Courage

It is easy to feel, much against what is true, that I am alone.

For some unknown reason, when something particularly difficult happens, we - humanity - take it as a sign that we are not in good company.

I do not know a single person, of whom I am particularly fond, who has not undergone some sort of devastating moment.

 The one where every bit of oxygen leaves you

 at the precise instant that the air on every side closes in

pressing

on your every inch.

Quite at the same moment

each atom in your body fuses hot and cold

creating an unknown and altogether unappealing sensation that you are 

drowning 

while you also 

happen to be on fire.

Spontaneous combustion seems palatable.

It is, in every way, the worst feeling.

But the glistening glory, the grain of sand that rebuilds an entire world, is the knowledge that this is but a moment that opens a doorway to a new kind of life. A life in which you live among giants.

Think of your heroes.

What was their tragedy?

And what is it that makes them your hero?
Surely it is their courage in the face of evil.

Tragedy, you see, welcomes you into excellent company.
But it is with courage that you earn your keep.

Courage is a funny thing.

You are given courage to begin with. It is in you. But it does not stay if you do not ask. And it certainly does not stay if you are unwilling to put forth the effort it demands. Courage must not only be actively chosen over and over again, but fought for. It offers itself in each choice, but it does not give itself easily.

In fact, usually, it is the quietest option. It waits to see if you will notice it's there, ask it to dance. Normally, to be honest, we choose fear, because look at the way it twirls in that dress. And flight, see the way it beckons you away? And, oh, revenge, how sweet it seems. But courage is the wallflower that woos us all.

Choose courage and you will be ruined for all the others.

And it is in this courage that you will one day look up and find that you have become the giant, and that you stand alone no longer.

Parade

Already in bed.

Dozing and texting.

Surrendering to the end of this today.

*clink*

No mind.

*clap*

Wait.

*crash*

It’s here.

Out of bed and through the door. Sleep didn’t matter and tomorrow could wait.

The first rain was knocking, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

It crashes over everything with a ready-or-not attitude, existing to touch and be felt and to change and move and pour over every inch it can reach, urging things clean and to grow and toward what is to come.

Rain, you see, in a word and in every way, is joy.

God did me a kindness when He brought me to an apartment with a back porch. Sitting feet-tucked-up, too-cold-to-move, silent-for-fear-of-missing-a-drop is the best way I know how to appreciate in genuine awe the first rain of the year.

Ripples in puddles that only just exist. Wind turns visible, showing it’s true nature is not to bite. And, oh, in a way that is past understanding, no sound falls sweeter than rain’s orchestrated cacophony of a voice

Calling me to remember the truth that, to me, it is joy.

Hang Tight

I wrote this post in September or October, I don't remember which. I opted not to post it at the time-but now, today, on this lunch break, I'm sharing a bit more of me with you. 

***

People keep asking me why I look different.

If I’ve changed my hair or…they just can’t put their finger on it. And then they look for a long second, examining me.  Trying to figure it out. I have nothing to tell them. My hair is the same, my make-up is usual, my outfit is typical.

But what I can offer them -- is that I am awake.

There is no good way to describe the way you feel when you wake up.

Let me clarify:

  There is no good-enough way to explain to people the feeling deep down of coming alive again.

I was caught in sleep for months, it feels.  Pressing the snooze button, slowly seeking consciousness. Deciding I could sleep a bit longer.  

But that’s not how sleep works.

Sleep is not for hiding-- it is for rest.

When the time came that I was shown that I was no longer resting, but hiding—I woke up. 
Thankfully, it was just in time for Autumn, the consistent time of year in which I feel most awake.

            When the weather turns cold

                            And leaves carpet the sidewalks

                                            And squirrels become particularly defensive.                                             (They’re even a little scary about it. But that’s their thing to work through.)

It’s as though the tectonic plates of your life have shifted and you begin to feel your life quake.

Things are moving, sliding, rushing, creeping, to places you never would have expected. All the while things are moving back to places you thought were permanently barren.

