These Words Are Not Enough

I don't even know how to address You, what to say to You that can even begin to describe where my heart is at this very moment. It has been so long. Tonight, You slowly pried away the grip that was on my heart, the grip that the world had. I nearly wept at the thought of You still loving me, being jealous for me, and longing for a relationship with me. I have rejected You, night after night, day after day. I have been heartless and severe in my avoidance of You. I have let my heart grow cold, angry, and bitter rather than softened by Your love.
It was the thought of seeing You, as I will someday. It was the thought of entering into Your presence and wanting nothing more than to throw myself into Your arms, knowing that no matter how foolish I have been, it has been me that You have wanted. You want me! Even when I don't want You. You know me, created me, have plans and dreams for me bigger than I could dream for myself. And God, You love me. You love me. I cannot wrap my mind around this love. It is unrequited. It is undeserved. It is grace at its greatest. This love that lead You to death, that brought me to life.
I have thrown myself at other things, relentlessly giving my soul over to carnality. I have let my thoughts fester. Rather than pray, I long for a life of fleeting pleasure. Rather than taste Your love and grace, I hungered for things that bring death. Why, when I have You and Your love, would I ever choose anything else? But I do. And God, I know I will again. Its just tonight, I was reminded of how You really feel about me. You aren't waiting to punish me. You already took my punishment. Now You long for my sanctification, my redemption. I long for the day when I can walk with You without my sin being in the way. I long for the day when I am only ever wholly Yours, where I will be in your presence, and the thing that I should have wanted all along, will be the thing I have for all of eternity.
Its You, that I need. Its You who loves me better than any person ever will. It is You Who will rescue me when I am drowning in the muck of sin I drag myself into. I know it doesn't do it justice, but its how I can relate to You, so please forgive me for its inadequacy. Its just where I am at.

"I could use a hero right now, and You could use someone to save. Someone who's like me, someone who's not brave, someone who's not free. With the darkness cometing down, I could use Your saving right now. I will wait for You, I will talk to You when no one is around. You could change me, You could steal me. You could turn all the lights on and show me the real me. Then maybe, if I'm lucky, You'll offer me protection, You could even heal me."

God, my need of You is so glaringly obvious. I am nearly speechless. But I need You. I need You to save me from who I am, from who I am becoming. I need a Hero. I need to be rescued. I just need You. I don't know where to start, but by declaring my need and desire, and trusting that You will save me.

So please God, I am running to You, rescue me.

Because I'm feeling like I might need to be near You.

Don't Go, Don't Go, so far away!

Two blog posts in one evening. This is pretty bad. I just cannot resign myself to writing that paper. It will get done. It absolutely has to. But I just can't focus. I have way too many things on my mind... Just like I have way too many things... on my dorm room floor. Seriously. Ruth has been a saint these past few days.
Here is just a little bit of what she has to put up with:
On my floor there is
A smashed red plastic cup (...from the party we threw the other night. It was pretty wild.)
A pack of napkins. (...probably to clean up what the smashed red cup held.)
A bag of sugar. (Hey. Only half of the frosted MiniWheat is frosted.)
An empty carton of chocolate soy milk. (Definitely a Ruth thing.)
Another cup.
A copy of "Time Out Chicago". This deserves a real explanation. On the cover? Bella clutching Edward to herself. Edward has a huge stake coming out of his chest. The headline: "Twilight MUST DIE." I love you, Chicago.
An untouched bag of Miss Vickie's Smokehouse BBQ chips. (Someday soon, weak stomach. Soon.)
French in Action text book. (I must have been using it as a hard surface. I have used that textbook once this semester... Seriously.)
Cough drop.
Highlighter.
A Gap security tag. (You never know who might try to steal our carpet.)
My favorite flannel shirt. (I should treat you better, Flannel.)
Barron's Foreign Language Guide (Geez. You think I'd speak French or something.)
A bottle of Purell. (Or as Rainn Wilson might call it 'Flu-F***er, Germ Goo, Infection Lessen-er, Bacterial Genocide, or Gangrene-Be-Gone')
The blue shirt I dyed my hair in.
3 Walgreens bags. (Dang. I shop there way too much. There is one on every block here. Can't help it.)
Season One of The Office on DVD. (Damn computer doesn't have a CDrom though...)
Cover off of heating pack. (The actual heat pack will probably make an appearance shortly.)
School bag. (Haven't touched that in days.)
Air Freshener. (Victoria's Secret "Pure Seduction". Goodness knows there aren't any guys within 1000 feet to seduce on the seventh floor of Houghton Hall. But it smells good.)
*expletive* Just found the spray nozzle for the air freshener. Unattached. Rendering the brand new bottle of aforementioned room spray USELESS.
Copy of the Red Eye. (One of many.)
Speaker cord. (Now playing "Jumper" by 3EB.)
Ethernet cord. (Making all forms of procrastination possible.)
Multiple other cords. (Keeping me connected.)
Pen. (It doesn't work anymore. Just a few feet from the trash can... where it might end up in the next few weeks.)
Purse.
Heating pad. (For those wonderful flu-induced body aches.)
Best hat ever. (Plaid with faux fur. 100% Hoosier, baby.)
O gee. A Gap bag.
My wallet. Contents spilling out onto the floor include: Concert ticket (Jack's October 7th), a Friends and Family coupon, and receipts proving that, if I in fact had not spent all that money, I could stay in college.
*The following might indicate I am addicted to pharmaceutical drugs... This is in fact false.*
Wal-flu Daytime.
Wal-flu Nighttime. (now very empty.)
Ibuprohen.
Severe cold medicine.
A packet of flu information. (This is to ensure that even if the nurses at the Moody Health Care Clinic can't diagnose you, you sure as hell can.)
An empty Kleenex box.
A sock. (What dorm room floor would be complete without at least one sock?)
Two Club Crackers. (Can barely eat anything else.)
A bottle of tap water pretending to be SmartWater.
A ChicagoScene advertising Kilo Kai rum. (From the aforementioned wild party... Yeah. Right.)

So. What's on your floor? Its the new Facebook note craze. I promise.
Soon to come: What's on your Grooveshark/Pandora/Itunes playlist?

Hello, Doris Day.

I watched New Moon. And then I got sick. Really sick. Serves me right, I suppose.
I am about to start writing what I know will be an emotionally draining paper. Which is fine. My emotions have been limited to "I HATE being sick!" and "I would LOVE to get better!" the past few days. Not even joking. Anyway. I haven't written a paper like this all semester. Needless to say, I am having a hard time getting started. But I have my introduction quote:

"Something had to be wrong--but we never considered that it might be autism... He would stare off into space. Go silent for long stretches of time, until one of the strange, demonic-possession tantrums would descend and consign him and us to an earsplitting, emotionally shattering domestic hell. Our boy, our beautiful boy, was floating away from us, and there was nothing we could do."

My paper is about the struggles of parenting a child with special needs. Its something I know nothing about. But it is something I have a heart and a passion to learn more about. I don't know that I will ever be a parent of a child with special needs, but I hope to someday be involved in the lives of these precious children. My heart goes out to them. I want to adopt from overseas, and I know that a risk in adopting a child from overseas is reactive attachment disorder. I know it would be a struggle to raise a child with RAD. Yet, I know that parenting in general must be a struggle. I have a heart for this kids, though. I really do. I want to love them, to make their quality of life better. I want to embrace them despite their differences, and love them for it.
Besides my love for young children, children with special needs, I have an increasing passion to be with horses.
The more I think about the part of my childhood that was consumed with Sonny, the more I realize how completely blessed I was to have a horse. Not to have any horse- but to have that horse. To have Sonny. I think that for my own needs as a rider, there could have been no better fit than Sonny. A rider has to want to control the horse. Horses are bred to be submissive to a rider. If they have an idea that the rider doesn't want to control them, they won't submit. As a little girl, I had no desire to dominate the big animals that I loved so much. And in turn, they took advantage of me. All but Sonny. Granted, he knew how to play me. He could fake a sore foot and get out of riding, but for the most part, his affections for me were as strong as mine was for him. And I think he tolerated my meek riding for that reason. We had a mutual respect for each other. We were both pretty scrawny. But we had a specific connection and understanding that I lacked with other horses. He read me well. And I loved him dearly for it. The memory of him being taken away from me in that horse trailer, whinnying desperately, still makes me cry. I still feel bad about selling him...
All of that to say, I long for that again. To have a horse. My own horse. A horse that... fits. The quote above is from the book, "The Horse Boy". It is about an autistic boy with an uncanny connection to animals in general, but specifically in horses. He finds healing in them. His fit is a horse named Betsy. As I read that book, learning more about autism and a humans connection with horses, I grew restless to be riding again. Almost every night for a week I dreamed of riding again. Then, while being sick, and having read most of "The Horse Boy", I dreamed I was autistic. I wish I could describe that dream adequately, but words fall short.
God has developed in my heart two passions that together, can bring hope and healing. For me, for children, for animals... I am growing restless being in the city. I have a far-fetched dream that if I can't come back to Moody next semester, maybe, just maybe, I can find a place that would put me up if I helped out... Like in New Zealand. I know a girl who did just that... I just need to be with animals, with kids on a daily basis. I am going crazy just having to dream about it all the time. Just having to write papers about it... But I am learning so much. I know God has me where He does for a reason. In the meantime He has blessed me with the children of The Children's Place Association. But I won't be able to see them again for almost another two weeks.

I really need to start writing this paper... *sigh

Sleazy Wednesday

It is a sick feeling to wake up and grab your cell phone to realize that it is 9:41, and that you missed your 8 and 9 o clock classes. It's even worse to realize you probably overcut your 8 o clock. Your stomach sinks even further when you remember that you forgot to take your CWC quiz- for the fourth time in a row. At this point the only thing that you can think is:
FML.
What a great way to start the day.
Then you stand in chapel and wonder how the hell you managed to sink so deep. How you can be such a great person on the outside, except for the swear words that sometimes slip, and say all the right things all the time, and still be the worst of the worst on the inside. Spiritually bankrupt.
This is what it feels like to be dead.
And I cannot resuscitate myself.

