so insecure in this work that it is rubbing off on me and I hate that.
I just wish she could relax and be professional about it. S. is being professional. That tension doesn't read in his body. As soon as the pairings were announced, we talked about it and we both recognize that we have to be professional about it. There isn't any other option in our minds. But M. is having such a hard time doing that, and it both irritates me and makes me mistrust her around S. A part of me wonders if she is having such a hard time letting work be work because she still wants to be with him.
And because she talks to me about everything, I know that she still has feelings for him. She told me when we started dating that she didn't, but since then I've learned that was a lie. She is still going through the whole grieving, ending a relationship process and dammit, as much as I want to trust her, it is very hard.
It's a very good thing that I trust S. or this would all be so much worse. I know that nothing will happen - I'm not feeling jealousy - but there is this horrible unease that I don't know what to do with. And the thing is, I know the unease is valid. It's grounded in her insecurity and the fact that she hasn't found closure yet - and at the same time, I know that S. has. So what am I supposed to do with this? I trust him, I don't completely trust her. I know nothing will happen, and I'm uneasy. I am trying my best to be professional about this, and she keeps looking to me for reassurance - and it pisses me off and I don't know how to respond.
I guess it's just another glorious learning experience. I'm getting tired of learning. It takes a lot of work and sometimes I just don't want to have to deal with another new thing, figuring out how to be healthy and whole in a new situation. And I am not content to be stagnant, so my own will pushes me to take these learning experiences and use them.
Dammit anyways.
My boyfriend and his ex have been paired up in class to perform a scene together.
I'm glad I thought about this possibility before I agreed to date him - but even with that, it has presented challenges that I don't know what to do with.
The scene? It's from "The Taming of the Shrew", with S. playing Petruchio and M. playing Kate. Petruchio is wooing Kate to be his wife, and Kate is resisting his every move. It's a pretty physical scene - at one point S. sits M. down on a chair and straddles her.
The strange thing is, watching them perform doesn't bother me. Knowing that they are rehearsing doesn't bother me. No. What bothers me is seeing the slight hesitation in M.'s body, the tension she obviously feels when they touch. It bothers me that as soon as they finish the scene, M. looks to me to see if I'm okay, if I still like her, if I'm having a hard time watching her be physical with my boyfriend. She is so insecure in this work that it is rubbing off on me and I hate that.
I just wish she could relax and be professional about it. S. is being professional. That tension doesn't read in his body. As soon as the pairings were announced, we talked about it and we both recognize that we have to be professional about it. There isn't any other option in our minds. But M. is having such a hard time doing that, and it both irritates me and makes me mistrust her around S. A part of me wonders if she is having such a hard time letting work be work because she still wants to be with him.
And because she talks to me about everything, I know that she still has feelings for him. She told me when we started dating that she didn't, but since then I've learned that was a lie. She is still going through the whole grieving, ending a relationship process and dammit, as much as I want to trust her, it is very hard.
It's a very good thing that I trust S. or this would all be so much worse. I know that nothing will happen - I'm not feeling jealousy - but there is this horrible unease that I don't know what to do with. And the thing is, I know the unease is valid. It's grounded in her insecurity and the fact that she hasn't found closure yet - and at the same time, I know that S. has. So what am I supposed to do with this? I trust him, I don't completely trust her. I know nothing will happen, and I'm uneasy. I am trying my best to be professional about this, and she keeps looking to me for reassurance - and it pisses me off and I don't know how to respond.
I guess it's just another glorious learning experience. I'm getting tired of learning. It takes a lot of work and sometimes I just don't want to have to deal with another new thing, figuring out how to be healthy and whole in a new situation. And I am not content to be stagnant, so my own will pushes me to take these learning experiences and use them.
Dammit anyways.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Hair, hair, look at that hair
All I can say is that it is a good thing I'm not Sampson.
Before I go further, I need to say that my hair is very long. It reaches half-way down my back in waves of a reddish-brown. In fact, it is too long. I can no longer really do anything with it. If I put it up it gives me headaches, and if I leave it down it gets everywhere - in my mouth, my eyes, tangled in my glasses or my buttons on my shirts. However, it has always been long and that is how I am used to interacting with it.
Well, as of next Thursday, it will be short. It is getting cut for a show - being in theatre means I can no longer control my hair. This is something that I have mentally prepared myself for ever since I decided to follow this crazy passion of mine. However, it will be short! The longest parts will be at the top of my shoulders, and the shortest bits will be by the tops of my ears, I think. I haven't had short hair for a very long time. In fact, I don't know what to do with short hair. I am going to have to spend a day learning how to do my hair all over again.
I'm a little uncertain as to what I think about this. I am tired of how long it is. I think the new cut will look cute, and I think I'll like it. But so much hair is going! It will be an adjustment, and every so often I freak out a little inside about it.
But, as my mother says, hair grows. It will grow back if I absolutely hate it. It will grow back if I absolutely love it - either way, this is not a permanent state.
Just a very new one.
I just have to remind myself that I won't lose all my strength when my hair lands on the floor.
Before I go further, I need to say that my hair is very long. It reaches half-way down my back in waves of a reddish-brown. In fact, it is too long. I can no longer really do anything with it. If I put it up it gives me headaches, and if I leave it down it gets everywhere - in my mouth, my eyes, tangled in my glasses or my buttons on my shirts. However, it has always been long and that is how I am used to interacting with it.
Well, as of next Thursday, it will be short. It is getting cut for a show - being in theatre means I can no longer control my hair. This is something that I have mentally prepared myself for ever since I decided to follow this crazy passion of mine. However, it will be short! The longest parts will be at the top of my shoulders, and the shortest bits will be by the tops of my ears, I think. I haven't had short hair for a very long time. In fact, I don't know what to do with short hair. I am going to have to spend a day learning how to do my hair all over again.
I'm a little uncertain as to what I think about this. I am tired of how long it is. I think the new cut will look cute, and I think I'll like it. But so much hair is going! It will be an adjustment, and every so often I freak out a little inside about it.
But, as my mother says, hair grows. It will grow back if I absolutely hate it. It will grow back if I absolutely love it - either way, this is not a permanent state.
Just a very new one.
I just have to remind myself that I won't lose all my strength when my hair lands on the floor.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Jericho
"How can a person go from liking a person to not wanting to have anything to do with them in less than three hours?" I asked one of my friends the other day. He shrugged. I wonder what his response would be to my new question - how can I explain going from not liking M. to being able to say that I love her in less than three hours?
I don't know that something like that can be explained in any other way than to say "It's a God thing." That's all it is - I certainly didn't find some hidden store of love that I chose to shower upon M. It was like God reached down and gave me a bunch of extra love and that spilled over onto her and it's sticking like toffee to carpet, only in a much better way than that.
And all because I didn't let up on her about her dishes, and then one of my housemates told her that she was only in the house on a probationary measure, and so she snapped and her walls came down. It amazes me how being able to see someone in their vulnerability and weakness makes them so much more human, lovable, understandable...I am able to see her as a person now, and I can extend grace and mercy towards her in a way that I strove for before but failed at miserably.
I learned a lot last night - about M., about me, about living together with my boyfriend's ex and what that means for both M. and myself...and about the attitudes my housemates and I have been carrying in our auras, for lack of a better way to describe it. We really have been unmerciful and judgemental, and M. has been picking up on that so clearly, so much more clearly than I realized.
It is so hard. It is so bizarre - all I can do is shake my head and laugh. God has such a strange sense of humour sometimes. I am her ex's new girlfriend, and somehow I've ended up one of her closest friends right now. I am the one in our house with the most reasons to hate her, and I am the one in our house who has suddenly found myself in a place (God given, granted) to love her the most. And I have the most reason to close myself off to her, and I have had my eyes opened to see the negative attitudes of the rest of my housemates. And I don't know what to do about that.
I don't want to take up M.'s cause against my friends, and at the same time I see that they really aren't giving her much of a chance - and that is their prerogative.
So what do I do? I have prayed to be able to love M., and now I have been given that ability and I want to share it with the rest of my housemates but I can't, and it isn't my place to anyway. It's something that God can show them - if they want to be shown.
And I want them to want that so badly, and there isn't a single thing I can do about it.
Unless I march around them for a week, blowing on a ram's horn...that worked for Joshua.
It could be worth a try, at least.
I don't know that something like that can be explained in any other way than to say "It's a God thing." That's all it is - I certainly didn't find some hidden store of love that I chose to shower upon M. It was like God reached down and gave me a bunch of extra love and that spilled over onto her and it's sticking like toffee to carpet, only in a much better way than that.
And all because I didn't let up on her about her dishes, and then one of my housemates told her that she was only in the house on a probationary measure, and so she snapped and her walls came down. It amazes me how being able to see someone in their vulnerability and weakness makes them so much more human, lovable, understandable...I am able to see her as a person now, and I can extend grace and mercy towards her in a way that I strove for before but failed at miserably.
I learned a lot last night - about M., about me, about living together with my boyfriend's ex and what that means for both M. and myself...and about the attitudes my housemates and I have been carrying in our auras, for lack of a better way to describe it. We really have been unmerciful and judgemental, and M. has been picking up on that so clearly, so much more clearly than I realized.
It is so hard. It is so bizarre - all I can do is shake my head and laugh. God has such a strange sense of humour sometimes. I am her ex's new girlfriend, and somehow I've ended up one of her closest friends right now. I am the one in our house with the most reasons to hate her, and I am the one in our house who has suddenly found myself in a place (God given, granted) to love her the most. And I have the most reason to close myself off to her, and I have had my eyes opened to see the negative attitudes of the rest of my housemates. And I don't know what to do about that.
I don't want to take up M.'s cause against my friends, and at the same time I see that they really aren't giving her much of a chance - and that is their prerogative.
So what do I do? I have prayed to be able to love M., and now I have been given that ability and I want to share it with the rest of my housemates but I can't, and it isn't my place to anyway. It's something that God can show them - if they want to be shown.
