I love you but
I can't always hover
wondering if
you'll fly off the handle
knowing that what I've learned
doesn't even hold a candle
to the way it makes me feel
and makes my heart reel
as the fighter in me rises
and the two struggle to find compromises
so when it settles
I try my best to let it be
I try my best to leave
Only then to fight back tears,
which I've turned into anger over the years
Because it's never been fair
I only just learned to be okay there
Don't bother to understand
Don't dare to try
Because the spare second you can spare
Doesn't show me that you care
That you make me cry
Until the need to be validated and justified
At the expense of others has died
Don't find it a surprise
That I can't always look you in the eyes.
Monday, June 02, 2014
Friday, May 23, 2014
A Closed, Bleeding Heart
I take breaks from really talking to God, from time to time. They're not intentional, or not completely I guess. I had this revelation of sorts, recently, that I sometimes do not address the things on my heart with God, as a coping mechanism to protect myself from feeling. I am an individual with a lot of feelings, and subtly or otherwise, people who don't feel all the feels (as the kids say these days) have treated me like some basket case. It has taken me a lot of time and conscious self-assurance to undo those lies, partially in realizing that to willingly face vulnerability is a strength. Even still, I backslide from time to time, and there are areas where I have taught myself to close off, in the name of self-preservation.
My grandpa was admitted to the hospital on Monday for a small stroke. Being my only living grandpa (married to my only living grandma), I've never experienced anything like this with a close relative. I found myself a little shaken to know that he felt confused and simply "lost" some things from his memory bank, like how to tie his shoes, or my mother's name. Startling, is the best-suited word I've found; it's startling. I continued my workday after the call, because otherwise I probably would've cried at work and felt embarrassed to have feelings. If I'm being really honest, that's what it was.
I waited at my parents' house for my mom to come home that night, I was worried she'd be upset. I discovered where I get my "in-charge" mode from. She said it's not that she doesn't have emotions about it, but things have to get done, too. I was upset, and of course saved it all for the person I trust most. No one has ever seen me a bigger mess than my mother, partially just because she's my mom, and partially because she would never even think to judge me for being too emotional. (Reference here: My Mother the Saint) She let me wrap my arms around her and cry. After she somehow graciously inquired as to my turbulence, I took a deep breath mixed with a sigh and said, "Being empathetic sucks," as we had a laugh. Then she said, "It's great," in that affirming way you'd hope a mother would, but of course mine really, extra means it.
Somewhere along the line, I adopted the idea that emotions are weak. In between trying to find a balance of vulnerability, I bought into crying being embarrassing. Further than that, I started not bringing those feelings to God. It's almost like I decided that if I ignore the way I was made, stuff all those nasty little buggers down into my stomach in the form of knots and up into my head as aches, the things that I feel won't feel. A twisted, self-designed, unconscious but fear-based coping mechanism to being empathetic.
Being empathetic does suck, and it is great. Sometimes when I think about it, I'm convinced it's a form of torture. I've been known to cry as much or more than someone who's actually going through the thing I'm hearing about. And I absolutely can't help it, because I just feel it, deeply. At some point, it became worth it to me to begin ignoring that in me and quit caring - and that sucks!
Thankfully when you're prone to feeling lots of things about lots of things, you can't just turn it off. I say "thankfully" because I know that's how I was designed.
Somewhat consciously, I've also been avoiding taking the hard things back to God in fear that I will only revel in what I feel and not see any change. It's like God has made me able to feel all the difficult things, to the extent that they might as well be happening to me, and then nothing. And it's scary; risky, rather, to put one's heart on the line with God. I know better than to give Him the silent treatment, because all along He quietly beckons as a listening ear and place of comfort. So what have I been waiting for?
It's easy to avoid God, but it doesn't make things any easier. A lesson I think I'm learning. If the Creator of the universe and He who authored selfless Grace and bestowed Mercy, is waiting to hear my heart, how could I keep it?
My grandpa was admitted to the hospital on Monday for a small stroke. Being my only living grandpa (married to my only living grandma), I've never experienced anything like this with a close relative. I found myself a little shaken to know that he felt confused and simply "lost" some things from his memory bank, like how to tie his shoes, or my mother's name. Startling, is the best-suited word I've found; it's startling. I continued my workday after the call, because otherwise I probably would've cried at work and felt embarrassed to have feelings. If I'm being really honest, that's what it was.
