It’s all apart of my day; bits and pieces of this roller coaster of a life I call mine.
***
Are any of us ever really ready? It takes time to realize your own dreams and lay claim to the direction of your life. But when you search and fight and finally find what’s hidden in the depths, it isn’t hard to finally be ready. Anchored by the foundation of life and knowing who you are in it, freedom sets a whole new course and it’s the most amazing thing ever.
***
Life, they say, goes through cycles. When it’s good, it’s great. When it’s not… well, eventually you get back to good. It just happens that way and that’s ok. Sometimes you need a break, you know? Breath a little.
***
Don’t rush me now; I’m in repair. I’m taking my time and slowly easing back into this whole thing. I have to own it. It is my battle to fight. We are all warriors, fighting for our souls. I’m just wounded right now. I’ll be ok. Eventually it gets back to good, remember?
***
Face it, friends, we Christians are not known to be thinkers. It is unfortunate, but so very true. And sometimes, the truth just needs to be spoken.
***
I think I think too much. I think.
***
This is taking entirely too long, and going in an entirely different direction than I was anticipating. My life has always been so planned, so structured. God, it would seem, likes to throw a curve ball or two my way just to remind me that my plans are completely ridiculous, sometimes even ludicrous. Usually such.
***
No one compares to the bath tub. .. That conversation needs not to be delved into. It was just on my mind.
***
Everyone has to do it their own way. And when it happens, it’s a beautiful thing. Work your way back to God. Back to life. But do it your way, on your terms. Because if it’s not yours, it never will be. God’s not in this for anyone else but you. Find it. Find him. And get back to life.
***
Work with me here.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
The Passionate Side
When sky lines fall
I sit alone
To catch myself
And fall to sleep
Trying to beat the early rising light
Dogs barking, cars racing, sirens blaring,
It’s life, it’s loud
But it’s all outside
Broken behind these dirty windows
I try again to hide
He talks to me
Like he knows me
Because he sees me - every day
But I am not that girl
Please, just pass me by
Say it’s all a joke
I’ll force a laugh
And search for something else
To pass the time
Sweet, incessant hours
Wish to God I was blind
To forget the vivid outline
Of the tears I’ve seen
Falling down your face…
I have caught them, one by one
I sit alone
To catch myself
And fall to sleep
Trying to beat the early rising light
Dogs barking, cars racing, sirens blaring,
It’s life, it’s loud
But it’s all outside
Broken behind these dirty windows
I try again to hide
He talks to me
Like he knows me
Because he sees me - every day
But I am not that girl
Please, just pass me by
Say it’s all a joke
I’ll force a laugh
And search for something else
To pass the time
Sweet, incessant hours
Wish to God I was blind
To forget the vivid outline
Of the tears I’ve seen
Falling down your face…
I have caught them, one by one
Can't Escape This Love
Every day I am given a new hope
Though false at times
I am corrected from my own ways
He showers me with grace
Another chance I don’t deserve
It’s a breath he knows I’ll probably waste
A love he knows I may toss aside
Advice he gently gives, though he knows I’m not ready to hear
He tries anyway, he tries
And it gives me hope today
Because this I know
Will never change
Will never fade away
It won’t get old or tired
And as far as I run, it will always remain
(Sept06)
Though false at times
I am corrected from my own ways
He showers me with grace
Another chance I don’t deserve
It’s a breath he knows I’ll probably waste
A love he knows I may toss aside
Advice he gently gives, though he knows I’m not ready to hear
He tries anyway, he tries
And it gives me hope today
Because this I know
Will never change
Will never fade away
It won’t get old or tired
And as far as I run, it will always remain
(Sept06)
Monday, September 18, 2006
Final Contemplation
Life gets so complicated. People get distracted, people stop caring. Those who you thought stopped caring long ago somehow remind you that they still do. And we wonder… is it too late? Is it even enough? And what are we willing to risk in order to find out? We move on with our lives, not realizing everything it will cost us in the end; momentarily thinking that whatever the cost, it is worth it.
You believe in someone else more than you believe in yourself but all you get in return is a courtesy “thank you” as they walk away. So we begin to doubt… maybe it is too late. Maybe it’s just not enough. Maybe it was just too big of a risk.
And still, young hearts will believe at all odds. So after time has dampened the pain of loss, we find within ourselves the will to risk again. When called upon, we put it all on the line. We are big gamblers, you see. Ever longing to believe. Just believe.
Inevitably, life wins. There are always complications, distractions, loss of feeling. The stakes were raised high and I hesitated ever so subtly before letting go. It was quite the gamble, I must admit. And in my final contemplation, I’ve found not doubt but belief.