Thrill.

Sweat, dust, and leather. Shod hooves striking the dirt. Cheers from where my family hovered around my dad's little blue pick up. My hand was clenched tightly around the horn of the saddle. The other held the reins tightly. My faith in the sure-footedness of my animal was lacking, so although I held the reins high up on his neck, he was sure to tell that I wasn't completely letting go. He suffered through the heels of my boots pressed into his side, urging him to speed up, and the tension in my body begging him not to go too fast. Perhaps for a moment I would consider letting the reins out completely. It just took a few moments of hesitation and his gait was shifting, strides shortening, and he was abruptly halting. The race was over, we had reached the end of the arena.

My body used to be trained and disciplined to sit out a canter, even a gallop with maximum control. I used to have a center of gravity that allowed me to keep my seat in the center of the saddle. Sometimes I would grip the back of the saddle to maintain a deeper seat. Here I was now, so tense with my own uncertainty, a deep mistrust in the spirited pony that used to give me so much hell when I was younger. She was so rotund her saddle did not stay on very well, and my tension favored my right leg, pulling the saddle even further over. I felt sympathetic towards Hope for having to deal with such an awkward rider. I was frustrated with my own incompetency. I used to be so good at this. Although I was comfortable in the saddle, I wasn't competent. Katie urged me to take Hope for a run. I didn't like Hope's favoritism for the fence, because it nearly cost me my leg. When I had her out towards the road, I turned her back for home. A few things contributed to my nerves. I could clearly remember the plunging feeling when Sonny had lost his footing all those years ago, falling and pinning me to the dirt. The grass was tall enough in the field where I now rode to obscure any holes or uneven ground. Past experience led me to believe that although horses were meant to run over all sorts of terrain, some horses were a bit clumsier than others. Hope had already fallen once coming out of the creek. I had to have a little faith, so I urged her forward. Katie waited at the other end of the field with Ike. Hope needed no encouragement. As she leaped forward I felt-- It's hard to describe the feeling... It was thrilling, and terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. Still, a tiny part of me held back, but most of me didn't want to. And for just a moment, Hope sensed the overwhelming part of me that just enjoyed the speed and she broke into a full run. It only lasted for the briefest moment as my body responded to the speed with my usual tension. She maintained a gallop for the rest of the stretch. By the time she pulled up next to Ike, my legs were trembling so much I wouldn't have been able to stand.
After a moment, I slid off to stand by Ike while Katie decided to give Hope a real run. The moments standing with Ike were perhaps the sweetest. He was taller than Hope, and a beautiful chestnut color. At first he wanted to turn to watch Hope as she cantered away, but I held his head and tried to keep him from prancing on my exposed toes. Eventually he settled, and contented himself to staring at me. I stroked his face, his broad forehead, his velvety muzzle. He was beautiful to me, with liquid brown eyes that seemed to be fully comprehending how engaged I was in enjoying him.

*Heavy hearted sigh

Oh feelings... Why dost thou toy with me so?
I am a woman. I am a complex emotional being. God made me that way. Sometimes it seems like a curse to be a woman. But how could I possibly say such a thing? God made women in His image. I bear the image of the creator. It is wonderful to be a woman. Even if my feelings sometimes feel slightly out of control. And even if it seems that there aren't any men in my life that appreciate my femininity.

His voice shapes me...

His voice shapes me. The gentle timbre wraps around me like a blanket, tucking me into the bed of emotions he has made for me.

I know he doesn't give a damn about me, but there is something about him that seduces me into his way of life. He isn't attractive, but he is appealing. He is careless and carefree and he seems to be enjoying the path he has chosen. I feel miserable in my own. Obedience is chafing. He jokes with me, teases me, and makes empty promises. I laugh, and I eat the promises up, hungering for more.
I question how far God would let me go into that kind of lifestyle before he intervened. I wonder if He would intervene at all, or deliver me into sin. The thoughts are dangerous, and I am almost grateful for distance between us. Yet sometimes the desire to give up being 'good' is so strong it chokes me.
I am struggling with school, with dealing with personal issues, with my relationship with God. I am only young once...
Why should I stick around for something I can't feel at the moment? When it is easier to surrender to self than fight the good fight. My scenery is kind of dull at the moment, repetitive and constricting. His scenery- well it looks a hell of a lot better.



(And alas, he is so deceitful.)

Anesthetized

A wine glass sits atop of a mahogany table. The glass is simple, composed of a base that rests on the table, flat, smooth and perfectly stable. The stem of the glass appears to be too slender, too fragile to support it's cup full of rich, red wine. The cup is hollow, wider at the bottom, slightly less so at the top. Its contents are a deep shade of red, almost purple. The glass is filled nearly to the brim of the sweet smelling liquid.
The air around the glass is suddenly disturbed by a noise. It is soft at first, a nearly imperceptible thrumming noise. It rises slowly, decibel by decibel. The glass is still. The wine within it shudders slightly as the bass of the noise deepens. The louder the noise becomes, the higher the pitch rises. The entire wine glass begins to tremble slightly. The lip of the glass oscillates as the noise wraps around the cup, its pressure tightening around the glass with an unseen grip of dominance. The invisible threatens the visible with its radiating noise that is now swelling to a deafening roar. The glass shakes, the liquid swirls-
With no resistance the glass shatters. Shards repel away from their origin with an unseen force, slicing the air with razor thin edges. Liquid rises through the air in red droplets, as if the thin membrane of glass had been skin, broken, and releasing its secret. Large pieces of glass smash into the mahogany, breaking into even smaller pieces. The wine pools on the table, streaming away from where the base of the glass lay, carrying in its current smaller fragments of glass.
The noise falls silent. The wine pools on the table. The glass lays in a hundred tiny pieces, reflecting light and a shade of red.

I sat on the gray cold steps in the dark. I tugged my coat more tightly around myself. The air is chilly. The darkness is intimidating. Before me lays the quiet town of Ladoga. Above me, the Milky Way spills across the night sky with a brilliancy that takes my breath away. The rest of the night sky sparkles, like a bag of diamonds spilled across a black velvet background. Behind me, my grandmother's house sits still, hiding within it three individuals. Inside of me... Inside of me there were tears longing to be released, emotions broiling with such an intensity that I could barely think straight. Hatred, anger, pain and fear churned like stormy waters within me. I tried to rationalize, but could not. There was nothing to rationalize.
I am the wine glass. I am fragile and frail. Inside of me I hold my feelings, emotions, passions, desires. My wine is a potent combination of deep, troubling issues. My wine is an overwhelming semester, a job, an ex-boyfriend that I gave myself away to, a divorce, a broken family, a numb brother, an absence of my closest friends. The alcohol is a depression. It starts of with a buzz. It warms me. It subdues. As the proof increases, my control lessens. Like a drunkard without inhibition, my anger, my sorrow pours out, manifesting itself in a reckless drive through dark back roads, in tears spilling over marked cheeks, in a raised voice at my mother. As the intoxication increases, a sleepiness settles in. The passion lessens until I am nothing more than a hollow shell, spent. The suppression is strong. I feel the angst, but it nothing more than a throbbing head ache.
Yes, I am the wine glass on the table, barely in control of my contents. The pressure of the sound threatens my very being, my existence, the feigned control I have of myself. What happens if I break? If I shatter and am destroyed, laid waste by the appeal of just letting go, not fighting the pain and the issues I am tangled up in? If I break- then I sink into an unhealthy oblivion.
Suddenly, at my moment of most intense apprehension, the noise is silenced.
I am turned over, and everything spills out. I am emptied.

"When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory."

"He is jealous for me. He loves like a hurricane and I am tree, bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy. When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory, and I realize just how beautiful you are, and how great your affections are for me. And oh how He loves us. Oh how He loves us so. How He loves us all. We are his portion and he is our prize, drawn to redemption by the grace in his eyes, if grace is an ocean, we are all sinking. And heaven meets earth in an unforseen kiss, and my heart turns violently inside of my chest, I don't have time to maintain these regrets, when I think about the way he loves me."

I struggle to lose myself in Him. When my parents fail, He is my ultimate Father. When I don't have someone to love me and fill the aching void, I throw myself at His feet. When the pain threatens to overwhelm and the pressure of life closes in on me, I allow myself to sink into His overwhelming grace. When despair and confusion muddle my thoughts, and I can barely make it through the day without getting lost in thoughts about my family, I cry out to Him. He is the one sure thing. The One who loves when no one else does. He is the one who hung on a tree to pay for the sins I commit against Him and my loved ones every day. He is the One. He is everything. I must find my identity in Him. Not in my failing family. Not in my friends. Not in my goals. In Him and only ever Him. When all else fades and breaks and lets me down, He is faithful. Always, ever faithful.

