My dreams have died. I have been silent in my grief over these losses. They fought until the end, struggling for many years. I knew they were terminal so long ago, but I still kept hope that they would be healed. Unfortunately, only one of them made it. I am a mother left with one child. I birthed these precious dreams and nurtured them, cradling their frail bodies in my arms, pouring into them with everything I had. And now that they are gone, I have little left. No dreams. No passion. No energy to find and pour into something new.
I named my dreams: Music, Love, Family, Success, Financial Stability, Beauty, and My Future. Once one was infected, they all succumb to the wretched sickness that led to their death. I don't know where it began, but the first to die was my beloved Music. I always loved Music best, though I wouldn't tell the others. He was my joy, the light in my eyes, the most accurate expression of myself. He was weak among his peers. He could never keep up, and it discouraged us both. Watching him struggle to fit in among his kind, to match their ability and strength, made me ache. I think his weak constitution and waning confidence quickening his passing.
It is difficult to realize the painful inferiority of a product of your own DNA. It was my fault. He came from me, and as I noticed through the deaths of all the others as well, my DNA must be tainted, riddled with failure, damaged, impure. I do not care to bring another being into the world condemned by its genes. I will not birth another dream, let alone a human being.
The next to die were Beauty, Love, and Family. They were triplets, conjoined at the side, one heart between the three. They were always a sickly bunch, with little potential for growth despite my prayers and hope. My dream for Beauty fell sick first. She had always been diseased, less attractive than her peers and twice their size. The biggest of the three dreams, I prayed for her most often and tried to cultivate her strength most fervently. Every wish upon a star, every eyelash, every dandelion, every 11:11 was dedicated to her health. I wished and prayed and fought for her, but she never stood a chance. The signs of her disease were much more obvious than the others, written all over her body, but the sickness in Love and Family were inward, silently festering. By the time I realized what had been happening, it was much too late to save any of them. The damaged Beauty had infected my dream of Love which then passed it on to my dream of Family. Because they were conjoined, not only did they share this disease, but they could not exist separate. The failure of one's heart was a failure for them all, and now, I have lost the three.
Success and Financial Stability watched the deaths of their siblings. I saw the tears well in their desperate eyes, and I didn't have to tell them that they would also contract the illness. They knew. Of all the deaths, theirs were most resigned. They knew they could not exist in a world without their brothers and sisters, and I did not know how to convince them to fight, that their fate could be different, that they could still become great despite the tragedy. They simply laid down silently. I held their hands as they gave in to the poisonous virus and watched salty tears streak their faces. They wanted to survive, but they hadn't the strength to find their own way, a new way.
At this point, I am terribly afraid for My Future, the sole survivor of this plague and the youngest and most influenced by his siblings. Without them to guide and direct him, what will he become? He grows empty and lost, and I am not sure that I can shape him into what I want him to be. He moves recklessly onward without a concrete identity. Without much direction, he is more and more confused, and I am afraid he will find himself in a dangerous situation that will also threaten his life. I am more afraid that his grief will cause him to end it himself.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Streams of Consciousness
I sit on the fence between complete introversion and obnoxious extroversion. I want to enjoy life, to laugh, to experience. The problem is that the more that I branch out the more fear that I carry. Fear that I am doing more harm than good with my life. And that would be normal if the fear stopped where most people's fear stops--mine, however extends to even the smallest of things. I become more afraid the more moments I choose to speak, the more I exist and breathe and take up space. You see, I have a dangerously tender heart. I don't mean this to be boastful but rather, to explain that it is my deepest desire to leave this earth and its people unaffected by my poison. It destroys me when I realize that I create negative ripples. Even the thought that people spend any amount of time annoyed by me or hating me is terrible, because I don't want any negativity to be brought on by my existence. Although, I am aware that part of this is egotism, because clearly, many people will not even take the time to think of me, negatively or otherwise.
