This poem was written from a glorious dream I had earlier this month. I hope you enjoy this small glimpse into my imagination!
If I were a canoe
If I were a canoe I would write stories to the night on the shimmer of dark waters. I would coast quietly past stone dams scattered in the paths of cold black. If I were a canoe I would be made of rugged wood, smoothed out into its sleekest form. Maybe I would be made of cedar or birch. Whenever I would float past tangled strands of driftwood I would remember my roots and be thankful for all that I had been crafted to be.
And if I were a canoe, I would glide past your home on the shore and call to you. We would meet at the bank and shroud ourselves in pine trees and secrets. Then you would come along with me and guide me through the maze of waves, the sighing of tides. I would stay awake to see the moonlight become a chandelier in the darkness of your eyes. Our thoughts would dance in the empty room of your soul, moving with the specks of silver. And if wood had the mind to, I would make a mental note to remember this moment with you, forever. The luminescence of your clavicles--entirely beautiful though you always thought them too prominent. The way the curve of your smile shattered something inside of me that I could never name.
And if I were a canoe, I would sail with you slowly, tracing little tails of moonlight in the water. You would look over my side and catch your own curious eyes on the surface of the rippling waters. And if I were a canoe, when you thought you knew what light was, I would show you how the veil of night could lift, slowly and gloriously. And we would step out of the light and into the light, all at once.
...
I reached the halfway point of my Christmas break today but I still do not feel ready for Christmas to come. Is there anyone else out there who doesn't think this is the most wonderful time of the year? I am finding myself somewhat...bitter? ...and down, in this season. I am disenchanted because I only want things which cannot be bought or wrapped and I feel like those things are that which I will never possess. I have to cringe a little when I look into the mirror of my own heart, because I know that I have chosen to be selfish with my much of my free time thus far. FYI: feeling unloved never justifies withholding love from others who need it. But you probably knew that already.
As per usual, I am drowning any sorrows and joys that come my way in music. I'm revisiting Jason Mraz's Love is a Four Letter Word today and remembering that I do enjoy his words very much. I am reminded that "understanding love is one of the hardest things in the world" and this makes me all the more grateful to hold the greatest love in me. Especially in this season, when everyone is looking for gifts, I have been assured that I have already received the greatest gift. And though I am down, I am hopeful, all at once. Actually, the simple act of writing this post out has had enough power to lift my mood and make my spirit feel free. And thus, I continue to be a girl of juxtapositions--to myself, and to others. But I wouldn't have it any other way. I hope you feel the same.
Merry Christmas,
E.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Saturday, November 23, 2013
On Africa and Rough Weeks, Part 2
Hey!
As indicated in the previous post, the past week has been tough for me. I've been feeling pretty low. It's hard for me to admit that to myself, and even more so to anyone else. But that's been the reality this week.
I skipped school (er, took a personal day?) on Thursday to give myself time to do things to pep myself up. I watched some dumb movies and went out for a bit but it didn't really help. I seriously considered taking Friday off as well but instead I convinced myself it would be beneficial to get out of the house. So many things have been coming together--divinely aligning, even--for me recently. I have so much to be thankful for. Knowing this makes me feel even worse for feeling that a part of me has been unravelling.
But that's how I feel right now. I'm upset and disappointed.
Fortunately for me, in the midst of feeling this way, one of my truest friends called me unexpectedly last night. We went out and talked about unravelling and about healing and about sunny days to come. We went to Staples (one of my happy places) and then for coffee. Last night was exactly what I needed. I feel thankful for connection and communion.
Today was still a bit of a struggle for me. Being upset takes a lot of emotional energy out of me so I ended up napping for 3 hours in the afternoon. The only reason I was stirred from sleep was because I kicked myself out of a nightmare. I tried to work on some of my projects after that but found that my mind was still wandering, unravelling, and so I ended up immersing myself in multiple games of minesweeper. I only play minesweeper when I am upset and unsettled, so I know my feelings must be real. I first realized this quirk at Capernwray when during a time of trying to avoid my feelings I noted I was playing up to several hours of minesweeper a day. Ridiculous, I know. I try not to stuff my feelings as much anymore. But there is still something incredibly calming to me about systematically sweeping the mine. (I'm a dork, I know). But you can rely on algorithms in minesweeper. Though the outcome is uncertain at first, a small amount of information and a sound strategy can be manipulated so that you win, every time. Maybe I just wish this was more true in real life.
All this said, I feel better today than I did yesterday. And I expect the same to be true of tomorrow, and the next day. Here's to being on the up and up,
E.
P.S. Oh yeah, Africa--it's still far away (2015). In short, I've been accepted for an additional certificate program along with my M.D. which will allow me to travel and experience clinical work in a variety of under served/marginalized populations. Ask me about it in person sometime! :)
As indicated in the previous post, the past week has been tough for me. I've been feeling pretty low. It's hard for me to admit that to myself, and even more so to anyone else. But that's been the reality this week.
I skipped school (er, took a personal day?) on Thursday to give myself time to do things to pep myself up. I watched some dumb movies and went out for a bit but it didn't really help. I seriously considered taking Friday off as well but instead I convinced myself it would be beneficial to get out of the house. So many things have been coming together--divinely aligning, even--for me recently. I have so much to be thankful for. Knowing this makes me feel even worse for feeling that a part of me has been unravelling.
But that's how I feel right now. I'm upset and disappointed.
Fortunately for me, in the midst of feeling this way, one of my truest friends called me unexpectedly last night. We went out and talked about unravelling and about healing and about sunny days to come. We went to Staples (one of my happy places) and then for coffee. Last night was exactly what I needed. I feel thankful for connection and communion.
Today was still a bit of a struggle for me. Being upset takes a lot of emotional energy out of me so I ended up napping for 3 hours in the afternoon. The only reason I was stirred from sleep was because I kicked myself out of a nightmare. I tried to work on some of my projects after that but found that my mind was still wandering, unravelling, and so I ended up immersing myself in multiple games of minesweeper. I only play minesweeper when I am upset and unsettled, so I know my feelings must be real. I first realized this quirk at Capernwray when during a time of trying to avoid my feelings I noted I was playing up to several hours of minesweeper a day. Ridiculous, I know. I try not to stuff my feelings as much anymore. But there is still something incredibly calming to me about systematically sweeping the mine. (I'm a dork, I know). But you can rely on algorithms in minesweeper. Though the outcome is uncertain at first, a small amount of information and a sound strategy can be manipulated so that you win, every time. Maybe I just wish this was more true in real life.
All this said, I feel better today than I did yesterday. And I expect the same to be true of tomorrow, and the next day. Here's to being on the up and up,
E.
P.S. Oh yeah, Africa--it's still far away (2015). In short, I've been accepted for an additional certificate program along with my M.D. which will allow me to travel and experience clinical work in a variety of under served/marginalized populations. Ask me about it in person sometime! :)
Saturday, November 16, 2013
On Africa and Rough Weeks
This week was challenging for at least ten different reasons.
But, in the midst of it all, I found out that I will be going to Africa! I am SO excited!
Details are coming later--that is, as long as this girl survives another week of exams. :)
E
But, in the midst of it all, I found out that I will be going to Africa! I am SO excited!
Details are coming later--that is, as long as this girl survives another week of exams. :)
E
Friday, November 1, 2013
On Blue Jays and Intrinsic Rewards
The blue jay in the tree
was a message straight from you.
she looked at me and in
that moment I knew that you
saw me cloaked in my black
uniform. a no name face but
you chose to wrap me in
the beauty of her sapphire wings.
in the dull palette of November
she is delight. the deep saturation
of her feathers, the lines of
her wings
was you calling me, saying that
even if I had no songs
you would love me--forever.
on the lonely roads and in
those sorrowful rooms you would hold
me. and at the peak of
that daydream mountain you would
hold me still. who am I
that you should care for me?
yet you do. and learning this
of you makes my soul feel
like gold.
...
This week has found me entirely grateful to be studying where I am. I am being challenged daily to expand my knowledge and skills. I am learning and seeing results. I feel at home. My mind feels happy. My soul feels happy. The intrinsic rewards of personal study are compelling me to continue on. I have been listening and finally know that I am being lead in the right direction.
Hope you come along with me,
E.
Monday, October 14, 2013
On Emily and Vulnerability
You called me Emily, but I don't mind because I am in love with the fact that Dickinson said "Hope is the thing with feathers--that perches in the soul--"
I don't mind because Emily was a center-part, plain-Jane, granola kind of girl and when I am allowed to be those things I am the happiest. Emily was a queen of vocabulary and a lover of --. She was full of juxtapositions; a rule follower and a rule breaker. She was quiet and simple, at least on most accounts. But I believe that she changed the world. I like to think that when you called me Emily you might have seen something quiet and stirring in me that matters to the world, too.
What I really need right now is reassurance. The interesting thing about being a medical student is that you feel confident and completely incapable all at once. And when somebody asks you how school is going you have to find a way to respond that doesn't make you sound pretentious or timid. You have to give detail without giving too much detail--too much and you are a know-it-all; too little and you are standoffish.
My knowledge is increasing exponentially but so is the proverbial distance between me and you. I am digging in intellectual and emotional trenches every day. I wish I could tell you about that. I wish I could tell you about the joy of having the dirt of learning smudged under my eyes. I wish you could feel it too, and rub the dark matter away from my face at the end of the day. You have no idea how much I need support like that now. But when the sun sets I know that I have no choice but to hold myself through the chill of night.
I want to tell you about my battle with fear. About how last week, I dreamt the waters around the dock turned black and rose up around me in gargantuan waves. You were there and you hit your head on the bow of that great boat, descending from the sky. You bled into the black and I could not save you. The sea tossed me mercilessly in my bed but I could not wake up.
The more I interviews I complete the more I am intrigued by the responses. Why is it that when you ask people about love they tell you about heartbreak? And when you ask them about belonging they tell you about the most devastatingly lonely pieces of their lives? The more interviews I complete the more I know the need of the human soul to be vulnerable.
I remember how, at 19, I didn't know what Ginsberg meant when he wrote "lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely." Now I know of those darkened homes all too well. But I will choose to forget what I know if given the chance. I will leave the restraints of my orbit and meet you, and not be afraid of you seeing, me.
-E
I don't mind because Emily was a center-part, plain-Jane, granola kind of girl and when I am allowed to be those things I am the happiest. Emily was a queen of vocabulary and a lover of --. She was full of juxtapositions; a rule follower and a rule breaker. She was quiet and simple, at least on most accounts. But I believe that she changed the world. I like to think that when you called me Emily you might have seen something quiet and stirring in me that matters to the world, too.
What I really need right now is reassurance. The interesting thing about being a medical student is that you feel confident and completely incapable all at once. And when somebody asks you how school is going you have to find a way to respond that doesn't make you sound pretentious or timid. You have to give detail without giving too much detail--too much and you are a know-it-all; too little and you are standoffish.
