June 30, 2009


Breathe~ inhale, absorb, awaken your senses, take in, be aware, be alive.
(Through breath we survive, by breath we grow.)

People (and you are a person) are amazing. With a brain, a store of near-infinite knowledge. Possessing a beating heart, with such enormous capacity for love. With a soul! Making choices, altering the future, existing as a complex being. People matter.

Thinking about them is not enough, picturing memories isn't enough, oh, you are a living human who is so much more than can be captured in an image of the past. I want to be in the present moment, learning about who you really are, even, helping you articulate your self. I want to breathe you in. (Yes, I try to breathe what matters, what is matter. I can't understand how it's possible, but even a solid, firm, piece of matter has an essence that can be taken in.)

I don't think I really know you. But I want to breathe you in. Understand what really matters to you, who you are, and live on with you. This love can become idolatry, this is not what I desire. Do I need to know you fully? No, I can never, will never, need not throw myself into drinking from every living thing's well. But do we only live by breathing the words of our Father? No again.

Simply, if you are human, you matter, and I want you to matter to me.

~I breathe deep.

June 28, 2009

Speaking the truth is much harder than avoiding uttering lies, mhm.

[Scattered thoughts, numbered for easy reference. Kind of like strophes in poetry. Except that I don't claim that my questions are like poetry.]

Is it sacrilegious to write "truth" without capitalizing it? (No, of course it's not sacrilegious. I'm currently in the process of determining which way I prefer.)

When studying the Word of God, is our point to be interested in the thoughts expressed, and examine every aspect of the Scripture passage, or to figure out an answer to a pressing question, and stay on the topic? (Tangents are terribly easy to get on, sometimes they edify, other times they distract. Bible studies' purposes naturally vary, but I wonder how to resolve the conflict between exploring related content and staying focused.)

What if there's nothing to say? There is always the overarching message of the gospel we have a burden to communicate. There is always Truth/truth [depending on your preference ;)]* that lasts forever and bears repeating. But oh- does it really? I can remind myself of immutable truths, but must I always be saying them to others? I don't think so, not every moment should be occupied by sound. Our lives can be an account of what Love has done.
But what about specific thoughts? Who or what is to blame if there's nothing worthwhile to blog about?

*Please note the clever avoidance of the double-chin smilie. Um, CASC. :P

It's sad that even in passion for the Truth, we can communicate it poorly. That my excitement about God's love can be received or perceived (is there any difference as to the meaning of those words?) as ridiculous and annoying jabbering. That talking about what matters to me, what has changed me and helped me, can be selfish. Ah, why must my sin hurt the acceptance of the Truth?

Why do we learn to communicate well- because we want the Truth to get out, and God's message to be heard, or because we care about the people we speak to, and we want them to live forever? The options aren't mutually exclusive. Can we care about people if we don't care more about God?

Oh. The question, at its heart is looking like this: do we love for Love's sake, or speak truth for Truth's sake? Clearly, the answer is both. Speak the truth in love. Don't you love discovering systems and parallels, being able to synthesize an issue into a way that makes sense? I certainly do. This is just a point in time where it's appropriate to exclaim, Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

June 23, 2009

Love is life

Hate is murder is death
Shame - hopelessness - evil

This is myself, a hating and hateful monster

Love is resurrection is life
Courage - joy - truth

This is I AM, my loving and lovely king

His image, defamed by my ugliness
Is made radiant again by his sacrifice
This is renewal, this is restoration
His love is life.

[A confession]

I wrote this in my journal last night. I'm ashamed that I'm such a mess. I try to console myself by telling myself that something needs to be broken before it can be restored. Today, I don't feel like a mess. But I don't want to forget that life has meaning. "There's gotta be something more/Than what I'm living for/I'm crying out to you."

Dear God,

I hurt. I am desperately wanting affection, or something to divert my attention. I want to be satisfied. Frankly, I'm not satisfied. I long- I ache- for you. But it's hard for me to realize it. I want satisfaction and I search for it in the unsatisfying. The emails, the blog posts, the Nats memories. But I can't feel full. I still feel hollow. So now, finally, I've escaped here. I've found a place where I can talk to you. But I don't understand what I want!

Maybe I should start with the problem. I feel empty, shallow, listless, purposeless. Living a lame existence. And I'm screaming to get out! Save me! But God. I'm honestly bored by reading your word. I want to engage. To be engaged. I want human love and attention- no. More. I want divine attention.

