Un-Prose

All the lies I let myself believe, will they someday haunt me, be whispered in my sleep? Tell me true, for there is there is value in honesty. I realize that I shoot myself in the foot with the same regularity as I eat, and I’m not foolish enough to believe that that’s mostly for the cause of enabling others, though it is occasionally.

I’m more selfish than I want to be; sometimes it’s hard to believe there is yet goodness in me. Once I had convinced myself I was artsy, but now I know that I’m just angsty… the drama queen I always strove not to be. Are we ever who we want, in reality?

Fame is fleeting, as is beauty. I’ve been lucky enough not to be granted either in excess. Nor do I have great knowledge, though I once thought I liked philosophy  Philosophists’ agonizing over-analyzing killed that theory. Yet, even in these words I seek to be more known. In everything I am the antithesis of all I hoped to be. I show, in all things, too much of my humanity, which I’m told is tacky…but I always admired vulnerability.

There are moments I wish I could freeze, but really nothing is all that we remember it to be. In conclusion, I’ll refrain from over-speculation on where I see myself, let alone our nation in any span of time: a month, a year… Though, through ash colored glasses, I see myself not much closer to my destination, yet closer to death. Make what you will of that prediction. Kind salutations to you on your trek, whose path crossed with mine on this occasion. Fare thee well.

Conformist Success?

I like to think sometimes that I am a nonconformist, but really I work within the system, and today I am tentatively excited to announce that I’m taking what I’m hoping is a step up within that system. I’ve gotten accepted for a new job. I don’t expect it to be perfect. Nothing is all it’s advertised to be, but I can say that the workers there that I saw through the large glass window while I waited in the lobby for my interview, well…they seemed happy. Happiness at work is something I value highly…though a laid back dress code, flexible hours, and benefits don’t hurt either. I wonder what the names of those people are? I wonder, what are their stories?

I’m taking a risk. Today I have to tell the owner of the grocery store, see if he’ll keep me on part time or not. Today I’m taking a tangible, somewhat scary step forward in response to my restless spirit, of late. I’m accepting the possibility of leaving my comfortable, routine job entirely after my two weeks’ notice is up. I’ve always appreciated the lyrics to the Carmen song that defines faith as “Stepping out on there and finding somethin’ there.” I feel like I’m stepping out on air right now, and I really hope that I do, in fact, find something there. Yet I realize that I may not. And, if that is the case I’ll have to find something else, maybe a lesser job. Performance based employment is risk. Telemarketing isn’t  exactly what many would consider to be an honorable career. But, for me, it is at least a refusal to settle. I see so many people who have given up and settled for a job at the store permanently. Sometimes I see the sentiments that caused them to content themselves with this lot in life in myself, and that scares me. So yeah, that’s what’s new in my life. I’m becoming a doer, and not just a talker. We shall see how it all turns out. Not many people would consider a job of this nature an adventure, but for me it is, and I’m setting out to prove all the naysayers wrong.

So, that’s the long and short of where I am right now. Actually, it’s the short version. There’s more that it isn’t ready to be written yet. But I can’t leave a post as short as two paragraphs, so I’ll share this poem of St. Francis that I happened upon framed on the wall at my sister’s future college. I may write on it more on the future, I know not. For now I shall commentate only that it was thought provoking for me, and I would love to hear your reactions…

 

” 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

¶

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

¶

Amen.

                                                                                                 “

 

Mess Of Ponderings

I think I shall go buy a new wardrobe because the old one doesn’t suit me anymore. How cliche, money-wasting, and impulsive, right? Did I mention that, yet again, it is late and I am writing even though I have to get up at an udgodly hour for work? Old habits never change, do they? Nor do old sins. I struggle with the same things over and over, as any faithful reader of my blog would attest. Meanwhile, Christian movie reviewers at http://www.pluggedin.com condemn this film partially ( I get that there are other condemning factors) for its underlying theme–questioning people’s ability to truly change. I look around me and within myself and question too.

