Owning nothing, yet possessing everything

I am 27. I am in graduate school (which is a fancy way of say I am poor). I live with my parents. I have a cat, a chair,a vehicle, and a toaster oven I can honestly lay complete claim to. I work a full time and a part time job and still have a hard time getting ahead. I own nothing. Yet, I find that I am possess everything.

There is a distinction in what you own and what you possess. You can own the most beautiful house in the world with the finest luxuries, yet not possess a home. You can have a marriage in that looks perfect and functioning, but yet not possess true love. You can have gained the highest degree possible, but still not possess wisdom.

Ownership is not possession. Possession is living fully into the potential that a situation, relationship, or object has. It is bringing something fully alive or fully into the potential that God has placed in it.

I will admit sometimes, I get caught up in ownership. Or in my case, lack of ownership. I have nothing really. I own nothing. By the success-o-meter in place in our world today, I am failing miserably. I'm not married. I don't have kids. I have had several different careers, but nothing established yet. I am certainly not the most successful person in my high school graduating class. Sometimes I get defeated. Sometimes I get depressed or discouraged or caught up in the lack of things I have obtained or succeeded at.

But its then I realize that my perspective is off. I am looking through the wrong lens. I need to fling off my lens of ownership, and look at what I possess.

I am not married, but I know that I have the kind of relationship that doesn't come along every day. I may not be have "owned" that standard yet, but I am possessing the kind of relationship that books are written about.

I don't have kids of my own. I don't "own" that either. But I have had the incredible privilege and opportunity of being part of so many kids lives and I have "possessed" that in a way that few people will ever get to.

I don't have a degree or a career. I don't "own" that kind of success. But I have a vast array of experiences that have brought me to where I am and readied me for the life I am possessing.

I don't "own" a house, but I possess a home that is not dependent on a structure. My home is my family. It is with the people I love and regardless of what location or address we are in.

Ownership is not possession. Success is not triumph. Marking things off the list of what is expected, is not living life.

I have nothing, but actually, I have it all. Or as the apostle Paul said "as having nothing, yet possessing all things" (2 Corinthians 6.10)

The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong. –Ghandi

I think we often confuse forgiveness with reconciliation.

Forgiveness and reconciliation are not the same things. You see, forgiveness is always possible. However, reconciliation is sometimes not possible or least extremely unlikely.

You can forgive someone, but not reconcile the wrong. You can not reconcile however, without forgiving.

Forgiveness is personal. It has everything to do with you. Its how you feel and how you choose to handle the wrong that has been done. Forgiveness or lack of forgiveness is the choice you make on how you will handle what has been done to you. Forgiveness is a choice you make, and has nothing to do with the offending party except that they are the recipient of the gift.

When you choose to forgive someone, what you are doing is giving yourself permission to move on. To choose to stop holding a debt against them. Releasing the burden of hurt you’re carrying around. The wrong is still there and you probably hurt, but you don’t feel the weight of holding a grudge against the offender.

It is not easy. It’s counter-intuitive really. Our human nature tells us: “They hurt me. I want to hurt them.” To choose to forgive someone who has wounded you, goes against our basic instincts. We don’t want to be the first to fold and we want to stand our ground. We live in a world where letting go of the grudge first is seen as “giving in” or being the “weak” one.

Forgiveness is anything but easy. It’s an exercise in grace. Its letting go of our human nature, desires, will to hurt what hurts us and letting something larger, something more graceful take over our selves.

Forgiveness is an act of love. In the letter of Corinthians, one of the identifying characteristics of love is that it “keeps no records of wrongs” (chap 13, v 5). Forgiveness is choosing to even the score again. To level the playing field. To not keep the wrong that has occurred in the back pocket to throw out in the next fight along with the kitchen sink. Forgiveness is loving well.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that “forgive and forget” is the best advice here. Cause in some cases, you definitely need to forgive and REMEMBER. Remember that they hurt you, hit you, betrayed you. Remember that so you put yourself in a position to be hurt again. But you can forgive them. You can free yourself of their hold on you. You can choose to no longer hold a grudge even if you keep a barrier in place.

Protect your heart from others hurting it. But sometimes, we need to forgive to protect our hearts from ourselves. From becoming hard. Or grudgeful. Or bitter.

Forgiveness is not easy. It takes time, strength, gumption, and humility to be able to look at someone who has wounded you and choose to let go of the hurt and forgive them. To choose to act lovingly towards them when are acting in the opposite manner towards you. Forgiveness takes strength and courage. Its hard to free someone of a debt that hurt you. But in the end, the person you end up freeing is mainly yourself.

