I know everyone says it, or thinks it; if only something had been different that day. If only I hadn't forgotten my lunch at home and gone back. If only I had stopped to get my afternoon coffee. If only I wasn't planning to see a play that night. If only the game wasn't during rush hour. If only we hadn't had that fight before I left. If only I had turned right instead of left.
That was my story. That was my shock. We drove from her house, beginning on a long journey to his soccer tournament. Blaine. We could go 35, or we could go 100. We sat. The stop sign weighed our decision silently. We aired on the side of caution, knowing its ways, and so chose 100 instead.
Favored melodies danced in our ears. Idle chatter left our lips. Laughter here and there. Me, the occasional raged-roadie ramble. Our phones rang aimlessly.
The game was canceled. The coach didn't show. "He was on the bridge." What bridge? We interrogated.
I didn't even know it was a bridge.
Sunday, April 01, 2012
Metra
And quiet rumble
Of slow-moving silver bullet
Ineffectual, as it were
Of slow-moving silver bullet
Ineffectual, as it were
Quiet murmurs of tired souls
[And I am missing you
Though I don’t deserve to –
Hardly know you
In truth]
Two whisper to each other
As they brush past
This one dances a little
Then shivers
Though I don’t deserve to –
Hardly know you
In truth]
Two whisper to each other
As they brush past
This one dances a little
Then shivers
Stops.
Gives a song
And returns its half-hearted effort.
We go on.
Gives a song
And returns its half-hearted effort.
We go on.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Psalm 23: In My Words
PSALM 23
1 God is my keeper, I hunger for nothing,
2 He gives me over to rest,
He leads me to places that I may find peace,
3 He renews me at the core: He shows me the good
roads to be on that lead to him.
4 I might face my darkest day or hour, but I won’t
walk in fear; cause You’re with me; Your strength and wisdom are comforting to
me.
5 You dare to dine with me even as my enemies linger: You tend to me; I have more than I need.
6 I can never escape Your goodness and charity; I
will live with You always.
~For a class, we had to re-write a well-known piece into our vernacular.
This isn't completely my vernacular, or at least not the ones I claimed
to have in my paper, but this is in my own words.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Change(s) in Me
I wrote this a few days ago before bed, in my whirly twirly thought pattern that carries on as I doze, so for what it's worth...
I feel like DTS set me on a whole different path; like I'm not who I was, but not all the changes are tangible or even observed yet. They're not bad, but I haven't learned how to handle them yet. I'm still figuring out how to live as I am. Trying to figure out, all over again, who I am. Who am I?
I constantly think back and feel like it wasn't real. Like I just watched that on a movie, or remembered it from an elaborate, but now patchy dream.
It's hard to pinpoint the changes, and if I can, it can be just as hard to pinpoint their origins - which is in my nature to try to do; analyze.
Talking in front of big groups is significantly less intimidating. I don't know that I need to live my whole life in Minneapolis. Vulnerability is for some reason more difficult. I don't completely hate being alone. I'm not nearly as scared of flying; twelve hours becomes nothing. I'm reevaluating where I will find my happiness. I'm deciding who's worth investing feelings in; and who may seem not worth it, but will be after a few free passes. I'm somehow much better at public speaking, though it's still rough. I don't get as scared of being in a situation with people I don't know, or of silence. I have a lot more courage and capability than I'd ever imagined.
I don't know where each of these came from specifically, and I don't think there's likely a single instance that invoked any of these. I don't know.
I feel, sometimes, like I barely even know that it happened.
Interesting enough, as I copy this from the notebook where I wrote it originally, I came across a list of the return culture shock we learned about on DTS. The * will serve to note that I feel I am experiencing this...symptom, if you will. (the rest I assure you, I have felt, but not all currently.)
*restlessness/rootlessness
*reverse homesickness
*missing people and places abroad
*boredom
*insecurity
uncertainty
confusion
*frustration
*need for excessive sleep
*change in goals or priorities
*negativity towards your own culture
*feelings of alienation or withdrawal (thankfully slightly letting up, at times)
feelings of resistance towards family and *friends
*anxiety
*grief for change in your life
Another interesting note from our talk about preparing to return home:
"You may just slide back in without acknowledgement" I definitely experienced my fair share of that, even in places I didn't expect.