Until I spent two and a half years in the big city, I never understood how unique living in the country was. I never appreciated the cornfields at harvest in the fall or the cows that dotted the countryside. I never appreciated the endless trees of varying colors. I took for granted being able to see a full sunset, one that didn't set behind high rises and a parking garage. It is always harder in the fall. The city just chills in the fall. There are few places where you can see the leaves in their yearly panoramic decay, fading from bright green to brilliant yellows, oranges, reds, and purples. In Indiana, it is everywhere. I am sure it is everywhere anywhere outside of the city, but I get to enjoy it in Indiana. The leaves look even more incredible against a dull backdrop of endless fields of corn and beans. Just today, while driving through the back roads of Parke County, the sky seemed to explode in vibrant shades of blue against mounting, steely gray clouds. White clouds streaked against the bright blue, chasing beams of sun over fields and tree tops. It was incredible. The leaves of the trees stood out against the corn, and the sky stood out even more against the terrestrial color scheme.
Today, I was in Parke County to see the infamous covered bridges. Six small towns in Parke County each put together their own festival. The festival consists of essentially closing these small towns down to fill their streets with booth after booth after booth; people selling their wares and delicious home cooked foods. A person could enjoy a whole meal simply from the samples that are handed out. Fresh kettle corn, home made cookies-fresh and warm- donuts, smoked pork chops, jerky, home made cheeses, and much more are offered around every turn. Elephant ears, deep fried and beer battered cheese curds, fried green tomatoes, elephant ears, funnel cakes, broasted chicken, ham and beans with cornbread, homemade noodles and mashed potatoes (yes, served together), gyros, pizza, famous smoked pork chop sandwiches, homemade root beer, blooming onions... all that is greasy and delicious, all that is homemade by the Amish and Quaker families, all that one could want to eat in one beautiful backwoods small town. The booths not offering food offered anything that a person could imagine. There were booths for bikers, farmers, Native Americans, Quakers, Amish, infomercials, hunters, kids, and anyone in between. I was not surprised to see so much leather, flannel, and camouflage in one place. All of these booths were set up on either side of Raccoon Creek. You crossed from one side to the other over a beautiful covered bridge. Next to the covered bridge was an old mill. It was definitely not a safe place to wander around. There were a few moments where I was almost sure I was going to plummet through three stories of wood that had been built a couple hundred years ago. The mill overlooked the dam and the bridge. The old wheel was in the water, but it didn't turn anymore. It was picturesque. Next to the mill was a tiny little chapel. Very tiny. It was a while little building, about the size of a shed, on a steep bank on the river. The inside was adorned in white, with beautiful flowers and an ornate lectern. The whole small town was built in such a way. It was all old fashioned and quaint. The Amish and the Quakers seemed to belong there more naturally than anyone else, in their simple gowns and slacks, with their white caps and the men with long beards. All in all, the day could not have been more relaxing and enjoyable. It was so refreshing to enjoy a day in the country. Every aspect of the festival was simple. There only one man on a cell phone. One, out of thousands. Granted, no one else had a single bar of service, but it kind of nice to be ostracized from the rest of the world. That is, until Andrew got separated from us and we couldn't find him or call him. However, we were united again, and enjoyed the rest of the day with a place designated for meeting up in case we were separated again. It was absolutely wonderful.

Waiting for days that will never come

I want to run. Run and run and run. I want to run back. I want to run through time. I want to run past the fights, past the love, past the regrets and mistakes. I want to leave the heartache and hell to the future, again. I want to run until I am sitting on a cement block under a tree in the rain, with a hill behind me and all that I could ever dream of before me.
I realize now, that when you have what you always dreamed of, it isn't a dream anymore.
When I was a little girl, I ran around the house pretending to ride a horse. I fed it and took care of it. I walked it around on an imaginary rope.
When I was older and had my real horse, I groaned when I had to roll out of bed early in the morning to feed him. I hated having to carry buckets of water from the cistern to his watering tank. Having my own horse wasn't so dreamy.
When I dreamed of love, of having someone to hold me and love me, I didn't realize relationships could be so hard and painful. When you can only dream of love, I don't think it is possible to know what love is, how it works. How it hurts like hell when it stops 'working'.
When I had that dream of love, it was wonderful. When I had love, it was wonderful as well, but it cost a lot.
When I had love, I understood it better. When I lost it, I understood it more.
Andrew loved me well. I loved Andrew as well, but I think I may have loved him differently then he loved me. When I love again, I want to love like Andrew loved me. He was more selfless. He gave up more for me than I gave up for him, in a sense. I am not sure if he should have conceded as often as he did. He made mistakes. But I have a feeling that his love was more of a service to me than mine was to him.
Love is a service. It is so much more than a feeling. It isn't something that works one day and doesn't the next. Love is a commitment to glorifying and making more of another person. Love is not about a person who makes you feel good about yourself. It is not about finding your best match. The purpose of love and marriage is to model the relationship that we have with Christ. Christ submitted himself in death. We, likewise, die to ourselves. It is not easy. I want to love a person in this way. But I know that my self will always get in the way sometimes. I have also realized that when we submit our human love to the divine love of Christ, it will be infinitely more easy to love like Christ loves. When we isolate ourselves from the love of Christ, how can we expect to love like He does? We cannot love adequately of ourselves.
Before I learn to love a man so radically, in a love that gives of myself to make him more of a man, I must learn to love Christ in such a way. I must learn to love Christ in a way that puts to death my own desires so that I may serve Him.
It is not easy. But by God's grace, we all can love like that. What would our world look like if we stopped loving ourselves by loving others? What if we started loving others by 'hating' ourselves?
I am just learning these things. I do not claim to understand the complexities of love and human relationships, of our relationship to the Divine. I know that I have loved, that I still love. I have been in a complex relationship. I am in a relationship with God. Yet, the deeper I get into God, the scarier it sometimes gets. The deeper I fall into my feelings for another person, the scarier it gets. And I am left running. Running back to when my life was simple. I didn't have to understand why God created some, just so that they might go to hell. I didn't have to understand what happens to an infant when they die. I didn't have to think too deeply about apostasy. Love was just something I felt for mom and dad, grandmas and grandpas. I loved Jesus. Just like I loved my horse. I didn't understand that it meant so much compromise, evaluation, and thought. That it was a choice I had to make everyday, something I had to struggle so much with. I had no idea it could be accompanied with so much deadly passion. Knowing these things makes it harder to proceed. Seeing the wild and more dangerous side of God causes me to proceed into Him further with caution. Seeing the promises and failures of love causes me to proceed into relationships with greater hesitancy.
Sometimes I just wish I could be the little girl with the white pony again. And without any other care in the world.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

I sat on the bus, my orange juice and Dunkin Donuts in hand, backpack at my feet, and headphones in. I cared not to see the city upon departing, so I opened a composition notebook and my Bible and began to write out Romans 5. I was attempting to prepare myself for the day ahead. Once the city and suburbs faded to open stretches of interstate lined by trees and hazy, lazy creeks, I finished up the chapter and laid all books aside and spent the next three hours enjoying the look of fall in the country.

It was glorious. The leaves were only beginning to change to shades of yellow. Some were already different shades of orange and red. For the most part, it was clusters of green trees, with a dash of color to accent the foliage. The corn was turning too, from green to yellow to brown, to harvested. The soybeans had become a burnt red color. The sky was thick with clouds, though slight rips in the dense mass exposed a brilliant blue. The sun burned only like a silvery orb through the layers of moisture above. The land rolled gently out from the interstate, unfurling in a colorful mosaic, dappled with patches of silvery, shifting mist. I noticed herons and hawks in marshes and trees. I observed a herd of cows, a few horses. My heart was at rest. I have never before so appreciated what it is to see corn at harvest-time, to see the leaves changing, to be under open skies without a skyscraper or building other than a barn or house in sight. 3 hours on the road in flat Indiana never had been so exhilerating.

I wrapped my arms around the chains and slipped my hand in my pockets. The swing swung gently as my feet dangled over the gravel. I twisted the swing to face Andrew, and dug my mocassins into the rocks, unearthing wet pebbles. Ladoga was cold and quiet, the park was deserted. Few cars drove past. Few people walked by. I felt alone with Andrew. It was overcast; I shivered despite wearing two jackets. To the south of the park, across the street, on the other side of a row of houses, I could see the tree tops forming a colorful wall, hugging the small town. I felt as if I was tucked away from the rest of the world, in a safe haven where the only reality was us. Or the lack of us. As we talked, I stared down at my lap, watching my tears fall after they rolled off my cheeks and nose, down my chin. They mingled with the misty rain drizzling down on us.

I'm feeling like I might need to be near You

They say that God works in mysterious ways, but right now I feel like I can understand pretty well what He is doing.
If you know me at all, or read this blog regularly, you know I like to have an idea of where my life is going. I would say that this is true of most people. You want to know what you will be doing tomorrow, next month, next year... Humans are creatures of habit. We like security.

I have no idea what the hell I am supposed to be doing. Life is one huge question mark. But, I am only 20 years old. I don't have to have everything figured out. I just wish that I didn't suck at the present. How am I supposed to do what God wants for me someday... when I can't even figure out how to do good at living life now? I am trying so hard. I really am. I am getting so incredibly discouraged by my lack of responsibility and discipline. I am out of control. There is no control left to be had. And that is what God is doing.

Today, I sat in my Creative Methods for Children feeling incredibly bitter because everything taught in that class is relative to church ministry. I just don't see myself doing that. Because if I see myself doing anything in the future- its equine therapy. My frustrations did stir one positive emotion, and that was a desire just to have my quiet time and talk to God about it. About everything. About how I overslept today, by 5 hours. How I missed American Lit, and Chapel... again. About I how I failed that exam yesterday. How badly I want to get out of this cold, wet city where there the perpetual cold and gloom makes my spirits sink even lower. I want to talk to Him about how confused I am, about how I want to know what He is doing in my life- if anything. I want to plead with Him to give my ex-boyfriend back, because it hurts. It seems unfair. If I could just have that one part of my life back... I'd be fine. Things would make more sense. I would know what I was supposed to be doing, what would be happening after I graduate. I would know better who I was...
But God is teaching me who I am in Him. I don't need to know what I am supposed to be doing with the rest of my life to know God more. And because life is so uncertain, I need Him all the more. I am driven to Him out of my fear and insecurities and my absolute need for His assurance in my life. Even if the unthinkable happens and I can't come back to Moody, or afford to go to Asbury, and life as I know it unravels, I know that He is constant. His love is constant, His mercy and grace is constant. When all else isn't, God is. It still wreaks havoc on me mentally and emotionally to be so out of control and unsure. Yet I know that God is doing a work in me. In the meantime, I do need to be doing better with what I have now. This semester has been the worst for me academically. I have never done so poorly in school. I know that I am a fairly intelligent person, so I feel like I am taking advantage of what God has given me.
Today has just been a bad day for me. It is hard not to be overwhelmed with discouragement. But if the very least that it does is drive me to my Lord, then I guess its not such a bad deal.