The funniest thing about this is that I am also an increasingly negative person. How does an inherently "glass half empty" person avoid doing harm? That's the overarching question of my life. My best answer has been in becoming as invisible as possible. But then, how do you, in turn, do any good? I don't know that it's possible to be both hidden and helpful. And my goal in life isn't just to do no harm but to then, do good. I have yet to figure out how to accomplish both of those goals without tearing my soul apart, and the result is that I am becoming increasingly paranoid and sensitive. It certainly doesn't help that I'm also very perceptive. I know when people don't like me or when they find me insufferably weird or when they wish I would leave. It doesn't hurt me in the sense that I don't feel any worse about myself--I have a very developed sense of self-loathing. No, it makes me feel like a failure. I have two goals in total, and I so often fail to meet them.
I think, another facet of this is my obsessive perfectionism. It worsens as I age. Whether it's skipping a class to spotlessly clean the apartment or mapping out every second of every day and allowing zero flexibility, the extremes are widening. To me, perfect is equal to worthy. Imperfection is the same as worthlessness. Maybe it's the Virgo in me or the INFJ or whatever personality profile you'd like to choose, but whatever it is it is eating away my spirit. I am doing harm by existing. I am terribly imperfect, and so mistakes cut deeper each time.
But there is something that I am realizing in all of this--the real problem is my pride. Now, I've never thought of myself as prideful, mostly because I've always been incredibly self-deprecating. Tearing yourself down means humility, right? Wrong! Ask C.S. Lewis, and he'll tell you that humility is really just admitting and walking in the fact that nothing we do is through our own power but rather, through the power of God working through us. The opposing ideas to humility are arrogance and self-deprecation. Yes, perfectionism is prideful. Why? Because condemning oneself for imperfection is implying that you feel superior in the first place. Why do I expect to be above the human condition? I am human. This doesn't mean I settle where I am, but it does mean that I am not going to be perfect. The fact that I think I should be perfect is all pride, and that same pride is then hurt when I don't live up to my own expectations.
I realize this, but what can I possible do but submit to God? Well, here's the thing: God and I aren't exactly on speaking terms. I don't know how to feel about him or about Christianity. I am becoming more and more aware of the contrived, scripted nature of Christendom. Nothing seems real. Nothing seems sincere. I don't want to sing the songs if I don't believe it. I don't want to watch people lead me if I don't think they believe the words either. It's all so wrong. I certainly believe in God, but I just don't buy into the traditional ways of Christianity anymore. Where is the humanity in it all? They're just as perfectionist as I am, and it feels pretentious. How do I find healing for my perfectionism if they require it. Maybe someday I'll understand how I'm supposed to feel. For now, I just feel like a heathen, because I don't know what I believe. The only thing I know for sure is that I believe in God's love. I haven't yet reached the point that I experience a loving God as my own, but I will always practice God's love. It is the only thing worth doing. Loving people is my favorite part of what it means to follow God. The other things may come with time. We shall see.
Until I figure it out, I suppose I will continue to be paranoid, to be overly-sensitive, to be increasingly invisibly. But I will make my best attempts to remain loving, because there is so much brokenness on the planet, and it burdens my heart.
The funniest thing about this is that I am also an increasingly negative person. How does an inherently "glass half empty" person avoid doing harm? That's the overarching question of my life. My best answer has been in becoming as invisible as possible. But then, how do you, in turn, do any good? I don't know that it's possible to be both hidden and helpful. And my goal in life isn't just to do no harm but to then, do good. I have yet to figure out how to accomplish both of those goals without tearing my soul apart, and the result is that I am becoming increasingly paranoid and sensitive. It certainly doesn't help that I'm also very perceptive. I know when people don't like me or when they find me insufferably weird or when they wish I would leave. It doesn't hurt me in the sense that I don't feel any worse about myself--I have a very developed sense of self-loathing. No, it makes me feel like a failure. I have two goals in total, and I so often fail to meet them.