I wish life was a little more like "Saved by the Bell"... I wish I was Zach Morris and when life got a little too crazy or overwhelming, I could just take a time out. Talk myself through it. Catch myself up to where life was at. Take ample time to digest what is happening before I have to deal with the situation at hand. Think about what is going on and consider my options before I react.

But unfortunately, I'm not Zach Morris and life isn't "Saved by the Bell" and there are no time outs. You have to go with your gut and hope that it steers you in the right decision. Sometimes, you just have to roll with what life hands you without knowing exactly what you are doing or having a clear game plan in place.

More often than not lately, Ive felt like life is three or four steps ahead of where I am mentally. Its moving at warp speed and I can't quite catch up to it. Or get a firm grasp.

And that's just unsettling. For life to be about three steps ahead of where you are ready or prepared for it to be. To feel hugely unequipped to handle what is happening, even when all of it is positive and wonderful.

I guess this is just another lesson in how I will never be able to handle it all on my own or manage it perfectly. Or on my own. Or without failures or freak outs.

And maybe that's ok. Because in the end, we might make some of our best decisions simply going with our gut. And all a time out would do would give us the chance to reason ourselves out of a decision that would be the best thing we ever did.

Because sometimes, the best things are the ones that make the least sense.

For centuries, man believed that the sun revolves around the earth. Centuries later, he still thinks that time moves clockwise.

~Robert Brault

Time is insane. Sometimes, it feels like it creeps by. It can feel like each minute is its own hour. Other times, it flies by. It can feel like each day is merely a minute.

Its also weird because we feel that things should happen in specific times. We gauge time by a certain idea of how or when things happen. We create timelines and plot our courses accordingly.

We also come to life with certain of what sort of times things are supposed to take. What sort of schedule different seasons of our lives should follow. How certain things should happen.

We like when time happens in the way we predict. That way we can see what is coming our way and feel prepared to handle what is about to happen. We can size up the situation and deal with time in our own way.

So it can really mess us up if certain things or events or seasons happen out of their proper time or don't follow our preconceived idea of how they should happen.

When events in our lives come upon us in expected ways or at unsuspecting times, we can feel overwhelmed or unprepared. It can throw us off our guard and in some ways feel like an assault.

But maybe this is good for us. Maybe we need to remember that time doesn't necessarily move clockwise. That sometimes a month is just a month. But sometimes, a month can be much longer than a month and hold more time in it that month than any other one.

Perhaps, its good and helpful when time sneaks up on us and launches an attack. Maybe its helpful and wonderful when time assaults us with things that we are unprepared for and are forced to handle in what seems like a time warp.

I think there is something unique in looking time in the face and realizing that it doesn't work in the way we imagine. I think it builds something within us when time laughs at our timelines and does her own thing in spite of our best laid plans.

I think we would never be open to certain truths or ideas or events unless time snuck them up on us in her own special way. So its a good thing when time refuses to work clockwise. Its a helpful thing when she doesn't follow the calendar. And some of the most special moments we can experience, often happen in those crazy time warps.

So maybe we should close our calendars and throw away our watches. Maybe we shouldn't let ourselves get so caught up in "timing" and "procedure". Who knows what we might find ourselves experiencing if we simply allow time to control what happens to us instead of us control time?

And now, let the wild rumpus start!

" ...And Max the king of all the wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all. Then all around from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat so he gave up being king of where the wild things are...."

- Where the Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak

What good is it to be king, if there is no one there to share your kingdom with?

What good is it to have great adventures, if there is no one with whom you share your stories?
Who wants a scrapbook full of pictures alone? We all want someone to call at night and tell about our days. You can have the best job and the most beautiful home in the hippest city in the world, but still have nothing. You can have a houseful of possessions but still not have a home. You can fulfill all the worldly ideas of success and still feel like a failure.

What is success? Is it having a thriving career? Is it having a successful business? Is it owning your own home? Is it having the white picket fence and 2.4 kids? Is it living life independently of the community you've grown up in? Is it taking fancy vacations or driving around in dream cars?

Don't get me wrong. All of these things are wonderful, awesome things that I think in a part of us, we all desire and work towards. But are these the things that make us successful? That bring us joy? That will give our hearts peace at night?

I would venture that the answer would be no. And I think its sort of like Max in Where the Wild Things Are. He ruled and ran the kingdom of the wild beasts. He was in charge and in command. Yet at the end of the day, he was alone. And he gave all that up to go back to where he wasn't a king, but was loved.

