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Thursday, April 23, 2015

Letter #5: Words.


Dear you,

“Every single day that passes by is making me more dishonest. There’s too much I make up as soon as I wake up; too much I make up for me. But I’ve decided to keep you out of all the lies, and see you the way you are.”       -Magic Man lyrics

I’m so good with words and yet such an amateur. I know what words are supposed to do. What they can mean to people. What any given string of words could do for someone’s soul. I’ve learned how to make words stick. I’ve learned how to create what people will remember.

But I haven’t learned how to verbalize the things I want to say the most. And it’s not because I’m unwilling. I don’t know how. And what good is it to say “I can’t put it into words” when words are all we have?

In a way, it’s always been fear. That sensation that drives me to grip my deepest emotions tightly, lest the masses grapple and trample them. Expressing myself feels like scattering pieces of my heart. It leaves me feeling worn. Devalued. Frayed.  Laying a soul bare is risky business.

Some people would call that introversion. But to me, it feels like lying. It feels like failure. Hiding the truth because of fear. That’s lying, right? And lying – hiding – is the most soul-shattering failure I’ve ever known. It binds you. It ties you down to who you don’t want to be.

That’s where you come in. I’ve never felt the pressure to be self-protective around you. Since day one, you’ve been a deposit box, and to life-changing degrees. Yeah. You’ve changed my life. With you, I’ve never dolled up my soul; I’ve never idealized yours’. We’ve just kind of been gruesomely honest, and without pressure to struggle less painfully. And I mean, every conversation hasn’t been like that. In fact, you’re usually pretty chill.

But I’m not saying that there haven’t been 4:30 AM mornings where I’ve just emptied out my soul to you. The parts that I can’t put into writing. The insecurities that even my own mother sneers at. The fears that I will never get over. The scars that I didn’t know were there, until too late. And you know what? I’ve been able to continue struggling through those things with you. Together shouldering burdens. I’m always eager to learn and analyze people's souls, putting others' pain into psychological terms sometimes. Oversimplifying them, too. And I don’t know, sometimes I feel like a huge jerk because of that. Meanwhile, you’ve never labeled me. You’ve never pressured me. You’ve known me, loved me, and grown me sheerly as a companion. And for that I’ve been so, so grateful.

When other people see that something is wrong with you, they feel responsible for fixing you. As if they could come up with a solution. You’ve never done that to me. You’ve listened to what I have to say, in all its incoherency and rubbish. And then you’ve gently loved who I am anyway, providing endless valuable perspective along the way. I wouldn't know what that looked like without you. I didn’t know what it felt like to love somebody so powerfully just for who they are, and nothing else. I didn’t know that I’d just accept you as you were, and find that returned 1000x.

I can’t get over how much I’ve seen from knowing you, the beauty you offer this world, and the depth you brought to my heart. Cheers to you, showing me hope, transparency, and depth. I love you a lot. That’s the best way to put it.

I would word it better, but I can’t really put it into words. Stinks, considering words are all we have.

__

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Letter #4: Now

“When you’re living through someone else’s soul, you learn to love who you are with.”
-Paradise Fears lyrics

Dear you,

When I look at you, I can see it in your eyes, your expression, feel it in your words. The sensation of being trapped, stuck in a rut, a square peg in a round hole. Yearning for the promises of the future; feeling the pangs of an inadequate present. Ready to move on. Ready for anything but here.

And my heart goes out to you with cavernous empathy. It’s because I understand you. So many similarities, you and me: so much in common, so much I’ve taken for granted all this time. So much to love, and so much I could’ve been learning from you. Hindsight offers up the regret of not ever looking at life through the lens of your soul. When we fail to do that, we fail to appreciate each other for who we are. We fail to love who we are with.

That concept, of loving who you’re with. Expanding the walls of your heart for one more raw, naked, human soul. Learning to appreciate someone for their value as a human being, not simply what they offer you. That’s a concept I’ve only recently come to realize.

We tend to shift focuses towards the oncoming rather than the at hand. I do that so often. And yet there’s so much to love, so much to savor. It’s such a waste, that every memory of time spent with those I love is tainted by a focus on the future rather than the present.