She's raising hell to give to me...

Thoughts for the day:
*Living in Chicago is hard. I don't want to hear about a sixteen year old honor student beaten to death with railroad ties and then having his head stomped in... by other kids. I almost wept today reading about it in the Redeye. Life is so senseless sometimes. I don't want to walk past the McDonalds where homeless men and women beg for food. I am sitting on a couch in a cozy dorm room with my laptop in my hands without ever having to worry about where my next meal is going to come from.
*I am listening to Pandora while reading Romans and studying about Anabaptists. Right before I got off Facebook to do my homework Andrew popped up to say how much he loves me. Pandora just played 'our song', "Look After You" by the Fray. As always, it hurts. Its strange. I feel like I am moving on, but then I think about all of the memories, the time invested in each other... I remember the time in our relationship when we went to see the Fray in concert. It was in the beginning of our romance... It was good. It is gone. Matt asked me how things between Andrew and I were. I wanted to deck him in the face. I don't know how he is doing. I freaking dumped him. I'm sure he is doing great. Just like me. We're done. I am not sure how much more final I can make it...
*"We too might walk in the newness of life." Christ died. In His death, I died as well. He died so that I may die to sin and have newness of life. He died and conquered death so that He may never die again. So that I may die and live. A beautiful paradox. He freed me from sin's grasp so that I may be enslaved to Christ and righteousness. Christ didn't die so that I could live for myself. "For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not under law, but under grace." I am not only standing in grace, but under grace as well. "What shall we say then? Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound? By no means! How can we who died to sin still live in it?" I have to be renewed. How can I be renewed? By being captivated by the Word of God, by being captivated by Christ. It isn't easy. But the result is worthwhile. The depth to my love of Christ will only increase...
*8 days until Andrew McMahon. Enough said.

A Boxcar on the Beach

Overwhelmed with homework and life, I finally did the most rational thing that I could do. I ran to Christ. He met me and blessed me. O, how beautiful to know Him.
Life is hard for me. It is hard for everyone, I know. But tonight I was feeling the heat. As usual, it was my inadequacies, my failures, my lack of control over my emotions. It was confusion and bewilderment. It was a few tears. I am not 'emo'. I am broken.
I spent an hour in Romans 5. I am now secure in my failures. Because I am standing in grace. I could be doing much better this semester. I could have been doing much better in prayer and quiet times. I could swear a little less. The list goes on and on.
Do not misunderstand. I am not complacent in my failures. But I am transitioning from an unhealthy bitter disappointment in myself to a better and more beautiful understanding of costly grace.
Where death reigned, grace reigns. I am standing in grace. I have the love of God poured out in myself through the Holy Spirit. I have joy in suffering because its for my betterment. I have peace because Christ kicked death's ass.
I desire to spend time with God because I love Him, not because I think it gains me any more grace. I pursue Christ because I want to be transformed to be more like Him, because I need Him, because He is life.
I want to love Christ with an undying love. By His grace, secured on the cross, I can love Him with an undying love.
Praise God.
Praise Him for eternity.
By grace I can and will.

I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad...

I just unceremoniously cut off the bracelet Arni made for me who knows how long ago. I can't believe that I can logically and correctly say 'who knows how long ago'. Today would have been our three year anniversary. If the pain of that realization doesn't suck, I don't know what does. This morning at breakfast, I sat with the guy who is now Insung's new roommate. "The replacement", I called him. Blow by blow, I realized just how finished things are. And how unresolved my heart is.
I didn't cut the bracelet off out of spite. I cut it off because it rubs up against my fresh tattoo. My freshly needled skin. It was kind of hurting. I probably never would have cut it off otherwise.
Last night, I shared the story of Arni and I with a girl on the floor. I got emotional... When is it going to stop hurting? Will I ever look back on this time of my life with anything other than a frown, a flinch, a tear? Sometimes I doubt it.
We talked tonight. Arni and I. Just on Facebook chat. He asked if I still loved him. I do. But it isn't the same. It won't ever be the same again. Somehow, I've learned to live without him. Its probably a good thing. I can go to Europe now. I can have my tattoo without wondering what his parents will say. But I still miss him. I miss his hugs. No one hugs me like he does. Like he did. Gosh this hurts...

Today Pastor Nathan gave such a wonderful sermon on loving Jesus. He spoke of Heaven with such longing that it almost brought me to tears. He spoke of a passionate love for Jesus that I want. Jesus is more than a chore. He isn't something to check off of a to-do list. We are to love Him with an undying love. A love that death heightens. I want to love my Jesus that way. Pastor Nathan reminded us not to get so caught up in trying to feel this love, but to simply focus on Jesus. Maybe hours spent in prayer with Him won't be such a burden. I can long for my time with Him for what it should be. Something as sweet as honey. It takes time. But I want God. I do. I just wish I didn't have to fight so much for it. Maybe having to fight for it will make it all the more precious. I do wish it were easier though.
After the sermon, Pastor Nathan gave us an invitation to pray with our friends. Another part of his sermon had been on the importance of best friends. I was so thankful for the reminder of how dear my best friends are to me. Jacquelyn and Christie, Ruth and Deanna, girls that pour into my life every day and make life all the sweeter. Sasha, who even despite the distance and the craziness in life finds time to have late night chats on Facebook... I am so incredibly blessed by the friends I have. I am blessed by great brothers who encourage me in my faith as well, guys like Zack, and David, and Sam.
So after the sermon, Jacquelyn, Christie, Amy and I all went into the stairwell to pray. It was an incredible time of prayer... the small church congregation singing of the goodness of God. I hope I never forget what it was like to be huddled in that stairway with the beautiful sound of worship behind my sisters and myself.
After church, Jacquelyn, Christie and I joined John, Tony, Abby, Katie, Ruth and several others for lunch at Des Pasadas. Being around John will always be hard for me after what happened this summer. I feel embarrassed and awkward around him, even though I shouldn't be... I don't know how to escape those feelings. And every time I see John, I think of Adam. And my skin crawls. But lunch wasn't so bad. John is nice enough.
Then came the highlight of the day--the tattoo. The whole process was over in about fifteen minutes. That includes paperwork, and two tattoos. It didn't hurt too bad. I am actually excited to get a second, and possibly even third one... It says proskuneo. Pros "towards" and kuneo "kiss". Literally to blow a kiss. Translated in Scripture as worship, prostration, or bowing in submission. I love it. It is on my forearm for all the world to see. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Dreams Deferred

When writing a story, you write the character first.
[Enter Sanyelle]

I was born and raised in a small town in central Indiana. I was born in January. I hate the winter... I have always resented that I could never have a pool party for my birthday, or any other fun outdoor activity for that matter. My idea of fun has never consisted of freezing... When I say small town, it could be smaller. We have a Wal-Mart, a bowling alley, and a movie theater. Most kids smoke pot. My elementary school was in the middle of nowhere, in a small area called Garfield. Cornfields on almost every side. It looked identical to the other two elementary schools in our district. My favorite teacher was Mrs. Markland. Without her influence in my life, I would have turned out significantly different. I would have never owned Sonny. That in itself would have changed who I was in Middle School, what I would be dreaming to do after college, and what the picture on this blog would look like.
I had a good childhood. I was happy, well looked after. I was able to take riding lessons and dance lessons. I spent almost every Friday night with my grandparents. I was privy to root beer snow cones in the summer, and staying up later than I would at home. Monday nights meant dad fixing supper and playing hide and seek in the dark. I learned No Doubt and Alanis Morisette from those Monday nights.
I loved dancing. I quit though, and I regret it.
I rode western, and the first pony that I ever got to show was Tina. We were tight. The pictures from that show include a blue cast. I broke bones, frequently, as a child.
I used to just listen to country music. Then I went to Twin Lakes Camp and heard Switchfoot. Life hasn't been the same since. I still know every word to a lot of country songs. But now I know almost every word to any Andrew McMahon song.
I am afraid of rejection. Liking unrequitedly takes a toll on a young girl quickly. I like someone even now who will never like me back.
I'm a pessimist. I wish I wasn't. Life has been kind of dim lately. I am not good at setting boundaries. If I do set them, I break them. I am predisposed to self loathing. I am afraid of being vulnerable with anyone again like I was with Andrew, because it feels wasted. I am undisciplined and lazy. I swear sometimes.
On the other hand, I am passionate. I'm a strong person. I have dreams for myself, and I will try to see them fulfilled. I am spontaneous and love adventure, to an extent. I am a reader and writer and value intelligence. I can stop caring about what other people think when I need to.

I hate mornings. I think I always have. Let me clarify. I hate waking up. I actually enjoy mornings. The state of morning. Not its earliness. The sunrise, the temperature, the dew, the birds... Not the fact that I had to become conscious to enjoy it... I love nights. I love nights in the city because of the skyscrapers and the way they glow. The way the clouds move over the city and stand out so starkly against the dark blue sky. (I love the song "Dark Blue". Ask Ruth.) I love nights in the country because of the stars. The sound of coyotes and bull frogs.

I often miss being young.
I do have regrets, many things I would do differently.
I feel like I miss Europe, and I have never been there before.
I sometimes avoid reality by always planning for the future.
I struggle with being controlling and that scares the hell out of me.
I want to be a good wife and mother some day.
I don't find it hard to be open with people.
I love Harry Potter.
I want to marry the waiter at 3rd Coast.
If I could play any instrument, I'd play the piano.
I enjoy pretending I'm the shit, even when I am most definitely not.
I want to study Psychology some day. And get my masters in English.
Dr. de Rosset is kind of my hero. I want to be her.
I can't sing, but I love it. I love music.
I want to be mature when I grow up.
I'm terrified of dying. But I think about it a lot.
Heaven is going to be great.

