This is not okay.

I have moments where I know that things will not be okay.

I was surprised to find an email in my inbox from Jeremy at 2 in the afternoon. He normally emailed me from 10pm-5am, my time. And the length of the email upon opening it surprised me.

As I read the email, I couldn't believe the words my eyes were taking in. I had to read the email twice before the gravity of it settled like a heavy weight in my stomach. Before I could stop the tears, they were rolling off my cheeks onto the keyboard.

This is not okay.

He is not okay.

I am not okay.

The horrors of war are okay when they are safely contained on a movie screen. Or confined to the pages of a book that a stranger wrote. But when they are from the person that you love, when they are as fresh as the blood of innocent lives lost, or a village still smoldering, then it is not okay.

My body aches. My heart aches. There is absolutely nothing that I can do or that I can say to offer comfort in this situation. This seems to be as wrong as the world gets. I pray, but for what? That Jeremy can see what he saw and somehow be okay? That he can get back to life in the states and be happy again, laugh again, after witnessing what he has seen? That whatever and whoever is left after an air strike can move on with their lives without a body of their child, or their husband, or their wife to mourn over? Christians, in these circumstances, would seek to see those affected come to Christ out of these kinds of circumstances. But what Muslim is going to seek after the God of the men who just ended their lives? What hope is there in such destruction? What kind of light can pierce that darkness? I don't see any. You can't tell people that "It will be okay."

It will not be okay.

Fall and the Mega Awesome Playlist.

I am sitting on the front porch of my grandparents house, listening to Derek's "Unfinished and Untouched Mega Awesome Playlist!" Yellow, by Coldplay is currently playing, and it fits the mood of this autumn day quite nicely. The elementary school across the street is getting ready to let out, and parents are lining up down the block to pick up their children. Across the street at the play ground, one tree is beautiful, brilliant shades of gold and orange. The rest are stubbornly remaining green for a few more days or weeks. Children shout as they play a juvenile version of Ultimate frisbee across the street at the ball diamonds.

This is my first day off in a week, and I am rather enjoying the lovely day. Every thing seems to have that 'right' feeling. Of almost perfection. Because surely nothing can ever be perfect. Perhaps perfect would be having Jeremy sitting on the porch swing next to me, but I'm sure I would find other things to long for even as he sat beside me.

I've recently developed a strong aversion to accepting the present. The present, as in present-tense. Now. This very moment. I avoid it like the plague. It is rather unfortunate, because I could probably be making much more of the here and now if I didn't spend all of my time missing the past and longing for the future. I also spend an absurd amount of time thinking about 'the Ghan' as it has been affectionately titled before. I think that it is probably natural to spend so much time thinking about the war, seeing as it pretty directly involves me now, whether I want it to or not.

Life definitely isn't how I expected it to be a year or so ago. But I feel fairly certain that this is where I'm supposed to be. I guess I should just accept it.

The rhythmic thumping of clothes being tossed around in the stainless steel dryers that line the wall are occasionally punctuated with the chirruping of the arcade games on the other side of the laundromat. The bright florescent lights illuminate the table I am sitting at and glare off of the table top with epithets carved in the surface acknowledging who will be together forever, who is a whore, and who is a bitch. I sat with my head bowed, facing the windows and the automatic doors that open at the slightest hint of movement, letting in the last few chill breezes of a late September night. In the glass, I can see the reflection of a guy sitting in the far back corner of the laundromat, hunched over his cell phone. I sit and wait for my friend Kara to return from the bathroom, absorbing the sense of loneliness that has consumed me for the past two days.

Loneliness that is temporarily relieved by a brief email at two o' clock in the morning. Loneliness that is wearing me thin. I am hoping that in the next few days the loneliness will retreat to whatever place in my heart it is lurking and let me feel happy again. But in reality, this loneliness is going to be a long-term companion. Perhaps I'll just get used to his heavy company.

We Are Broken

As this week ends, so does Jeremy's second month in Afghanistan. It is hard to believe that he has already been gone for two months. It is even harder to believe that I have to do this for another 10 months. It is days like this that are the hardest, days where Jeremy doesn't even seem to exist, where he feels impossibly far away, and time is playing cruel tricks on me and not even passing at all. I have never missed anyone so terribly. I never imagined that it would be this hard. But there are times where I think about how, somewhere on the other side of the world, there is a guy as crazy for me as I am for him, who misses me like I miss him, and it is a small comfort.

I have been reading "Blood Makes the Grass Grow Green" by Johnny Rico. It is an account of his time spent in Afghanistan in 2003. It is a much more sarcastic and humorous perspective on war, and it isn't very disconcerting to read as far as violence goes. It has however irritated me in a way that I wouldn't imagine. The soldiers in Rico's unit are bored out of their minds thus far in their tour in Afghanistan (about a couple of months in), and their duties consist mostly of 'guarding dirt'. They don't feel like they are at war at all, and are anxious to be involved in action. So much so that some of Rico's fellow soldiers contemplate shooting a random Haji simply out of boredom and not because he poses any threat to them. They treat the Afghans as less than dirt and hate them as a people group. They are at war with the Taliban, but their disgust is openly directed towards all of the people of Afghanistan. There is no sobriety in their group and they mock and tear apart care packages from caring civilians in the States. Their absolute boredom and total lack of purpose in Afghanistan gives them an almost primitive, animalistic mentality. It is actually rather discouraging to read, because the characters and their attitudes and actions are kind of despicable. Of course, I should not be quick to judge, because I could never imagine what those kind of circumstances can do to the mind and the spirit. Rico is simply portraying the outward actions and attitudes of his comrades, and there is not a lot of insight into the machinations of their thoughts and how they are driven to the point they are at. Rico himself has a kinder attitudes towards the Afghans, but still partakes in the disturbing, stir-crazy antics of his fellow soldiers.

I refuse to imagine that this is what Jeremy's squad is like, given that the circumstances are completely different. I know that they are incredibly busy, and the area that they are in has a lot of Taliban influence. They aren't just there guarding dirt. They are at war. I would imagine that the places that their minds go is a far more dangerous kind of 'crazy' than what Rico and his comrades were experiencing. My fear for Jeremy isn't simply a fear for his life, but a fear for his mentality when he comes home from Afghanistan. I speak from almost total ignorance. I know nothing of war. I can only read about it in Johnny Rico's book and understand very little of it from Jeremy's letter. I can hesitantly read news articles about a new assault in a river valley outside of Kandahar. But really, I know nothing, and I can't really imagine what it is like for Jeremy. I can only hope and pray that God brings him home safe and sound.

[Fall]ing

The living room of my grandparents house is lit with early evening sun. Its 80 degrees, but the humidity is low, leaving it warm and comfortable with the breeze. From where I sit, I can hear kids laughing and shouting on the playground across the street. It is a lovely September day, and I can only think of a few things that could make late summer evenings better.

It is the beginning of harvest time, and along my way to work and into town every day, there are tractors parked in the fields, filled to the brim with soybeans and corn. The leaves are just beginning to lighten noticeably into yellows in reds, and occasional gusty winds are beginning to rob the trees of their foliage.