And I want them to want that so badly, and there isn't a single thing I can do about it.
Unless I march around them for a week, blowing on a ram's horn...that worked for Joshua.
It could be worth a try, at least.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Sunshine on a Cloudy Day
A few days ago I was pulling my own little rain storm around by a leash. A very short leash too, I might add. I was irritable, grumpy and bouncing from emotion to emotion, and I didn't like it at all. All because I was a little bit sick, mildly hormonal, and very, very lonely.
All of the people I usually vent to about the little things in life are now on a schedule that perfectly opposes mine. I've written about this before, but it is still affecting me a lot. So much so that when my mom gave me the very matter-of-fact "Emergency rooms are not for colds" talk (one that I have given myself) I burst into tears and was a blubbering mess for half an hour. It was so good to talk to her. I was able to get out all of my minor frustrations and some of my big ones as well, and to just cry into the phone. It was exactly what I needed.
It means that today I am bubbly instead of blubbery. It is a nice change. I enjoy being happy. That isn't really a profound statement, but it is so true. Being happy is much nicer than being irritable and upset. It means I can take the little things in stride again. I'm back to what feels more like my normal self again. I like this a lot.
Plus I just got some good news. I wasn't sure I'd be able to go to the opening night of this show that has stolen my friends away - but now I can! That, and I just got my evaluation for my performance as an Assistant Stage Manager and it was a good one. And I'm not feeling as sick anymore, and the hormones are back on an even keel - and the weekend just ended, so I've actually gotten some friend time in. By Saturday I'll be feeling the loss again, but today - nothing but sunshine.
It's a good feeling.
All of the people I usually vent to about the little things in life are now on a schedule that perfectly opposes mine. I've written about this before, but it is still affecting me a lot. So much so that when my mom gave me the very matter-of-fact "Emergency rooms are not for colds" talk (one that I have given myself) I burst into tears and was a blubbering mess for half an hour. It was so good to talk to her. I was able to get out all of my minor frustrations and some of my big ones as well, and to just cry into the phone. It was exactly what I needed.
It means that today I am bubbly instead of blubbery. It is a nice change. I enjoy being happy. That isn't really a profound statement, but it is so true. Being happy is much nicer than being irritable and upset. It means I can take the little things in stride again. I'm back to what feels more like my normal self again. I like this a lot.
Plus I just got some good news. I wasn't sure I'd be able to go to the opening night of this show that has stolen my friends away - but now I can! That, and I just got my evaluation for my performance as an Assistant Stage Manager and it was a good one. And I'm not feeling as sick anymore, and the hormones are back on an even keel - and the weekend just ended, so I've actually gotten some friend time in. By Saturday I'll be feeling the loss again, but today - nothing but sunshine.
It's a good feeling.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Make New Friends, Keep the Old...
...one is silver, the other gold.
I've always liked silver better than gold, but I am finding that a difficult thing to maintain now that most of my friends are involved in a rehearsal process without me. The people that I have hung out with for the last two years are all busy when I'm not, and when they are done I have to go to a rehearsal of my own. I've been joking about not seeing them until their show is up, but it's turning out to be true and that isn't funny anymore.
And to make matters worse, it's only been two days. How am I supposed to tolerate this for another three weeks? It sucks. I'm okay with not being in the Christmas show. I'm not upset that I am not going to be on Main Stage - but it is hard to not be in on the process that all of my friends are in on. They will get their own set of rehearsal jokes, their own memories that I will not be a part of, and I won't see them much until November.
I've been owly for the last two days, and though I've blamed it on being sick, at least a part of it has been this feeling of disconnection I have from my class and my friends. I guess I'm going to have to get over it, or else spend the next month being a gold medal grump.
Wouldn't that be a good way to make new friends?
I've always liked silver better than gold, but I am finding that a difficult thing to maintain now that most of my friends are involved in a rehearsal process without me. The people that I have hung out with for the last two years are all busy when I'm not, and when they are done I have to go to a rehearsal of my own. I've been joking about not seeing them until their show is up, but it's turning out to be true and that isn't funny anymore.
And to make matters worse, it's only been two days. How am I supposed to tolerate this for another three weeks? It sucks. I'm okay with not being in the Christmas show. I'm not upset that I am not going to be on Main Stage - but it is hard to not be in on the process that all of my friends are in on. They will get their own set of rehearsal jokes, their own memories that I will not be a part of, and I won't see them much until November.
I've been owly for the last two days, and though I've blamed it on being sick, at least a part of it has been this feeling of disconnection I have from my class and my friends. I guess I'm going to have to get over it, or else spend the next month being a gold medal grump.
Wouldn't that be a good way to make new friends?
Monday, October 09, 2006
Tea Talk
A good friend came over last night. I had just fallen asleep on the couch and was a bit disoriented but since he brought both tea and good conversation I forgave him.
We ended up talking about relationships and the spirituality of sexuality. I told him things were not as cut and dried as I had once naively thought they were, and he agreed. He said it was scary when you thought about it, because the spiritual aspect lifted sexual behaviour beyond self-gratification and brought a bunch of responsibility to it...and that the lines that people lay out for you in Sunday School aren't neccesarily the way things work in real life.
"You are in a moment, and you know not to go any further, and then the next time everything feels right, and you push against the boundaries and they are still there, but they are a lot further out than you expected them to be. Suddenly you're swimming in water that is far deeper than you thought it was but you aren't drowning and it is all still right and you are still okay."
I kind of butchered what he said, but I think I got the spirit of it. It stuck out in my mind because it put into words exactly what I have experienced. It was good to hear that I am not alone in this strangeness...and I always appreciate it when others can put into words something that I cannot.
We also talked about God, and how life is a gift. That everything in life is a gift, and some parts of life aren't meant to be explored all at once, but that the gift itself is still good even if the moment isn't right. That hope is always there and is so hard to kill. That as long as you are alive there is equal potential for good or evil. That the body is a strange thing. That the spirit is unexplainable. That acceptance of pain can be good or so wrong. That it is a miracle that pain can not only be healed but that great beauty can come out of it. That sometimes it is supposed to hurt, and that when we stop fighting we can find a way to heal.
We didn't talk about it, but good friends are gifts too.
I thank God I have so many of them.
We ended up talking about relationships and the spirituality of sexuality. I told him things were not as cut and dried as I had once naively thought they were, and he agreed. He said it was scary when you thought about it, because the spiritual aspect lifted sexual behaviour beyond self-gratification and brought a bunch of responsibility to it...and that the lines that people lay out for you in Sunday School aren't neccesarily the way things work in real life.
"You are in a moment, and you know not to go any further, and then the next time everything feels right, and you push against the boundaries and they are still there, but they are a lot further out than you expected them to be. Suddenly you're swimming in water that is far deeper than you thought it was but you aren't drowning and it is all still right and you are still okay."
I kind of butchered what he said, but I think I got the spirit of it. It stuck out in my mind because it put into words exactly what I have experienced. It was good to hear that I am not alone in this strangeness...and I always appreciate it when others can put into words something that I cannot.
We also talked about God, and how life is a gift. That everything in life is a gift, and some parts of life aren't meant to be explored all at once, but that the gift itself is still good even if the moment isn't right. That hope is always there and is so hard to kill. That as long as you are alive there is equal potential for good or evil. That the body is a strange thing. That the spirit is unexplainable. That acceptance of pain can be good or so wrong. That it is a miracle that pain can not only be healed but that great beauty can come out of it. That sometimes it is supposed to hurt, and that when we stop fighting we can find a way to heal.
We didn't talk about it, but good friends are gifts too.
I thank God I have so many of them.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Adulthood
I have really good friends. I have been reminded of that this week, and I am very grateful for them.
One of my best friends, R., and I have spent a lot of time talking this weekend. I needed that more than I knew. I’ve been dealing with some big things – my sexuality, boundaries, living with the old girlfriend, my changing relationship with my parents – and it is so good to have someone to talk to who can relate and listen and share my life. R. is very good at helping me to articulate things I am feeling but have no words for, and at listening and giving me perspective on things that seem overwhelming.
I thought that I had licked this whole parent relationship thing. I really did. I thought I had figured out what it was supposed to be now. I’ve started figuring it out, that much is true, but it is still in process. It’s not easy. The problem isn’t my parents. It’s me and my response to them, my perception of them and of how they think of me, even though that perception may be skewed. I don’t know why, but it is so easy to fall back into habitual behaviours, the way I was when I was 16, and so hard to be my adult self around them. I am still trying to find out what it looks like to be the adult child.
It’s hard because I am still learning which voices in my head are my own and which ones are theirs. The hardest thing is that sometimes when I do figure out which messages are coming from whom, I can’t trust my own voice because it is in direct contradiction to the voices of my parents. And maybe my voice is naïve, but I just can’t follow their voices anymore. Even if I’m wrong, I have to figure that out myself and I can’t until I listen and am honest with myself.
Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in a big sticky web, with my parents and mentors as this big spider trying to keep me there despite my fighting hard to get out, to breathe, to become my own person and get the web off of my skin. I know that it will be a good thing to get free – and I know that yes, that will mean that I can get hurt and yes, that will mean that I might make mistakes in a big-person’s arena, but dammit, I am a big person now. If I can’t make adult mistakes than I will never become an adult. It sounds terrible to put it that way, but it feels true. I cannot become an adult if I’m being protected from adulthood. I need to be able to make adult choices, to have adult freedom, and yes, that means I’ll have the potential to make adult mistakes that will leave adult consequences.
My parents love me very much, and I know they just don’t want me to get hurt. I can respect that and at the same time I don’t want protection anymore. I am an adult and their time to protect me is over. If I haven’t gotten the tools to survive in an adult world by now, it is too late for them to give them to me.
