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Thursday, December 11, 2014

The Place my Heart has Called Home.


"December will help me remember the place that my heart calls home."
-My Favorite Highway lyrics

December is helping me remember the place that my heart has called its home. It does that for most of us. The presence of Christmas evokes warmth, happiness, and fuzzy feelings. It reminds of us family, and the importance of keeping a warm heart. Most of us would say that at Christmas, our heart feels at home.

December reminds me of where my heart has called home, too. Last year's December started a new phase of life for me. The past year has been a redefinition. I am a radically different person, but I haven't forgotten where my heart has been. The place my heart has called home isn't a place like Christmas. I look back and realize that my heart's home - its usual dwelling place - was not one characterized by warmth or rosiness. My heart isn't used to the peace and stillness that I have found over this past year.

(Spoiler alert: I'm about to get quite sappy and nostalgic.)

This month precipitates a flood of memories from the past few years. But it isn't a reminiscence of rosy memories. The month brings back memories of an idealistic, ashamed, and fearful girl teetering on the edge of the thin wall that separates darkness from light. And in a way, it's so weird to see past-me like that. It's odd to look back, from a perspective of hope, and see my proximity to disbelief, despair, fear. My proximity to ignorance.

I was ignorant of a lot of things, like responsibility, and wisdom. But I was mostly ignorant of hope.

I didn't realize, or respect, the fact that hope was bought for me. I just didn't see it. I saw my life as a residual buildup of my mistakes. I mean, imagine the story of your past without the sovereignty of God woven into it. Imagine your past without God's provision. That's how I saw myself. That's how I saw hope.

I guess I never really saw anything. I was fearfully wide-eyed but despicably blind. I was incredulous of hope and yet ignorant of the same. I never really thought that I was beyond hope; I never thought God was distant; but I never realized hope's presence either. I teetered on the edge for quite a while, even after I first encountered Christ. Maybe you teetered too. Maybe you even traveled through some ruins; I did. Maybe you know what it feels like to break into a lot of pieces, and then scoop them up into what you think resembles a functional person.

That's what my heart has known. Until this year, that's where my heart called its home. Not a rosy Christmas-y warmth, really.

This past year should've been the hardest year of  my life. My parent's separation, my job at Chick-fil-A, becoming an adult, paying my own bills and paving my own way. It should've been a tumultuous year. Probably more tumultuous than any year I've ever known.

But you know what? It hasn't been.

This year has been sanctifying. And that has made it beautiful. It's fed me endless new perspectives, thoughts, ideas, emotions, dreams. It's taken me through staggering, winding roads and plateaued in curious places. The large majority of this year has just had a lot of pluck. It's been tricky to navigate. But it's shattered my ignorance. It's shattered my expectations, my pride, my immaturity. It showed me the value in trusting on the sovereignty of my Creator.

This crazy year has been used to sanctify me, but it has also brought clarity. It expanded my mind and my soul, and brought a hearty breadth to my relationship with my God. I haven't known trust until now. Trust, in that I'm literally okay with whatever happens because I trust his purposes in it all. And I used to call that crazy.

But you know what else I would've called crazy? This year being the one used to redefine me. I never would have predicted it. I never would have predicted that this would be the year that I grow the closest with my family. The year that I get a wonderful job. The year that I find myself inexpressibly happy. The year that I fall in love. The year that I learn to candidly trust my God.

I would've considered that possibility preposterous. But God didn't. And his goodness, even amidst the craziness, has given me full faith in his sovereignty. That's the place that my heart now calls home.

Merry Christmas. I hope that, whatever your heart calls its home, it is a place graced with the breath of God.

_

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Things I've Learned.

It just so happens that I am rapidly approaching my 18th birthday. And comparing my 17th birthday with this one, I've realized that I have learned more than I notice. The year isn't over yet,  but I've learned a ton this year. Some of it surprised me. Some it didn't. Some it makes me smile, and some of it makes me shrug. Some of it was kind of meh. But lessons learned are good: even the painful ones add to your repertoire of things you know.


So.

I learned that even when you think you couldn't get on without somebody, you can. I learned that "indispensable people" are completely dispensable. I learned that if somebody never really meant a lot to you, it's easier to say goodbye to them. But I also learned that even someone you hate can leave a hole in your heart. And I learned that once you trust somebody, you can't untrust them. So if you're going to share your deepest secrets, do it oh so carefully. Or don't. I learned that it's possible to feel a void from something you've never had. I learned that, at the end of the day, you have to be your own biggest fan. I learned that even if no one else believes in you, if you believe in yourself and mostly just press ahead, you can make it.

I learned that it's possible to feel the most alone in a crowd of people. I learned that everything here is painfully temporary: love and heartbreak alike. I also learned that people can become old news quickly. And yet it's not the new wonders that have the deepest beauty; it's the ones that you stay with over time that end up having the most consuming beauty. I learned that independence is sweet. I learned that friends are sweeter. I learned that if you have something to say, just say it. Even if it's nerve-wracking, honesty has never caused the world to end. But I also learned what's it's like for another person to be your entire world, and I learned that honesty sometimes does undermine that world. I learned that silence says way more than words. I learned how to set boundaries with people. I learned that one person can influence everything else in your life.

I learned that hellos can be scarier than goodbyes. But I also learned that saying goodbye is one of the last things I ever want to do again. I learned to savor laughter, because it's rare. But I also learned to savor tears, because they help you grow. I learned that maturity gets easier with practice, but it also feels a little bit like dying. I learned that loneliness has a way of deepening you as a person and helping you discern the truly lovely things in the world. I learned that sometimes humanness overcomes even the deepest-set morality. And I learned that grace finds you even still. I learned that simply a hug can mean the world. And somehow, amidst all this, I've learned how to be really happy.

Yep. A lot can happen in a year. And this one has been the most full, lovely, and yet stretching one yet. I wouldn't go back and change anything. Because I've learned that everything has been sovereignly allowed to happen, and it all has broken me, reshaped me, and lifted me: making me who I am.

And I've learned to be really okay with that.
_

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

"Love of Learning".

Connections happen in strange places and take strange forms.

I connected with a guest at Chick-fil-a today while talking about the Romantic Era in American literature. In the last three minutes of my shift, I took her order and we randomly started discussing books. When I clocked out, she waved me over to her table and we talked some more. When she learned that I have been home-educated, she was shocked. "Wow," she stammered."I just...I don't know how your mom has instilled this love of learning in you."

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my mother has not instilled a "love of learning" in me.

I don't think that was ever her goal. Whatever she instilled in me was different. Honestly, the way my mother raised and educated me was close to sheer brilliance, on her part. You see, from a young age, she taught me that pure knowledge was useless.

I never learned to simply love knowledge. My mother never instilled a passion for just "learning" in me. She never indoctrinated me with "knowledge is power." Instead, she showed me that excellence is power.

Mom made sure I understood that being smart wasn't the goal. Seeking knowledge was not education. "Education", to her, was purposefully pursuing truth, excellence, and wisdom. She wanted me to have understanding, not just brains. She wanted me to be wise, not just intelligent. Mostly, she wanted me to have excellence. And she wanted me to have the guts to practically apply anything I had learned.

I mean, sure, my mom wanted me to be smart, like any other good parent would. But she wanted me to learn valuable things, not just things. She desired for me to have knowledge, but she wanted me to pursue knowledge of quality.

