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| So I started a new blog. One less about me and more about God.
And I promised myself I'd stop writing about boys.
But here I am, with a pile of homework that's threatening my sleep thinking about a boy.
And I don't even like him.
But for some reason, as I sat in my room surrounded by beautiful people and hearing an impressive folk concert for 5, I missed him. I was lonely not seeing him. I wanted him around, and he wasn't. And I was lonely.
I don't know why you didn't show up, but I wanted you to. And I know that's the last thing you want to hear from the girl who rejected you stupidly, but its true. I wanted you to be around, and I wanted to hear your unfunny jokes. I wish you were with us too.
So let's leave it at that. Happily undefined and lying to ourselves about what it means. Because deceit can be so comforting when reality is incomprehensible.
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| I am an introspective person. That's a loaded term, which really means, I enjoy sitting around thinking about myself.
It means, that on any given Saturday morning, you can find me either sipping coffee writing poetry about me or out on a run, contemplating the events of my past week.
Its funny then, how little I know of myself. How few of my fears I realize. How unsure I am of what I want.
I've spent the past four days contemplating something I was so sure I wanted a week ago. But now that it has moved from daydream to reality, I'm really not so sure anymore. I'm afraid of making a big mistake, and I'm convinced that's what I do best.
Tomorrow, I run 9.3 miles on the cold lakefront. At one moment, the thought is exhilarating, of sucking in the cold air and feeling the wind press against my limbs, turning my peaceful jog into a fight between my muscles and nature. The next moment, I'm terrified of failure, of face planting into the pavement inches from the finish line or worse, finishing at the back of the pack, with everyone aware of my pitiful time.
I'm thinking about running the marathon next year. 26.2 miles of sheer stupidity, making my body do things God never intended for it. Yet, I can't seem to survive the thought of the meek 9 miles that tomorrow brings.
Yet, it all makes sense as I unfairly stall all relationship conversation simply because I'm too afraid to say what I actually mean.
I want to tell you that we should simply jump overboard and test the waters, hoping there are no sharks. Or I want to say that we should be responsible leaders, the ones who never mix business and pleasure, the ones who wait years before acting on their feelings.
But one thing I know for sure: I do not want to say the truth that I'm afraid. I'm afraid of hurting you, but more afraid of being hurt. I'm afraid that I'm still the girl I was with a white gown in my closet, having him wrapped around my finger, so that I could have him do whatever I wanted. Because it was never as much about us as it was about me, and I'm afraid that if you knew even the half of who I was, you'd recant of your affection and leave me there, alone and scared, like I am right now. | | |
| Its 4:30 Saturday and yet another day has passed, with hopes and good intentions of accomplishments that I've failed to achieve.
And today is another one of those days, where my mind is spewing poetry that no one, not even me, understands. It sits in its murky waters and asks me to make things better.
Its one of those days where the world is caving in, and I'm just watching it fall, wishing I could make tears form.
My soul's taken in a dose of Novocaine and I'm numbing from the inside out. First I lost my tears and then my smile, now I lay in bed and wait for my heart to stop beating.
And then I laugh a little, after having sang along to ever David Bazan song and emoted with Bon Iver, that I've turned into that emo girl who writes about dying and dyes her black but has everything she ever wanted.
I sit here in my own room, on my nice couch with my French-pressed Fair Trade coffee on my beautiful Macbook, talking about how awful my world is.
And its funny how remembering the good in life only makes me dislike myself more.
I know at this point I'm supposed to say that God is good and praise his name for pulling me up from my dark hours, but I'll be honest and admit that while I know that's the truth, I don't feel like saying it. I'd rather stay down than fight my way to the top.
Maybe tomorrow, I'll be the good Bible school student who smiles and laughs, praising God all day long, but today I'll be the real human who's down for no good reason and wallows in self-pity. | | |
| Today I ran to the 500 days of Summer soundtrack. It was happy, and a little bit ridiculous. The sun was shining, the lake was the beautiful shade of aquamarine that can only be natural in the Caribbean.
I returned, danced in my room, took an hourlong stroll with a friend, and ended up soaking up the gorgeous sunlight in the Plaza pretending to teach a friend how to leap.
There's a point to this story: Sometimes, the best parts of life happen when you least expect it.
I spent Monday in tears. I spent the week before in mourning, wondering if I had any right to even be upset.
I spent today smiling. Nothing amazing happened to me, I didn't accomplish any great task, I just was. I existed and enjoyed it.
And I think that's worth stating. | | |
| Sometimes, I get really bad ideas and run with them. This is one such case.
Yesterday morning, I decided to paraphrase and abbreviate the greatest book of sorrow in the Bible. I thought it would be enriching, refreshing, encouraging.
It wasn't.
I learned a few things. First, Jeremiah is a whiner. Really. The whole book is him complaining, commenting on God's grace, and complaining more. Second, I'm a lot like Jeremiah in pain. I complain despite the truths I know about God. Third, Jeremiah has no hope. He thinks he might have hope, but he wonders if God really loves him still, or if God has turned his back on Jeremiah forever. I don't. I don't wonder if God still loves me and if he is still good to me. I don't wonder if I'm so bad that God can't cover my sin -- and that's not because I don't sin in big ways, but its because the blood of Christ covers all sin. God loved us so much that he sent his son to die to cover our sin. To make saints out of us sinners. I know that God loves me with an endless and everlasting love, so I have hope that I can believe in, unlike Jeremiah.
Nonetheless, I made this ridiculous adaption of Lamentations, and I hope you don't find it sacreligious. Here it is:
Lamentations Abridged
This city used to be awesome
but now everything sucks.
Really sucks.
Really really sucks.
And, on top of the whole town being awful,
I'm in pain.
My life sucks.
Really sucks.
Really, really sucks.
But maybe I deserve it.
Yea, I kind of deserved all this awful stuff.
But I still don't like it
And I'm going to complain!
Because God did this to me, and now I have no hope.
No, I take that back.
I have hope in God's everlasting lovingkindness.
His compassion never fails.
He is faithful and
He is the only thing that gets me through the day.
Even though I know that,
I'm still going to admit my pain honestly.
But, God, even in my darkest hour,
I cry out to you.
I know you listen
But just in case, you forget,
Hear my prayers.
You tell me not to fear,
You have redeemed me.
But I don't understand.
Everything is different now.
Not just different -- bad.
Even still, there is hope.
Rejoice! God will not torment us forever.
And God,
Remember your side of the deal.
Remember how bad you are to us.
You are a mighty God
So don't be mean.
Restore us to you.
Unless, after all,
you really do hate us. | | |
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