Sick Day

I've always loved the movie You've Got Mail.
I have searched for that pen-pal like guy that would email me back and forth and keep my anticipation high and my mouth in a constant, surprised cracked smile.
But you know the thing about You've Got Mail? They never say what happens after they meet face to face. After the written correspondence and witty flirtations cease. When Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks sit at the table eating lunch and there is a still silence. And sometimes it's a good, comfortable silence. But other times it's a silence that begs to be broken. But rarely is.
That's the problem with You've Got Mail.

That Time of Year

I'm sick.
Let's see how long it lasts this year.
askjdakdj
please pray I don't get bronchitis again? If you think about it :)

A Sigh of Sunshining Relief

Let me tell you,
This morning was positively resplendent. I cannot perfectly put into words why it was so.
But let me tell you,
it most definitely was.
And I think it had something to do with revelation. Epiphany. Finding myself in the clutter of life and thoughts and actions and to-do lists and dusty hard-wood floors.
Yeah. It hit me so hard this morning. So wonderfully hard right in my heart and I knew it all over again:
He loves me more than anyone else possibly ever could and he does it better than anyone, so sufficiently and wholly and unconditionally and unabashedly than anyone. Ever. Ever. Ever. And I don't have to wonder, and I don't have to question it. I can just relax. I can just remain, rest assured, in his presence there is all encompassing Love. Real live, moving, breathing, profound deep love, love, love. He wants me always. He's there always. And I love it. Oooh do I love it.
And it took all of this, everything, for me to really understand that there is no better love than this. That we need us some Jesus.
Yeah.
We do.


I asked You for Life

By: Kim Walker and Justin Byrne
I asked you for life, and you sent your son to die for me
I asked you for hope, you came in the night and gave me a dream
I asked you for freedom, you broke every chain and gave me the keys
I asked you for love never-ending and every day you surround me

And now my faith in you is a mountain that can t be shaken
Now my strength is found in you, it is joy that can t be taken

Praise spills from my lips, flowing onto the feet of you, my King
You deserve all the love and all the honor that I can bring

Here is my song, here is my heart, here is my love, all for you,
you, Jesus

Holy, Holy, only You are worthy

aksjdlaksjd

I always feel like the biggest joke. Like I say stupid things that mean things to me but just roll off other people like immature water globules. a;ksdjaksljd It's not right to keep everything in and not say anything but I'm too much when I say not even everything.
I don't even know what I'm saying anymore.
And it's only 10:19pm.
Usuall delirium doesn't hit till at least 12:30am. hah

Daddy, Daddy

I just realized something that has been brimming on the edge of my mind for months, maybe years, and effects the way I view things (what a vague word.)...
I never called my dad "Daddy".
Actually...I did. But he told me not to. Or at least that's how I took it.
"Why do you say that? You sound like a little girl."

Conflicted

I feel like I haven't been true to myself lately. I haven't let myself release anything tangible into the world in too long. I feel so bottled up and yet so dry at the same time. I need to paint or write something sweetly profound and sing. I haven't taken a meaningful picture in weeks, months? And yet now I feel like I don't have time. I feel like my creativity is disintegrating. And I'm not even trying to hold onto it. Maybe it was fake to begin with. Maybe it's just a life, theoretically I'd like to live. But when it comes down to it, I can't ever pull it off right. I can't ever be a creative mind, enough.
I'm staring at this cup I painted on my desk and it is empty. Shiny, but empty. Hmm.

Water

Once again God is faithful. He meets me when I try just a little bit. Even when I come with doubt in my heart.
I opened up my Bible last night and wonderful stuff happened. I was so filled with peace...and the feeling that yes, God knows what I'm going through, understands, and is on my side. Good feeling to have, yeah? Same this morning. At 6am when I was almost late to class because I was vigorously taking notes, taking in everything He's had to tell me lately, been trying to tell me, and I've been pushing away, unbelieving that He...the God of the universe, would care and understand petty me.
So good.