I think that's where the education my mother gave me differed from the typical, pre-college, modern education. She was wise enough to understand that memorizing facts by rote wasn't an education. Knowing stuff was not excellence. Being brainy didn't mean you would be successful. Amidst learning the typical things that every kid learns, like fractions and chemistry and algebra and even American literature, my mother instilled something more in me. And it was not a love for learning. It was a love for truth. It was a love for quality. It was a love for purpose. It was a love for wisdom. And by instilling those things into me, she taught me how to utilize raw knowledge. She taught me how to apply it. She taught me how to discern the quality amongst the quantity.

And I think that was brilliant of her. Because even if you forget some of the facts that your education poured into you, you never forget how to pursue excellence. You never forget how to discern wisdom. You never lose your hunger for truth. You never forget how to work hard. Those things stick with you, and those things are what make you truly successful.

"When you read the history books about outstanding individuals, you see that many of them didn't have brilliant minds. Instead, they had common sense and worked hard to accomplish their goals." -Truett Cathy

Until today, I don't think I fully explored the value of my education, or my gratefulness for it. And it's such a huge cliché and understatement, but I am just so grateful; and so mom, thank you.
_

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Theology Quarrels.

I once was an idiot.

I once walked into an NCFCA event and proudly stated, "Predestination is unbiblical!"

Got slaughtered over that. Never tried it again. I fought with people over that facet of theology and everything in between. But when the whole Calvinism thing started sinking in about a year ago, I started fighting with my Southern-Baptist-Armenian-friends. Predestination was actually kinda biblical. And I was a jerk about it. And I didn't even care. They were wrong and I was right. I had finally accepted what I had fought for years. It made me feel proud. And until they recognized that, I was relentless. Come to think of it, I once was a jerk as well.

I loathe that about myself. I loathe the fact that being right about theology was once more important to me than people. God's creation. I was so incredibly arrogant over the fact that I was now correct. I understood every facet of God now, right? And that somehow gave me the right to trample the people who needed God the most.

People quarrel over theology and they forget the point. Theology is about understanding God more. It is about comprehending even a few flecks of His vast mystery. And comprehending, biblically, ought to lead to sharing. Don't lock away the beautiful things you know. Share them with other humans, and pray that they start to understand God more, too. Because God is hard to understand. Not all of it makes sense on this side of eternity. 

But somehow, talking about theology has devolved into something less than simply seeking the face of God. Theological discussions can sometimes become not about God at all. They become about pride. They become a contest of intelligence; a battle of wits; a trivia of theological knowledge. And they hurt people. When people shoot theology at you instead of understanding you, that hurts. When people share their own bloated knowledge instead of seeking to help others understand God, that hurts. 

Oftentimes, we just want to communicate the lofty things that we have understood. We forget to communicate for the purpose of helping others understand God.

That's what theology is about. That should be the purpose of theological discussions. To understand God. To seek His face. To humbly recognize His vastness and His mystery. To raise questions and search for answers. It should not be to force another into admitting you're right. The Gospel is not about simply being right. It's about God's grace. Theology is a method of communicating that grace. Don't forsake such an opportunity by quarreling with someone who might simply need to glimpse the grace of God. 

Explaining truth and hammering it relentlessly into someone can be vastly different. One is for the glory of God; the other is for the glory of ourselves. 

We really do forget to communicate for the purpose of helping others understand God. 

So I guess, let's discuss away. Talk all the theology we please. Seek to understand God and share every bit of it, even. But let's also remember the purpose. Remember that is for the glory of Christ, not our ego. Approach others with a mindset of grace, rather than a hunger to be recognized as right. 

People need to be loved. They need to schooled, but they need to be loved too. God is understandingly patient with us. He loves us while he gently and gradually reveals facets of His truth. Perhaps an element of that should be adopted in how we share truths with others. 

_

Monday, September 8, 2014

{Silence.}

Some nights I come in here, into this tranquil little room of mine, and I drink in the immense silence. 

But it isn't purely the silence that is comforting; it is the depth of it. 


Oftentimes, in this weird sorry world of ours, we have moments of silence that are just reeking of shallowness. We sit and we're complacent in our silence, but we don't let it affect us. We don't gulp it in; we don't even let it gradually seep into our pores. We don't use it to think or feel. We're just quiet. 


But a shallow "quiet" is far different from a rich, velvety silence. The kind of silence that wraps its cloak around you and folds you neatly into it. The kind that takes each thought and gently lays it to rest. The kind that can handle deep tranquility or even deeper sadness. The kind of silence that was made for softly dull candles, the gentle monotony of a ceiling fan, a mug of something hot, and a pen and paper. Maybe even a few tears; at least deeply meaningful thoughts. Silence is vivid. When we allow our buzzing bodies and minds to still themselves, things can happen. The stupidity of our glorified rat-race-of-a-life is forgotten, and often the truly colorful and beautiful thoughts can rise to the surface. Like a limp body in a pool of water, beauty can rise to the surface in the silence. 


That is why I find silence so immensely rewarding. Others may find occasional silences to be rude, distant, or unnecessary. But its richness to me far exceeds the hummingbird-like tendencies of everyone else -- flitting around endlessly, panickedly, sometimes pointlessly. Silence allows for observation, contemplation, discovery and realization. It is in these silences - full of color, life, and depth - that I discover the most about myself. It's beautiful. 

Silence is an excavation, brimming with its own possibility, wonder, and contentedness. 

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

"Happiness" is a myth.

"Maybe I should just marry Keith and hope he dies young."
"When did we become such pathetic people?"
-Elliot and J.D in Scrubs

I just received an email from a friend, and it sparked some thoughts. He told me that he wasn't happy. He remembered being happy around last July and August, but something had cracked since then, and he couldn't pinpoint it.

Ever been unhappy and you have no idea why?

I will confess: I didn't even know how to be happy until this spring. I went into this year with several goals, and one overriding theme: figure out how to be happy. I spent the early winter months working through my parent's recent separation and the events that precipitated it. Maybe this wouldn't be the best time to find happiness after all. But all of the sudden, it was. Nothing in my life was perfect, but somehow, something was just working for me. A friend asked me how I was in late March. And I realized that I was happy. It had happened. I did it. I was happy.

But I quickly realized how weird happiness is. I found that "happiness" is more accurately described as a conglomeration of satisfaction, confidence, cooperative circumstances, your personal grasp of hope, and endorphin releases. And if any one of those things flips out of balance, stuff can get tricky again.

Happiness is a myth. Nobody knows how to make it last. Nobody knows exactly what it is or how to keep it. Everybody chases it, and some people find it; others do not. Happiness is an elusive creature that every human has hunted throughout their entire existence. But what is it? Why is it important? How could some people find it and others find it consistently evasive?

Why does happiness ebb and flow? 

Happiness does come and go. Sometimes, you're just unhappy, and there is no explanation or cure. Yet other times, happiness springs upon you and there is no explanation for that either. I've found that happiness is, at its core, unpredictable. And yet I have found that is also a skill. Happiness is a skill. Learning to recognize beauty in the ashes and yet seeing that life is not comprised of ashes - that is a skill. Choosing to fight for hopes yet unseen - that is a skill. 

Realizing that if it weren't for sadness, we wouldn't even recognize happiness - that is a skill. 

My mom used to tell me that happiness is not a right. And I think that's correct You aren't entitled to feeling happy. But you are entitled to the pursuit of it. You're entitled to chasing it, choosing it, and fighting for it as much as you please. 

Yet ultimately, I think it is the method by which you pursue happiness that truly determines happiness.

I have seen others pursue happiness with an unabashed selfishness. They stepped on the happiness of others' simply to ensure their own. And I think any happiness gained from that is shallow. But I've also seen people pursue happiness with yet a keen appreciation for the happiness of others'. And that is beautiful. In my personal experience, the individuals who pursue happiness without crushing that of others' find themselves the most happy. Wisdom determines that fine line.