I think, another facet of this is my obsessive perfectionism. It worsens as I age. Whether it's skipping a class to spotlessly clean the apartment or mapping out every second of every day and allowing zero flexibility, the extremes are widening. To me, perfect is equal to worthy. Imperfection is the same as worthlessness. Maybe it's the Virgo in me or the INFJ or whatever personality profile you'd like to choose, but whatever it is it is eating away my spirit. I am doing harm by existing. I am terribly imperfect, and so mistakes cut deeper each time.
But there is something that I am realizing in all of this--the real problem is my pride. Now, I've never thought of myself as prideful, mostly because I've always been incredibly self-deprecating. Tearing yourself down means humility, right? Wrong! Ask C.S. Lewis, and he'll tell you that humility is really just admitting and walking in the fact that nothing we do is through our own power but rather, through the power of God working through us. The opposing ideas to humility are arrogance and self-deprecation. Yes, perfectionism is prideful. Why? Because condemning oneself for imperfection is implying that you feel superior in the first place. Why do I expect to be above the human condition? I am human. This doesn't mean I settle where I am, but it does mean that I am not going to be perfect. The fact that I think I should be perfect is all pride, and that same pride is then hurt when I don't live up to my own expectations.
I realize this, but what can I possible do but submit to God? Well, here's the thing: God and I aren't exactly on speaking terms. I don't know how to feel about him or about Christianity. I am becoming more and more aware of the contrived, scripted nature of Christendom. Nothing seems real. Nothing seems sincere. I don't want to sing the songs if I don't believe it. I don't want to watch people lead me if I don't think they believe the words either. It's all so wrong. I certainly believe in God, but I just don't buy into the traditional ways of Christianity anymore. Where is the humanity in it all? They're just as perfectionist as I am, and it feels pretentious. How do I find healing for my perfectionism if they require it. Maybe someday I'll understand how I'm supposed to feel. For now, I just feel like a heathen, because I don't know what I believe. The only thing I know for sure is that I believe in God's love. I haven't yet reached the point that I experience a loving God as my own, but I will always practice God's love. It is the only thing worth doing. Loving people is my favorite part of what it means to follow God. The other things may come with time. We shall see.
Until I figure it out, I suppose I will continue to be paranoid, to be overly-sensitive, to be increasingly invisibly. But I will make my best attempts to remain loving, because there is so much brokenness on the planet, and it burdens my heart.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Fault of Mine
I need meaning.
It's a fault of mine.
I don't know how you do it.
Just to say you did.
Just to say you could.
Just to say you can.
And I need more.
It's a fault of mine.
There's better a better use of space.
A better use of flesh.
A better use of bone.
A better use of breath.
But I need sleep
It's a fault of mine.
I don't know how you stand.
On legs so stiff.
On legs so broken.
On legs so bent.
'Cause my soul is sore.
It's a fault of mine.
There's an ache that builds.
That freely breeds.
That freely wrecks
That freely weeps.
It's a fault of mine.
It's a fault line.
It's a faulty life.
It's a fault of mine.
I don't know how you do it.
Just to say you did.
Just to say you could.
Just to say you can.
And I need more.
It's a fault of mine.
There's better a better use of space.
A better use of flesh.
A better use of bone.
A better use of breath.
But I need sleep
It's a fault of mine.
I don't know how you stand.
On legs so stiff.
On legs so broken.
On legs so bent.
'Cause my soul is sore.
It's a fault of mine.
There's an ache that builds.
That freely breeds.
That freely wrecks
That freely weeps.
It's a fault of mine.
It's a fault line.
It's a faulty life.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
I Should Go to Bed
I feel like I am missing something.
I have this aching nostalgia that is eating away at my core.
Growing up was painful, but at least, I felt grounded.
I have no desire to go forward, only to go back and relive.
I want a redo.
I want to live.
I want to have those experiences unique to the teenage years.
But I was too busy being depressed.
Striving for perfection.
Good grades.
An impressive resume.
Church.
Church.
Church.
I just don't see it getting better from here.
No more fun.
