My moon.

"Take it slow
Take it easy on me
And shed some light
Shed some light on me please."
My Moon, My Man- Feist


"It's so many miles and so long since I've met you
Don't even know what I'll say when I get to you
But suddenly now, I know where I belong
It's many hundred miles and it won't be long."
Train Song- Cover by Feist and Ben Gibbard
 
 
"So why'd you fill my sorrows
With the words you've borrowed
From the only place you've known?
And why'd ya sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you?
Why'd you sing with me at all?"
Delicate- Damien Rice


"She said, 'Leave me alone but just don't leave me here, all right?'"
Arms of a Thief- Iron and Wine

"Hundred years, hundred more
Someday we may see a woman king,
Sword in hand, swing at some evil and bleed."
Woman King- Iron and Wine

The Waiting Place

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting

"Oh the Places You'll Go!" by Dr. Seuss

Venturing from my cave *blinks in the sunlight*

In Sunday School this past Sunday, we discussed community. I was sitting at my table with my Bible cracked open to Acts 2 and I chuckled slightly to myself. Oh ho ho. Community? Really? I've got friends, I tell people my stuff, I'm not an antisocial shut-in (though this is debatable at times). Anywho, I was listening to the minister talk and he made some good points, but then he made a great point. He was talking about how this generation, my generation, is more connected than any of our predecessors...but we're also the loneliest. Like one of those perky, yappy dogs, my ears pricked up.

I gripe alot about pseudo-country. Many of the people who proclaim they detest country music have only been subjected to the odd hybrid that drives the cursed phrase "Need you now" into your skull and then hammers it mercilessly until you run screaming into the night. As Aaron Watson said, "Nashville is making music that sounds like a dadgum disco." Well, ladies and gents, we have on our hands a pseudo-community. Texting, twitter, blogging, the morning glory that is facebook, and the list continues. Through these venues, I can successfully talk to people without ever seeing their face, heck, without leaving my cave. I am as guilty as anyone about perpetrating false community. A prime example comes from this morning in my Eastern European government class: I was sitting next to a girl I had seen Sunday morning. I thought, "I should ask her how she liked Central!" In the next moment, I dismissed this thought and decided to find her on facebook and friend her. It's easier to ask virtually. As the prof babbled on about Hungary's bitterness from being the little bro in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, I chastised myself. Why shouldn't I just turn to her after class and ask her how she liked church? What is so hard about that? She'd probably appreciate it more if I asked in person. Besides, by the time I found her and friended her on the almighty FB, the moment would have passed and it would just be plain weird. As a result, I would never ask.
So, I put satan on notice and talked to her after class. It was nothing life changing, but it was a step in the right direction. The direction where I touch people and they touch me. The one where I experience.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get some Vitamin D. I hear it makes you happy.

I'm coming with what I do not have.

Alright Father. I'm going to be real. I've been hanging on to this ache. I keep it, I nurture it, I treasure it. This is completely and utterly...WRONG. I pick it up, because I think You won't relieve me of it. I clutch it to my chest because in some weird way it validates me. I can't do it anymore. You've brought me to the precipice and I can linger no longer. I trust You. I trust You. I trust You. No matter where I look, I can feel you tugging on my heart. No matter how much I question, all I can hear is Your quietness. "But I said, 'I have labored in vain; I have spent all my strength for nothing at all. Yet what is due me is in the Lord's hand, and my reward is with my God.'" Isaiah 49:4 I'm done with this toil, this vain struggle. I trust that my reward is with You and You alone: not in men.
I've prayed for You to free me of my burden and save me from my pain. Even if You don't, consume me. I want to go deeper with You.

Burn me up.

I realized I was doing it again. I was pushing. I was trying to make things happen, trying to garner attention, telling myself that if other people noticed me and wanted to be around me, I would feel better. I would be on top again, an I-n-d-e-p-e-n-d-e-n-t woman, brushin' the dust off my shoulders.
Wrong-o. When I try to do things on my own strength, I usually end up letting the haters hate, rather than walking by them with my head held high. The key to my failure is "my own strength". I can't do things on my own strength, no one can. It amazes me that I continually fail spectacularly at this concept, constantly giving God my problems, then picking them back up, saying "Well, God, I just deal with them since they aren't really important enough for You to deal with."
Gentle readers, allow me to share a few of the concepts I have been dwelling on lately.
First, the future. Thinking about the future has always produced mixed feelings, with the far future bright and full of wonder, and the near future full of toil. Oh, Kaleigh girl. You serve a God much bigger than such an attitude:
"But I said, 'I have labored in vain; I have spent all my strength for nothing at all. Yet what is due me is in the Lord's hand, and my reward is with my God.'" Isaiah 49:4
I'm not sure about you, but that is a relief. I labor and work and exert myself and much of the time I come up empty. Despite that, it is not fruitless. My reward is with God. He sees all my struggle, however feeble, but He doesn't disregard it.
"As surely as God lives, who has denied me justice, the Almighty, who has made my life bitter, as long as I have life within me, the breath of God in my nostrils, my lips will not say anything wicked, and my tongue will not utter lies." Job 27:2-4

to be continued...