My knowledge is increasing exponentially but so is the proverbial distance between me and you. I am digging in intellectual and emotional trenches every day. I wish I could tell you about that. I wish I could tell you about the joy of having the dirt of learning smudged under my eyes. I wish you could feel it too, and rub the dark matter away from my face at the end of the day. You have no idea how much I need support like that now. But when the sun sets I know that I have no choice but to hold myself through the chill of night.
I want to tell you about my battle with fear. About how last week, I dreamt the waters around the dock turned black and rose up around me in gargantuan waves. You were there and you hit your head on the bow of that great boat, descending from the sky. You bled into the black and I could not save you. The sea tossed me mercilessly in my bed but I could not wake up.
The more I interviews I complete the more I am intrigued by the responses. Why is it that when you ask people about love they tell you about heartbreak? And when you ask them about belonging they tell you about the most devastatingly lonely pieces of their lives? The more interviews I complete the more I know the need of the human soul to be vulnerable.
I remember how, at 19, I didn't know what Ginsberg meant when he wrote "lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely." Now I know of those darkened homes all too well. But I will choose to forget what I know if given the chance. I will leave the restraints of my orbit and meet you, and not be afraid of you seeing, me.
-E
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
On Spoken Word and TED Talks
Lately I have found myself engrossed in TED talks. I stumbled upon a talk by spoken-word poet Sarah Kay and have been inspired to start working on my own spoken word pieces. The process has been totally liberating so far. Below is a piece that I wrote tonight. Enjoy!
Stark, Bright, Pressed (9/25/2013)
You only like to read fiction. That's why I didn't mail the letters to you.
Letter writing is a three-step process. One: you spill your guts out using nothing but pen, paper, and sheer bravery.
Two: you use your fingers to carefully fold and refold the message. There is a proper art to letter folding. It isn't like origami. Simple shapes do not become complex pressed-fiber structures. No--instead, the intricate meshwork of words becomes streamlined and plain. You could hold it in the palm of your hand or in the back of your pocket and it would go unnoticed because no one really cares about small, properly folded pieces of paper. But you would know the specialness of that small piece of paper and so you would continue to hold it--still in your hand or in your pocket or maybe even over your heart if you had a suitable pocket there.
Three: you send the letter. This usually involves an envelope, stamps, and a postal company. It is the shortest task in the letter-writing process for the author. But don't let that make you feel that it is the easiest. It is never easy to subject your guts to the cold aluminum hallways of the post.
In the eighth grade I would write letters to my friends and they would write back to me. And maybe we wrote letters because we were nineties kids who didn't have access to text messaging. But maybe we wrote because we knew we could leave our guts on those Hilroy notebook pages. And we knew we could pass them on to our friends and that they would hold those guts so tightly and so carefully in their pockets, folded and perfect.
And we would feel less alone, too. Few people feel more alone than fourteen year old girls who must stumble in the darkness of adolescence to find the light switch that is womanhood...or at least the idea of it.
Now that I am grown and standing in that light I find it difficult to write letters. But I wrote letters to you. Lots of them. Even though you don't know it. You reminded me of the beauty of shadows and of the glory of stumbling, and of falling hard for you in the dark.
It is not the darkness of adolescence, but the stark, bright, pressed linen of adulthood that makes cowards of us. So we don't let our friends carry our thoughts in squares in their pockets anymore. And we don't send our guts by post.
We hold our own thought squares, stumble in our own light, and hope--
That somewhere, someone just as cowardly as us is stumbling in their own light, waiting to read non-fiction, and wanting to receive our guts in the mail.
...
E
Stark, Bright, Pressed (9/25/2013)
You only like to read fiction. That's why I didn't mail the letters to you.
Letter writing is a three-step process. One: you spill your guts out using nothing but pen, paper, and sheer bravery.
Two: you use your fingers to carefully fold and refold the message. There is a proper art to letter folding. It isn't like origami. Simple shapes do not become complex pressed-fiber structures. No--instead, the intricate meshwork of words becomes streamlined and plain. You could hold it in the palm of your hand or in the back of your pocket and it would go unnoticed because no one really cares about small, properly folded pieces of paper. But you would know the specialness of that small piece of paper and so you would continue to hold it--still in your hand or in your pocket or maybe even over your heart if you had a suitable pocket there.
Three: you send the letter. This usually involves an envelope, stamps, and a postal company. It is the shortest task in the letter-writing process for the author. But don't let that make you feel that it is the easiest. It is never easy to subject your guts to the cold aluminum hallways of the post.
In the eighth grade I would write letters to my friends and they would write back to me. And maybe we wrote letters because we were nineties kids who didn't have access to text messaging. But maybe we wrote because we knew we could leave our guts on those Hilroy notebook pages. And we knew we could pass them on to our friends and that they would hold those guts so tightly and so carefully in their pockets, folded and perfect.
And we would feel less alone, too. Few people feel more alone than fourteen year old girls who must stumble in the darkness of adolescence to find the light switch that is womanhood...or at least the idea of it.
Now that I am grown and standing in that light I find it difficult to write letters. But I wrote letters to you. Lots of them. Even though you don't know it. You reminded me of the beauty of shadows and of the glory of stumbling, and of falling hard for you in the dark.
It is not the darkness of adolescence, but the stark, bright, pressed linen of adulthood that makes cowards of us. So we don't let our friends carry our thoughts in squares in their pockets anymore. And we don't send our guts by post.
We hold our own thought squares, stumble in our own light, and hope--
That somewhere, someone just as cowardly as us is stumbling in their own light, waiting to read non-fiction, and wanting to receive our guts in the mail.
...
E
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
On Hidden Curriculum and Adsorption
I have been struggling to get out of bed since June.
I thought I was overtired for a while, so I started sleeping more. I was averaging 10 hours of shut-eye a night for the summer but it still wasn't enough. When I woke up I felt like I needed to go right back to bed.
I have always needed a good amount of rest and time alone to feel well. But sleeping for over 11 hours and not even stirring when an alarm clock goes off is problematic when you have things to do (and buses to catch).
Fortunately, I have felt infinitely better this week. In part I think it is because allergy season is nearing its end (finally). My mind feels clearer and I am glad to be weaning myself off second-generation antihistamines. However, most of me feeling better stems from other events.
If you know me you may know that I am a highly intuitive person. In academics this means I easily see patterns between abstract ideas and I am good at understanding the "big picture" behind complex concepts. In relationships it means I have a great sense of the emotional state of others and how that affects their interactions with me and vice versa. It is not an easy thing to understand, but the sense I get can be so strong that I have felt the pain of others before I consciously know they are experiencing a certain kind of pain. My first strong experience of this personality quirk occurred when I was seventeen, and to be honest, it made life difficult and confusing for me because I could not figure out why I felt such a heavy weight on my chest when I did not feel bad.
I am not sure why it did not register with me that I was adsorbing a slurry of emotions from different sources this summer. But I was. And it was wearing out my mind and my body. This week so much of the weight and tiredness I was feeling has left. I am thankful to be able to rest a bit more easily and to wake up peppy and ready for the day. But I am mostly thankful because I think the weight lifting means that healing is occurring for at least one person who has been on my mind.
As an intuitive individual I have also become very interested in the hidden curriculum of university, particularly during my medical education. Hidden curriculum is, essentially, the side-effects of formal education (and normally has a negative connotation). My first reaction to the term "hidden curriculum" was that it was a good thing--because who doesn't love looking for new, interesting nuances and connections within the formal curriculum? "Hidden curriculum" sounded like an adventure and a challenge and I loved that. After reading some lit on the subject I see that the term is being used differently, particularly to describe actions accidentally taught to students by medical preceptors.
I read a shocking example which I will not reiterate here because it was grotesque. I realized I had already observed an example of hidden curriculum myself, when a fellow medical student told me that when he worked in the hospital "TB" would be written on certain patient files--not because they had tuberculosis, but because they were total b******. I felt uncomfortable when I heard this story and didn't know how to respond. He laughed a bit. I couldn't...but I didn't say anything either.
I think it is important for physicians to hold humanitarian values in high esteem. In simple terms this means caring for the patient as an individual rather than as the "inflamed knee in room 8." If I lose my love and care for others my work becomes pointless.
I was reminded this week of the benefits of reflecting on my experiences--often. In part, that is why I started this blog a few years ago. It is a conscious commitment to self-reflection that keeps me accountable. When I reflect on myself and see my own frailties it makes me more sensitive to the frailties within others and allows me to serve them better.
"The heart of servant leadership is when your deep passion meets the world's deep need."
Don't just pretend to love others. Really love them.
E.
I thought I was overtired for a while, so I started sleeping more. I was averaging 10 hours of shut-eye a night for the summer but it still wasn't enough. When I woke up I felt like I needed to go right back to bed.
I have always needed a good amount of rest and time alone to feel well. But sleeping for over 11 hours and not even stirring when an alarm clock goes off is problematic when you have things to do (and buses to catch).
Fortunately, I have felt infinitely better this week. In part I think it is because allergy season is nearing its end (finally). My mind feels clearer and I am glad to be weaning myself off second-generation antihistamines. However, most of me feeling better stems from other events.
If you know me you may know that I am a highly intuitive person. In academics this means I easily see patterns between abstract ideas and I am good at understanding the "big picture" behind complex concepts. In relationships it means I have a great sense of the emotional state of others and how that affects their interactions with me and vice versa. It is not an easy thing to understand, but the sense I get can be so strong that I have felt the pain of others before I consciously know they are experiencing a certain kind of pain. My first strong experience of this personality quirk occurred when I was seventeen, and to be honest, it made life difficult and confusing for me because I could not figure out why I felt such a heavy weight on my chest when I did not feel bad.
I am not sure why it did not register with me that I was adsorbing a slurry of emotions from different sources this summer. But I was. And it was wearing out my mind and my body. This week so much of the weight and tiredness I was feeling has left. I am thankful to be able to rest a bit more easily and to wake up peppy and ready for the day. But I am mostly thankful because I think the weight lifting means that healing is occurring for at least one person who has been on my mind.
As an intuitive individual I have also become very interested in the hidden curriculum of university, particularly during my medical education. Hidden curriculum is, essentially, the side-effects of formal education (and normally has a negative connotation). My first reaction to the term "hidden curriculum" was that it was a good thing--because who doesn't love looking for new, interesting nuances and connections within the formal curriculum? "Hidden curriculum" sounded like an adventure and a challenge and I loved that. After reading some lit on the subject I see that the term is being used differently, particularly to describe actions accidentally taught to students by medical preceptors.