Dry

I feel completely creatively dry. I can't even write. I have no energy to write. To think about creative things. I have no motivation to pick up a pen and write when I'm sitting on the patio, watching the humming birds, listening to the wind chimes, and reciting potentially intriguing sentences about said things, in my head. I think about it. But I lie back down and relax into myself and revel in my deep, slightly depressing, and disturbing thoughts and I can't write about it. Because writing about it means sorting it out. And finalizing the truth. And I'm not making sense. But holy crap. This has been an intense week. So many conversations with people and insight into friends' lives that I don't know I really wanted to know...but know I needed to. Because I do live in this world and I need to know how to manage. And how other people don't do that so well. And how I can hopefully learn without experiencing.
I'm stressed out. I'm slacking on my devotions. I know I would be less stressed if I did my devotions. If I spent more time praying. Yet I don't. Because I have no motivation. Well, some. But not a lot. So I pray and that's all and I know that it's not a one way street.
My stomach has been funny lately. Food hasn't been sitting well. There has just been so much going on. And I'm not even at home for another week. And this dog that I'm watching has decided to start hating me. Because I mean that his mom and dad are gone. To him, I abduct his parents. So he gives me lots of presents. Except not the good kind. Just little surprises on the carpet whenever I leave and come home. Or in the morning. And he barks in the middle of the night at me. And licks my face when I'm sleeping. It's lovely.
My life seems bad from this post. But it's really not. It's exciting and different and it's not perfect. But I'm still loving it. A lot. Nothing is ever perfect. I'm not. I never have been. People aren't. Obviously.
Ayeee yi yi. I just wanted to write something, anything. To see what happened.
I'm just in a bad mood because I'm stuck here with no food that's satisfying and keep getting sick. And because I miss being able to creatively flow through life. And I miss Matt. And I miss Jesus. And I miss singing and writing songs and I sooo want my guitar right now. And my camera. And to not be stuck here with this dog that doesn't even like me right now. Maybe I'll go for a walk. Talk to God. But I forgot my walking shoes....

Hmmm.

I don't like talking.
I'm not good at it. Or opening up.
So I make sarcastic comments. And just sit there and laugh.
Or say "I don't know" because knowing means making a decision,
paying an opportunity cost.
And I'd rather someone else make that decision for me.
Because I am lazy,
and don't take on my own responsibilities.
Hmmm.
Thoughts. Ping-ponging around my coffee-ladden brain.
I don't sleep,
and I don't eat.
And neither is by choice these days.

I had a "vision" if you could call it that,
last night inbetween sleep and dreams
of sand filling up my mouth and eyes and I was
suffocating in it. Weird.
And then, tonight during worship,
I had an "unrelated" vision of a bag of sand breaking
and the sand pouring out,
no longer under pressure,
free, spilling out.
I guess it all means something to me.
And it was sand. Yellowish white.
Not dirt.
Because I'm not that dirty, right? Yeeeah, sure.
But sand is still coarse and frustrating and hard to walk in.
And I am coarse and frustrating and my walk has been hard.
God gets me, man. Even when I don't get me.
Haaaah. Life.

Lately

I can't even write here
because I don't know what to say.
I can't say.

Maybe someday. Soon? Maybe. Later? Maybe.
This is strange. So strange.

He makes me melt like a popsicle on the Fourth of July...
Darla, Little Rascals.

For the Lord is a Good God. A Weird One. But Good.

Every time the Lord gets me. I'm about to walk into something I shouldn't and he puts his hand on top of my head and gently redirects me. He's neat like that.

And I am thankful.

That He has done it again, said, Hey you, don't you know I have greater things for you than you could imagine right now? Why do you settle for just what is in front of you? Think BIG, think ME.

And what a simple thing. As simple as a simple conversation on the 4th of July. This whole roundabout can be.

Hmmmm He has plans. Plans I don't have to force into place. Sometimes they just fall. And while I don't think they're falling (or I'm falling) directly right now, who's to say, really? As is a running theme, always, Time will Tell.

In other words: We spent Independence Day with a couple of Brits. Isn't that ironic? But their accents were to die for. Hahhh

The Fergusons

My dad is doing a side job at the Ferguson's house. I've known them since I was probably just a few weeks old because they are friends of my grandparents' and attend El Cajon Wesleyan. Cathy has always been so sweet, as has John. But I have never really sat down and talked to either of them before.
My mom stopped by and I decided to tag along. And I'm really glad I did.
Cathy invited us in for iced tea. Best iced tea. I'm generally not a huge fan, really. And when she poured a tall class for me I was regretting saying I wanted some. But by the end of that glass I wanted more.
The four of us sat down at the round wooden kitchen table. We talked about my schooling, future plans, church, future quest, the youth at ECWC, my brother, the Bridge pool party, and Dorothy Robertson. I don't know how long we sat there and chatted but it seemed to fly by and I was kind of sad when we made our way out.
In the truck on the way home my mom said, She's such a sweet lady. Then, I want to be like her when I grow up.
And it's true. She's one of the sweetest ladies. I sat there listening and watching her. Because that's what I do. And what a humble, meek spirit. She makes you feel important, worthy of her time...even though the thought of time imposition never crosses your mind while in her presence. She has such a quiet, confident spirit that is so refreshing. She sat there just asking my mom and I questions. Simple, easy questions but the way she asked and the way she sat and looked at us and talked with us showed she really cared. I can't even explain it. But what a wonderful lady!
And this experience gives me hope. In the beginning of the day I was feeling slightly condemned. Just...a little more hopeless. A little more un-enough hah. But there I felt just fine. And I felt more like being a better person just by being there.
Does that make any sense? I don't know. But it was a great end of a turbulent day.