I waited at my parents' house for my mom to come home that night, I was worried she'd be upset. I discovered where I get my "in-charge" mode from. She said it's not that she doesn't have emotions about it, but things have to get done, too. I was upset, and of course saved it all for the person I trust most. No one has ever seen me a bigger mess than my mother, partially just because she's my mom, and partially because she would never even think to judge me for being too emotional. (Reference here: My Mother the Saint) She let me wrap my arms around her and cry. After she somehow graciously inquired as to my turbulence, I took a deep breath mixed with a sigh and said, "Being empathetic sucks," as we had a laugh. Then she said, "It's great," in that affirming way you'd hope a mother would, but of course mine really, extra means it.
Somewhere along the line, I adopted the idea that emotions are weak. In between trying to find a balance of vulnerability, I bought into crying being embarrassing. Further than that, I started not bringing those feelings to God. It's almost like I decided that if I ignore the way I was made, stuff all those nasty little buggers down into my stomach in the form of knots and up into my head as aches, the things that I feel won't feel. A twisted, self-designed, unconscious but fear-based coping mechanism to being empathetic.
Being empathetic does suck, and it is great. Sometimes when I think about it, I'm convinced it's a form of torture. I've been known to cry as much or more than someone who's actually going through the thing I'm hearing about. And I absolutely can't help it, because I just feel it, deeply. At some point, it became worth it to me to begin ignoring that in me and quit caring - and that sucks!
Thankfully when you're prone to feeling lots of things about lots of things, you can't just turn it off. I say "thankfully" because I know that's how I was designed.
Somewhat consciously, I've also been avoiding taking the hard things back to God in fear that I will only revel in what I feel and not see any change. It's like God has made me able to feel all the difficult things, to the extent that they might as well be happening to me, and then nothing. And it's scary; risky, rather, to put one's heart on the line with God. I know better than to give Him the silent treatment, because all along He quietly beckons as a listening ear and place of comfort. So what have I been waiting for?
It's easy to avoid God, but it doesn't make things any easier. A lesson I think I'm learning. If the Creator of the universe and He who authored selfless Grace and bestowed Mercy, is waiting to hear my heart, how could I keep it?
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Say Things Well
It is a personal conviction and aspiration of mine to say things well. There is a way to say something well, or maybe only inherently to me it seems there is, so it's important to try to find it. Not so much in everyday speech, because so often I have no filter between the conception of a thought and its verbal birth, but in ideation, contemplation, and writing, there is a way to make a point and simultaneously, effortlessly make prosaic music.
Lately, I have felt nearly incapable of articulating the way that I want to. As a writer and someone who's generally passionate about communicating effectively, it's been frustrating. At times, embarrassing, that what I said does not even remotely equate to what I wanted to convey. Kind of like writer's block, but maybe more aptly named 'communicator's fog'. It's something no one else would notice or hold against me, except I to myself.
A veritable graveyard of thoughts once thriving and full of potential, my drafted posts list is racking up the longest string of weakly formulated paragraphs in a quite a while. Sadly, most of them will go unfinished, because the thought has landed there only to wither and die. And it's a sort of vicious cycle as there's something in writing that feeds back to me. Maybe it's exactly that: having not taken enough time to write, my articulation muscles are out of shape and practice. Cheers to easing back in...
Lately, I have felt nearly incapable of articulating the way that I want to. As a writer and someone who's generally passionate about communicating effectively, it's been frustrating. At times, embarrassing, that what I said does not even remotely equate to what I wanted to convey. Kind of like writer's block, but maybe more aptly named 'communicator's fog'. It's something no one else would notice or hold against me, except I to myself.
A veritable graveyard of thoughts once thriving and full of potential, my drafted posts list is racking up the longest string of weakly formulated paragraphs in a quite a while. Sadly, most of them will go unfinished, because the thought has landed there only to wither and die. And it's a sort of vicious cycle as there's something in writing that feeds back to me. Maybe it's exactly that: having not taken enough time to write, my articulation muscles are out of shape and practice. Cheers to easing back in...
Friday, May 09, 2014
My Mother, the Saint
When I say "My mom is a saint", if you know me (or her) well at all, you know that I'm not merely spouting flattery; I honestly believe it. Her and I are so vastly different in personality - with similarities here and there, of course - yet we've hardly ever really fought. I'd say a grand total of five good, all-out fights in my life. It wasn't until one of those few recently that I realized she wasn't perfect; twenty-three years in. Even then, I don't know if I believe it.