I love God, and I am not good enough to be His daughter. But He chose me. I wouldn't have chosen Him otherwise. I like talking to Him, but I don't do it enough. I run from Him a lot, because I am overwhelmed with how often I fail Him. I am idolatrous. This speaks so much of Him... He is patient and loving, even when I am the epitome of unloving. The absolute best thing about knowing God and being loved by Him is that no matter how good I am, He doesn't ever love me any more. If I am the most appalling of sinners, He doesn't love me any less. He loves me like He loves His Son, Jesus. It is the most sweetest love I will ever know, and I will know it for all eternity. Being the selfish, controlling, fallen human that I am, I have a hard time submitting my life to the authority of Christ. But the past few months I have been learning what it is like to live for myself. It is far worse than living a life proskuneo. (Bowing in submission) I am going to spend the rest of my life struggling and growing and learning. It frustrates me at times, but He is faithful. Despite how faithless I am.

The List

I have proskuneo written in pen on my wrist. In one week, it will be a permanent tattoo.
Ruth and I just made plans to go to Nebraska for Christmas. First road trip ever. (For me) Next year... California.
I looked at plane tickets to New Zealand for next summer. Damn. If you feel so inclined to support me financially...
Andrew McMahon. 17 days. 'Nuff said.
Europe. Must see. This includes: France, Italy, England, Scotland, Ireland, Germany, Switzerland, Romania, Spain. Anywhere I can get with whatever money I have.
Perhaps Cambodia?
Maine. Colorado. Someday soon, you better believe it.
Crossing off every book on De Rosset's reading list- hopefully before my life ends.
Writing a book that could appear on De Rosset's reading list. That may just be my new life purpose. (Not)
Seeing a kid learn to live with autism... Please, God.
Living my life with purpose and spontaneity...


Finding a man who wouldn't mind coming along? Unnecessary, but if he's hot, I won't complain.

I've finally lost my mind, and then I lost my way....

I always sit down with my laptop with no idea what to write. I simply feel the need to. I have had so much on my mind these past few days, but I don't even know if its worth writing, or if I should write at all...
All of that to say:
Lately I have been wrestling with my sin nature. God created mankind to be perfect. To be wholly His, to life in constant fellowship with Him. That is what we were made for. Now that we are fallen, it goes against our nature to be in fellowship with God. Now, instead of craving God for what He is- my life source, I want the very things that break His law. I know that His law is in place to help me be set apart, to protect from the ravages of sin, yet part of me still desires to have the cliche forbidden fruit... When I hear a friend telling me how much fun it is to get trashed, a part of me wants that, for many horrible reasons.
There has been a periods in my life where I have given myself over the desires of my flesh, only to face disaster. I am still dealing with the incredibly painful consequences of my sin to this day. Despite the pain that sin brings, it still seems more attractive than honoring God's law. Why is this?
It is because I have yet to surrender myself wholly to Him. I haven't found in Him the greater joy of obedience. If I found pleasure in loving God with all of my heart and in obeying Him, I don't think that getting trashed would be so appealing to me. I would prefer to get caught up in being with God instead of being in some guy's arms.
I know that above all God is better. I know it in my head. My heart isn't convinced. My sinful heart is still begging for its destruction. My redeemed heart is fighting a losing battle. Sin seeps through everything in this world. Sin takes a drink and turns it into an addiction, a deadly loss of inhibition. Sin takes healthy desire and twists it into a pornography addiction, into premarital sex, pregnancy outside of wedlock. Sin takes everything that is beautiful and kills it. And yet that is what we desire as fallen humans- a passion that leads to death. We sell our souls for a summer of beer and sex. We wake up hung over and without the slightest idea of who we fell asleep with. We graduate college and marry. We wake up mid-life and wonder who the hell we married, and divorce them when we realize we never loved them after all. We throw ourselves into careers so we have money to pay for our newest addictions, the best car, the newest Iphone. We die- and then we really get what we were asking for. Its a sickness.
I think that we get the idea that we can live without God. We just can't die without Him.
Yet even unbelievers have a sense of the futility of sin. One artist puts it this way:
"And the bars are finally closed, so I tried living for the moment, until the moment finally froze and I felt sick and so alone."
So despite our craving for sin, I think that we know that it isn't all that there is to live for. But, we don't desire God on our own... Romans 3:11 is clear on this.
That touches on a whole other subject... The fact that God puts the desire for Him in the hearts of those He chooses. And for the rest of the world: They are damned. And chillingly happy to be so. And there my mind is blown.

On to other issues:
I am spending my money like its going out of style. (It probably is) I have no idea if I am coming back to Moody or not. But after concert tickets, a tattoo and paying off my debt, I am probably not coming back. I don't know what I am going to do about my internship. I know that I want to get overseas as soon as possible. I want to study in Europe this summer, but I also need to do my internship. Maybe it is possible to do both... If I do go to Europe, that will probably put me at least a semester and a half behind. I need to decide if I want to go to Asbury after I go to Moody. 4 more years of school... eh. I suck at school. But I love learning.
Decisions, decisions.
I need a break. But there isn't really one in sight.
I miss high school football.
I wish that my biggest decision in life right now is what I should wear to homecoming.
The great thing about life is that it can only get better. The most horrible thing about life is that it can only get worse.
The inescapable fact of life is that someday- you die.
But death is a whole other story.

Stream of Conciousness

I wish I didn't feel so tired. I used to be able to write better, think better at night. Now I feel I have no clarity of mind at any given time.
I realize now that I want to return to Andrew for all of the wrong reasons. And here I am again, not feeling, except the longing to be accepted elsewhere.
I want to be better for you, whether you take me or leave me.
For a fleeting moment I felt better. I felt great, even. And then some girl took my laundry out of the dryer before it was dry and left it on the counter. Suddenly my mood was foul again.
Such a struggle to sit and read Romans 12 and feel so far from being the living sacrifice that loves her enemies and strives to be renewed. How bitter I am with myself for always, ever falling short.
Why are the good guys so few and far between? And why am I so tempted to settle for less?
It seems that the more I think about my own depravity, the more I experience guilt and self-loathing. Christ came for the sick. In experiencing the depravity, I am tasting His grace and mercy, renewed every morning. I have become quite the pessimist.
My Lord and Savior died for me. I am His, and He is mine. Despite the fact that I stray so far, so often, His grace is unending, if not more abounding, when I am feeling so low.
Taste and see that the Lord is good...
He is good. I have just been swallowing whole, and not taken the time to taste Him.

I write to stay dry...

If I do not write, I drown.
If I cannot take a few minutes every day and unload my heart and mind onto a keyboard or a journal, I am almost overcome. Lately, I have had a lot to think about and consider. I feel like I need to sit down and write a few people some letters, letting them know what I think... But I feel like if I don't take time to think long and hard about what I should say, that my words would just end up obliterating relationships.
I hurt. Two people who I love a lot, two of the people I love the most are inflicting more pain than they could be aware of.
One of them I have no problem disliking. One of them I am seeking to have reason to dislike. One of them I want to say what I have to say and forever close the door on the relationship. The other I want to say what I have to say and then grow a deeper love.
Yet I know if I just spoke what was on my heart with no thought or censorship, I would be left staring at two burnt bridges. I tend to speak without thinking, acting on emotional impulse, rather than discernment and rationality.
I would say that I am a very emotional person. I am a passionate person. The combination results in a terrifying whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that exhaust me, that drain me, that harm me and harm others. It is not all bad, of course. There are benefits to being such an emotional being, to having passions. Yet at the moment, I wish I could turn off my emotions, shut down my heart and mind, and be a sad robot, made of nothing but metal. To be cold and hardened to all of this emotional turmoil, to hear something of break ups and broken families, and shrug.
Of course I know this is ridiculous. Life is all the more beautiful because of pain. "The shadow proves the sun." This pain will grow me, in many ways I am sure. This too shall pass. There will come a day when my tears are dried for good, and I will wonder why I cried so much over a boy. So for now, I will feel. And feel boldly. I will love again, with utterly reckless abandon. I have less than a century to enjoy a romantic kind of love between a girl and a boy, a man and a woman. I plan on loving to the best of my ability, whoever it may be. Although sometimes I wonder if there is anyone who can handle... me.

Kiss Me With Your Cherry Lipstick, Never Wash You Off My Face....

The realization that I came to last night was a beautiful one, and it puts my soul at ease. It has begun a process of spiritual rectification that might otherwise have been much delayed. Although I have found spiritual comfort, my emotions are still raging inside of me, and when left to think to myself, I see a moving picture show in my mind.
These emotions, this flood of memories that assaults me daily and brings stinging tears to my eyes, I thought that maybe I had bypassed this messy stage of breaking up. Alas, it just came three months later than I expected it to. I knew all along I was not okay, but I think that God was being merciful so I could deal with the storm known as Adam. I don't think it would have been mentally or emotionally possible to deal with what happened with Adam as I was trying to deal with my break up. So now, as I work at Moody, alone, cleaning bathrooms, I have no where to hide from the sadness and the memories, the worries and concerns, the hopes and the fears. I must just deal with them.

I remember sitting under a starry winter sky, giving no heeding to the biting cold, sitting in a covered wagon. The top was rolled back and we sat beneath a dome of glittering constellations, taking advantage of precious alone time. The only thing to draw us out of our reverie was the long, high howls of nearby coyotes. Wrapped up in each others arms on that cold bench, I experienced for the first time what it was just to kiss... and kiss and kiss and kiss, to kiss until my lips were numb, and not because of the cold. I remember stumbling through the darkest of dark woods, where he had first held my hand, now clinging to him for love and from fear.

This is just one of many that rush through my mind, leaving me desperately sad and feeling alone. A huge part of me is a hundred miles away, and I am rejected.