Life springs forth, and moves forward.

Life goes on.

And so do you.

Hang tight.

Rafiki

Do you remember that time when your uncle orchestrated the wildebeest stampede that murdered your father and then told you it was your fault so that you would run away and doubt yourself and your abilities for the rest of your life? 

No you don’t. That happened to Simba. 

But.

You can probably relate to him on a basic level.

 There is something that happened to Simba the 90’s dream lion that I think has happened to a lot of us. 

In the midst of supposed failures and a desperate search for who his peers and culture thought he was supposed to be, he lost who he actually was. Mm. Well. He didn’t lose it. He just forgot it.

Fortunately for all of us, a crazy stick-wielding baboon and a swirling-clouds-in-the-sky-with-diamonds-apparition of Simba’s father, Mufasa each had a heart-to-heart with him reminding him to…

“Remember who you are.”  

I’m going to remind you of a few things I know for certain about you, things you might have forgotten. Or, maybe things you have never been told. And then, I encourage you to cling to those things and move forward with confidence in who you are – not who culture tells you to be. 

You are:

-Spectacular and unique, gifted with talents and skills that could change your world.
-Loved. Even if you don’t feel it/believe it, whoever you are, I promise that you are loved. And, if you don’t believe me, let’s talk.
-A human made by the same God who designed everything from supernovas to the tiny whatchamacallits that make up atoms. Not only were you designed by Him, but you were calculated in each step of the creation process to look like Him and reflect Him. Ain’t too shabby.
-By nature of being human, not alone. There is someone else dealing with the same things you are, and they’re probably closer than you think.  But, if you can’t find them, there is a God (the One mentioned previously) who became man for a time and suffered through the glory and agony that it is to be human so that you could always go to Him, because He gets it.
-To die for.

Ok. That’s that. I have a lot and a lot more to say. But chew on this and let me know what you come up with. Those things I just said were true of you. And if you can process through them and own them, there’s nostopping you. 

Remember who you are. Not who you think you’re supposed to be.

Headphones on the Elevated Tracks

It’s a nasty habit.

And I call it into action day after day.

I even rely on it.

I have a dependence.

On music.

I allow it to toy with my emotions.

                More than that.

                                I ask it to control them.

I want to feel a certain way

                so I play a certain song.

I want to remember a specific time

                so I peruse a specific genre.

I want to compartmentalize

                so I create a playlist.

I want to know God

                so I resurrect the same few songs.

                                over and over again

                                                and turn up the volume.

                                                                

But then it stops.

                click.

Internet blips or earbud falls

                and I remember reality.

The thing I can’t control.

The place I can’t manipulate.

The existence outside of myself.

And I wonder if any of the emotions I felt under my protective blanket of music were real.

So I begin to whistle.

And I escape the silence. 

Small, But Valuable.

Sometimes I go back and read old blogs, old journal entries (all three of them), old tweets, old letters, just to remember who I am. It’s not that I forget. No. It’s more just that I need to be reminded. So much happens day-to-day in this small life of mine that it is easy to lose track sometimes.

There are a handful of fictional characters I often compare myself to in a loose sort of way. My favorite and probably most wishful is Kathleen Kelly. This is of no surprise to you if you’ve known me long. And if it does surprise you, then I hope the comparison makes sense in retrospect.

There is a particular monologue that ties me to her more than any other part of her story (except for, perhaps, her appreciation of sushi and garnishes and children’s books).  She sits down to her computer one night, shrouded in thought and wrapped in a sweater and she writes this to her dearest friend,

“Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave?”

I think of that so often. Particularly the part about her life being small but valuable. It’s how I feel about my own life. I have no need to become famous. No desire to make millions of dollars or to travel the world. But what I do want is for my life to be valuable. I’ve learned a lot about what it means to have value over the last six months or so. It’s been an interesting experience. And the more I learn, the more I find I am reminding others. It seems we all wonder about our value.

