I question a lot of things. I question my faith—the parts I was raised in and the parts I’ve come to believe for myself. What if we just tell ourselves all these pretty little things like “God is still God, on his throne” and “Jesus loves me exactly where I am” so that we don’t feel the intensity of pain and hurt and loss that forever threatens on the brink of our peripheries?
My heart physically hurts, my stomach is tumultuous, I can’t eat, but when I listen to music that proclaims “I believe that you’re my Healer; nothing is impossible” and “how deep the Father’s love for us”—when I hear those words, something of the burden lifts. No, not all of it, not nearly all of it, but a very precious bit. Enough so I think maybe, maybe it won’t be so bad, maybe this will be better for me in the end.
I sat in a book group last night—we’re discussing C.J. Mahaney’s The Cross-Centered Life— and I felt like everything we were telling ourselves about focusing on Christ and what the Christian life looks like was nothing but words. Words we’ve always said but when it comes down to it what do they mean? I feel so cynical. I kept silent because most people don’t want to hear these questions out loud. Most people don’t want to doubt. I can’t blame them; it is ever so much easier for me to tell myself that if I praise God now, even when I don’t feel like it, I’ll feel the effects later. It is oddly comforting to even hear that with the smallest bit of belief in it.
So then, is it the power of my own words to myself, or are the words true and that is why they comfort?
Do you know that feeling of being surrounded by people and noise, of knowing there are several people you could call to spend time with right at this moment, but still you feel lonely? Is it just me who is stirred with this feeling more often than, I think, should feel normal?
There was a guy I dated for a very long time and he used to really get worried about me when I would get like this, but I didn't get why, because I thought my feelings were normal. But now I worry about myself too-- not in the "what will happen to me?" way, but in the "I hate that I feel like this but I don't know how to stop it" way. So I ride it out and eventually it goes away for long enough that I forget it, again.
My boyfriend tells me that I spend too much time in the hypothetical. He's right. But when I feel this way, this stress, this house that is so very large but closes in around me, this twitch in my eye that won't go away, these tears that won't roll down my face-- the hypothetical is just easier.
I care too much about my weight right now. I care too much about what my stomach looks like in a bathing suit. I care too much about what particular people think of me-- so much that I doubt I will hit publish on this post because it looks like I'm crying out for help when really it's just cathartic for me to write words. I wrote this post and I feel relief now. I used to write this blog in secret and I always wrote really honest things and somehow I kind of stopped when I knew who was reading it, but here is this post and its truth, and damn it if it isn't the core of me right now.
Today, like most days when my lunch is held in a brown paper sack on my desk, I find myself in Barnes & Noble for my lunch hour. Upon entering the store, I immediately feel a sense of relief that quickly goes to my head. I breathe in the smell of ink on paper and I inwardly swoon at the thought of so many stories in one large, shelved room.
Father's Day themed books still hold the first kiosk of bestsellers, followed by New Releases and Buy 2, Get 1 Free. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles in the air, but I'm not ready to forsake the words yet. There are beach books and romance novels. There are many new memoirs with bright, catchy titles. (These make me want to write my own.) There are children's books, one illustrating a Dylan song. (This one makes me want to travel & splurge on good concerts.) There are cookbooks. (These make me want to quit my job and live in the kitchen.) There are new history books and unsolicited biographies about the Obamas. There are tables for summer reading books-- I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, The Pearl, Lord of the Flies, Huck Finn, All Quiet on the Western Front. There is my favorite, the book that illuminated my desire to write-- The Giver.
I read The Giver in ninth grade, later than most I suppose; my 13 year old sister read it last year in seventh grade. But the point is that I loved it, mostly because of how Ms. Scott dissected it, the way she asked us questions, the way we questioned ourselves because of the way she questioned us. I wrote a paper about the book when our unit was complete and I printed it on yellow paper. And she loved it; Ms. Scott loved it. Her short note of encouragement told me I could write, I should write.
I have many secret files of my writing and I wonder sometimes how they will all fit together, or if they will at all. When I read the back cover of a book I always read "About the Author" first. If that person is from my state or went to my college or likes something random that I also enjoy, I suddenly find myself writing my own "About the Author" before I realize that maybe I should write my book first.
Can't have the cart before the horse, and all that.
My best friend Lindsey is getting married. I will be the Maid of Honor.
We have been dreaming about this day out loud for about 19 years. Or maybe just 12 because we used to hate each other. But I digress.