It is too late. It will never be enough. And I don’t think I have anything left to risk again.
(sept15)
You believe in someone else more than you believe in yourself but all you get in return is a courtesy “thank you” as they walk away. So we begin to doubt… maybe it is too late. Maybe it’s just not enough. Maybe it was just too big of a risk.
And still, young hearts will believe at all odds. So after time has dampened the pain of loss, we find within ourselves the will to risk again. When called upon, we put it all on the line. We are big gamblers, you see. Ever longing to believe. Just believe.
Inevitably, life wins. There are always complications, distractions, loss of feeling. The stakes were raised high and I hesitated ever so subtly before letting go. It was quite the gamble, I must admit. And in my final contemplation, I’ve found not doubt but belief.
It is too late. It will never be enough. And I don’t think I have anything left to risk again.
(sept15)
Feel It
September 13, 2006
Feel It
I long for life to be simple again. Just sit here with me; let’s lay back and count the stars, watch the airplanes fly ahead. Feel the cool of a night’s breeze, the slide of my hand against yours, and know that somehow the world is going to be okay. Such simplicity has always been my anchor, my great stabilizer. In it’s absence there is chaos; a confusion of trivial words and ancient memories, unable to escape the boundaries of my mind.
It is in the exact moment when my world gets flipped upside down and I have nothing left to hold on to, that I truly find who I am. Surrounded by … nothing. Nothing at all that matters, but suddenly feeling the weight of everything and everyone that has value inside of me. Collapsing naked on an empty floor, gripping nothing but the knowledge of how much you are worth, and the empty feeling of knowing that it’s never enough.
Feel It
I long for life to be simple again. Just sit here with me; let’s lay back and count the stars, watch the airplanes fly ahead. Feel the cool of a night’s breeze, the slide of my hand against yours, and know that somehow the world is going to be okay. Such simplicity has always been my anchor, my great stabilizer. In it’s absence there is chaos; a confusion of trivial words and ancient memories, unable to escape the boundaries of my mind.
It is in the exact moment when my world gets flipped upside down and I have nothing left to hold on to, that I truly find who I am. Surrounded by … nothing. Nothing at all that matters, but suddenly feeling the weight of everything and everyone that has value inside of me. Collapsing naked on an empty floor, gripping nothing but the knowledge of how much you are worth, and the empty feeling of knowing that it’s never enough.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Stop This Train
Stop this train, I want to get off and go home again. Life, it seems, moves all too fast for me. I jump on board so quickly. Set myself up in a cute little train car that, for a moment, feels like home. It’s comfortable there. Until one morning I open my eyes to look out the window and suddenly it’s all so unfamiliar. And I am alone. Please, stop this train, I want to get off and go home again.
“Hold on to whatever will get you through,” he sings in a tone that sends me back in time. I hate how music can do that to you.
“Just don’t forget to breath and you’ll be ok,” she knows what to say because she’s been there. And I, in turn, find comfort in her past sorrow. Strange how that works.
“I don’t trust myself loving you,” Wait. Stop right there. How does that make sense? Ah, our view of love becomes ever so skewed.
There are few defining moments in life. Like the point at which feelings of being completely lost turn into a realization that you know exactly who you are, where you are, where are not and ultimately, what you truly want. It’s a bittersweet moment when I settle into such knowledge and know that it’s still just slightly out of reach.
06.09.12
“Hold on to whatever will get you through,” he sings in a tone that sends me back in time. I hate how music can do that to you.
“Just don’t forget to breath and you’ll be ok,” she knows what to say because she’s been there. And I, in turn, find comfort in her past sorrow. Strange how that works.
“I don’t trust myself loving you,” Wait. Stop right there. How does that make sense? Ah, our view of love becomes ever so skewed.
There are few defining moments in life. Like the point at which feelings of being completely lost turn into a realization that you know exactly who you are, where you are, where are not and ultimately, what you truly want. It’s a bittersweet moment when I settle into such knowledge and know that it’s still just slightly out of reach.
06.09.12
Monday, September 11, 2006
People don't change
Sept 11, 2006
Someone once told me that people don’t change. I didn’t want to believe it at the time. But the thing is, it’s true regardless of whether or not I had decided to believe it then or finally accept it now.
Like truth, people don’t change, they just express themselves differently, revealing different aspects of themselves as they feel the time is right. Certainly my understanding of truth has changed over the years, but the truth itself has remained what it is.
It is what it is. We are who we are. And people don’t change.