I love my parents very much as well, and I respect them very much. They have been through a lot, and have been faced with situations and decisions that I have never had to deal with – and hopefully never will. That makes this hard too. I don’t have a map for this. Relationships would be so much easier if they came with maps, but they don’t and all I can do is trust God and go forward in the way that feels best.
I just want to tell them – You have to let go of me and my choices and my life and let me live, breathe, make mistakes, get hurt, find love, create joy and learn my own path. I will be okay. You are my parents, yes.
But I am not a child anymore.
One of my best friends, R., and I have spent a lot of time talking this weekend. I needed that more than I knew. I’ve been dealing with some big things – my sexuality, boundaries, living with the old girlfriend, my changing relationship with my parents – and it is so good to have someone to talk to who can relate and listen and share my life. R. is very good at helping me to articulate things I am feeling but have no words for, and at listening and giving me perspective on things that seem overwhelming.
I thought that I had licked this whole parent relationship thing. I really did. I thought I had figured out what it was supposed to be now. I’ve started figuring it out, that much is true, but it is still in process. It’s not easy. The problem isn’t my parents. It’s me and my response to them, my perception of them and of how they think of me, even though that perception may be skewed. I don’t know why, but it is so easy to fall back into habitual behaviours, the way I was when I was 16, and so hard to be my adult self around them. I am still trying to find out what it looks like to be the adult child.
It’s hard because I am still learning which voices in my head are my own and which ones are theirs. The hardest thing is that sometimes when I do figure out which messages are coming from whom, I can’t trust my own voice because it is in direct contradiction to the voices of my parents. And maybe my voice is naïve, but I just can’t follow their voices anymore. Even if I’m wrong, I have to figure that out myself and I can’t until I listen and am honest with myself.
Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in a big sticky web, with my parents and mentors as this big spider trying to keep me there despite my fighting hard to get out, to breathe, to become my own person and get the web off of my skin. I know that it will be a good thing to get free – and I know that yes, that will mean that I can get hurt and yes, that will mean that I might make mistakes in a big-person’s arena, but dammit, I am a big person now. If I can’t make adult mistakes than I will never become an adult. It sounds terrible to put it that way, but it feels true. I cannot become an adult if I’m being protected from adulthood. I need to be able to make adult choices, to have adult freedom, and yes, that means I’ll have the potential to make adult mistakes that will leave adult consequences.
My parents love me very much, and I know they just don’t want me to get hurt. I can respect that and at the same time I don’t want protection anymore. I am an adult and their time to protect me is over. If I haven’t gotten the tools to survive in an adult world by now, it is too late for them to give them to me.
I love my parents very much as well, and I respect them very much. They have been through a lot, and have been faced with situations and decisions that I have never had to deal with – and hopefully never will. That makes this hard too. I don’t have a map for this. Relationships would be so much easier if they came with maps, but they don’t and all I can do is trust God and go forward in the way that feels best.
I just want to tell them – You have to let go of me and my choices and my life and let me live, breathe, make mistakes, get hurt, find love, create joy and learn my own path. I will be okay. You are my parents, yes.
But I am not a child anymore.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Social Mixer
As I sit and type I feel like I am on the ocean – the wind blowing the leaves of the trees outside, the sound like the tide lapping, my stomach quivering as if it is going to leap into the sea with or without me.
I am not really sick. I don’t have any good reason to feel like this – no flu, I’m definitely not pregnant. No, instead my reason is that I am inexperienced in the ways of drinking and thus mixed three different kinds of wine last night.
Yes, friends, I am currently experiencing my first hangover. It’s quite mild, just a little bit of an upset stomach, but I’ve been told it still counts as a hangover. I’m not sure what I think about it. I didn’t get drunk, so I feel like I’m being punished for something I didn’t even do. I only felt a little off balance last night – which is apparently known as tipsy – and I was coherent enough to stop when I noticed I could get out of hand. I wasn’t coherent enough to follow my friends’ advice and drink tons of water before going to bed, though, so I woke up feeling like if only I could empty my stomach my life would be wonderful again. No headache, thank God, but definite waves of nausea.
A sign of my naivety is that I didn’t even know what was wrong with me. I mentioned that I felt a bit sick and L. calmly informed me that I was a little bit hung-over. Well, she actually laughed at me. She thinks it's quite funny. I was shocked. A little bit of dizziness last night and now I want to puke.
I haven’t thrown up. I’m kind of proud of that fact. Of course, I didn’t drink very much either. I avoided the tequila, for instance. I don’t understand why anyone would want to drink something that vile. And I knew enough not to mix different kinds of liquor anyway – but why didn’t anyone tell me that you can’t mix different wines? I was in a very experimental mood and tried a dry red, a sweet white and a raspberry merlot that went down like candy – and all within an hour and a half.
Huh. When I think of it that way, I'm really quite lucky. I should feel much worse.
And no doubt it helps that I left before they got out the spiced rum…
I am not really sick. I don’t have any good reason to feel like this – no flu, I’m definitely not pregnant. No, instead my reason is that I am inexperienced in the ways of drinking and thus mixed three different kinds of wine last night.
Yes, friends, I am currently experiencing my first hangover. It’s quite mild, just a little bit of an upset stomach, but I’ve been told it still counts as a hangover. I’m not sure what I think about it. I didn’t get drunk, so I feel like I’m being punished for something I didn’t even do. I only felt a little off balance last night – which is apparently known as tipsy – and I was coherent enough to stop when I noticed I could get out of hand. I wasn’t coherent enough to follow my friends’ advice and drink tons of water before going to bed, though, so I woke up feeling like if only I could empty my stomach my life would be wonderful again. No headache, thank God, but definite waves of nausea.
A sign of my naivety is that I didn’t even know what was wrong with me. I mentioned that I felt a bit sick and L. calmly informed me that I was a little bit hung-over. Well, she actually laughed at me. She thinks it's quite funny. I was shocked. A little bit of dizziness last night and now I want to puke.
I haven’t thrown up. I’m kind of proud of that fact. Of course, I didn’t drink very much either. I avoided the tequila, for instance. I don’t understand why anyone would want to drink something that vile. And I knew enough not to mix different kinds of liquor anyway – but why didn’t anyone tell me that you can’t mix different wines? I was in a very experimental mood and tried a dry red, a sweet white and a raspberry merlot that went down like candy – and all within an hour and a half.
Huh. When I think of it that way, I'm really quite lucky. I should feel much worse.
And no doubt it helps that I left before they got out the spiced rum…
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Dad
My relationship with my father hasn’t always been a good one. It hasn’t been terrible. For most of my life it just wasn’t much of anything. Growing up, my memories of him are mostly of where and when he wasn’t. He worked away from home or on shifts that made him sleep the day away. It seemed to me that money and bosses were more important that I was, and for a long time I accepted that as the way things were supposed to be. When I realized that was a lie, I got angry. I spent several years being quietly very angry at my dad. Angry that he wasn’t there. Angry that I wasn’t a priority to him. Angry that he thought he knew me when he didn’t.
Several years ago my dad injured his knee and was unable to work. He spent a year and a half, pretty much, staying at home and completely changing the schedules and lives of the rest of the family. It was quite disruptive at first. At first I didn’t like it one bit. I had my life organized, thank you, and this was upsetting all of my carefully built walls and orders. But, like many things that I find upsetting, it was the beginning of something necessary. Something good.
I was forced to decide whether or not I wanted a relationship with this man who had helped to give me life. I had to decide whether I wanted him to know who I was now, the woman I was becoming. At first I wasn’t sure. I didn’t trust that he would stick around – he hadn’t before – and I didn’t want to invest in something that was going to end in me being abandoned yet again. I was angry and resentful and had more than my fair share of grudges.
I’m so thankful that I chose to begin a relationship with my father. I have discovered so much. I knew that he didn’t know me – but I didn’t know how much I didn’t know him. I had been told all my life how much wisdom my father had – but I had doubted or simply taken it for granted. I didn’t know how much I need his voice in my life.
When my dad taught me how to drive, he sat in the passenger seat and cleaned his fingernails. He was so certain that I knew enough of what I was doing to keep us both alive and on the road. His calm was infectious and gave me the confidence I needed to remain calm and relaxed myself. He’s still like that about the things I face in life. When I first realized that I loved S., I freaked out. I called to talk to my mom but she wasn’t home, so I ended up talking to my dad. His voice was the one I needed in that moment. I needed to hear that I wasn’t crazy, that there was no such thing as a time schedule when it came to love, that love was scary and that it wasn’t all supposed to be rainbows and pastel clouds…that me crying about being in love was okay. He told me that emotions can be overwhelming and can come out in bizarre ways – that crying for happiness wasn’t stupid. He told me that my instincts for physical lines were good, and put into words the things I am trying to achieve in the physical aspects of my relationship.
He is so calm, so trustful that my own instincts and abilities will kick in when I need them to. He is so sure that I will hear God’s voice and obey it. That he doesn’t need to be God’s voice for me. That I will figure out this crazy thing called life and love on my own. And at the same time, he doesn’t take a backseat to my life and keep his wisdom to himself. He still wants to be involved, to know where I’m at and what I’m dealing with. He wants to share his life with me.
My dad has been so open with where he screwed up as a father. He has heard my pain and anger and accepted that it is his fault – and cried with me. I have seen my father cry with regret at the things that he didn’t do. I have seen my father cry with the pain of loss, the pain of being hurt. He has shown me that it is okay to cry. It takes strength to cry.
My dad left a safe job and followed a calling. He didn’t give up when every logical voice told him his dream was unattainable, that he was causing his family hardship. He didn’t give up even when he began to believe those voices. He stuck it out – and is now working at a job he loves. He has been such an inspiration to me. When I could have followed the safe path, chosen a career that would have promised a steady income and constant work, his example helped me to take the scary leap of faith and jump headlong onto a path that I love, a vocation instead of a job, a journey that will be hard and won’t make me rich but that feeds my soul like nothing else I know. His example and his support have made it possible for me to do this – and have kept me from quitting when it all seems impossible.