I read a shocking example which I will not reiterate here because it was grotesque. I realized I had already observed an example of hidden curriculum myself, when a fellow medical student told me that when he worked in the hospital "TB" would be written on certain patient files--not because they had tuberculosis, but because they were total b******. I felt uncomfortable when I heard this story and didn't know how to respond. He laughed a bit. I couldn't...but I didn't say anything either.
I think it is important for physicians to hold humanitarian values in high esteem. In simple terms this means caring for the patient as an individual rather than as the "inflamed knee in room 8." If I lose my love and care for others my work becomes pointless.
I was reminded this week of the benefits of reflecting on my experiences--often. In part, that is why I started this blog a few years ago. It is a conscious commitment to self-reflection that keeps me accountable. When I reflect on myself and see my own frailties it makes me more sensitive to the frailties within others and allows me to serve them better.
"The heart of servant leadership is when your deep passion meets the world's deep need."
Don't just pretend to love others. Really love them.
E.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
On Letting Go and Stars
I have been home for almost a week now. I am adjusting to the newness of life. I can already see that the learning curve is going to be very steep and that is exactly what I love.
The feelings that I did my best to leave behind were here to greet me when I returned. The warmness of their welcome was comforting and disconcerting all at once. I have questioned why I must feel this way so many times and have wished for the feelings to leave just as many times.
And yet, the feelings have not gone. But they have changed.
Letting go is a subtle and fragile process. It is never easy. But for me it is absolutely critical. I need to trust my future to someone greater than myself. I need to trust that a future which I have no control over will be greater than the wonderful moments of the past that I have desperately tried to hang on to.
I crave the order of systems in my external world. I craft my life into a series of deadlines and schedules and to-do lists. External order allows my internal INFJ world to function as it should: on pure intuition and spontaneity.
But I must let go. I am but a vessel in this world. My life is not my own.
So maybe that is why no matter how many times I try to run away I have been consistently brought back home.
Quo vadis?
About a week ago I was driving late at night and was lucky enough to be a witness to the clearest, starriest sky I have ever seen. It was a picturesque kind of moment--one that you never want to forget and hope that somebody else was fortunate enough to see too. I am not sure what it is about star gazing that I love so much. But when I see the stars I feel a little less alone. And I feel like there is hope (even for sometimes lonely-hearted wandering girls like me). And I need that.
Other small things this week that I realized make me happy:
-being barefoot and getting my feet dirty
-fresh pieces of paper
-boy t-shirts and baseball caps
-how free and surfer-like my hair looks when I don't comb it
-how I can read by moonlight in my room late at night
Never forget to take great delight in the small things,
E
The feelings that I did my best to leave behind were here to greet me when I returned. The warmness of their welcome was comforting and disconcerting all at once. I have questioned why I must feel this way so many times and have wished for the feelings to leave just as many times.
And yet, the feelings have not gone. But they have changed.
Letting go is a subtle and fragile process. It is never easy. But for me it is absolutely critical. I need to trust my future to someone greater than myself. I need to trust that a future which I have no control over will be greater than the wonderful moments of the past that I have desperately tried to hang on to.
I crave the order of systems in my external world. I craft my life into a series of deadlines and schedules and to-do lists. External order allows my internal INFJ world to function as it should: on pure intuition and spontaneity.
But I must let go. I am but a vessel in this world. My life is not my own.
So maybe that is why no matter how many times I try to run away I have been consistently brought back home.
Quo vadis?
About a week ago I was driving late at night and was lucky enough to be a witness to the clearest, starriest sky I have ever seen. It was a picturesque kind of moment--one that you never want to forget and hope that somebody else was fortunate enough to see too. I am not sure what it is about star gazing that I love so much. But when I see the stars I feel a little less alone. And I feel like there is hope (even for sometimes lonely-hearted wandering girls like me). And I need that.
Other small things this week that I realized make me happy:
-being barefoot and getting my feet dirty
-fresh pieces of paper
-boy t-shirts and baseball caps
-how free and surfer-like my hair looks when I don't comb it
-how I can read by moonlight in my room late at night
Never forget to take great delight in the small things,
E
Thursday, August 1, 2013
On Doubt and Friendship Part 2
The past few days have been haunted by self-doubt. Consequently, I have felt less than good. I am thankful that I do not have feelings like this often. If you have ever wrestled with self-doubt I am sure you know how terrible it feels to know the truth somewhere in you yet not be able to believe it. This is difficult for me to admit to myself. But the truth is that even though I am outwardly excelling I feel like a failure on the inside right now.
And I feel like I am not enough.
There is something that I started actively asking God for in early February of this year. His reply was "not now." I have found it unsettling to know if "not now" means "later" or "never." I have swayed back and forth between feeling at peace because I know His answer is meant to protect me and feeling annoyed that I cannot have what I think I want (childish, I know).
And now, in the midst of self-doubt I am upset with myself because I see my shortcomings as the reason for the "not now." So I find myself re-praying those prayers I wrote back in winter:
"I need your comfort on these cold days. I know that you can do all things. And I trust you. Oh great God, be small enough to hear me now."
"O gather up the brokenness / and bring it to Me now / The fragrance of those promises / You never dared to vow // The splinters that you carry / The cross you left behind / Come healing of the body / Come healing of the mind" (Leonard Cohen).
And I read and re-read my life verses from Psalm 73:
"When my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered I was senseless and ignorant. I was a brute beast before you. Yet I am always with you. You hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterword you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My heart and flesh may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
Those who are far from you will perish; you destroy all who are unfaithful to you. But as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge; I will tell of all your deeds."
Somehow, despite the cloud of bad feelings that has been lingering around me for the past couple days I feel grateful because I know that God can use me in my uncertainty. He can use my insecurities to draw me closer to Himself and depend on Him more. He can use my uncertainty to make me a better E and even a better doctor (er, doctor-in-training). :)
I have begun to organize myself to return to Saskatoon. As I have been thinking of each of my friends I have felt totally blessed because I can see that each individual has been placed in my life for a purpose. I find it both interesting and amazing that certain people have become integral to my life at just the right time. Some have been there from day one (literally) and some I have just come to know within the past year. To those who have changed my life for the better: I thank you and I love you.
Happy August 1!
E
And I feel like I am not enough.
There is something that I started actively asking God for in early February of this year. His reply was "not now." I have found it unsettling to know if "not now" means "later" or "never." I have swayed back and forth between feeling at peace because I know His answer is meant to protect me and feeling annoyed that I cannot have what I think I want (childish, I know).
And now, in the midst of self-doubt I am upset with myself because I see my shortcomings as the reason for the "not now." So I find myself re-praying those prayers I wrote back in winter:
"I need your comfort on these cold days. I know that you can do all things. And I trust you. Oh great God, be small enough to hear me now."
"O gather up the brokenness / and bring it to Me now / The fragrance of those promises / You never dared to vow // The splinters that you carry / The cross you left behind / Come healing of the body / Come healing of the mind" (Leonard Cohen).
And I read and re-read my life verses from Psalm 73:
"When my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered I was senseless and ignorant. I was a brute beast before you. Yet I am always with you. You hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterword you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My heart and flesh may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
Those who are far from you will perish; you destroy all who are unfaithful to you. But as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge; I will tell of all your deeds."
Somehow, despite the cloud of bad feelings that has been lingering around me for the past couple days I feel grateful because I know that God can use me in my uncertainty. He can use my insecurities to draw me closer to Himself and depend on Him more. He can use my uncertainty to make me a better E and even a better doctor (er, doctor-in-training). :)
I have begun to organize myself to return to Saskatoon. As I have been thinking of each of my friends I have felt totally blessed because I can see that each individual has been placed in my life for a purpose. I find it both interesting and amazing that certain people have become integral to my life at just the right time. Some have been there from day one (literally) and some I have just come to know within the past year. To those who have changed my life for the better: I thank you and I love you.
Happy August 1!
E
Sunday, July 21, 2013
On Ramadan and Friendship
I am exhausted. This past week has been interesting to say the least. I won't go into detail here, but ask me about one or more of these things sometime:
-Wednesday: a young man dressed as Link from The Legend of Zelda came into the pharmacy, asked some strange questions, and then stole items from the store.
-Thursday: I witnessed my first serious medicaI error and was on the scene at a minor medical emergency.
-Saturday/Sunday: met a classmate and future colleague at a first aid training course.
Now I am watching Bar Rescue (my favourite television program) and taking some time to relax before heading back to work tomorrow afternoon. Three more weeks. I can do this.
So, Ramadan is going on right now. For anyone who isn't familiar with what Ramadan is about, it is a 29-30 day period of fasting observed by Muslims in which no food or drink is consumed during daylight hours. But it is more than fasting, as I learned this week. It is a time of prayer, community, thanksgiving, and generosity. I was totally blessed this week by one of my Ramadan-practicing coworkers. He and I worked the night shift together last Monday. When the sun went down and he could finally partake of his one meal for the day, he invited me to sit with him and proceeded to share his meal with me. We talked about our beliefs, about our desire to be people of compassion and of generosity, and about God and Allah. We talked about the Qur'an and the Bible and the Torah and about how a true vibrant faith transcends the text and is inspired and moved by God. I left the conversation feeling glad for the opportunity to discuss matters of faith and spirituality and feeling humbled by my coworker's generosity toward me.
Today marks the start of week twelve in YQR for this girl. At the beginning of the summer I was sad about having to leave Saskatoon for 4 months. However, I now know exactly why I was brought here at this time. I am astounded by the grace of God and the way in which He is protecting my heart. And the way in which He knows me.
"The secret friendship of the Lord is with them that fear him" (Psalm 25:14, RV). Or, "The Lord confides in those who fear him; he makes his covenant known to them (Psalm 25:14, NIV). It is amazing to me that the same God that is in control of the entire universe would take those who fear Him into his confidence, as friends. As Oswald Chambers writes, the sign of a friend is not "that he tells you secret sorrows," but "that he tells you secret joys."
I want to catch the secret joys of the Lord. My desire is to be so wedded to Christ's idea of prayer (Thy will be done) that I am sensitive to His voice. "The things that make God dear to us are not so much his great big blessings as the tiny things, because they show his amazing intimacy with us; he knows every detail of our individual lives."
To my friends who have shared secret joys with me: I thank you and I treasure you. I hold you very close to my heart. I hope you hold me close to your heart, too, because I long to share my secret joys with you.
Besides feeling immensely tired, I also feel happy. Leave it up to a quiet night and a pretty new peplum top to find me feeling like a new woman.
Happy Sunday,
E.
-Wednesday: a young man dressed as Link from The Legend of Zelda came into the pharmacy, asked some strange questions, and then stole items from the store.
-Thursday: I witnessed my first serious medicaI error and was on the scene at a minor medical emergency.
-Saturday/Sunday: met a classmate and future colleague at a first aid training course.
Now I am watching Bar Rescue (my favourite television program) and taking some time to relax before heading back to work tomorrow afternoon. Three more weeks. I can do this.