Sure, some things here or there, such as forgetting to pick us up from school occasionally, should have clued me in, but she's just about the sweetest thing alive and so how could you stay mad at her? I hardly ever lasted the ten minute car ride home.
Year after year she hosts extravagant holiday meals, and she doesn't even like putting on parties! Furthermore, she's an introvert. Somehow, she puts in the hours of preparation, provides a delicious meal even catering to various dietary needs or preferences of guests, and graciously sticks out the entire party, inevitably well-into the night. All so graciously done. And while there may have been a time or two (or more) she's confided in me the desire of a more evident 'thanks', or someone else in our rather large extended family taking a turn, the next year she'll be at it again. Up until 3:00 am the night before thanksgiving, making her famously good pumpkin pies - with a dairy-free one for Grandpa.
She can't help but buy little presents that she sees fit for anyone. She not only eats up the very presence of her two grand sons, but nearly adopts the children of her nieces and nephews. When explaining that I'm one of a now rarely sighted family of six, I usually note my mother's love for babies. I'll never forget, before she had grandchildren the way her face lit up as she gazed on a couple's baby who they brought over to our house. She patiently sat on the couch next to the mother, smiling and admiring the baby's every action. Eventually, after I commented on her exuberance, the mother asked if my own wanted to hold her daughter. I'll never forget the look of pure joy on her face as she happily cuddled and swayed the little one.
My mother was made to be a mom, no doubt about it. She cannot seem to help herself. Many of her selfless mothering actions I would say ask too much, to the point of absurd, but she insists! For instance, nearly every time I visit my parents' house, if there's an opportunity she makes me sit on her lap. I, a grown woman, and her, an aging one, yet she insists. While my brother and his wife stay with them, my mom has taken on his lunch while she makes my dad's. One of few times in my life I was at a literal loss for words was watching her cut up the blueberries for his yogurt because "that's how he likes them."
She's a saint.
Most people have their moments of glaring humanity and imperfection, but we learn to love them in spite of it. My mom is one of those rare types that you tend to wonder where the heck she came from and how come they don't make more like this! The countless hours of her life she has spent just listening to, consoling, and sitting with myself, my siblings, her siblings - let alone my dad! Whenever I finish a bender of a thought-purge and profusely apologize, she replies matter-of-factly, "I don't mind." She carries an incredible amount of patience and grace that seems scarce in this world.
These and at least a hundred other reasons I love that woman, and can confidently say would not be so much of who I am without the example and support she's been for me in my life. I'm wildly blessed to have such a fantastic mother, who is so pleasant to be with and who does so well at putting others before herself in love. If anyone is really responsible for teaching me anything about selflessness in love, it is attributed to her.
To my dear mother, one of the best friends a girl could have, with every last ounce of my heart: Happy Mother's Day.
[...yes, early]
Sure, some things here or there, such as forgetting to pick us up from school occasionally, should have clued me in, but she's just about the sweetest thing alive and so how could you stay mad at her? I hardly ever lasted the ten minute car ride home.
Year after year she hosts extravagant holiday meals, and she doesn't even like putting on parties! Furthermore, she's an introvert. Somehow, she puts in the hours of preparation, provides a delicious meal even catering to various dietary needs or preferences of guests, and graciously sticks out the entire party, inevitably well-into the night. All so graciously done. And while there may have been a time or two (or more) she's confided in me the desire of a more evident 'thanks', or someone else in our rather large extended family taking a turn, the next year she'll be at it again. Up until 3:00 am the night before thanksgiving, making her famously good pumpkin pies - with a dairy-free one for Grandpa.
She can't help but buy little presents that she sees fit for anyone. She not only eats up the very presence of her two grand sons, but nearly adopts the children of her nieces and nephews. When explaining that I'm one of a now rarely sighted family of six, I usually note my mother's love for babies. I'll never forget, before she had grandchildren the way her face lit up as she gazed on a couple's baby who they brought over to our house. She patiently sat on the couch next to the mother, smiling and admiring the baby's every action. Eventually, after I commented on her exuberance, the mother asked if my own wanted to hold her daughter. I'll never forget the look of pure joy on her face as she happily cuddled and swayed the little one.
My mother was made to be a mom, no doubt about it. She cannot seem to help herself. Many of her selfless mothering actions I would say ask too much, to the point of absurd, but she insists! For instance, nearly every time I visit my parents' house, if there's an opportunity she makes me sit on her lap. I, a grown woman, and her, an aging one, yet she insists. While my brother and his wife stay with them, my mom has taken on his lunch while she makes my dad's. One of few times in my life I was at a literal loss for words was watching her cut up the blueberries for his yogurt because "that's how he likes them."