I love my dad so much. He has shown me how not to live – money isn’t everything and family is so much more important. He has shown me that anyone can change – it is scary and it does hurt but the rewards are great. He has shown me how to love. He has shown me how to run. How to fight and how to laugh and how to cry. How to see God and that it is okay to rage against Him. His journey has been so integral to my own, so influential and eye opening and humbling and joyous. I don’t know how I would be able to live without him there, quietly and proudly supporting me, his daughter whom he loves.
I love you, Dad.
Don’t you dare go away from me yet.
Several years ago my dad injured his knee and was unable to work. He spent a year and a half, pretty much, staying at home and completely changing the schedules and lives of the rest of the family. It was quite disruptive at first. At first I didn’t like it one bit. I had my life organized, thank you, and this was upsetting all of my carefully built walls and orders. But, like many things that I find upsetting, it was the beginning of something necessary. Something good.
I was forced to decide whether or not I wanted a relationship with this man who had helped to give me life. I had to decide whether I wanted him to know who I was now, the woman I was becoming. At first I wasn’t sure. I didn’t trust that he would stick around – he hadn’t before – and I didn’t want to invest in something that was going to end in me being abandoned yet again. I was angry and resentful and had more than my fair share of grudges.
I’m so thankful that I chose to begin a relationship with my father. I have discovered so much. I knew that he didn’t know me – but I didn’t know how much I didn’t know him. I had been told all my life how much wisdom my father had – but I had doubted or simply taken it for granted. I didn’t know how much I need his voice in my life.
When my dad taught me how to drive, he sat in the passenger seat and cleaned his fingernails. He was so certain that I knew enough of what I was doing to keep us both alive and on the road. His calm was infectious and gave me the confidence I needed to remain calm and relaxed myself. He’s still like that about the things I face in life. When I first realized that I loved S., I freaked out. I called to talk to my mom but she wasn’t home, so I ended up talking to my dad. His voice was the one I needed in that moment. I needed to hear that I wasn’t crazy, that there was no such thing as a time schedule when it came to love, that love was scary and that it wasn’t all supposed to be rainbows and pastel clouds…that me crying about being in love was okay. He told me that emotions can be overwhelming and can come out in bizarre ways – that crying for happiness wasn’t stupid. He told me that my instincts for physical lines were good, and put into words the things I am trying to achieve in the physical aspects of my relationship.
He is so calm, so trustful that my own instincts and abilities will kick in when I need them to. He is so sure that I will hear God’s voice and obey it. That he doesn’t need to be God’s voice for me. That I will figure out this crazy thing called life and love on my own. And at the same time, he doesn’t take a backseat to my life and keep his wisdom to himself. He still wants to be involved, to know where I’m at and what I’m dealing with. He wants to share his life with me.
My dad has been so open with where he screwed up as a father. He has heard my pain and anger and accepted that it is his fault – and cried with me. I have seen my father cry with regret at the things that he didn’t do. I have seen my father cry with the pain of loss, the pain of being hurt. He has shown me that it is okay to cry. It takes strength to cry.
My dad left a safe job and followed a calling. He didn’t give up when every logical voice told him his dream was unattainable, that he was causing his family hardship. He didn’t give up even when he began to believe those voices. He stuck it out – and is now working at a job he loves. He has been such an inspiration to me. When I could have followed the safe path, chosen a career that would have promised a steady income and constant work, his example helped me to take the scary leap of faith and jump headlong onto a path that I love, a vocation instead of a job, a journey that will be hard and won’t make me rich but that feeds my soul like nothing else I know. His example and his support have made it possible for me to do this – and have kept me from quitting when it all seems impossible.
I love my dad so much. He has shown me how not to live – money isn’t everything and family is so much more important. He has shown me that anyone can change – it is scary and it does hurt but the rewards are great. He has shown me how to love. He has shown me how to run. How to fight and how to laugh and how to cry. How to see God and that it is okay to rage against Him. His journey has been so integral to my own, so influential and eye opening and humbling and joyous. I don’t know how I would be able to live without him there, quietly and proudly supporting me, his daughter whom he loves.
I love you, Dad.
Don’t you dare go away from me yet.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Long Time, No See
It seems like an eternity since I last posted anything here. I've been busy - the usual excuse - and now that I have a moment of time I'm not sure what to write. There was something I wrote almost a month ago that I think I'll post here now - something that I intended to put here and then chickened out on and never did. I believe I wrote it August 15th.
Discovering that you have fallen in love is probably not supposed to be a horrifying realization. Most people, upon realizing that they love someone, probably don't stare blankly ahead and say 'Holy shit'. Most people probably don't wonder what the hell is wrong with them when they realize they're in love.
I'm just guessing though. Perhaps I am a completely normal person, experiencing completely normal responses to a completely normal phenomenon. Perhaps the vast majority of people out there are scared shitless by the mere suggestion of something more than 'like'. Maybe most people fall in love because of absolutely ridiculous things, too.
In case you missed it, I have now experienced the marvelous sensation called Falling In Love. Like any other kind of falling, there seems to be a feeling of weightlessness. A lack of air. A startled feeling in my chest where my heart should be beating. Unlike other kinds of falling there is also happiness. A certain delight. A settledness.
I am scared too. What else is new, really? When I read my journals and blog posts I am astounded that my nickname isn't Chickenshit. I love someone who doesn't have to love me back. He's not like my family. He can cut and run at any time. He isn't neccesarily there for good.
People aren't supposed to fall in love after only 2 months, are they? I've never fallen in love before but this seems so quick. Granted I've known him for 2 years. But still - this was so unexpected.
Especially because of what pushed me over the edge. He was drunk at a party and he turned to me and said, "This is why that song (Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace) describes me so well. It doesn't matter where I am, what social situation I'm in or who I'm around, I'm the same person inside. This is who I am." He looked so hopeless. I saw through masks that I hadn't realized were even there and saw hurts that I hadn't known exsisted. Why on earth would I fall then? Why did that get me when all the sweet things he's done, all the respectful, romantic, charming stuff didn't? I don't understand, but I suddenly loved him. In that moment. Even as I fell, I was thinking I can't change him. Loving the shit out of someone doesn't work. I know this and I fell in love with him anyway. In spite of that. Because of that.
It doesn't hurt that he treats me with respect. That he asks where my lines are and doesn't cross them. That he wants me and wants to spend time with me, that he likes talking to me and listening to me. That he looks like an angel when he sleeps...when all the masks are down and he looks like he is at peace. That he holds doors for me and cooks for me. All of that certainly doesn't hurt.
Not like this could when - if - I hit the bottom.
Holy shit.
I've fallen in love.
I still love him, I still don't understand why. It still causes me pain and makes me very happy. It is sobering to realize that I love someone and I always will, even if I don't end up making my life with him. I didn't expect this to happen - this relationship went from a fun thing to have to something I care deeply about in a heartbeat. I went from a 'me' to an 'us' and I don't know how.
I'm not as freaked out as I was when I wrote this. I'm not as worried that I'm moving too quickly - I've learned that things happen in their own time and that there is no normal. I'm not as scared, even though I'm realizing that I've opened myself up to a whole new level of getting hurt. What fun.
It has been interesting to see what is true about love and what isn't. Being in love does cause joy and distress at the same time...those young lovers who wail and moan and complain about love while they are obviously not going to leave it behind are being honest in a very dramatic way. Love isn't blind, though. I can still see all the things that irritate me about S. quite well, and they still irritate me too. I just have more patience. Love is patient, kind and long-suffering. Love is a mine-field. Love is very complex, wonderful, and confusing.
Those of you who read this and pray, keep me - and S. - in your prayers. Guidance seems like the thing that we both need in this new landscape, this new world I've fallen into without a map.
Discovering that you have fallen in love is probably not supposed to be a horrifying realization. Most people, upon realizing that they love someone, probably don't stare blankly ahead and say 'Holy shit'. Most people probably don't wonder what the hell is wrong with them when they realize they're in love.
I'm just guessing though. Perhaps I am a completely normal person, experiencing completely normal responses to a completely normal phenomenon. Perhaps the vast majority of people out there are scared shitless by the mere suggestion of something more than 'like'. Maybe most people fall in love because of absolutely ridiculous things, too.
In case you missed it, I have now experienced the marvelous sensation called Falling In Love. Like any other kind of falling, there seems to be a feeling of weightlessness. A lack of air. A startled feeling in my chest where my heart should be beating. Unlike other kinds of falling there is also happiness. A certain delight. A settledness.
I am scared too. What else is new, really? When I read my journals and blog posts I am astounded that my nickname isn't Chickenshit. I love someone who doesn't have to love me back. He's not like my family. He can cut and run at any time. He isn't neccesarily there for good.
People aren't supposed to fall in love after only 2 months, are they? I've never fallen in love before but this seems so quick. Granted I've known him for 2 years. But still - this was so unexpected.
Especially because of what pushed me over the edge. He was drunk at a party and he turned to me and said, "This is why that song (Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace) describes me so well. It doesn't matter where I am, what social situation I'm in or who I'm around, I'm the same person inside. This is who I am." He looked so hopeless. I saw through masks that I hadn't realized were even there and saw hurts that I hadn't known exsisted. Why on earth would I fall then? Why did that get me when all the sweet things he's done, all the respectful, romantic, charming stuff didn't? I don't understand, but I suddenly loved him. In that moment. Even as I fell, I was thinking I can't change him. Loving the shit out of someone doesn't work. I know this and I fell in love with him anyway. In spite of that. Because of that.
It doesn't hurt that he treats me with respect. That he asks where my lines are and doesn't cross them. That he wants me and wants to spend time with me, that he likes talking to me and listening to me. That he looks like an angel when he sleeps...when all the masks are down and he looks like he is at peace. That he holds doors for me and cooks for me. All of that certainly doesn't hurt.
Not like this could when - if - I hit the bottom.