I would just like to say out loud, to the blog world, that planning a wedding is not really as much fun and games as you think it will be when you're 15. Because when you're 15, making plans for this weekend on Thursday is totally planning ahead. But a decade later, making plans in June for September is late. Also, in fantasy wedding land, the bride isn't a full-time grad student and the MOH (I have succumbed to silly wedding jargon) doesn't have a full-time job.
So this morning I sent out an email to all the bridesmaids with a glorious little spreadsheet with all the pertinent contact info along with some engagement dinner/couple shower & bachelorette party plans I had already discussed with the bride-to-be. (Sidenote: I really like to make lists.) I will be hosting the dinner in the town where we grew up at my parents' house and I proposed a date that felt far off enough for me to not freak out with the planning.
The date I'd like to do this is September 12th, which is a Saturday. How does that look for everyone? I'm sure it's going to be impossible to find a date that works for every single one of us, but we'll do our best! I'm so excited that we all get to do this together! Please feel free to give me your input on the plans!
Do! you! sense! my! excitement!?
The chain of emails that has ensued is out. of. control. I'll leave out the in between parts, but I'll give you some pieces of my latest response and you might get an idea of how this whole thing has been going:
Take some deep breaths for me and then stop going overboard with the ????????!!!!!!!!!!?!?!?!!??! :) ... And I can actually handle those RSVPs if you want, that way you can study, so there will be less of this (?!?!?!freakin' the hell out?!?!?) and more of this (....calm....). ... Collective deep breaths now. ... Nobody freak out about the Bachelorette dates. Freaking out makes things no fun & we want FUNNNNN!!! Don't worry your pretty little head, dearest, just pass grad school.
I say all of these snappy little quips with all the love in my heart,
Hope
Seriously. Deep breaths.
I really am excited about this. I really can't wait to go to the restaurant on Saturday morning and check out the catering menu for the dinner I'm throwing. I've made a notebook with tabs and calendars and labels and to-do lists and guest lists and pretty sample pictures. I've joined theknot.com so I can access all of their great wedding-planning resources. I've saved all the invitations for anything and everything wedding related for the past several months so I can have real-life samples. I've pulled out all the wedding books and magazines that I bought during high school and college (that's no small collection, friends). I really, really love looking at my best friend in a gorgeous white gown and I even love arguing with her fiance about how the groomsmen can NOT wear sweaters with ties (yes, you read that right, sweaters with ties) instead of suit jackets for the ceremony.
So don't mistake this post for a complaint. This is me doing what I do best in our circle of friends-- saying out loud the stuff everyone else is thinking, and trying to make it funny while my best friend loses her mind because she's planning a wedding in the middle of grad school.
See how cute she is?! How could you not want to plan the most glorious wedding of all time for that face?
And lest you think I'm a bad friend, here's part of her response to the above email: LOVE! Thank you for making my life easier...I have finals next week, so stress is setting in! Ok...breathe...got it. Love you!
I was talking with a friend today about work. We, um... how shall I say this...? We think there's a bit more to life than just making money. She was telling me about her fantasy of living and working at the beach-- a place that never fails to soothe her soul. She had only elaborated a little bit before I said, "Are you kidding me? I fantasize about various life situations more often than not." She laughed but...
It's okay that the person I was six months ago is kind of embarassing to remember today.
Because, you see, it means I'm growing.
Do you ever reflect on things you said or did that, at the time, played out all movie-like in your head, but then in reality, it turned out you weren't actually in a musical?
This sort of behavior begins early. When I was in 7th grade, I had an 8th grade boyfriend and he was going to be my first kiss. We were at Kristy's party, sitting on the sofa in the basement, watching Scream 2. Jacob* was on my right, my best friend Lindsey on my left. During the action-packed crescendo of screaming, Jacob looked deep into my eyes, closed his own, began to lean in, and I....
...whipped right around to my left and loudly said, "So Lindsey! Did you hear about the basketball game?!"
*name changed to protect the poor schmuck.
Ten years (ish) later I have not stopped acting like that girl. These days, it's more along the lines of blurting out what I really think before considering the fact that it's hurtful or just completely inappropriate. It's those moments where you can almost see your words coming out of your mouth and you reach out to GRAB THEM FAST before they reach the other person's ears. Oh but that's too bad-- besides not being a musical, my life is also decidedly NOT a cartoon. You just can't grab that word bubble and take it all back.
So even though it is good to know I've grown up since 8th grade and even since six months ago, it's also good to remember little songs from before I was a grown up at all:
See how cute she is?! How could you not want to plan the most glorious wedding of all time for that face?
Which is, if you ask me, the very best place to see a concert.
See how pretty?!