Idealizing what will be; taking for granted what is.
                                                       
Walking through IKEA, him reading books to me in Swedish, finding out we have the same taste in interior design. Glowing with the anticipation of someday building a house together. Finding joy in the future; cheapening the vibrant joy of memories currently being made.

Discussing graduation with my mother, realizing that I’d be done with my credits sooner than expected. Wanting to graduate early. Her vehement refusal. The heated words, the bitter hearts, the broken relationship. Seeing so much hope in the nearing future that the present seemed devoid of blessings.

Sitting on a bench in the hallway of Anderson University, tired from a long week, soaked from the wintry rain. Recoiling from the outside world together. Needing the solitude and peace of each other’s company, needing to compensate for the meaningless social interactions of our everyday life. My head resting on the wall behind me, drifting in and out of a hazy sleep; him reading Time Magazine noiselessly by my side. And his warm hug wakes me up.

“Why the hug?”
“I was reading about this old couple that got Alzheimer’s, and they forgot about each other. And I wanted to hug you while I could.”

I am not a master of loving who I’m with; seeing the good in what I have. But I do know that there’s such a joy in it. The most beautiful word is 'now'. There will be no joy in things to come if we don't love what we have. What will make it intrinsically better by that point? It'll become the present, just like everything else before it. Inadequate, taken for granted.

"And I wanted to hug you while I could.” This is when I learned to love who I am with. This is when I learned to savor the present, and stop taking it for granted. This is when I learned the futility of placing my joy in the future, what I don't have. This is when I learned to drink the blessings of what I'm given in the present, in the here and now.

For what it's worth, in the present, I have you. And I dearly love that. I dearly love you for who you are. Knowing you has taught me to love who I'm with and who I have. You make it easy. I'm glad for the here and now, because it's where you are.

_

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Letter #3: The Letter W

"I'm writing you guys a letter on my blog."
"Really? That's nice of you. Write 'w'. I really like the letter w."

_

Here it is. Letter #3. It's not just "w", but to keep from disappointing, I'll try to incorporate it as much as I can.

You both are tenderly dear to my heart. Never have I loved and appreciated a set of adults as if they were my own parents. Until I knew you two. You've slowly weaved yourselves into the tapestry of my heart, causing me to see evidence of your influence scattered all throughout my life.

If we're honest, it's more than just influence. You've changed just about everything.

Meeting you has brightened my skies and warmed my heart. Your love for each other isn't like anything I've ever seen. It's a friendship founded on a hope and an understanding that plainly is sourced by walking with Christ. Your intimacy with Him radiates acutely. It's sloshed over into my life and has softened my heart. Knowing you has refocused my spirit on lovelier things.

"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things."

When I think of you, I think of that verse. Knowing you has taught me to dwell on those things. You've taken the time to inject truth into my life, and it's shattered a lot of lies. I've seen you value the just instead of accepting the easy norms of injustice. It has inspired me. Your emphasis on a pure, unclouded, grace-filled worldview has entirely reshaped mine. And the joy you both find in valuing lovely things has opened my eyes to them. By the way you handle yourselves, I've learned to thank God for the commendable things in any circumstance. I've seen you look for the excellence, the praiseworthy facets of whatever you're facing. Even by simply experiencing the way you live, I have found that the lenses of my worldview have been wiped of any sordid remains of hopelessness.

I've learned a lot from you, but influence isn't derived from erudition. Your witness bears testimony not to a wealth of knowledge and experience, but to an intimate reliance on Christ. And I think it's safe to say that your knowledge and experience has been elicited by Christ's leading. He's drawn that out of you two, and he's implanted it into my heart. Focusing the lens further out, he placed you here, in my life. And the wisdom you have shared has been largely witnessed rather than taught. You've rarely directly instructed me. Your most potent teaching is just the way you live. Your example has evidenced Christ more than anything else. 

Nine months or so ago, I was unashamedly parsimonious with the currency of grace. Stingy to spend it, stingy to redeem it, afraid that I hadn't earned it. But then I saw you two, and the way you live. You live drenched in grace. Saved by grace, walking in grace, dispensing grace, with a mindset of grace. Seeing that has revolutionized my understanding of Christ, of love, of hope, of eternity. Thanks for being who you are, and most importantly, for being shaped by the grace of God.