Holy shit.
I've fallen in love.
I still love him, I still don't understand why. It still causes me pain and makes me very happy. It is sobering to realize that I love someone and I always will, even if I don't end up making my life with him. I didn't expect this to happen - this relationship went from a fun thing to have to something I care deeply about in a heartbeat. I went from a 'me' to an 'us' and I don't know how.
I'm not as freaked out as I was when I wrote this. I'm not as worried that I'm moving too quickly - I've learned that things happen in their own time and that there is no normal. I'm not as scared, even though I'm realizing that I've opened myself up to a whole new level of getting hurt. What fun.
It has been interesting to see what is true about love and what isn't. Being in love does cause joy and distress at the same time...those young lovers who wail and moan and complain about love while they are obviously not going to leave it behind are being honest in a very dramatic way. Love isn't blind, though. I can still see all the things that irritate me about S. quite well, and they still irritate me too. I just have more patience. Love is patient, kind and long-suffering. Love is a mine-field. Love is very complex, wonderful, and confusing.
Those of you who read this and pray, keep me - and S. - in your prayers. Guidance seems like the thing that we both need in this new landscape, this new world I've fallen into without a map.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
An Unofficial Poll
About five weeks ago I began asking people in my town, “What is your definition of making out?” I started asking because I figured this was something I needed to know, and I’ve continued asking because I’ve been getting such great answers and besides, I’m extremely curious. I’ve decided to post these answers for your enjoyment – and I’m extending an invitation to join in and post your definitions too.
Here are the answers I’ve received so far.
Here are the answers I’ve received so far.
Anything more than normal kissing – French kissing is making out.- Kissing from the neck up. Heavy petting, although it may be simultaneously occurring, is a completely different (and wonderful) thing.
- Anything the girl is comfortable doing that isn’t sex.
- Kissing – people should keep their hands to themselves until they’re engaged.
- Hands under clothing.
- Kissing with hands over clothing, and grindage of bodies. Underwear doesn’t count as clothing.
- If time has gone by without you noticing, you’ve been making out.
- Horizontal kissing.
- Involved kissing.
- Intimate physical contact with intention.
- Full out making love.
- Really intense kissing.
- Anything that you wouldn’t be comfortable doing in public.
- Kissing, primarily. Heavy petting belongs to a different commitment level.
I’ve asked 16 people so far, and although I cannot remember every single response, these are the ones that stand out. As you can see, there is a common idea but there are some extremes too.
As for my definition? [a delicious smirk and a giggle…] Well, I think I’m going to have to conduct a little more research before I know that for sure.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Sudsy Mouthwash
Yesterday I wrote a brilliant post, all about my weekend at my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary, seeing cousins I hadn't seen for 10 years, and how I felt about not being cast in the Christmas show. I agonized, laboured and gave birth to a beautiful assortment of letters and punctuation marks. And, as I clicked "Publish", I saw the little, tiny notice that said, "I am not working properly today and so your post, your lovely little word-baby, will get lost in cyber-space and eaten by ravening dotcoms. Kiss it goodbye now, because you'll never see it again." And it was right. No amount of groaning, hitting the desk, searching through my internet history, or swearing brought back my perfect post. And trust me, I did a lot of swearing. I don't think I've sworn that much, ever. I almost cried, I was so upset.
So now I get to try to recreate a post. It is impossible to rewrite something like that, something that was just that wonderful, but here goes.
My grandparents have been married for 50 years. At the festivities, I saw two cousins I haven't seen for 10 years. I realized that their world view and mine are radically different, but we both create art from our world views which fascinates me. I found out, upon my return, that I am not in the Christmas show. I am both disappointed (of course I want to be cast) and relieved (in that now I know at least). I might audition for the smaller Christmas production but there are a lot of girls auditioning so my chances are diminished. And, in conclusion, acting is hard.
See? So much was lost because of technology. The original was a work of art - this was just work.
On a much nicer note, I am housesitting for one of my teachers this week. Her house is adorable. It used to be a one car garage but is now an absolutely fantastic house for one person (or two, if they're cozy). I covet it - I would love to live there. She has a cat, Portia, and I'm glad she's a house cat because I've missed having a cat in the house. Plus there's a garden I can eat out of, a gas stove to cook with, books to read, pretty curtains, movies, and some space to myself. It will be a nice week.
It'll give my mouth a chance to get the soap taste out, anyway.
So now I get to try to recreate a post. It is impossible to rewrite something like that, something that was just that wonderful, but here goes.
My grandparents have been married for 50 years. At the festivities, I saw two cousins I haven't seen for 10 years. I realized that their world view and mine are radically different, but we both create art from our world views which fascinates me. I found out, upon my return, that I am not in the Christmas show. I am both disappointed (of course I want to be cast) and relieved (in that now I know at least). I might audition for the smaller Christmas production but there are a lot of girls auditioning so my chances are diminished. And, in conclusion, acting is hard.
See? So much was lost because of technology. The original was a work of art - this was just work.
On a much nicer note, I am housesitting for one of my teachers this week. Her house is adorable. It used to be a one car garage but is now an absolutely fantastic house for one person (or two, if they're cozy). I covet it - I would love to live there. She has a cat, Portia, and I'm glad she's a house cat because I've missed having a cat in the house. Plus there's a garden I can eat out of, a gas stove to cook with, books to read, pretty curtains, movies, and some space to myself. It will be a nice week.
It'll give my mouth a chance to get the soap taste out, anyway.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Open Hearts
Yesterday I found out that my boyfriend's ex might be our new housemate in September.
My initial reaction to this was not one of joy, understandably. I don't particularly like this girl. I don't think she made a very good first impression on me when I first met her on her scout week. Even without the complication of her history with S. I wouldn't be thrilled to live with her. She is young and headstrong, dominant and loud - none of which are traits I would choose in a housemate.
However, I have no choice in the matter. That is one of the joys of living in student housing, a joy that I think I was well prepared for by living in rented houses all of my life. Everyone else in my house, all of whom feel vast reluctance to live with M. as well, have the impression that they can simply put their foot down and not allow her to live in 'our' house. None of them are life-long renters, and the notion of simply submitting to this is not even in their minds.
Surprisingly, I am the most receptive to the idea, which makes me laugh a little. I have the most reason not to want to live with her, after all. I think knowing that I have no say in the matter means that instead of a mindset of fighting M.'s inclusion to our house, I immediately go to a place of 'how can I deal with this?'. Well, not immediately...my first thought was something more along the lines of "God, make another solution present itself. Make her live with first years - they don't know any better."
Because part of the problem is that none of her class mates from last year want to live with her either. She has not made a reputation for being easy to get along with, and on top of all of her grating personality traits, she's a messy person. There's just not a lot of incentive to live with this girl.
After brooding on this for an hour and then writing furiously for a while during the show, I was able to ask God for grace, love, courage and trust that this would all work out somehow. Either that another house would be found for M. to live in, or that her living with us would be a good thing. Somehow.
And somehow, when I fronted the concept to my housemates that night, I was the least venomous towards M., and the most accepting of the idea of her living with us. I guess God had already started giving me that grace and love that I'd asked for.
Since it is really likely that M. will live with us, I hope that God can open everyone's hearts in our house towards her. She is going into the busiest year of her life here, and the last thing she needs is to live in a house full of hostility and judgement. And, quite frankly, I don't need to live in a house of tension either. I like that our house is a sanctuary, a place where we can all come and be safe. Right now I trust my housemates and they trust me - and regardless of who comes in, they are going to upset that for a while, at least. I really desire for us to be able to bring M. into our sanctuary instead of having her destroy it.
In a way, it might be good that M. comes into our house. I can see that some other people could have been too quickly and easily integrated into our circle of trust without having to prove that they belonged there. At least M. will not be accepted into our confidences without good, good reason.
It's a gift that I can see how good it could be for M. to live in our house, if we can get rid of our walls towards her. She has enough walls of her own, which will need to come down if she is going to succeed here, and they won't come down if she isn't somewhere that she feels is safe. It could be really good for us too - I can see that it will make me learn all kinds of things that I would be able to ignore otherwise.
Pray for us, please. Where ever M. lives, it will not be easy for her or her housemates. If she lives with us, I anticipate a stretching, growing, painful experience - and yet I have hope that good will come out of it. But pray for us anyway...we will need all the love God can embellish us with, and very open hearts.
My initial reaction to this was not one of joy, understandably. I don't particularly like this girl. I don't think she made a very good first impression on me when I first met her on her scout week. Even without the complication of her history with S. I wouldn't be thrilled to live with her. She is young and headstrong, dominant and loud - none of which are traits I would choose in a housemate.
However, I have no choice in the matter. That is one of the joys of living in student housing, a joy that I think I was well prepared for by living in rented houses all of my life. Everyone else in my house, all of whom feel vast reluctance to live with M. as well, have the impression that they can simply put their foot down and not allow her to live in 'our' house. None of them are life-long renters, and the notion of simply submitting to this is not even in their minds.
Surprisingly, I am the most receptive to the idea, which makes me laugh a little. I have the most reason not to want to live with her, after all. I think knowing that I have no say in the matter means that instead of a mindset of fighting M.'s inclusion to our house, I immediately go to a place of 'how can I deal with this?'. Well, not immediately...my first thought was something more along the lines of "God, make another solution present itself. Make her live with first years - they don't know any better."
Because part of the problem is that none of her class mates from last year want to live with her either. She has not made a reputation for being easy to get along with, and on top of all of her grating personality traits, she's a messy person. There's just not a lot of incentive to live with this girl.
After brooding on this for an hour and then writing furiously for a while during the show, I was able to ask God for grace, love, courage and trust that this would all work out somehow. Either that another house would be found for M. to live in, or that her living with us would be a good thing. Somehow.
And somehow, when I fronted the concept to my housemates that night, I was the least venomous towards M., and the most accepting of the idea of her living with us. I guess God had already started giving me that grace and love that I'd asked for.
