October 18, 2016

Every time I find myself alone with God - truly alone - I wind up in tears.

Because almost every time we are alone, He says exactly what my tired daughter-heart needs to hear: Rest. Sit down for a few minutes. Rest the weight of your heavy heart on My shoulder and stop running in circles, trying to be everything to everyone for a moment or two. Let Me carry you. Let me be enough for you.

I don't come alone to Him often enough. I read my morning devotion on the bus surrounded by people, or I skim through a few lines in bed while my sister sits across the room from me, or I grab a few minutes at my desk to hungrily gulp some verses before getting on with my day. Just as with human relationships, I know this is not healthy or the way that our relationship is supposed to be.

So when I do strip everything away and come to Him by myself - like now, like this beautiful afternoon with the sun flowing into the empty apartment, just me sitting quietly at the kitchen table - then He finally showers my heart with the golden sunshowers of love and care that He has wanted to share all along.

I get so tired.

I have been chiseling away at a very, very important blog post for several months now about my heart's deepest hunger and how I only fully knew what it was for the first time this year; but the point is that my heart cries "Abba," searching for my Father, and I don't slow down enough to hear its cry. I don't listen to my own need. I feel it sharply in a thousand ways every day; but just like eating when I'm bored or putting on the television when I'm lonely, I mislabel it as something else and try to treat it with a temporary, ineffectual remedy.

But when it's just us - when I sit down, barefoot and in a tank top, and listen - then I can hear my heart weeping for the embrace of its Father, and I can hear Him tenderly answering in reply.

"Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her." 

My Abba, my Father, my King and my God. Bring me to the desert places and speak tenderly to me ... look at me with the eyes that looked on the weary disciples, and invite me to come with You to the quiet places. Open my heart to hear Your voice; reach out, touch my cheek, turn my head to look up and see the gentle smile on Your majestic face. Please hush the voices of guilt and loneliness and self-doubt that gnaw at my subconsciousness every day. Bring me into Your arms and remind me how much You value me, and how much You love me - remind me that I am nothing and can do nothing apart from You; that all my spinning and worrying is useless, because Your great purposes will be accomplished no matter what happens.

Help me to choose the good part - communion and conversation with You - that will not be taken away from me, even after work and classes and even family and friends have all faded and gone.

June 5, 2016

I have fallen into the basest, most childish pit of unrequited affection and I hate myself so much for it.

I'm sleeping badly, having bad dreams, not too hungry, listless, bored, depressed ... all over a man. It's so disgusting and ridiculous. This is what I have spent my entire young adulthood laughing at and being grossed out by - all of these foolish girls who drag around on Pinterest and Tumblr, posting ridiculously moody song lyrics and low-contrast stock photos to try to convey to an uninterested world the depths of their misplaced affection. That's not supposed to be me. I'm a strong, confident, independent, vibrant, passionate woman who does not need the completion of a male counterpart.

And yet ... here I am.

I know he's not the spiritual leader I want to marry; I know he believes in things I never could; I know I want bigger things out of life than he ever will. And still, here I am. I am no better than the singers of those insipid love songs or the distressed damsels of those ridiculous love stories. I'm just another silly, silly girl.

He doesn't miss me. That's what adds embarrassing insult to bruising injury. He doesn't miss me. He hasn't contacted me in almost 3 weeks. He's been busy traveling, making new memories, trying new foods, and sightseeing. His Facebook feed is full of candid snapshots of him laughing, posing with landmarks, playing with his friends' kids, and reuniting with old (female) friends. He doesn't know or care what I've been up to. If I text him when he comes back next week - as I desperately want to but am trying not to let myself - he might agree to hang for dinner; he'll be polite and listen as I tell him all my good news and the things I've been learning while he's been gone; but he won't really care.

I should stand up and shake my finger at myself and deliver the maiden-aunt tirade I would deliver to a friend acting this silly. You are a strong woman and you've got places to go - you don't have time to pine away for this old man (he's quite a bit older than me) who's going in a different direction than you. You have a purpose and worth of your own, and you're neglecting it every time you sit and stare at his Facebook page instead of reading about what's going on in your field of study or making plans for the fall. 

Go pick decorations for your apartment. Crochet something for your friend's baby. Write a letter to your grandmother. Grab that fancy camera and take more pictures to brighten someone's day. You have so many gifts and talents that you could be using, instead of moping like a teenager and wasting your tears on someone who doesn't need or appreciate those gifts.  The time for hoping and wishing is past. The time for pressing forward and doing big things is here. He's not wasting his life, so stop wasting yours! 

I know.

My maiden-aunt voice is totally right, and I'm just as bad as my other silly friends who don't listen to her, either. I know I need to let go and stop hoping and put his book up on the shelf with all of the other long-gone friends whose names are gathering dust. But I keep wandering out into the wind and rainy days and looking sadly back at myself with big, tear-filled eyes, and whispering:

"But auntie ... I love him ... and I need him ... and I really, really miss him."