She's a saint.
Most people have their moments of glaring humanity and imperfection, but we learn to love them in spite of it. My mom is one of those rare types that you tend to wonder where the heck she came from and how come they don't make more like this! The countless hours of her life she has spent just listening to, consoling, and sitting with myself, my siblings, her siblings - let alone my dad! Whenever I finish a bender of a thought-purge and profusely apologize, she replies matter-of-factly, "I don't mind." She carries an incredible amount of patience and grace that seems scarce in this world.
These and at least a hundred other reasons I love that woman, and can confidently say would not be so much of who I am without the example and support she's been for me in my life. I'm wildly blessed to have such a fantastic mother, who is so pleasant to be with and who does so well at putting others before herself in love. If anyone is really responsible for teaching me anything about selflessness in love, it is attributed to her.
To my dear mother, one of the best friends a girl could have, with every last ounce of my heart: Happy Mother's Day.
[...yes, early]
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
A Time to Get Pissed (Oh, & Guard Your Words)
Sometimes I just get pissed at the devil! Sometimes at people, too, for their perpetuating of his schemes. I'm pissed at the lies he masks as logic, which parades as wisdom! I am angry at countless attempts to steal joy from myself and others, and end it. I'm angry, and I'm ready to fight it, but more often than not I feel like my fellow brothers and sisters are not beside me. Often they are the ones buying in and regurgitating the lies...things will never change, you're not worth it, you can't get free, God doesn't do that, it can't be fixed, you cannot hope, you may never feel happiness...they go on and on. They're told in different ways; sold in different packaging, same product.
Today I heard a statement that a pastor had made that completely dripped of the world's hopelessness, defeatism, and despair - and my blood downright boiled. To claim to know Christ and live to share and serve Him - words like his should never come from a believer's lips! Now I will be among the first to admit that I am not perfect, but if I were counseling another about a detrimental circumstance in their life, I would speak of what the Lord has to offer, or keep my worldly mouth shut.
Do you not know that your words have weight?! Do you not know that when you talk only in terms of logic without engaging the Spirit in you, you may very well be lending to or furthering the Enemy's work?
I'm beyond frustrated that this happened, - livid is probably a better word - but also beyond that, that it is likely a regular occurrence. My heart pulses and aches at such a thought. That there is freedom, blessing, and healing, yet we dare to repeat the cursing words we have heard before we would call on the Lord. Proverbs is riddled with wisdom about choosing words wisely, and even further the whole Bible is packed full of God's might and love for His people - so why this epidemic?
If you're a believer and you read this, fight with me? Guard your words, and keep those around you accountable to guarding theirs. Speak the truth we know from the Word and by the confidence we have in Jesus. Call out the Enemy, and break down his plans in the name of Jesus! Because if God is not bigger than everything, we might as well quit; stop trying to sell the Kingdom of the Resurrection to if we don't even buy it! I can get pissed at the devil all I want by myself, but it does nothing if my community and the Church don't start talking like this thing we believe in is real.
And if you're not sure that Christ's blood covers all, don't go becoming a pastor and handing out crap advice. The world doesn't need it.
[Intentionally for discretion's sake, I left out who the pastor is and the subject of his comment.]
Sunday, April 27, 2014
This Takes Grace
Life takes a lot of grace, I've been realizing. I have found myself asking for an extra measure here and there. There are several different connotations and uses for the word 'grace', but the one I'm talking about is the one that affords peace and calmness beyond what circumstance may warrant. It's more than patience; patience is for the expected, for the anticipated and enduring the wait. Grace...grace is more.
I would say I'm decent at being content. While my truthfulness about my feelings toward any given circumstance may lead some to believe otherwise, I find it easy to be content. But I have a wandering heart and a wild imagination (thank God), so at times I struggle to look at what's in front of me, instead focusing my attention on what could be. Suddenly, seeing something that reminds my rabbit-trailing mind of another thing, I am spiraling down the rabbit hole of dreaming. I'm not opposed to dreaming (duh, I'm a dreamer, but stick with me), but I've learned that it can detract from being present where you are and hard to accept what comes - regardless of what you wanted to. Enter: grace. Lately, I've been beckoning a short-but-sweet prayer: "God, I need Your grace." Because when you want something to go a certain way but it doesn't look to go that way at all, it takes grace to handle what does come.
