the jig is up

I like hugs.
And people.
And hand-holding.
And kisses, too.

I know that I have said for the longest time that I am not stimulated by touch, that it is not a way that I receive love, and all of my adult life I really have believed it. I yet hold this position, but with much modification. I think after much introspection that I have come to the right compromising conclusion, and I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this conviction.

Physical affection that is insincere leaves me with a feeling akin to touching wet trash.

My quest for honesty at all costs leaves me with a very small window of tolerance for what I accept. My standards for this type of intimacy can be quite unreasonable, I'll admit. But after much thought I can venture that one reason for my funk a while ago was because I have carried on as though I do not need people. With my lack of a cell phone I tried to ignore the pang in my heart that activated every time I thought of someone to call, and then I remembered my plight. Brushing off those feelings came at the expense of my sanity this semester, or lack thereof. What a humbling experience.

I find that I shy away from physical affection because I always have. It is hard for me to open up that part of my love, to let people in and handle it as they will. I am still under the idea that I do not like frivolous, afterthinking touch...but by completely refusing this form of love I am essentially throwing out the baby with the bathwater.

I may be yearning for the affection that I took for granted up until 10 months ago, gestures that were as sincere last May as they were the day that I was born. It is possible that my high standards are derived from experiencing contact that was a physical manifestation of love so pure that it could only be true. Maybe I'm under the impression that I will never experience this again. Maybe I think I'm right. Maybe I am.

I miss that love, so I take an indignant stance against anything that dimly reflects what I once had. I sit in the corner and sulk, but I think my stubborness is beginning to fall away. With each brush of the hand, with each caress, with each embrace, my defense is melting. I am forced to relent, to collapse, to surrender. I am forced to acknowledge my need for God's grace in the form of His people.

in like a lion

Coz when it's always winter, but never Christmas,
It seems this curse just can't be lifted

I never thought that I would be able to physically relate to the Relient K song, speaking as a native Georgian who has been spoiled by fickle seasons. I never thought I liked the inconsistencies of 60 degree Januaries....until this year. Never have I ever seen Georgia so resolute in its frigidity! Three snowfalls?!?! I have heard about it before, but I never thought it was possible to experience snow on the ground more than once a year, for more than a day at a time. I took the sporadic summer-y days for granted, even wished them away in the hopes of experiencing a legitimate and consistent winter season. Now that my complaint was filed and processed by Mother Nature, I wish that they had a return policy on requests for greener grass.

This sucks.

It stinks especially since, as the South gets the hang of these colder days, there is no hope for respite in the particular form of snow days at Tech. As we trudge along in the freezing water I am embittered.

Make it stop, God! Warm me up, thaw this world out.



And then I wonder, as I pray this prayer....am I even talking about the weather anymore?


But deep inside our hearts we know
That you are here and we will not lose hope