So as for being happy, I guess you just have to choose it. But you also have to fight for it, and yet with wisdom. You have to harness your own pursuit of it. You have to realize that happiness ebbs and flows, and that's okay. You have to understand that happiness may not last forever, but neither does unhappiness. You have to understand that happiness can be circumstantial, but that circumstances can't rob you of hope. And ultimately, maybe an ever-steady hope determines happiness.

Also, coffee is great for a massive dopamine release.

"Through Him, we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God." 
-Romans 5:2 ESV

Friday, August 15, 2014

Growing up is scary.

With all my friends leaving for college and starting their life, I have become prey to a shockingly mind-blowing epiphany.

Growing up is scary.

There are a lot of scary parts to growing up. Sometimes it's kinda tough to navigate. I look ahead and I see how unknown most parts of life are.

Like relationships. Everybody wants somebody. Everybody is expected to have somebody. But relationships could make or break everything else. They can make everything more rosy or more cloudy. And if your relationship doesn't have the weight to impact everything else, then maybe it isn't important enough to you. Or maybe it shouldn't impact everything else. But maybe if it does, it's only healthy. Maybe that means that you've found somebody worth your time. But figuring it all out is one heck of a ride.

And kids. How unsettling is the thought that one day, you'll have kids. You'll have to have enough wisdom or guts or both to be the foundation of another human's life. You will be the reason that someone does or does not learn right and wrong. You could ruin somebody's life, and they can't do anything about it. That level of power and responsibility honestly scare me. How is one human supposed to conquer humanness enough to teach it to another person? That takes the most courage of all.

And finances, career, etc. I want to spend my life investing in what I'm good at. But I also need to earn enough money to stay afloat. Because apparently food and electricity are rather pivotal in today's society. Will I ever find the career that I'm passionate about? Will I ever have to sacrifice the career I love in order to earn enough money? Or vice versa? Should I be okay with that sacrifice?

Will I change the world? Will it change me? Will I be able to leave an impact? Or will I be so busy being afraid that I don't ever try?

So many questions. So many fears. Maturity seems to get easier with practice, but it also feels a little bit like dying. Growing up is just scary. But sometimes, admitting that is one of the most mature things you can do.
_

Saturday, July 19, 2014

The Sappy Post.

Have you ever wondered what it actually looks like to "fall for somebody"?

It appears that "falling for somebody" has become synonymous with love; whatever society thinks that means is anybody's guess. But yeah. I've been wondering about that lately. How are you supposed to know if you've fallen for somebody or not? I mean, that scrumptious-fuzzy-butterfly-feeling is supposed to be an indication, but is that it? How is anyone supposed to know? And I mean, really know?

Is it remembering every little thing they said when you two talk? Is it thinking about them all day? Or is it when any given thing reminds you of them? Is it wanting to talk to them all the time, or share every tiny moment with them, or even tell them everything about yourself? Is it when you trust someone - and I mean wholly trust them, where you let them know everything about you - and they hold it safer than you would? Is it when you crave their presence? And being with them, or beside them, or near them, is purely enough? Is it wanting to kiss them every morning, and hold them every night? Is it when you would give anything in the world just to bring them joy? Or is it when you're willing to sacrifice everything for them, maybe even your own happiness or dreams, without breathing a single word?

How do you know when you've fallen for somebody? Maybe it's not easy to determine. Maybe it looks different for everybody. Maybe it feels different for everybody. Maybe "falling for somebody" just means you regard someone in a more meaningful way than "just friends". Maybe it means even more than that. Maybe it's when you care about somebody so much that you can't get over them. They might hurt you or lie to you or get ugly or fat or irritable. And maybe then, that butterfly feeling goes away. But somehow you still bring yourself to love them, to fight for them, to simply care for them. And maybe that's what it looks like to fall for somebody. Wanting to be with them and never give up. And if a day comes when you want to give up, you fight to keep them anyway. Because sometimes love is a choice. Maybe "falling for somebody" is a dressed-up-term for a decision to make that choice.

I don't think love is about self-fulfillment or finding happiness or hugs and kisses or even friendship. It's not the completion of self or filling in the gaps.

That's part of it, but not the extent of it.

I think, ultimately, that love is about several things. Sacrifice, intimacy, and companionship. When the Bible said that God created woman because it wasn't good for man to be alone, it was right. Aloneness isn't good. It often causes selfishness, and of course, the pungent loneliness. Companionship is beautiful because it alleviates the pain of loneliness, but it also gives you the opportunity and necessity for sacrifice. I think sacrifice is important because it is a redefinition. Because, if you think about it, we spend our entire lives doing things mostly to make ourselves happy. Sacrifice redefines that. We do things for somebody else; we try to make somebody else happy, for a change; we love and are concerned with another. It's not just ourselves anymore. Sacrifices, ultimately, although in really tiny way, redefine our day-to-day purpose. We don't exist to make ourselves happy anymore; we exist to pour ourselves into another. 

And one of the most beautiful things ever is when, in a relationship, two people find it within themselves to sacrifice for each other. It's so beautiful. Mutual sacrifice is, I think, at least the partial definition of intimacy. Intimacy is when you have an exclusive and deeply close bond with someone. And it honestly takes sacrifice to have that; letting somebody in like that. Allowing a person to know and see and have access to every part of you. Taking the effort to know somebody else like that. That's sacrifice. And mutual sacrifice leads to such a colorful intimacy that I'm not even sure how I would describe it. 

I guess intimacy is a gift that is also a labor. It is a deep interlocking and intertwining of souls. It is a perpetual withdrawal of all selfishness and stinginess; it is a perpetual replenishing of closeness and warmth. I think everybody wants that, this "intimacy". But so few people actually get there. Shallow dual-interest is often mistaken for intimacy. 

But knowing all of one's secrets, memorizing them inside and out, and sharing their bed is not the extent of intimacy.

Full intimacy teems with depth and bonds so deeply interlocked that they are indestructible. Full intimacy is a dual-denying of self, for the interest of each other. Maybe full intimacy is when two souls become one. The lines of their pain and your pain begin to blur. Like a drop of water on a watercolor painting, your separate colors begin to blend together. Individuality is not breached, but your souls collide and twist their roots together, and then they grow on as one. Full intimacy is when two hearts fall so hard for each other that they sacrifice for each other, even when unwilling or the other is undeserving.

But honestly, full intimacy is a love so vivid that it can only be modeled by Christ, and reproduced through us.

I don't really know. I've never experienced any of this. Breaking news: 90% of the stuff I write is stuff I know nothing about. All of this sounds lovely to me, but yeah. This is just how I hope it all goes.
_

Monday, July 14, 2014

The Uncomfortable Post


After this post, I'm probably going to be labeled as one of "those people". And that's okay. I used to label people like me, too. Until I realized the absurdity of what I actually believed.

I think the Christian modesty culture has gone too far.

There are a few basic premises I want to go over in this post. They range from the goals of the Christian modesty culture to sexual objectification to even some of my personal struggles. And probably some more stuff. But first heed my warning. I plan to speak openly about sensitive issues. I think that the church has been deceived on this issue, and I want to talk about it. If you disagree with me, you are free to do so. I think it needs to be talked about. If you don't think that? Okay. I am not offended by you. This is just what I think.