You're disgusting, self. You're disgusting and I'm ashamed of you. I raised you better than this.

April 30, 2016

"Tell her I just think it's none of her business!"

I stepped back and stared at myself in shock as soon as those words escaped my mouth. Where did that angry, rude spirit come from? That wasn't like me at all - not like "sweet" Vicki, always so polite and ingratiating and docile. Why was my chest filled with this sick heat? Why had I said such a nasty thing?

Guy friend laughed and soothed my ruffled feathers. He understood it before I did. As we ducked out the door, it hit me: I was jealous. Her casual remark had made me jealous.

I didn't want her knowing where we went for dinner. I didn't want to think about her during the first precious hour I'd had with him in a week - all legitimate, up to a point. But when my feelings for him cause me to hurt other people? I have gone too far. I have let something beautiful become something ugly. I have let love become an idol.

This isn't an ending; this is a beginning, a redirection in my thinking. How can I use this funny one-and-a-half-sided relationship as something to bless other people? Could our time together be spent benefiting others, not only holing up in our cozy introvert bubble and talking about nothing for hours? Can I apply what I'm learning from him to my other relationships?

It's food for thought.

April 12, 2016

Unusual Way
by Barbra Streisand

In a very unusual way, one time I needed you

In a very unusual way, you were my friend

Maybe it lasted a day, maybe it lasted an hour

But somehow it will never end

In a very unusual way, I think I'm in love with you

In a very unusual way, I want to cry

Something inside me goes weak

Something inside me surrenders

And you're the reason why, you're the reason why

You don't know what you do to me, you don't have a clue

You can't tell what it's like to be me looking at you

It scares me so that I can hardly speak

In a very unusual way, I owe what I am to you

Though at times it appears I won't stay, I never go

Special to me in my life, since the first day that I met you

How could I ever forget you once you had touched my soul?

In a very unusual way, you've made me whole

March 18, 2016

Today has been better.

I slept in very late this morning and shipped everybody else out after lunch, and enjoyed having the house to myself. I painted a little pot to plant arugula and lettuce in, nursed a bad headache with some peach tea, did a little bit of homework, and watched Star Trek: The Next Generation and Captain America: The Winter Soldier. The windows are open and it's a bit chilly, but the fresh air smells so good that I don't even mind.

I'm not angry today. I am much less sad. I wish things had worked out differently between my friend and me, especially since a lot of what happened was my fault, but I hope and expect that when we see each other again, we can find a way to put it behind us and keep walking together as friends and siblings in Christ.

And I've learned.

For such a long time, people have told me I was so "sweet" and "kind" and all that; but I've learned that I can also be selfish, and inconsiderate, and arrogant, and wrong. So much of what I said and did was almost compulsive, a product of the maddening anxiety that made me demand answers and demand to walk by sight, not faith; so I don't know if I will be able to control it and act differently next time, but now, at least, I will have something to look back on and know what will happen if I don't. If I act and lead and demand, rather than rest in God's timing and trust His plan.

Now I need grace ... I have been forgiven, but I need grace both to stop punishing myself, and to know how to face him when we meet again. I don't want him to feel like he has to walk on eggshells around me - I want him to feel that our friendship is still safe, and I want him to be free to push on ahead with his life and his work without further distraction from me. So in the next few days, I need to continue to heal, to re-center, to reach out for and receive God's comfort, and to rest, to the point that I can face him with a smile and true forgiveness and friendship in my heart.

Abba, forgiveness and fellowship are Your own heartbeat - please pour out Your grace on my fragile heart.

March 17, 2016

As a rule, it is very hard to genuinely hurt me.

I'm like the Buster Keaton of heartache - miraculously, it never seems to touch me, even when it and I are on a head-on railroad collision course. When something hurtful happens, I can almost always explain it away, rationalize it, laughingly admit that what the other person said was probably true, or at the very least, not care enough to let it get under my skin.

So when it does hit me - when I do care - when Buster does get flattened by the train, as I definitely did yesterday - I'm not always sure how to handle it.

I don't want to get angry about it - getting angry feels so selfish and faithless. After all, anything they said or did, I always deserve much, much worse; and besides, in this case at least, this is my friend. I don't want to be angry at my friend even if they did hurt me, and especially because they didn't mean to hurt me, and because every stinging word they said was absolutely true and deserved. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend". No room for anger there.

Internalizing it is my preferred coping method, but it quickly becomes very unhealthy - like me stewing miserably in the bathtub last night after it happened, trying to figure out how little I could eat every day without fainting in class and giving away the fact that I was trying to starve myself to death. Or wandering around in the rising storm this afternoon and plotting ways to mess up my life so I could fade away into the meaningless nonexistence for which I am surely destined. Or hiding as far away from my friends and family as I could tonight, and morosely sticking my head in trees to take pictures of buds and blossoms.