Someone once told me that people don’t change. I didn’t want to believe it at the time. But the thing is, it’s true regardless of whether or not I had decided to believe it then or finally accept it now.
Like truth, people don’t change, they just express themselves differently, revealing different aspects of themselves as they feel the time is right. Certainly my understanding of truth has changed over the years, but the truth itself has remained what it is.
It is what it is. We are who we are. And people don’t change.
Life on my terms
I laid awake in bed last night, tossing and turning, listening to the incessant sounds of car horns and fire truck sirens. But it was not the noise that kept me awake. At least, not the noise coming from outside my window. It was the noise inside my head that I couldn’t mute no matter how hard I tried.
It seems I have this insatiable need to be unhappy. I take the greatest things in life and find all the minute negative specs, turning them into life threatening burgs that ravish any and all hope of ever feeling comfortable in my own happiness. The greatest man will never be enough; the best job will always be a chore; the most loyal friends will forever seem distant; and my life will never be my own.
Somewhere in the depths of the female psyche I believe resides an uncontrolled ability to ruin all that is good. It comes so amazingly natural to women that sometimes I think it’s more subconscious than not. Think about it; the first thing we notice about Mr. Right is everything that’s wrong with him. In our free time we find all the hardships in life, even the hypothetical ones, and mull them over in our brains like crack fiends. We can’t not do it. It’s in our genetic make up.
And to prove it to myself, I rented the entire sixth season of “Sex and the City”. (Nothing like cheap inspiration; only $4.99 a week). As I finished watching the fourth episode, I realized that it’s true; women have to knit-pick. It’s our subtle way of showing that we care. I don’t know how that makes sense in a women’s mind, but it does. It just does. But at some point, someone comes along who has the audacity to speak the truth straight to your face. And if you’re lucky enough, he’ll be your Mr. Right, regardless of all that is wrong.
And so, after a long, sleepless night and a three hour “Sex and the City” marathon, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I can now allow myself to be happy. I am who I am, less the world’s expectations (mother’s included) and a job I never liked to begin with; I am who I am, and I love it.
September 5, 2006
It seems I have this insatiable need to be unhappy. I take the greatest things in life and find all the minute negative specs, turning them into life threatening burgs that ravish any and all hope of ever feeling comfortable in my own happiness. The greatest man will never be enough; the best job will always be a chore; the most loyal friends will forever seem distant; and my life will never be my own.
Somewhere in the depths of the female psyche I believe resides an uncontrolled ability to ruin all that is good. It comes so amazingly natural to women that sometimes I think it’s more subconscious than not. Think about it; the first thing we notice about Mr. Right is everything that’s wrong with him. In our free time we find all the hardships in life, even the hypothetical ones, and mull them over in our brains like crack fiends. We can’t not do it. It’s in our genetic make up.
And to prove it to myself, I rented the entire sixth season of “Sex and the City”. (Nothing like cheap inspiration; only $4.99 a week). As I finished watching the fourth episode, I realized that it’s true; women have to knit-pick. It’s our subtle way of showing that we care. I don’t know how that makes sense in a women’s mind, but it does. It just does. But at some point, someone comes along who has the audacity to speak the truth straight to your face. And if you’re lucky enough, he’ll be your Mr. Right, regardless of all that is wrong.
And so, after a long, sleepless night and a three hour “Sex and the City” marathon, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I can now allow myself to be happy. I am who I am, less the world’s expectations (mother’s included) and a job I never liked to begin with; I am who I am, and I love it.
September 5, 2006
Grappling with Reality
June 19, 2006
(“Grappling with Reality”)
Again, I sit here at the coffee shop, frustrated with life, wondering when it became so difficult to be happy. All I want to do is write. But who can point to the gateway to that dream? It seems so far from where I am. I suppose I could pursue it more passionately. But I have before and never got very far.
And then I just get pissed off because I started out in college as an English major for this specific purpose. I was going to be a writer. But somewhere along the line I fell off course. Now I’m a business major at a school I never wanted to end up at, with no way of changing educational courses.
I was watching this tattoo TV show and this guy, the tattoo artist, was talking about all the people he tattooed and all the experiences he’s had as a tattoo artist. And the thought struck me, “Man, this guy loves what he does. This guy is sold out to life. He gets up every day and gets paid to do what he loves.”
How do I get there? How do I get up every day and get paid to do what I love to do?
I’m just a girl, chasing a dream.
(“Grappling with Reality”)
Again, I sit here at the coffee shop, frustrated with life, wondering when it became so difficult to be happy. All I want to do is write. But who can point to the gateway to that dream? It seems so far from where I am. I suppose I could pursue it more passionately. But I have before and never got very far.
