Itchy.

Today I awakened with an itchy throat. I wanted to reach down and scratch it with my overgrown fingernails. Didn't bode well for the day. "If I lay heeeere, if I just lay here..."

Last night I downloaded Allison Vesterfelt's freshly released e-book, Writing To Find Yourself, because of course I need yet another thing to tell me how to do something before I bother trying. Perfectionist. You know this. Anyway, the e-book is an adorable little thing--only one hundred pages. I wanted to read it all in one go, but it was late and I was tired so I stopped on page fifty-five. This is unimportant and I am stalling. It's part of the exercise.

Anyway, the only thing that made me forget about wanting to remove my throat was my excitement about getting to finish Allison's book. The first half was eerily relevant and encouraging, giving me things to work on instead of providing a security blanket for my excuses and bad habits. I was stoked to finish it thinking, "Holy coconuts, I think I'm going to write something after this!" And then I noticed something, yet another thing to hide behind: after this. As in, after I finish reading about how to do this thing as perfectly as possible even though the entirety of what I've read so far is about NOT striving for perfection and instead allowing room for error/growth/allowing yourself to be where you are in order to discover what needs adjustment. So, instead of finishing the book, I stopped (with brute force) on page eighty and decided to tackle what I found to be the hardest challenge yet addressed: "write now, edit later." UM, WHAT. That is completely foreign language as someone who only ever edits as she goes. I don't even know what a draft is. Actually wait, it's that thing where I spend ten years "waiting" to say stuff and then when it finally comes out it's like the ends of the bread that no one ate that you pull from the back of the fridge half-frozen, blue, and disturbingly fuzzy (if you do eat those, comment below--in their fresh state, obviously), and then no one ever wants to see the insides of that fridge again... But I digress.

Write now, edit later. I had to sit and make that mean something to me. Even writing this, I've been careful and even cheated and deleted/added a couple of things. Just for that, I, when I've finished this, have to post it as-is. I don't get to edit later because I cheated. Self-inflicted punishment. That line I wanted to add back up at the top in between "...bother trying" and "Perfectionist"? Nope. You'll never know what it was. You may be wondering whether or not I am being serious--I am. It is ri-di-cu-lous that I have to (choose to) treat myself this way. But until I get more comfortable with being uncomfortable, that's how it's going to be. Don't worry, you don't have to understand. Although, something tells me that a lot of you do.

After I finish Allison's wonderful, Godsend of an e-book, I'm going to tell everyone to download it, and then I'm going to read it again and take notes. What a truly invaluable work that applies to so much more than just writing. Like, I'm considering using the whole of chapter six to patch some cigarette burns in my tapestry, so to speak. There is so much more to say about it--I mean heck, if this mini-book moved me to post on my crusty, dusty, crypt of a "blog," imagine what it'll do for less abnormal people?!

Well done, Allison. Thank you for turning a day that began with an itchy throat into a day of first steps toward betterment. Maybe it won't be a year before I post here again.


~mm~

(when religion hurts more than it heals)

Now that school has begun again, the wells of writing have run dry. Granted, there are more things happening that spark various thoughts which could easily be expounded upon, it's just that my mind is lazy. I'm lazy.

I saw something this evening, though, that stabbed me in the heart a little bit. So, here we go... (You should sit down. Or pee now rather than later.)

A friend of mine (who may or may not see this! *nervous*) posted a quote from Bill Maher (it wasn't cited and I'm too lazy to look it up) in which he essentially states that the inner peace found by associating with a given religion comes at a big price if that religion has been known to cause a lot of pain and suffering for a large number of people. He says that to be a part of any religion that engages in harmful activity is to say that you're okay with those behaviors, and that you are in fact an enabler of them. My friend followed this quote with their own thoughts on the matter saying that since moving to southern California, they have been irked by the number of people who adhere to religions that have blatantly been "oppressive, violent, and bigoted" in the past, while being seemingly indifferent about the damage, and that more violence has come of religion than peace.

This, of course, is not the first time I've seen feelings such as these expressed. However, every time I see them, it makes me angry, and I always tend to brush the whole thing under the rug in an act of avoidance behavior...until now. This time, I started thinking about why I get so angry and defensive. I'm not angry with the people who express these observations. I'm not defensive because I want them to know that I am different. I get angry because I really want them to know Jesus. I want them to know that He knows about the pain and suffering that human beings have undergone in the name of faith. I want them to know deeply how much He cares and longs to wrap His arms around them and show them that those things aren't what He's about. I want them to know that He is nothing like the dreadful things that have been done in His name.