Since it is really likely that M. will live with us, I hope that God can open everyone's hearts in our house towards her. She is going into the busiest year of her life here, and the last thing she needs is to live in a house full of hostility and judgement. And, quite frankly, I don't need to live in a house of tension either. I like that our house is a sanctuary, a place where we can all come and be safe. Right now I trust my housemates and they trust me - and regardless of who comes in, they are going to upset that for a while, at least. I really desire for us to be able to bring M. into our sanctuary instead of having her destroy it.
In a way, it might be good that M. comes into our house. I can see that some other people could have been too quickly and easily integrated into our circle of trust without having to prove that they belonged there. At least M. will not be accepted into our confidences without good, good reason.
It's a gift that I can see how good it could be for M. to live in our house, if we can get rid of our walls towards her. She has enough walls of her own, which will need to come down if she is going to succeed here, and they won't come down if she isn't somewhere that she feels is safe. It could be really good for us too - I can see that it will make me learn all kinds of things that I would be able to ignore otherwise.
Pray for us, please. Where ever M. lives, it will not be easy for her or her housemates. If she lives with us, I anticipate a stretching, growing, painful experience - and yet I have hope that good will come out of it. But pray for us anyway...we will need all the love God can embellish us with, and very open hearts.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
The World is Too Large
I just finished reading "My Name is Asher Lev". It has taken me a long time to read this book. I've gotten distracted with other books, with other occupations, with people, with things...but this book has won out and now that I'm finished it, I can see why it is a must-read on so many people's lists.
If you haven't read it, please do.
The artist's struggle - the internal debate between honesty and safety - just read the book.
Out of curiosity, what books are on people's must-read lists? My list is so long...it really depends on who asks me. I have a list of children's books, a list of fantastic fiction, a list of books that really impacted my beliefs, a list of not fiction...lists of specific authors...it is very difficult to narrow it down to 10 books, but in a fit of spontaneity I'm going to try right now.
These are in no particular order because that would just be too much hair-pulling strain.
1. The Five Children and It by E. Nesbit
2. The Narnia Chronicles by C. S. Lewis (please don't make me narrow it down to one)
3. Walking on Water by Madeleine L'Engle (while you're at it, read all of her other books too)
4. Children of the Mind by Orson Scott Card (but you have to start at the beginning of the series to understand this one)
5. The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell (and then you can read the sequel!)
6. Tom's Midnight Garden by Philippa Pearce
7. The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J. R. R. Tolkien (if I can only have one, then The Return of the King - but ha! You have to read the others for this one to make any sense!)
8. Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls
9. The BFG by Roald Dahl
10. Oh, I can't decide! [insert wail of despair.] I ended up remembering so many wonderful books from my childhood (like "The Cricket in Times Square" by George Selden) that books that I am reading now and quite enjoying (like Chaim Potok's "My Name is Asher Lev", or "Thief of Time" by Terry Pratchett, or "The Hitchhiker's Guide..." by Douglas Adams) got quite swept away in the flood. A top 10 list of books is actually a ridiculous idea. There are far too many good books out there. Far too many! Even a top 10 list of authors would fill me with regrets for the ones I had to leave out.
However, this list will do for now. I realize I've cheated by really listing more than 10 books, but any effort to change that will result in me throwing a mighty tantrum. Trust me, you do not want me to throw a mighty tantrum, so just leave my list alone.
Unless you want to add to it by telling me your favorite books...because however huge the world of books may be, I really don't think it can ever really be too large.
If you haven't read it, please do.
The artist's struggle - the internal debate between honesty and safety - just read the book.
Out of curiosity, what books are on people's must-read lists? My list is so long...it really depends on who asks me. I have a list of children's books, a list of fantastic fiction, a list of books that really impacted my beliefs, a list of not fiction...lists of specific authors...it is very difficult to narrow it down to 10 books, but in a fit of spontaneity I'm going to try right now.
These are in no particular order because that would just be too much hair-pulling strain.
1. The Five Children and It by E. Nesbit
2. The Narnia Chronicles by C. S. Lewis (please don't make me narrow it down to one)
3. Walking on Water by Madeleine L'Engle (while you're at it, read all of her other books too)
4. Children of the Mind by Orson Scott Card (but you have to start at the beginning of the series to understand this one)
5. The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell (and then you can read the sequel!)
6. Tom's Midnight Garden by Philippa Pearce
7. The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J. R. R. Tolkien (if I can only have one, then The Return of the King - but ha! You have to read the others for this one to make any sense!)
8. Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls
9. The BFG by Roald Dahl
10. Oh, I can't decide! [insert wail of despair.] I ended up remembering so many wonderful books from my childhood (like "The Cricket in Times Square" by George Selden) that books that I am reading now and quite enjoying (like Chaim Potok's "My Name is Asher Lev", or "Thief of Time" by Terry Pratchett, or "The Hitchhiker's Guide..." by Douglas Adams) got quite swept away in the flood. A top 10 list of books is actually a ridiculous idea. There are far too many good books out there. Far too many! Even a top 10 list of authors would fill me with regrets for the ones I had to leave out.
However, this list will do for now. I realize I've cheated by really listing more than 10 books, but any effort to change that will result in me throwing a mighty tantrum. Trust me, you do not want me to throw a mighty tantrum, so just leave my list alone.
Unless you want to add to it by telling me your favorite books...because however huge the world of books may be, I really don't think it can ever really be too large.
Friday, July 14, 2006
A Really Quiet, Persistent Voice
I really like how Microsoft Word puts that little red line underneath words that are spelled wrong. It's like having a very quick dictionary right at my fingertips - when I'm writing an email, or on here, I can easily check my spelling without waiting for the spellcheck option to load online. If it wasn't for that wonderful red line, I would have misspelled 'persistent' and that would have been embarrassing.
All summer in this lovely little town we have chapel services every Friday. I really needed today's chapel. We met together, sang some songs, and then went on a Sabbath walk, which was an amble to simply be. To really see the world around and to just be without having to do something or get anywhere. That is how I like to walk, but even I don't take the time to simply be alone, to see the world. This day was really no exception, as I was battling in my head. Unrest is not fun.
I have been in turmoil because my boyfriend and I don't see eye to eye when it comes to sex. He respects that I have chosen not to have premarital sex - he is very respectful of me and my physical boundaries. It's our viewpoints on sex that don't line up.
To me, sex is sacred. It is an extremely meaningful act of love and intimacy that cannot be treated lightly. To him, it is simply a physical act. Sure, it's intimate, but he doesn't see it as meaningful. That bothers me a lot. To the point where, on my walk, I was asking God if I should break up because that is something that I can see as being a problem if we ever got serious.
This is the kind of thing that I think is irresponsible to simply let go of but that is what God told me to do. "Let go of it. It isn't your problem to deal with right now."
That was not what I was expecting to hear, and I was speechless. It was surreal. And I was given peace about the whole thing. Peace that being with S. is still somehow a good thing. Peace that this bridge doesn't need to be crossed right now and when it does, I will know how to and it will be led by God.
I will never understand God if I live to be 1,000 years old. I seriously doubt that I will understand God even after I die and am in His presence. Instead of being upsetting, that thought makes me smile. He is so much bigger than I can cope with, and His ways are so confusing and yet I can still trust Him, and give Him my worship and love in a way that I have never been able to do before. My relationship with Him is a gift from Him and somehow I am calm in it.
The Sabbath walk made me realize that I need to take my turmoil to God and go for these quiet walks more often. Even when my mind is going a thousand miles a minute, His voice can still be heard. It's a good thing He's so damn persistent because otherwise the quietness would be overwhelmed and I'd never hear Him - and I probably wouldn't be a Christian right now.
I have gone through many periods of time where I thought I was a bad Christian because I don't read my Bible very often and I don't pray much unless I'm asking God for something. You know what? I am glad that I haven't ever managed to do those things. I am glad that I haven't ever managed to keep up with daily devotions. I would have been doing them out of a feeling of obligation and may have never realized that I actually need to find some time every day to simply be with God. I actually need to spend time with God every day, just the two of us.
Huh.
Well, my mom can rest easy now. She sometimes expresses a fear that not having raised us with the mindset of doing daily devotions, memorizing lots of scripture, and going to Bible College has somehow impaired us spiritually. Maybe it would have been a good thing, but I question whether it would have been an honest thing, looking at where my parents were at. I think that this way worked out well. God is bigger than whatever misguided efforts my parents did or didn't make, and He has found His own way to tell me what my spirit needs.
Now my mom can focus on her guilt for not teaching me how to spell.
All summer in this lovely little town we have chapel services every Friday. I really needed today's chapel. We met together, sang some songs, and then went on a Sabbath walk, which was an amble to simply be. To really see the world around and to just be without having to do something or get anywhere. That is how I like to walk, but even I don't take the time to simply be alone, to see the world. This day was really no exception, as I was battling in my head. Unrest is not fun.
I have been in turmoil because my boyfriend and I don't see eye to eye when it comes to sex. He respects that I have chosen not to have premarital sex - he is very respectful of me and my physical boundaries. It's our viewpoints on sex that don't line up.
To me, sex is sacred. It is an extremely meaningful act of love and intimacy that cannot be treated lightly. To him, it is simply a physical act. Sure, it's intimate, but he doesn't see it as meaningful. That bothers me a lot. To the point where, on my walk, I was asking God if I should break up because that is something that I can see as being a problem if we ever got serious.
This is the kind of thing that I think is irresponsible to simply let go of but that is what God told me to do. "Let go of it. It isn't your problem to deal with right now."
That was not what I was expecting to hear, and I was speechless. It was surreal. And I was given peace about the whole thing. Peace that being with S. is still somehow a good thing. Peace that this bridge doesn't need to be crossed right now and when it does, I will know how to and it will be led by God.