So, Ramadan is going on right now. For anyone who isn't familiar with what Ramadan is about, it is a 29-30 day period of fasting observed by Muslims in which no food or drink is consumed during daylight hours. But it is more than fasting, as I learned this week. It is a time of prayer, community, thanksgiving, and generosity. I was totally blessed this week by one of my Ramadan-practicing coworkers. He and I worked the night shift together last Monday. When the sun went down and he could finally partake of his one meal for the day, he invited me to sit with him and proceeded to share his meal with me. We talked about our beliefs, about our desire to be people of compassion and of generosity, and about God and Allah. We talked about the Qur'an and the Bible and the Torah and about how a true vibrant faith transcends the text and is inspired and moved by God. I left the conversation feeling glad for the opportunity to discuss matters of faith and spirituality and feeling humbled by my coworker's generosity toward me.
Today marks the start of week twelve in YQR for this girl. At the beginning of the summer I was sad about having to leave Saskatoon for 4 months. However, I now know exactly why I was brought here at this time. I am astounded by the grace of God and the way in which He is protecting my heart. And the way in which He knows me.
"The secret friendship of the Lord is with them that fear him" (Psalm 25:14, RV). Or, "The Lord confides in those who fear him; he makes his covenant known to them (Psalm 25:14, NIV). It is amazing to me that the same God that is in control of the entire universe would take those who fear Him into his confidence, as friends. As Oswald Chambers writes, the sign of a friend is not "that he tells you secret sorrows," but "that he tells you secret joys."
I want to catch the secret joys of the Lord. My desire is to be so wedded to Christ's idea of prayer (Thy will be done) that I am sensitive to His voice. "The things that make God dear to us are not so much his great big blessings as the tiny things, because they show his amazing intimacy with us; he knows every detail of our individual lives."
To my friends who have shared secret joys with me: I thank you and I treasure you. I hold you very close to my heart. I hope you hold me close to your heart, too, because I long to share my secret joys with you.
Besides feeling immensely tired, I also feel happy. Leave it up to a quiet night and a pretty new peplum top to find me feeling like a new woman.
Happy Sunday,
E.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
On Five and Feminism
Hi!
In just over four weeks, I will be returning home. Five weeks from today is my first day as a medical student. I am trying to accept the fact that summer is almost over even though it feels like it just began. Five weeks. Thirty-five days.
I am still having a difficult time wrapping my head around seeing my dreams unfold. Every once and a while it occurs to me that I am going to be what I have been longing to be. I feel excited and scared. I feel a lot of other things too, but I am not sure how to put those feelings into words. The feeling I have takes me back to being at the sea in Castlerock, Northern Ireland. When I close my eyes I can see myself standing there, breathing in the cool mist of the seashore and letting the gentle scent of saltwater wrap itself around me. I remember how I felt so far away from home yet entirely at home at the same time. That is where I find myself now.
I have read quite a few books already this summer. One that stands out as noteworthy to me is Wendy Shalit's A Return to Modesty: Discovering the Lost Virtue. I stumbled upon Shalit's writings around Christmastime when I was browsing the feminism stacks at the university. She is thought provoking, satirical, and funny. While I do not agree with everything she writes about, much of what is written in A Return was relevant to me. In short, the book discusses how our culture has shifted from one in which a woman was to be ashamed of her sexual experience to one in which a woman should be ashamed of her sexual inexperience. Feminism's demand that women be seen as equals to men has resulted in young women being pressured to overcome their hang-ups--in particular, their hope for romance.
Feminism is meant to empower women but it has done the opposite on so many occasions. Of course I am glad that as a woman I can choose and advocate for myself. I can buy a house or a car. I can be a doctor. I can wear whatever I want because this is my body and no one else's. Or can I?
Sometimes I catch myself thinking that it would somehow be wrong or shameful of me to let myself fall in love or to be romanced. I have to admit that when I hear my girl friends talk about just wanting to get married, have kids, and be stay-at-home moms there is a part of me that does not respect them for wishing such things. And I know that's wrong and that I should not put a "just" in front of it. But I have this feeling that since I can be an independent woman that I should be. I will have my own career, my own house, my own car (or bicycle), and my own life--and I will be happy on my own because I can be. Or will I?
Women have equality with men, but not equity. And I think what most women want is equity. To be honest, as a single woman I am tired of the demands that society places on me to not only be my own wo man, but to be my own man. In a culture where respect for female modesty has nearly been completely lost I find it difficult to not have to look out for myself in this way. At this point I must be my own protector and my own provider because men who do not acknowledge or care about female modesty will not be gentlemen.
I am not just talking about dress (i.e. is my skirt too short; is my blouse too sheer?...) but about everything within a woman's character that is naturally modest and becoming. The stuff that is so wonderful about being a girl that I have sometimes felt forced to suppress.
What I want--and I think many other women would want, too--is for the right to be a woman and to be treated as a woman. Not necessarily as one "equal" to a man but as one "equitable" to him--complementary to him and vice versa. We want to know that the desires we have for romance are good and that we need not suppress them, even if first we want to be doctors or lawyers or whatever.
So men: let us be ladies. And be gentlemen to us. We are longing to give you that kind of respect in return.
Pardon my rant. This is more than enough about fourth-wave feminism for one night.
I am looking forward to seeing you Saskatonians in five. If you think of me, let me know. I am always up for a call or a skype. I am thinking of you often and praying big prayers for you (Ephesians 3:14-21 style prayers).
Here's to believing that romance is not dead.
Cheers,
E.
In just over four weeks, I will be returning home. Five weeks from today is my first day as a medical student. I am trying to accept the fact that summer is almost over even though it feels like it just began. Five weeks. Thirty-five days.
I am still having a difficult time wrapping my head around seeing my dreams unfold. Every once and a while it occurs to me that I am going to be what I have been longing to be. I feel excited and scared. I feel a lot of other things too, but I am not sure how to put those feelings into words. The feeling I have takes me back to being at the sea in Castlerock, Northern Ireland. When I close my eyes I can see myself standing there, breathing in the cool mist of the seashore and letting the gentle scent of saltwater wrap itself around me. I remember how I felt so far away from home yet entirely at home at the same time. That is where I find myself now.
I have read quite a few books already this summer. One that stands out as noteworthy to me is Wendy Shalit's A Return to Modesty: Discovering the Lost Virtue. I stumbled upon Shalit's writings around Christmastime when I was browsing the feminism stacks at the university. She is thought provoking, satirical, and funny. While I do not agree with everything she writes about, much of what is written in A Return was relevant to me. In short, the book discusses how our culture has shifted from one in which a woman was to be ashamed of her sexual experience to one in which a woman should be ashamed of her sexual inexperience. Feminism's demand that women be seen as equals to men has resulted in young women being pressured to overcome their hang-ups--in particular, their hope for romance.
Feminism is meant to empower women but it has done the opposite on so many occasions. Of course I am glad that as a woman I can choose and advocate for myself. I can buy a house or a car. I can be a doctor. I can wear whatever I want because this is my body and no one else's. Or can I?
Sometimes I catch myself thinking that it would somehow be wrong or shameful of me to let myself fall in love or to be romanced. I have to admit that when I hear my girl friends talk about just wanting to get married, have kids, and be stay-at-home moms there is a part of me that does not respect them for wishing such things. And I know that's wrong and that I should not put a "just" in front of it. But I have this feeling that since I can be an independent woman that I should be. I will have my own career, my own house, my own car (or bicycle), and my own life--and I will be happy on my own because I can be. Or will I?
Women have equality with men, but not equity. And I think what most women want is equity. To be honest, as a single woman I am tired of the demands that society places on me to not only be my own wo man, but to be my own man. In a culture where respect for female modesty has nearly been completely lost I find it difficult to not have to look out for myself in this way. At this point I must be my own protector and my own provider because men who do not acknowledge or care about female modesty will not be gentlemen.
I am not just talking about dress (i.e. is my skirt too short; is my blouse too sheer?...) but about everything within a woman's character that is naturally modest and becoming. The stuff that is so wonderful about being a girl that I have sometimes felt forced to suppress.
What I want--and I think many other women would want, too--is for the right to be a woman and to be treated as a woman. Not necessarily as one "equal" to a man but as one "equitable" to him--complementary to him and vice versa. We want to know that the desires we have for romance are good and that we need not suppress them, even if first we want to be doctors or lawyers or whatever.
So men: let us be ladies. And be gentlemen to us. We are longing to give you that kind of respect in return.
Pardon my rant. This is more than enough about fourth-wave feminism for one night.
I am looking forward to seeing you Saskatonians in five. If you think of me, let me know. I am always up for a call or a skype. I am thinking of you often and praying big prayers for you (Ephesians 3:14-21 style prayers).
Here's to believing that romance is not dead.
Cheers,
E.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
On Exposure and the Supermoon
I am on my way back to my summer home after a brief, somewhat impromptu trip to Saskatoon.
I had a few reasons for returning to my home home--one of them being to eat birthday cake my mom made for me (Reese's Pieces ice cream cake--yum!). However, I was on the run from the moment I returned to Saskatoon. By the time I made it in the door of my house to "stay" (11:15 pm) the ice cream cake was still not ready to be eaten so I went to bed. I was up and busy from 8 this morning until 5:30 pm when I boarded the bus back to my summer home. Now I am on the road again and realizing that I never even got to try any of my birthday cake. Hopefully the rest of my family enjoys it.
This weekend was one of those times where I went home but did not feel at home at all. After quickly unpacking my things on Saturday night I left my house feeling that I just needed to get out and away from the unsettled feelings. So I did.
I pulled on my Chuck Taylors and rain coat and drove to the river to get a dose of fresh air. Walking by yourself in the evening is interesting because it is rare to see anyone else alone. Couples are out in droves, holding hands and exchanging knowing glances and saliva. Families are out, too, some with young children with remnants of chocolate ice cream around their lips. I climbed up the train bridge with full intentions of staying to watch the supermoon rise over the water. I stood and watched the river for several minutes and allowed my mind to go where it pleased and feel what it needed to. For a moment I wondered about what it would feel like to topple over the edge of the bridge and let my body succumb to the icy gray waves. When things feel out of control I tend to crave, or at least imagine, feeling out of control in the physical sense as well. Not because I want to put myself in a place of harm, but because a physical lack of control is so much easier to understand than whatever this thing is. I close my eyes and imagine I am free falling and it feels good. I breathe a little bit easier again and let my shoulders relax.
Not only does walking alone provide you with a perfect opportunity to people watch, but it provides people with a perfect opportunity to watch you. I walk briskly and with purpose even though there really is no rhyme or reason to where I go. I just like to move fast because it makes me feel like I am getting away. As I walk I notice certain individuals noticing me. Some give me glances that make me feel that they might know why I am alone and that makes me feel a bit exposed. Twenty-two and still brutally independent. Another flower-less season for E. A girl around my age walks past me with a group of friends. She is wearing tiny white shorts and a crop top. I think to myself how ironic it is that I am likely feeling far more exposed than she, despite the fact that I am covered from the neck down.