It's silly because I know I have your love already. I KNOW everything, it seems, But why can't my silly mind realize? God, I'm stupid. I feel like swearing but I don't want to do more damage.

Let me stop. Grawr. I'm frustrated, but I don't know why, really. Am I frustrated at myself? Blehh.

This stupidity is shameful. I want to confess it to you, since I know you'll understand. But, I don't know if I'm really talking to you or just writing complaints to myself!

I want something to live for, I've told myself. I want to live for You. Live for love. Devote my life to Truth. Easier said than done, of course. How can I desire you so painfully and not have you? Who are you, God? Why am I so confused and terrible?

This pent-up annoyance is getting to me. I don't know how to get it out. I don't know if writing helps anything. I'm screaming now.

Lord Jesus, Come!

Deliver me! Why must I be so downcast, so ensnared? Is this spiritual warfare? Forces of good pitted against the evil one? Satan desires hate and anger and chaos and dissonance.

But I am certain that You, Lord, want peace. You are the light. You deliver me you save me you rescue me. You are my escape. Why am I thinking about being or sounding poetic at this time and place? What I mean though, is that You calm my soul. You want my life to have meaning. You are Truth.

Teach me your way that I may walk in your truth! Lord! I cry out to you. In anguish. I hate myself. I'm ashamed. I'm humiliated. How can I not love you?

I desire you, and yet I don't desire you. My life, my thoughts, my actions, my words, are outwardly decent but internally and truly, they're in utter chaos. This is not a life of integrity; I live divided and broken and everything awful on earth.

Dear Lord. Heavenly Father. Oh, You who created stars and the sea. You who brings rain to the earth. Who creates. Who is the source of reason, a fountain of mercy. I don't understand your ways, but I beg you. Unite my heart to fear your name.

Unite my heart.

This is a confession, God. A confession of powerlessness, of masks, of confusion. Of not loving You when you give my every reason to. I desire, more than anything else in the world, to be Yours. I want to find you, glorify. I want to live for You. Restore me.

Yours, (what a delight to say!)

June 21, 2009

Feelings pass so quickly, can they possibly be true or trusted?

I've written volumes. In the car, mostly. Some acquired from the tourney itself, but most exaggerations, memories, and confusions. Here I am writing again. Since I have so much to say it makes sense to retreat to words. But simply, I don't know if these words matter.

I love feeling emotions, giving in to what I feel. Writing it down helps. But of course, restraint is always a part of the transparency. I have to decide what to post here on blogger, I have to censor my notebook, because I want others to read it, I have to think through what I say in person. (Too often I don't!)

I am not quite sure what I want to write next. I could tell about always wanting to be melodramatic. And how mercy towards others can mean not indulging feelings, since dwelling on injury gives emotional pleasure at the expense of another. (That's a thought I wrote down in my little notebook, actually. I wonder if it would be interesting or useful if I posted more about my random thoughts that I write in there. It was shockingly cool that people liked reading my book at Nats. To anyone who read it, or parts of it, please know that your appreciation made me happy.)

I can tell you about how I sometimes feel very insane. I can't understand myself, or compile or analyze my thoughts. I don't know if anything I say is true. All I can do is say what I know, which isn't me saying it, it's me repeating the Bible, or say how I feel. I just have to keep writing what I feel and post it before the changeable knowledge about my being becomes false. I love sharing my thoughts too much, I suppose. But the Truth finds its way out, I hope.

Perhaps I'm better off saying nothing. I've been very introspective today, I like it, rather. But I can only bear my introspection because I am writing out my thoughts. I'm glad for words. Communicating is a joy.

June 11, 2009

Insufficient abstractions

This evening, Mom, Kristen, and I walked in the glorious evening. Kristen asked me what the mood was like to me. I told her like I saw it: it was clear and refreshing. The whole atmosphere was cool, like a glass of cold water- but not so cold that it freezes your teeth. It felt flowing, like I imagine it feels to be diving off a high dive...Not for me, but for a professional diver. It was alive and breathing. It was like being on the top of a mountain with your hands spread wide. The wind was delightful. The evening felt so cool and real and innocent.

Then it was Kristen's turn. I asked her to describe the evening how she saw it. Here's her answer:
The sky is purple, dark purple, with an orange undertone. Everything is foggy. You can usually see individual leaves on the trees, but today you can only see a more general green shape. The fog affects the way the street light shines. The light comes out in rays, beams really. Like the giant rays of light you see when a cloud covers the sun, or... like a light inside of a pool.