The Three-Faceted Issue

In my humble opinion, the problem with the whole modesty culture lies within three fairly obvious areas, each of which perpetuate the other.
  1. Society.
  2. The Church.
  3. Ourselves.
It's like this. Society has trained us to believe that we are all purely sexual creatures. Skin is interpreted only sexually. Lips are interpreted only sexually. Genitals are interpreted only sexually. The way we walk, sleep, carry ourselves, talk, and dress becomes a sexual statement. Anything can be sexy. We've gotten used to a society that objectifies, over-sensualizes, and isolates sex. We even market it. Everything, even the clothes we put on our body, are interpreted with a sexual connotation. Society has told us we're sex-crazy. Modesty, therefore, has become directly correlative with controlling this crazy sexuality. 

That's where the Church has come in. The Church, in denying this shallow focus on sex, has tried to control it; with, oddly enough, sex. The church has confirmed that the human body, particularly a woman's body, is a lethal weapon. Yes, the church just confirmed the sex-crazed-culture's fatal flaw. Instead of seeing human bodies as containers of persons of worth, the church sees us exactly like society sees us. Sex-objects. Viewing all people as purely sexual creatures. But, unlike society, the Church tries to label "sexual objectification" as wrong. "You're all just sex-objects, guys, and it's wrong. But don't bother trying to adjust your viewpoint of sex and the human body. We're just going to give you random rules. Ladies, it starts with you."

Obviously, the way to fix lust is to fix the object of the lust. 

So the Church has dutifully spent millions creating programs about modesty. Changing the ways girls dress. Creating absurdly arbitrary standards as to what is too short, what is too tight, what is too revealing, what is too provocative. A girl's body becomes wrong; a potential for sin; immoral. Needing perpetual covering. She is taught, either directly or inadvertently, that her body is the powerful vortex of endless evil. All men will "stumble" if they see it, because men are naturally bottomless-sexual-pits. And by "stumble", we really mean, "Men will desire her in a sexual context, because that's all her body is capable of portraying." Her body has so much sexual power (and that's about it), and it must be controlled. The church objectifies the body as much as society. Restricting the female body is not the answer to a societally-perpetuated objectification of the human body. But the church and society are really both doing the objectifying.

Society: Hey look! A human! I want to have sex with it! 
(doesn't recognize a human body as a soul; only recognizes sexual potential.)
Church: Hey look! A human! Let's make sure nothing has sex with it!
(doesn't recognize a human body as a soul; only recognizes sexual potential.)

Finally, the Church has failed to see two ridiculously fatal flaws with this whole 'you-are-a-sexual-creature-and-we-haz-rules-to-control-it' thing. First, wardrobe standards are arbitrary. And second, wardrobe standards are pointless. 

By arbitrary, I mean this: the Bible does not set parameters that specifically define what is modest or immodest. I've yet to find a definitive, "burkas are okay; leggings are not" type of thing. Thus, any "modesty standard" is man-made, subject to interpretation, and subject to change. And you're having pre-teen girls/grown women base their sexual conscience on an arbitrary standard. Story time: I was called a "baby [inexperienced] whore" at a debate tournament for wearing leopard-print heels with a matching leopard-print blouse. My suit was not tight. My skirt was not short. My blouse was not revealing. I met all the "right standards", right? But no. There are no "right standards". Everybody has a different standard. Thus, you're subject to falling short, being immodest, and receiving "whore status" at any given moment.

And by pointless, I mean this: women are not responsible for, or capable of, controlling a man's sexual desire. This is one of the hugest problems with the idea of the modesty culture. A woman, or anybody, cannot possibly be responsible for preventing any given person's sin. No matter how thoroughly you cover up their body, they are still subject to lust and objectification due to the state of our society. Ridiculous amounts of undue pressure have been put on women, all with the goal of stopping other men's sin. They are guilted into believing their body is the problem. If they conceal the problem, the perception of it will cease, right? But it doesn't work. It's impossible. As patheos.com put it:
Um, hey, guys, don’t you know that people are attracted to wildly different things and you can’t possibly create a standard that crushes every salacious impulse in every conceivable instance? Also, not every guy is a sex-crazed maniac like you think they are.
Well-said.

And then there's the final prong of the problem. Ourselves. We are part of the problem simply because we have chosen to go along with things, on both ends of the spectrum.

Example: I went through a stage where I was so paranoid about possibly causing a guy to sin (i.e, view me in a sexual fashion) that I wore no makeup and donned long denim skirts, and loose XL blouses. I made sure to keep my hair in a simple medium-length style; I remember when my stylist cut me side-bangs, and I cried. I thought they looked too cool. Too trendy. Too sexy. I was clearly on the path to becoming the next Delilah with those trampy side-bangs. I thought that, by controlling my appearance, I could control the thoughts of every man I met.

And I also went through a stage where everything I bought was purchased with sexual awareness. Actually, that still kind of happens. You know, where you try something on, look in the mirror, and ask yourself if it passes "the test": if it makes me look hot, buy it; f it doesn't make me look attractive, put it back on the rack. And in a way, that's fair enough. We should all buy things that look good on us. But that's different than buying things for their sexual allure. Honestly, I've bought things before that I knew made me look sexually desirable. And I think that's wrong. I think it perpetuates the problem - putting the focus on clothing and sexual potential, rather than the value of human identity and individuality. And here, I also thought that my wardrobe could control the thoughts of every man I met. In both instances, I obsessed over thoughts about purely my body. Objectifying myself, in both scenarios, before anyone else even had a chance.

We all do it. The problem rests with ourselves. 

Society reduces us all to purely sexual creatures. The church has confirmed this stigma and thrown arbitrary, pressuring, and absurd rules at us. And then we've just blithely gone along with it all. 

The solution is certainly not to wear denim skirts and sweatshirts. The solution is also not to walk around naked. The solution is to stop objectifying clothing, and the people who wear them, as sexual items. The solution is to learn to value the person, rather than their sexual potential. The solution is to swim upstream, deny the culture, and stop using arbitrary standards to control our stigmatized sexuality. 

Disclaimer: I understand that my solution here sounds a little bit idealistic. It would be wonderful if we all could just wear what we want and it not bother anybody. It would be wonderful if we could all just realize that our clothes are just clothes, and shouldn't be hyper-sensitively sexualized. But most people won't do that. Most people will still either gawk at you or judge you.

Maybe I'm asking you to apply an ideal standard to an unidealistic world.

But the challenge still remains. Realize that the true issue is our view of the human body and sexuality. The issue is not the human body; it is how we have dealt with it. The solution is ultimately to be unafraid, of change, of truth, of wisdom, of grace. Just be wise. But be bold. All you can do is change the culture by changing your views. Stop reducing yourself, others, and the human body to an isolated sexual object.

_

Friday, June 20, 2014

Frosted Trash

There are two types of sin. Or rather, two ways to handle sin.
  • Carnal Sin - that people use for their own pleasure, and others use for gossip purposes.
  • Humbling Sin - that God uses to humble you, break you, and mold you.
Most people don't realize that the second type of sin exists.

The first type of sin is often all that we can see. Someone does something stupid, it gets leaked, and they'll never live it down. Oh my gosh, people will say. What was she thinking, people will say. Why are you even talking to her? people will say. Don't you know what she did?

And unfortunately, sin often never becomes anything more than that. A bad move, a source of rumors, a life of shame to follow. That's it. That's sin when we don't allow God to take it. And in a way, that's far more comfortable than allowing God to take it. Anyone can deal with rumors about them. It stings, but you can deal with it. Yet surrendering your sin to God, allowing Him to wrest it from your hands, and allowing Him to use it in unknown ways - yikes. 

As a child of grace, we are given just that: grace. Grace blots out sin. But the process is painful. You might feel like shards of pottery on the ground. Getting trampled. By people who hate pottery. One word: David.

But it will become worth it.