I love you two dearly. I pray I get to experience God's hand alongside you both forever. It would bless my soul just as much as it already has. 

(Final "w" count of this letter: 56.)

_

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Letter #2: A Twist in My Story

"This world doesn't matter to me; I'll give up all I have just to breathe the same air as you till the day that I die."    
-Secondhand Serenade lyrics


Dear you,

Eight months back. I was this wandering, restless kid in desperate need of some sort of direction. I hated commitment. I hated decisions. I was really pretty pathetic. I was unsure of my past; I was bolting from the present; I was paralyzed by the future. Guess you could say I was some skittish, hipster, seventeen-year-old who spent reality trying to get out of it.

And then there were your parents, seated in a little booth in the back corner, and I loved seeing them in the store every afternoon. The authenticity in your dad's smile, the wit in his jokes; the familiarity in your mom's manner, and the warmth they exuded. It was providence when I ran into them while eating Sunday lunch with my family. It was providence when my mother interviewed you at Chick-fil-A. It was providence when I got a phone call from my mother while I out of town, as she gushed about your family's solid theological foundation. And you. She gushed about you.

"And then they have a son, and he's seventeen, and he's so sarcastic. Like he's almost rude. You guys would get along great."

What can I say. She wasn't wrong.

Eight months forward, I'm right smack in the middle of the greatest adventure of my life. I've actually fallen in love. It's like a whole other world. And to a certain degree, of course it is. Within any person is an entire new world, with sights to see, a soul to learn, a mind to explore, a heart to love, a warm body to hold close. But with you, it's something else. You're a new world, and you're colliding with my world, and you're a twist in my story that I will never get over.

I know I don't say it much. But I really am utterly enamored with every part of you.

My only fear is that I will never have the capability to express the depths of it. I'm not used to loving something so much that I can't express it. And yet sometimes I pause and see something of inexpressible value standing before me. And it's you. And I never fail to be overwhelmed. I don't know how to communicate that, really. All I know is that I have the found the one that I was made to love. I am most conscious of that fact every time I'm with you.

You know what, I'm sorry to be this overflowing mess of a cheese fondue session here. I know it's pretty cheesy. But it's only cheesy if it's meaningless or ill-timed. And in this case, the brevity of life is enough to convince me that if I love you, I shouldn't wait to let you know.

It's sobering to realize that one day we'll be old. Our memories will fade. Our bodies will wither and our minds will disintegrate. Hopefully by that time, we'll be swept up with the nearness of eternity with our Maker and won't feel the pain of not remembering each other. But until then, I plan to soak up every moment with my best friend. Taking nothing for granted. Not taking you for granted, ever. Reminding you that even when I snap, even when I'm quiet: I don't want to go back to how it was without you, and I have not forgotten the infinite collection of things I love about you.

I love your cinematic memory. I love how you think, and the things you think about. I love your enormous capacity to love. I love how laid-back you are. I need that. I love how different you are from me, and yet how similar. I love how introspective you are, and how tolerant you are of my endless introspection. I love that you have the courage (or extroversion) to say what I'm only thinking. I love brainstorming with you. I love travelling with you. I love all the experiences we've known together, from our 18th birthdays to decorating downtown for Christmas to IKEA to seeing your face at the end of a 14-hour shift to- honestly, everything. I love just sitting beside you in silence, me working on my novel and you working on your wikipages and everything else under the sun.

With your twenty-seven tabs open.

I just love your companionship, in every way. I love knowing you, and that you have somehow chosen me as the one to know you, love you, and be your companion. I'll never get over the gravity of that, being chosen by you, everyday. I know it isn't a simple thing, to love a human being. But you're doing it, everyday, and I still haven't gotten over that.

I hope I never will.
_

Friday, April 3, 2015

Letter #1: Here We Are

"We'll hold up a light; burn a hole in the night: when we are here, in moments like this." 
-The Afters lyrics


Dear you,

Letter salutations are always funny. "Dear x", "My dear x", "Dearest x", etc. The funny thing is that each of those greeters are adjectives for you. You are dear to me. Actually, you are the dearest to me, and are the dearest thing I have: you're my dearest blessing.