But here's where I get really uncomfortable. Sometimes the urge to communicate Jesus and who He is gets tangled with the human urge to be correct. You wrack your brain for all the right verses to post in obnoxious succession on this person's status, inundating them with the very thing that makes them angry (not to say that one should withhold the gospel to keep people "happy," but there are as many ways to share it as there are souls on this earth). The counter reaction to this, however, can be the blurting out of "Jesus is nothing like His followers, I promise!" or to say nothing at all. While I strongly believe that we should absolutely point people to Jesus, the bigotry and oppression that happens in His name isn't going to magically become invisible and I reckon people will wonder why the actions of "Christ's people" don't often seem to line up with Him or His teachings. Wouldn't you?

I'm sure part of this problem comes from misrepresentation. We will always hear about the groups of "Christians" who congregate near places that are frequented by specific groups of people, holding ironically blasphemous signs and not showing the least bit of care for fellow human beings. We will always hear about the pastor who repeatedly abused children or one who was involved in a lengthy affair, all while still being "active in the ministry." Whenever these stories come out, we are very quick to either ignore it ("Yeah, you know the devil's at work...") or to flail about saying "the rest of us aren't like that!" when I think we may need to spend more time proving it. I think we often gravely underestimate the power of living Jesus, instead hoping that our Bible-mouths will do the trick all on their own.

I didn't set out with a real goal here (and there is MUCH more that could be said), but the conclusion I've come to at this moment is this: religion can and will cause pain, but Christ isn't the source of that pain, and He can also heal it if you let Him.


Just a (long) thought. Please share yours. <3


-mm-



P.S. I will try not to always be so dismal. Perhaps next time I'll write about how disgusting the bathrooms are in the music building...

Pessimistimo.

I'm a reasonably positive person. Or, I used to be. Not quite sure anymore. I mean, happiness isn't really a staple item in my emotional inventory. But the other day I had a thought...

I don't remember what I was doing, or thinking for that matter, but whatever it was sparked a devastating realization: I think I'm a pessimist.

I've come to a point where even if good things are happening, I don't believe they'll last for long. I am constantly, actively, waiting for the next heavy blow. It's as if I've come to a point where I won't even allow myself to become happy for fear of something dreadful coming right behind it and causing my world to come tumbling down all over again. I began to think about whether or not this has always been the underlying case and, if it hasn't been, why it is now.

The conclusion to which I came can best be described as the feeling you get when you wash NyQuil down with potent coffee. (Long story. Just don't ever do it.) The juxtaposition felt within your gut is nauseating. So keep that in mind when I say that in some ways my hope has diminished greatly, and in other ways it hasn't. This comes mainly from the fact that I'm speaking of two different types of hope.

I've stopped believing that good things are going to happen in the near future because 1) they've been bad for so long, and 2) why believe that when I don't know it to be true anyway? But then I notice the words "good" and "bad." What I see as being good currently may not be in the big picture, and what I see as being bad could be good in the big picture. It is for this reason that my constant Hope remains. I have hope in the fact that Christ loves me to the nth degree, doesn't enjoy my pain, wants and knows what is best for me, and will lovingly carry me through whatever comes between now and Heaven. The thing is, most people would gather that life isn't much fun when you're slumming around in the emotional middle ground, but to be honest, I find joy more often than not. There are always hundreds upon thousands of things to be thankful for no matter how dismal things get. You may just have to work a little harder to find them.

In fact, sometimes I wonder whether or not there's even anything technically wrong with what I've decided to temporarily call "being levelheaded." I mean, obviously, imagining that you're going to die in a car crash just because you had a wonderful day is an issue. But what about simply waiting to see what happens without being incredibly hopeful so as to not have your spirits crushed when things don't go as planned? I imagine some would say that my current method of dealing is a one of self-preservation and I would have to agree with them. We are conditioned to avoid actions and situations that have led to pain in the past. So, at this point, why would I be inclined to be hopeful when few positive things have come of it before?

Yesterday, my pastor spoke of Abraham and his history of events as they pertained to the cultivating of his faith. Something that struck me throughout was how long it took for Abraham to trust. How long it took for his faith to outweigh his feelings.* It wasn't the fact that I thought he should've gotten a grip sooner than later. It was the fact that the dude was old. And that I'm a baby. It took literal years for his story to unfold (as is the case with everyone, but I hope you get what I mean). I don't mean that to be an excuse to learn lessons more slowly because I've "got all the time in the world." We have been given the stories of those who have gone before us partially, I'm sure, to aid us in wrapping our thick skulls around various concepts perhaps more quickly than they did. What I'm saying is that maybe all this time, all these wearisome chapters, have been cultivating my faith and I've been blind to it. Duh.

That's not to say that I'm going to be all smiles now. The fact remains that the future is still unknown, and I will probably continue in my method of self-preservation until something happens to change the need for it. However, maybe the pain will be that much more bearable knowing that He sees all and is never idle, always holding our fragile hearts in His all-encompassing hands.

