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.