I think the things that matter in our lives are people. The people who love us and the people whom we love. I think theses are where the true successes and failures in life lay.

Because nothing can make you more miserable than being alone. And nothing can give you more joy than being with those whom you love.

I needed to write tonight. And I have started several drafts, but nothing was coming together. And I started to get frustrated. I mean I really felt the need to write. To put what I'm thinking, feeling, discovering down on paper. But the words weren't forming into anything that made sense to me (or to anyone else for that matter). Its just that I'm feeling so much right now. And writing is one of my outlets for my emotions. It helps me get a grasp on all that is going on inside of me. Of all that I'm feeling.

I feel hope. I feel joy. I feel peace. I feel confused. I feel strong. I feel confident.

And I think maybe that's the point. That for the first time in months, I am able to feel again. I've stopped being the zombie going through the motions and I've rejoined this delightful adventure called life. I'm ready to step back out on the playing field and go for it.

And all that changed when I went last weekend to serve some teenagers on a weekend Chrysalis. I went to serve and bless, and found myself being served and blessed. I went to point to God, and found God pointed out to me. I went to help people heal, and found my hurts healed. I went to remind young girls of who they are, and ended up being reminded of who I was.

Isn't it amazing how I walked around for months numb and unfeeling? And in three days, God thaws out all the frozen places in me? He takes the dead spots and brings life to them again? And I finally feel like Kelly again. That's what God does. He creates us anew.

And that's why we call it the good news. The really good news.

Whether its been two months or two days since I last saw my little sister, we basically have the same greeting for either situation. It goes like this: one of us walks through the door, we both squeal (no matter where we are), and my baby sister leaps in my arms like a little kid (as in I'm holding her- all 19 years of her) and we hug it out. Doesn't matter when, where, who- this is how our hello goes.

Its funny because when I saw her Sunday and I noticed that before I even reached her, she was jumping off the group so that I could catch her. And it struck me, that this is how it is in my family. Allison doesn't fear jumping, because she knows I will be there to catch her. None of us are afraid to leap, because we know that the others will be there to keep them from hitting the ground.

And its the exact same way with our older sister. Although I tend not to leap into her arms (I prefer my feet firmly planted on the ground), I know that if I am falling- she will be there to catch me, or at least pick me back up.

We have absolute trust in each other. We know no fear when it comes to each other. We know that no matter what we say, it will be understood (or at the very least accepted and acknowledged). We might not always agree, but we will at least be heard. That it doesn't matter what we are feeling, we can share that with each other. We fight the most with each other and are harder on each other, because we know nothing can make us walk away from each other. Its the weirdest, most insane kind of trust. Its absolute. I don't quetsion it. Ever.

We can leap, because we trust the others will be there to catch. We can cry, because we know that the others will be w/kleenex. We can fight, because we know there will be forgiveness. We can make mistakes, because we know we will be loved anyway. And even after we have hurt each other, we forgive because we love each other too much not to. And when we face the world, we know we don't do it on our own.

I have absolute faith that when I jump or fall, my sisters will be there to catch me. And they are mere humans. Mortals prone to error and mistakes. Yet, they have my full confidence.

I wonder why I trust my sisters without fail, yet question a God who has never failed me yet.

I still have alot to learn about faith.

I'm a fixer by nature. I like to take action. I see a problem, and I immediately start figuring out how to help fix the situation. Its instinctive for me. I'm often not conscious of the fact that I'm doing it, its just something I do.

I don't know if its my personality, the way I was raised, or what- but if there is something broken, I want to fix it. If there is something hurt, I need to help heal it. If there is a rift, I will figure out a way to fix it. Even if the problem doesn't affect my life directly.

Sometimes, people appreciate this aspect of me. And allow me to help, and fix, and offer what I can.
However sometimes, people don't want to be helped. People don't like the "fixer" side of me. People want me to leave it alone.

And I'm not good at that. I'm not good at looking at a broken situation and leaving it broken. I'm no good at facing a hurting heart and not reaching out to offer comfort. So I don't do well when I'm not given the choice to help. I don't know how to handle when my only option is to sit back and watch from afar. When the only help I can offer is prayer from a distance.

But maybe that's a lesson I need to learn. That I can't and won't be able to help/fix/heal everything and not everyone is going to be open to letting me help. And I have to find a way to be able to live at peace with that. Find peace that I can't help save everyone and every situation. Find peace in the fact that I'm not the savior of anything at all. The fixer of anything at all. The healer of anything at all.