Driving home on this particular evening, I realized that when it comes to thoughts of him, they are becoming as frequent and as necessary as breathing. Living in a town where there is nothing to remind me of him, where we have no memories, leaves me feeling a bit disoriented. There are pictures of him in my room, and I sleep with the blankets we bought on Pikes Peak. In the cooler fall mornings and evenings, I wear his flannel shirt. In my wallet I keep our ticket stub from the penny arcade in Manitou Springs. And I am almost ceaselessly listening to the music he loves, while my mind wanders to Afghanistan, and I pray ceaselessly for his safe return. Our few weeks in Colorado seem little more than a dream, and that dream is what I am living for.

Its not that I am not engaging in the reality that I live in, but the greater part of my heart is usually wrapped up in this nearly non-existent relationship, this love that most days just seems like a figment of my imagination. In the past 38 days I have received 3 brief Facebook messages, and heard his voice once. It is never enough. I think daily of how wonderful it will be to be waiting for him at the Bangor International Airport when he comes home, to hold him and be kissed by him, to hear his voice. And I never think of the end of that 2 weeks, because it signals the unfortunate end of yet another good dream.

"I'm right here and I must admit I've been pining for you. You're my wish...I just hope when I cast my spell you'll be falling for me. Because falling in love could be the first thing. Falling in love could be the worst thing. Falling in love, there is no rehearsing; retarded in love."

Koi Tattoo

I ran my fingers over the smooth skin of his forearm, tracing the outlines of his colorful tattoo. I was overwhelmingly happy to be with him again. I sat close to him on the couch, holding on to his arm, my head on his shoulder, the way we had sat many times before.

When I opened my eyes to find myself alone in my bed, with my brother right in front of me, rifling through my purse, I was instantly consumed with disappointment. Aaron asked if I would go to Lafayette with him, but I was desperate to fall back asleep and into my dream again. Upon returning to sleep, there was not a single moment of Jeremy in my dreams. I was alone.

Dreaming of him only makes it harder. Although for the time that I'm asleep and 'with him', I am happy, when I wake up, his absence is so much stronger. I feel panicky that I can't see him and hear him. For a moment I feel as if these next 6 months are impossible. It is the worst feeling in the world.

Neon green

It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds...

There are specific memories that I wish that I could capture and preserve perfectly, with out any trick of my imagination trying to embellish or lessen the moment.

Very early this morning, we sat side by side on a wet bench, barely under the cover of a tree across the path. I can hear the rain falling on the leaves, on the pavement, on his jeans. I can feel the cold drops on the back of my neck. I can taste the cigarette, smell the smoke. I want to savor every word he said, the feel of his head on my shoulder. Our feet side by side on the sidewalk. My hand on his on my leg. The song that he sang. I want it all, perfectly stored away.

I want to remember laying side by side on my bed, our feet on the ground, our hands over our own faces, not speaking.

I want to remember the feel of his heart beating through my shoulder as we sat on the couch, his head leaning heavily against mine, and his deep breathing as he slept. I want to remember the dread of his phone vibrating in his pocket indicating the cab was here to take him away for six long months.

I want to remember the heaviness of it, the impossible weight of goodbye.

Foolishness

There is an unfortunate madness about love. It gives love a proclivity for danger, for impossible risks, for hurt and sorrow. It fosters irrationality and has a way of creating illusion.

There isn't anything greater than it, really.

However, there is only one who loves right, and the rest of us are left to gamble with what we think we understand of love.

We will always be young and naive in this sense.

We will always be the subjects, and it will always be our master.

Lessons

I spent the entire day in Chicago yesterday, and it was a lot of fun, but it just left me wanting more. There is a hardly a place that I frequent in the city that does not have some memory attached to it. Most of the memories are very good, and some of them are more bitter than sweet. Most of the memories, whether good or bad, remind me of things that I want terribly and cannot have. Other memories remind me of things that I love, and will have for the rest of my life.

Either way, leaving the city for a few weeks and being apart from all of my friends has given me a new perspective, and is teaching me one of the hardest lessons that I have ever learned, and I am not being the most obliging pupil.

My heart has this terrible habit of always longing for things that it cannot and should not have. My heart is always seeming to misplace its priorities, always seems to put the wrong people and things first. It refuses to listen to my head, to logic, and reason, and what it should know from years of experience. My heart, silly thing, is impulsive, shallow, and most unwise. It is also deceitful, deceiving its own self, and fickle. My heart can instantaneously flux between hatred and love, bitterness, envy, and selflessness, control and submission.

In short, my heart is my greatest enemy, most of the time. Lately, anyway.

If it would only be still, and for a moment remember who loved it first, who loves it despite its great and numerous shortcomings, perhaps it could learn to love properly.

Memoirs

The smell of fresh-cut hay is one of my favorite smells. This is very telling of how I grew up as a kid. The smell takes me back to lazy afternoons in the hayloft above where my white horse dozed in his stall, occasionally whipping his tail about to fend off flies. As I drive down State Road 32, past newly mowed fields, the smell fills my car. When I smell hay, I smell leather; bridles and saddles. I smell fly spray, which always reminded me of the smell of Fruit Loops. I smell the distinct smell of sweaty horses and sweaty saddle pads.

When I drive past a horse grazing in a pasture, its face obscured in a mesh fly mask that protects its eyes from irritating flies, I can instantly remember the feel of the mesh in my hands, the faux fur that wraps around the horses muzzle and around his ears. I can feel the fine hairs of his forelock slipping through my fingers as I pull it out from under the mask. I can feel the velvety softness of his tapered muzzle under my fingertips.

As I continue to remember, I imagine hooking my fingers through his halter, and pressing my forehead against his, sans fly mask. I imagine the feel and smell of his breath as he exhales deeply. I can feel his upper lip working over the top of my shoulder, where my neck and shoulder meet, his whiskers tickling me.

It has been seven years since I watched a stranger's trailer take my horse away. It has been 12 years since I first sat on a pony and took a riding lesson. Yet I can remember those sights and smells, the feelings and textures as if it was yesterday.

Summertime, summertime

I spend most of my day reading and wishing. A small portion of the day is devoted to job hunting and working my tedious Craigslist/Rentjuice job. Right now, I sit on the porch swing on my grandparents front porch. Across the street at the small basketball court, four boys are shooting hoops, swearing loudly and talking smack. Another car pulls up and three more boys pull up. Instantly, shirts are taken off, greetings are exchanged. The ball diamonds next to the courts are empty and quiet, with the exception of a few birds pecking about. The grass glows in the setting sun, save the places where the houses cast their shadows. Down the sidewalk a father and daughter work on tending the lawn. The little girl must be four or five, and her blonde hair radiates like a halo about her face, the sun illuminating the stray light strands that frame her round cheeks. She deftly maneuvers a rake two times her size, mimicking daddy. Dogs barking are heard from all corners of town. A four wheeler revs in the distance, down by the post office. Mr. Utterback peddles by on his bike, his twin boys in tow in a small cart following behind. Father and son start a game of catch with a football in the diamonds, and a girl sits on the far side on the yellow and green bleachers with her dog. Pick up trucks roll loudly buy in a small town consistency. It all seems picturesque, small town America as it should be. Straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

There seems to be no care of the pollution and destruction of the Gulf of Mexico, no hint of a war in the Middle East, of the rising crime in Indianapolis, just an hour away. There are just missed rebounds, "More time on the playground, daddy!", and a tumble off the tricycle.

