I started really writing in this blog out of a desire to match another blog, written by a guy I had a massive unhealthy crush on. Really stupid reason for writing a blog. Particularly one oriented around the grace and amazingness of God. What can I say, still human, still fallible, still an idiot a lot of the time.

I've since entered into a relationship with a really amazing guy, who is NOT the one with the blog, and stopped spending very much time producing anything of worth, be it writing, photography, or art of any kind. I write for school, sure, and I doodle sometimes, take photos with instagram and portraits of my sister, but nothing... real. As part of an attempt to reconnect with who I am--and DECIDE who I am, not just rekindle parts of old angsty me--I'm going to be turning this blog private. A throwback to livejournal days I guess. You're welcome to ask for the password and if I know you, I'll probably give it to you.

But I'm trying to beat Satan's isolation. Last night I ran into a wall that said "You don't have any friends but your boyfriend, and he doesn't even like most of the things you do...so what's going to happen to the creator, the crazy, the thinker, and the missionary side of you?" Lies and exaggerations of truths, blown out of proportion by hormones and a partially self-inflicted lack of community, but it still stabbed me in the heart.

I'm trying to take a stand again.

To stop seeking comfort and ease and start fighting back against the encroaches of the enemy. Because we do not struggle against flesh and blood, but against powers and authorities that we do not fully understand. But the good news is, Jesus already slayed the monster. We're fighting his convulsive death throes and the tormented tantrums of his generals as they run around like chickens with their heads cut off. The ultimate victory is assured.

If you have an interest in standing with me or reading my heart vomits about all of this, you're welcome to email me/comment on this blogpost.

Brain Waves

Being bipolar is exceptionally difficult.

Even when it is the manageable functional kind, not the manic rages and suicidal binges kind. 

Identifying where I truly fall on the pendulum swing and sticking to it no matter what my emotions/hormones tell me on a particular day. It's a good thing that a. the Lord has given me some exceptional will power and rational reasoning skills and b. I am not asked to face this alone.  

But seriously. 

I should start trying to write seriously about my battles with depression. Maybe it could help other Christians out there, fighting the internal mechanisms and the stigma all at once. Or even non-believers, though my walk with this biological function is so intrinsically wrapped in God that it might be kind of foreign. Or maybe it will just be clarifying. 

Running Ourselves Ill

What kind of crazy work driven world do we live in that I feel guilty calling in sick to my FOOD SERVICE job when I am coughing and sneezing all over the place? And not guilty because I need the money, but guilty because I feel like I am making excuses and should just suck it up and come in.

No. 

This is BS. 

And it's weird how this plays into our cultural narcissism and ego-centrism; in a world where me-me-me is the driving factor, you'd think we'd take better care of our health. But instead we're encouraged to constantly go to school, go to work, go to whatever, sick, because... it's not acceptable to take a day off. You are cheered by friends and colleagues when you "call in sick" to go on some grand adventure, but then we constantly greet each other at work haggard and health deprived because we save our "sick" days for ditching. 

It's extra funny, because I sit here thinking of Sunday morning, how I woke up with a killer sore throat and knew it was my own fault for exhausting myself over the week and so went into work (and oh, by the way, risked giving it out to all my customers. Though, I was extra especially careful to wash and sanitize my hands all day.) Then I slept, all of Monday. And a significant portion of Tuesday. But the thing about Sunday, was that it wasn't (pardon my grossness) a projectile germs sort of sick; no snot, no sneezing, no coughing. I could pretend. (Though I'm sure Greg is shuddering in his seat right now from the terror of how I was full of germs with sore throat anyway.) 

Culturally, our priority hierarchy is pretty freaking messed up. 

Work is important. I'm not advocating placing our own desires to rest and slack off above working hard. But today, my best way to serve my workplace is to stay home. And understanding that sometimes, our bodies need a break. They weren't built to drive at an American pace. (And coming from me, this is pretty funny, because my pace is slower than most and I, at least recently, pay pretty good health attention as well.) 

All of this to say:

Friday Morning Caffe Veloce Special! Snot Lattes and Germ Mochas. Stir those microbacteria into your coffee and you will never taste the difference. Just suck it right down and reap the benefits! Yum, yum, yum, work and productivity winning the day! Hope to see you again soon. :)

When I externally process in class,

I think: Sweet, this is all starting to make sense. I can synthesize this information now that I've made this hypothesis outloud.
Everyone else thinks: Dang, that girl has a lot of strong opinions about things. I wonder if I should come up with a pointed question to challenge her.