No more carefree days.
No more campfires or lake days or late night adventures.
No more school trips or sleepovers or dreaming about the future.
The future is here, and it's bleak.
College has tainted my senses.
I grieve for all that I've lost since high school.
Friendships, innocence, love, hope, confidence, belief.
I grieve for the world that I live in.
I often think I should have been a teenager in the 90s.
The best decade in my opinion; a reflection of my attitude and apathy.
The music it brought sinks into my joints and moves me, head to toe.
The lyrics speak of a youth I wish I could recall, but I feel so old and wretched.
My memories leak out of my eyes, and I drown in them.
My regrets hold me
under.
I was never one for jealousy, but I covet the young and dead.
I long for their closure.
One more guilt-stained day in this declining cess pool might kill me.
Because all I carry is should haves and too lates.
Walking into an abyss of restraint and decay.
Of rules and boundaries and bills and debt.
My spirit groans under the load, in anticipation of more and more.
The age of parental comfort and warmth is long gone; it's time to grow up.
No one can prove it will be ok anymore.
I am unsettled and nauseated.
Time to figure it out alone.
Time to fail with no back-up.
Time to let go of consistency and promises.
Time to step into the quicksand and sink,
sink,
s
i
n
k.
You see the end, but you do it anyway.
If it's so quick, why does it take so long?
Sink, sink, sink.
E
N
D
L
E
S
S
L
Y
.
I have this aching nostalgia that is eating away at my core.
Growing up was painful, but at least, I felt grounded.
I have no desire to go forward, only to go back and relive.
I want a redo.
I want to live.
I want to have those experiences unique to the teenage years.
But I was too busy being depressed.
Striving for perfection.
Good grades.
An impressive resume.
Church.
Church.
Church.
I just don't see it getting better from here.
No more fun.
No more carefree days.
No more campfires or lake days or late night adventures.
No more school trips or sleepovers or dreaming about the future.
The future is here, and it's bleak.
College has tainted my senses.
I grieve for all that I've lost since high school.
Friendships, innocence, love, hope, confidence, belief.
I grieve for the world that I live in.
I often think I should have been a teenager in the 90s.
The best decade in my opinion; a reflection of my attitude and apathy.
The music it brought sinks into my joints and moves me, head to toe.
The lyrics speak of a youth I wish I could recall, but I feel so old and wretched.
My memories leak out of my eyes, and I drown in them.
My regrets hold me
under.
I was never one for jealousy, but I covet the young and dead.
I long for their closure.
One more guilt-stained day in this declining cess pool might kill me.
Because all I carry is should haves and too lates.
Walking into an abyss of restraint and decay.
Of rules and boundaries and bills and debt.
My spirit groans under the load, in anticipation of more and more.
The age of parental comfort and warmth is long gone; it's time to grow up.
No one can prove it will be ok anymore.
I am unsettled and nauseated.
Time to figure it out alone.
Time to fail with no back-up.
Time to let go of consistency and promises.
Time to step into the quicksand and sink,
sink,
s
i
n
k.
You see the end, but you do it anyway.
If it's so quick, why does it take so long?
Sink, sink, sink.
E
N
D
L
E
S
S
L
Y
.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Love, relationships, men. I've written on them in the past, but before this year, I had absolutely no experience with them. I never had a boyfriend or even the interest in one. I was saving myself for someone who I really felt I could be with for the long haul. Now, at the end of my first relationship, I feel like I have a little more knowledge to work with.
Well, honestly? At the beginning of the day, I just wanted to say, "to Hell with 'em." And I meant every relationship. I was done. I get sick of trusting people only to be totally let down. I recently found out that my brother is getting a divorce. This is obviously really hard on him, but I think we all feel the ache. He's thirteen years older than me, so they got married when I was six. She babysit me as a toddler on, and it always felt like she was a real sister and not just an in-law. Now, with the things that she's said and done to my brother and nephew, I can't trust her anymore or our relationship as sisters. I feel like I've lost another sibling. The point of this digression? Well, I looked up to them. They were so in love, so good together. I wanted what they had. And now, it's crumbled, and I feel like a part of my idea of love has too.