When you surrender yourself to the process of grace, it isn't easy. It isn't even always beautiful. It hurts, because you are so broken over your sin, and yet people still trample even the brokenness. And yet grace carries on. It doesn't pause, even for a second, rinsing away the shame. Sin is sin, and it will never have worth. But God, in his sovereignty, can use it to do extraordinary things in us.

Grace is a funny thing. It meets us where we are, but it does not allow us to stay where we are. It convicts us and acquits us. But we don’t often allow ourselves to experience its full beauty, due to our own selfishness. We like to think that God’s grace is the free-pass to do whatever we please. But it isn’t. The beauty of grace is only fully realized when coupled with repentance. Otherwise, grace is cheap. Grace only matters because it distinguishes the difference between our worth from our sins. But if we use grace to “justify” sketchy character, then it no longer meets its purpose. Then it is no longer grace at all. It is only an excuse at that point.

Grace is beautiful when coupled with repentance. It is at its most beautiful form when we realize how little we deserve it. That's when God uses our sin to humble us, to break us, to shatter our pride and to deepen our perspective. Sin is never beautiful, and often, that's as far as our vision goes when we think about sin. We don't realize that we are called to repent from it; we are called to be saved from it; we are called to be free from it; and we are called to recognize other people's freedom from it too.

In the cover photo of this post, there are shards of pottery. And basically, those shards of pottery will always be broken. But people take those broken pieces of trash and paint them and frost them and make them beautiful. I'm saying that grace takes trash, sin, and twists it to create in us something more beautiful. The trash itself isn't worth it and it isn't beautiful, but because of grace, we are.

_

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Nationals.

(This photo isn't even from Nationals. But yeah.)
I soaked up this past week thoroughly. It was Nationals week, and there were so many things at this tournament that I will always hold onto. Some days, it was hard. Most days, it was still worth it. It seems like this trip was just enough time to deepen existing relationships, without being so long that you start to hate all your friends.

This year has not been a great year regarding people. I gave up on humanity this year. Most days, I retreated into my calm existence of thinking, writing, coffee, books, music, and solitude. No people. People are too inconsistent, intruding, and confusing. I could shut them out and retreat to a better spot. Most days, I still go there. I went there a lot at Nationals, even. Introversion is nice sometimes. Yet this tournament slightly revitalized my view of the human race in general.

What I'm trying to say is that I met people who gave me hope.

Not that I didn't already have hope. This year has been the most difficult year of my life, but for the first time ever, I am happy. I've never had a deep, lasting happiness. But now I do. I think it's because I always grasped at hope. There is a lot to be said for just muddling through. Making it until you find hope. That sort of thing. I refused to let go of the idea of hope – ever. And yet, this week, I met people who embodied hope. I've always had hope. I've always believed in it. I've always waited for it, and it has found me. But now I've met people – real flawed people – who embody the hope I have always held. Seeing hope embodied almost gives me more hope.

Nationals week was a lot of things. It was hard. It was trying. It was so overwhelming at times. It was frustrating, at times ridiculous, and at times not super fun.

But this week, two beautiful things happened.
  1. I saw hope in other human beings.
  2. I proved myself, to myself.
By saying that I proved myself, I'm not referring to my performance at all. I only broke in one out of my four speeches, and I didn't even make it past Quarters. I didn't meet my goals in that regard. But I still made myself so proud. I stepped out of my shell a little bit and poured myself into people, in completely new ways. I turned pages this week. I let go of old friends, and I invested in new ones. I got over being afraid of failure when it comes to new friendships.

Actually, I didn't get over being afraid. But I got over the fear hindering me.

I learned to let go. I learned to say goodbye. I learned to hold people and then release them. And then I also learned to say hello. I learned to savor the sound of new laughter, the expression new thoughts, and the warmth of new hugs. I learned the art of quietly turning the page, folding it up, and tucking it away. And then I also learned the art of saying hello, when you've been dying to say it for so long.

(I don't know if I should call them “arts” yet; I'm still pretty messy at this.)

Never has a medal, a trophy, a certificate, or a scholarship made me this proud of myself, and never have those things given me hope. Winning extends beyond having Mrs. Hudson call your name from a stage, facing 3,000 people. Winning is often a battle with yourself, and/or the world. Victory is sweet, and I have won. Saying goodbye and letting go of people is hard, because people sometimes become a part of you. Letting them go is like letting pieces of yourself slip through your fingers. But saying hello is also hard, because you make yourself vulnerable for a new person to become a part of you. And you might have to say goodbye to them someday, too. But I did both this week. Sometimes I made jokes about it. But I never would have guessed how deeply this impacted me.

Nationals 2014: one official medal. Countless unofficial ones, called friendships.

_

Sunday, June 1, 2014

What we are Used to

"We prefer to live on other people's ideas. It's what we are used to." -Razumihin, Crime and Punishment

"What denomination are you?" .... "I don't really know yet."
"What college are you going to?" .... "That depends on a lot of things."
"What are you going to be?" .... "That's an excellent question."
"What political party do you affiliate with?" .... "A little of all of them?"

I guess these past few months have been anything but ordinary for me. I've realized that I don't know all the truths. The past few months have been anything but blind and they have been anything but normal. I feel like I've seen so much. I've changed my views and I've lifted my personal presuppositions from my faith. I guess I've learned to value rawness, humanness, and truth in these past few months. I've learned to value the search for those things as much as I value their solution.

I've seen that the beautiful lessons are learned just as much in the search as they are in the solution.

To be honest, I think my entire life - and most of all our lives - have been a panicked search for identity. How am I going to make myself matter? What do I believe in contrast to what other people believe? How should I act around them? Should it bother me if they don't like me? Do I even like me? Is something wrong just because a large number of people are screeching that it's wrong? Is something right under the same conditions?

Some days I feel like we're so vulnerable and gullible. We live on other people's ideas. And I get so frustrated when I realize that nearly the entire world does that. Somebody comes up with something in their own panicked search for identity, and other people see it their panicked search, and then all the panicked people grasp onto it until something shinier pops up. That's how the life-cycle works, son.

I read Crime and Punishment last December, and I absolutely fell in love with that book. It epitomizes so much of our humanity. I took a pen and wrote down, in my faded purple notebook, some of the most profound quotes of the story. Every now and then I go back and reread them. I love reading from an author that understands, perfectly, the bittersweetness of the human search for identity. Crime and Punishment was about the search for God, and the search for identity, and the search for truth.

I have come to value searching immensely. Searching has a negative stigma attached to it. If you don't have the parameters of your religion, wallet, education, and private life neatly defined, then you must be searching, and that must be bad. You don't have everything figured out. You're a drifter. You're a hippie. You need to grow up. Our search for identity is often rushed along by society. And that's not okay. A thorough search is so important. And if you don't have all your own questions answered?

No one really does.

What are you used to? Are you used to rushing the searching process? Are you used to deciding on who you are before God has shown you who He created you to be? Are you used to being afraid because you can't answer your own questions? Are you used to living on other people's ideas because you've been told to discard your own?

The point of this post is not to discourage guidance in a search for identity, and it is not to ridicule having answers. Answers are beautiful. I've found a few of those every now and then. That's why the search for them is immensely important. The solution can't be reached without the method. Don't rush it. Don't be scared to admit it. Search and search wholeheartedly. Think for yourself. Don't be afraid to question things. Don't be afraid to question everything. Truth has this nifty habit of rising to the surface.

Don't be afraid to sift through the silt of everything you've ever heard. The nuggets of truth will survive. Search, my friends, and search on. Don't be afraid to admit that you don't have it all figured out. We live on other people's ideas, because that's what we are used to. But think for yourself. Allow yourself to think and allow yourself to question and allow yourself to admit when you don't have an answer.