Seriously though... It's kind of difficult when speaking is one of the ways I actually process information in a room full of other educated seminary students among whom I'm the super young liberal political theory kid. My hope is that by speaking my thoughts I at least make the people who aren't speaking at all think about things? I thoroughly appreciate the fact that I kind of have "seminary parents" now though; three people in my OT502 class have taken it upon themselves to affirm or challenge the young kid. It's two women and a man who are all my parents age; guess which one is challenging and which is affirming.

Seminary is a very interesting place.

"The Intimacy Container"

   Tonight we tackled "the big one" at the Hub, again. Sex, sexuality, God's intent for it, our society's craze around it, and just plain anything associated with the letters S-E-X have been all over the place in February 2012. This time though, I found Charlie and Heather Ruce (the speakers; a husband and wife who are both counselors working with Soul Care House) full of awesome information, equipped with candid but deeply compassionate voices, and indebted to what they were sharing concerning God, healing, and their own stories for the lives (and marriage) they live now. I also deeply appreciated that they didn't mask the topic with too much humor (this is a pet peeve of mine; oftentimes, if a speaker is incredibly funny, once you get past the laughs, what was said is confused or pretty surface level.) They made sexuality a real topic and a topic that we shouldn't be uncomfortable talking about by being comfortable but also being real.

   I had a feeling things were going to go well when Charlie started the night defining sexuality for us, not as simply "genitals, orgasm, you know, SEX" but as our deep human selves that long for intimacy, wholeness, union, and bonding. This is how I have come to understand myself as a possessor of God-given sexuality, as a sexual being who is not yet supposed to be engaging in sexual acts. I, before marriage, in relationship or out of it, am still as sexual a woman as I will be within a marriage; my sexuality is a part of my identity and is much more than my decision to or not to engage in sexual activity, who I want to be sexual with, and how.

   In pursuing this topic further, between the sermon and our seminar tonight I read an excerpt from Philip Yancey's book Rumors of Another World in which Yancey takes a really human look at sex in the world and at how it might have actually been meant to be. Within this he quotes an author I am now very intrigued to read:

"The human being is constantly straining towards this infinity: a thirst to be filled, to be recognized in one's uniqueness, a thirst to be free, to be loving, to be a source of life for others... Our thirst is infinite but it is carried in fragile vessels." (Jan Vanier,  Man and Woman He Made Them.)

 This straining towards infinity is a beautiful way of illuminating aspects of the whole idea of our sexuality. Sexuality is much more than sex. If we can understand it in its wholeness, sexuality becomes far more beautiful, pointing to deep centers of our selves and beyond us to the divine, far more important, as it is an aspect of the reflection of God, and far more daunting to encounter, understand, heal, and live. We live in fragile vessels. Charlie and Heather took it a step beyond our personal fragile vessels to our relationship dynamics, where our individual fragile vessels seek to merge with others and create "intimacy containers" in the form of relationship.

  Intimacy is meant to be part of the human condition, a beautiful part. But any moment in which we open the box of intimacy and vulnerability, we also open the door to the messy. We cannot seek to merge our lives with another completely separate entity, alone in our own selves as we are, without tension, strain, awkwardness, discomfort, and probably some pain. Because intimacy is fraught with mess, the Ruces point out that it really needs a special place to dwell. In order for intimacy to not simply cause pain and heartache, we need to open to it within a container that is built for the purpose, a container of commitment that is large enough to handle the levels of intimacy that are being breached. They were specifically talking about physical intimacy at the time, but my own heart was struck by how true this is for emotional, spiritual, and conversational intimacy in my life.

   I have a bad habit of getting myself into a position where I have been much more vulnerable with another person than they are, or desire to be, with me. I desire deep connection, authentic relationship, and real conversation so I just go for it, almost all the time. Many a time this has created unbelievably amazing friendships, encouraged others to open up when they otherwise would have remained reserved, and overall been a pretty dang awesome wreaking ball for the Holy Spirit to throw at the fortress walls barricading souls from sunlight. But there are other times, and let's be honest, cross-gender times (yes, that means with you, men), where my penchant for vulnerability meets with confusion, uncertainty, manipulation, or outright rejection.