I have to find a way to face at the end of the day, I'm not capable of anything. That I am utterly dependent upon Someone to help me.

And its only because of that, that I can offer help (humble as it is) to anyone else.

Good Friday?

I’ve always thought calling it “Good” Friday seemed a little weird. Actually, I’ve found it downright obnoxious. It feels like calling that particular day good is rubbing salt in an open wound.

What was good about that Friday? I’m guessing if we polled all the people there, they would agree that nothing seemed “good”. Maybe exciting, maybe thrilling, but certainly not good. Probably sad, quite possibly disturbing- but good? I sincerely doubt it. Even to the Romans, or the officials, or the crowd who cried out for the crucifixion, I doubt when they got home that night they sat down and thought to themselves: “Now that was a good day.”

Because even if they got what they wanted, I’m guessing there was a nagging sensation in their minds that what just happened was not quite right. That what took place was wrong. That even though they asked for it, when they got it, it didn’t make quite as much sense.

The day certainly wasn’t good for Jesus. Tortured and crucified.

The day couldn’t have been good for his friends- watching the man they spent their life serving slowly die a public humiliating death.

The day probably shattered Mary’s heart- watching her much loved, first-born cease to breathe.

And the people who just happened to be around? Who really had no strong opinion in the matter? I bet they could feel the evil in the air. The hopelessness of that day as it covered the ground like fog. I bet they would agree that something was terribly wrong about that day.

I can’t even imagine what God felt. Watching the Son He sent undergo the most painful physical and emotional suffering that anyone has ever felt before. Knowing that He could stop it in an instant, but refusing out of His love for the rest of His children to do so. To know you could save your child, but to choose not to? How can that be good? Necessary, gracious, loving maybe, but certainly not good.

We have a tendency to gloss over the misery of the day. To try and temper the absolute grief and awfulness of what transpired. I think we are largely uncomfortable sitting there and simply facing the tragic awful truth about the events the transpired that day. We don’t know how to sit and simply let the reality of those events penetrate our minds. We are afraid to call it like it is. We don’t want to admit that it actually was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. We like to skip over the events of Friday and focus on Sunday. We don’t even begin to deal with Saturday. Its just too hard to deal with the two most hopeless days in history.

I think it is necessary to learn how to do that though. I think it would be good for all of us to reach the place where we can face an awful situation and just admit that that is what it is. To find the place where we stop trying to gloss it over, we stop trying to make it better than it actually it, to find the place where we can just proclaim it for what it is: bad. To figure out what it means to simply be present with the pain and horror, instead of making feeble attempts to make it better.

Only after the events of Sunday, can the events of Friday even begin to be considered good. Only after the scene at the tomb, can the scene at the cross give whispers of hope instead of screams of despair. Only after about two thousand years, would we dare to call that day “Good Friday”.

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Childhood is a tricky thing. And innocence is damn near impossible.

If you are lucky, then the transition from childhood is a slow, gradual process. Its like growing taller- you don't really feel it but you see the results of it. Its never painless, but if you are lucky it can't really be described as painful. And if you are really lucky, then you go from childhood to adolescent/adult with your innocence still intact. Some people make it well into adult hood maintaining their untouched, unblemished out look on life. On the world. If you are lucky, you can reach middle age and never really have to look at the ugliness/pain/horror that exists around you. It is possible to live being basically untouched.

However, if you are in the unlucky group (the majority of people it seems these days), then there is a distinct moment when childhood ends. You can mark the end of your child days and innocence as exactly as you mark an appointment on the calendar. There is a specific event that shatters that fragile barrier that separates the innocent from the knowing. There is a catalyst that propels you from child to not so child in no time at all. Sometimes this moment occurs unexpectedly, surprinsing you and shocking you into maturity. And sometimes it creeps slowly toward you and you can mark its approach without a way to keep it at bay.

And as tragic as that sudden shift from childhood is, the greater tragedy is that we stand there watching it happen and do nothing. Our society at large remains terribly unprepared to deal with the population of children who are being handed adulthood much too soon. We see it happening and are scared by it, but few really step in to try and temper some of the affect. Most of us feel so incapable of dealing with our adulthood, we can't fathom trying to help someone else navigate theirs.

So what happens? We have mere children negotiating adult situations on their own. We have adolescents working through emotions and feelings that they haven't yet developed the capacity to understand much less live with. And we have them doing this mostly on their own.

