Day One Hundred and Ninety Eight - The Bright Side

Today was full of ups and downs. Each moment had it's own sincerity, be it sweet or sour. But it's the sweet ones that stuck with me, that gently carried me through the day. Getting to sleep in, that was beyond nice. Getting to spend the day with my favorite coworker and learn more about her life. Meeting up with old friends. Having a seat specially saved just for me. Staying late because I wanted to be sure they got home safely. Having my high school crush ask for my number. Getting a text message, out of the blue, from a friend just to tell me he loves me.

These are the moments that will stick with me. These are the moments I will hold on to when I'm so tired I can barely function in the morning, when I'm getting a little heat for not giving a friend her keys back at the end of the night, when I'm still sad that my butt lost at least 2 inches and I don't know how to get it back.

Sometimes, the bright side is like that. Just focusing on the good. Sometimes, it's a little less obvious. Mark Driscoll (my favorite pastor in the whole wide world, he's rather well known, look him up) posted as his status today "One difference between an enemy and a friend is this: an enemy stabs you in the back and a friend stabs you in the front." I have never understood this concept better. I thank God for the friends that stab me in the front. Because it's not a stab, not really. It's an incision. The first of many. They make the first cut, and then hand you the scalpel. The surgery needs to be done, the inner workings need work. And you're the only one that can do it.

But let's face it, I'm too much of a chicken to really make the first cut. Your friends, your good friends, will do it for you. They will stand in front of you, to be the honest mirror for you that you can't bring yourself to look into, as you continue the surgery to fix yourself. Sure, it hurts like a mother trucker. But it's worth it.

The method may be harsh, but it's effective. And I'm not one to argue method, or at least I try not to be. I'm not always successful in that. I'm not a fan of pain. I wouldn't be opposed to some anesthesia in the future. But days like today, where the sweet moments were like dabs of healing cream, it hardly hurts at all.

And so, in the end, I'm thankful for four friends tonight. One made the cut, and the other three loved me enough to tell me that the surgery, the fixing, was indeed necessary. Not a single one tried to take the scalpel from my hand, exclaim that the one who had made the incision must be insane, and convince me that nothing needed fixing. Each one loved me enough to tell me to grip the scalpel tighter, and not stop what had begun. And for that, I am extremely grateful.

Day One Hundred and Ninety Seven - Deep Ache

I have no idea what it is today, but every single part of me is exhausted and has been since the moment my alarm went off at 5am. I got more than enough sleep, I was asleep by 8:30pm, and yet when I woke I was more tired than when I had gone to bed. Each step was dragging today. You wouldn't have known it, I kept a good pace, but it was harder than usual. When I got home, all I could think about was sitting down. My legs ached, each muscle in them protested. My back joined in their whining. Everything ached. My head pounded. My eyes squinted against the sun as soon as I left the building. I got home and sat on my ass for hours. I stretched. I ate. I drank tea. And still the deep ache persists.

I'm going to stretch more. And I would have collapsed in bed already if it weren't for the fact that instead of morning, I work tomorrow evening and would like to be able to stay awake on the drive home. But bed will come. And I don't think the deep ache is anything that a deep sleep, some deep stretches, and a deep cup of coffee in the morning can't fix.

But what cures the deep ache of the heart? The kind that just comes on you, not seeming to have a real source, and throbs away the day, leaving you spent. What makes that better? How do you stretch it, ice it, or cool it? How do you massage that pain away? Where does it come from? And who commands it? A sorrow that creeps into your bones. A grief that wastes your eyes. It saps your strength. Sometimes, it leaves with the morning. Othertimes, it can haunt you for days, weeks, months.

I pray this ache will leave me with the dawn. I pray it will turn into a smile or a lesson. I pray it doesn't linger. I need my strength. Perhaps the deep ache of the heart is similar to the deep ache of the muscles. It isn't the sharp pain that tells you something is wrong, but the deep ache that tells you it's a process. Muscles don't build themselves up overnight. No runner ever started at a marathon, no lifter started at 450lbs. You get there, gradually. Perhaps, the deep ache of the heart, is the best kind. Perhaps it is the heart's way of telling you that despite the fact that everything seems the same, you are changing.

Day One Hundred and Ninety Six - Conviction

Do what needs to be done, even when it's hard. Do what you believe is right, even when it means throwing yourself under the bus. Do everything today that you can, even when you're tired and want to put it off until tomorrow. 