   Years ago, I found myself in "fake relationship" after "fake relationship," giving vast amounts of time, emotional energy, and intimacy to guy-friends without asking for, or demanding, any sort of commitment or definition on our "friendship." Much of this (I have recognized over much thought and prayer) came from my own history that predisposed me towards having low expectations in relationship ("don't ask for anything, it only causes problems, go with the flow, simply give") and my own fears, which led me to "wait" for the guy to want more, to define it, to "ask me out," all the while digging myself deeper and deeper holes of emotional attachment. (Now let me tell you, these men were there own kettle of awesome brokenness which I, in retrospect, am slightly horrified to have poured myself out over, but brokenness and abandonment seeks affirmation where it can find it, even if its self-created and completely misplaced. )

   Where am I going with this? The container of commitment is the only place in which intimacy can live without perpetual fear of abandonment. And unfortunately for fearful hearts (mine), containers need to be verbalized. Fortunately, for all hearts, Jesus makes the best container of all.

   We were made to share our hearts. Man and Woman compatible with each other so that only in pairing are we completed. And yet, even in that pairing, we are only able to reach a secondary level of completeness in this life. Complete wholeness waits upon union with our God which we cannot experience still living in this world. But we're lucky, because with Jesus, we have the opportunity to be just that close. After Christ's ascension, the Holy Spirit was given to us, as counselor, best friend, mediator and intercessor. God literally dwells within the bodies and minds of his people. Great, you say, that ought to make my completeness then, right? Wrong. (And seriously, if I made that claim, you'd know from your own experience of life that I'm only lying.) In some way, this having of the spirit only increases our longing for union with another. How better to experience God than for two pieces of him to come together, a heart meeting a heart, through intimacy and vulnerability, the spirit within me and the spirit within you communing?

   This is where that container becomes necessary. Suddenly, because of Jesus, I literally have an ability to interact with my God by interacting with the heart of another human. We get to partake in community with Jesus on a daily basis. But this communion in intimacy is still fraught with the potential tearing and pain that baring yourself to another ever has. This is where Heather and Charlie challenged me tonight. My desire to meet my spirit with the spirit in you is God given and beautiful. But without open words, real determination, and explicit commitment, that wreaking ball has more potential to completely cripple us than anything. This is why, in a vulnerable space like a life group, we covenant with each other. Explicit, verbal commitment to trust, confidentiality, compassion, and support.

   I am challenged now to pursue explicit verbal commitment in my individual relationships before barreling in with my vulnerability-crane. Before I give you a piece of my soul, do you intend to receive it and love me? "What are your intentions?" And what are my intentions? (I, too, have not only felt the hurt of my intimacy being manipulated or taken for granted, but have accidentally caused pain with it by seeming to establish a depth of relationship that I did not intend.) We have to be careful where we bare our souls. Simply knowing within our own minds that we do it in the arms of a compassionate Father who will always receive and love us no matter the outcome is not enough. We must be verbal with each other.

   I find myself at once incredibly liberated and stone terrified by the implications of these things.

On Restoration and Surrender

I have no words.

Actually, I have too many words. I could sit here and spill them out, knowing that I committed to writing and posting as a discipline for Lent, but I find that a better thing tonight would be to step into surrender. Unexpected reconciliation of the most brilliant kind wants to wrap my brain up tightly, running around like a child in a candy store, a chicken with its head cut off, and all the other bad cliches. My mind wants to unwrap this surprise gift and spend hours and hours dwelling upon it, picking apart details and possibilities and explanations.

But I want you to have it, Dad. It came from you, anyways. Help me hand it into your keeping so that it may grow instead of stifle in the grasp of my obsessive brain processes. You're the best keeper of precious things anyway; I want you to have this.

And, Dad? One more thing.

Thanks.

On Poems

Today I wrote an email that turned into a poem.
Another email was poetic, but quite on accident.
Both, accidental,
actually.

Where do they come from,
words that paint and sounds that dance and punctuation that speaks on its own?
It's been quite a while since I've written a poem.
It's been so long,
in fact,
that I thought I forgot,
Thought I'd lost it together with age and with living better.
Thought it had gone the way of teenage angst and RPGs,
of stories written for different Me's.

But there it was,
sitting on the screen,
And here it is again...



It's funny though.
I've still forgotten.
Poems don't sound beautiful
after they've been written.