No wonder they shut down. No wonder they paint their nails black and dye their hair odd colors. No wonder they pierce everything known to man or scar themselves with blades. No wonder we have eating disorders, drug addictions, teenage alcoholics, and high school mothers.

We watch the world/life/fate hand mere children some of life's toughest situations and we sit back and observe from a safe distance to see how they will handle it. How they will deal with the emotions. What the will do with the cards dealt to them.

Instead of stepping in and helping absorb all the emotions they feel, we hide from it so we can remained untouched. Rather than owning up to the ugly truth and having honest, authentic communication about what has happened with children, we avoid talking about it and act as if we don't acknowledge it then it hasn't really happened. Instead of modeling mature coping behaviors, we hide in our closets so they don't see us cry. We'd rather run from the questions, than to admit to them that sometimes we honestly don't know the answers.

No wonder they act out. No wonder they turn to drugs, T.V., food, sex, exercise, academics, sports...whatever. They have all this knowledge and emotion that they can't comprehend and are utterly unprepared to deal with, and they have to put it somehwere. Especially since we aren't giving them any better options.

Who among us would sit back and watch a three year old walk towards a blazing fire and do nothing? How many of us would walk past a flooding school and not stop to help get the kids out? Its unheard of to witness a wreck and not dial 911. When tradegy happens, we are trained to act. Its ingrained in us to protect those who can't protect themselves. To help those who are at the moment helpless. We have been told our entire lives how to handle those situations. But when situations occur that there is no handbook for, we shirk back and decide its better not to help. We refuse to take any steps unless we are given them in a clear cut step 1, 2, 3 process.

The things that throw children into the messy ocean of adulthood are just as real and dangerous as fires and flood. Yet we ignore them because we can't actually see the danger, or because we are afraid we won't know precisely what to do. So we leave them out there to learn by the sink or swim method, instead of showing them how to float, paddle, or hold their breath. And we wonder why so many of them seem to be drowning? Suffocating? Being pulled under currents or knocked around by waves?

What will it take for enough to be enough? How many bodies will be piled up before we decide to step in, intervene, absorb some of the shocking blow?

How much more will we allow children, who are sadly no longer children, endure before we step in and beside them to help them along- even when we ourselves aren't sure of the way?

Justice: the quality of being just or fair

Just/Fair: free from favoritism or self-interest or bias or deception

I'm obtaining an interesting perspective on justice these days. Not only because I'm spending the majority of my time working in a law office, but many parts of my life seem to be dealing with the issue of justice, right, and fairness. And yesterday in a totally unrelated conversation, somebody posed the question to me:

What would it take for justice to be done?

And this got me thinking.

If there is a situation in which the need for justice is present, then that means on some level wrong or harm has been done. Someone or something has been subject to injustice. Someone has been hurt, harmed, wronged, treated unfairly. There has been some injury.

So obviously when you are harmed or see harm being done, you seek out justice. You want the situation made right. You want consequences for the injustice so that things seem fair again.

Its widely accepted that when harm is done or a unfair action has taken, then enacting or issuing a consequence or responding action would bring justice. Make life fair again. Even the odds. Level the playing field. This is why people go to court. This is why we have a justice system. Because when harm is done, something must be done to make it right.

And I do think our justice system is important. I think that there should be consequences and punishments for actions take that harm. But can we really call this justice? Can we really call this fairness? Because are we really capable of taking damage done and making the situation fair again?

For instance, if a murder occurs and a life is lost- can charging the perpetrator and sending him to jail for the rest of his life really make this situation fair again? Yes this system punishes and forces them to face the consequences of their actions, but can a life spent in jail really make right a life lost? Is this really justice?

I don't think so. I think we can force people to face consequences and inflict proper punishment, but I don't think we are capable of serving justice. Because we can't make the situations right or fair. We can make a tragedy like a murder or assualt or abuse be like it never happened by any sort of sentence the courts can hand out.

In law suits, you will hear people on the injured side say that they can't wait for justice to be served so that they can find closure. However, at the end of the trial they often are puzzled by the lack of closure. The lack of relief. They find that seeing the person suffer the consequences and punishment doesn't make life seem fair or just again. That it doesn't make the situation right.

I think we have skewed expectations of justice. I think we look for fairness in the wrong places. I think we might expect too much. Why?

Because we're human. And as humans, we are flawed and full of biases and self-interest. Its impossible for us to come to a situation without bringing our own backgrounds, beliefs, thoughts, hurts, experiences, and interests to the table. We can't issue true justice- devoid of bias. Actual justice might be impossible to find as long as you are dealing with the human race.