Pick-up games of basketball, a turn on the merry-go-round, and slightly tattered American flags reflect the simplicity of the idea of the 'American Dream'.

Dichotomy kills.

Every drink numbs me. I do not even recognize the girl who stares blankly back at me from the mirror. Dichotomy kills.

fated to pretend

As I was saying goodbye to my newly adopted cousins, 6 year old Isabella charged through the front door out onto the porch where I was standing. "What happened to Arni?" she chirped. I couldn't believe she even remembered his name. She couldn't remember mine half the time. It had been months since she had last seen him. Braydon was right on her heels reiterating the question.

"I broke up with him." I explained.

"Why?" Braydon asked.

"He isn't nice." I lied.

I leaned against the cool gray concrete, resting my elbows on the side of the porch. Braydon was looking up at me expectantly from the front steps. I stumbled over my words for a moment, at a loss. "He was nice when he was here," he pointed out in his nine-year-old matter-of-fact way.

"I know. He was nice. He still is nice. It is hard to explain." I finished lamely. Braydon shrugged and stepped down onto the sidewalk. I was bewildered.

At least it didn't hurt this time.

Almost a week ago I was sitting on a park swing without too much to be concerned about, just a Systematic Theology exam that was coming up.

Today as I was sitting on a park swing watching my three cousins playing on the playground, the uncertainty of my future felt tangibly heavy. Things used to be so certain. I would marry Arni and live happily ever after, more or less.

Now I have the overwhelming feeling of having no place to go, no direction for my life, and just utter confusion. Everyone else's lives go on, while I am stuck trying to make a living in Chicago. On my own.

I can't handle 'on my own'. I have never really had to do it before.

Oh. Snap.

I owe Moody 1800 dollars by tomorrow. They aren't going to get it, so they are dropping my enrollment. It looks like I might be taking some time off... I have been questioning for awhile now if I should finish my time at Moody. I am getting tired of school. I am not that good at it. I don't even need a degree from Moody to do what I want to do. Yet so many thoughts are assailing me at the moment... I just want to be done with school and have a degree, but I don't know if that is what is best for me. I need cheaper options at the moment. And I am just so tired of school. But I want to stay in the city, because this is where my friends are... The thought of trying to find a job and a place to live is a little scary to me though. I am definitely not sure what I am going to do. I just hope that they don't drop my enrollment for this semester. That would be awful. I would try to get a loan before I let that happen. Oy. At this moment, coming back just isn't an option.

Hello, Homer Hiccolm.

I lay on my back on the hard concrete, my head propped up on Dave's backpack. My cell phone lay beside me playing Death Cab for Cutie. The sun was shining directly in my eyes. It was so warm that I couldn't complain. I just lay, listening to my friends chat, the music playing, watching as a seagull sailed above.

A Gemini named Pat

I startled as I turned and saw her staring in. Standing, slightly hunched, with her black coat and fly away grey hair, she seemed a very imposing character in the window. I only caught a glance of her before I turned back to my friends, swearing in shock. I didn't chance a second glance, but returned to the conversation we had been engaged in. I looked up at the more aesthetically pleasing appearance of the waiter as he wiped off a table, the candlelight playing across his face in a flattering way. 

The lady appeared again, but this time right next to me. She sat at a table behind us, directly behind my own chair. Throughout the rest of our meal, as I was slipping inconspicuous glances at the waiter, Tanzi's attention was held by this mysterious woman. I still hadn't had a chance to appraise her appearance other than the haunting impression I had as she was standing outside. Tanzi indicated that if he was in a better mood, he might invite her to join us at our table. Ruth and I more or less ignored his suggestions, quite content to enjoy our own conversations. (We hadn't seen Tanzi in quite some time, and there was a lot of catching up to be done.)

"I have a question for you. Actually, it isn't really a question, but something funny..." I heard her say to the waiter (and Tanzi reiterated for Ruth and I). Within a few minutes, she was bustling from table to table, talking with different patrons as they tried to enjoy their meals. At one point, I stood to go to the restroom to blow my nose. To my slight dismay, I noticed she was heading the very same direction. 

As I entered the bathroom, she was washing her hands at the sink. "It smells like paint," she barked. I didn't quite know how to reply, as I could not really smell anything. "Doesn't it smell like paint?" she demanded.

"I'm not quite sure what the smell is," I remarked, noncommittally.

"Am I wrong? Does it not smell like paint?" she replied, incredulously. She patted the countertop of the sink. "No, this has been painted recently," she reassured me. I mentioned the condition of my nose and the lack of my sense of smell.

I stepped out of the stall that I had been snatching toilet paper from. She turned to face me. It was her eyes that shocked me. 

"I need to be able to see you," she informed me. She stepped closer to me. Her eyes were bright and eager, yet at the same time, they looked blinded. They were almost completely black. It was unsettling. She stared hard at me. She asked me a random question. I can't remember what it was now, but I know that it made me chuckle. I answered her question affirmatively. 

"Are you a good cook?" she asked. 

"No." I replied.

"Are you sarcastic?"

"Yes."

"You are sarcastic?" she asked, her tone incredulous.

"Yeah, I'm sarcastic." I asserted. She seemed a little baffled. She then proceeded to guess my astrological sign. After prattling off a few incorrect guesses, she conceded. 

"Tell me what it is then."

"I'm an Aquarius."

"February 6th?"

"No."

"January 25th?" I held up my finger in response, indicating to guess higher. She guessed lower. "The 24th?" I shook my head. "26th?" 

"Yeah." 

"I'm a Gemini," she explained in a matter of fact sort of way. "Gemini tend to have split personalities. I had to choose to not be that way though, you know, not mean one day, and nice the next. If you are mean to someone one day, then someone could be mean to you the next day, and make you have a crappy day. So instead of being a shitty-ass, I try to be nice, because what goes  around comes around. That's my one motive for being nice, you know. My doctor, he tells me 'Pat, there are two things I like about you. You have a great sense of humor, and you're very sweet'. I get my sense of humor from my dad. I am like my dad in a lot of ways. He only ever said one thing to hurt me. He said to me once, 'Pat, everyone in that grocery store was probably thinking how ugly you are. You may not be pretty, but you have a good sense of humor.' So, I said to him,'Well, since I get my looks from you, they must have been thinking the same thing about you!' and he told me that that was a pretty smart remark!" 

I wanted to tell her I thought she was pretty. Not in an insincere sort of way. I hate being cheesy and trite, but I do find that most people have something distinguishably attractive about them. I could see how, in her youth, Pat could have been a very pretty woman. Her haunting eyes bored into mine as I studied her face, her prominent nose and high cheek bones, the way her bangs lay flattened against her forehead. Her voice changed slightly as she continued to share with me.

"I am like my dad in every way, in the way that I look, even in the way that I talk, although I sound more feminine than him. We had the same rhythm in our voice. Is that the right word? Rhythm?"

"Yeah, intonation maybe. The way your voice rises and falls," I offered. 