Your identity is not defined by somebody else's. Please don't be scared to embrace that.

-

Friday, May 16, 2014

God Knows We're Worth It.

This is for the person out there who needs it tonight. Maybe it will help someone else out too. That's why I'm putting it up here.

You asked me the other day why I haven't given up on you. It seems that people see that pain - the pain that you don't know what to do with - as selfish drama. I wondered about that once. If it was just a ploy for attention. I've changed my mind now. But even then, I wanted to help you. I wanted to be that one person who didn't leave you behind. That one person who stayed. That one person who begged you to stay.

I wanted to show you how important you are, somehow.

I prayed once that you would feel your veins. That your veins, and the blood and life rushing through them, would make you feel alive. I prayed that the very knowledge of life and existence would make you breathless.

And yet here you are. And now I'm having to beg you to stay alive. I sit here on my side of the screen and read about your injuries. The emotional ones, the physical ones from your dad, the emotional ones from your dad, the physical ones that you give yourself. I sit here on my side of my screen and I cry. I cry for you at 2:15 AM. I cry because you're giving up on yourself, even though I'm fighting to never give up on you.

I used to think that the worst pain was when you loved someone, and they didn't love you back. But now I don't think that. The worst pain is when you love someone, and they don't love themselves.

I guess I've realized that, as much as I adore you, I can't fix you. I can't make your dad stop. I can't make them stop fighting. I can't take your blades away when it's 3:00 in the morning and you're sick of yourself. I can't even show you just how worthwhile you are. You say that I help, but I can't be there with you. I can't stop you from taking those pills. And I wish I could. I wish I make you see the raging sparks of beauty in your soul. I wish I could show you. I wish I could take your hand and escape from the world, and then point out all the lives you've touched. All the hearts you've held. All the smiles you brought. All the hugs you've given. All the people who might be in a different place today if it weren't for you, giving of yourself, and taking their hand. Helping them heal.

And when you asked me why I don't give up on you, it made me think. Yeah. Why haven't I?

I will never give up on you. And it's because I see you for who you really are. I asked God this year to let me see people's worth - their immense wholeness - for what it really is. I guess I've seen that everybody is broken. Everybody has a story to tell. And so do you. But I've also seen that the shards of your brokenness aren't your definition. They don't define you. You only see your shallow hurts. You don't see the beautiful colors and vivid wholeness underneath.

I see you for who you really are. I don't see you through your distorted lenses. I see you. You. The person who never gave up on me. The person who still won't.

And if you love me as much as you say you do, then I'm begging you. Don't leave. Stay. Don't you dare give up on me. Don't you dare give up on you. Don't you dare listen to the voices that shatter your worth. I don't give up on you because you're worth more than that. And I can see that. It's glaringly evident. I don't give up on you because I see how lovely you are. I don't give up on you because I remember your smile and your arms around my neck. I don't give up on you because I remember your laugh, and how you were when you had hope. I don't give up on you because you are still breathing. And your very breath is hope. As long as you're here, I have no reason to give up on you. I don't give up on you because I once was where you are, and you never gave up on me.

I don't give up on you because I love you. I believe in you. I believe that we can do this, together. And I'm going to fight for you, even when you won't.

The worst pain is when you love somebody and they don't love themselves. You don't know how lovely you are. But that doesn't stop me from seeing it. And I will keep seeing it, and I will keep choosing to fight for you.

And so don't you dare give up on this. I've fought with you at midnight about hurting yourself. I've called you in desperation to make sure you're okay. I've cried with you in my mind a thousand times. I've held your hand beside a hospital bed in my worst of dreams. I've wrapped my arms around you in-person, and I've seen you when hope glimmers in your eyes. I watched you laugh like an idiot as you laid on the floor of that library at 9:00 PM, with our friends. I've stayed. And I swear to god that you can't make me leave. I don't give up on people. You're not worth giving up on. You are worth fighting for. I'm not just saying that. You are worth all my time and more. I've stayed. And I will keep staying. And I want you to stay here with me. You will be okay. Don't just give up on it.

God knows you're worth it.

And I won't ever give up.

-

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Imprints

There are some days where I just long for something beautiful. And on those days, I go and seek it out myself. I find it when I go and sit on my roof and write in my purple notebook. I find it when I listen to my coffeehouse playlist and drink something hot. I find it when my little brother falls asleep on the floor and I carry him to his bed. I find it. Even if nothing is there, I'll find it.

But today, I was handed something beautiful.

A longtime friend I'll call Ms. Sue was at Chick-Fil-A for several hours, eating her salad and meticulously highlighting lines in her Bible. She asked me how she could pray for me. It caught me off-guard. I shared a little bit about my life as of late. The pretty things, the hard things, the weird things and the bland things. She listened and then she stood up and put her arms around me.

"I didn't know anything about your life lately. Somehow, I needed that. Now let me share my testimony with you, and I hope you find...well, hope...in it."

She's had an eating disorder for 40 years. She weighs 80 pounds. Her hair is thin and her face is gaunt. Her clothes hang off of her body and her toothy grin is lovably weak. I've known about her eating disorder. But I didn't know the details.

"But Emily, you know what? I realized on December 31st, the last day of 2013, that this is a sin. Because anything that cheapens you and distracts your focus on God is a sin. And I found that I am worth more than this; than these enemy lies. And so I'm going to fight."

"Remember the paralytic beside the Pool of Betheseda? He was lame for 38 years, and Jesus asked him if he wanted to be well. Then He told him to get up and walk. So that's what I'm going to do too."

"Pray for me, because every day is a fight."

And even when I have to go looking for it, moments like that remind me of imprints. A tiny fingerprint of God. An imprint of beauty and an imprint of hope.

Savor the imprints.

-

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Let's play confessions.


Well, now that the April Letter Project is over, let's do something different. Let's play a game. Let's play a game of confessions.

I have a confession to make. I don't have all of the faith/religion stuff figured out.

I remember when I did have it all figured out, and it was so incredibly simple. Twelve years old. Faith was immense trusting relationship. No questions. How dare I ask questions of the God who had so lovingly saved me from Hell. I loved God wholly and thought I felt His love even more vividly. I trusted God. I believed every part of His immense mystery. Questions weren't allowed. My logic and my faith had not yet met.

And then I realized that there were questions. There were unexplainable elements of my faith. I came to face-to-face with many different doctrines and denominations. I saw the truth in them. I saw the blindness in them. My mind opened. I saw the unexplained facets of Christianity and religion in general; unexplained facets, for whom, there were no answers other than "Have faith."

I found that some questions, and their answers, go deeper than "Jesus loves you; Jesus died for you; if you obey you'll go to Heaven." But I haven't figured all of that out yet. All the "truth" about Christianity that I've been presented...some of it conflicts. So much of it is irrational and unexplained.

And I've been told that I'm arrogant for supposing that God can be shoved into my box of rationale, logic, explainable things.

But I don't think it's arrogant to search for answers at all. I think that God isn't only for lunatics. I think God has real answers, other than just, "Have faith." I think that the very essence of truth is logical. Real. Solid. Solid enough to handle hard questions and give rational answers. I think God isn't crazy. I think He has real answers and real explanations. I don't think the only answer to God's character and existence is "Have faith."

Faith is important. But don't use it to cheapen the fact that God isn't about blind belief. God is about truth. And truth is not blind belief. Truth has real answers. I think that, somewhere, God has real answers. I want to find them.

But before jumping into my questions - the vague and unanswered ones -, allow me to first say why I still believe in Christianity enough to find it worth explaining.