Now the battle will be to find the tight little space between thinking that I'm going to win the lottery next month without even buying a ticket (overly positive) and thinking that I'm going get hit by a monster truck while crossing the street on my way back from an LA Phil performance (overly negative). Me and my sick little mind...

Prayers, yeah? S'il vous plaît et merci.


*I emphasize "outweigh" here because I think it's exactly that and not the elimination of human feelings.


Peace & pancakes.



-mm-

Happy New Year.

I haven't been able to piece any words together. My mind is reeling with memories, both sweet and excruciatingly painful. I'm thinking about the whole concept of a "new year" and why people get so hyped. Everyone is constantly looking for hope. Everyone is always looking for a fresh start, a second chance. When a new year approaches, slates are wiped clean, or so it is hoped. "That person has to forgive me now; it's a new year!" or, "I'm going to get myself together by making a militant list of things I must do to become the person that I need to be in order to be happy." What sort of language is this?

I just can't stop thinking. I've said "Happy New Year" to only a handful of people tonight, and then I stopped. Not because I'm anti or emo (what's the new hip term that replaced "emo"?), it's just... Well, I don't really know why. I mean, I am excited for a new year. This past year may very well have been one of, if not the darkest year I've lived through. I'm so glad to be rid of it and on to something fresh and new. But see? What does that mean, "fresh" and "new"? Every single day is such. So why, then, do I say this now, and not at the start of every day? Perhaps it's because I think, "Hey, the people who have been acting crazy will probably take a break. I mean, they can't justify their evil around the start of the new year, can they?" Well, they did last year...so why couldn't they do it again? There is an automatic false sense of security that we thrive on during this time. Where it comes from? Well, I have an idea, but then again, I think we all do.

It may be inferred that I am encouraging melancholy or static behavior at the start of a new year. I assure you, I am not. I am simply bringing to light some things that I have never before found interesting or worth spending more than five minutes thinking about until this night. Of course, a lot of things have been on my mind lately, so I'm not surprised...

I don't know. Anything can happen at any given moment. I only wish we were this positive and optimistic more often than not. Some of us are, yes, but not necessarily for the same reasons as we are now. Or some try to speak their way to optimism with inflated words of solace when deep down they are ailing with every breath. If there's one thing I learned during 2011, it is that there is no time for poppycock. No time for fake, lofty, philosophical shite. If everyone would just get down to the nitty gritty.... Not that it's easy to do, but hey. Life isn't sugar. Hell, half the time, it isn't even sugar-coated. But should it have to be?

Since I have no real direction in which I'm trying to go, I suppose I should find some way to stop here. I learned a lot this year. A lot about people, actions, motives. Certain things I didn't know I learned until tonight, and some I won't be aware of until years from now, maybe. But my point, I guess, is that God is an amazing Father. I can't handle to think about how much He's looked after me, consoled me, held me in His arms while I threw fits, sent other people to hug my very soul with seemingly meaningless displays of kindness and compassion... I am just. gobsmacked. when I think of it all. Real talk, if He had not been with me, I might be anywhere. Dead, even. And maybe others, too, by my own hand. It sounds crazy and morbid to think that way, but it is when those earth-shattering realizations come to smack you like an oar in the face that you understand just that much more of who God is. It is my hope, among others, for this year that I catch even more glimpses of who my Father is through His word, and through the people that he places in my life, saved or not. I some ways I am frightened of what may happen this year, and in other ways, I am very excited. But in all ways, I am curious. Curious as to where my God will take me, and how much of Himself He'll reveal to me and in what ways as my hand rests in His.

May you all catch a glimpse or two of our Lord this year.

Feelings of Inferiority

I am surrounded by greatness.

All the time, I am surrounded by greatness.

It is almost as if I skitter about on the grimy ground

beneath the feet of those who walk before me with their heads externally held high

trying to catch whatever little flakes of brilliance fall from their shedding exterior.

I crawl behind, scraping up what they need no longer and make it new,

make it my own.

I feel not much more than a recycler digging through bins

wondering how I allowed myself to get to this place.

I move as a ghost searching silently for characteristics I'd like to emulate--

or what's worse--finding characteristics that I once had

that are now either missing entirely

or trapped under the glacierous surface of what used to be my being.

I hate it.

Back to the beginning I must go.

On my Father's lap must I sit and beg,

"Remind me who I am again?

And please, turn me into something better than that."

Everyone wants to make a difference.

At least, they all say so. . .

It is time to turn "say" into "do."

It is time to turn wishes into actions.

It is time to turn inspiration into art.

I have come to a point at which I must be more comfortable with walking in circles to start

than I would be with standing still

watching the world pass me by

one day at a time

while being eroded by the sands of time.

The first step. . .

. . .has been taken.