"Yeah. My other doctor  tells me I was just like him. He passed away four years ago." Her dark eyes shifted and she looked past me.

"I am really sorry," I said, catching her wandering gaze. "I'm a lot like my own dad too," I added. The conversation lost momentum. 

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Sanyelle." I replied, emphasizing the 'S' as I am so accustomed to doing. No one gets the benefit of the doubt anymore. I introduce myself to everyone with the assumption that they are hard of hearing.

"Danielle. That's a nice name. I'm Pat." she replied cheerfully. "Well, Danielle, I hope your cold goes away, and I hope that I see you here again. I am here all the time," she explained as she pulled open a stall door.

"It was nice meeting you, Pat," I replied as I exited the bathroom. 

Upon returning to the table, I finished my drink in brooding silence. She reminded me of my mother. 

all the thoughts wasted on you. and you. and you.

One showed up in my mini feed last night. A new picture of him taken by his new girlfriend. "Oh you look so great in this picture babe!" she says. "Thanks Sweety!" he replies. I throw up a little in my mouth and wonder how I ever dated him. For as long as I did. And almost married him.  Oh gosh.

One texted me this morning. Of all of  his countless friends, apparently I am the only one who might know which tax form he would need. And then he ended our brief text conversation with "Have a good day ms denim expert." Should I even bother telling him that I don't work at the Gap anymore? I mean, he has no idea of anything else that is happening in my life. So, instead, I didn't reply at all. 

One walked past me in CPO today. He reached out and touched my arm. In my mind, I reciprocated with a kick to the balls. Jacquelyn glared at him. I called him a name under my breath a few moments later, thinking he was gone. He was just around the corner. I really hope he heard. 

snip, snip

I swore that I would never get rid of the stuffed dog that he won me at King's Island. He had invested at least 50 dollars in winning it for me. I had never owned such an expensive stuffed animal.

Yesterday, as I lay in my bed staring out the window while Deanna and Julianna chatted on the couch, I thought once more about my emotionally eventful Spring Break. Deanna held the giant stuffed dog in her lap, fiddling with the red plastic collar and the floppy ears. I suddenly loathed the dog. I wished I could destroy it. Instead I offered it to Deanna, who seemed to enjoy it and saw its value as a good pillow. I looked at the pictures on my wall, pictures that I thought that I could look at without feeling pain. However, knowing that Andrew now has a new girlfriend has opened old wounds and brought on a whole new realm of feelings that I have never experienced before.

There is a picture of us kissing in the snow, a few pictures of us at the zoo, pictures of Christmas, and one of my favorite pictures of just him.

Now when I look at the pictures of him, I thought of all the time that was invested in him, in the relationship, and all the many memories that accumulated over the two and a half years we spent together. That coupled with the two bridal magazines on my book shelf has become too much for me. Especially since there is some new girl in his life that is filling my shoes. I hate what this is doing to me, this nasty side of me that it is slowly and methodically revealing. I know with total conviction that marrying Andrew would have been a horrible mistake for both of us. I know that he is not the best guy for me. I have since met many guys that I know would be better suited for me. Yet I do not like the idea that there is anyone out there that is better for him than me. I am such a bitch.

I know that these feelings are wrong, that they are foolish, selfish, and jealous. I cannot squelch them though. I can't stand the thought that after all that I invested in him, in that relationship, that someone else can just step in where I left off and make him happier than I ever did. There is also a lot of angst over the fact that he has moved on and is happily in a new relationship when all I have had is three guys in my life who "like me", but apparently not enough to do anything about it. All around me happy relationships are springing up and I am stuck in the same rut dealing with my trashed emotions and wondering when some man is going to come in my life and remind me that they do really exist.

I write this with a lot of bitterness. I write this from a very wrong state of heart and mind. I write this because all I have seen as far as relationships go with family and guys is failure after failure after failure. I am sick of constantly being let down. And I am sick of just being able to think and say, "Lord, be my everything," when I honestly feel no sincerity behind it. I know what my life should look like. Why can't I make it happen?

In other news, I just got a text message from my mother. Incredibly predictable. The same old story that makes me realize that I have even more removal to deal with in my life. I mentioned in my last post that I have to be done with home. I have to be done with that entire unhealthy community. The thought terrifies me, but also brings me a great sense of freedom. With my mother, things happen the same way. She always initiates contact, and after much prayer and thought, I reciprocate. There has been so much pain and so much shit that has happened, and the abyss between myself and my mother is increasing. I have muddled my way through trying to understand forgiveness, but I am slowly but surely learning that forgiveness does not necessarily mean reconciliation, especially if there is abuse present in the relationship. And there is so much abuse between my mother and I. I cannot even fathom a relationship with her at this point. That doesn't mean never, but it does mean right now, I cannot have relationship with her for my own sanity and my own safety. However, I wish that it could be simple, that I could just step back from her and forgive her and then move on for a time in my life when there isn't that self destructive relationship present. Even just recently, my attempts to let my mother into my life has twice blown up in my face and led to the usual hateful and abusive retaliations on her part, followed by an attempt to ask for forgiveness and manipulate me into a relationship with her.

Yet even as I write this, my heart is breaking. I know that my mom doesn't have any friends. I know that she is entirely alone. She has lost her whole family. She is not in a loving relationship with any of her kids. She has two ex husbands now. How can I resign myself to this and be okay with this much suffering in my mothers life and not try to reach out to her and love her? Yet how can I constantly subject myself to the abuse of being in a relationship with her?

Today in chapel we sang the song "This Is My Father's World". One of the lines that we kept repeating was, "This is my Father's world, why should my heart be sad?"

I can think of more reasons than I can count that I should be sad. This world is such a shitty place. There is heartache everywhere. I am certain that God is not happy all the time about the state of His creation, the state of His children. This is His world, and He is sovereign, but sorrow and heartache is a tangible result of the fall, and that is in fact, the world that we live in.

fragments

The sky above Chicago at twilight is a beautiful robin egg blue. The skyscrapers are bathed in a pale glow from the sun sinking in the west. It is a cool spring evening, and my window is cracked to let in the chill breeze.

I sit and listen to music, my thoughts throbbing in my head. Spring break taught me so many things. Most importantly, and most terrifyingly:

I am closing the door on home. And I don't have the faintest idea who I am.

I have divided myself into so many pieces, I cannot decipher what parts of me are real, and what parts are not. I know what I long for. I know who I want to be. I know who I want in my life, and who I don't want. Yet who I am, at my core, is a mystery.

Of late, I am constantly plagued by the same thoughts that have formed painful themes in heart and mind. And my greatest problem is probably that I cannot manage to disconnect my heart from my mind.

I am constantly restless, and this forms a thirst for new and exciting things. There is so much in life to experience, and life is so short, I want to be able to experience as much of it as I can. There is so much to see, so much to do... Yet I am stuck in the monotony of school work, and the endless grind of homework and working to pay my school bills. I am far from where my heart roams. I long to be around horses, around people that are broken and needy, places I have never been before.

I long for stability too. I want a place that I can come to when my heart does long to pause and rest. I want a community that is safe for me, where I will find love and support. I have this at Moody, but no where else. In the next three years, my Moody family will be scattered across the world, and I will have to rebuild again, or come to terms with what it means to be lonely.