I am glad to feel exposed, though. My soul and feelings are normally so enveloped in secrecy. Often I wonder why I am this way. I tell myself that I am not trying to be so enigmatic, yet sometimes I think I may be the most puzzling person on earth. I cannot even wrap my mind around my thoughts sometimes even though I am the one thinking them. But to bare the soul when the time is right is a wonderful thing. I have been brave enough to do this on two occasions in the past few weeks and I am glad that I have chosen to fear a little bit less.
A few days ago, I caught a glimpse of myself in a piece of glass. My eyes were navy-gray and looked like little stormclouds, as they do sometimes when I am pensive. It was a very strange feeling, but when my own eyes looked back at me I realized for the first time that I knew the girl behind those navy-gray stormclouds very well and that I liked her very much. It is an unusual but wonderful feeling to know that you know yourself. I recalled writing a journal entry for my eighth grade teacher on the topic of identity and how, at that time, I felt as though somehow I knew myself at fourteen in a way that I did not--and could not--at thirteen. I never knew at fourteen that my mind and heart would grow so greatly and that my own character would grow into them and feel at ease dwelling there. But that is where I am now, at twenty-two.
Scared and staring over the precipice of another new adventure but completely ready for it.
Hope you will come along for the ride,
E
I had a few reasons for returning to my home home--one of them being to eat birthday cake my mom made for me (Reese's Pieces ice cream cake--yum!). However, I was on the run from the moment I returned to Saskatoon. By the time I made it in the door of my house to "stay" (11:15 pm) the ice cream cake was still not ready to be eaten so I went to bed. I was up and busy from 8 this morning until 5:30 pm when I boarded the bus back to my summer home. Now I am on the road again and realizing that I never even got to try any of my birthday cake. Hopefully the rest of my family enjoys it.
This weekend was one of those times where I went home but did not feel at home at all. After quickly unpacking my things on Saturday night I left my house feeling that I just needed to get out and away from the unsettled feelings. So I did.
I pulled on my Chuck Taylors and rain coat and drove to the river to get a dose of fresh air. Walking by yourself in the evening is interesting because it is rare to see anyone else alone. Couples are out in droves, holding hands and exchanging knowing glances and saliva. Families are out, too, some with young children with remnants of chocolate ice cream around their lips. I climbed up the train bridge with full intentions of staying to watch the supermoon rise over the water. I stood and watched the river for several minutes and allowed my mind to go where it pleased and feel what it needed to. For a moment I wondered about what it would feel like to topple over the edge of the bridge and let my body succumb to the icy gray waves. When things feel out of control I tend to crave, or at least imagine, feeling out of control in the physical sense as well. Not because I want to put myself in a place of harm, but because a physical lack of control is so much easier to understand than whatever this thing is. I close my eyes and imagine I am free falling and it feels good. I breathe a little bit easier again and let my shoulders relax.
Not only does walking alone provide you with a perfect opportunity to people watch, but it provides people with a perfect opportunity to watch you. I walk briskly and with purpose even though there really is no rhyme or reason to where I go. I just like to move fast because it makes me feel like I am getting away. As I walk I notice certain individuals noticing me. Some give me glances that make me feel that they might know why I am alone and that makes me feel a bit exposed. Twenty-two and still brutally independent. Another flower-less season for E. A girl around my age walks past me with a group of friends. She is wearing tiny white shorts and a crop top. I think to myself how ironic it is that I am likely feeling far more exposed than she, despite the fact that I am covered from the neck down.
I am glad to feel exposed, though. My soul and feelings are normally so enveloped in secrecy. Often I wonder why I am this way. I tell myself that I am not trying to be so enigmatic, yet sometimes I think I may be the most puzzling person on earth. I cannot even wrap my mind around my thoughts sometimes even though I am the one thinking them. But to bare the soul when the time is right is a wonderful thing. I have been brave enough to do this on two occasions in the past few weeks and I am glad that I have chosen to fear a little bit less.
A few days ago, I caught a glimpse of myself in a piece of glass. My eyes were navy-gray and looked like little stormclouds, as they do sometimes when I am pensive. It was a very strange feeling, but when my own eyes looked back at me I realized for the first time that I knew the girl behind those navy-gray stormclouds very well and that I liked her very much. It is an unusual but wonderful feeling to know that you know yourself. I recalled writing a journal entry for my eighth grade teacher on the topic of identity and how, at that time, I felt as though somehow I knew myself at fourteen in a way that I did not--and could not--at thirteen. I never knew at fourteen that my mind and heart would grow so greatly and that my own character would grow into them and feel at ease dwelling there. But that is where I am now, at twenty-two.
Scared and staring over the precipice of another new adventure but completely ready for it.
Hope you will come along for the ride,
E
Sunday, June 9, 2013
On Wants and Paper
Today began with a nauseous feeling rousing me from sleep at 5:30 a.m. I grabbed my puzzle book and jammed my dilapidated headphones into my ears in an attempt to drown out the malaise with numbers and words and alternative British music.
By seven I was dreaming again and my imagination was conjuring up wonderful images. I dreamed of my future home. It was an unassuming property with lots of trees in the yard in the middle of a new city. There was an ebony baby grand in the living room and the walls were painted in my favourite colours. There were other people in my home but I only recognized some of their faces. Yet I knew that I loved them all very much and that they felt the same about me.
Later in the dream the patrons of my home went on their way and left me to myself. I thought to myself about how much I loved my home because it seemed like a place where you could be quiet or loud or whatever you wanted to be. I went to my desk which was logically organized and dimly lit (and perfectly grand, in my estimation) and began to analyze some liquid chromatography reports, which seemed to be a part of my job.
Later in the evening Mr. Loneliness came calling. Mr. Loneliness is one of those dream characters I have known since I was young. He is always dressed in an exquisite black tuxedo and impeccable top hat. His attire augments his already tall, thin frame. Naturally, he carries a pocketwatch. Ironically, I never feel lonely when I am with him. Sometimes when I am by myself in dreams he will follow me like a shadow but I do not mind because he is the only one that understands the things I am feeling. We break bread together and digest the starch and the day.
Later, Glasses--another old dream friend--knocks on my door and I let him in. I have never known his real name so I just call him Glasses because he always sports thick black frames. I am not as close to Glasses as I am to Mr. Loneliness but I like him very much. He is much more of a thinker than is Mr. Loneliness and is always eager to give me advice. The three of us spend the remainder of the evening beneath lights in the yard.
I am not sure how this is possible, but seeing those old dream friends brought a certain comfort to me after a long, lonely-ish week. There have been several times within the past week where I have been in want of particular things. Yet, at the end of the day, and again at the end of the week, I am made fully aware that I do indeed have all the things I need.
Although I could use some new socks (mine have become awfully shabby) and some journal paper.
I forgot my journal as well as an assortment of other important things at my home home because the last time I left I felt like a scatterbrained wreck. Blogging is fine but sometimes a writer craves the intimacy of real pen and paper.
So: if you are coming my way, please send socks. And paper.
Hope you enjoyed peering into my imagination. The mind truly is a weird and wonderful place, isn't it?
E
By seven I was dreaming again and my imagination was conjuring up wonderful images. I dreamed of my future home. It was an unassuming property with lots of trees in the yard in the middle of a new city. There was an ebony baby grand in the living room and the walls were painted in my favourite colours. There were other people in my home but I only recognized some of their faces. Yet I knew that I loved them all very much and that they felt the same about me.
Later in the dream the patrons of my home went on their way and left me to myself. I thought to myself about how much I loved my home because it seemed like a place where you could be quiet or loud or whatever you wanted to be. I went to my desk which was logically organized and dimly lit (and perfectly grand, in my estimation) and began to analyze some liquid chromatography reports, which seemed to be a part of my job.
Later in the evening Mr. Loneliness came calling. Mr. Loneliness is one of those dream characters I have known since I was young. He is always dressed in an exquisite black tuxedo and impeccable top hat. His attire augments his already tall, thin frame. Naturally, he carries a pocketwatch. Ironically, I never feel lonely when I am with him. Sometimes when I am by myself in dreams he will follow me like a shadow but I do not mind because he is the only one that understands the things I am feeling. We break bread together and digest the starch and the day.
Later, Glasses--another old dream friend--knocks on my door and I let him in. I have never known his real name so I just call him Glasses because he always sports thick black frames. I am not as close to Glasses as I am to Mr. Loneliness but I like him very much. He is much more of a thinker than is Mr. Loneliness and is always eager to give me advice. The three of us spend the remainder of the evening beneath lights in the yard.
I am not sure how this is possible, but seeing those old dream friends brought a certain comfort to me after a long, lonely-ish week. There have been several times within the past week where I have been in want of particular things. Yet, at the end of the day, and again at the end of the week, I am made fully aware that I do indeed have all the things I need.
Although I could use some new socks (mine have become awfully shabby) and some journal paper.
I forgot my journal as well as an assortment of other important things at my home home because the last time I left I felt like a scatterbrained wreck. Blogging is fine but sometimes a writer craves the intimacy of real pen and paper.
So: if you are coming my way, please send socks. And paper.
Hope you enjoyed peering into my imagination. The mind truly is a weird and wonderful place, isn't it?
E
Sunday, June 2, 2013
On Bones and Textualism
It feels wonderful to be home for a few days. I have always considered myself to be one to adapt well to new things, but there are certain comforts intrinsic to my "home" home that I cannot deny. The most noteworthy: being back at EBC for Sunday--to be involved in drawing others to a place of worship and to be in communion with friends and family whom I care so deeply for means so much to me. I have been missing this at my summer home even though I have met many people who have been so gracious, accommodating, and accepting toward me.
The topic of today's message was "the person and work of the Holy Spirit." So much of what was shared today resonated with me.
I was with the Lord last night before I fell asleep and I was just thinking about how amazing it is that I can be with the Lord. And that He is the Lord to me and yet He is more than Lord to me: dwelling closer than my skin and loving my soul in a fierce and everlasting way. I am so thankful for the Holy Spirit.
I was reading in Ezekiel last night as well. Chapter 37 is titled The Valley of Dry Bones and I think I have only actually read it for myself once before last night. Here's what happens: Ezekiel (E) is led by the Spirit of the Lord to a valley that happens to be full of old, dead, dry bones. The spirit asks E if he thinks the bones can live. E is a wise prophet so he answers that the Lord alone can know whether the bones are capable of living.
The spirit then uses E to prophesy to the bones. He speaks through E, saying: "Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord."