I will never understand God if I live to be 1,000 years old. I seriously doubt that I will understand God even after I die and am in His presence. Instead of being upsetting, that thought makes me smile. He is so much bigger than I can cope with, and His ways are so confusing and yet I can still trust Him, and give Him my worship and love in a way that I have never been able to do before. My relationship with Him is a gift from Him and somehow I am calm in it.
The Sabbath walk made me realize that I need to take my turmoil to God and go for these quiet walks more often. Even when my mind is going a thousand miles a minute, His voice can still be heard. It's a good thing He's so damn persistent because otherwise the quietness would be overwhelmed and I'd never hear Him - and I probably wouldn't be a Christian right now.
I have gone through many periods of time where I thought I was a bad Christian because I don't read my Bible very often and I don't pray much unless I'm asking God for something. You know what? I am glad that I haven't ever managed to do those things. I am glad that I haven't ever managed to keep up with daily devotions. I would have been doing them out of a feeling of obligation and may have never realized that I actually need to find some time every day to simply be with God. I actually need to spend time with God every day, just the two of us.
Huh.
Well, my mom can rest easy now. She sometimes expresses a fear that not having raised us with the mindset of doing daily devotions, memorizing lots of scripture, and going to Bible College has somehow impaired us spiritually. Maybe it would have been a good thing, but I question whether it would have been an honest thing, looking at where my parents were at. I think that this way worked out well. God is bigger than whatever misguided efforts my parents did or didn't make, and He has found His own way to tell me what my spirit needs.
Now my mom can focus on her guilt for not teaching me how to spell.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Innocent Presumption
Last week a girl stayed at our house. As part of the application process for the school, applicants are required to spend a week here, taking classes and getting to know people. It's a good idea. This place is so unique, and a person really needs to get a taste of what they are getting themselves into before they commit to being here for 8 months.
This girl was the oldest scout we've had so far and I really got along well with her. My parents were here too, and while I was doing other things my mom talked to the scout and got to know her a bit. We all ended up going out for dinner which was nice. Because my mom was here, blogs came up and mine was mentioned in passing.
When the scout was leaving, she asked me for my blog address. Actually, what she said was, "Oh, you'll have to give me your blog address!". I laughed. It wasn't a laugh of happiness, it was the kind of laugh that happens when someone does something that displays their ignorance, that shows how little they know about you. It was a 'wow, are you ever presumptuous - I haven't even given my brother my blog address yet' sort of a laugh. I thought it was funny that this stranger would assume that I would give this almost-secret to her. I suppose that to some people a blog is just a way to share some thoughts with the world, but to me it is a vulnerable space. I said something non-commital and then went to my room and thought furiously for a few minutes.
Did I want to share this part of my life with a stranger? Granted, a stranger that I like and that I wouldn't mind getting to know better, but a stranger? Did I have the guts to say, actually I don't want to share this with you, sorry? Or did it matter that much to me?
I eventually decided to give her the address with the by-now-customary "I alone can give this address to people so don't share it" tag line. It might seem a little strange to be so tight-fisted with this site address when it could randomly come up when someone hits the 'next blog' button on another site. I know that some would argue that I spread this site around by posting comments on other blogs (I would argue that I could choose to anonymously post comments, so that is a choice). For some reason, to give this page of thoughts to someone I know is a different thing than to have someone I don't know reading it. And H. scout is someone who could possibly be involved in my life here next year.
I am realizing that regardless of who reads this blog, I have to be honest. I am realizing that I cannot censor myself so that I won't hurt someone who reads my words. That is not what I want this to be. And I am realizing that neither is this a place where I want to vent - that is what my hardcopy journal is for, because while I will not censor myself, I do not desire to harm people either, especially if it serves no purpose but to get it out of my system. I have less harmful ways of doing that. But overall, this is my blog. These are my thoughts, and sometimes they will hurt those who read them. Sometimes they hurt me, writing them. But I know there is a huge difference between hurting and harming, and I never want to harm with my words - ever.
These are all things that I would not have realized as quickly if H. scout had not been so innocently presumptuous, so I really ought to thank her.
Perhaps I already have.
This girl was the oldest scout we've had so far and I really got along well with her. My parents were here too, and while I was doing other things my mom talked to the scout and got to know her a bit. We all ended up going out for dinner which was nice. Because my mom was here, blogs came up and mine was mentioned in passing.
When the scout was leaving, she asked me for my blog address. Actually, what she said was, "Oh, you'll have to give me your blog address!". I laughed. It wasn't a laugh of happiness, it was the kind of laugh that happens when someone does something that displays their ignorance, that shows how little they know about you. It was a 'wow, are you ever presumptuous - I haven't even given my brother my blog address yet' sort of a laugh. I thought it was funny that this stranger would assume that I would give this almost-secret to her. I suppose that to some people a blog is just a way to share some thoughts with the world, but to me it is a vulnerable space. I said something non-commital and then went to my room and thought furiously for a few minutes.
Did I want to share this part of my life with a stranger? Granted, a stranger that I like and that I wouldn't mind getting to know better, but a stranger? Did I have the guts to say, actually I don't want to share this with you, sorry? Or did it matter that much to me?
I eventually decided to give her the address with the by-now-customary "I alone can give this address to people so don't share it" tag line. It might seem a little strange to be so tight-fisted with this site address when it could randomly come up when someone hits the 'next blog' button on another site. I know that some would argue that I spread this site around by posting comments on other blogs (I would argue that I could choose to anonymously post comments, so that is a choice). For some reason, to give this page of thoughts to someone I know is a different thing than to have someone I don't know reading it. And H. scout is someone who could possibly be involved in my life here next year.
I am realizing that regardless of who reads this blog, I have to be honest. I am realizing that I cannot censor myself so that I won't hurt someone who reads my words. That is not what I want this to be. And I am realizing that neither is this a place where I want to vent - that is what my hardcopy journal is for, because while I will not censor myself, I do not desire to harm people either, especially if it serves no purpose but to get it out of my system. I have less harmful ways of doing that. But overall, this is my blog. These are my thoughts, and sometimes they will hurt those who read them. Sometimes they hurt me, writing them. But I know there is a huge difference between hurting and harming, and I never want to harm with my words - ever.
These are all things that I would not have realized as quickly if H. scout had not been so innocently presumptuous, so I really ought to thank her.
Perhaps I already have.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Nothing Really Profound
After the last few posts on here I think I'm giving myself a complex. I do this sometimes, where I write or draw something really beautiful - something that comes from that place beyond self, where time has no meaning and things are simple and ordered and chaotic and perfect - and then I stop, amazed by my own creation and the truth that shines through it. I know that my next attempt won't be that inspired so I don't try again. It's not a good thing. I did that with an art class I took 18 months ago, which frustrates me because I was getting consistently good...so I am not going to do it here.
I don't really have anything profound to say today. Just that I am supposed to be writing a scene for my playwriting homework, I spent the day in a pissy mood for some reason, I worked all day and what I want to do is spend time with my boyfriend but I am determined to finish here first.
Today is two weeks since I started going out with S., as I shall refer to him here. It came out of the blue but has been really - nice, fun, comfortable, exciting, scary. I think it's funny really. After walking the labyrinth, I realized that if I was single and childless for the rest of my life I would be okay with that. For the first time, I could honestly say "God is enough". And then two days later S. asked me out. I spent two days deciding whether or not to do this whole dating thing. I talked to God a lot. I laughed, I fretted, I cried, I had moments of angst and fog and clarity and sobriety and giddiness. I obviously decided to go ahead and give it a try, but there were moments where I wasn't sure that I was ready to 'give up' the new feeling I had just found of actually being content alone.
It blows my mind a little how much of my thoughts are taken up with S. I didn't anticipate that. I also didn't anticipate how much I am afraid of getting carried away and doing something physical that I'll regret, which is not a very valid fear (so far) because we've never been in any situation that would lend itself to getting carried away. I didn't expect to discover that I detatch from postive, happy emotions because I can't cope with them. I knew that I seperate myself from things like pain and sadness and fear - but happiness? Apparently it overwhelms me as much as pain does.
I am connecting dots that were invisable to me several months ago. I don't express emotion physically in real life, which has meant that I don't use my body fully on stage either. I am just starting to notice physical impulses when it comes to expressing emotions, and I am still supressing them half the time - but now I am aware of them, which is a huge step forward for me. I have done some crazy things to cope with 20 years of emotions that I didn't know what to do with. I haven't had a lot of examples of what to do with feelings, unless you count watching someone throw things in anger or run away from pain, or invade other people's space with joy and happiness, or rationalize feelings away all together.
My whole life is going to be one discovery after another. I am beginning to realize that this is never going to end - I will always be finding out new things and learning new things about myself, about God, about those around me.
That might not be really profound, but it is really, really cool.
I don't really have anything profound to say today. Just that I am supposed to be writing a scene for my playwriting homework, I spent the day in a pissy mood for some reason, I worked all day and what I want to do is spend time with my boyfriend but I am determined to finish here first.
Today is two weeks since I started going out with S., as I shall refer to him here. It came out of the blue but has been really - nice, fun, comfortable, exciting, scary. I think it's funny really. After walking the labyrinth, I realized that if I was single and childless for the rest of my life I would be okay with that. For the first time, I could honestly say "God is enough". And then two days later S. asked me out. I spent two days deciding whether or not to do this whole dating thing. I talked to God a lot. I laughed, I fretted, I cried, I had moments of angst and fog and clarity and sobriety and giddiness. I obviously decided to go ahead and give it a try, but there were moments where I wasn't sure that I was ready to 'give up' the new feeling I had just found of actually being content alone.
It blows my mind a little how much of my thoughts are taken up with S. I didn't anticipate that. I also didn't anticipate how much I am afraid of getting carried away and doing something physical that I'll regret, which is not a very valid fear (so far) because we've never been in any situation that would lend itself to getting carried away. I didn't expect to discover that I detatch from postive, happy emotions because I can't cope with them. I knew that I seperate myself from things like pain and sadness and fear - but happiness? Apparently it overwhelms me as much as pain does.