Justice- true justice- comes from God and comes with God. Its been my experience that only God can make a situation right. Only God can redeem something entirely. Isn't that what justice is after all? Redemption? Making a situation or a person whole and new again? Setting something right? To erase a mistake? A transgression? An injury? And in my experience, only God has the power to make something be as if nothing again.

So maybe we need to alter our perspective on justice. Don't stop fighting for it or seeking it, but be careful from where you are seeking it from. Yes if a wrong is done- consequences and punishment are fair and often necessary. But don't expect justice to come from a court, a person, or a law suit.

Expect justice from God alone. And expect it to look alot like redemption.

She was a tricky one. I don't even remember her name, but man, she was a tricky one. My college physics professor. You had to watch her. She liked nothing better than to throw you curve balls. You think she was teaching you about velocity and gravity, but instead you'd find yourself learning something about life. You'd listen to her lectures on physics and science, and find yourself walking away feeling like you'd been to church where a 70 year old Korean scientist was the preacher. I'm telling you- she was clever. She wanted you to know your physics- that was important to her. She truly taught us about science, but also she taught us about life.

I'll never forget her favorite trick. I'll never forget it because I always fell for it.

My biggest problem in college physics was the math. So many complicated formulas and equations and I'm not really a math person. I would get so worked up and stressed about them, that I would make them much more complicated than they should be. I remember she kept telling me, "You got the right answer. But you could gotten there in 5 less steps."

And it never failed that somewhere on every exam, she would disguise a simple addition or subtraction problem that a first grader could solve as a complex physics question. She would disguise it as difficult and intimidating, when really all it required you to do is something you learned at the age of 5. And every time, we all fell for it. We made it so much more complicated than it should be. We tried working calculus problems and algebraic expressions, when all she needed us to do is add the numbers.

She would scold us, "Start with the basics. Go back to what you know you know. Try the simplest solution first. Start from your foundation."

I think that's pretty good life advice disguised as fairly good physics advice.

These days I find myself going back to my foundations. Going back and relearning what I learned so long ago. Re-familiarizing myself with the most elementary of lessons.

After 4 years of complex theological thinking and putting efforts and energy into teaching others about God, I find myself needing to relearn the most basic parts of my faith.

I find myself having to relearn the fact that faith is not circumstantial. Belief should exist and faith should prevail, despite what the landscape looks like.

Grace is not dependant upon what I do. Grace is dependant upon who God is. I don't receive grace because of anything I do, I receive grace because God is gracious.

And most of all, I find myself being retaught that I am loved- not for what I do, think, produce, look, act, feel. But I am loved simply for existing. I am loved on my good days, my bad days, my crazy days, and my level headed days. That love is not dependent on my mood, my character, my obedience, on anything. That I am simply loved for being me.

And I think these are lessons that I needed to learn. And probably could only learn by coming home again for awhile.

And I guess that even after all those physics exams, I still sometimes miss the simplest lessons. And that sometimes the answers are the most obvious and the easiest.

I am loved- despite everything. My faith will last- in the face of everything. And grace is there- no matter what and no matter who.

Sometimes I really think we are all just kindergartners in the school of life.

I am both a perfectionist and a people-pleaser. Because of these two aspects of my personality, on my best days I am cooperative and driven. On my best days I pursue excellence and make a great mediator. The good days find me knocking my to-do list out left and right and trying to make the lives I'm around a little bit easier. On my best days, these personality traits enhance who I am- making me a hard worker and a good person to be around. On my good days, I keep all the doubts and demons trapped within the truth I am assured of- that I am ok.

But on my worst days, these two aspects of my personality make my life a living hell. They make me insecure, self conscious of all the flaws I see, frustrated because I can't seem to please every. On the bad day, I drive myself mad trying to figure out how to make choices that will satisfy all the people I feel I have to be perfect for. On the really bad day, the perfectionist in me will constantly beat up the flawed human I really am. On my worst days, this makes me overly OCD and worrisome, plus just plain unhappy with myself. On bad days, all my doubts and demons fly freely around my head and I can make myself pretty sick.

Most days however, I go back and forth between the two spectrum's.

How come most of the stuff in life can be both good and bad? A joy and a curse? A gift and a nuisance? Must everything contain polar ends of the spectrum?

I guess that's why we all try to live on the plateaus. In the middle. Finding a happy medium. Because its easier. Because if you stay on the plateau, you may miss the mountain top, but at least you're assured you won't end up in a valley.