A Thrill Of Hope

"You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth you will bring me up again. You will increase my greatness and comfort me again." Psalm 71:20-21

A shroud hugs the roof of Gotham, glowing red in the distant corner, hanging silver and spooky over the edge of the city. It glows with an ironic, ethereal beauty. A gentle, cool breeze stirs the air, like an almost pleasant shiver. Lights flicker on and off throughout the staggered buildings. Cranes dangle in air, appearing and disappearing in the ever shifting atmosphere.
I worshiped.

*My soul is in the hands of a God who impregnated a fifteen year old Jewish girl. This same God descended as man, born in a barn. He made chairs for thirty years. He was then arrested and beaten by Roman guards. He died a shameful death on a mound of garbage known as 'the skull'. This is my God.
How is it that I, of my own will, choose to entrust my soul to such an unbelievable story? How is that, of my own will, I would give up what could be a fun, wild life of pleasing myself?

I don't.

This omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent Triune God, Creator of the universe, who holds all things together, stirred within my soul a faith that I could not have of my own accord. Not because of anything that I did, being an utterly sinful, corrupted soul- but for His own glory and good pleasure, He willingly laid down his life. In a moment that appeared to the world as defeat and weakness, Christ conquered death. At that moment, my damned soul was bought. God, who was born in a manger in a hick town, willingly gave Himself up to die an incredibly painful, lonely, dark death.

I cannot wrap my mind around how God, the one true God, could do such a thing for fallen mankind. I am awed that I am chosen by this God, that He gave me faith so that I would not have to worry about losing my salvation when I mess things up so terribly. When I have descended to the pits of sin, God looks on me and sees Christ's righteousness. He doesn't see me as a damned sinner, so dysfunctional and astray that there is no hope. He looks on me and sees His beloved Son, who suffered through thirty-three years on this not-so-pleasant earth. I have righteousness through faith. And my ability to have faith is a gift from God.

*Putting my trust in this God who came and lead a lowly, yet remarkable, life isn't like looking at a chair, evaluating whether or not it can support me, and then putting my faith in it by sitting on it. No, the story of God and His redemption of creation it too counter-culture, too against intuition and understanding just to decide, "Oh, I'll put my faith in that." It takes this great and unfathomable God to stir this faith within me.

And there are no words to express the gratitude I feel in being chosen to be a part of this epic story.




*Professor Quiggle gave this moving illustration in my European Reformations class today, in response to the question of the bonded will of man.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

I am sitting in Argo Tea, putting forth little effort in being productive... I should have learned my lesson from last night, in which I was up until 6 this morning reading and writing papers. I am reading the book RealSex by Lauren Winner for my Marriage and Family Systems class. It is actually really good. Kind of an awkward book to take to a cafe, but I have long since stopped caring so much about that kind of stuff.
As usual, I am incredibly confused about almost everything in my life. I am confused by my relationship, or lack thereof, with Andrew. I made it a whole summer. I was okay. And then the reality and the pain that I had been fleeing from finally caught up. And when it hit me, it was like what I would imagine being hit by a truck, or slamming into a brick wall would be like. It left me slightly senseless, dazed, and confused. The fight or flight process kicked in and I wanted to take flight, to keep running. Even now, I want to run. I want to leave almost everything. I want to remove myself from Chicago, from Crawfordsville, from anything that connects me to the issues that surround me. I want to buy a plane ticket and fly to New Zealand. I want to throw myself fully into a ministry where I spend all day with horses and kids, helping them to overcome their own tremendous problems, while I cower from my own.
He told me the other day that there was a girl that he liked. Just another way to hurt. Another blow. As he told me I instantly felt sick, couldn't breathe, and spent the next few hours sobbing while Deanna rubbed my back. The past few days I have found myself so lost in thought. The only time that I can escape it is when I am at the Gap. The Gap is like a whole other life to me. I can hurl myself into the job, working to achieve a possible distant promotion. I don't have to think about everything that is wrong with me. My problems follow me everywhere else, except there.
All of these feelings that are coming up because of Andrew are revealing a much nastier side of my self. The side of me that has blood boiling in my veins at the thought of another girl stepping in to take my place. I apparently think so highly of myself to think that I should be irreplaceable. Yet all summer I have been searching frantically for Andrew's stand in, only to realize that there isn't one, shouldn't be one. Not now anyway. I feel confused about how I should view this singleness. The thought of casual dating appeals to me, but the thought of committment to anyone but Andrew terrifies me. Another insight into my sick selfishness, the disconnect in my heart and my head. Instant gratification seems to be a pretty big priority to me. I can see that my attitude implies that Andrew should sit around and wait while I resolve all this inner turmoil, while always toying with the idea of dating other guys. I am such a jerk. I feel like I could compile a pretty comprehensive list of why guys should stay away from me right now. I sure as hell wouldn't want to date someone like me...
All of these things point to an even graver issue. My heart is *effed up. Like I indicated in my previous blog, I am feeling hopelessly lost. At the beginning of the summer, I felt as if I was putting up a valiant effort to fight my own destruction. And here I am, feeling rather destroyed. I feel so low that I can't even manage to mouth a prayer, to pick up my Bible. I feel so estranged from God. Yet in Church on Sunday, I was struck by my need for God in a new way. I was texting my brother throughout church, and he was telling me about his issue with his girlfriend. I began to feel very sad for him, wishing that I could protect him from what I see to be a very poor relationship and impending heartache. I wish I could spare him from the pain I know he is going to face. I have to deal with the pain that my mom has been abandoned by her family. I can't imagine how absolutely horrible that must feel, to be so alonen, and that is a whole issue in and of itself. I am responsible for part of that, but I don't even know how to reconcile that situation. All of this to say, I was overwhelmed and consumed by pain, by heartache, by the devastation of relationships. And then I felt a small stirring of hope in my soul. I need God. I need Him to heal me. I need Him to save me once again, not from my sin, but from myself. Instead of letting my pain beat me into the ground, I need to let it stir me upwards, to a Father who wants me to share my pain with Him, and to share His yoke with me. What a wretched person I am, that it is taking me so long to drag myself back to Him. Praise Him for His abounding grace!
I have so many thoughts and concepts swirling through my heart and mind right now. Every now and then I am faced with a cycle that I see in my family. I see my older sister, asking my dad for money so she can buy soap and shampoo, because there is no one to love her and care for her as she murders herself with meth. I see my mother, her mind altered by who knows what, leaving her unpredictable and hateful at times, and at other times, so needy for attention and love from others that when it doesn't come she is left feeling purposeless. I see her now, for the most part alone and abandoned, just like her eldest daughter. I beg that God doesn't let me follow in the footsteps of the women before me. I don't want to succomb to madness and hopelessness and despair. I don't want to find myself at the mercy of internal demons that I could never face, letting disappointment after disappointment leave me embittered and depressed to the point where no one can bear to deal with me. Life is so cruel. Satan has wrought so much havoc on my family... How can I be expected to overcome it?
Why isn't God doing more to stop it?

One need not be a Chamber -- to be Haunted --
One need not be a House --
The Brain has Corridors -- surpassing
Material Place --
Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting
External Ghost
Than its interior Confronting --
That Cooler Host.
Far safer, through an Abbey gallop,
The Stones a'chase --
Than Unarmed, one's a'self encounter --
In lonesome Place --
Ourself behind ourself, concealed --
Should startle most --
Assassin hid in our Apartment
Be Horror's least.
The Body -- borrows a Revolver --
He bolts the Door --
O'erlooking a superior spectre --
Or More --

Emily Dickinson



*Check out "effing" on dictionary.com. I found this term used often in Harry Potter, and also by my roommate... Unsettling where language is going...

Starting to feel...

It hit me, as I sat for the first time today, on an old bench at a train station. "Memories like bullets fire at me from a gun..." At the most unpredictable of moments the pain rips through me. It is physical. It starts in my chest and washes over me, and for a second I am drowning in it, choking on it, unable to breathe because of it. And then it recedes, and I can catch my breath. But today the pain lingers. As I stood in line at the Sears Tower, Isabella tugged on my hand. I bent down, and she asked where my husband was. "I don't have a husband!" I replied with a laugh. "Are you asking where Arni is?" "Yeah, where is Barney?" she replied. I explained that Arni was in Indiana, and went on trying to explain how many of her there would have to be, stacked, to reach the top of the Sears Tower. Even Austin was asking about Arni, and Gil. I realized it wasn't just myself that was counting on the two of us getting married. The last time Arni and I had been together, he had been playing race cars with Isabella. I remember not feeling well, and getting up to go down stairs. I had stood up, kissing him on the cheek before heading down. As far as Isabella was concerned, he and I were married, although at the time we weren't even considering ourselves a couple.
The more I sit and allow myself to think about it, the more regret builds up inside of me. Everything about this summer, and the summer before, and even the summer before that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The summers and their mistakes run together in my mind, one bad choice after another. The apathy, and living on the edge of self loathing is eating away at my resolve. I am comfortable with it though, and that is perhaps the most dangerous thing. What I am learning makes me feel good, and I am in college because I know I should be. I do the homework because its required to get the degree I want. I clean the bathrooms, and work at the Gap because it pays for school.
I don't read my Bible because I have convinced myself I don't need it. I don't talk to God unless I am apologizing for not talking to Him. I know I need Him, but at the moment I don't want Him. I am desperately sick. I could have avoided it, I am sure. But it is easier to blame other circumstances. It is easier to point the finger at what happened this summer, saying that it was the anger and hatred and bitterness towards the guy who came into my world and turned it on its head. Its easier to say that I just wore myself to thin with working both jobs. Its easier to say that breaking up with the guy I wanted to spend the rest of my life left me too depressed for the moment. But I am the root of all of those issues. My degeneration must have started before the summer. What an awful thought... How long have I been sinking? And now all of this baggage is weighing me down, and I can't seem to find a way back up. I don't even know if I want to go back up. I am tired, depressed, lonely... I want to move back with my grandparents and my dad. I am in no position to be at Moody.
I don't even want to be in love anymore. Seeing couples at Moody doesn't make me long for my past relationship, it gives me a sense of relief. Yet I miss Andrew. But I am repelled by the thought of commitment. I want something new though. I want to try new things, but I hope for the old things as well. I feel torn up and trashed on the inside. I am descending rapidly, looking back so far that I am always looking forward. I feel as lost as the lost... If not more so, because I know Who I am lost from. My eyes must be adjusting though, because the darkness doesn't seem so dark anymore.