I guess, - now I feel the need to wrap this up neatly - all this is to say that it was quite a journey I went on, as cliche as that sounds. And it takes a bit of recovering. Even after six months, I'm still figuring it out. Who I am, now.
I feel like DTS set me on a whole different path; like I'm not who I was, but not all the changes are tangible or even observed yet. They're not bad, but I haven't learned how to handle them yet. I'm still figuring out how to live as I am. Trying to figure out, all over again, who I am. Who am I?
I constantly think back and feel like it wasn't real. Like I just watched that on a movie, or remembered it from an elaborate, but now patchy dream.
It's hard to pinpoint the changes, and if I can, it can be just as hard to pinpoint their origins - which is in my nature to try to do; analyze.
Talking in front of big groups is significantly less intimidating. I don't know that I need to live my whole life in Minneapolis. Vulnerability is for some reason more difficult. I don't completely hate being alone. I'm not nearly as scared of flying; twelve hours becomes nothing. I'm reevaluating where I will find my happiness. I'm deciding who's worth investing feelings in; and who may seem not worth it, but will be after a few free passes. I'm somehow much better at public speaking, though it's still rough. I don't get as scared of being in a situation with people I don't know, or of silence. I have a lot more courage and capability than I'd ever imagined.
I don't know where each of these came from specifically, and I don't think there's likely a single instance that invoked any of these. I don't know.
I feel, sometimes, like I barely even know that it happened.
Interesting enough, as I copy this from the notebook where I wrote it originally, I came across a list of the return culture shock we learned about on DTS. The * will serve to note that I feel I am experiencing this...symptom, if you will. (the rest I assure you, I have felt, but not all currently.)
*restlessness/rootlessness
*reverse homesickness
*missing people and places abroad
*boredom
*insecurity
uncertainty
confusion
*frustration
*need for excessive sleep
*change in goals or priorities
*negativity towards your own culture
*feelings of alienation or withdrawal (thankfully slightly letting up, at times)
feelings of resistance towards family and *friends
*anxiety
*grief for change in your life
Another interesting note from our talk about preparing to return home:
"You may just slide back in without acknowledgement" I definitely experienced my fair share of that, even in places I didn't expect.
I guess, - now I feel the need to wrap this up neatly - all this is to say that it was quite a journey I went on, as cliche as that sounds. And it takes a bit of recovering. Even after six months, I'm still figuring it out. Who I am, now.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Finding Grace in the Haze
It's a haze. I've been in a haze, that's what this is. I've been in this strange time in my life, that I don't really understand. I feel like nothing's been going on. Like when people haven't seen you in a while, and they ask "How have you been?" or the ever-pointless "What's new?" (it's okay, I ask it too, but it doesn't mean that I don't like it), and you struggle to find anything to say. That's what life has felt like.
It's been hard to figure out what's going on. I have been going to school again, going to work sporadically, and going to church every Sunday. Nothing is spectacular, nothing is new and original. It's original in the sense of chips; it's plain and the same as it has always been, no flavor to catch you off guard or offend your senses.
I like to think I wouldn't mind being offended a little bit, in the flavored-chip sense.
The thing is, I can't help but be analytical. It's just a bit of a struggle when all you have to analyze is why are things so boring? I've been thinking, a big part of what I have been learning since returning home in August is how to have grace for the small things. How to have grace in the boring, yes, but that's the most I can think of happening, situations where I've needed to have grace I didn't know I could access.
It's definitely something beyond me, because I tend to get really passionate about how I feel about something, whether excited or offended, or whatever. And I look back on these things, and I wonder how I managed to handle it. Again, life has been rather uneventful, but alongside the uneventfulness, have been these little blips on the radar.
