orange sky.

finally back at the webb after a visit from home. ive been flooded with love and overwhelmed in grace. my life has been funny, but ive been participating more instead of sitting back and observing. or something like it.

sweet songs rescue me from forgetting the good that surrounds me. im happy where i am. im dating a pretty great guy, which im thankful for. ive still got a job and most days, i like it. i went home and got just enough sun on my cheeks to remember where i came from. born of the sea, always and forever. my name means child of the sea, or harbor. its pretty cool cause dad is from ireland, mom is from long island, they met on a cruise ship and i was born at TGH, which is right on the water. the open water is good to me, and it has always been that way.

love is still an ocean. and flo was right, the arms of the ocean delivered me. when i went home, i saw the most profound sunset with my dad. i was his daughter, simple as that. the sky had every color in brilliant streaks. explosions in the sky. unreal. a few days later, i went surfing with a few old friends. it was so cold, but it was worth it. i caught one measly wave, but it redeemed every other face plant. its not bad to be thrown around by the waves sometimes. to remember to put your arms over your head and let the water take you. life is like that sometimes. you dont know which direction youre fighting against, so the best you can do is keep your hands up. its not a bad thing. not even a desperate place. but its a pretty good reminder that you're not always in control, and you cant always see the shore, even if youre headed that way. God is still funny.

i drove around with a friend last night for a good bit. all the way out into the sticks, as she put it. it was nice to because we both have been digging around in our bags, dredging them if you will. it was confession at its finest. sometimes i forget about that sacrament. i live pretty honest so i forget that there is a second step in that equation. but we confessed. recounted places where there were wounds, and equally, where we wounded ourselves. where we let doubts have the last word. trying to rewrite those lines. i want a good story. i talked to another friend when the sun was out. we spoke things in the light that took a long time to say. raised our fears to a place where someone else could speak into them. so much confession. so powerful. in a moment, she said, "but imagine how much grace you would be met with". and i my heart started to heal. some healing processes require time, and they hurt a little bit. i went to a basketball game afterwards and i couldnt even tell you who we played. i was in a place of healing, but so absent. and so thankful. confession is powerful. it is an inexplicable thing to be in a place where you know you are loved. to confess. to tend to the wounds of others. to speak truth into the heart of lies. its really powerful.

i just finished a week of intense class. even before that, i had been in the process of digging up old things, because honestly, im tired of living with them. i want them in the light and out of my life. then i got to class, where everything was reflection. im not sure i wrote down anything about the history of spirituality, but i was able to diagram the last few years of my life and where some of my patterns got their starts. for what thats worth. the night after the class ended, i drove to spartanburg and talked to a friend on the way there. its a simple revelation, but its a really nice feeling when someone wants to be your friend. when they have no reason to do so, but make it clear that they're being intentional about it. even states away. friendship is nice, especially when you've given your doubts free reign of your thoughts. its stupid, but sometimes when i get tired, its easier to let go of the leash. dumb. but life. after we talked, i found my beloved publix and i ate at the tacodog next door. i got to put a pen to paper and i was so grateful for it. sometimes the act of physically doing work that empties your heart a little bit is just really powerful.

im surrounded by really great people. they love me. and i believe them. im making an effort to not negate it or push it away. and im doing alright. ive got people who are working out life and trying to live healthy. there is a lot of encouragement. a lot of listening. a lot of frienship. ive got a lot. im trying to live as if the substance defines me, instead of the space. the edges instead of the holes. i live in a good place where i can find peace, where im learning to feel the Lord again. where im starting to listen more, and im starting to hear. its good to me.

my playlist now is hopeful. and some of it has to do with the words, but more of it is the way the songs lift and drop. the way you naturally inhale to the pauses and tones. music is a gift, as much as laughter is too.

