Joy

Oh joy.
That's often said as a kind of sigh. (I'm admittedly not a huge fan of that fact, or the word "killjoy" but that's besides the point)
Mom used to grab me and do the "dance of joy."
Joy is said to be the more enduring feeling of elation - as opposed to fleeting happiness. Most of us spend our lives seeking it...
Hoping that one fabulous person, one perfect situation, one anticipated moment will leave us with an aftertaste of joy.
The hope of joy fuels our ambitions - everything from weight loss (when I'm thin I'll be joyful) to career goals (when I succeed I'll be approved of... and people who are approved of are joyful). It's a kind of contented satisfaction. Peace with who I am and peace with the world.

And this much I know. These past two weeks have been really chaotic - my world turned upside down almost thoroughly. My house is empty, my heart is recovering from a major blow, Leah's been out of town, the family's been in transition... uncertainties at every turn and enough pain for complaint or at least stress. That's the scene but here's the surprise: I have joy.

Somewhere deep enough is a reservoir of joy within me that is sustaining me. I am not losing hope. I am not losing life or perspective or energy. I am very much okay. More than fine. And I am that way because I have joy.

Surprising. Pleasing. Bit of a shocker but I'll take it.

Not even

My week of "dealing with this" is almost up. And I'm allowing myself one week. One week to over-eat and sulk and feel sorry for myself. Sorry that it is completely over. So completely. So tragically. I kept this tiny little door of opportunity open for him and now even that door is so irrevocably shut that I have no words. I just sit on the stairs and cry. It's like all of the fates (or divine providence, I suppose) collaborated to make it completely impossible for me to even go back. It would be unethical for me to try... because he should be with someone else and make a family. And so I will step out forever.

I've always said that nothing but the deepest of love could ever inspire me to marry.
Now I must recognize that not even the deepest of love can convince me to stay.

Strange.

"Baby says I can't come with him/And I had read all of this in his eyes/Long before he even said so why go I asked/You know and I know why/And it'll be just as quiet when I leave/As it was when I first got here/I don't expect anything/I don't expect anything/Take care I've been hurt before/Too much time spent on closing doors/You may hate me but I'll remember to love you/And goodbye don't cry/You know why."

"Quiet" by Rachael Yamagata

Plaid and paisley

We are the intersection
Of so many different things
Stripes and solids
Shapes and irregularities
But nevertheless
In my mind at least
It works
Some kind of intricate pattern
No one could really have planned
But somehow comes together
As though a greater hand
Formed us
So that one without the other
Would be incomplete
Sometimes we clash
But always,
When a broader perspective is gained
End up wearable

My brothers are necessary. Every disappointment in romance, every disillusionment with gender roles, every rant on the feminization of men or society's screwed-up views of masculinity leads me to the comforting thought that somewhere, out there, are four men. Real, blood-and-guts, ballsey men who are brave and beautiful... strong and sensitive... knowledgeable and teachable.

None of us are yet what we will be
But I know that when we are
They will be
Always and forever my standard
For what men should be.

I love you guys. Thanks for being my precious baby boys.
(my little smoocher kooker kinser lover wover dudies kissey kissey moonker woks)

Been thinkin

First off, before I say anything pontifical (?): if you are one of the people whose a. wedding I missed, b. phone call(s) I haven't returned, or c. coffee date I stood up - I have none of my usual (clever & brilliant) excuses just know that I'm so so so so so so so so sorry! You know how I get. Know that it's on a to-do list somewhere to spend massive amounts of time making up to you... and despite all appearances, know that I love love love you all!

Better?

Now I've been thinking... sometimes you have to just sit down and ponder. It helps that there've been rainy days and slow nights. I journaled extensively about all of this. Here's what I remember (big theme) - I know my calling.
"Calling" is one of those catch-phrases that tends to not pack a punch in reality... but there is something very real about the fact that God specifically intends in his moral will for each of us to do something specific with our lives. (I know at least CW is already forming his response to that vague statement - call me, dear, we need to talk anyway). And I know mine.

Africa.

Africa is my heart. I was re-reading some journal entries from right when I got back from Africa last year and I said: "my heart has been left in Africa on purpose." Because it was home. Because it was the most real I've ever felt and the most sure. I'm more sure of Africa than almost anything in life. I'm going. I'm staying. And, make a difference or not, I will live my life for love of the forgotten, diseased, and abandoned people of Africa.
I know it's not all that noble or great because I've been there with the smells and annoyances and sadness... but I also know that nothing else in life will satisfy me. Because that's my calling.

I can't wait!

Speaking of seasons

I ran across this song on my Folk Faves playlist.

"You're a vision all undone
You are the best kind of dreadful
I've ever been a part of
We're having so much fun
There are some angels in the slope dear
In the summer we will know dear

Seasons always change
Everybody knows that
And everybody says that
And the sun shines through the rain
When the wind makes afraid oh don't give in
Because we learn to love that way

You're a vision on the run
You are a change in the direction
We are making some connection
We're having so much fun
When the angels watch the mystery
Of everyday you and me."

"Seasons Always Change" by Sarah Masen.

Cute, huh?

More goodbyes

I'll miss my gym and my babies. It's been fun living the dream, Fatz, just you and me and dance parties and many other unmentionable and socially inappropriate jokes. God has blessed me so much. I can't but be thankful for this season.

Seasons

All I'm saying goodbye to.

"Seasons change/They change when you don't seem to notice/All of the sudden/Wind grows cold and then the snowflakes start to fall"


Leaving and Coming

Two very different events
That solicit similar emotions
A nostalgia; embracing familiarity
Tipping the cap
To what was and
Stepping into
What will be
Because the cadence of life
Requires this journeying

Faith is going to college! The boys are going to Christian school. Dad has a new church and Mom is only working part time. Jimmy and I are leaving for World Race. Changes.