But is that really how we should live? Isn't the mountaintop worth the risk of the valley? If we don't experience the depth of the valley, how can we truly appreciate the levelness of the plateau or the height of the mountain top?

I'm not really sure what I'm striving for or saying here. I guess I just wanted to remind myself that the bad days are as essential as the good days. The valleys mean as much as the mountaintops. And if you spend too much time on the plateau, you mind just find yourself getting stuck there.

I had to take a break from blogging.

I had to take a break from life.

I just needed time to breathe.

Because there for a few days, even breathing hurt.

I feel like my life has been taken apart, and the pieces have been put back together all wrong.

I'm homesick for people and places that aren't home.

I am mourning the loss of a job and life I choose to leave.

And I'm missing people who I never even knew mattered.

And logically, I know that in a few days, weeks, months, year...whenever- I will look back on it and see the beauty and the wonder that the abstract art of my life is. But at the moment, its just weird and disjointed and unsettling and somewhat uncomfortable. Its something that I expected to look one way and looks an entirely different way. And even knowing that eventually, it will all work out and seem right- doesn't necessarily ease the pain of the present.

But abstract art is beautiful. And part of its beauty is the tension it creates. The problems it stirs up. The discomfort it offers.

So I'm trying to embrace it. I'm trying to find the beauty in it. I'm trying to have faith that with some time and perspective, I'll see why my life is supposed to look like it does right now and what beauty might be found in t .

Most of the time, when I exercise, I enjoy heart-pounding, music blaring, sweat-producing, butt-kicking, adrenaline pumping kinds of work outs. Kick boxing, if I have to be indoors, or cycling, if the weathers warm enough to be outdoors. I enjoy having to work so hard that I don't have the mental capacity to think.

I'm not really a yoga, ballet, or long walks type girl if I have my druthers. However, occasionally the situation will war rent where I have to turn to one of these venues in order to get my workout. I mean I could kick box with loud music when I'm snowed into a house with four other people, but its time like those when yoga seems to be the quieter, community friendly choice.

I'm often surprised at how calm I feel after yoga or a walk. How good I actually do feel after a quieter, less demanding workout. That even though there isn't music blaring or I'm not struggling to breathe, there is a certain relaxing quality about just being in the quiet moment. I forget how often releasing stillness is.

I felt (and still do to some extent) incredibly unsettled tonight. I just couldn't get comfortable or satisfied. Was going a little stir crazy. So I threw on the yoga video and did a relaxation series. The final set of the series was simply laying down on my back with limbs extended out and counting breaths. And for some reason tonight, that has left me relaxed. And a bit more settled and content.

I forget to take time to be still. I forget to take time to breath. I forget how relaxing and restful and settling simply "being" can be.

And since today, for all intents and purposes, is my Sabbath, I guess that was a good reminder for me. That we all need the quiet spaces. The quiets. The rest. The moments that simply let us be and recharge to live again.

How often do we forget simply to breathe? How often do we get caught up so much in life that we forget to take even a few moments just to rest? To be? To do nothing beyond convert oxygen? Maybe we'd all be a little better off if we worked more moments like these into our cramped, hectic, loud lives.

I'm angry.

Literally. I'm at the seeing-red, want-to-punch-someone-in-their-face, irrational point of anger.

And this is really rare for me. I'm not an angry person. I very rarely feel rage or want to hurt anyone.

But tonight, I'm just there. And since its a foreign and uncomfortable emotion for me, I'm struggling to know what to do with it.

I know the song says "carry everything to God in prayer". But I wonder. Can He really handle my anger? Can I really approach Him with it? Aren't you supposed to get rid of all the "bad" emotions, like anger, greed, jealously, lust, etc, before you approach God?

But all I can find myself doing is giving my anger to God and asking Him what to do with it? Talking to him with all my rage and tension and looking Him dead in the eye and asking if He can handle it?

And the funny thing is that this might be the most authentic prayer I've prayed in a long time. This might be the most pure moment of communion with God that I've had in awhile. Because the key ingredient in prayer is honesty. And if you try to come before God and lie, cover up, or hide where you are at- then that's not prayer. That's not true communion with God.

So tonight, I'm being real. I'm being honest. I'm praying.

And I know I'm praying to a God who is big enough and strong enough and awesome enough to handle any and all emotions I have. The good ones and the not so good ones.

roll those credits

If my life were a movie (and let's face it- it stands a pretty decent shot at becoming a made for TV movie one of these days), I would be at the point in the movie right before the big climax. I'd be at the point of the movie where things seem the worst. Where hope was the lowest. The point where evil seemed to be winning over good and the good guys look like they just might get defeated.