The blips and the lack of excitement lead me to the conclusion that I am to have grace. That's what I'm learning. It's learning when to listen; when to hold my tongue. It's learning what are battles to fight, and what just aren't. It's learning how to sit in a class, listening to a professor talk about things I completely disagree with, and not get angry, - but to laugh. It's learning when to tell a friend that the relationship isn't what it was, or to go along with it as is; the difference unspoken. It's learning to live with joy in the mundane.
It's falling on your face, and getting up and acknowledging that sometimes we trip; balance is imperfect. Life is imperfect, so live with grace.
It's been hard to figure out what's going on. I have been going to school again, going to work sporadically, and going to church every Sunday. Nothing is spectacular, nothing is new and original. It's original in the sense of chips; it's plain and the same as it has always been, no flavor to catch you off guard or offend your senses.
I like to think I wouldn't mind being offended a little bit, in the flavored-chip sense.
The thing is, I can't help but be analytical. It's just a bit of a struggle when all you have to analyze is why are things so boring? I've been thinking, a big part of what I have been learning since returning home in August is how to have grace for the small things. How to have grace in the boring, yes, but that's the most I can think of happening, situations where I've needed to have grace I didn't know I could access.
It's definitely something beyond me, because I tend to get really passionate about how I feel about something, whether excited or offended, or whatever. And I look back on these things, and I wonder how I managed to handle it. Again, life has been rather uneventful, but alongside the uneventfulness, have been these little blips on the radar.
The blips and the lack of excitement lead me to the conclusion that I am to have grace. That's what I'm learning. It's learning when to listen; when to hold my tongue. It's learning what are battles to fight, and what just aren't. It's learning how to sit in a class, listening to a professor talk about things I completely disagree with, and not get angry, - but to laugh. It's learning when to tell a friend that the relationship isn't what it was, or to go along with it as is; the difference unspoken. It's learning to live with joy in the mundane.
It's falling on your face, and getting up and acknowledging that sometimes we trip; balance is imperfect. Life is imperfect, so live with grace.
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
the [2011] retrospective
I was at a lovely party on New Years, chatting with friends and suddenly the conversation shifted to their excitement for 2012. In that moment of my friends' excitement, I felt a sadness. I found myself struggling to appreciate the closing of the past year that challenged me in so many different ways. I felt nostalgia for the sand of which the last grains were trickling through the narrow path of the hour glass.
I went to Paris, Vietnam, and Cambodia; I met, - and parted with - some of the people who will forever hold a place in my heart; I learned an immense amount about myself, about the world, and about the Lord, throughout the whole year. And so it is that I can't help but feel sad that 2011 is over.
It's like the feeling of closing a book that you know you'll never read again, - and let me tell you: it was one hell of a book!
I started off the year excited for the adventure ahead, though still unsure how it would all come together, and living my daily life with the expectation of something so grand I couldn't comprehend it: I was leaving home, to be on the other side of the world for six months. I was in a place that I loved my life; I was enjoying it, but supposedly preparing to leave. Those were some of the hardest goodbyes of my life. In that moment I learned something, - something to which, I can't quite put words. Leaving was probably the hardest thing I've ever done.
I laid eyes - FEET on Paris! For three months, it was the city I called home. And though my months away made me realize Minneapolis is my true home, a place that I've grown to love like family, Paris was perfect for me. I loved every minute of it. Minus the hours of walking the city in the rain...but that's another story. I got to look at La Tour Eiffel whenever I wanted. I saw a 30,000 euro need go down to an 18,000 euro need in a matter of a week.
I even find myself with a Vietnam-shaped hole in my heart. (I could go to Antarctica and miss it, I'm so dang sentimental.) The times there were harder than Paris, but there was something even more blessed to them. In my memory, the constant threat of cockroaches doesn't even come to mind - it's the people, the ocean, the personalities of each of the cities.
I braved a new country alone when I hopped a RyanAir flight to Ireland for four days before returning to the States. I wandered and explored, drank Guinness, ate amazing food, kissed an Irishman - a story for another time, - cried on a cliff because of the beauty of the Irish Sea, and slept on the floor of an airport.