This desire for stability plays off of my need to have someone to love, and to be loved by. As for now, I want a relationship, but am not quite ready for the serious commitment of marriage and settling down. I am simply not ready for that. I am looking for it in the future, but for now I want someone in my life to share my sense of adventure and to enjoy what it is to be young and not tied down by excessive responsibility. I just want to have a lot of fun for now, and make the commitment later... With that commitment comes the stability that I long for. Someone who I can come 'home' to, no matter where 'home' is.

At the end of the day though, the only one who can meet all my deepest needs is God. He is the only one Who is truly constant in my life, but it is hard to find all of my satisfaction in Him. He is the One who understands and knows me, better than I know me. He knows my needs and is faithful to meet them, and I know He is the One who will always be with me, no matter where I find myself.

There is always so much more to say. And I finish this post feeling sufficiently dissatisfied.

The last straw...

Worst day of spring break ever?

Well. If you consider the following:

1. Went to the doctor for an increasingly worse sore throat. I had to see my mom's favorite doctor. Never have I dreaded going to the doctor so much. In less than five minutes, he decided what antibiotics I need. As he was writing up my scripts, he lectured me. On how I need to be there for my mother. He even pulled the "You go to Christian school... You can find room in your heart to love your mother." There was so much I wanted to say to him. Starting with "Who the hell do you think you are?" I could have told him that I have tried to tell my mother many times that I love her. I could have told him that yesterday I went to see her for the first time in six months, but she did not want to see me. She didn't even acknowledge me, but instead got in her car and drove off. Yet, I'm not accountable to my family doctor for my relationship with my mom. Last I knew, he was there to diagnose my physical ailments. Not my family issues. I was so pissed off that I drove for over an hour. I drove 25 miles down a highway, to the interstate, and then took back roads through the southern part of the county I live in. It was warm enough to have the sunroof open and the windows down, and it was an opportunity to think about things and just cry, something that I have needed to do for a long time.

2. Upon arriving home from my long drive, I took a long shower, and then sat down to relax and watch TV. After sitting down with a coke and some chips, I heard a loud hissing sound, and a lot of dripping. There was water pouring out of the kitchen ceiling. Literally pouring, as if there was a miniature tsunami coming from the bathroom above. There was. As I ran upstairs, I found a large bag of my clothes soaking in a puddle that was rapidly forming. Water was gushing from some unknown source beneath the toilet. I called my dad, who instructed me on how to turn off the water in the basement. In the time it took for me to figure out how to shut off the water, two ceiling tiles had collapsed and broken to pieces as water continued to pour from the bathroom upstairs. There was water everywhere. By the time I was done frantically running from the basement to the upstairs, both pairs of my shoes were soaked all the way through, and my phone ended up drenched as well. (Fortunately, it is still working.)

Its not the worst that could happen, but in comparison to the rest of my two weeks off, today was definitely the most interesting.

girl with broken wings

On the porch, she will sit,/light another cigarette,/and take a sip of anything that makes it right./She's outside,/trying to hide/ from the fight just inside,/where her mom and her dad destroy each other./And on the phone she will call/every boy, yeah, one and all./They will touch her in all the right places./And in her room, she will slide/down the bed and try to fly,/and she will fall once again for the feeling./And as he grabs her brown hair,/she is faking/that the feeling he gives her is real/as the floor underneath the bed is breaking./She will finish what she starts with "I love you."/So from her head to her toes;/nervous hands and runny nose,/all of this just for one night of feeling./And in her ears she will hear/all the things that hide her fears/of dying young and making plans for the future./And all the marks on her arms/symbolize a fractured heart,/and all the boys that were smart/left her alone./So from the roof, she will fly/15 feet down the side/of the house where she once was happy./Yes it's true, she's aware/that she is breaking./And it's true, she can't do anything./Well in her blue underwear/she is thinking how in Jesus' precious name/she got here./Well it's sad, but it's true,/she is ending./But for now, she will pray for some wings./On a black Cadillac she is landing hard,/yet her parents' biggest worry is the car.

-Manchester Orchestra

I heard this song countless times before I actually listened to it. It breaks my heart to think of how many girls this song represents. There is no exaggeration in this song of the pain that it speaks of. This is reality.
How do I help?
I am surrounded by what seems like hopelessness. On the news, I heard of a woman whose toddler was playing in a busy street because she was too high to notice that the child had ran outside. What is going to become of that child whose mother is now in prison? He will probably be shuffled around the child care system from foster home to foster home.
What of the girl who woke up outside of a dorm on IU's campus after being raped by someone she thought that she could trust? How does a young woman recover from that kind of pain? How will she ever find healing, especially if she does not know Christ?
I hear story after story of children, teenagers, young adults, adults, even the elderly being abused and broken. I feel as if there is nothing I can do that will make a significant contribution in helping these people to heal. All I can hope to do is share the love of Christ with the suffering people that I do encounter, and pray that He will work miraculous healing in their lives.
And for the rest, for all the people in this world who are hurting so deeply that I will never meet, I can only mourn for them and pray for them...

Today I stood and walked away

"Today I stood and walked away, I'm never coming back this way."

I jogged out to my old beat up Taurus. I could barely see my breath. The ground was soggy, and the grass smelled wet with the rain that had fallen in the past hours. I looked up briefly at the sky, catching a glimpse of clouds and stars. It felt somehow strange and perfectly normal to be standing in the Lewis' front yard. Being at Sasha's house practically epitomizes my high school years. There were weeks where I spent more time at her house than I did my own.

The whole evening had been kind of surreal. I sat in the auditorium of my home church watching the youth group lead our evening service. They did a puppet skit that I had done when I was in high school. I barely recognized any of the kids in the youth group. Things were so different since when I was in the youth group. Back then we had actually had a youth pastor...

I realize now that not only has my church changed so much since I attended, but I have changed so much. I wonder if the 17 year old me would recognize the 21 year old me, or would have believed it if someone told her that she would someday have tattoos, had moved on past Arni, and would have a taste for things she never thought was okay.

I never dreamed that I would have a life without Arni in it. I used to think that tattoos were trashy (mostly because of my mom) and that drinking was wrong (because of my church). I never thought that I would enjoy the music I do today. I dress differently now. I have grown up, for the most part. And the most formative years of my 'growing up' have taken place in downtown Chicago.

How different would I be if I had gone to Cedarville or Grace? I wouldn't have met the people that have had the greatest influence on how I think. The past year has completely transformed the way that I see myself and the way that I think about God. I am still being challenged all the time in how I think about God. Its not even the professors that I have, but more so the friends that I have. My friends are so diverse and come from such different walks of life, all bringing into the mix a different way to think about things and consider God.

I think my environment has a lot to do with how I think and act too. Living and working in downtown Chicago has definitely given me an edge and a confidence that I would lack if I had stayed in a small town. I also live in a city with countless options of tattoo parlors. This combined with the fact that my best friend and every other Moody student has a tattoo led to my own tattoos. I also live in a city where there are literally countless bars and pubs on seemingly every block of Chicago. Seeing this lifestyle playing out in front of me every weekend has also had an influence on how I think.