I haven't traveled significantly since my DTS in 2011, and for some reason travel is important to me; I can honestly say my heart yearns for it. The realist in me has learned to cut the pained-dreamer short in an effort to save from further tension. The reality of the present is that I'm at a job that God clearly placed me in and I'm wildly blessed to have; I can't up and travel even if I wanted to! Let alone affording it...
I flip-flop back and forth from being okay with being single to hating it...but never really loving it. Others want not to assume, but rather be nice by saying "If marriage is a part of the plan for you...", and to me the reality is: I know what I'm made for. I'm a people-person. I want to be a mom someday, and I'm definitely not good at life alone - not just romantically, but in the sense of total independence. Now, that's not to say that if I knew God was calling me into a life of singleness, I wouldn't just figure it out, but it would take all the more grace! All that rambling aside, just knowing it's a season of singleness, doesn't make it any easier. It's one of those things I do a lot of holding up to God, and asking for His input in my heart on it.
Being single when sometimes you just don't want to be, today - takes grace. Being stationary when you just want to go and see, takes grace. It requires something beyond patience, rather something to sustain me and comfort me in knowing that no matter what tomorrow holds, I'm headed there and following the Lord's leading. Even when it feels like I'm blind. Only by grace can I say You made my heart to crave these things, so I'll go where You take me, but need You to sustain me. It takes grace to say that right where I'm at is okay, even if I'm desiring more, and the more is big and is not easily come by.
My God is good, and He gives the grace...
I would say I'm decent at being content. While my truthfulness about my feelings toward any given circumstance may lead some to believe otherwise, I find it easy to be content. But I have a wandering heart and a wild imagination (thank God), so at times I struggle to look at what's in front of me, instead focusing my attention on what could be. Suddenly, seeing something that reminds my rabbit-trailing mind of another thing, I am spiraling down the rabbit hole of dreaming. I'm not opposed to dreaming (duh, I'm a dreamer, but stick with me), but I've learned that it can detract from being present where you are and hard to accept what comes - regardless of what you wanted to. Enter: grace. Lately, I've been beckoning a short-but-sweet prayer: "God, I need Your grace." Because when you want something to go a certain way but it doesn't look to go that way at all, it takes grace to handle what does come.
I haven't traveled significantly since my DTS in 2011, and for some reason travel is important to me; I can honestly say my heart yearns for it. The realist in me has learned to cut the pained-dreamer short in an effort to save from further tension. The reality of the present is that I'm at a job that God clearly placed me in and I'm wildly blessed to have; I can't up and travel even if I wanted to! Let alone affording it...
I flip-flop back and forth from being okay with being single to hating it...but never really loving it. Others want not to assume, but rather be nice by saying "If marriage is a part of the plan for you...", and to me the reality is: I know what I'm made for. I'm a people-person. I want to be a mom someday, and I'm definitely not good at life alone - not just romantically, but in the sense of total independence. Now, that's not to say that if I knew God was calling me into a life of singleness, I wouldn't just figure it out, but it would take all the more grace! All that rambling aside, just knowing it's a season of singleness, doesn't make it any easier. It's one of those things I do a lot of holding up to God, and asking for His input in my heart on it.
Being single when sometimes you just don't want to be, today - takes grace. Being stationary when you just want to go and see, takes grace. It requires something beyond patience, rather something to sustain me and comfort me in knowing that no matter what tomorrow holds, I'm headed there and following the Lord's leading. Even when it feels like I'm blind. Only by grace can I say You made my heart to crave these things, so I'll go where You take me, but need You to sustain me. It takes grace to say that right where I'm at is okay, even if I'm desiring more, and the more is big and is not easily come by.
My God is good, and He gives the grace...
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Just Here, Waiting
just here, waiting,
don't know exactly what for...
though i think nothing.
it's not that i'm thinking nothing -
no, i'm thinking a hundred things -
so many things i can't keep them straight
and at times they overwhelm me,
the things,
but what for
i don't know;
what i expect
i don't know.
except that it will show
and i'll have my answer
and know
what it's been all about
and the truth to my doubt,
or find pleasant surprise
in all my worries
found as lies.
don't know exactly what for...
though i think nothing.
it's not that i'm thinking nothing -
no, i'm thinking a hundred things -
so many things i can't keep them straight
and at times they overwhelm me,
the things,
but what for
i don't know;
what i expect
i don't know.
except that it will show
and i'll have my answer
and know
what it's been all about
and the truth to my doubt,
or find pleasant surprise
in all my worries
found as lies.
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