I hyperventilated walking from my plane through the MSP airport, thinking about the reality of seeing my family. Not unlike the seeming illusion of going to Paris in the first place, I wasn't sure if I'd been dreaming, or believe a cruel farce. But they were real.
And now, as February creeps around again, I'm left wondering if my trip was even real.
There was no return U.S. culture shock for me, I was happy to have it. The lifestyle of the first half of my year were competing with the one I returned to at home. It was hard not to worry about money when I returned with almost none, to waiting bills, and the goal to find an apartment ASAP. It was hard not to want to go out a lot, since I became a legal drinker five days after my return. It was hard to go back to school when achievement is my least concern, and I learned so much more in the previous six months.
I missed biking. Biking has been great.
The return was difficult, and though maybe no one noticed, at times it was painful. It was many times harder than I anticipated. Though, hard as it has been in these months, I feel like I've learned so much here as well. And again, not all things I can fully verbalize or articulate necessarily, nor am I aware of, but I know that in life the difficulty is just as important as the glory.
Returning to the life that felt on hold may not have been what I expected, but good came of it, and it taught me things. I made new friends that I wouldn't trade for anything. I knocked it out of the park this semester, as far as my U of M track record is concerned (mixed metaphors, sorry). I've learned even more what I believe and how to stand for it. I've learned who to spend my time with and how it affects me. I've learned and I'm still learning how to hold onto the growth I've achieved, and move forward with it from the place I am now.
Between the three parts of my 2011, it was a year that for me is hard to follow. I go into this year, expectant that the Lord will exponentially top my 2011 with goodness, growth, and joy.
To 2012: let's see what ya got!
I went to Paris, Vietnam, and Cambodia; I met, - and parted with - some of the people who will forever hold a place in my heart; I learned an immense amount about myself, about the world, and about the Lord, throughout the whole year. And so it is that I can't help but feel sad that 2011 is over.
It's like the feeling of closing a book that you know you'll never read again, - and let me tell you: it was one hell of a book!
I started off the year excited for the adventure ahead, though still unsure how it would all come together, and living my daily life with the expectation of something so grand I couldn't comprehend it: I was leaving home, to be on the other side of the world for six months. I was in a place that I loved my life; I was enjoying it, but supposedly preparing to leave. Those were some of the hardest goodbyes of my life. In that moment I learned something, - something to which, I can't quite put words. Leaving was probably the hardest thing I've ever done.
I laid eyes - FEET on Paris! For three months, it was the city I called home. And though my months away made me realize Minneapolis is my true home, a place that I've grown to love like family, Paris was perfect for me. I loved every minute of it. Minus the hours of walking the city in the rain...but that's another story. I got to look at La Tour Eiffel whenever I wanted. I saw a 30,000 euro need go down to an 18,000 euro need in a matter of a week.
I even find myself with a Vietnam-shaped hole in my heart. (I could go to Antarctica and miss it, I'm so dang sentimental.) The times there were harder than Paris, but there was something even more blessed to them. In my memory, the constant threat of cockroaches doesn't even come to mind - it's the people, the ocean, the personalities of each of the cities.
I braved a new country alone when I hopped a RyanAir flight to Ireland for four days before returning to the States. I wandered and explored, drank Guinness, ate amazing food, kissed an Irishman - a story for another time, - cried on a cliff because of the beauty of the Irish Sea, and slept on the floor of an airport.
I hyperventilated walking from my plane through the MSP airport, thinking about the reality of seeing my family. Not unlike the seeming illusion of going to Paris in the first place, I wasn't sure if I'd been dreaming, or believe a cruel farce. But they were real.
And now, as February creeps around again, I'm left wondering if my trip was even real.
There was no return U.S. culture shock for me, I was happy to have it. The lifestyle of the first half of my year were competing with the one I returned to at home. It was hard not to worry about money when I returned with almost none, to waiting bills, and the goal to find an apartment ASAP. It was hard not to want to go out a lot, since I became a legal drinker five days after my return. It was hard to go back to school when achievement is my least concern, and I learned so much more in the previous six months.
I missed biking. Biking has been great.