And then I just get pissed off because I started out in college as an English major for this specific purpose. I was going to be a writer. But somewhere along the line I fell off course. Now I’m a business major at a school I never wanted to end up at, with no way of changing educational courses.
I was watching this tattoo TV show and this guy, the tattoo artist, was talking about all the people he tattooed and all the experiences he’s had as a tattoo artist. And the thought struck me, “Man, this guy loves what he does. This guy is sold out to life. He gets up every day and gets paid to do what he loves.”
How do I get there? How do I get up every day and get paid to do what I love to do?
I’m just a girl, chasing a dream.
Thoughts on Church and Christianity
July 4, 2006
Thoughts on Church and Christianity
I’m tired of church. It’s just a game to me. I don’t like pretending to be someone I’m not; and that’s all I do around here (at church, in my job). Who I am is someone who doesn’t give a fuck about the church right now. I am someone who believes in God, believes in the Christ of the Bible and everything else that makes me Christian. But I am a sinner like anyone else, I fall short, most of the time knowingly doing what is wrong.
And yet I’m not sure the last part of that is even true. Sure, there are things I do that I know are wrong and right now I just don’t care enough to not do them. But the majority of things I do, which are perceived as being traditionally “wrong”, I don’t believe to be biblically wrong; drinking, smoking, cussing. I can back that up biblically, but I’ll spare the theology because, quite frankly, I don’t actually believe that it matters all that much. My theology won’t save me. Or you for that matter.
I have found that my theology isn’t all too popular in many churches and although theology won’t save anyone, it is critical to (apparently) align with that of the church to stay in good standings. I have also found that my theology is usually taken as immaturity. Maybe if I stay in the church long enough I will begin to think as they think, do as they do, and that, in turn, will be the redemption of my immaturity. It is maturity to be like them.
Ironically, I’ve been in church all my life, twenty four years. And it is those collective years which has brought me to this very point, of what I fear to be some kind of spiritual break down.
I have had this wrestling in my soul since the beginning of the year and it just won’t go away. It would seem, from the upper church class Christian perspective that I am falling away, “backsliding”. But I don’t think I am. I think I’m just tired of faking it. I’m tired of pretending that things are good when they are not, because if things are good then I must be doing alright with God. I’m tired of pretending like I always WANT to follow God and his rules, because anything else would be blasphemy.
I’m tired of selling out to someone else’s vision, someone else’s dreams and ideals, what someone else thinks God’s plan is. I think the only solution to this rumbling in my heart is to break away; to wrestle with it on my own, to find what it is that disturbs me so deeply. It’s a quiet calling in the back of my mind that no matter how hard I try, I cannot ignore. Maybe it’s Satan, pulling me away. Maybe it’s the still, soft whisper of God, quietly calling me to him. Calling just me, as I am, to figure this out.
Thoughts on Church and Christianity
I’m tired of church. It’s just a game to me. I don’t like pretending to be someone I’m not; and that’s all I do around here (at church, in my job). Who I am is someone who doesn’t give a fuck about the church right now. I am someone who believes in God, believes in the Christ of the Bible and everything else that makes me Christian. But I am a sinner like anyone else, I fall short, most of the time knowingly doing what is wrong.
And yet I’m not sure the last part of that is even true. Sure, there are things I do that I know are wrong and right now I just don’t care enough to not do them. But the majority of things I do, which are perceived as being traditionally “wrong”, I don’t believe to be biblically wrong; drinking, smoking, cussing. I can back that up biblically, but I’ll spare the theology because, quite frankly, I don’t actually believe that it matters all that much. My theology won’t save me. Or you for that matter.
I have found that my theology isn’t all too popular in many churches and although theology won’t save anyone, it is critical to (apparently) align with that of the church to stay in good standings. I have also found that my theology is usually taken as immaturity. Maybe if I stay in the church long enough I will begin to think as they think, do as they do, and that, in turn, will be the redemption of my immaturity. It is maturity to be like them.
Ironically, I’ve been in church all my life, twenty four years. And it is those collective years which has brought me to this very point, of what I fear to be some kind of spiritual break down.
I have had this wrestling in my soul since the beginning of the year and it just won’t go away. It would seem, from the upper church class Christian perspective that I am falling away, “backsliding”. But I don’t think I am. I think I’m just tired of faking it. I’m tired of pretending that things are good when they are not, because if things are good then I must be doing alright with God. I’m tired of pretending like I always WANT to follow God and his rules, because anything else would be blasphemy.