To me, love must involve trust. Trusting entirely in another person, taking into account, of course, that they are human. Trusting that despite the failures, the fear, and the struggles, they will always love you and keep their vow to you. And vice versa. Trusting that they are honest and open, that their promises and supposed truths are what they seem to be. Trusting that they'll fight to be with you, that they'll work even when it's hard, that they'll not give up the minute things get a little scary or difficult.
That's what I feel really lacks in my relationships. Trust. That's what hurts the most in this break-up. I trusted him with my heart, something I have never been able to do, not even with most friends. I have been through so many terrible times, times that taught me to be independent and protect myself. I have learned not to trust so easily, to test the waters and observe before you jump in. I was always so careful. But with him, we had this instant connection, and I felt like I could trust him with all those things I never had trusted others with. And I did. I told him things very few people know. For the longest time, I was confused about how I felt about him, because I was too afraid to just fall. But then, I did. I fell. Hard.
I assumed he fell hard as well. The things he said and did indicated that he did. He claimed to. He talked about wanting to marry me. He promised so many times to never leave me. He promised that I didn't have to face all those hurts alone, that he'd be there. He said all of those things the day before he ended things. He lied right to my face so many times. And THAT is what I'm talking about. I trusted his words. I trusted his actions. I feel like a fool.
But here's what I'm realizing. Trusting is scary. Trusting is a risk. It's really hard when trust is broken. But it's necessary to survive. It's necessary to love. It's just determining what you're trusting in, and WHO you're trusting in that matters.
"For it is we who are the circumcision, we who serve God by his Spirit, who boast in Christ Jesus, and who put no confidence in the flesh" - Philippians 3:3
So, trusting in the flesh, meaning the world, is not what we are called to do. Plain and simple. Of course we're going to be disappointed by others if we put all of our confidence, all of our trust in them. In fact, it's an unfair burden on them. They will fail. We don't excuse mistakes just because they are human; there must be a certain responsibility for one's actions. However, we can change how we react and deal with those mistakes. If you put so much confidence in the another person, when they crumble, you crumble with them. But if you put your confidence in God, when they fall, you remain on solid ground.
I lost sight of that. I'm no less hurt in realizing it, but I am determined not to completely lose the ability to trust others. I just have to remember where my true trust and confidence should be. In God. That's the only thing that won't fail.
Well, honestly? At the beginning of the day, I just wanted to say, "to Hell with 'em." And I meant every relationship. I was done. I get sick of trusting people only to be totally let down. I recently found out that my brother is getting a divorce. This is obviously really hard on him, but I think we all feel the ache. He's thirteen years older than me, so they got married when I was six. She babysit me as a toddler on, and it always felt like she was a real sister and not just an in-law. Now, with the things that she's said and done to my brother and nephew, I can't trust her anymore or our relationship as sisters. I feel like I've lost another sibling. The point of this digression? Well, I looked up to them. They were so in love, so good together. I wanted what they had. And now, it's crumbled, and I feel like a part of my idea of love has too.
To me, love must involve trust. Trusting entirely in another person, taking into account, of course, that they are human. Trusting that despite the failures, the fear, and the struggles, they will always love you and keep their vow to you. And vice versa. Trusting that they are honest and open, that their promises and supposed truths are what they seem to be. Trusting that they'll fight to be with you, that they'll work even when it's hard, that they'll not give up the minute things get a little scary or difficult.
That's what I feel really lacks in my relationships. Trust. That's what hurts the most in this break-up. I trusted him with my heart, something I have never been able to do, not even with most friends. I have been through so many terrible times, times that taught me to be independent and protect myself. I have learned not to trust so easily, to test the waters and observe before you jump in. I was always so careful. But with him, we had this instant connection, and I felt like I could trust him with all those things I never had trusted others with. And I did. I told him things very few people know. For the longest time, I was confused about how I felt about him, because I was too afraid to just fall. But then, I did. I fell. Hard.