What if I had never left Crawfordsville? What if I had stayed and done community college like so many of my friends and just stayed and worked here. I feel like my spiritual growth would have been stunted. Not to say that people who don't go to Bible College can't grow more spiritually, but I have had the chance to sit under the tutelage of great biblical scholars, and have had my faith challenged and stretched in ways I never would have dreamed possible if I had stayed home.

However, I do know that God gave me a desire to see the world, to stretch my horizons constantly. Even Chicago is growing old on me. I am ready for newer and better things. I am glad that He has called me out of my comfort zone into different places. I am glad that He has given me a passion for things that will provide plenty of exciting years. I am glad that He brought me into Chicago, a place where I could grow into myself.

It does cause me to question how much of a person is genuine personality, and how much of a person is just effected by environment. I have always had a desire to be 'rebellious'. I have always loved dying my hair and changing my looks. There are people in my life, such as Jacquelyn, who encourage those tendencies in me. But there are other aspects of my current lifestyle that I know are just because I live in a big city... I guess as time goes on, and I move from place to place, I will learn more of what I am really made of. One thing that will never change is the work of God in my life, which I am thankful that He will continue, no matter where I am at.

It is time to bid farewell to the quiet, small town part of myself for now. Perhaps I will come back to it again.

2:28

It is 2:28AM. I have been studying Asperger Syndrome and Autism since 6:30PM. With one break. I am physically and emotionally drained... Yet I am also very excited. And intrigued. And very sorrowful.

I have just watched 3 documentaries about living with an Autistic Spectrum Disorder. The first one was from the perspective of mothers who are raising a child with Autism. These women were women who have forsaken their own personal happiness to devote their lives to caring for children who cannot relate to them, respond to them, can barely speak to them. Children who will never be able to function fully in society. These women are exhausted and despairing, some on the verge of hopelessness. Some whose husbands have left them. The divorce rate among marriages who have a child with Autism was quoted at being 80%. I cannot even imagine...

One woman was speaking of having a daughter who could not be put into the public school system because of the severity of her disorder. She said that she would rather drive herself and her daughter off of a bridge than deal with the school system. Another woman described a future for her son that was void of any lasting relationships. He would never marry, never have children. She wept as she described the feeling of being at a wedding and watching the mothers and sons dancing, knowing she would never have that opportunity with her own son. The hopelessness is heartbreaking.

The second documentary was about a middle aged man with Asperger Syndrome. He described what it was like to realize that people have emotions, something that he never experienced himself. He was egocentric, in that he just assumed that every other person existed the same way that he did- on a purely physical level. He only understood what could be seen, measured, touched, he did not understand what it was like to feel something. He stands at a zoo, watching the monkeys, observing that even they know how to respond to a fellow creature who is injured, they know how to care and have relationships. This does not come naturally to this man. He has to learn. He prefers crystals to people. Crystals have regularity and predictability... People do not.

The third documentary featured a 14 year old named Reuben. Reuben has an IQ of 154, only about 10 points less than Einstein. Yet he is terrified of crowds, struggles to shop for groceries, and is bullied because of his social ineptness. He is absolutely brilliant, but still manages to feel like an idiot when it comes to relating to people. He feels more empathy for a book that has been purchased and therefore has a sense of belonging than he does for a fellow person.

Within the Autism Spectrum Disorders there is great variation. There are those who are more cognitively disabled, and there are those who are Autistic Savants. For example, the real Rain Man: A man who can tell you all about the interstate systems that connect all of the cities in the USA, who can tell you within seconds of being asked how old Winston Churchill would be this year, and on what day of the week his birthday would fall, who can memorize the numbers of a phone book and what number belongs to who, who can read two pages in 7-8 seconds (one eye on each page) and retain 98% of what he just read... there is also Daniel Tammit who sees numbers with colors, textures, and personalities, who can remember thousands of the numbers in Pi. There is the man, who after being smashed in the head with a baseball bat, can recall the weather of any date since his accident, for example "August 10th of 1981 was a Wednesday, and it was overcast and cooler than usual"... It is mind blowing what the human mind can be capable of. Yet the genius doesn't come without cost. These men struggle to have relationships with people. They cannot understand human emotion. When they see a person smile or laugh, frown or cry, the neurons in their brain simply don't respond. What would it be like to lack emotion, to be surrounded by people that you can't relate to and understand, to be an alien? How terribly lonely it must be... Yet some of them don't even realize that they are alone.

How do you present the Gospel to a person who can't feel emotions? How can you make them understand their need for a personal relationship with God? They can't function relationally. It is overwhelming to me.

Yet there is hope for these people. And one way I have seen it happen is through the healing powers of animals.

As a young girl in middle school, one of my best friends was an old white horse who had been badly abused and abandoned. The connection I had with him was inexplicable. He needed me and I needed him, and there was something very healing found in that relationship. Children who are abused, who are unable to connect and relate to people, who have disorders of all kinds can find healing and acceptance with animals. In the case of Autism, take for example the story of Rowan. Rowan was severely autistic. By the age of six years old, he was not communicating, had no control over his bowel movements, and was prone to fits so intense he was compared to the exorcist. His life was radically changed after running right under the hooves of a hot tempered horse. Instead of trampling him to death as was expected, the horse dropped her head and instead displayed submission to Rowan. Rowan's father instantly sought permission from the horse's owner to let Rowan ride. As soon as Rowan was put on the horse's back, Rowan began to speak full sentences. He was instantaneously calmed. There was something about being on a horse, or holding a goat in his arms, or petting a reindeer, that soothed Rowan's troubled soul.

Children who are badly abused, who can't form bonds with people because of an attachment disorder, they can form bonds with animals. An animal, whether a horse, dog, cat, or goat, can provide a listening ear without any form of reproach or condemnation, a security that humans cannot offer.

To some it sounds bogus. But to anyone who has a beloved pet, it is certain that there is something about an animal that can be calming and comforting, that can offer hope and the feeling of being needed.

There is so much good that can come out of animal assisted therapy. Children can be aided physically by being around animals. Horseback riding can be used to strengthen children with cerebral palsy. The rocking motion of a horse's gait triggers something in the brain that encourages speech development. Children can build character though AAT. Having to care for an animal also teaches a child responsibility and gives them a certain feeling of ownership. Children can find emotional healing with AAT. They can talk to an animal without any fear of being judged, condemned, or shouted at. They can learn to trust something. And what a foundation for teaching them how to have a relationship and trust in other people, and perhaps, eventually, their Creator.

Animal Assisted Therapy and Equine Therapy can meet many needs for children with disabilities, but it cannot fulfill their spiritual needs. Perhaps it can be a means, but in itself it cannot show a child the love of Christ. And that is what excites me about my own role in working with kids through this kind of therapy. I would love to be able to minister to a family with a child who has a disability. I would love to just love them, and share with them the love that I have found in my relationship with God. I would be thrilled to be able to have any kind of connection with a child who finds it hard to relate to and understand other people. And even if they could not understand or engage with me in a relationship, I could still show love and reassurance.