Everywhere, silence. What sounds there are, are muffled.

I love the wind. It tickles my ears and makes my hair brush up against my face now and then. (So this is what it feels like to have super model hair...) The cold pricks my arms like tiny needles, making me feel alive and awake. My feet trip lightly over the cement. It's slightly wet and my flats don't make any noise. It's like I'm floating in an ethereal world.
Beautiful. We're both taking in the same evening, the same wind, the same fog. For me, the details and the senses are swept up into a overall feeling. My perception is full of relations and connections. Kristen sees the world in vivid details. She notices things that I've completely missed. I love it.

Ah, you sensors, your lives are full. I am not superior to you. I need you just as much as you need me. (Maybe more, my elitism has always surpassed yours, so it takes more effort to get me off my high horse.) I... I almost feel jealous of you, you seem to be able to enjoy more. My abstract appreciation pales in comparison to your detailed description. Ideas I can understand, but the world? I thought I experienced it... I thought I was learning to love it...Oh, but it comes naturally to you!

This realization of what I've been missing is both wonderful and greatly humbling. I want to do this more often, to see the world through different eyes. I want to notice and care about what I usually ignore. (And, I want to tell you all that Kristen is an amazing person.)

June 6, 2009

Optimism, you are illogical. You are unflagging. I don't understand you, but I can't keep away.

I am alone. No, I don't mean that I have no friends, I have many, and dear awesome ones at that. But they leave. And I'm getting terribly sentimental after yesterday's homeschool promotion ceremony. Why do they have to leave?... I feel like I have to face the facts and realize that life goes on. That friendships fade away. I don't even know if it's possible to be united with your own siblings. Terribly pessimistic, I know.

Will they email me ever again? Will we be united? I don't even know them that well! I've only spent large portions of my whole life growing up with them. Why doesn't our childhood matter? Why can't it carry over into the future? Even in the future: friends in college, friends in adulthood, friends of my children...they all are going to be gone. It's so stupid that I have to just enjoy them while they last, and then *poof* they're gone. It seems so shallow to say, "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened." Why is the world so transient? Why can't I make and keep ridiculous promises of fidelity to my friends? I can say that I love them, but I can't claim steadfast love, unfailing love, love that is strong.

I feel like I'm being stubborn, I feel so self-assured that I truly can't always commune with my friends. Was it even communion to rock out to Emery and Relient K and Taylor Swift in the sanctuary? Well, friendship isn't just about deep connection, it's about shared happiness.

Well, somehow...I'm not feeling all that depressed anymore, but I feel like it's all a cover-up. How can we smile when separation, sorrow, and suffering exist? When death exists?

Yet even as I acknowledge that friendships can pass, that the world will pass, I can't forget the immediacy of the now. After all, this is the world! Love is a beautiful thing! Needing and relying on God can mean living in the world...and so, amid shadows of doubt and unanswered questions, optimism persistently appears again. Hope is rising!

June 3, 2009

Whenever I'm trying to process something, I immediately think about how it would work in a poem. Weird. (Thanks, NaPoWriMo!)

In some ways poetry is a more considerate type of journalling, it seems almost easier to explain my thoughts in free verse than in prose. Prose means logic and organization and explanation, poetry means free form and spontaneity and ambiguity. I think. (But then, if someone else was writing this post, I'd want to point out how I'm wrong, because poetry actually has more structure. Whatever, it still seems this way to me.)

June 2, 2009

"For this is right" has got to be enough justification for me, sorry negative case.

I can feel it boiling inside me.
Mention the word "rule" and I start to go insane.
This underlying hatred of formality
This deep-seated desire for freedom

It makes me squirm and want to rebel
This is my life, your rules mean nothing to me
Sure, I care about you enough
But prove it! Prove to me why I should obey you!

Indulgence of disobedience makes no sense
Oh no, it's better to smile sweetly
Go along with your requests
Ignore my disapproval, be oblivious to my anger

It goes away like that, maybe not forever
But repeated assent will make conforming a habit
And this resistance will dissipate like...like...
Like my argument is falling apart right now.

Sigh, sarcasm never cultivated love...
Sacrifice... honor... joy... peace
I'm fighting against my own values
My stupid questioning gets in the way of what I need

(I think) I want to serve you and bless you
Or if I really don't care about you directly
I still care about a higher authority's command
I must submit. Love conquers everything.