And it was as the spirit said. The spirit goes on to explain to E that the dry bones are an image of the nation of Israel. (Even though E is probably one of the wisest prophets out there he needs the spirit to reveal His purposes in order to understand). Just as it was with the dry bones, the Lord says he will restore his people. "I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it."
The surrounding text is also full of restorative language, for example: "I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws." (36:25-27)
A few things stood out to me from this:
(1) It is the Spirit that gives life and breathes life. There is so much meaning in the passage in 2 Timothy that says, "All scripture is God breathed...". The Spirit does more than simply inspire Scripture; the Spirit lives and breathes Scripture. That is, the Spirit expires as well as inspires. Furthermore, the Spirit is breathing and is bringing life in the present tense.
(2) To understand the Spirit, we must have the Spirit revealed to us. "The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man‘s spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us." (1 Cor 2:10-11)
(3) The Spirit has brought life to my life. I cannot explain how wonderful it is to know this. Last night my eyes welled up with tears as I came to understand this truth again. The spirit has moved and is moving in me and I cannot help but feel, well...moved. I even allowed some of the tears to spill and trace tiny streams down my face. The most amazing part of having the spirit to me is that my physical body, my mind, and my abilities become a vector for the Spirit to carry out the will of God. That changes everything for me: how I dress, how I speak, how I think, and how I choose to act. Not that I am doing everything right...but I am learning how to be real and how to be a suitable spirit-vehicle.
(4) It is the Spirit behind the text, not the text itself that brings life. This is a subtle but significant difference. A religion based on intellectual understanding of text will likely be disenchanting and empty. The essence of textualism is a faith that mentally "knows" but understands nothing of God because it knows nothing of Spirit. The Spirit is absolutely critical to the comprehension and implementation of the will of the Lord.
...
On another note, this month has been full of so many happy things for me. I feel like I am soaring. I feel like I am on the edge of more good things. I am ready to put some toppings on my vanilla pudding.
Hope all is well,
E.
The topic of today's message was "the person and work of the Holy Spirit." So much of what was shared today resonated with me.
I was with the Lord last night before I fell asleep and I was just thinking about how amazing it is that I can be with the Lord. And that He is the Lord to me and yet He is more than Lord to me: dwelling closer than my skin and loving my soul in a fierce and everlasting way. I am so thankful for the Holy Spirit.
I was reading in Ezekiel last night as well. Chapter 37 is titled The Valley of Dry Bones and I think I have only actually read it for myself once before last night. Here's what happens: Ezekiel (E) is led by the Spirit of the Lord to a valley that happens to be full of old, dead, dry bones. The spirit asks E if he thinks the bones can live. E is a wise prophet so he answers that the Lord alone can know whether the bones are capable of living.
The spirit then uses E to prophesy to the bones. He speaks through E, saying: "Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord."
And it was as the spirit said. The spirit goes on to explain to E that the dry bones are an image of the nation of Israel. (Even though E is probably one of the wisest prophets out there he needs the spirit to reveal His purposes in order to understand). Just as it was with the dry bones, the Lord says he will restore his people. "I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it."
The surrounding text is also full of restorative language, for example: "I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws." (36:25-27)
A few things stood out to me from this:
(1) It is the Spirit that gives life and breathes life. There is so much meaning in the passage in 2 Timothy that says, "All scripture is God breathed...". The Spirit does more than simply inspire Scripture; the Spirit lives and breathes Scripture. That is, the Spirit expires as well as inspires. Furthermore, the Spirit is breathing and is bringing life in the present tense.
(2) To understand the Spirit, we must have the Spirit revealed to us. "The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man‘s spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us." (1 Cor 2:10-11)
(3) The Spirit has brought life to my life. I cannot explain how wonderful it is to know this. Last night my eyes welled up with tears as I came to understand this truth again. The spirit has moved and is moving in me and I cannot help but feel, well...moved. I even allowed some of the tears to spill and trace tiny streams down my face. The most amazing part of having the spirit to me is that my physical body, my mind, and my abilities become a vector for the Spirit to carry out the will of God. That changes everything for me: how I dress, how I speak, how I think, and how I choose to act. Not that I am doing everything right...but I am learning how to be real and how to be a suitable spirit-vehicle.
(4) It is the Spirit behind the text, not the text itself that brings life. This is a subtle but significant difference. A religion based on intellectual understanding of text will likely be disenchanting and empty. The essence of textualism is a faith that mentally "knows" but understands nothing of God because it knows nothing of Spirit. The Spirit is absolutely critical to the comprehension and implementation of the will of the Lord.
...
On another note, this month has been full of so many happy things for me. I feel like I am soaring. I feel like I am on the edge of more good things. I am ready to put some toppings on my vanilla pudding.
Hope all is well,
E.
Friday, May 3, 2013
On Love Smart and Broken Hearts
Hello and happy May!
I have had the entire week off and have been enjoying days relaxing by myself and evenings catching up with people I love. Life has felt unrealistically leisurely. I feel rested and ready for new things.
Last night I started to think about the summer and some other things and I started to feel a little bit scared. I felt a little bit sad, too. And my heart has been hurting a little bit, too.
But despite all these convoluted feelings, I am still at peace. I am still content, excited, and happy at the core of me. I am not sure if you have ever had your heart broken. I have, and it hurts a lot because even if you can lie to the world about feeling alright, you can never lie to yourself or escape your own brokenness.
I was privileged enough to see the legendary Leonard Cohen in concert earlier this week. So much of his poetry has been influential to me. His concert was amazing. The lyrics and prose he presented were generally dark and crammed with heavy topics: sex, drugs, and broken hearts. I nearly burst when he spoke 1000 Kisses Deep. What I loved the most was that amidst all the stories of brokenness and despair there was a gentle, unexplained, unannounced performance of the song Come Healing. The lyrics are incredible. And the timing of the song was just impeccable. It has been true for me that healing has come in the middle of dark times. The words of the song touched something in my soul that I did not know needed to be touched. I love that healing is continual. I love that I am still making progress and getting better. And I am thankful to know what it is to be broken, because, as Cohen would say, "There's a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in."
Since I have had so much free time this week, I have been scouring the stacks of some of the local libraries. I am mildly embarrassed to admit that the self help genre may be my favourite. Self help books are just so...funny. The ones on dating and relationships are especially hilarious! I always risk feeling like a loser for checking so many of them out...but I like them too much to care about what anyone thinks!
Below is some golden advice I found in a book called "The Body Language of Dating:"
-"if you want to elicit the most powerful emotions from the average guy, direct the majority of your petition to his left side. Sit at his left side, speak into his left ear, look into his left eye, and stroke his left arm." (The thought here is that the man's emotional center is on the right side of his brain, which receives signals from the left side of the body. Shoot--so that's why he hasn't asked me to be his girlfriend yet...I always sit to his right).
-the book goes on to suggest practicing flirty moves on men you are not interested in ("anywhere that you can find an audience") until you're ready for "big league flirting" with the "specimen" of your choice. (Yeah...I don't think so. Plus, I think it is offensive and strange to refer to men as "specimens.")
-"an insecure woman will hide her thumbs, tucking them against the palms of her hands or stuffing them into her pockets...the farther from the palm the thumb is held, and the more upward it is pointing, the more powerful and confident the thumb's proprietor is feeling." (Hm...so I guess I will give out more thumbs ups on my next date?)
-"touch through association: passing an object to the target of your affection gives you a perfect excuse to exchange an almost-touch." (Ah yes, the wonderful "almost-touch")
-"The Deliberate Accident: Oops! You both reached for the same napkin and brushed hands. You bumped into him while shakin' your funmaker under the disco ball. You grazed his finger while reaching for the pen he was extending toward you. Accidental? In his estimation, yes. Effective? Extremely." (I can't disregard the power of touch but how this statement is written is ridiculous. And I hate that throughout this book the author makes it seem that women can't be honest and deliberately in control. Our only hope is to make deliberate "accidents" and dream that the guy we like will pick up on them and do something about it).
-"an embellished day planner can be supersexy." (I love my day planner but I can't think of any guy who would care too much about it).
-"give him 4 or 5 seconds of dreamy eye contact, smile demurely, look in a downward direction, make a few more seconds of eye contact, and tilt your head to the left--in that order." (Whaaaat?)
Funny, yes?
I also picked up a copy of Dr. Phil's "Love Smart." I can't bash it too much because it is mostly common sense and logical. One thing he says is that "Loving smart means believing in you, your worth, and your value." He writes that if we focus on loving the aspects of ourselves that make us unique, we can be marketable in the dating world without having to compromise our individuality.
After skimming through "Love Smart," I realized that my desire is not to love smart, but to love well. I would say that loving well means believing in others, their worth, and their value. Loving well means the focus shifts from yourself to others while still believing in yourself.
Here's to being ready for Love,
E.
I have had the entire week off and have been enjoying days relaxing by myself and evenings catching up with people I love. Life has felt unrealistically leisurely. I feel rested and ready for new things.
Last night I started to think about the summer and some other things and I started to feel a little bit scared. I felt a little bit sad, too. And my heart has been hurting a little bit, too.
But despite all these convoluted feelings, I am still at peace. I am still content, excited, and happy at the core of me. I am not sure if you have ever had your heart broken. I have, and it hurts a lot because even if you can lie to the world about feeling alright, you can never lie to yourself or escape your own brokenness.
I was privileged enough to see the legendary Leonard Cohen in concert earlier this week. So much of his poetry has been influential to me. His concert was amazing. The lyrics and prose he presented were generally dark and crammed with heavy topics: sex, drugs, and broken hearts. I nearly burst when he spoke 1000 Kisses Deep. What I loved the most was that amidst all the stories of brokenness and despair there was a gentle, unexplained, unannounced performance of the song Come Healing. The lyrics are incredible. And the timing of the song was just impeccable. It has been true for me that healing has come in the middle of dark times. The words of the song touched something in my soul that I did not know needed to be touched. I love that healing is continual. I love that I am still making progress and getting better. And I am thankful to know what it is to be broken, because, as Cohen would say, "There's a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in."
Since I have had so much free time this week, I have been scouring the stacks of some of the local libraries. I am mildly embarrassed to admit that the self help genre may be my favourite. Self help books are just so...funny. The ones on dating and relationships are especially hilarious! I always risk feeling like a loser for checking so many of them out...but I like them too much to care about what anyone thinks!
Below is some golden advice I found in a book called "The Body Language of Dating:"
-"if you want to elicit the most powerful emotions from the average guy, direct the majority of your petition to his left side. Sit at his left side, speak into his left ear, look into his left eye, and stroke his left arm." (The thought here is that the man's emotional center is on the right side of his brain, which receives signals from the left side of the body. Shoot--so that's why he hasn't asked me to be his girlfriend yet...I always sit to his right).