Part I

I wrote I'd say more.

Yesterday turned out quite differently than I'd planned.

Jesse and I went on a walk in the morning. He forgot his running shoes. But he brought me a nonfat 1 pump vanilla latte. The leprechaun house up the street got painted. Now it is a normal brown with maroon-ish trim and just the right amount of slate on the front. They even put up a nice little white fence. Cute.

We went home and had a conversation on the patio about public university versus Christian. He seemed to think we should all try to go to Christian college and trust the Lord for the means. I don't think I agree. Christians can be a light in a university left in the dark as well.

We talked about convictions and callings. And how I think I don't know what I think about some things. How I don't know where to draw the line when it comes to some things. If some "non-Christian" movies don't affect my beliefs, behavior, or the way people think of me (if I'm with people who are also on the same page as me) then is it that bad to watch? I understand that movies affect people more than me. That they may really be affected. But I'm not. And I know who, in my life, is, and that's how I draw the line. But biblically, when he backed it up, my retaliation was weak. But, biblically, then should every word that comes out of my mouth be praises to the Lord? I am not perfect and I walked away from these conversations packed into one sitting feeling acutely aware of this, my failings.

I'd planned to take the Kemps' daughter, Alyssa, out to Color Me Mine, but I was tired and drained and wondering. And hadn't gotten ahold of Alyssa the day before anyway. So I stayed home and then took Barbi's sergers to the sewing shop to see how much it would cost to fix them and if it was even worth it. The news didn't sound so good, but I'll find out in a few weeks.

And this is the end of Part I of my strange day.

Tea

I sat down for tea today.
It was iced.
But lovely conversation followed.
I want to be like that when I grow up.
My mom said the same thing.

More later.

Little Girls

I wonder when (if?) that day will come when I finally feel "all growed up". Hah. When I finally feel like I'm not that 12 year old, awkward little girl wondering what to do with her hands and arms. Put them in pockets? Fold them? Straight by the sides? Who knows? (Wait, does it matter?)

So when will that day come. And what will it mean? What would it mean to be grown up.

When I think about it, to me, being grown up, I suppose, would mean being self sufficient, being well off, being capable. But then I think deeper. And I know that no matter how old I am I will never be these things. And if I try to, it's like forever playing dress up--acting like someone I'm not. Putting on a face. Putting on this fake life and the ones who "have it all figured out" (the secret, that is) just look at me, sadly, and laugh. Laugh as I twirl in my perfect adult dress. Laugh as I live in my perfect, well-to-do house. Laugh as I drive my perfect shiny car.
Because they'd know the secret. They'd know that I was naive in spirit. They'd know that I was playing dress-up. They'd know that no one, even them, are ever fully capable or self-sufficient. That the secret of being grown up, really, is just admitting that I don't know anything, that I have no absolute plans, that my Jesus knows everything. That the Lord has better plans for me than I could ever imagine.

Humble.

Open.

Vulnerable.

Finding wisdom in the Lord.

I will never be grown up in the way that, as I was a child, I thought grown ups should look. No one is grown up.

And as I'm going along in this process, I'm finding I'm redefining a lot of things I've come to know.

On New Writing and Night-Dreaming.

I started writing again.
I haven't written in a while.
Haven't, I don't know, felt led to.
Or wanted to.
Wanted to write about what I was feeling
or thinking
or believing
because I didn't know what I thought.

I guess I really still don't.
Except that I can't sleep anymore,
because my mind runs rampant,
unless I am in that state of utter exhaustion
where you just want to say
"I love you bed, isn't this the best bed?
Oh, bed," And it envelops you,
recieves you,
floating and suspended
and takes you immediately away
to a safe nest of
soft dreams you won't
remember in the morning.
And those are the best.
It's the ones you have--
still considered day dreams--
before you actual conk out,
that are trecherous and keep
you up all night.
The wheels turning
on that slippery slope of a road,
from worse to bad to good
to horrendous to just jolly
turn-outs of those circumstances
awaiting some kind of conclusion.
You know.
Don't you? Maybe?
Or perhaps it's just me,
the past two nights.
Creating my future realities
behind my eyelids.

Big Bear

We are back from Big Bear and now I have a lot of pictures. 1500 and a few more, to be slightly exact. It was fun and peaceful. I read a lot. This book called Quaker Summer (which is a whole lot better and funnier than it sounds).

A fresh, honest voice in Christian Fiction to be sure.
Honest. There's that word again. That concept that I struggle with. Even being candid and honest with my own self. (But I digress).