"not the needle, nor the thread, the lost decree
saying nothing, thats enough for me".

saying nothing, thats enough for me.

wouldnt miss it.

things i wouldnt miss in life. i reread the perks of being a wallflower, and as with most decent coming of age literature, it reminded me of things i forgot along the way. in one letter, bill warns charlie that some people use thought to not participate in life. i dont ever want the world in my mind to overcome the reality that i experience.

dinner tonight included a mix of american, irish, and english foods, matched with the appropriate accents. my uncle from Britain has stage 4 cancer in his liver. its sad and has been hard on our family because he and my aunt make up our only close extended family. though he is doing better, the possibility of this christmas being his last is still real. he currently sits at around 135 on a 6'1 frame. he's skeletal, but he's funny and he's ours. every holiday, he makes lamb and its incredible. between him and my dad, no christmas holiday is served without class. we took care of the meal this year and while we ate, i tried to actively listen and observe. mom and auntie gina doted over every morsel and recounted terrifying moments, while richie rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself. because english men do chuckle. the conversation went across him, and even though most of it revolved around him, it did not involve him.

and sometimes thats okay too. because were family, whatever that poor little 'f' word even means. ive realized again (as i will probably continue to do for the rest of my life) that ive got a pretty great family. messy, no doubt. great wounding misfits. but theyre mine and i love them. and if, by the time i die, i come to love half as well as any of them do, i will have lived a great life.

my mom is a nurse and a damn good one at that. she takes care of people well, and loves them when nobody else is paying attention. she lives out grace, and better than a lot of christians i know. a few months ago, my uncle was admitted to the emergency room and had to stay over night for more testing. turns out it was cancer. turbs out it was stage 4. he ended up staying a few days and while decisions and options frenzied themselves through the room, my uncle sat, listening. everything moved out in front of him, yet he could touch none of it. it was solely about him, yet none of it was his. my mom snuck out of the nursery to visit him, and ask what he wanted. he said a box of donuts. so my mom went to krispy kreme and bought him a half dozen of warm donuts.

when you find out cancer is involved, no one thinks of donuts. all you cam think about is why, or insurance, and thats only assuming youve gotten past the devastation. but my mom worked in pediatric oncology for a few years, so she thinks of things like donuts. because when its all out of your control, the best thing you can do is pacify for a second so the world stops moving for a second.

my mom asked him about treatments and check ups all night. richie spoke for himself a good bit too. my mom is rearranging her work schedule so she can take him to his chemo, instead of my aunt using up all her sick days.

my mom is really good at loving people. she's a good woman with a big heart. and if i end up loving half as well as she does, whether its family, friends, or by some act of God, a spouse, i can only hope i do as well as she does. love covers a multitude of sins. i dont know what faith means her life, or if it will ever mean what i want it to. it may never happen. but i know that i wouldnt be able to recognize the love of God, had it not been for my parents. weve all got kinks and thats fine, but i can boldly and confidently say, theyve loved me well.

show me what it means to be warm.

its nice to exist again. exams are done and my papers are finished. praise the Lord.

closure.

a heavy dose of passenger in my life, and i laugh free.

in the recent week, i have loved with the Lord and thanked him all the same. it seems silly to remember some things, but it has made all the difference.

my favorite move in life is the stiff arm. in the last 2 years or so, ive stiff armed a lot of people. heres a poster. its nicer, more gentle, it laughs on cue, and it would love to be your friend, and get close with you. not always like that, but ive watched myself do it enough times to know. hence the word 'trust' coming up on a regular basis. learning to love and receive it. a couple weeks ago, i wrote a letter to reconcile. a few old wounds were finally mending, and with the mending came freedom and release. with it came trust and a softer side of life. a positive response started to remove some of the stitches. the scar started to become a story. funny to me that about 2 days after i sent this letter, i ran into a friend writing a difficult letter too. when she told me, i laughed because the process can be a bitter thing, but it is necessary. most processes are. in vague descriptions, i heard old wounds, resilience and some hope. some determination. we both laughed. after i left, i prayed for her letter, for her hands, and for her heart. this season of prayer has been weak and unfamiliar. so i told her. i prayed that the process would yield healing whether or not the letter was sent, or even finished. and she reminded me that often times, those counted for quite a bit.