To start with, creation. The world around me is vastly unique and miraculous. It is beautifully intricate, whispering of origins of intelligent design. I've studied evolution intensely and I don't buy it. All of matter, in its perfect workings and deep intricacy and complicated DNA and environments very specific to the present life-forms, has been designed. This unfathomable structure, deeply specific for hosting our specific form of life, did not happen to occur. The odds are scientifically and mathematically slim or maybe impossible, but logically, this incredibly complicated and yet perfect information does not jump out of a random chemical reaction. "Creation" in and of itself breathes of a Creator. An unintelligent designer could not create such intricate intelligent life. This earth, in all of its perfect complexity, screams of God. Evolution is yet more unexplained to me than Christianity.

Creation is evidence of God to me.

The second reason for my lingering hope in God is truth itself. There is absolute truth. Even the statement "There is no absolute truth" is supposedly true. And see, the source of truth can't be relative; can't be flawed; can't be mortal; can't be selfish. So it can't be a human, because we are the very essence of relative, flawed, mortal, and selfish. Truth is timeless and unchanging and infallibly firm. How could that stem from our little group of buttholes? The basic nature of truth is too solid and absolute for us to claim. And who even defines truth? There is a certain moral code that we all agree with. If I steal your cash, you will feel wronged. Why? Because you just don't do that. It's just wrong. It just violates that standard of right and wrong.

And who defined that? Was it us? Did the first man decide to be so benevolent as to create a moral code that all subsequent humans would naturally comply with? Haaa. Right. The ability to somehow know and discern a predetermined truth is instilled in us. And how? By a cosmic explosion? Did the cosmic explosion create a buffet of truth for us too? Oh yay. I wish I had been told of this capability of chemicals when I was in chemistry class.

The last reason for my belief in God is less concrete. It's personal experience. Feeling the touch of God in my spirit. Seeing prayers miraculously answered. Watching my life go from no moral absolutes to beautifully defined boundaries. Feeling His grace wash over me and erase my broken sinfulness. And especially, looking back and seeing a gorgeous unexplained protection over my life and my entire family.

Every experience - mental, spiritual, physical - points to a grander scheme to me. It all ties together in mysterious microscopic ways. And I can't explain that any other way, either. It points to a designer.

I have questions. The vast majority of them remain unanswered. And I think I'm okay with that. I no longer feel bitter about my unanswered questions, because even with their pressing doubt, there is still an unabashed evidence for God.

Answers will come. It's not like I'm going to stop looking for them.

-

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Letter #8: Flowers in Your Hair


Dear you,

"There will come a time you’ll see with no more tears, and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears. Get over your hill and see what you find there, with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.”
            -Mumf. & Sons lyrics

I'm done with my exam now, so before I head to bed, I'm going to write you something. Because I feel like you need it today. And I want you to have it everyday.

I swore I wouldn’t reveal anybody’s identity in these letters. But gosh, do you deserve it. I wish I could wear a badge that tells your story and tells of your strength and tells of your beauty.

You are beautiful.

When I was 14, I realized how incredible you were. I watched you go through hell. I went through a lot of it with you. I watched you sob. And I watched you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders with the grace of heaven in your heart. I can’t do that. But you do that, every single day.

I don’t know all the stress you face each day. You wake up each morning with a list of concerns a mile long. You know pain a mile deep. You love me a mile wide. It’s really beautiful, who you’ve become. And some days, I see this pungent fear in your eyes. I see this wearying pain on your face. I see anger and a righteous fury flash across your face, and I see worry.

But I’ve never seen the hope ripped out of your heart.

Yes, Mom, there will come a time where you’ll see, with no more tears. And love won’t break our hearts anymore. Love will be our saving grace. And in a way, it already has been. In the midst of so much hell, you have been love to me. I hope one day you get over this hill and see what you find, with grace in your heart, and flowers in your hair.

No one deserves it more.

And I love you.
-

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Letter #7: Veins



“The night was all you had, but you run into the night from all you had. Found yourself a path upon the ground; ran into the night; you can’t be found.”
-Bastille lyrics

You.

I'm always so scared I'm going to lose you. I’ve only met you once. And yet I'm so scared. That night where you need to hear somebody’s voice, and so I Skyped you? I was so scared. I prayed so hard that night that you would be okay. Because I know what it feels like to not be okay.

I prayed that you would feel something. I prayed that you would feel the blood pumping through your veins. I prayed that would remind you that you’re alive. I prayed that this realization would remind you of people in your life. I prayed that you would remember the ones who love you. I prayed that you knew those same people would die for you, so you wouldn’t have to.

Last summer, I was so sick. A raging kidney infection had gotten into my blood stream. I spent a week in the hospital, hooked up to every IV they could find. I remember feeling those IVs. At four in the morning, when my nurse switched out my IV, I remember waking up to the feeling of a cold new antibiotic race through my veins. I felt it everywhere. I felt all my veins. Sometimes, they would pump Potassium through my veins, and it would burn. I would sit there and hold my mom’s hand and cry.

I prayed that you would feel your veins like that. That you would taste, very vividly, just how alive you are.

And then, you were momentarily okay. That makes me smile. Every now and then you would send me a message about how happy you are. About how you know God is in control. About how you miss me. Those things make me smile, because I see the hope rise up in you like a long-awaited springtime.

I wanted that to last in you.

And I hope you know that you can stop running now. I’m here. It’s me. I’m safe. And I am so, so glad that you’re still here with me. You’ve known the night and it’s been all you had. But please stop running into it. Never again. Stay here with me, because you’re safe here, in the quiet. It’s going to be alright. Shhh. Stay.

Maybe I can see you again someday. And we could go for coffee and be like two sisters who have a lovely bond. And if feeling your veins hurts, I will hold your hand through the pain; and I will understand – anything – everything.

-

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Letter #6: You Love, Love, Love


Dear you,

“These fingertips will never run through your skin, and those bright-blue-eyes can only meet mine, across a room, filled with people that are less important than you.”
-Of Monsters and Men lyrics

It’s been a little over a year. Funny how people can come to mean so much to us in such a tiny bit of time. I still remember that first time we talked (not counting the time I ignored you). Did anybody think God would work miracles because of that friendship? Probably not. In fact, absolutely not.

People were more concerned with me beating you with a frying pan, cakes that were a lie, the cow, and getting engaged. And granted, those are legitimate concerns. Even you and I were caught up in those concerns, because they are rather…occupying. But even still, who could’ve guessed how we’d turn out.

We’ve had our conflicts. I still remember the time that I told you a secret about me, not knowing it would hurt you, and you cried. I remember the desperate helplessness that I felt, because I couldn’t be there. I sat and stared at my screen, reading that you were crying; and you sat and stared at your screen, telling me you were crying.

Dang this distance.

I feel really helpless. You struggle. I know you do. I read it on your face; I hear it in your voice; I feel it in every “I’m fine” that you give me. But you try to cover it up for me. You try to look strong for me. You try to be something unwavering – constant – for me. It’s precious. But you don’t have to do this. You can open up your scars for me. You can tell me what hurts. It’s okay.

I want to help.

But honestly, you break my heart. You’ve been there this whole time. And most of the time, I let you be there. But other times, I pulled away. It was always because I wanted to protect you. It was always because I love you. You are my kid brother; it’s my job to love you, protect you – help you out in this wild wide world. And yet, I haven’t always been there. It breaks my heart.

I’ve made you cry, at least once that I know of. I’ve worried you a hundred times. It’s not been right. I am so sorry. When I “adopted” you, I was supposed to love you, be there for you, be your big sister. Nothing more, nothing less. So many times, I’ve been less.