Anyhow, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is a thought provoking movie. Its premise has been the start of several fascinating conversations at work regarding whether or not coworkers would want any portions erased from their memories…when I get the chance to talk. Sometimes it feels like people only listen as a courtesy, and promptly butt in unleashing their problems as soon as a civil point for opening that topic presents itself. But I suppose I have no room to complain. Recently I went to my self-assigned honorary grandmother’s house (she’s a coworker). It only took a few caring questions, and then there was no turning off my babbling. I felt guilty after…but sometimes a person needs to just get everything out, you know? She thinks God wants me to stay at this job right now. I’m not so sure.

Speaking of needing to get it all out… I got a call while at work the other day from an elderly customer. She wanted to know about dog food, although she didn’t yet have a dog, nor any especially hopeful prospects of obtaining one. It ended up that we discussed much more than dog food, however. She told me of her heart problems, she has them like her dad did only worse. They didn’t have the money  to fix him, so his killed him, and her problems, well, they’re past the point that doctors can fix them even though she (apparently) has money, yet she is bound and determined that she’s going to go join the military. After all “Everyone in this town is a nutcase. Don’t you think so?” She ended off saying she’d pray  for me. She just needed someone to talk to. Sometimes I think I get along with the old and the young better than anyone else.

I don’t know where this post is heading or where to end. Nothing has changed since last post. I’m still drawn to the new, but allowing my comfort zone and financial state to hold me back. I thought recently of the title of a John Piper book I once read, though I didn’t particularly care for it:” Don’t Waste Your Life”. Much like the book trailer for Rosalie de Rosset’s “Unseduced and Unshaken”, his title drew me–the questions suggested by it are compelling–but I found the book to be an unsatisfactory answer. How does one go about not wasting his life? How does one gain the willpower to be unseduced and unshaken? Where is the key to fulfillment, and strength, and dignity? Most Christians are afraid to go at  those questions with anything less that Sunday School answers, so, I suppose, to these authors’ credit, at least they tried. Anyhow, I’m once again off topic, and the hour is late. Unfortunately, sleep is a necessity  as is my dull job, at least until I happen upon something better. I suppose this post is naught but a mess of ponderings.

Goodnight my friends.

 

 

 

Restless

“I wanted to be a rockstar–sing for a living. I did for a while, I guess. I opened for a few famous bands…you wouldn’t know them. But hey, if that’d happened I’d never have gotten to work at this palace.”

Sarcasm runs thick in his last sentence. He works morning crew, up well before the sun to stock shelves; he sings for a local cover band on  weekends, always looking for a gig. He piqued my curiosity. I started asking others: “What was your dream job when you were younger?” She was hesitant to divulge.

“I don’t know…

“Come on there must’ve been something.”

“Well, I used to want to work at a bakery.”

“You should. You would be good at that.”

“Oh, it’s too late now…”

Her attention to detail, the perfectly dribbled white chocolate accents on her once-a-year chocolate covered strawberries, her flawless fruit trays. On her off days she bakes cookies with her young granddaughter, then comes in showing pictures. (“Look how well she did for her age.”) Maybe it runs in the genes.

“I wanted to be a major league baseball player, but my realistic dream was to be a teacher.”

“What kind?”

“Oh, I didn’t have that nailed down yet…maybe History or Economics. A teacher and a coach.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“My dad ran off with his girlfriend, and we were kind of backwards, you know…didn’t know how to get loans and stuff.” 

He would’ve made a great teacher and coach. He teaches in church now and again, using object lessons; he’s and umpire during the softball season in the effort to earn a little extra cash.

I’ve been restless lately, itching to move on. I think it’d be fun to work at a zoo or as a truck driver, or something… Maybe it’s stupid to want that. My manager is amazing. He gave me two ice cream sandwiches today, slipped me money to take a coworker who’s been down out to eat last week.  You can’t put a price tag on that. Money shouldn’t matter, even if I could make more money working at McDonald’s than here, but, at the same time I don’t want to work produce my whole life long. I want to make a difference, see the world–but also watch my brother’s grow up. As usual I’m conflicted.