The more that I study and learn about kids with Autism Spectrum Disorders, the more anxious I am to learn more and to get involved in the ministry that I have such a passion for. For now though, God does have me at Moody Bible Institute, and I know that it is with purpose. Although I sometimes wonder if it is the best school for me, God has miraculously brought and kept me here, so I am trying to not take advantage of the opportunity, and to learn what I can from the classes I do have... All the while God is refining and cultivating my heart for Him and for the children that He has created.

Disoriented

Systematic Theology is an interesting class. It is just a little too much for 2 hours, right after lunch. Normally I have my laptop with me, and I pass the time playing solitaire and spider solitaire while putting forth a sincere effort to stay awake and pay attention. However, upon returning to my room to get my dear laptop today, Ruth had left it on and unplugged, resulting in no power. Therefore, no laptop... So I actually took notes. And tried to pay attention. And what do you know? Now I have a lot to blog about...

Today we talked about faith and repentance, issues that I sincerely believe that most Christians don't think about and consider enough. Our faith is complex and the way that we live our lives should hinge on our belief, therefore serious consideration should be given to these seemingly simple issues. What is faith? What is repentance?

When it comes to faith and the whole process of election, salvation, and sanctification, I find myself questioning and reconsidering of late. The conclusions that I have come to at this point are as follows:

For His own divine purpose and good pleasure (why He would find pleasure in this, I do not know), God chose me before time. Wow. He did NOT choose me based on any foreknowledge. He didn't see that I would be receptive to His Gospel and choose me because of it, He chose me because He will be glorified in it and because He takes pleasure in it. All I can do is be sincerely appreciative for this gift of life that I do not deserve. Because of this decision to take mankind and redeem those He chose, Christ had to step in and take the punishment of sin upon Himself. Therefore, Christ, Who in His very nature is LIFE, submitted Himself to death. While hanging on the cross, He bore the wrath and hatred of God. I cannot imagine the depths of the suffering of the Lamb of God. But because He took my place, I now have life. Not only do I have life, but I have fellowship with God and innumerable and immeasurable spiritual blessings.

As I have discussed in a past post, the idea that God, YHWH, the One True God, impregnated a Jewish girl to give birth to His holy Son, who would grow up only to die on a pile of trash outside of Jerusalem is absolutely absurd to the human mind. Of my own human volition, I would never buy it. Who would? Paul wrote to the Corinthians, "The natural person does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned." (1 Corinthians 2:14) So, praise God, He granted me faith. I have come to the conclusion that God reveals Himself and His love, His lavishness, His grace, His freedom, and His life to those whom He has chosen. What else can our response be but to choose Him? We were created for fellowship with Him. It is what it means to be human. If a lion is offered a salad or a steak, the lion will choose the steak. It is what he was made for. If God offers life or death, love or wrath, our natural inclination will be to choose life and love.

I have not been able to fully flesh out all of the implications of this doctrine, but I know that I am chosen, that I have eternal life. I know that I have been offered the love of God and that God has granted me the faith to believe it. There are points in all of this doctrine that I could be wrong about, that I have misunderstood, but over the past year, this is where I have found myself.

Today I was challenged to rethink repentance and its implications. Repentance, as I have been taught growing up, is a turning from a lifestyle of sin and choosing to walk in obedience. However, this was challenged today. Repentance can certainly entail this obedience, but our salvation cannot rest on our choice to never sin again. It is a commitment that we break every single day. Perhaps we can alter our language in this theology. As Luther put it, repentance is a reorientation. It is a choice to no longer be oriented to self, but to God. And out of this choice, out of our new desire to please God, we choose to say no to sin and self, and say yes to the things of God.

I have found the thought of reorientation far more profound and impacting than the thought of choosing to sin no more. Because I will sin again. And again. And again. And again. But if I reshape my thinking to reorient my mindset, my heart, and my will to the things of God rather than the things of self, it is something that can be decided instantaneously by the grace of God, a choice that will no doubt include flux, but can redefine my life.

Death to sin, coming alive in Christ.

It is a daily labor, but hopefully a labor of love. It is a labor that brings life and joy. It brings us into closer fellowship with God, and perpetuates our conformity to Christ.

Happy New Year

I am overwhelmed with school work. Therefore, I blog.

Today I was supposed to go to my PCM. In the five weeks that school has been in session, I have been to PCM once. That was two weeks ago. So, being the dutiful and responsible student that I am, I left for Chinatown at a little after 3 this afternoon. As I was waiting for the train, I didn't notice any of my fellow students waiting for the train. I thought perhaps they had caught an earlier one. I was enjoying my music, listening to One Headlight by the Wallflowers. As I got on the train, I sat across from an attractive guy wearing dark aviators. He had long-ish curly hair that was falling in his face. He pulled out a clear ziplock bag of what I naively thought looked like tea. However, I do not think that most people roll up tea into a joint. He just sat there with the joint in his mouth until he got off on the next stop. My attention was then drawn to another attractive boy- also wearing sunglasses in the seat diagonal to mine. As I was noticing his attractiveness, I also noticed he was massaging the neck of the guy sitting next to him. A little weird... And then he was rubbing his ear.

Dang.

I got off the train in Chinatown, oblivious to all of the signs that wished all visitors a happy new year. I also did not question that the majority of the people on the streets were white. As I got to Pui Tak, the obvious became clear to me as I peered in the dark window.

In vain, I called several friends in hopes that they could look up the number for my PCM partners, just so I could be certain. After standing outside shivering and cursing the fact that I was not up to date on the Chinese calendar, I stalked back to the train station and headed back to Moody.

Exactly one hour after I left, I was back in my room.

At least I already paid for unlimited CTA service. Therefore the only thing wasted was my time.

I am not my own...

Prior to yesterdays post, I had not updated in over 2 months... One reason for this was for the majority of my Christmas break, I was taking a break in my relationship with technology. Another reason is that there was not much good for me to say. My life hasn't been horrible- there wasn't an absence of good things in my life- but I had let my circumstances drag me into a very wrong state of heart and mind.

However, throughout the most of Christmas break, I did find moments of healing even in the midst of a bout of depression. On December 25, after reading Psalm 143, I wrote:

"I am learning a lot about myself and my deep need for a relationship with God. I am finding that my heart is starting to resound more and more with David and his Psalms... My soul often despairs as I realize how much pain there is in life. But there is good in it. I realize more and more my need for healing, my need for a heavenly Father, and a heavenly lover. "

On the 27th:

"I still also struggle with the fact that so many of my desires are in contradiction with the Gospel, with the will of God. Its so hard to continually put those things to death. It become exhausting, to constantly fight myself and struggle to always persevere and not take the 'easy way out', which all leads to my constant propensity to self loathing."

Jan 1st:

"'Joy: an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction'- C.S Lewis"

Jan 2nd:

"Despair is an awful, awful thing. It is the loss of hope, the last flame flickering and dying, plunging you into an abyss of darkness. It is the thought of a loved one being in a place, that if it were yourself, you would never survive. My mother may never know or understand my love for her. She may die thinking that her children and husband hated her. The thought makes me ill. I despair- because I cannot see reconciliation or healing. I can only see the pain in my past and the future heartache that is always ever in store for my family."