"Seasons change/And you grow a little older/Nothing stays the same/The past becomes the future/Seasons change/And you grow a little older/No one stays the same/And my heart grows a little warmer"

It's going to be a good change... a tradeoffs. I've decided to move south with the family. It's a tradeoff I long for. If they will have me I will go. So that's that.

"I hope I choose a better tomorrow/Rather than a better yesterday"

(all quotes from "Seasons Change" by Susie Suh)

Bye.

No can do

Breaks my heart, girl.
I love you so much.
So sorry I couldn't come.

Hope

Hope is an anchor for the soul, according to Hebrews.

I had a rema moment the other day reading Romans 5. VV 3-5 say, "Not only so but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us."

Hopelesness is a lack of character.

Hopelesness is a lack of character, produced by not persevering in suffering. Despair is a character problem. Not a psychological problem... a character problem.

Hm. Do I have hope?

If not, I alone am to blame... not dire circumstances or situations that merit despair... me and my own character fall short if I do not have hope.

"Hope again in God; I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God."

Help

"I was pushed hard, so that I was falling, but the Lord helped me." (Ps. 118:13)

7/5/06 was a great revelation day...

Gen. 19:16 - So the cities of S & G are about to be destroyed by God's angels because of iniquity. Abraham cut a deal that if 10 righteous persons could be found God would refrain... but no such number was found. God's amazingly merciful compromise was to take Lot and his family out of the city before it was destroyed. So the fire begins to fall and the angels press for them to leave... but this is Lot's home; it's the place he chose when Ab said, "we must part ways, whichever way you go, that land is yours." He lived in the midst of evil people and the Word says that his righteous heart was grieved by their conduct. And yet. And yet. Something held him to this place because in 19:16 we hear this scenario: "When he [Lot] hesitated, the men grasped his hand.. and led them safely out of the city, for the Lord was merciful to him."

God had given so many chances for rescue, so many opportunities for Lot to get out or righteous people to present themselves for the sake of the city, to no avail. One would think that his patience, worn thin by S & G's debauchery, would not last. But here, in this amazingly extravagant act of mercy, God not only presents a way out for Lot but grasps him and leads him out of danger.

I don't think of God like that often. I feel the need to beg for help and hope for a small chance of rescue. But this scenario would suggest otherwise.

I journaled, "When God bestows mercy on me, my chances are many and his patient persistance is great. He - in his heart - wants to help me... and even when I hesitate in doubt, he will help me!"

"For surely it is not angels he helps but he helps the offspring of Abraham" (Heb. 2:16).

I trust that he will help me.

The dark

(photograph by Kevin Byrne)
“I want to paint myself a picture/I want to paint myself in blue and red and black and grey/All of the beautiful colors are very very meaningful/Yeah, you know grey/It’s my favorite color/I just get so confused everyday/But if I knew Picasso I would buy myself a grey guitar and play.”
Counting Crows “Mr Jones” (VH1 Storytellers version)

All of my dearests (namely, those of you privy to this blog) agree that life is too dark to be explained by typical Christianity.

I’m reading this book called Dark Nights of the Soul by Thomas Moore (former Catholic monk, PhD in theology, musicology and religion. Only strike against him: practices psychotherapy)

Here’s his take.

Excerpts:

“…God who is your ultimate darkness.... Religion, too, often avoids the dark by hiding behind platitudes and false assurances. Nothing is more irrelevant than feeble religious piousness in the face of stark, life-threatening darkness. Religion tends to sentimentalize the light and demonize the darkness. If you turn to spirituality to find only a positive and wholesome attitude, you are using spirituality to avoid life’s dark beauty…. Flight from the dark infantilizes your spirituality….”

He quotes Bonhoeffer as saying, “The world that has come of age is more godless, and perhaps for that very reason nearer to God, than the world before its coming of age.”

“Today, Bonhoeffer says, we have to face our problems directly and having lost the option of a God coming like the cavalry from the sky, we discover the real meaning of religion, an openness to the mysteries that are playing themselves out.”

This is a stunningly accurate description of my recent spiritual journey. I have been entirely unable to articulate the spiritual darkness that has overtaken my life for the past three years. I have felt guilty, I have felt inadequate, I’ve felt like a failure… I’ve been tempted with meaninglessness and despair… I’ve been threatened with a thorough unraveling of God as I had been taught. He wasn’t what he had been said to be. The church definitely makes no sense. He did meaningless things without explaining himself and placed me and my family in dark places we didn’t deserve.

And all I came out with was… it is what it is. Nothing more. Nothing less.

What do we think about this Thomas Moore character, people? Call me.

Burst

This is a series of photographs taken by a contemporary French photographer I admire. I can't get better representations of them, or I would comment on the stunning versatility of the look of these emotions... they range from despair, fear, shock, anger... all exemplified by the very organic act of bursting into tears.
Bursting into tears is something entirely honest. It can't be premeditated or manipulative. It isn't controllable... there's no plug, no brave face, no coping mechanism that can intercept the split second when something deeper than my conscious will decides to erupt from within.
It's embarassing. It's kind of cleansing.
It's a very here-I-am and this is what I feel, no holds barred, action.

Today I was twice told by two people who matter that I've done nothing with my life and am currently accomplishing nothing. Oh, and I'm headed nowhere. Their wording wasn't couched in niceties and was supremely... hurtful.

I burst into tears.

I'm not going to prove or defend myself. I'm just going to cry.