Fin

I think it is safe to say that the most hellish summer of my life is now over. At least that's what the temperature sign down the street has been telling me for the past week. My window is open and there is a chill breeze blowing in, shooing out August with a cold goodbye. I don't mind it so much. I mean, its not like I had much of a summer anyway. I hope there will be more to come. Maybe even in Chicago.
Yesterday I went to church. It was about parenting. It was my second time seeing John since I threw a fit in Tony's car. All I could think about was Adam. I want so desperately to be over it. I was thinking about this yesterday... I mean, my friends probably want me to either shut up about it, or do something more about it. But I have decided not to do anymore about it, but I have to be okay with the fact that I may never see resolution. It is all just so messed up. There is so much I don't know, like what Adam told John in his defense, what other lies he crafted, that I may take the blame. He knows what he is doing, that much is certain. It sickens me. I am obviously far from over it. I am trying to move on, to care less about what others think. But there is some creep out there who is moving on with life apparently unscathed. He can't escape God though. I should take comfort in that fact.

Mercilessness of Time

The black and white photos were set against black paper. The pages were very worn, and some of the photos were slipping out of the small corners that held them onto the page. I looked at faces of people that I had only known as older great grandparents and great aunts and uncles. Yet these faces were youthful, they had dark hair and distinguished faces, cigarettes in their hands and smirks on their mouths. There were always pictures of couples and toddlers. My great uncle Darrel was quite handsome and seemed to always be grinning in the photographs. There were pictures of him and his wife Alberta looking relaxed and happy. My grandpa and my grandma always looked distinctly different. My grandma seemed more rigid, with her hands clasped behind her back. Grandpa seemed more laid back, a more easy-going smile on his face, rather than the roguish grin that his brother always seemed to sport. Yet grandma and grandpa didn't seem as affectionate towards one another as the other couples seemed to be. More often grandma seemed relaxed and outgoing with her sisters or girlfriends. Of course, all of these conclusions I have made merely based on one old photo album. Yet, as I sat on the couch, I was intrigued by these people that surrounded me with affection as I grew up. I realized how little I knew about my relatives. The pictures depicted brothers with their darling nephew, who would tragically die at only 30 years old. My dad's cousin was doted upon as the only grandchild for 11 years. One picture of my great uncle showed him in a field with his shirt off, the photograph forever capturing what it was like for him to be young and strong in the army, that classic smile stretched across his face.
My grandma was showing me these pictures after we had spent some time talking about what Ladoga was like when she was young. A time when the small town offered its residents everything they needed. Downtown Ladoga now has a small grocery, a liquor store, a tanning salon, a small cafe, a Library, town hall, and the post office. There is a small furniture store, a hardware store, and an old antique shop. A railroad runs through the town, passed a few abandoned builds and a Pizza King, where the conductor sometimes still stops for Pizza. When my grandparents were young, there was a general store where you could buy whatever you needed, a hat shop, a dress shop, a few barber shops and beauty salons. There were a couple of car dealerships, and four gas stations. Along the railroad was a lumber yard, a coal yard, and an elevator. There was a train depot. My grandma rode the train once from Ladoga to Roachdale. My grandma was afraid she was boring me, but far from it. I was intrigued listening to my grandparents describe a Ladoga that I had never imagined. A small farming community that seemed to be industrious for its size and provided for its community.
Why must things change so drastically? I will never be able to experience a simplistic life like that. Time drags on, taking with it memories and forcing change. Darrel's wife, Alberta is now in a nursing home, suffering from Alzheimer's. My grandpa's other brother, Bob, lost his wife four years ago after she had a stroke. Bobby Sandusky, his son, died in his chair at the age of thirty; something was wrong with his air passage.
I wonder if I would be happier living 50 or 60 years ago. I love my time spent with my grandparents in the country, at the fish fry with their friends and family coming to enjoy fish sandwiches and line dancing at the basketball courts. I enjoy sitting on the front porch, drinking sweet tea, as close as I can be to a simpler life, and a simpler time. Yet I also enjoy the thrill of the city, the hustle and bustle, commotion and action. I appreciate my laptop and cell phone. I am thankful that I have Facebook to keep in touch with friends I wouldn't normally maintain contact with.
I am sad at the prospect of time and the way it moves ever onward, mercilessly and graciously moving mankind onward, leaving in its wake only memories and a few empty buildings crumbling with age. Maybe someday my own grandkids will look at digital pictures, shocked at how I possibly could survive with such limited technology, and how I could have ever thought that the clothes and hairstyles that I wore were cool.
I will just have to be content with old photographs and the stories of my grandparents. After they are gone, who will there be to recount what their lives were like? It saddens me to know that this too shall pass.

Purple woes from the blacklisted blog.

I just spent time and money on trying a radical new look. Well, maybe not too radical. But different. And it failed. I am kind of bummed. Well, not kind of bummed. Very bummed. I cut my hair just so I could dye the tips purple. And all it did was make the ends a very subtle shade darker. Oh well. It wasn't meant to be. But I now have purple thumbs. And spots on my neck that look disgustingly like hickeys. At least the hair cut is cute.
I am home again, enjoying temperatures that stirred a memory of what summer should actually feel like. How wonderful to escape the prolonged spring of Chicago to a place where my car overheats sitting in the drive thru at McDonald's.
The drive to my grandparents house from my parents takes you through nothing but country. I take US 136 out of Crawfordsville. The road goes past a small horse farm and then gently slopes into a woods and over Sugar Creek. The speed limit increases from 45 to 55 as you go down the hill. The road weaves easily through the trees, with curves you are supposed to take at 50. Its much better at at least 6o. Its one of my two favorites stretches of road. The trees trees are thick around it, and the gentle curves are fun to drive. As you approach Nucor Road, the trees fall away to your right, and there is a small field that dips slightly, planted with soybeans, and then corn. This particular field, bordered by the trees and the creek sometimes bears a shroud of mist towards the twilight hours. With the sun setting over the woods, the field glows a beautiful gold, with the tassels of the corn barely shuddering in a breeze. It is beautiful. I never thought there would be a day when I came to find the sunset over the corn fields of Indiana so breathtaking. Yet there have been many of those days this summer. Another favorite stretch of road is on Ladoga Road. There is a point where the road is straight, and very slightly hilly. It ends in a sharp curve over a creek and past another horse farm. Driving this stretch of road earlier today, between corn and bean fields, I love to put my arm out the window and just enjoy the speed, the sunset, the music playing, and the scenery.
I realized after my last blog that I am boring. If all I have to write about is my day at work, then I should probably not waste the time of the very few people who might be reading my blog. I have found that I am so frustrated about having my writing confronted. I now know specifically who my audience is, which is a little weird. I feel like now if I am too honest about what I am dealing with in my life that people will take offense. Its discouraging how much people hate and fear the truth sometimes. I am realizing more and more how offensive the truth can be.
Pardon me, but I am going to be a bit frank now. Speaking of offensive truth lets talk about A---. That is a truth that no one wants to hear. And those who have heard it are skeptical. Which leaves me with a mutilated reputation and a burden that I will have to bear until he admits what he has done. The whole situation has incurred such a swirl of emotions ranging all across the board. I have never had such unresolved tension. It has hardened my heart and is stirring a hatred within me that is hard to suppress. I dream about it often now. "A waking nightmare that is only worse when I am sleeping." I know though, that God is a just God, and that He will deal with the situation in His time and way. I know that He knows the truth and that His opinion of me is the only one that matters. I just really struggle with thinking that people that I look up to and admire may think of me as a liar, as someone who has serious issues. Only someone with serious issues would make the accusations that I have made with no foundation of truth. Alas, that is what I have been dealing with. My teenage angst has not passed since June, but merely been suppressed by unappreciative readers. How vague and moody I am feeling tonight. I assure you, there is always more to come.

Tick, tock

I have to leave for work in two and a half hours. I have to have my room spotless before then. I have to have all my belongings packed, once again, to move down three floors. So, here I sit. I spend eight hours a day doing mindless, dirty, sometimes disgusting work. In those eight hours, my mind wanders. I day dream, I plot, I plan, and sometimes I pray. Today I spent way too much time plotting... It seems that there is a division among Brian Taylor's physical plant day crew. It is usually the Stalker sisters versus myself, Josiah, Nate, and sometimes Liz. We hide in closets, wardrobes, and under beds to startle them. We sit and talk while they bustle around efficiently, singing songs from musicals and Disney movies.
Yesterday we decided to take our pranks to the next level. Mental warfare. I worked alone with the Stalker sisters today. For a long while they worked quietly while I listened to my offensive music. They were in the kitchen, I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the bathtub in the bathroom. I was trying to think of a conversation to engage them in, but decided to let them do the talking. I turned off my music, reluctantly, to better eavesdrop. They turned on Disney songs. I instantly regretted my own silence. Yet, I patiently listened. And the conversations started. Significant portions of their conversation is now saved in a text message on my phone, which I sent to Josiah. Now, we wait. And the next time we are all together, they will hear the very conversation they themselves have had. Down to the word. "Josiah has a pet crab named Tom Hamilton, also? Bizarre!" This is what I do with my day. I get paid nearly 10 dollars an hour to connive and clean. Its not such a bad deal, until I am pushing a gigantic cleaning cart down Wells, sweating and swearing as a bar of soap falls off every few feet, looking like a fool...
I think of other things other new ways to prank my coworkers... I think of meaningful things. I think of a lanky blond playing the piano with such passion that I get a little weak in the knees... Haha.
Seriously though. I realized today that 20 years is a long time. Much has happened in the twenty years since I first graced this world with my presence. I am sitting with a miniature laptop in my lap, a touchscreen cell phone at my side, and looking out onto a street occupied by Hummers and smart cars. I have known of three presidents, including the first African American one. I survived Y2K. I watched the World Trade Center topple as well as a statue of Saddam Hussein. But what is 20 years? I am only 20 years old. Too young for marriage, for my own house, for a rental car, and for drinking. Yet in another 80 years I'll be dead. 20 years of my life has passed and what do I have to show for it? Not much. I haven't been further west than St. Louis. I haven't left these blessed American shores. I don't know what the hell life is. I feel like for having lived 20 years, I haven't lived much at all.
Thank You, God, for eternity.