 during this time, i started to try and remember more of my life. a remembered life is an integrated one. i wanted to be whole. so much many of my lingering memories drift around my injury. why did i do what i did? why did i allow others to make decisions for me? funny enough, this friend with the letter had a similar process, but more intense than mine. i wanted to hear her voice in her story. she talked and i heard it all, because a lot of it, i knew very intimately. more commonalities surfaced, and it made me hungry for more. shes a good story teller with a wise heart, so over the course of the day, we spent 4 hours sharing life. that verb is key. sharing. not taking, not giving, but sharing. this is where the stiff arm comes in. i didnt stiff arm her. i trusted her and i believed her. she knew the process too. and her wisdom reminded me to be gentle and patient, not only with others, but also with myself. i walked away satisfied. and loved. and hopeful. not that i didnt know those before, but i remembered them and believed them. as silly as it sounds, in that conversation i remembered that i love people. i love caring for people. i love knowing people and their stories. i love when people are honest. i love bearing stories and holding them. i love all of it. hearing her talk reminded me that i can do those, and do them well. that im not defective and my holes dont have to stop me from loving people. the conversation was so healing. i walked away lighter and deeper at the same time, thanking God for his intentionality. i still cant say why i was so interested in her process, or even what i was looking for. maybe i wasnt looking for anything. but God played a good hand and for that i am still thankful. the plan is now to meet weekly, because she enjoyed it too. someone can enjoy my presence. and i dont have to rank them, or make them older than me. i can learn and love and that can be enough. i can be enough.

the letter that i sent a few weeks ago was in response to an invitation. i attended, praying with grace to celebrate a friend who accomplished something, despite all opposition to it. and i remembered that process too. she was brave and stood up and was credited for her work. i sat next to hannah and remembered life, and was so thankful. so thankful that this process has healing, because it had been so wounding. and the details arent necessary, but the redemption was there. at the end, an exchange was made. the letter and conversation with my other friend had already dressed my wound. i felt free, no longer bound by this past. i had forgiven and let it go. there was nothing left to reconcile, no intentions, no responses necessary from the exchange. the exchange itself wasnt even necessary. but it finished off the healing. "thank you for coming. i really appreciate it. you coming means a lot to me". eye contact, and a genuine side that i know well. i said, "i wouldnt miss it for anything". and there was peace and healing. hopefully for both sides. but certainly here. and the wound is now a story. it does not evoke emotions. it does not cause me to relive anything. it is a story, and it doenst need to be shared with anyone, but it is nice to know that i can. i can share stories. i can disclose. funny too that the word 'closure' is so closely related to 'disclose'. perhaps we would do well to camp out there.

 i lived. i am living. i can live. i do live. this week was the first time in a while where i self-disclosed without fear. i trusted. it was simple. i came from somewhere. i have a story. i can tell it. i believed that the people on the other side were not going to abandon me. they were going to trust me too. "the story is important because it is real. it is your story. it is important for no other reason than that". my story is important. sarah used to say that i couldnt push that on other people and not believe it for myself. but i did. the ability to separate yourself. what a cursed privilege. in talking to a friend, i was reminded that the coping habits of my life are not markers of deficiencies and poor experience. instead they are strengths that you cant have until youve lived there. they make you easier to hire. more patient sometimes. better endurance. whichever scar it is, its tough as hell. scar tissue can bend titanium. you cant break it. for better or worse. scars can be a privilege. there is no need to give yourself any, but if you have, i hope youve learned from it. perhaps it will remind you to be gentle with yourself, as it has done for me.

thankful for time to breathe and be free.

i found closure this week. for some old wounds, and for some more recent ones. by my own hands and by others. and its been a painful process for the most part. but i have it now. i have closure. or perhaps it has me. i do not think we can grasp it, but we can certainly rest in it.

Well you only need the light when its burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go

Only know you’ve been high when you’re feeling low
Only hate the road when you’re missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go

Staring at the bottom of your glass
Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last
But dreams come slow and they go so fast
You see her when you close your eyes
Maybe one day you’ll understand why
Everything you touch surely dies

But you only need the light when its burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go
Only know you’ve been high when you’re feeling low
Only hate the road when you’re missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go


Staring at the ceiling in the dark
Same old empty feeling in your heart
Cos love comes slow and it goes so fast
Well you see her when you fall asleep
But never to touch and never to keep
Cos you loved her too much and you dived too deep


Well you only need the light when its burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go

Only know you’ve been high when you’re feeling low
Only hate the road when you’re missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go
And you let her go
Well you let her go

end of a season.