I am connecting dots that were invisable to me several months ago. I don't express emotion physically in real life, which has meant that I don't use my body fully on stage either. I am just starting to notice physical impulses when it comes to expressing emotions, and I am still supressing them half the time - but now I am aware of them, which is a huge step forward for me. I have done some crazy things to cope with 20 years of emotions that I didn't know what to do with. I haven't had a lot of examples of what to do with feelings, unless you count watching someone throw things in anger or run away from pain, or invade other people's space with joy and happiness, or rationalize feelings away all together.
My whole life is going to be one discovery after another. I am beginning to realize that this is never going to end - I will always be finding out new things and learning new things about myself, about God, about those around me.
That might not be really profound, but it is really, really cool.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Broken
I originally wrote this June 5th. I was going to post it then, but the times after that there were other things that needed to be said instead, so I am writing this here now.
I was talking to my mom about faith, grace, God and our difficult journey, our difficult fight to deal with our baggage. I am consistantly overwhelmed with how gentle God is with me. How can He keep forgiving me my trespasses when I am arrogant and selfish and unmerciful and mean and sinful and corrupt and tainted, and deliberately so? Why is there no limit to His love and forgivness, and why do I feel the need to find the end of His patience? It frustrates me that God will never stop loving me and forgiving me. It humbles me and breaks me. I am not worth this. Give this love to someone who won't throw it in your face as if it were so much garbage. Please stop breaking my heart with your endless love. And yet I cling to it with all my soul because I'll die without it. I adore Him and hate myself for my pathetic snivelling weakness. I hate that I will betray Him again. I hate that He will never give me what I deserve, only what He deserves. How can I be so broken, needy, adoring and full of hate? How can I hate the One who loves me so unabashedly, the One I long to love completely?
How can my brokenness be all that He wants? When all I can say is "Help thou my unbelief", how come that is enough? When all I can do is beg for faith, that is all He wants from me. When all I have in me is a tearful cry to be open to Him, He requires no more of me. That is somehow enough even though to me it feels inadequate. How can I have the balls, the nerve to come before the Creator with nothing more than a plea for His grace, His mercy, His faith and His love because I have none of my own and I come to the Lord and Master of the Universe with only the hunger for love and the longing to be filled. Muddy, in rags, filthy and bedraggled I come before Him with grasping empty hands and He says "Come closer, my child". And He gives me more than I can comprehend. He gives me things I can't even appreciate and I throw them away untasted. He calls me His child and He holds me, dirty as I am, and keeps giving until I cannot hold anymore and His gifts spill around me and I'm surrounded. And I don't understand why, or how, He can love me at all. I've never loved Him with the love He deserves. I didn't love Him at all before this year. Such a faulty, pathetic excuse for love, adoration, worship - that's all I bring. The bent and twisted remains of the least of His handiwork, destroyed almost past recognition. And He accepts it with joy as if it were the most precious thing I could ever give Him. Because sadly it is. But that is somehow enough for Him. And it blows my mind and overwhelms my soul until I weep because there is nothing else I can do.
Through writing this the anger and frustration at God's eternal unconditional love subsided. I am now simply grateful and okay with that.
I am still broken by it but I think it is a good kind of broken.
I was talking to my mom about faith, grace, God and our difficult journey, our difficult fight to deal with our baggage. I am consistantly overwhelmed with how gentle God is with me. How can He keep forgiving me my trespasses when I am arrogant and selfish and unmerciful and mean and sinful and corrupt and tainted, and deliberately so? Why is there no limit to His love and forgivness, and why do I feel the need to find the end of His patience? It frustrates me that God will never stop loving me and forgiving me. It humbles me and breaks me. I am not worth this. Give this love to someone who won't throw it in your face as if it were so much garbage. Please stop breaking my heart with your endless love. And yet I cling to it with all my soul because I'll die without it. I adore Him and hate myself for my pathetic snivelling weakness. I hate that I will betray Him again. I hate that He will never give me what I deserve, only what He deserves. How can I be so broken, needy, adoring and full of hate? How can I hate the One who loves me so unabashedly, the One I long to love completely?
How can my brokenness be all that He wants? When all I can say is "Help thou my unbelief", how come that is enough? When all I can do is beg for faith, that is all He wants from me. When all I have in me is a tearful cry to be open to Him, He requires no more of me. That is somehow enough even though to me it feels inadequate. How can I have the balls, the nerve to come before the Creator with nothing more than a plea for His grace, His mercy, His faith and His love because I have none of my own and I come to the Lord and Master of the Universe with only the hunger for love and the longing to be filled. Muddy, in rags, filthy and bedraggled I come before Him with grasping empty hands and He says "Come closer, my child". And He gives me more than I can comprehend. He gives me things I can't even appreciate and I throw them away untasted. He calls me His child and He holds me, dirty as I am, and keeps giving until I cannot hold anymore and His gifts spill around me and I'm surrounded. And I don't understand why, or how, He can love me at all. I've never loved Him with the love He deserves. I didn't love Him at all before this year. Such a faulty, pathetic excuse for love, adoration, worship - that's all I bring. The bent and twisted remains of the least of His handiwork, destroyed almost past recognition. And He accepts it with joy as if it were the most precious thing I could ever give Him. Because sadly it is. But that is somehow enough for Him. And it blows my mind and overwhelms my soul until I weep because there is nothing else I can do.
Through writing this the anger and frustration at God's eternal unconditional love subsided. I am now simply grateful and okay with that.
I am still broken by it but I think it is a good kind of broken.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Something My Parents Got Right
I am so thankful for my mother.
I was almost 13 when I got my period for the first time. I was over at a neighbour's house with my brothers and my dad. However, it was okay because I knew right away what was going on. I didn't think I was dying or deathly ill. I knew that I had just made the transformation from girl to woman, and I knew because my mother had told me all about it long before.
I didn't realize that some girls still, in this day and age, weren't warned. I didn't realize that some girls are left in fear, thinking that they are bleeding to death and too ashamed to tell anyone that they are bleeding 'down there' because privates are such a taboo thing to talk about.
That seems medieval in my mind. It's wrong. It turns something that should be beautiful and celebrated, a rite of passage, into a time of fear and shame.
My father bought me a yellow rose when I first got my period, to mark that I was now a woman. It was a time of shy celebration. It was recognized and respected.
It grieves me to know that not every girl has such a beautiful memory of that overwhelming transformation.
My parents were equally upfront when it came to explaining sex to me. I have never had a question that either of them couldn't answer. My mother handled most of the explaining, but there were questions that my father answered, with hardly any hesitation. I am beginning to realize how difficult that must have been for them both, and especially my dad, but it taught me that I can ask any question and get an honest answer. It taught me that my body is not something to be ashamed of, that sex is sacred and joyful. I think it gave me a much healthier view of sexuality. I think that makes it easier for me to set boundaries now, because I'm coming from a place of knowledge and not a place of fear.
I've heard stories of Christian kids who never thought they would stumble in their sexuality and who ended up pregnant. I've heard stories of kids who never thought it would happen to them and then weren't prepared to deal with the rush of everything that interacting with the opposite sex can be. I'm so thankful that my parents were so honest with me. They told me that you think it will never happen, and then you get carried away. They told me that everyone is capable of anything. They encouraged me to make my own decisions, to think through my own choices and accept the consequences and responsibility.
And I wouldn't have known how extraordinary my parents are unless I had talked to my friend, who wasn't told anything about her body or sex by her parents and had to figure things out on her own.
I thank God for the parents He gave me. They aren't perfect - but they did get some stuff very right.
Thank you, Mom and Dad. I feel like I can walk into this new thing called dating with both eyes open because of you.
Thank you.
I was almost 13 when I got my period for the first time. I was over at a neighbour's house with my brothers and my dad. However, it was okay because I knew right away what was going on. I didn't think I was dying or deathly ill. I knew that I had just made the transformation from girl to woman, and I knew because my mother had told me all about it long before.
I didn't realize that some girls still, in this day and age, weren't warned. I didn't realize that some girls are left in fear, thinking that they are bleeding to death and too ashamed to tell anyone that they are bleeding 'down there' because privates are such a taboo thing to talk about.
That seems medieval in my mind. It's wrong. It turns something that should be beautiful and celebrated, a rite of passage, into a time of fear and shame.
My father bought me a yellow rose when I first got my period, to mark that I was now a woman. It was a time of shy celebration. It was recognized and respected.
It grieves me to know that not every girl has such a beautiful memory of that overwhelming transformation.
My parents were equally upfront when it came to explaining sex to me. I have never had a question that either of them couldn't answer. My mother handled most of the explaining, but there were questions that my father answered, with hardly any hesitation. I am beginning to realize how difficult that must have been for them both, and especially my dad, but it taught me that I can ask any question and get an honest answer. It taught me that my body is not something to be ashamed of, that sex is sacred and joyful. I think it gave me a much healthier view of sexuality. I think that makes it easier for me to set boundaries now, because I'm coming from a place of knowledge and not a place of fear.
I've heard stories of Christian kids who never thought they would stumble in their sexuality and who ended up pregnant. I've heard stories of kids who never thought it would happen to them and then weren't prepared to deal with the rush of everything that interacting with the opposite sex can be. I'm so thankful that my parents were so honest with me. They told me that you think it will never happen, and then you get carried away. They told me that everyone is capable of anything. They encouraged me to make my own decisions, to think through my own choices and accept the consequences and responsibility.
And I wouldn't have known how extraordinary my parents are unless I had talked to my friend, who wasn't told anything about her body or sex by her parents and had to figure things out on her own.
I thank God for the parents He gave me. They aren't perfect - but they did get some stuff very right.
Thank you, Mom and Dad. I feel like I can walk into this new thing called dating with both eyes open because of you.
Thank you.
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