But you. You’ve always been there. You’ve always loved. You’ve always prayed, always hoped, always cared. Even when I didn’t. Even when I couldn’t. When my world was falling apart and I shut you out, you stood there – painfully, awkwardly, worriedly – outside my walls. You waited until I could let you back in. And dear child, it is a process. It takes a while. But you’ve always waited. It’s beautiful. I don’t deserve this. You’ve modeled Christ to me.


Who would’ve thought that’s where our friendship would end up.
-

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Letter #5: Complete Unknown


Dear you,

“Don’t wanna think about it; I’m frickin tired of getting sick about it. Now stand back up and be a man about it, and fight for something, fight for something.”
-Mariana’s Trench lyrics

It’s been a long time, and that doesn’t sadden me.

People have asked me if I miss you, and the answer is, frankly, no. I’ve told you that. Part of me hates to admit it, but I don’t, really. I’m sorry to be so mean. I’m so sorry to be so frank. I’m sorry to be so harsh. I’m sorry to be so rude.

Maybe you’ve rubbed off on me.

I don’t know. I’m hurt. Really hurt, actually. And I’ve told you that, too. I’ve told you that a lot. But you never cared. You haven’t ever cared. And you still don’t.

What happened to you? Why don’t you care? Did you ever care? I’m sick of this, but my heart is really just broken. In a million pieces; broken. A lot of people have hurt me; a lot of people have sickened me; a lot of people have chipped at my heart; a lot of people have even wrung my heart. But you’re the only one who has broken it. I’ve never been angry at another person, truly, except for you. I get ticked off at other people, and I might cuss them out. I might rant about them to Mom. I might stop talking to them. But no one has ever broken my heart so badly that I am angry.

I don’t get angry like you get angry. I don’t throw things. I don’t hurt people. I don’t scream and yell. I don’t take revenge. I hold it inside, and let it beat me, over and over. I taste it again and again. I cry about it at 3 AM. And if I’m feeling brave, I might sling some bitter sarcasm at you. I just might.

That’s what all those texts were about last week.

My anger towards you is bitter. It hurts me to be this angry. But I’m not angry for myself. Sure, I’m angry for all the ways you hurt me. I’m angry about all the things you said. I’m angry that I was hurting so badly and you never helped me. I’m angry that you were supposed to be the person to hold my hand, and you never did. I’m angry that I tried to scream for you to help me, and you didn’t. I’m angry that I begged you to change, and you told me you were already good enough. I’m angry that you’ve eliminated so much of the beauty in me. I’m angry that you’ve woven your poison into even the smallest elements of my life.

But that’s not the deep bitterness I feel towards you. The deep bitterness isn’t rooted in my personal pain. It’s rooted in my empathy. I hurt for the people you’ve ruined. I hurt for the helpless people you’ve sabotaged. I ache and burn for them. I’ve watched people sob because of you. I’ve watched people stare blankly into space, feeling the anguish of the pain you’ve caused. And I’ve watched you drive that knife into the wound, further and further, as if you don’t realize how much it hurts.

Some days I think you know exactly how much it hurts, but you don’t care.

I don’t knowww. I don’t understand your head. Some days you act like you might possibly care, and then you rip open the wounds again with your actions. Ugh. I want to believe you care. I want to believe that you’re going to make it all better, like you say. I want to believe you aren’t a complete butthole.

But I just can’t. And that hurts so badly. I hate the truth; I hate what you’ve done; I hate what you’re doing. And I hate that I cannot do anything about it.

My anger is a deep sadness. It’s pain. Does it make you happy that you make other people feel like this? Do you think it’s an unfortunate but unavoidable side-effect? What do you think? Why are you like this? Please tell me. Please tell us. Please help us understand. I can’t trust you anymore, because trusting you always ends up breaking my heart. But I want to understand why. And I don’t want you to give me the BS you’ve been giving everybody. I want to know the truth. Why are you who you are? Why are you like this? Your answers to those questions are lies. And I want to know the truth.

I wish I could see you like God sees you; in all honesty, truth; naked. I wish I could see your soul laid bare. I wish I could see all the scars and lies and ugly weeds, exposed. I wish I could see the naked truth, because then I would understand. I need to see your naked soul. I don’t think you even know the naked truth anymore. You only know your fabrications and quixotic hopes and fake promises. That’s all I’ve known, too. But if we could all see, then maybe we could all figure this out.

A lot of girls sit around and cry because some boy has broken their heart. They call him a butthole because maybe he cheated on them. Maybe they hate that boy because he likes someone else; maybe they hate him because he won’t talk to them; maybe they hate him because he plays hard to get. That’s what all my friends are dealing with. And then there’s me, and I’m dealing with not some boy, but you; and it feels so awkward. Because no one understands. No one has the capability to understand, because they aren’t facing the same issue. Or maybe they think they understand, but they see this kind of thing all the time. They don’t care. Maybe….this kind of pain is so rampant in our society that people cheapen it. It’s so common that no one cares anymore. But that’s the most dangerous part. Because it’s so common, people think it isn’t a big deal. And because they thing it isn’t a big deal, they repeat it. And they don’t care about the people they break in the process.

Is that what happened to you? Did this same pain break you so badly that you stopped caring about other people’s pain?

You know exactly how I feel. Abandoned. Hated. Lost. Broken. Angry. Bitter. Lonely. You know how I feel, because you went through it. And now you’re doing it to me.

Please stop.


-

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Letter #4: Brave

Dear you,

“All my life, I wish I broke mirrors, instead of promises. ‘Cause all I see is a shattered conscience staring right back at me.”
-Owl City lyrics

If you knew I was writing this letter to you, you would laugh. You would tell me not to be sappy and sentimental. You would sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. And you would probably pretend that you’re okay.

But you would still say thank you, and might even send me a virtual hug. Thanks in advance.

And you’re not okay. You don’t have to pretend that with me. The façade is slightly convincing, dear; I’ll give you that. But sometimes your mask slips. Sometimes, at 11:30 PM, the façade starts to be less convincing. I go for days without hearing from you, and then I’ll randomly hear from you, hearing that you’re eating jelly beans and questioning every supposition you’ve ever held.

You don’t know. That is your mind right now. You aren’t sure who you are. You aren’t sure why you’re here. You aren’t sure who or what God is. And you aren’t sure what that “God” would want to do with your past. You aren’t sure if any of the people around you have really known “God”, because a lot of people are fakes. And you don’t want to be a fake. You want to feel, and you want to understand, and you want to know, and you want to be. That’s all. You want to be, and you want, in your being, to be at least somewhat…un-fake. Legitimate. Real.

Even if it means discarding every supposition and preconceived religious notion in your head, you want to be a real person. You don’t want to deny your humanness. You want to have compassion for other humans. Whatever “answer” you find, you want it to enable you to be beautifully transparent and humbly real.

I want you to know that I already see you like that. Some days I can taste the apathy in your words; you hate how fake everyone is. Some days I can feel the fear in your voice; you aren’t sure where your searching will lead. But everyday, I marvel at what a beautiful person you are. You have been real with me. You have been reserved in your authenticity, in your signature INTP way, but nevertheless: you have been authentic. And it is beautiful. You’ve shouldered my pain with me; you’ve let me shoulder yours’. You’ve irritably asked every question; you’ve bravely searched for the answers. You’ve heard my dark secrets; you’ve showed me that I am not a dark person. You’ve hugged me and told me you loved me, just once. And I hugged you right back and told you I loved you too, just once, because you are an incredible person. Your soul is beautiful. Struggles never cheapen the value of a soul.

And of course you don’t see yourself like that. But let that spark out every once in a while. I know you’re brave enough.

And yes, I am being sappy and sentimental. Some sappy things are just worth saying.

-