-the book goes on to suggest practicing flirty moves on men you are not interested in ("anywhere that you can find an audience") until you're ready for "big league flirting" with the "specimen" of your choice. (Yeah...I don't think so. Plus, I think it is offensive and strange to refer to men as "specimens.")
-"an insecure woman will hide her thumbs, tucking them against the palms of her hands or stuffing them into her pockets...the farther from the palm the thumb is held, and the more upward it is pointing, the more powerful and confident the thumb's proprietor is feeling." (Hm...so I guess I will give out more thumbs ups on my next date?)
-"touch through association: passing an object to the target of your affection gives you a perfect excuse to exchange an almost-touch." (Ah yes, the wonderful "almost-touch")
-"The Deliberate Accident: Oops! You both reached for the same napkin and brushed hands. You bumped into him while shakin' your funmaker under the disco ball. You grazed his finger while reaching for the pen he was extending toward you. Accidental? In his estimation, yes. Effective? Extremely." (I can't disregard the power of touch but how this statement is written is ridiculous. And I hate that throughout this book the author makes it seem that women can't be honest and deliberately in control. Our only hope is to make deliberate "accidents" and dream that the guy we like will pick up on them and do something about it).
-"an embellished day planner can be supersexy." (I love my day planner but I can't think of any guy who would care too much about it).
-"give him 4 or 5 seconds of dreamy eye contact, smile demurely, look in a downward direction, make a few more seconds of eye contact, and tilt your head to the left--in that order." (Whaaaat?)
Funny, yes?
I also picked up a copy of Dr. Phil's "Love Smart." I can't bash it too much because it is mostly common sense and logical. One thing he says is that "Loving smart means believing in you, your worth, and your value." He writes that if we focus on loving the aspects of ourselves that make us unique, we can be marketable in the dating world without having to compromise our individuality.
After skimming through "Love Smart," I realized that my desire is not to love smart, but to love well. I would say that loving well means believing in others, their worth, and their value. Loving well means the focus shifts from yourself to others while still believing in yourself.
Here's to being ready for Love,
E.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
On Kingdom Stuff and Righteousness
I am sitting in my room wishing for sunshine to sneak through my window as I daydream. I just started reading a book on mental and emotional wellness by Grant Mullen, MD. I like it so far, mostly because Mullen provides a spiritual perspective on depression and anxiety on top of the knowledge he supplies as a physician.
Think about this: Mullen's first interest in medicine was anesthesia because he was intrigued by the control of physical pain pathways. What he discovered, however, was that more of his patients were suffering from emotional pain than from physical pain. That's heavy stuff.
In my experience, the church has generally avoided discussing mental illness. I am wondering why this is the case. Maybe it is because there is so much stigma around the issue in general and in terms like "mental illness" and "depression." Or maybe there has been a lack of understanding of what it means to be mentally well or unwell, in both the physiological and the spiritual sense.
Or maybe it goes deeper than that. Maybe we have forgotten what it actually means to seek the kingdom of God.
Think about this: a kingdom is where a king reigns. God's kingdom is where He reigns: over the entire spiritual realm. One day, everyone will know the fullness of His kingship. But for those who know Him and love Him now, the desire must be to seek His kingdom in the present tense.
And in His kingdom broken people are accepted and healed. Joy that has been stolen is retrieved. Hearts and minds that have been shattered are restored. His children bless one another because they understand the sheer glory of seeking His will.
I am tired of hearing of individuals who have been stigmatized or looked down upon for seeking treatment for mental illness. It is especially disturbing to hear this from Christians. Things like, "did you know s/he's taking antidepressants?", when stated for the purpose of judgment, must stop. First, because the public knows so little of the physiology and drugs of mental illness. Second, about fifty percent of North Americans will experience a form of mental illness during their lifetime--Christians included. Third, and more importantly: seeking healing is kingdom stuff. And the kingdom is what we are to be pursuing first (Matthew 6:33). People do not need your judgment; they need your support. They need your affirmation in seeking healing. Not all things can simply be "named and claimed." Stop judging and start helping.
As I was studying this week, I rediscovered a note I made in a lecture a few weeks back that nearly tore me apart: "we are more content with the misery we know now than the possibility of a misery free future." How true that is. I can be so risk averse at times and I praise myself for it because it leads to safe decisions. But a safe decision is not necessarily a good decision and vice versa.
I promised myself at the beginning of this year that I would not be afraid of things I do not understand. It is changing me. What great risk, to truly live.
And what great risk to truly believe God and to seek His kingdom first. "Abraham believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness" (Romans 4:3). It was not keeping laws, rendering services, or performing rituals that earned him credit before God. It was belief. "Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had the power to do what he had promised. This is why ‘it was credited to him as righteousness.'" (4:20-22)
Here's to taking more risks,
E
Think about this: Mullen's first interest in medicine was anesthesia because he was intrigued by the control of physical pain pathways. What he discovered, however, was that more of his patients were suffering from emotional pain than from physical pain. That's heavy stuff.
In my experience, the church has generally avoided discussing mental illness. I am wondering why this is the case. Maybe it is because there is so much stigma around the issue in general and in terms like "mental illness" and "depression." Or maybe there has been a lack of understanding of what it means to be mentally well or unwell, in both the physiological and the spiritual sense.
Or maybe it goes deeper than that. Maybe we have forgotten what it actually means to seek the kingdom of God.
Think about this: a kingdom is where a king reigns. God's kingdom is where He reigns: over the entire spiritual realm. One day, everyone will know the fullness of His kingship. But for those who know Him and love Him now, the desire must be to seek His kingdom in the present tense.
And in His kingdom broken people are accepted and healed. Joy that has been stolen is retrieved. Hearts and minds that have been shattered are restored. His children bless one another because they understand the sheer glory of seeking His will.
I am tired of hearing of individuals who have been stigmatized or looked down upon for seeking treatment for mental illness. It is especially disturbing to hear this from Christians. Things like, "did you know s/he's taking antidepressants?", when stated for the purpose of judgment, must stop. First, because the public knows so little of the physiology and drugs of mental illness. Second, about fifty percent of North Americans will experience a form of mental illness during their lifetime--Christians included. Third, and more importantly: seeking healing is kingdom stuff. And the kingdom is what we are to be pursuing first (Matthew 6:33). People do not need your judgment; they need your support. They need your affirmation in seeking healing. Not all things can simply be "named and claimed." Stop judging and start helping.
As I was studying this week, I rediscovered a note I made in a lecture a few weeks back that nearly tore me apart: "we are more content with the misery we know now than the possibility of a misery free future." How true that is. I can be so risk averse at times and I praise myself for it because it leads to safe decisions. But a safe decision is not necessarily a good decision and vice versa.
I promised myself at the beginning of this year that I would not be afraid of things I do not understand. It is changing me. What great risk, to truly live.
And what great risk to truly believe God and to seek His kingdom first. "Abraham believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness" (Romans 4:3). It was not keeping laws, rendering services, or performing rituals that earned him credit before God. It was belief. "Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had the power to do what he had promised. This is why ‘it was credited to him as righteousness.'" (4:20-22)
Here's to taking more risks,
E
Thursday, April 4, 2013
On Memory and Crayons
I have found myself suitably drenched in memory this week. The best part about it is that I feel good. I certainly did not feel good on this day two years ago when I wrote:
"Feeling uneasy. Can't help it. I tried to fix the mistake and I couldn't...sent the final farewell. Cried in the shower so no one could hear my sobs over the rush of water or question why my face and hair were drenched. I want to feel at peace but I feel completely dejected. I want to forget. I want to start over. I want to move to a new city. I want to stop thinking about how much it hurts to have someone be so angry at you. But I am going to forgive. And I'm not going to forget or give up because I'm not the kind of person who gives up. I was entirely restless last night. I am glad God forgives...my body is weak from shaking. I tremble because I am sad. What happens next? I just want to move on and forget about the hurt this...brought. Feeling uneasy."
I am not quick to believe in "signs," but I think I stumbled upon one this week. In "My Utmost for His Highest," the April 3 page says:
"Never be afraid when God brings back the past. Let memory have its way. It is a minister of God with its rebuke and chastisement and sorrow. God will turn the "might have been" into a wonderful culture for the future."
I truly believe those words were meant for me at this time. I used to want to forget so badly because I thought that losing the memory would make me feel better: happier, less anxious, and less guilty. But now I have a kind of divine acceptance of the bad memory and I find myself rejoicing in the correction that it brings.
In a sense I feel like the psalmist in Psalm 73. I was a "brute beast before God, yet [He] is always with me." Today I feel like the happiest girl in the world. I feel comforted and loved and I like who I am. Not in a vain way, but with a peaceful, assured confidence of my worth because of all Christ has done. Confession: I was so happy today that I listened to One Direction and had a dance party. It sounds like an all-time low but believe me when I say it was cheesily amazing. I hope you don't think less of me for it.
On a mostly unrelated topic, I figured I would post one of my favourite quotes.
"Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8 color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64 color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64 color box, though I've got a few missing. It's okay though, because I've got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8 color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation. So when I meet someone who's an 8 color type...I'm like, hey girl, Magenta! and she's like, oh, you mean purple! and she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, no I want Magenta!"
-John Mayer
Maybe it is wrong of me, but I do fancy myself to be a 64 color box. If you know any other 64 color boxes or magenta thinkers, let me know. :-)
Love,
E.
"Feeling uneasy. Can't help it. I tried to fix the mistake and I couldn't...sent the final farewell. Cried in the shower so no one could hear my sobs over the rush of water or question why my face and hair were drenched. I want to feel at peace but I feel completely dejected. I want to forget. I want to start over. I want to move to a new city. I want to stop thinking about how much it hurts to have someone be so angry at you. But I am going to forgive. And I'm not going to forget or give up because I'm not the kind of person who gives up. I was entirely restless last night. I am glad God forgives...my body is weak from shaking. I tremble because I am sad. What happens next? I just want to move on and forget about the hurt this...brought. Feeling uneasy."
I am not quick to believe in "signs," but I think I stumbled upon one this week. In "My Utmost for His Highest," the April 3 page says:
"Never be afraid when God brings back the past. Let memory have its way. It is a minister of God with its rebuke and chastisement and sorrow. God will turn the "might have been" into a wonderful culture for the future."
I truly believe those words were meant for me at this time. I used to want to forget so badly because I thought that losing the memory would make me feel better: happier, less anxious, and less guilty. But now I have a kind of divine acceptance of the bad memory and I find myself rejoicing in the correction that it brings.
In a sense I feel like the psalmist in Psalm 73. I was a "brute beast before God, yet [He] is always with me." Today I feel like the happiest girl in the world. I feel comforted and loved and I like who I am. Not in a vain way, but with a peaceful, assured confidence of my worth because of all Christ has done. Confession: I was so happy today that I listened to One Direction and had a dance party. It sounds like an all-time low but believe me when I say it was cheesily amazing. I hope you don't think less of me for it.