I've always known those things, I was taught well. But most of the time, I just do what I feel. And sometimes, I feel like doing what needs to be done, doing what is right, and getting enough done to be able to sleep with peace of mind. Sometimes. Most of the time, however, I don't. And my life reflects that. 

Enough. Enough now. "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways." 1 Cor. 13:11 Being a child is easy. Growing up is hard. Being grown up is hard. But maybe, like tying your shoes, what once seemed like the most intricate puzzle ever made, will become a reflex motion. 

At the very least, I know I'll sleep well every night. And that's really all the time I have for writing because there are still things to be done tonight, and bed is rapidly approaching. 

P.S. I hope you all had a fantastic day and have an amazing night!

Day One Hundred and Ninety Five - Blueprints

There is a song I like, by Shawn Groves. It's called "Welcome Home". It makes the analogy that our hearts are like homes. We fill them with useless triffles, we hide away our nastiness in rooms with locked doors. We shut up the windows to keep out the light. 

God is good. I may be a petulant child right now, but that doesn't mean I think my Father is anything other than the definition of Good. He has been doing a good work in me for a long time, tearing my house down to it's very foundation. So that He may rebuild. I did not take into account my own stubbornness, my own pride. What He tore down, I rebuilt. The exact same way it was before. Everything He took away, I replaced. Every time He ripped out a wall to let the light in, I built it right back up again. I understood that He was tearing it down, but I liked how it was before. I wanted it rebuilt just how it was before. Only, you know, newer. 

...I'm an idiot. So finally, God in His infinite Wisdom and Kindness, used one of the very few people that can see right through my bullshit to the blueprints and can get me to listen, to show me the blueprints. And how incredibly fucked up they are. Let's just say it makes Willy Wonka look like a minimalist.

The materials are good thought. It still has it's pretty parts. The entire thing isn't ugly or rotten to the core, but it could be so much more. It needs to be redone, but the flavor of it can stay the same. It will still be me. He doesn't want me to change into someone else, He wants me to be the best version of me. He wants to let a little light in. Open some doors, clean out some rooms. Let the light in. It's not just my skin that could use a tan, apparently. I think my soul is a little pale as well.

So this time around, now that I'm aware of my stubbornness and pride, we're going to try really hard to keep those in check, and let the Carpenter do His thing. He will tear down, and He will rebuild. I will not put up the same walls again. I will let the light in. I will not find new locks when He opens the doors. 

I will not even argue with His methods. Sometimes, they seem a bit harsh, and I feel more than a bit fragile. But He knows best. I prayed for comfort, and got torn down. I was given what I needed, rather than what I wanted. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop praying for comfort. It'll be time for comfort one of these days. 

Day One Hundred and Ninety Four - A Lighter Side

The truth set me free. There is no arguing that. It also punched me in the gut and smacked me across the face a few times. The truth, especially the truth of who I am, isn't exactly pleasant. Liberating, yes. Necessary, definitely. Pleasant, not even a little bit. 

And when I got out of bed this morning, all I could do was lick my wounds. They were still raw, I felt like I was still bleeding. My eyes were still red, swollen, and leaking. I had no energy. I walked around like a zombie. I didn't make eye contact, and barely smiled. I just wanted to get through the day. I knew that I wasn't helping anything; I knew feeling low wasn't going to change me. So I tried to smile, to be friendly to strangers at least. By lunch I was doing fairly well. By the time I went home, I had genuinely laughed. 

When I got home, a friend texted me what will become my motto, probably for the entire month of June, if not the whole summer. He said, "You need to be held down and tickled until your priorities straighten out." In that one sentence, he pulled me out of myself. Yes, changes need to be made. Yes, there is a lot of work to be done. It'll push me and grow me and stretch me and break me more times than I can count. 

But I take myself waaaaay too freaking seriously. Life doesn't pause for big life changes, it keeps going right on through them. Having a straight face all the time won't make this go any faster. But being held down and tickled until I realize once again that I'm just a little girl put on this earth to LIVE will make this more pleasant for everyone. Putting my heart through it's own personal purgatory isn't going to help a damned thing. I will not be a martyr to my mistakes. 

But I will be held captive by laughter. I will be dragged into things I didn't originally anticipate doing (though I probably secretly wished I was brave enough to do the whole time). I will probably be thrown in pools. I may be held down and tickled. I will be teased to my wits end. Because I need to be, and luckily, my sarcastic ass friends get that. They need that they need to prick my ego, and make me laugh at myself. 