If my life were a movie, we'd be at the point where everyone in the audience has a sick pit of fear in their stomachs because they aren't entirely sure that there is a happy ending to be had.

BUT the thing is- is that right after THAT point in the movie- the awful point- comes the big break. Its guaranteed. That right after the moment where the rain is falling, comes the moment where the clouds break and the sun reappears. That always following the place where the good guys get defeated, get broken, get disheartened- immediately after comes the point where they find courage to try again, to rebuild, to renew their hope. There is always a shift, a change, a break and good always comes out on top in the end.

And this is what I've got to remember. That even if I am in the moment where evil seems to be prevailing, that it is JUST A MOMENT. That soon, things wills shift and realign and good will come out again as the victor. Because good always wins. I've just got to hold onto the hope. I've got to keep my faith. I've got to tell myself that even when everything else seems to the contrary, that happy endings happen and good prevails over evil and light will always dissipate the dark.

So if my life were a movie, this would be the moment where someone would make an inspirational speech or have a good cry or just experience an attitude adjustment. So don't turn the movie off just yet in despair, let's see what comes next.

More often than not, the moments that matter are cleverly disguised as everyday, normal moments. Usually, the times when miracles occur are at 10am on a Tuesday morning when everything is as ordinary as it can be. Always do the usual things end up meaning more when you no longer have them.

The moments, the spaces in time, I'll miss most are the ordinary stuff. The usual. The non spectacular moments. Because if the most blase of moments can be special, then you know you are experiencing something wonderful indeed.

I wish that occasionally I could just freeze time. That I could pull the "time out" like Zach off of "Saved by the Bell" and capture those moments forever. Moments spent riding to school, cooking dinner, drinking coffee, singing the Hymn of Invitation, hugging the same person as you always do. The things that you do a million times over and never think twice about mean more when you realize that you no longer have them.

How do you store up these meaningful moments? How do you take time to recognize them for the miracles they are amidst the normal everyday? How to do you honor them for the unique meaning they give to our lives?

I guess what makes them special is the recognition of them. The essence that is so beautiful that there is no way to bottle it, to save it, to keep it for a rainy day. I guess the beauty is in ordinary and in the everyday. The beauty is in its inability to be saved or stored or stopped.

The thing is- how amazing is it that they are people who matter so much they can make the most blase, unspecial, ordinary, boring times absolutely incredible, irreplaceable, and miraculous?

I have a series of books that I use for the times when I suffer from writer's block. They are called the "If" books. I have "If", "If2", "If-questions for the soul", and "If- how far will you go".

Probably my favorite one of these to work from is the "How far will you go" one. Because this book makes you set boundaries. It makes you mark the areas of back and white. It refuses to let you seek comfort in the shades of gray. It asks you for absolutes.

I think that it, occasionally, is good for us to be forced to set our boundaries. Most of us bank on the experience of the shades of gray. We depend on people allowing us to float back and forth between the black and white depending upon our current mood/situation/community. But sometimes, its good for us to sit back and really consider what we believe and what we are wiling to do at the honest gut level.

I think that defining my boundaries is especially good for me. Because usually, I have a hard time being absolutely honest. I'm one of those people who are entirely comfortable letting everyone else lay all their cards on the table, without ever sharing my hand. And I don't mean to be like this. I don't mean to hold back. I don't mean to be less than honest or less than forthcoming. It's that I'm afraid.

There I said it. I'm afraid to really say what I think, I feel, I believe. I'm afraid to show people my boundaries. My black and my white. What if they dissaprove? What if they reject it? Make fun of it?

I try to look back and figure out when I became of afraid of being completely honest. Of putting myself out there. I think, on some level at least, I've always been kind of a people pleaser. A kid who has always been afraid of disappointing, letting people down, or of not being perfect.

But you know what, I'm human. I'm not perfect. I'm going to say/do/believe things that people disagree with. That other people will want me to do otherwise. And I think I'm finally learning that that is ok. That its alright to not have everyone agree with me. To approve of my choices. To think my decisions are the right ones.

Because in the end, I'm the only person who has to live my life. I'm the only person who has to spend time in my head and in my heart. I'm the only person who can make my choices, live my life, and define my boundaries. And I'm the only one who needs to find peace with them.

You fail to recognize that it

matters not what someone is born,

but what they grow to be.

-Dumbledore, Harry Potter