I don’t want to be a tragedy like their stories. Years go tricking by. I have enough dreadlocks to enjoy, but not too many to hide. Could I get hired? Do I want to? I’ve not always had much luck with that in the past, but now I can say I have some job experience under my belt. Even so, there aren’t many options for jobs around here, unless I want factory work. Or I could move. Now there’s a scary prospect.

These are the thoughts that occupy my mind, my time. Is this restless a prompting of God, or my own selfishness manifested? I’ve always been enticed by the idea of travel, being a vagabond as described by Robert W. Service in his poem The Men Who Don’t Fit In:

“There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,

    A race that can’t stay still;

So they break the hearts of kith and kin,

    And they roam the world at will.

They range the field and they rove the flood,

    And they climb the mountain’s crest;

Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,

    And they don’t know how to rest.”

.

But that’s just the first stanza. The rest reads:

.

“If they just went straight they might go far;

    They are strong and brave and true;

But they’re always tired of the things that are,

    And they want the strange and new.

They say: “Could I find my proper groove,

    What a deep mark I would make!”

So they chop and change, and each fresh move

    Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs

    With a brilliant, fitful pace,

It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones

    Who win in the lifelong race.

And each forgets that his youth has fled,

    Forgets that his prime is past,

Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead,

    In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;

    He has just done things by half.

Life’s been a jolly good joke on him,

    And now is the time to laugh.

Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;

    He was never meant to win;

He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone;

    He’s a man who won’t fit in.”

.

No matter what I do I’ll never fit in, but it seems to me that this is the part of life where I choose if I’ll go straight and (supposedly) far, or bounce around everywhere and get (supposedly) nowhere., My instinct says go roam, though my comfort zone holds me back. Any advice for someone on the brink? Any stories? What did you dream of being way back when?

Falling apart

In the end everything always falls apart. It always hurts, at first as a sharp pain and later as a dull, ever-present ache. I’ve watched a couple of my friends, whose lives I used to joke were perfect in comparison with mine, go through hard times lately. It hurts to watch. I don’t believe in happy endings anymore. Or, maybe, in my head I do believe in them (I believe in Heaven, after all), but my heart contradicts that belief. I’ve watched every good, happy thing fall apart and injure those who cherish it; I’ve been through heartache myself. I cry a lot more than I used to. I read the Bible. I read about the righteous and the wicked, judgement day, repentance, hope…I listen to sermons.  I know that God can turn heartbreaking events into beauty, but it doesn’t feel that way. Yes, yes, feelings can be wrong, I know, but let me be raw and vulnerable, ok?

All around me there is so much pain…that I’m supposed to have the answer to. Another person trying to get by, get through another day. A few weeks ago, sitting in a parking lot waiting for my sister to get off work I overheard a tear filled conversation. “I’ll get through. I’m a big girl. Ok?” It was clear she was trying to convince herself as much as the person on the other end of the line. A conversation like that is only supposed to happen in a movie, a story that will be brought to a satisfying conclusion. But shattered people aren’t just in stories. They’re everywhere. Striving, sad, imperfect, struggling people fill the pews on Sunday, drive the streets, check out as I (just another person fighting through another day) bag for them at the grocery store, stand behind the register and check others out.

How can I, just another hurting member of the human race, help them? So often the broken don’t even want to heal, instead they embrace and work towards their own destruction. Maybe the only happy endings are the funerals of the saints, to which we wear black, at which we mourn. No surprise, humanity always seems to have everything backwards, from priorities to what we mourn. Here I stand, again, having exhausted my mind considering a question only to be still without answers. Any thoughts?

Poems: Experiential & Elaboration

Camp was good. Life has been busy since then so I’m behind. Maybe eventually there’ll be a post here about camp, but maybe not. I make no promises. Anyhow, for now, here are two poems that I had written before camp, but hadn’t had a chance to put up. The first is based on experience, the second is an elaboration on this Pinterest quote about an oxymoron we moronic humans often live.