On a mostly unrelated topic, I figured I would post one of my favourite quotes.
"Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8 color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64 color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64 color box, though I've got a few missing. It's okay though, because I've got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8 color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation. So when I meet someone who's an 8 color type...I'm like, hey girl, Magenta! and she's like, oh, you mean purple! and she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, no I want Magenta!"
-John Mayer
Maybe it is wrong of me, but I do fancy myself to be a 64 color box. If you know any other 64 color boxes or magenta thinkers, let me know. :-)
Love,
E.
Monday, March 4, 2013
On Good Things and Green Spaces
I have a few stories to tell:
Story 1: January was the longest month ever. It was cold, dark, slow, and confusing. February, however, was the fastest month ever (I swear I saw time fly). It was challenging yet unbelievably rewarding. Life is full and busy. Now, here I am at the beginning of March with many things to say but little time to write.
Story 2: Good things are happening. I hope you are experiencing this in your life, too. There have been times in the past few weeks/months where I have felt uncertain and insecure in my worth in various spheres, but God has consistently sent me reassurance of his sufficiency and grace. An unexpected award, scholarship, and important interview have been offered to me. I have had many causes for celebration in the past few weeks and I am so thankful for that. The good things that are happening are a reminder that hard work, consistency, and honour do still matter even though the gratification we receive from them is rarely instant.
Story 3: I love stargazing. Watching the sky at night has always had a way of putting me at ease. Maybe it is because sometimes I feel that my life is suspended like a star in a vast emptiness; but like a star, I have been placed with a purpose by a God who loves me. I spent some time searching the skies tonight--walking, praying, and working on thought-projects. Despite being swamped with work there is nothing right about depriving oneself from halcyon moments such as stargazing. Perhaps someday, like the stars, I might bring light or comfort or peace or guidance to someone who needs it. I hope so.
Story 4: I have been dreaming--in every sense of the word. It's interesting, because dreaming is not something I find myself doing often. Yet, my head is spinning with plans and potential paths for this summer and beyond. I am hoping for one thing in particular, but trusting that I will end up in the place that is right for me. When I dream, I go to a place "deep within my memory where the grass grows to my knees." It is one of the places I went to dream as a child--in it all things are possible and adventure is imminent. I picture it to be like the place David was led in Psalm 23: "he makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul." It is so good to be in this green space.
Story 5: There is much more I could say about all of these things, but I think I will save my thoughts for a rainy day.
Hope all is well,
E
...
Current listenings:
Feist: Metals
Billy Joel: The Hits
The Rocket Summer: Calendar Days
Etta James: Life, Love, and the Blues
John Lennon: Plastic Ono Band
Story 1: January was the longest month ever. It was cold, dark, slow, and confusing. February, however, was the fastest month ever (I swear I saw time fly). It was challenging yet unbelievably rewarding. Life is full and busy. Now, here I am at the beginning of March with many things to say but little time to write.
Story 2: Good things are happening. I hope you are experiencing this in your life, too. There have been times in the past few weeks/months where I have felt uncertain and insecure in my worth in various spheres, but God has consistently sent me reassurance of his sufficiency and grace. An unexpected award, scholarship, and important interview have been offered to me. I have had many causes for celebration in the past few weeks and I am so thankful for that. The good things that are happening are a reminder that hard work, consistency, and honour do still matter even though the gratification we receive from them is rarely instant.
Story 3: I love stargazing. Watching the sky at night has always had a way of putting me at ease. Maybe it is because sometimes I feel that my life is suspended like a star in a vast emptiness; but like a star, I have been placed with a purpose by a God who loves me. I spent some time searching the skies tonight--walking, praying, and working on thought-projects. Despite being swamped with work there is nothing right about depriving oneself from halcyon moments such as stargazing. Perhaps someday, like the stars, I might bring light or comfort or peace or guidance to someone who needs it. I hope so.
Story 4: I have been dreaming--in every sense of the word. It's interesting, because dreaming is not something I find myself doing often. Yet, my head is spinning with plans and potential paths for this summer and beyond. I am hoping for one thing in particular, but trusting that I will end up in the place that is right for me. When I dream, I go to a place "deep within my memory where the grass grows to my knees." It is one of the places I went to dream as a child--in it all things are possible and adventure is imminent. I picture it to be like the place David was led in Psalm 23: "he makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul." It is so good to be in this green space.
Story 5: There is much more I could say about all of these things, but I think I will save my thoughts for a rainy day.
Hope all is well,
E
...
Current listenings:
Feist: Metals
Billy Joel: The Hits
The Rocket Summer: Calendar Days
Etta James: Life, Love, and the Blues
John Lennon: Plastic Ono Band
Friday, January 11, 2013
On Feeling Sad and Purity
Wednesday was a day speckled with feelings of sadness: a culmination of nearly 2 weeks of sickness and far too much free time to think and feel. Have you ever had your eyes opened in a way that makes you see someone in a different light? That is what happened for me this week. I know I need to be honest with myself regarding this, but I don't really want to be. Yet I will be, because I know it is the best thing to do.
So there's this guy that I've been getting to know...(worst way to start a paragraph, I know. Bear with me). I enjoy spending time with him (and I think he would say the same about me, or at least I hope so). A few weeks ago I came to realize that I really like who he is. Really. This is not something that happens for me often. It has not happened in a long time. He makes me laugh. He is smart and kind and relaxed. He makes me feel happy and at ease. I like him.
So what does any of this have to do with feeling sad? A few things have happened in the past week that are making me want to change my feelings, insofar as it is possible. In the words of Chris Martin, "night makes a fool of us in daylight." To be honest, I have spent so much time wondering: about him, about what he thinks of me, about how I feel when he notices me or does not notice me. I have spent much time in prayer for him too--and for protection of my heart and mind as I sift my feelings for him over and over. But I have been doing so with the hope that something more could happen with us--at least in part. I have been selfish in this regard and it is not right.
His presence diffused into my thoughts has been distracting for me. I've always thought to say that singleness is a gift is cheesy blanket statement, so I am not going to say it. But I do know from experience that being single gives you an unequivocal opportunity to be intimate with God. I have been designed to long for intimacy--to love God and to be loved by God and to love others and to be loved by others. Some of the sad feelings have stemmed from me questioning my recent distractions, because I am wondering if:
1) I robbed myself of opportunities to improve my intimacy with God;
2) I have been blind to other people who need my time and love;
3) I have been distracted in my work and studies because of my feelings.
Also, more questions have arisen from something important I was reminded to consider last night. In relationships we should never be thinking about what boundaries we can push to get what we need; instead we must be compelled to love others as an act of honour and respect. Retrospectively, I have not done the best job of this in recent weeks because:
1) I haven't been honest with myself about how I feel;
2) I haven't been honest with him about how I feel;
3) I have probably been focusing more on what I can take from friendships than what I can give.
For me it is important to consider all these things and more because I know purity is more than physical innocence. As Oswald Chambers writes, "Purity is the outcome of sustained spiritual sympathy with God. We have to grow in purity...if the spiritual bloom of our life is getting impaired to the tiniest degree, we must leave off everything and get it put right. Remember that vision depends on character--the pure in heart see God." (Matthew 7)
So I guess writing all this emotional stuff out has been a small part of my processing things and putting things right. I will never be able to make myself pure by obeying laws--and for this I am incredibly thankful. Only the grace of Christ is capable of washing me white as snow. "Purity is too deep down for me to get to naturally, but when the Holy Spirit comes in, He brings into the center of my personal life the very Spirit that was manifested in the life of Jesus...which is unsullied purity" (O. Chambers). That is a great gift.
...
Current listenings:
The Sum of All Graces, Mindy Gledhill
Know Nothing Stays the Same, Copeland
Duets, Johnny Cash & June Carter
Decade Fades, Trent Dabbs
This Empty Northern Hemisphere, Gregory Alan Isakov
So there's this guy that I've been getting to know...(worst way to start a paragraph, I know. Bear with me). I enjoy spending time with him (and I think he would say the same about me, or at least I hope so). A few weeks ago I came to realize that I really like who he is. Really. This is not something that happens for me often. It has not happened in a long time. He makes me laugh. He is smart and kind and relaxed. He makes me feel happy and at ease. I like him.
So what does any of this have to do with feeling sad? A few things have happened in the past week that are making me want to change my feelings, insofar as it is possible. In the words of Chris Martin, "night makes a fool of us in daylight." To be honest, I have spent so much time wondering: about him, about what he thinks of me, about how I feel when he notices me or does not notice me. I have spent much time in prayer for him too--and for protection of my heart and mind as I sift my feelings for him over and over. But I have been doing so with the hope that something more could happen with us--at least in part. I have been selfish in this regard and it is not right.
His presence diffused into my thoughts has been distracting for me. I've always thought to say that singleness is a gift is cheesy blanket statement, so I am not going to say it. But I do know from experience that being single gives you an unequivocal opportunity to be intimate with God. I have been designed to long for intimacy--to love God and to be loved by God and to love others and to be loved by others. Some of the sad feelings have stemmed from me questioning my recent distractions, because I am wondering if:
1) I robbed myself of opportunities to improve my intimacy with God;
2) I have been blind to other people who need my time and love;
3) I have been distracted in my work and studies because of my feelings.
Also, more questions have arisen from something important I was reminded to consider last night. In relationships we should never be thinking about what boundaries we can push to get what we need; instead we must be compelled to love others as an act of honour and respect. Retrospectively, I have not done the best job of this in recent weeks because:
1) I haven't been honest with myself about how I feel;
2) I haven't been honest with him about how I feel;
3) I have probably been focusing more on what I can take from friendships than what I can give.
For me it is important to consider all these things and more because I know purity is more than physical innocence. As Oswald Chambers writes, "Purity is the outcome of sustained spiritual sympathy with God. We have to grow in purity...if the spiritual bloom of our life is getting impaired to the tiniest degree, we must leave off everything and get it put right. Remember that vision depends on character--the pure in heart see God." (Matthew 7)
So I guess writing all this emotional stuff out has been a small part of my processing things and putting things right. I will never be able to make myself pure by obeying laws--and for this I am incredibly thankful. Only the grace of Christ is capable of washing me white as snow. "Purity is too deep down for me to get to naturally, but when the Holy Spirit comes in, He brings into the center of my personal life the very Spirit that was manifested in the life of Jesus...which is unsullied purity" (O. Chambers). That is a great gift.
...
Current listenings:
The Sum of All Graces, Mindy Gledhill
Know Nothing Stays the Same, Copeland
Duets, Johnny Cash & June Carter
Decade Fades, Trent Dabbs
This Empty Northern Hemisphere, Gregory Alan Isakov
Erika
When I write I am free.