i never write, i read sometimes, and in between i go to class work and volleyball. it never slows down. ever.
almost done with volleyball which is crazy to me. but im grateful. my body has been freaking out recently and it concerns me, but there are few things i can do, so i jokingly call my "treatment plan" an ice diaper. yes, laugh. my birthday was last week and im officially 23, when nobody likes you. its a song. i dont think anyone cares how old you are.
anyways. i had a bonfire and it was fun. old friends and new, jesus folk and not, everyone laughing like the world wasnt spinning a million miles an hour. like we werent all making it through college, mindlessly wandering. because sometimes we are and sometimes we arent. for my birthday, i bought myself a session with my counselor. i dont make too many good decisions, but that was definitely one of them. talked about fear and disconnected wires, cause ive been unplugging all over the place. i detach my wires so i can be functional and emotionless enough to do a job, and i push the box further away from my life, until i dont remember. but then my boxes become roots that i didnt see and i trip and stumble, and wonder why. but its not really wondering, its just sobering up.
recently, the advice ive given is for people to be brave. the only analogy i can come up with is putting on an old pair of jeans that you loved once, but you're not totally convinced they fit anymore. you've got two options: to put them back in the closet, or to do the dance of every girl who has ever played soccer and try to force them to a manageable position. here is to making pacts and trying to not back down. dance away my friend. God is funny in my life. it is never a question of whether he is involved, it is always a question of what he is doing. and typically, that gets cleared up quickly too. i have a goal this year to accomplish 10 brave things by the time the school year is over. some of them i know, some of them will arise later. most of them dont mean anything to anyone else, but they mean a lot to me. and of course, all of them carry a good deal of anxiety and fear. i always swore i would never let fear lead my life, but sometimes starting over from scratch will do that to you. this is the part where i begin to work away and become something courageous. not in an ignorantly fearful way, but just in a way where i am choosing to be vulnerable and choosing to trust. mostly people, but sometimes outcomes too. i want to be brave again. but differently this time. and that has been my week. i asked my coach for help with meals because im scraping by on paychecks and short hours. i sent an email to someone i love more than most, but am so cautious of. i cried, because something bothered me. because i can name things now, and not be plagued. because i know that things will continue to haunt you until you acknowledge that they are in fact haunting you. call things by their right name. i let people celebrate me on my birthday. i accepted it and embraced it. i told some of my college sports story, without hellish bitterness and scathing sarcasm. i talked to God boldly again. and he answered. i came up for air a little bit. sometimes wriggling back into those pants is a worthy endeavor. sometimes, its just for how goofy you look, because they really dont fit, but sometimes, like now, its about finally getting them over the legs that have lifted for the last 3 months, because they are still youre favorite jeans.
all the time learn.
im reading the philip pullman series and i love them. i thought to myself, hmm, light reading. psych. there is a scene of absolute tenderness and love, and despite my unplugging and frayed wires, there is something in my heart that registers with that, and all of its intimate warmth. i read through the scene and literally put the book down because my heart was moved and i was flooded with multiple memories of that very feeling, where i was desperately and decidedly loved. by parents, biological and otherwise, by sisters, by friends. at the end of my junior year, when i was finally emotionally sober and not crazy, i prayed to God one day. i finally faced him honestly and i said okay. i had tried to reattach all the things that i had fallen apart in my life, by good will, prayer and work. by willingness and trying again. my efforts amounted to more insanity and more mess. i know i reference that season a lot, but it was so defining and so transformative. it is one of the most monumental shifts that i have access to in my grand 23 years of life. but as i prayed, i asked God for one word. i didnt know what it would be because i only heard silence for so long. i just wanted one so i could hold onto something simple. no sentence, no direction, no promise. just one word. i sat in silence, as open and empty as ive ever been and i waited. and i got my word.
"precious".
i had a wise tender voice in my life call me precious once. in a previous season of piecing together my story and inviting someone into my life, i named my fears, not realizing how many of them were tendrils reaching out of a deeper question. who was i and did i matter? these were the questions that i couldnt answer because i didnt know how to ask, and if im honest, didnt want to. it was as if realizing the answer scared me so much that i would prefer to not know. because if i did matter, then the previous seasons of my life were no longer coherent because they could no longer make sense. in biblical studies, this is called a theodicy. of sorts. usually, it is an issue on a bigger scale, but we are human, so we must ask ourselves the same thing. but in either case, in a tender season of confession and fears, she told me that i was precious and worthy of love. and for the first time in twenty years, i believed the person who said it to me. what a wild thought. this would be one of many truths that i was told, only to believe them at a later time. so funny to me, that as i prayed, removed from everyone else in my life who mightve had a chance at words, i found one so dear and so close. i asked again. again God gave me "precious". this whole story is pointless for you, but important to me. recently, God has brought it up again. do i know that i am considered precious? that the Lord calls me dear, and means it? do i live like Jesus gives a shit about my life. i have tried to reword that sentence so many times, without using cusswords, and none of them can deliver the same intensity. jesus does care. i am dear. i can see a couple places where i live in fear instead of light, because i started to question some of my worth again. thats dumb. i spent a lot of energy and a lot of trust in relearning the truth about my own worth. no use in backsliding.
i bring all this up because i am trying to be brave again. or a better kind of brave. i want to say that i was never brave and that all i ever did was foolish, but thats taking credit for the work God has done in my life. i can live in courage. its hard. and vulnerable and it makes me more uncomfortable than it ever has before. but ive also seen enough fruit in my life to know that it is valuable. loving is hard. it means putting yourself in a position to be hurt, knowing that it can and, if youre around long enough, will happen, but choosing to live as if that very idea would surprise you. it is allowing yourself to be wounded, but with motives of choice and hope, not fear and defeat. that is the hinge that i never understood before. but again, later in life, i finally understood. none of this is for anyone but myself, or at least not on purpose. i have to work through my head by way of word, and present it to an audience, even if its a wall. curse you external processing. you make me so dependent. but again, to God's credit, perhaps that is the point. cause if i wasnt wired that way, rest assured these thoughts would not be shared.
a friend of mine wrote a poem about a visit we had about a month ago. im putting it here not because the world revolves around me, but because something in my heart nods its head as my eyes captivate themselves with each well placed word. because what she says is more true than i was able to realize.
"sometimes you must open your eyelids far earlier than they would desire,
for the sake of time spent with a friend from that southern peninsula.
and those are the times that you sit across from her
as she eats peanut butter pie and chocolate milk for breakfast,
and tells you of how her body is broken but her spirit is alive."
-em echev.
so here is to sappy songs with acoustic guitars. melancholy lyrics with a morose sense of humor. two terms for the same thing. sometimes, thats what you need, not because your sad, but because that is the only appropriate soundtrack music to scenes where you look back on life and ponder. three cheers my friends.