two and a half more hours on this bus, what better to do than write?

this was my final weekend of volleyball, and the last of my college career. im still in absolute awe. unbelievably grateful.

my junior year held a fourth surgery, adding to the excessive scar tissue in my abdomen and hip. it held my final soccer game. it held some of the most intense wrestling that ive ever known. during my season, and later, my recovery process, i was plagued with confusion in Gods intentions. (havent we all been there?) why was i built with such athleticism if it was going to be taken away? i played everything in high school and excelled. in college, i played every position on the field, minus forward. so why take it away? why bother in the first place? if im honest, those questions still linger a little. but i finally let go. i was no longer an athlete and had too many limitations to even pretend that i was athletic anymore. my pain had continued to increase, despite my inactivity. it seemed that playing had curbed the pain a little, but it was still painful. i didnt understand. i took time to rest but still nothing helped. my body was wrecked, getting to the point where i couldnt sit in class, and would have to pull myself out for fear of crying. i met with every anatomy professor i could because there is no such thing as an abdominal specialist. after a long season of running "organic" tests, we narrowed down what my problem was and how to manage it. i tested what sports agitated my pain and what lessened it. soccer made it worse, volleyball made it better. so like any overly ambitious athlete, i played every opportunity i could. i eventually got a chance to help the gwu team as a scrimmage player. and i wasnt that bad. that is where this crazy season of life started. one girl quit, so i got the chance to play. and i did. i even started for some of the season. and its been amazing. my friends supported me, knowing my process, and sharing the privilege. my parents even got to see me play. first time in 6 years. i got close with new teammates, and supported old ones. i was loved so well and im so grateful. i was apart of a program that is continuing to move forward. and the coolest part of this redemptive second chance that i got in my college career is just that. it is unusual to play 2 sports in college, let alone such polar opposites. pretty athletic. pretty freaking grateful. a long twisting heart wrenching road. but i made it. i played my 4 years here, and ended it better than i couldve imagined. everything about my situation is an anomaly. totally unique, and unusual. and the part of my soul that recognizes grace knows that it is mine, and it is from the heart of God itself. a privilege. a second chance. explosive grace. it still blows my mind.

i didnt cry when the final point was scored. my body went into freak out mode so i couldnt even manage standing properly the first 2 matches. but i knew and i think coach knew that this would probably be it. half a tube of bio freeze, bunches of prayer, and last minute stretching put my pain at a manageable level, so i played for the last game. we did better than anyone expected. played the #1 team on their senior day, and were within 5 points in every game. left it all on the court and was proud of the effort across the board. we came back within 2 points, after being 10 points down. mind you, they were at 23. thats incredible. everyone laid out. and thats the end. we wont make our own tournament, but we'll be okay. perspectives will change, disappointments will fade. that is what happens in time and thats okay. i know cause ive seen it and done it. and everyone will grow, knowing that there is more to do.

im thankful. again. i got a second chance and i got to watch. i got to be apart of a team with girls who have hearts, stories and insane talent on the court. my parents got to say goodbye too, and in their own time. i cried a couple times, i played well when i could, and lost my voice on the bench. it is a privilege to be apart of a community. to be accepted, loved and appreciated. i was tired a lot, and close to broke too. but i can say with total confidence that it was totally worth it.

"Thanks God for love and mercy and hope
for hands strong enough to undo my noose's rope
for some things that are bigger because you make them
for love, for it running deeper because its yours
thanks for hour after hour of lung filled life resting in my chest
for being bigger and knowing best
better than i know cleaning up my mess of failed attempts
a stained wedding dress.
and these missed marks and failed disasters you heal and you bless
you hear my words and acknowledge me, my life, my presence
you see worth where i choose death
you see hope where i feel wounds
you see redemption behind my eyes, past the shadows running around my head
i feel broken and you see whole
you see beauty and love and glory
words i fear.
for fear if i accept them i will have to punish myself because i dont deserve them
i still dont.
but you dont care
because grace is blind you tell me that
no amount of scars, self-inflicted or not could keep me down
i can still get back up"

-september 2, 2009.

once upon a time.

my life is a funny catastrophe, and im finally invested in the joke.

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.