Each blessing is equal in that they are all undeserved and measures of  God's grace. But if I had to relinquish everything I had, every other blessing I've been given, you would be the one thing I kept.

I've had you from the beginning. I've never gone through anything without having you by my side. In less generic terms, I've never gone through anything without sitting on the edge of your bunk-bed at 3 AM telling you about it. I've never had a fight with mom that you didn't hear about. I've never cared about something without pouring out my soul to you. We've braved a lot of storms: a lot of family fights, a lot of angry tears, a lot of hurt, a lot of shame, a lot of loss, a lot of confusion. A lot of things that detracted from what we thought we wanted.

But you and I have also been given so much. And I love you for never allowing me to stop realizing that. In the eye of each hurricane, you look out around us and figure out how we're going to get out. In the fog of every dark trial, you brave the nothingness and insist upon hope. There's a side to you that no one else has seen. It's the side that goes unnoticed when one hasn't lived with you for sixteen years, or shared the same bathtub toys, or lived each other's backstories. It's a side that is unappreciated when everyone else only knows you for your funky hair or jokes or punkish music. It's a side that I always forget to tell you I cherish.

In the worst of things, I've still always had you. And that sense of a bond and understanding has been enough to keep our hearts centered on the hope of possibilities, the fire of what's right, and the comfort of an authentic companion.

And the recipient of this letter is painfully obvious; I know. There's no other way for me to tell the world how meaningful you are to me without telling them the depth of our history. History means a lot to me; just having spanned a lot time with another human being creates an iron bond. And the sense of that bond has led to beautiful things in your case. Even the simple, "Hey Em, it won't always be like this" that you occasionally drop speak intensely to my heart. You can make me laugh; you can frustrate me beyond belief; you can move my heart to a depth of gratitude that I didn't know existed. You have never stopped giving of your heart to minister to me.

I don't know if its selflessness or immaturity. Either way, your elastic heart springs back and forth with empathy and ministry for the world around you. You're a leader, a missionary, a fighter, a protector.

And in the tenderest of ways, you have protected me. You have protected me from dismally discarding hope in darkness. So keep on blasting your Green Day and watching your Psych episodes. Keep on wearing your neon shirts and cheap aviators. Keep on styling your hair like Jimmy Neutron. Keep on with your innovative thought-processes. I'll love you for it and pick on you for it, but it never comes down to just that. It comes down to the instrument in God's hands that you are, and the mighty power with which he uses you. You're an inexpressibly amazing human being. I'll never get over what a thrill it's been to grow up next to you.

_

Thursday, April 2, 2015

April Letter Project

Here we are again. A year ago, I used this blog to embark on a tangent dubbed the "April Letter Project". I found myself reflecting on the people I knew, and the extraordinary creatures they were. Actually, it was more than that. I found myself awed by the depth and intricacy of each human being. I had slipped into a nonchalant cynicism, and I used the April Letter Project to take a step back, wipe the canvas, and reevaluate God's masterpiece. Us.

I found that the people I knew - including all the scars, flaws, and fissures therein - were incredible, and I wanted to let them know.

As I wrote letters to anonymous recipients, my perspective did more than freshen. It changed. It blossomed into an immense appreciation, understanding, and gratefulness for the humans that were mine. I found that the April Letter Project made me realize how fleeting and precious life was. How it flew by; how meaningful it was, and how grossly we devalue it.

A year later, my life is radically different and I still know some radically beautiful people. I still find that I don't appreciate life or the people in it as much as I should. And again, I want to take a step back and take the time to appreciate the wholeness of what God has created and shown me. And thus the April Letter Project is once again a thing. The recipients will still be anonymous, and this blog will once again transform into a series of letters.

If this project accomplishes anything other than warming my own heart, I hope it gives you a glimpse into the splendor and depth of the human soul. I hope it enhances the overall, general appreciation of how vividly and meaningfully beautiful we truly are.

Because, ultimately, appreciating that all traces back to understanding the glory of God, and the hope that he plants in our souls. That's what I hope this project accomplishes. I hope it plants seeds of hope by showing the seeds of hope that He has already planted.

And so let it begin.

_