I miss you every day,
Both in ways I know and can’t explain.
Remember when you said
I’d forget,
No one cared,
That the world would be better off without you here?
You were wrong.
You took your life (relatively) long
Ago,
And I know
That my grieving will never end.
The world’s a darker place without you, and
I know reliving choices…regret,
I know regret won’t help me get
Better.
Bet whether
You’re in Haven or Hell,
Well,
That’s at least partly my responsibility
I can’t help feeling your choice was affected by disability.
It’d be fine
If we could switch eternal destinations,
Your past versus mine…
But, much to my frustration,
Things don’t work that way.
Everyone pays for his deeds.
God, please,
Did you help him see at the last instant?
I can’t
Handle life with a smile as I used to.
People ask if I’m ok. Do
I need someone to talk to?
But talking doesn’t help me get over you.
I hate depression like some people hate cancer.
As with that there is no answer,
No cure.
I watch depression’s vicious cycle take more
Into its grip.
I watch as they slip
Beyond where I can reach,
And I die a little more each
Time.
Not all truths rhyme:

I’m beginning to think there’s nothing I could change even if I could rewind.

So I’ll drink another draught from the cup of sorrow,
Sleep, awake, and face tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And she wished upon a dream
That her secrets would be seen
For what they were by some wild, keen
Man-child.

And that he would excavate her soul
Unearthing pieces, sketching a whole
Portrait of her true person
He heart in the nude, un-shrouded from role
Playing.

And in her fervent prayers and fears
She hoped his heart would ever steer
Closer to the truth of her feral, rearing self.

That someone be less afraid of
Her ugliness than she.
That man-child, made of tender persistence
Could see in her beauty…
Mine her depths,
Find something to cherish
In the wreck,
Fight and not perish
Against inner battlements she’d set up.
That he might, somehow, fall in love.

I tend to like the first one better. I’d love to know your thoughts and/or critiques!

 

 

Awakening

“I want to wake up kicking and screaming.
I want to live like I know what I’m leaving.
I want to know that my heart is still beating.”
~Switchfoot

I get so lost in the haze these days. Granted, I probably remember the past as being more simple than it truly was, but still… I’m looking for answers in what feels like a half-asleep daze, yet I dislike both those who claim to have simple, pat solutions and those who say “Your choice…I don’t want to sway you.” Why don’t we all come with instruction manuals?

I complain too much. I’ve got it good compared to many, both in mental and physical ways; to grumble about feelings of stagnation and apathy really doesn’t do anyone any good, but then what does? Someone told me “You did come with an instruction mainual– God’s Word.” It isn’t that simple. I don’t like change, but neither do I like rutstuckedness. I think I would take change over these feelings. Maybe I’ll meet God at camp and He will tell me what to do, but I have my doubts.

Doubts…I think I have all of the disciples’ weaknesses: doubting Thomas, impulsive Peter, wanting God to do what I expect is his plan and remove my troubles (for him the Romans) Judas. So many weaknesses and so few strengths. I wish I got directions in visions like Paul. “Go here. Do this.” But I guess we all have different versions of the thorn in the flesh to remind us of our humanness. That’s something I hope never to forget– my unworthiness and God’s grace. Our camp theme is going to be “It’s Not About Me”, something this grumbler could use to be reminded of. It’s about Him and His glory and His plan, even when I see no semblance of an organized plan in my life.

I need to get out of this fog. I want to wake up, know what I’m leaving, feel my heart beating, and really live, whether that means leaving the humdrum and mundane behind or learning to live voraciously in the midst of routine I do not know. I rather hope it is the former. Care to share any ideas of what has helped you to break out of spiritual ruts? I would love the help of The Body. Tell me, how do you keep from losing heart? How do you stay spiritually awake?

Poem

Once in a while I’m good for a poem, and it’s been a while since I last posted one, so here for good measure is my once in a while poem.

 

Words fill all the pages.
I finally closed the book…
End to a season brimming
With tragedy and hope.
Each page bears a story;
I can go back and look
The places that I’ve come from,
My past, and all that took
The pieces of my heart
And then ran away or died,
The people that I’ve loved,
The occasions that I’ve cried.
To me it’s sacred ground,
or rather, pages there inside.
Chapters of my journey…
Tell me, what is yet to come?
What will the final page say
When my life is gone and done?
One journal is complete now.
Another will soon begin.
I wonder, oh I wonder,
what stories will it hold within?

