embarassing

"Well, you have to come in and renew your permit...you can't take the road test without it." ~DMV Robot

Maybe the universe does not want me to drive, ever. That is what I am beginning to ascertain from 4 years of failure.

pages

I kind of cringe when I look back at the posts from my old blog. It is about the same feeling that I get when I look over old notes that I wrote, whether to myself or to someone else. It boggles my mind how things change. I feel embarrassed about the thought processes that consumed that moment, that consumed my entire life at the time.

Something that one of my close friend's mom said once was that she was happy that God blessed her with a bad memory. I read those old entries and all I have been able to glean from those oh-so-important moments (besides a lot of whining) was God smacking me in the head every time with some sort of mind-blowing revelation at the end, one that I could never have thought of, let alone know how to enter into my own list of objectives.

I am in a similar predicament right now, sitting here at the end of the semester with very little sleep in my body and too much sugar in my veins. I made it. It is over. This chapter of my life seemed too cumbersome, the pages too heavy to even begin to turn. And yet, at the end, in the very last sentence, I feel as sure of my strength to read on as I did at the first word.

I approached this semester with not much guidance other than knowing that there would be a beginning, a middle, and an end--not necessarily in that order. So away to coloring-by-number I went, trying to associate a specific emotion or action with any similar situation that I came across. It was when life kept getting more messy that I stepped back and realized that the reason why I could not stay inside of the lines was because there were no lines to speak of. This was my life, my tabula rasa. By letting each day leave its own personal fingerprint on my heart I have figured out that there is a pattern that only my heart's keeper can see, and me trusting His ultimate design is half the battle.

I feel stripped bare. Of words. I want to convey my awe of this recurring theme, the wonder of how I feel about having peace in the uncertainty, not deluded but assured. But alas...I don't quite remember how.

L, E

God is going to have to slam the door shut on this one.

on being an efficient wanderer/nomad/bum

A large chunk of my summer involved me commuting to and from school, which, when living in the suburbs of a wonderful urban-ly sprawled city like Atlanta, can make going to and from your home--without a car and with the likes of an inefficient public transit system--a real pain. From the humbling experiences of couch-hopping from night to night, I compiled this list of things to know if you ever decide to hitchhike your way through a season of your and your friends' lives. I hope it helps.


1) Pack light. A good wanderer knows how to live out of one bag feasibly. Take a good inventory of the things that you bring and make sure that they are absolutely necessary items, because the last thing that you want to do is to huff and puff wherever you go. Need: Toiletries. Neglect: Too many clothes. Which brings me to my next point....

2) Now is not a good time to think about dignity. As a wanderer there will be times when you have to solicit the help of your friends, so it is not a good time to be shy, frankly. Get up some backbone and call for help, whether you need a bed, a ride, or toothpaste. After all....

3) A friend in need is a friend indeed. You will be surprised about how many friends will come to your aid when you need them. Hopefully, the friend's generosity will inspire you to be a blessing to them, so please do everything that you can to accommodate them. Plan ahead and be considerate of those that will be helping you, because although your friend does not have to go out of their way to help you, they are. That being said, when your friends begin to make weird faces about something around them, remember...


4) It is probably you....and you stink. You know, I'm all for showering every other day to preserve water and resources, etc., but everyone has their limits. Being a wanderer gives you no excuse for being stinky. Period.
------>Corollary: Take care of yourself. Shower. Brush your hair. Brush your teeth. You will feel and look better, trust me, and maybe when you walk by people will be dazzled by your beautiful smile and not staggered by your unbelievable musk.

5) Be a proactive bum! Look up things for your future. Read about your favorite movies. Learn a new song on the guitar (by the way, depending on how hardcore of a bum you are really trying to be, a guitar can only help your image). Just. do. something.

6) Have a sense of humor! Wandering is a new and exciting field, but your initial sense of apprehension is expected. The fact is that when done right and safely, wandering is an amazing learning experience. When not racing from one place to another, when you are in a position where you must sit down and take in your surroundings, you learn so much about the world around you as well as yourself. Take some time to reflect on who you are and where you are going. Don't just breathe, LIVE!


This is what I learned. Take it as you will.

humdrum radical love

Love that is radical is not fueled by passion by any means. You do not and cannot always "feel" like loving those that God has put in your life to love. The clockwork motion, the dedicated discipline of lavishing love upon one of God's children is one that is so counter-intuitive that Jesus had to present it as half of the greatest commandment because he probably knew that people would not take it seriously otherwise. As simple as it sounds it is probably the most neglected rule in my own heart. The reason being is that, well, I am a human being. Selfish from birth, looking out for my own best interest, even in the good things that I do there is still a huge stank of personal gain hovering over my deeds.