I assumed he fell hard as well. The things he said and did indicated that he did. He claimed to. He talked about wanting to marry me. He promised so many times to never leave me. He promised that I didn't have to face all those hurts alone, that he'd be there. He said all of those things the day before he ended things. He lied right to my face so many times. And THAT is what I'm talking about. I trusted his words. I trusted his actions. I feel like a fool.
But here's what I'm realizing. Trusting is scary. Trusting is a risk. It's really hard when trust is broken. But it's necessary to survive. It's necessary to love. It's just determining what you're trusting in, and WHO you're trusting in that matters.
"For it is we who are the circumcision, we who serve God by his Spirit, who boast in Christ Jesus, and who put no confidence in the flesh" - Philippians 3:3
So, trusting in the flesh, meaning the world, is not what we are called to do. Plain and simple. Of course we're going to be disappointed by others if we put all of our confidence, all of our trust in them. In fact, it's an unfair burden on them. They will fail. We don't excuse mistakes just because they are human; there must be a certain responsibility for one's actions. However, we can change how we react and deal with those mistakes. If you put so much confidence in the another person, when they crumble, you crumble with them. But if you put your confidence in God, when they fall, you remain on solid ground.
I lost sight of that. I'm no less hurt in realizing it, but I am determined not to completely lose the ability to trust others. I just have to remember where my true trust and confidence should be. In God. That's the only thing that won't fail.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
The Difference One Year Makes
Some years go by, and you barely remember much of what happened. Some are so monumental that they're forever ingrained on your mind. Some go quickly, and some go slowly. Some seem particularly negative, and some are clearly positive.
This year wasn't like "some" other year. It was monumental, but I lose most of the small things that happened in the shadow cast by the large things that happened. It seems to have been slow and tedious, but when I really consider it, it was so quick. And I look at what happened and see both positive and negative. This year had no either/or; it had no this or that. It was a bit of everything on both sides of the spectrum.
It was monumental for a few reasons. Leroy, my youth leader and greatest example for how to live a Godly life, died a year ago today in a sudden car accident. He happened to take a different route home from work that day and a tractor trailer came (for no known reason) across the median and killed him in an instant. Of course, he wasn't wearing a seatbelt or shoes, which was his custom, but it wouldn't have mattered. A tractor trailer going 75 mph into the front of your car cannot turn out well.
I remember the big moments of it all. My best friend and his neice, Chelcee, called to tell me. I remember the silent sobbing I heard as I said "hello?" I remember her words, "Bub's gone." I remember the shattering of my heart and the instant numbness. I remember praying with my parents and pleading God to revive him, to somehow tell me that it had been just a chance for God to manifest himself and perform a miracle. I couldn't imagine the world without him. I remember sitting in the church making the collages for his memorial, cutting out pictures of him and his wife, children, family, and youth group. It hadn't sunk in at all. I remember going into the church gym and sitting at the tables at which he taught us so many lessons. I silently asked Leroy to come back and teach me some more. I wasn't ready to stand on my own.
And those few days are where I refuse to remember anymore. I just cut out the details, because I can't sit around weeping everyday, because I know if I remembered, then that is simply all I could do. The year was a blur, because I just don't want to experience it again in memory. It's like that near-drunken state after a death that numbs you to experience. Yet, I went on, in that numb state and changed quite a bit. I decided to drop my thoughts of being a counselor to pursue my first love, music. I transferred schools. I renewed my relationship with God. The years before he died, I had been at a standstill spiritually. I still cringe at the thought that he didn't see any growth in me for so long and that he never will. He invested so much in my life that he deserves that much from me. I couldn't ever honor his memory if I did not follow God.