Collected my belongings and I left the jail.

It's been a LONG time since I've been able to say I've had a good time, but last night I had a good time. I was able to fellowship with some old friends and make some new ones. It was really nice. Of course, the minute I got back home, to my quiet, dark room, that familiar lonliness enveloped me. I have a feeling that I am going to be combatting these weighty feelings for a long time, especially because I live in such close proximity to the source of them. However, I read something recently that convicted me. A friend of mine wrote on her own blog about the problem of navel-gazing. This is a problem akin to pity-parties: the focus is solely on self. Introspection is wonderful, and even neccessary, but not all the time. By burying your head in the sand and thinking, "I need to focus on me, and my problems." You completely miss the bigger picture. Not to mention, your problems can't be solved when your head is stuck in the ground! My focus should be on Jesus, because He is a Savior who loves to heal the broken. So, I'm taking my head out of the sand.
I'll keep you posted on my progress.

Oh, the lonely sound of my voice calling is driving me insane.

I'm so tired. I haven't had a completely smooth day in what seems like eons. Perhaps it is just the thespian in me, but it seems like every night I find myself alone, wrestling with thoughts that are as tangled as Christmas lights hid away in the basement. I talk to other people, but I get the uneasy feeling that they are weary of my same story being told again and again. I wonder what is wrong with me that I can't just wake up and decide to be happy. Or, maybe I'm more afraid that I can.

I'll go ahead and admit it: I'm still not over the event that has planted a garden of thistle and weeds in my life. I look in the mirror and I think, "Why am I not desired?" I walk outside and all my senses are operating on the highest frequency possible, attuned to a familiar voice or watching for a face. I've tried every humanly way possible to figure out why my love, given so freely and readily, was not returned. Worse, why it was carelessly discarded like it didn't even matter. Like my feelings and my efforts and my perceptions were insignificant and foolish. I suppose even I underestimated the depth of my feeling and the strength of my intimacy. I planned on being really upset for a couple of weeks, and then magically God would open my eyes, give me peace, and allow me to be able to look that boy in the eye and feel nothing but friendly love.

Alas, that is not my reality. Rather, it is a slow process, one that seems to be frustratingly regressive. When I was alone, it was easy to meditate on God's word and become less sad. Everyone told me to wait until school started, because then I would be busy and everyone would be back. Much to my dismay, the arrival of people and routine has turned out to weigh heavily on me. The more people I'm around, the more alone I feel. The more people that tell me how sweet I am, the more I wonder why a specific person didn't find me worthy enough to be with. I hear the sound of boots, and all I can think about are plans I had excitedly waited for withering like a flower in a frost. I can't wrap my mind around the idea that I was cared for, but in a matter of minutes reduced to little more than an acquaintance. I feel so strange. In the excruciating minute that it took to terminate a relationship, all the people I met over the course of several months turned into ghosts. Now, I'm not even a blip on their radar and their eyes slide over me as if I were invisible. I suppose this just comes with the territory, after all, I came in after the fact and now I am gone.

I know I send a vibe of "Woe is me" and sometimes it is true. However, I feel that more of what I'm doing is wading through a knee deep pile of muddy emotion. I'm just trying to sort everything out, not complain. Certainly, I have had many conversations with God, most of them beginning with me lying on the floor, hot tears streaking my face with mascara and rolling into my hair: "For sighing has become my daily food; my groans pour out like water. What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil." Job 3:24-26 I don't think that my turmoil stems only from the painful rejection I've experienced, but rather an issue far deeper. Deep down, I'm not completely trusting God. I'm fearful He will bless me, but take it away soon after. I'm afraid it is wrong for me to be happy. I'm jealous of others. I'm insecure. I'm doubtful of my own abilities. I'm hesitant to trust anybody else. You see, I don't want to let this go. I don't want to accept the fact that someone I love doesn't love me. I don't want to go back to the way I was before I met him, wandering and waiting and wondering.

I don't want to wake up and be happy because that would mean letting go of something I desire so, so much. A friend of mine remarked how well I'm handling everything because I'm leaning on God. This makes me want to weep, because it is hardly the truth. I keep picking my sorrows back up, because all I see is inaction. I beg and plead and cry out to God, but I don't hear anything in response. I'm broken inside and even the process of being fixed despairs me.
I know I can't do it on my own. For all His seeming inaction, I know He is calling me to Him. He is reminding me who He is and that I am His beloved. I know He records my tears on His scroll and He remembers I am but dust. I'm standing at a precipice, wanting so badly to take that leap of faith, but clawing my way back from the edge.

Elisabeth Eliot said it nicely, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me."