On our last day, we went kayaking in Boulder Bay around 5:00 in the evening. We lathered up bug spray sunscreen, loaded up the yaks, and went on a last minute adventure. Before long we were all putting our feet in the water. Brian started it. He went knee deep, and then dove under. And then I surprised myself and did the same. I'm not a big lake swimmer, but I'll have to say, it is wonderful. I wanted to swim to the boulders and back. But I didn't. Because that mossy sea-weedy (lake-weed?) stuff freaks me out. I didn't even touch the bottom the whole time I was in there because I hate touching the bottom. Soon Shelby got in. It was great fun.

We hiked too, and went jeeping/trucking (hah...so not as much fun or adventurous when you're in a gigantic truck). We went back to the little roads that lead to landmarkish type things. An old cabin:

Hang man's tree:

It was fun.

Back at camp we played cards:

and watched the birds eat a watermelon we'd accidental left out. The squirrels probably broke the skin and then the birdies started in.

Speaking of Birds...Connor found one. He named it Petey. Mom, Dad, Brian, and I were playing cards and Connor comes trapsing into the camp from the general direction of the "woods" and he's got this thing in his hand he's carrying sort of delicately-like. My mind registers and I realize it's a baby bird. So I say this and my mom, naturally, freaks out. Telling him to put it down, wash his hand, the momma bird will never take care of it now, what did you do. I say hold on, wait, wait, wait! The damage has already been done...let me go get my camera. So I do. And look how cute Petey is. May he Rest in Bird-like Peace. Poor fella.

We did so much at the Lake this year. Usually we don't. But we fished one night. I didn't bother getting a fishing license because fishing in Big Bear isn't that great. I prefer stream fishing better, actually. But, I sat on the rocks by the dam reading my book and taking in the magnificent view. It is times like these when I am thankful for God's handiwork. When that feel washes over me and I know. I know. I know that there is Someone else who did this. Someone else who treasures beauty.

We also went to breakfast at Grizzly Manor, but I don't have any of those pictures yet, because my camera battery died. And then, on Thursday we went shopping in town. I got a really rad shirt at one of the places, and a ring and journal. I'll post that later. And we went and tried on hats in a hat shop. My dad finally found one he liked, after 3 years of looking. That sounds ridiculous. I also found one I liked...but it was crazy and too big and looked like a bird nest.

Here's mom's part in trying on hats:

The weather was really great the entire time, too. Which was a plus. Never was it too hot or too cold.

All this time we were so busy. Usually on these trips I have time to recollect myself, spend time in the Word, and just revel in God's goodness, peace, and grace. But even on vacation I couldn't get away from being too busy. I still feel tied down to things. Vague. That word. And I still feel on the edge of two worlds. Do you ever feel comfortable, completely, on one side or the other?

Dream

I had a dream about high school last night.
All of us middle college kids were sitting around in a circle.
I was dozing off, but kids were talking and writing things on the board.
The lights were turned off.
Legg was lying on his belly near me.
Sam Spevack started to lecture us in Japanese and then he started mumbling
and I was losing it.
He noticed and pointed it out.
Then Flick starts talking about Courtney A.
Except I felt like he was talking about me.
And he starts crying and saying all this stuff about God, too.
And I just kept eating my lemon cake.
The lights were still turned off.
Cathy sits in front of me.
It's more like a sit/stand because I can't tell the difference
in this dream.
She starts backing up what Flick had just said,
as he wipes his eyes.
And she says stuff about God and how Courtney's little brother
has been impacted, too.
And I just ate my lemon cake,
thinking that all this applies to me,
but I don't want to be vain.
He wrote Courtney A. on the board.
Or...wait? Was it a J?
So I keep glancing behind him to see if it's an A.
or a J. and I'm looking past him and not at him.
And Cathy leans down and starts picking up the crumbs
that are dropping from my lemon cake
and she's picking them up off the floor and
putting them on my stockings.
I totally had stockings on.
They were black with a red and greenish 80's pattern on them.
She smeared them into my stockings and I sat there
and nervously laughed
and told her twice that I would clean my own mess up
she didn't have to worry,
I'd take care of it.
And it was so embarrassing because I was gorging my face out
with this cake
and I didn't see the crumbs, but she did.
I was making a mess, and I didn't see it.

Rachele was sitting in the corner knitting and shaking
her head to all this.
She was losing it now.
And then the dream ended and I have no idea what,
if anything, it meant.
But I woke up missing Legg and Cathy
and Middle College.

It hit me, I think, 2 weeks late.

Dreams are something so we never have to say goodbye.

The Pursuit of Being Pursued.

It's called being pursued. To pursue her. Not pursue him. Pursue is already losing it's meaning because I've used it 5+ times.
I just want to be pursued, maybe.
Is that selfish?
That I don't feel obligated to strike a conversation or walk across a room?
I'd rather be lonely.

We are two lonely people with lonely conversations.
Honestly.

The truth never makes it out of these lips.
Only fake smiles and cheery voice inflections.

There's more than this.