Not healthy, not helpful, not Christlike.

Having been introduced this week to the wondrous fireball that is Francis Chan, I was slightly cushioned from this dramatic crash, since I was just completing two days of being excitedly motivated to get up and start pursuing Christ again. Because of this, there has been a stillness underneath my dull headaches and tempestuous waves of self-hatred. I know even this is under His control. He didn't design a plan to hurt me, but He knew it would happen, and He included it in the "all" part of "all things work together for good to those who love God" verse. His heart has been hurting along with mine, He has caught all of my bitter tears, and He still promises that He will greet me tomorrow morning with a day bursting with brand-new mercies and beautiful grace, just for me.

How to deal with this, in terms of everyday dealing? I don't know. Keep making plans to destroy myself and my life, but let my apathy keep me from carrying them out, and wait until they pass. Keep going to work, and coming home and watching movies, and studying to be an awesome student even though I do not feel like it right now.

And keep sticking my head in trees.

(It really does produce lovely photos.)

February 14, 2016

Things have been so mixed up for me lately ... scariest of all, I've been wearing my heart on my sleeve, showing it to people I never dreamed I would; and I feel like I'm walking a tightrope, going to make a wrong step and fall, with a big crowd watching for the splat at the end of the descent.

I've lost my grip on my heart and watched it fall through my fingers for a man I never dreamed it could, but I still don't know if there will be gentle hands outstretched to catch it, or if it's going to hit the pavement again. I've peeked over the fence at the greener grass of another program of study, but don't know if that backward-tugging hand on my coat sleeve is a whisper of truth or a goblin of guilt. I've dared the disapproval of my elders to slip into the back row of a church I never dreamed I'd visit, and tried to hide the squirming of my little Baptist heart at serenely pronounced sentences that rub against every doctrine I've ever embraced.

Am I feeling too much, or too little? I've been walking on eggshells around myself, afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing and watching myself explode. I remember God's promise and a sigh of relief bursts from my lips, but seconds later another worry crashes onto the scene and I hastily bind up my emotions again before someone sees the mess.

I'm sure the Holy Spirit is sitting quietly alongside me, watching me blubber and gesticulate and self-flagellate, putting out a gentle hand when I'm in danger of harming myself, and waiting patiently for the storm to be over and for me to meekly reach out for His embrace once again. With all my heart, I want to go back - back before this year, back before the despair of last semester and the anxiety of this one. I want to hunt around in Amish farmland and little country churches, in Civil War museums and textile stores ... and somehow find the parts of myself that I've lost somewhere in the last seven months.

If they're still there. Maybe they're gone forever ...

January 15, 2015

Sometimes, I wish I could grab my conversation partner's hand and put it on my chest and somehow communicate to them the great, panicky, rapid-breathing pain of disclosing my private thoughts to them.

There are different levels of thoughts, I think:

- the ones that I am excited to share with everyone,
- the ones that I enjoy sharing with friends,
- the ones that I share with a few close friends and family because I know they will be gently received, and
- the ones that I can only write feverishly in my journal because they burn too hotly to keep unsaid, but I'm afraid to share them because people's reactions to them might hurt too much.

Tonight I shared some ideas from that last category with a friend of mine ... I didn't intend to share them with anyone yet, because they're half-formed and not ready to be talked about; but the problematic thing about these deeply private thoughts is that they're kept in a hermetically sealed compartment of my heart - meaning that if their lid is cracked even a tiny bit, they burst out like a pressurized gas and flutter through the air like a blast of flower petals. So it was tonight. I wasn't ready to talk about these fragile, baby-violet ideas yet, let alone hold my breath as I watched her grab them, toss them around, pick them apart, and casually hand them back to me bruised and damaged.

She didn't know they were so delicate - it wasn't her fault. I could have avoided the conversation - we know each other well enough that she would have respected me if I had asked to stop talking about it. But like I said, they all came tumbling out and wouldn't stop until I was left shaking, flushed, and embarrassed that I had ever thought of such a thing in the first place.

I know that there are people who can easily share their innermost thoughts and they see it, not even as an easy task, but as a pleasure. I genuinely do not understand these lovely people at all. Every time I tell people something from this deepest part of my heart is like watching a judge frowningly pick at my prize-winning pumpkin pie, or watching a teacher disapprovingly evaluate my child. It is not an enjoyable experience. It is very stressful and I wish I could let people know that it hurts - and, therefore, that my sharing means I love them very much and am willing to go through this experience to connect with them on a deeper level.

And yes, that was a very randomly assembled collection of paragraphs.  :-)