The Definition of Friendship

 

I know a girl who, when she was in grade school, was asked to write down the name of her best friend in the class on a slip of paper. Her teacher instructed everyone in the class to…but she refused. That same teacher later called the

girl’s mother to tell her that out of all of the slips from the rest of the class the little girl’s name appeared the most; the girl who refused to choose one, to say one person as a best friend was a best friend to so many others. They called her their best friend. Maybe they didn’t have anyone else. Things are so simple in childhood, and yet they are echoes of what is to come.  That girl isn’t little anymore, she’s all grown up, and she feels so alone. Life is tragic, and so often I’ve found that though each of us are surrounded by people most of us feel alone, misunderstood, friendless… Through 7 cups, through everyday encounters in the workplace, in my people place (the school), on facebook. This truth keeps recurring–this overwhelming feeling of aloneness that overcomes the minds of individuals, despite our connected culture, despite our interactions, despite all the best friends catchphrases, and the images we paste on social media of us smiling and surrounded by people, I have come to the realization that most of us feel alone.

I wonder if this is different from, say, ten years ago when life was slower and connections, though fewer, were perhaps more meaningful with depth, or maybe this is an occurrence that has been as pervasive as now ever since man’s fall in the Garden of Eden? Do all of ya’ll have any thoughts on that? Loneliness will not exist in Heaven. What a sweet, relieving thought. But for now it must be dealt with in the long nights, yes, but also in the days when we paste on our happy face whilst surrounded by people, when we practice our small talk skills exchanging recipes and meaningless anecdotes in the attempt to make conversation, doing our best to keep deep or controversial things left by the wayside.  That’s a pet peeve of mine. What is the point of interaction void of meaning? It’s stupid. Chitchat is ridiculous. Let’s talk about the meaning of life not the salad dressing you made for last night’s dinner. Mayhap I’m weird, and thus alone. Depth scares people, I think. But I’ve found it can also attract them. Ask people about themselves and as they grow to trust you they’ll talk for hours. Ask about their struggles and their thoughts and fears. That, for me, is an engaging conversation, that is something worth taking time to talk about.

How do you make friends? How do you find friends? What are you guys’ thoughts on that? Do you feel alone? Do you have friends? Do you feel that most of the friendships in your life are one way, or that both parties are really making an effort? I really don’t have the answers on this topic, but I have lots and lots of questions. There are many friendship related experiences and stories jumbled up in my head besides the one I shared, but that doesn’t mean I know how to make them into a cohesive whole. By now you probably know that conclusive blog posts are not a specialty of mine. On one hand I suppose it doesn’t matter if one can pinpoint the moment when someone becomes more than an acquaintance, when they become a true friend, but on the other hand maybe it does… I suspect that each of us have different definitions for that word “friendship”; I’ve been told that my definition is a rather large set of shoes to fill. I guess we just all expect the other person to go to the lengths we would go, which really isn’t reasonable.  We don’t all speak the same love language, and even when we do love someone and try to speak their love language we are not fluent in it. That is a paraphrase of some of what she said in this post , which was specifically meant to address romantic relationships, but I think that thought applies to the topic of friendship as well. At least, I hope that you could say that your significant other is a friend of yours, if not maybe there is something wrong.

For me, I have found that most of my friends walk a very different path in life than I do. If I’m honest, many of those I talk to on a day to day basis (mostly via social media, though I have met most of them) are not Christians. One that is has drastically different theological views on the topic of predestination and such than I do, another that is is a Catholic who was recently confirmed in the church, but I’m not sure how much she applies of what she knows about God. Judge those things as you will…They know I am Christian. I know people who say your best friends should all be Christians, but I ask them: What happens when things don’t quite work out that way? To a point, yes, you can choose your friends, but most Christians I know are too busy to have time to invest in a friendship with me, and I take what I can get. If “what I can get” is nonChristians is that a crime? Are they somehow lesser friends? I think not. They know my faith and they respect it, some come to me with questions and struggles, some are even yet hesitant to open up. Many of my friendships could be considered one sided…I know a lot about my friends and invest in getting to know them and they don’t know a whole lot about what I’m going through, but part of that is my fault. On one hand I am vulnerable and open, but on another I suppose you could say I’m a hard egg to crack. I like that I confuse people sometimes, I like having an air of mystery, so my aloneness may be self imposed. Maybe that is the case for others too? In any case, this post has gone on for long enough. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