Here I am.

There is a square door in my ceiling that I have never noticed before. I wonder where it goes to. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't flopped down on my bed in despair, listening to Andrew McMahon and imagining how wonderful he looks as he is playing the piano. I don't imagine that I will ever accomplish anything again until I finish the Order of the Phoenix, or chuck it out my window. In the meantime, I am picking up some fun British lingo.
My room smells like fish. There is rootbeer spilled on my mattress. Two cans of Sprite, two cans of Mountain Dew, one Portillo's cup, and three cups from the Commons on my desk. A McDonald's sweet tea at the foot of the bed. Yes, I do need to clean. And I have to be at work in eight hours. I should also sleep.
I have seriously contemplated giving up school and spending the rest of my life in a saddle. It would need to be seventy degrees and sunny at all times. Perhaps I am thinking of heaven.
If I were Donnie Darko, I would never have said the words "I love you, but I just don't like you." Things would have ended up so differently. I would have also decked Adam in the face and asked him what the hell he was doing. Maybe then I could wake up from this nightmare. Also, if I was Donnie Darko, I think I would never stop looking in the mirror.
Last pickup line I heard was, "Oh, you're a childrens ministry major? Well, I'm like a child. A mature child."
I feel hopeless when it comes to dealing with guys. Even as I think, "Sanyelle, this is a pretty awful idea..." my mouth opens and words come spilling out. I shock myself sometimes. And then spend hours kicking myself.
I would never date a vampire. Love never comes without risk, but I do draw the line somewhere.
I still wear the diamond promise ring Arni gave me. On my right hand. Its too pretty to sit in my puzzle box.
Free will is an immensely intriguing subject to talk about, but the thought of eternity makes my stomach ache. I would rather ponder the complexities of time within the context of how every decision and event effects my life and choices rather than try to wrap my mind around the concept of living forever. Ironically, I never want to die.
Yet I think of death a lot. "Do you feel when your last breath is gone?" "Love is watching someone die." "Every living creature dies alone."
Konstantine is one of my favorite songs. He never sings it the same. I don't blame people for begging McMahon to sing it at his Jack's Mannequin concerts. I may include the lyrics at the end of this post. I don't expect you to feel the same way about the song.
MGMT gives me nightmares if I fall asleep listening to it. Can you blame me? Last time I was listening to it, I woke up kicking the crap out of my cat thinking it was Frank the rabbit. I know- yikes. Speaking of MGMT and rabbits- Alice in Wonderland is coming out in March. Who could be a better Mad Hatter than Johnny Depp. No one, I am convinced.
Sometimes I wonder if I am better off alone. Marriage is the Moody theme, but I would think if they were such strong advocates of marriage, they would provide a better batch of prospects. Ouch. I just don't want to be a better pastor's wife. Sorry, boys. Where are all the tall skinny guys with dark hair and dark eyes, covered in tattoos and playing the piano? (Preferably more than just hymns...) Yeah. My prince will come. Who hasn't heard that one once a week? Of late, I have been boy crazy. Perhaps just crazy. I do spend a lot of time in cramped bathrooms with enough chemicals to make a decent meth lab. Okay. Enough procrastinating. I'll spend another 20 minutes copying the Konstantine lyrics, and then using poor judgment, will probably go to sleep rather than working on cleaning my room for room inspection.

I can't imagine all the people that you know
And the places that you go
When the lights are turned down low
And I don't understand
All the things you've seen
But I'm slipping in between
You and your big... dreams
It's always you in my big dreams
And you tell me
That it's over
Wake up lying in a patch of four leaf clover
And you're restless
And I'm naked
You've got to get out
You can't stand to see me shaking
No, could you let me go
I didn't think so
And you don't want to be here in the future
So you say
The present's just a pleasant
Interruption to the past
And you don't want to look much closer
'Cause you're afraid to find out all this hope
You had sent into the sky by now had... crashed
And it did because of me
And then you bring me home
Afraid to find out that you're alone, no
And I'm sleeping in your living room
But we don't have much room
To live
I had these dreams, in them I learned to play guitar
Maybe cross the country
Become a rock star
And there was hope in me
That I could take you there
But damn it you're so young
But I don't think I care
And if I hurt you thenIi'm sorry
please don't think that this was easy
And then you bring me home
'Cause we both know what it's like to be alone, no
And I'm dreaming in your living room
But we don't have much room
To live
And Konstantine is walking down the stairs
Doesn't she look good
Standing in her underwear?
And I was thinking, what I was thinking
But we've been drinking
And it doesn't get me anywhere
My Konstantine came walking down the stairs
And all that I could do
Was touch her long blond hair
And I've been thinking
It hurts me thinking
That these nights when we were drinking
No they never got us anywhere, no
This is because I can spell konfusion with a K
And I can like it
It's to dying in another's arms
And why I had to try it
It's to jimmy eat world
And those nights in my car
When the first star you see
May not be a star
I'm not your star
Isn't that what you said?
What you thought this song meant
And if this is what it takes
Just to lie with my mistakes
And live with what I did to you
All the hell I put you through
I always catch the clock it's 11:11
And now you want to talk
It's not hard to dream
You'll always be my Konstantine
My Konstantine
They'll never hurt you like I do
No, They'll never hurt you like I do
No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No
This is to a girl who got into my head
With all the pretty things she did
Hey, you know, you keep me up in bed
This is to a girl who got into my head
With all these fucked up things I did
Hey maybe baby, you could keep me up in bed
My Konstantine
Spin around me like a dream
We played out on this movie screen
And I said,
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
Did you know I miss you
I miss you
And then you bring me home
And we'll go to sleep but this time not alone, no No,
And then you'll kiss me in your living room, oh
I know you miss me in your living room
Cause these nights I think maybe that I miss you in my living room
We don't have much room
I said, does anybody need that room?
Because we all need a little more room
To live

...My Konstantine.

The Long and Short of It

While he was gone, it was easy for me to say, "I can do this". When he wasn't there to pass in the tunnels at school, and to walk with me places at night when no one else could, it was easy to say "Its finally over". When he was thousands of miles away in China, I thought I could resist. Now I am thinking "There is no way". I thought that he wasn't what I really wanted. I thought that there were things about him that I just couldn't reconcile myself to. I thought I wanted someone who was passionate about the things I was passionate about, who shared my interests as well. I thought I wanted someone older, more mature. I still think these things sometimes. But now, when he is here, and making me laugh, and saying all the right things at all the right times- I think that he is really what I wanted all along. Yes, there are things that we both need to change, but isn't it possible that we can do this growing and changing together. I mean, aren't we going to have to learn to balance 'us' and God while we are still 'us'?

Dating and marrying Andrew wouldn't be a sin, would it? I know that there is idolatry in our relationship, a worship of each other and of the relationship itself. I know that that has to change. I know that I need him to learn how to step up and be a leader. I know that it would be foolish to get married now, as we are.

But every person I talk to gives me different advice! To some its apparently been obvious for a while now. To others, they don't understand why we can't just be together. We love each other. We do want to be together. So why not?

Why was I feeling so convicted that this was right, but I now feel like its all wrong? The past month that he was my ex-boyfriend I was miserable and confused. Now I'm happy and confused. I know that I was grown and stretched while he was gone, and I know there is a lot more room for improvement...

I know breaking up is not impossible. I feel like getting him out of my life is impossible. I have a ring he gave me on my finger, a bracelet he made for me on my wrist. I am using a computer he bought me that I owe him for. Next to me is the huge stuffed dog he wasted too much money on at a King's Island. The journals I write in are from him. Some of the clothes I wear were bought by him or his parents. My promise ring is still in a puzzle box he brought me from Florida... He is in my thoughts consistently. He was the man I was planning to marry next summer. We had even picked out a dog that we wanted... I still want him to be the man that I marry. I don't want to try to run from everything that represents him in my life. I want to be his. I don't know what to do with my doubts.

I wish God could just give me a call and let me know what the hell I am supposed to be doing right now.
Because I sure don't know. I love him. But I know we aren't where we are supposed to be right now. I just don't know how to fix it. I don't know what I want. I am twenty years old with my whole life ahead of me. I just want to please God, grow up, have it all together, and someday be his wife.

Maybe I should just suck it up and work as hard as I can to keep him at a distance and see what happens. Maybe I should just screw it and be his girlfriend again and pray that God would change both of our hearts. It is our hearts that are the issue, after all.

Oi.

I do not know.

But I do need to make a decision.

Four hour train ride, here I come.

Please, God, give me some direction. Open my eyes, open my heart.

Home

As the hand on the sign stopped flashing and indicated that it was no longer safe to cross I turned to him. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly as tears filled my eyes. I have never been so happy and anxious to see a person as I was to see Andrew last night. I didn't want to let go. He told me he missed me and I quietly agreed.

Later as we sat side by side in the plaza, I realized there was no one like Andrew to make me feel completely at ease and satisfied, free to be myself at all times, whether happy, grumpy, sad, angry, or silly. He loved me in all of my moods- somehow. I don't have to have any pretenses with him, I can just be myself and enjoy it, and enjoy him.

Maybe it is true-

You never know what you have, until it is gone.

Maybe he isn't gone for good.