Because I'm not the center of the world, and shouldn't be the center of mine. And nothing really straightens out your priorities like realizing how small you are, how fast time flies, how much can heal with a laugh, and how good life is in the moment. Here's to maybe actually being able to change something because I chilled the fuck out and just laughed til I peed a little. 

Day One Hundred and Ninety Two - Carry Me

What burdens you? What do you carry? What do you put on your own shoulders? What do others put on your shoulders? Who do you carry? What burdens you?

I'm not going to ask you why you carry them, that is obvious. There are only two reasons why anyone carries anything. Either a) no one else will carry it, and it must be carried or b) you don't trust anyone else to carry it, and it must be carried. 

The obviousness of the why, and that so many people don't seem to grasp the obviousness of the why, often leads me to frustration. "Just let it go." People say. Because thank you, Captain Obvious, that had never occurred to me. It's not like I often dream of a time when I wouldn't have to carry so much. When I could just let someone else handle it for a while. It's something I wish for, often. In the quiet moments. In the moments when I don't have to be strong. I pray that someone would come, and not carry everything for me, but maybe help me carry. 

Until someone comes along, the burdens are still mine, and only mine, to carry. This city, this country, is full of people looking to shirk their responsibilities, their burdens, onto anyone who is willing to take them. The burdens of many are carried on the backs of a few. I will not shirk my responsibilities, I will not simply wait for someone else to carry me. It's not how I was made. 

But I wasn't made to carry so much, either. It's more than I can bear. There is One who is deserving of my trust, One who will carry my burdens for me, One who will carry me when I am tired. All I have to do is trust Him enough to let Him. I carry my burdens close to my heart, they are not obligations. They are dreams, they are people, they are responsibilities that I bear gladly. But they're heavy. I cannot do them justice. 

I want to give them away. I want to give them to someone more capable than myself. To give the burdens I carry for me, that's not so hard. But to give those I love to another, that requires a lot of trust. More trust than I think I have. I've never really had anyone to share my burdens with, or to carry them for me. For as long as I can remember, I have been carrying as much as I could handle. But after years of being brought low, rather inexplicably, He has earned my trust. And just in time. I'm exhausted. And out of options.

Because just carrying them is not enough. We carry them to lift them up. The bring them up. To raise them up. Facts are facts, I am only treading water. I am not raising anyone up. It's time to give them to Someone who can. 

So for the rest of the summer, I am only thinking one day at a time. Planning one day at a time. And not worrying about a single damn thing. I will only get through the day, and let Him take care of the rest. I am giving each and every worry to Him. Each and every burden to Him. I can't do anything anyway. I cannot change anything by myself. I know more will change than I can possibly anticipate. And knowing that I don't have to do a single thing but give it away. 

And He will not only carry my burdens for me. He will carry me too, and take me where He wants me to be. In Him only will I find the rest I so desperately need. 

Day One Hundred and Ninety One - The Most Attractive Thing About Me

Dear boys (notice boys, not men. I am not addressing men, they have already figured this out),

The most attractive thing about me is my mind. If that concept seems foreign to you, I am so far out of your league that I'm amazed you can even see me.

Don't get me wrong, I have a pretty face and a decent body, but those don't even come close to the beauty of my mind. It is my mind that writes these words, it is my mind that makes me smile in the quiet moments, it is my mind that you should want to get to know. My lips cease to be lovely if nothing good comes out of them, but their beauty is magnified when praise flows from them.

Understand this: My mind is the most attractive part of me. Without it, I am nothing but a face and a body. And I am not a doll. So do not mistake me for one. If my intelligence intimidates you, I would encourage you to be inspired instead. When I meet someone more intelligent than myself (which, truthfully, is rather frequent) it always makes me want to become more intelligent myself.

Do not be complacent in your ignorance and stupidity. Better yourself. Not only for your sake, but for the sake of those you interact with on a daily basis. For those you interact with... ever.

And lastly, dear boys, yes, I am a grammar Nazi. Because it literally makes me wince each and every time you make a mistake. It hurts me. However, if I know you possess the ability to write and speak correctly, chances are I'll let it slide. But if you text/speak garbled letters, numbers, and symbols, then yes, I will point it out because DAMN ARE YOU 12?! No, that's mean. That's an insult to the 12 year olds I know. Allow me to rephrase, are you a 12 year old on World of Warcraft?! Write and speak like an adult, or don't expect to be treated like one.

Sincerely,

Me.