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.

Oh! the Waste of a Sympathetic Heart

I wear your heart on my sleeve,
And it really hurt when I had to leave,
Because I don’t believe the things you believe,
And I don’t know how to achieve,
What I want in you;
To see the potential I do,
To feel the weight of your merit,
And to tell you how to wear it,
And you want me to care,
And I do,
I sit right there,
But nothing,
It does nothing,
And I tried not to, but I cried,
A little when I went outside,
Because I seem to lose the time I bide,
And I get so frustrated,
And wish you had elaborated,
Wish I could do more,
But left only to deplore,
The confusion laid upon you,
I wish it were forgone.

Where Am I?

I think it's safe to say now, that when I first came back, I think I was depressed. Not immediately. Immediately upon return from missing everyone and everything I'd missed so much, of course I was happy. I think I was also unaware. My return was a little naive, - or rather I was, when I returned. Minneapolis was home, and everything that that entailed to me was meant to make me feel complete again.

And to my surprise it didn't.

I'm not typically a person to throw around words like "depressed", but the more I think back on it, it fits. I felt like I was in the wrong body; in the wrong life. Nothing about my situation felt like it could possibly be reality. After having this surreal (in a positive way) experience for six months and feeling all that time like a little piece of me was missing, - Minneapolis, friends, family and church - I felt so misplaced where I was supposed to feel right again.

It felt like picking up in the middle of a conversation; I knew where it started, I missed some of the middle, but now it didn't make any sense. It was disorienting. They talk about return-culture-shock. It wasn't that. I couldn't have been happier to be back in my home country, even as much as I enjoyed any of the four countries I spent time in.

It was as though my life carried on without me in it. And as much as everyone "missed me", after about a day, it felt like it never happened. That felt like an assault to me, - that's not to say that was anyone's fault - but you can't imagine the weight of talking about the experience. After the initial steps off the plane, I've had a probable grand total of 5 solid, sincerely-sought opportunities to really talk about my trip.

I say it's safe now because even though it's still a day to day struggle of recollecting that those were my real life experiences, I'm starting to feel like I am where I'm supposed to be.

Tradition: To Give Thanks

     As is my tradition, and that of many others, to share a few (or some years many) of the things I'm thankful for, here goes...

I grew up in the home of believers. At times, my faith has also helped strengthen or challenge my parents', I'm sure, but I am thankful for the way theirs has shaped mine, and really the way they live their lives in general. I am thankful that I have God-fearing parents that I can seek for prayer!

Furthermore, I'm thankful that I have parents who care enough to get nosey about my life! My mother will listen to me talk about absolutely anything, for as long as I wish, no matter how sleep-deprived she is - sometimes I worry she'll spoil me. How is anyone that selfless?

Which leads me to my next thing: I am thankful for the people who just get me. It's not often you click with someone well-enough to understand their meaning at any given time, with any given amount of words, or lack of them; substituted by facial expressions and emotions. The people who pose no judgment, who genuinely care and invest. I am thankful for the ones who invest, and not cheaply; not short-term. I am thankful for those ones that see me for me, and still want to stick around. There's almost nothing that blesses my heart more!

Something that can compete with the previous statement (almost): February to August of this past year. I had some of the best experiences of my life, which to call them vaguely "best", does them little justice. I stood beneath the Eiffel Tower countless times, ate twice as many baguettes as that, and spoke french with an Afghan guy who came to tug my heartstrings. I traveled through the whole country of Vietnam, visiting seven very different cities, making friends along the way. I got food poisoning for most of the duration of my very short visit to Cambodia, not to mention came home with weird bug bites I'd never had in Nam. I took only a school-sized backpack with me to Ireland, drank several pints of Guinness, met a man in a pub who fell madly in love with me in 3 hours' time and showed me what it should really be like to be pursued. I met some of the best people I may ever know in the world, and my heart stowed-away on 13 different planes to homes all over the States and the world, not to mention a little residual bit sticking behind stubbornly in Paris.

I am thankful to be an American, however cliche that may seem, and all our nation's faults aside. I know now because of my travels how much a blessing it is to have been born in this country. I am thankful for all opportunities it has afforded me, and may continue to.

I am thankful to know a God who loves so deeply, and so individually, and yet is so all-encompassing. I was brought on the absolute adventure of a life-time, and I know it doesn't have to be the only one I have. And even though I mess up, and I'm definitely nowhere near perfection, He'll always take me back and will always love me for the every bit of who I am. I am thankful to know this God, because I also know this life, and I cannot imagine it without knowing my God.

This year, I've skipped some of the usual things: music, coffee, and photography purposefully. Yes, I'm thankful for the little things, the things that no matter how much I love them, I know are insignificant. Being able to say that, carefully and thoughtfully, is one of the biggest blessings of this year; it comes from perspective. I am thankful that I have been made with a soft heart, and have been taught instances to harden it; and have been given lessons in preserving its softness, expanding it even. I am thankful that this has been given to me. And though every day I may acknowledge my love of music or coffee, I don't often enough acknowledge the things that are truly important and truly a blessing in life. Things for which to truly and fervently give thanks.

November 14 Thoughts

I feel like I've been going non-stop, but I know that's not true; see the stress overwhelms me, and scatters my thoughts. It ambushes me every time I think I've got a grip on things, and it goes for the jugular, subtly - if one can go for the jugular subtly. But stress is an inanimate object, it can probably do whatever it wants. Particularly to its victims.

I always fool myself for a little while, even if only a few shining minutes into being stress free. I think, "it's not all as bad as you're making it out to be," or "you're not gonna die; the worst that could happen is you get a C without stressing versus a B with...or you'll fail, but at least life is bigger than college." A million different scenarios or useless pep-talks have buzzed through my mind at attempts of tricking myself into an oasis of carefree contentedness.

Or I just take a nap.

You: I Know Now

I know now not to pour myself into you
I only wish all along I knew
Not to excavate your every thought
Not to pine without care to get caught
But don't take this to the heart
I just should've known better from the start
You were too good to be true cause you weren't
And as is usual
I got myself burnt.

Always Something

There's always something to remind me of you

Some thing or some phrase

And I feel it sting

Like a judging gaze

Which also reminds me of you

I can't picture your face without it

That tactless tightness of your mouth

And the flat skin all about it

Chronicling to me my worth, - or lack

Silently giving me flack

Displaying to me like a lens reflex

How your pride devours me in pecks

Just like you are

A hen

One I wouldn't care to ever see again

But there's always something to remind me of you

Some phrase or some thing.