I’m tired of selling out to someone else’s vision, someone else’s dreams and ideals, what someone else thinks God’s plan is. I think the only solution to this rumbling in my heart is to break away; to wrestle with it on my own, to find what it is that disturbs me so deeply. It’s a quiet calling in the back of my mind that no matter how hard I try, I cannot ignore. Maybe it’s Satan, pulling me away. Maybe it’s the still, soft whisper of God, quietly calling me to him. Calling just me, as I am, to figure this out.
My Alabama Farm
I grew up on a small farm in Alabama. That's not true, actually. I just couldn't figure out how to start this, so I made something up.
I titled this right away, which I don't normally do. I usually just start writing and then come up with a clever title to fit whatever randomness I had tossed together and called a blog (like "Chronic Eye Twitch"... that was one of my better ones).
But I knew right away what I wanted to write about. I know exactly what to write about and what to title it, but I can't figure out how to say it. How do you write about life when it's good? When you find yourself sitting in contentment, gazing out the window at all the people rushing by, sipping coffee and listening to a melody that seems to sing the exact tune that is playing in my heart. How do you say that sometimes life is just good? I guess I just did.
But how do you talk about life being good when there are those living lives that feel anything but good? I don't have a formula to hand out; here, do this and that and watch life become good. I've tried every formula there is; they don't work.
One could argue that life is what you make it, and to a very limited degree, I'd agree with that. But what woman asked for her husband to walk away? What child decided that his father would leave and never come back? What daughter would ask her mother to be absent in the darkest hours? Life, it seems, deals itself out to you sometimes. It's not always what you make it.
My life has dealt out many unwanted twists and turns, and I'd like to say that I'm thankful for all of them because they've made me a better person. But really, I'm not that good. I didn't ask for the bad times any more than I created the good times.
I didn't ask for my dad to be completely absent my whole life or for my mom to crush every dream I've ever had. I didn't ask to be uprooted from my home and moved to LA in high school. I didn't ask my fiance to lie to me, showboat with every girl but me and then laugh in my face as I walked away. I didn't ask to live in a shack and eat one bag of chips for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I never asked for any of it.
Sometimes I fought back. Sometimes I held my head high and walked across the battlefield with dignity. And sometimes I crawled. Sometimes I ran right back to the hand that held me down, crumbled under adversity and laid helpless. It's not a struggle that I rose out of victorious. It's life and I have lived it one day at a time, just like everyone else.
And so I find myself asking, "How did I get here?" How did I end up in a place where I feel loved, intrigued by life itself, excited about what the day may hold? I don't know. But today, and maybe just for today, I can say that sometimes, life is just good.
I titled this right away, which I don't normally do. I usually just start writing and then come up with a clever title to fit whatever randomness I had tossed together and called a blog (like "Chronic Eye Twitch"... that was one of my better ones).
But I knew right away what I wanted to write about. I know exactly what to write about and what to title it, but I can't figure out how to say it. How do you write about life when it's good? When you find yourself sitting in contentment, gazing out the window at all the people rushing by, sipping coffee and listening to a melody that seems to sing the exact tune that is playing in my heart. How do you say that sometimes life is just good? I guess I just did.
But how do you talk about life being good when there are those living lives that feel anything but good? I don't have a formula to hand out; here, do this and that and watch life become good. I've tried every formula there is; they don't work.
One could argue that life is what you make it, and to a very limited degree, I'd agree with that. But what woman asked for her husband to walk away? What child decided that his father would leave and never come back? What daughter would ask her mother to be absent in the darkest hours? Life, it seems, deals itself out to you sometimes. It's not always what you make it.
My life has dealt out many unwanted twists and turns, and I'd like to say that I'm thankful for all of them because they've made me a better person. But really, I'm not that good. I didn't ask for the bad times any more than I created the good times.
I didn't ask for my dad to be completely absent my whole life or for my mom to crush every dream I've ever had. I didn't ask to be uprooted from my home and moved to LA in high school. I didn't ask my fiance to lie to me, showboat with every girl but me and then laugh in my face as I walked away. I didn't ask to live in a shack and eat one bag of chips for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I never asked for any of it.
Sometimes I fought back. Sometimes I held my head high and walked across the battlefield with dignity. And sometimes I crawled. Sometimes I ran right back to the hand that held me down, crumbled under adversity and laid helpless. It's not a struggle that I rose out of victorious. It's life and I have lived it one day at a time, just like everyone else.
And so I find myself asking, "How did I get here?" How did I end up in a place where I feel loved, intrigued by life itself, excited about what the day may hold? I don't know. But today, and maybe just for today, I can say that sometimes, life is just good.
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