And yet, God redeems all of that. God can plant this radical love into our hearts. A love that is devoid of our manufactured passion and laden with mercy from an ethereal Being. One that we cannot explain or really even desire without our hearts being aligned with his. Our natural state does not want this love unless it is purely for ourselves. Like petulant children we hoard this love but God has a way of making us reach into our pockets and spill out what we were meant to share, anyway, even if we don't want to. God is such a good Father, so patient, so graceful. We don't even understand our sin most of the time but he is still changing us to get rid of our hidden toxic components, out of love and not annoyance, for the good of us and not the vindication of his name. I guess what I am trying to say is that He cares.

thinks

To get to the point when you are fresh out of love is a humbling experience, indeed. It is a bizarre feeling to reach a point where you can not conjure up compassion for the things that you cared about the most, the beings that were a lot of times why it was worth getting out of bed in the morning.

Change is something seems to be the most inconvenient happening in the world sometimes, although it is the only thing that can be relied upon.

I realize that life is still tough, still raw. No matter how much I fake it. I miss my dad a lot, a fact that brings unconscious shame. When my mood is affected I get frustrated that my thoughts are still dipped in grief, and that this emotion drips all over my intentions. Like a cobweb on my face, that is how it feels to grieve. You would like to believe you removed it in one motion, but oftentimes, usually at the worst times, it interrupts your well-being until you tend to it, swiping at it and often failing.

My whole family is swimming in this quicksand that sometimes disguises itself as solid ground, and I see that it takes a conscious effort to realize that we are not the only ones treading this elusive medium. We are learning how to bond together to float successfully, but it is difficult to become a pentagon thinker when you are so used to thinking hexagonally....we miss our corner. Our rock. Our anchor.

Our dad.

big booty

I just walked into our campus recreation center for the first time all semester. Probably one of the most sophisticated college gyms, within a 5 minute walking distance from my dorm room (practically next door), and I still have a really hard just getting my lazy butt up and onto the exercise bike (I'm not a runner). I stepped on the scale and automatically put the numbers out of my head, conjuring up every reason why those numbers should not add up the way that they do. I never thought I would care so little about exercise...I remember being the most active of my cousins and siblings, always running, climbing, jumping, doing whatever. Now I cannot seem to squeeze out just half an hour a few times a week to get a little more fit. In my defense, I have taken to walking to class more often, leaving my room a little later so I have to take on a brisk walk (ok, honestly, I never wake up on time for my first class, but there is a benefit to that, see?). I also have been trying to get adequate sleep (although my body does shut down a lot earlier than it used to, hehe).

My Waterloo: Snacking.

Discipline in this area of my life will flow over into discipline in academics, relationships, etc. But I have totally been here before, where I tried a work-out regimen that fell flat, or I look at my other friends' failed resolutions. I really have to ask myself, do I want to go down this road again?

Um....yes. Most definitely. I figure I'll take it one day at a time, but I need accountability. Help?

stranded

that's how i feel a lot of times.

pray

The body of Christ is uplifted in my tragedy. When I hear stories about deaths, on the news or from word of mouth, my pain compels me to pray for the people affected by death. There is something so much more real about my prayers now, a reality that, if given the choice, I would gladly trade for the surface prayers of old, prayers for random people that I only uttered to make myself feel better. Now the splinter in my soul irritates my heart to the point where it hurts more to not pray. I say this as a reluctant child of God whose understanding of Sovereignty is becoming more and more illuminated as the days pass on, and as one who, in the face of Glory, can do nothing but bow.

I don't do high socks.

I just don't.

Maybe I am trying to fit myself into a mold, one that I feel is right, one that would make my parents proud.
My parent proud.

I see the brochures, the pamphlets, the minimum requirements, all of the things that I need to do before I am granted entrance into another world.

I see it and I buckle under the fear that I am not as qualified as I like to think.
That all of the things that I have been building up for the past 4 years were for naught.

Was I using Legos while everyone else was using bricks?
Have the things that I have invested in been not as lucrative and therefore not as meaningful?

Is it futile to even think about looking for a do-over?

I don't know.

I don't know what I want to do with my life.

I don't know if I want to be a scientist.
I don't know if I want to be a writer.
I don't know if I want to be a minister.
I don't know if I want to be a sister.
A lover.
A friend.

But there are a few things that I do know, and I guess that that is all that I have to work with right now.

And I know that I do not do high socks.

So

Here it is. Wish me luck.