Jan 3rd:

"My self-diagnosis? Depression. Also known as a predisposition to feel like shit about myself. But not only that- a longing for my innocence, for the summer of 2006, lying in the grass, midsummer with Catie, wondering if this could be what heaven is like. Cliffy throwing an ant lion in my hair, night swims, star gazing, John Reuben, Michael and our twin-ness, falling for the lifeguard. Everything was great then. My family was still intact. I can't really remember the bad things. Just all the good."

Jan 4th:

"I admire Amanda and her lifestyle so much, and the way she lives gives me so much to consider. What would my life look like if I closed out the influences of the world? Stopped watching TV and movies and got rid of my secular music? Is that even realistic for a 20 year old college student? ... And Friday I am seeing Arni. Good old Arni. If I married him, I could have the life I think I've always wanted. But I am think I am certifiable and that this is a horrid idea. I want a guy who will pursue me, fight for me, fight with me! It just sucks that I gave Arni a good 2 1/2 years. Not that it was time wasted. But now I'm in debt 2000 dollars to his family. Damn. And his parents dislike me. I burnt that bridge with my heretical blog. Hmm. Well I guess we'll see how fucked up things can get..."

Jan 5th:

"In reading Colossians it is so interesting to me the way in which Paul describes the death of Christ in legal terms, discussing authority, circumcision, ,trespasses and the like. The most beautiful thing is this: My God took on fullness of flesh while maintaining the fullness of deity and His authority. In His death and resurrection, He defeated and shamed evil and cancelled the debt of sin owed by believers. Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow. My debt is paid! I've been set free! God sees my as justified. Praise Him!"

Such was my Christmas break: a roller coaster of depression and discoveries of the heart of God for me, and my need for Him. Upon returning to Moody, I let myself go spiritually, and God has been slowly but surely nagging at my heart again.

So many bad habits have cluttered my heart and I have bowed to false god, after false god, after false god. Today, Pastor Nathan preached a sermon that I feel was just for me.

[Preface] Yesterday, I was on a train for 3.5 hours, which gave me a long time to think. The song "Holy" by Nicole Nordeman came on my Zune (which seems to have an uncanny tendency to find the minority of music that is Christian and play it while on shuffle). The song really got to me and started a long thought process of re-evaluating my lifestyle of late.

So here it is; the culmination of the train ride, reading the Bible for the first time in a long time last night, and the powerful sermon this morning:

God gave everything for me. Everything.

For the Israelites, their very existence was hinged on their relationship to the Creator God. Every part of their day was oriented towards God. Their lives were acts of worship- giving, thanking, praying, sacrificing, celebrating... Their entire identity rested on God. They knew that all that they had was from Him: the food they ate, their freedom from bondage, the clothes they wore, the crops they harvested. It was all from God. On their last night in Egypt, God spared them from the punishment he exacted on the Egyptians. Although during their tenure in Egypt, the Israelites too had turned to false gods and were equally deserving of punishment, God provided a way for them to be spared- a brilliant foreshadowing of Christ's work on the cross. After they found their freedom, He asked for the consecration of their firstborns, not only of their firstborn sons, but the firstborn of their livestock and later, the firstfruits of their harvest. The children would be consecrated to the LORD. The sheep would be sacrificed. Even the donkeys would have to be atoned for. Why? So that the Israelites were reminded that they owed their very existence to Yahweh. He in turn demanded the best of them, their worship, their love. The Shema demands that we love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, and might. I cannot say in honesty that I have ever been able to love God that way. I will never be able to love Him the way that He deserves to be loved.

I do not understand, when I am reminded almost every day that I am in a relationship with a God who gave Himself fully for me, why I am not compelled to love Him above all else. Why it is that although I have a God who loves me so completely, and only wishes to see me become conformed to the likeness of His Son (which is the best possible existence to have), I always turn to other things in life to find satisfaction and pleasure? Why am I not so compelled to love God, and live every single day as an act of worship and devotion to Him? Where is the disconnect in my feeble human mind? He is God. The One True God. The God who died for me. The God whose purpose for my life is to enjoy Him, and therefore be glorified. Why do I spend so much of my life face down in front of the idol of self? Why do I run from Him? What must He do to fully have my heart. That is a scary thought. But it compels me to pray and plead for God to continue to break me, to remind me of my need for Him. Today was a good reminder. There are many things in my life that must be killed... The process will be a long one, until the day that I die. But He is faithful, and will not leave me here in this mess I have made of myself.

There is much more to be said, more that I would like to reflect on... but there will be more time for that. The bottom line is this:

I am not my own, for I have been made new.

Living for myself must be stopped. Living for Him, enjoying Him, serving Him; it must commence.

We suffer

Another friend miscarried. She was at the end of her first trimester. What is there that you can say to ease the pain of a loss like that? God could have prevented this. Why didn't He?

Why?

Why are my parents getting a divorce? Why is my mother sick and alone? Why doesn't my little brother believe anymore? Why do unborn babies have to die? Why is there so much suffering outside my window?

The list goes on and on... God is sovereign, and He is good. He suffers too. He sees the world He has created, the people He has taken time to carefully design, and all of their pains. He allows death and destruction. He didn't stop the earthquake that ruined Haiti... It hurts Him too, so why does He allow all of it? I know that we live in a fallen world, that death is the result of our sin nature, but the amount of pain and suffering on this planet would seem to indicate that we serve a cold hearted God who doesn't have a concern for the billions of people on earth. So it would seem.

But that isn't the God that we serve. We serve a God that we cannot begin to understand. A God whose depths we would lose ourselves in if we tried to understand Him. We serve a tender loving God that has a very special love for those that He has chosen. And even those He loves He breaks, and binds them up again. He never punishes- Christ bore that. The life and death of an unborn child is not wasted. As cliche as the truth is, it is still truth: Our God has a plan.

Suffering is such an intense emotion, and common to all people, yet people handle it so differently. Today, as I sat and watched Christie weeping for her dear friend, I thought of my own times spent locked up and Christie and Jackie's room, sobbing- mourning the brokenness of my family. Jacquelyn, Ruth, Christie, and Christy sat around me as I wept, offering their soft condolences and praying for me. My suffering looked so much different than Christie's. There is always more anger in my emotions, more frustration. I question with more passion, with more disturbance. When it comes to feeling at all, to expressing my thoughts and emotions, it always seems to be more fiery than what I see in others. Christie considers herself to be a more emotional person, and as far as outward displays of emotion go, I would agree most of the time. However, my own emotions are more inwardly self destructive than outwardly expressive. And when they are outwardly expressed- it is more often than not inappropriately expressed.

I do think it is natural and okay to question and to be upset with our circumstances. We were not made for pain and suffering. We were created for complete, unhindered communion and fellowship with God. We weren't created for this separation, this process of living and dying, all the while being broken and brought low, our lives pockmarked with loss after loss after loss. It seems a great injustice. But if we, as sinful humans are seeking justice- we find it in damnation. That is justice. Yet God has reinvented justice, in a sense.

And one day the tears will be wiped away, and perhaps life will be like some vague dream, or some horrifying nightmare that we have been rescued from. And we will have what we were created for, we will be who we were created to be.