I Wonder

I know that possessions do not grant happiness. I know that “growing up” (aka figuring out how to fill out forms for insurance, taxes, employment, car purchasing…) is supposed to be hard. I know that keeping busy does not equal having peace. I wonder where this summer will lead. I have a car now, or, as my manager calls it “a dependent”. I like it, but it takes gobs of my savings money. I get in, turn the key, open the sun roof, accelerate…and I still don’t really feel that it is mine.

There was a nostalgia in hearing that once familiar echo of my footsteps heading up the stairs to the second floor of the high school. It hit me how much I have grown since the last time I hurried up those steps. Walking the halls I am the recipient of enthusiastic greetings and hugs from the gals I love here, or, from the guys, at least acknowledgement. A wave, a question “What are you doing here?”, two of them staring (in what was supposed to be a creepy way) at me through the office window. I’m subbing for the high school secretary today. I like it here. It feels good; it feels like home, but it is also a bit odd to hop back in time.

I wonder…Will I ever be a high school teacher, the career I think that I desire? If I am, will I like it? Will it be here? The time to apply to colleges again is coming up all too soon. It is odd to think of no longer being here, of packing up and leaving this fall, heading for college in my new (to me) car, of submitting my two weeks notice to work, of studying again and reentering that realm of tests and homework. It may or may not happen. If I am accepted to a college I will have to make a decision and deal with these apprehensions, these currently “What if?” thoughts in full. For now they only linger on the fringes of my mind. I’ve learned, more or less, how to function in the real world, it is mostly normal to me now, But I may yet have to learn how to live well in that transient world of college before jumping into a different version of this “real world” again.

I do not know what the future may hold, and I suppose there is not use predicting. Usually I don’t have the time for that sort of thing anyhow. But today in the downtime between the first hour of school and the time I will leave to go to my regular job I have time to think, and ponder, and rest my busy mind. Times like this are valuable, and I don’t get them often. Usually I keep myself too busy, I suppose, busy to the point of hurried prayers, scattered writings in the attempt to figure out my thoughts, sometimes reading a chapter of the Bible.I have kept that promise to myself, at least in part. I’ve been revisiting my favorite chapter of the Bible, only now reading it in The Message version. I think it would be fitting to end this post with that Psalm. It fits…it always fits, but this wording especially fits my life right now.

Psalm 42

A white-tailed deer drinks
    from the creek;
I want to drink God,
    deep draughts of God.
I’m thirsty for God-alive.
I wonder, “Will I ever make it—
    arrive and drink in God’s presence?”
I’m on a diet of tears—
    tears for breakfast, tears for supper.
All day long
    people knock at my door,
Pestering,
    “Where is this God of yours?”

These are the things I go over and over,
    emptying out the pockets of my life.
I was always at the head of the worshiping crowd,
    right out in front,
Leading them all,
    eager to arrive and worship,
Shouting praises, singing thanksgiving—
    celebrating, all of us, God’s feast!

Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul?
    Why are you crying the blues?
Fix my eyes on God—
    soon I’ll be praising again.
He puts a smile on my face.
    He’s my God.

When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse
    everything I know of you,
From Jordan depths to Hermon heights,
    including Mount Mizar.
Chaos calls to chaos,
    to the tune of whitewater rapids.
Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers
    crash and crush me.
Then God promises to love me all day,
    sing songs all through the night!
    My life is God’s prayer.

 Sometimes I ask God, my rock-solid God,
    “Why did you let me down?
Why am I walking around in tears,
    harassed by enemies?”
They’re out for the kill, these
    tormentors with their obscenities,
Taunting day after day,
    “Where is this God of yours?”

 Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul?
    Why are you crying the blues?
Fix my eyes on God—
    soon I’ll be praising again.
He puts a smile on my face.
    He’s my God.