No, I don’t think I’ve been particularly brave. I think I live my small life because I have been safe. And yes, I am doing stuff and making choices and pursuing things that are less safe just like I told you Iwould. (For example: I am writing to you from my bed in my new apartment in a Chicago neighborhood. Baby steps.) But I still have a lot of brave to learn.

What I have, though, is so valuable. My life is worth something. And what is fantastic about that is that I have nothing to do with it. My life has value because I am one with Christ because He wants me to be. My life has value because God has given me people I do not deserve. My life has value because I have been gifted with talents and skills that I can use for a better end. My life has value because coffee smells so good and the color yellow shines so brightly and music sounds so intricately and the internet is flooded with kittens in various types of clothing. My life has value because elephants exist and because I am not in control.

I think we find our value in all the wrong things.

That was a blanket statement. Sorry. Here:
I believe that all too often, modern western culture, myself included, places its value in things that are insignificant in the greater span of time.

The value of our lives is not from ourselves. We play a key role in these existence we are gifted with, but we are not the star and we are not the only part that matters. I have been told time after time to live my life for myself, to take care of myself and leave other people and things and cares for another time. But that just seems wrong. We are created for a purpose and that purpose could not possibly revolve around ourselves. We have value because God says we do. We have value because we are made in the image of the God of the universe.  We have value that is inherently ours. It is so much deeper than any amount of likes or faves or retweets could ever attribute to us.

Your life. No matter how small. No matter what role you play in it. No matter what role other people play in it. Is valuable. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something. 

Inevitable Underdog

I ran away home for a day with the intent of forcing my soul to rest and my eyes to dry. I spent the morning (which started at noon) with my mom and my pets and then came to my third favorite place in the world to work on productive parts of life that I have been avoiding for months. What I really wanted to do was blog, but what my Mother, my Professor, and my brain told me to do was complete my resume. Upon arriving, however, my internet refused to cooperate. If I cannot access my resume, how could I possibly improve it?

In a time such as this, I ask you: What am I to do but blog*?

It’s about time for my inevitable blog about Autumn, I think. I’ve told you before that this is the time the world seems to remember to breathe, be it creation itself or the people who run it.  The trees are loosening their grip on the heydays of the Summer and allowing the passing of time to make their colors richer. Chicagoans welcome to relief from the humid air we have spent the last three months swimming through. Everyone’s hair looks better. Music seems louder. Lyrics matter more.  Driving seems to take on a new sort of joy.  Car windows retreat into hiding.  Stop signs aren't so annoying. Pauses are welcome.

                  Pauses are welcome.

I think that rings true for me in all of Autumn. No matter what stage of life I am in, Autumn is where I take a break and I make sure that I am still who I am and that I am becoming who I want to be. There is something about the crispness in the air that reminds me that I am alive and that there is hope and that I am called to tell a story with my life.

We were fashioned by a creative God who has orchestrated every thing that has ever happened. He is a story teller. He not only made us,but He designed us in His image.  We are a reflection of Him because He wants us to be. So shouldn't we be story tellers? Not just with our words and doodles, but with our lives? I don’t think anyone will ever pen my biography, but if they did, I should like to give them something to write about. I want plot twists and adventure. I want to do the unexpected and prove people wrong. And darnit, I want to tell people that social media isn't inherently evil (we are).

Do you see what this weather does to me? It brings out the best in me. It makes me breathe and reminds me to be a story teller. It lets me wear boots and consume caramel beverages. I’m so grateful that God invented Autumn. I think it’s my favorite part of the story. Like an unsuspecting character that doesn’t expect to change anything in life, but ultimately provides comedic relief and inspiration and an unexpected piece of advice that changes the whole story. Like Sir Cadogan or Fezzik or Emiline Harris or George (who spends time at the Nut shop, where it’s fun.)

Autumn is the underdog that changes the whole story, and I want to follow in its footsteps. 

*My internet began working seconds after I finished this post. God is funny sometimes. And always totally in control.