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.