The return was difficult, and though maybe no one noticed, at times it was painful. It was many times harder than I anticipated. Though, hard as it has been in these months, I feel like I've learned so much here as well. And again, not all things I can fully verbalize or articulate necessarily, nor am I aware of, but I know that in life the difficulty is just as important as the glory.
Returning to the life that felt on hold may not have been what I expected, but good came of it, and it taught me things. I made new friends that I wouldn't trade for anything. I knocked it out of the park this semester, as far as my U of M track record is concerned (mixed metaphors, sorry). I've learned even more what I believe and how to stand for it. I've learned who to spend my time with and how it affects me. I've learned and I'm still learning how to hold onto the growth I've achieved, and move forward with it from the place I am now.
Between the three parts of my 2011, it was a year that for me is hard to follow. I go into this year, expectant that the Lord will exponentially top my 2011 with goodness, growth, and joy.
To 2012: let's see what ya got!
Sunday, December 25, 2011
My Tattoos, Christmas, & Jesus
It feels really bad-ass thinking about getting the first tattoo. Then, reluctantly make the appointment, a day in advance, leaving extra time to think it over. But there's been enough thinking time; people have babies without pain meds, get teeth removed without novocaine, this is no big deal. The permanency doesn't even alarm. Suddenly, it's happening. And it's nothing, it's not nearly as bad as you'd think. And then it's done. There they are, beautiful, fresh, stark, and black.
I was more scared of the needle; more scared of the pain, than my body being permanently marked. I had no hesitations about that. And some might say that's just the way I feel now, because they're new and I do feel like I conquered something. But I love them. I know what they mean to me and how much they mean to me, and I love them.
To me the decisions to get my tattoos and where to get them weren't that difficult of decisions at all, though I gave it proper, responsible thought. I think I've had a harder time picking what to order at a restaurant. I think the reality of them has only really sunk-in in this second week, conveniently the week of Christmas. I was nervous at first that maybe I would begin to regret them, but I didn't. I own them; they're beginning to feel familiar as opposed to foreign.
Tonight I went to a very simple service at my church, and I absolutely loved it. I've always loved Christmas, but each year it gains more meaning for me. This year, despite Mercy's first ever Christmas Eve service being extremely simple, I was moved. This means something to me! This isn't just a part of a lifestyle anymore - as it was to me growing up. I believe in Jesus, and a loving and gracious God, and the world's need and hunger for both.
That's the reason I could get a cross tattooed on my wrist: it is very real to me, very important to me. I try not to force feed my beliefs or views to anyone, but I think there's something powerful and beautiful - something to be said about choosing to be marked in such a way regarding faith in Christ. It's there (along with the script on my other wrist) because I know a hope and joy that I cannot deny. And I want to never forget that.
I was more scared of the needle; more scared of the pain, than my body being permanently marked. I had no hesitations about that. And some might say that's just the way I feel now, because they're new and I do feel like I conquered something. But I love them. I know what they mean to me and how much they mean to me, and I love them.
To me the decisions to get my tattoos and where to get them weren't that difficult of decisions at all, though I gave it proper, responsible thought. I think I've had a harder time picking what to order at a restaurant. I think the reality of them has only really sunk-in in this second week, conveniently the week of Christmas. I was nervous at first that maybe I would begin to regret them, but I didn't. I own them; they're beginning to feel familiar as opposed to foreign.
Tonight I went to a very simple service at my church, and I absolutely loved it. I've always loved Christmas, but each year it gains more meaning for me. This year, despite Mercy's first ever Christmas Eve service being extremely simple, I was moved. This means something to me! This isn't just a part of a lifestyle anymore - as it was to me growing up. I believe in Jesus, and a loving and gracious God, and the world's need and hunger for both.
That's the reason I could get a cross tattooed on my wrist: it is very real to me, very important to me. I try not to force feed my beliefs or views to anyone, but I think there's something powerful and beautiful - something to be said about choosing to be marked in such a way regarding faith in Christ. It's there (along with the script on my other wrist) because I know a hope and joy that I cannot deny. And I want to never forget that.
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