The year went quickly in the sense that it feels like it literally happened yesterday. Writing this, here in my dorm room, I'm struggling to get rid of the lump in my throat and the tears nearly spilling when I think about him. The ache and the shock and the sorrow are still so strong that I can barely breathe. The year has gone so quickly that it seems like minutes since it happened. But on the other hand, the growth personally and in our church is so immense that the year had to have gone slowly to have facilitated it. That kind of transformation is not quick let alone instantaneous. So, yes, it has been a full year.
It was also both positive and negative. The negative aspect is clear. It's tragic and heartbreaking, something none of us will ever get over in this lifetime. But it has woken a lot of people up, including myself. It was helped us grow closer to one other and have greater empathy and compassion. It has made us rely fully on God, because without Him, none of us would have survived this. Honestly, it's a miracle of God that we did. In the moment, it was not a struggle I thought we could overcome.
So, why do I write this sad, downer of a post? Well, I didn't mention the significance of the day to anyone here. I didn't think they would understand how great a loss it really is. "Oh, your youth leader died? That sucks." What they don't get is that he was like a father to me, to all of us. I just couldn't go another second without acknowledging the day. It feels wrong not to honor his memory. His wife gave me one of his t-shirts that he wore all the time. She told me to wear it, but I just haven't been able to do it. It felt sacreligious, like I was defacing a sacred garment. And for the longest time it smelled like he used to, and I didn't want to get rid of that sensory memory. But today, I wore it. It no longer smelled like him, but strangely enough, I felt very close to him. I thought people might think that was weird. I almost do, but then I think of him as my father, and I feel like it's normal. I honored the day in my own, silent way.
He was the greatest man I have ever met. He did more in 43 short years then most people even dream about doing in 90. He was Godly and righteous. It makes me think of a scripture I read shortly after it happened that comforted me immensely.
"Good people pass away; the godly often die before their time. But no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come. For those who follow godly paths will rest in peace when they die." - Isaiah 57: 1-2
It's good to know that he's resting with God. I have peace about that, a peace I never had with my brother's death. The peace of knowing that Leroy is where he belongs, with God and is safe from the suffering of this earth. What a reunion we will have in eternity! I long for that day!
This year wasn't like "some" other year. It was monumental, but I lose most of the small things that happened in the shadow cast by the large things that happened. It seems to have been slow and tedious, but when I really consider it, it was so quick. And I look at what happened and see both positive and negative. This year had no either/or; it had no this or that. It was a bit of everything on both sides of the spectrum.
It was monumental for a few reasons. Leroy, my youth leader and greatest example for how to live a Godly life, died a year ago today in a sudden car accident. He happened to take a different route home from work that day and a tractor trailer came (for no known reason) across the median and killed him in an instant. Of course, he wasn't wearing a seatbelt or shoes, which was his custom, but it wouldn't have mattered. A tractor trailer going 75 mph into the front of your car cannot turn out well.
I remember the big moments of it all. My best friend and his neice, Chelcee, called to tell me. I remember the silent sobbing I heard as I said "hello?" I remember her words, "Bub's gone." I remember the shattering of my heart and the instant numbness. I remember praying with my parents and pleading God to revive him, to somehow tell me that it had been just a chance for God to manifest himself and perform a miracle. I couldn't imagine the world without him. I remember sitting in the church making the collages for his memorial, cutting out pictures of him and his wife, children, family, and youth group. It hadn't sunk in at all. I remember going into the church gym and sitting at the tables at which he taught us so many lessons. I silently asked Leroy to come back and teach me some more. I wasn't ready to stand on my own.
And those few days are where I refuse to remember anymore. I just cut out the details, because I can't sit around weeping everyday, because I know if I remembered, then that is simply all I could do. The year was a blur, because I just don't want to experience it again in memory. It's like that near-drunken state after a death that numbs you to experience. Yet, I went on, in that numb state and changed quite a bit. I decided to drop my thoughts of being a counselor to pursue my first love, music. I transferred schools. I renewed my relationship with God. The years before he died, I had been at a standstill spiritually. I still cringe at the thought that he didn't see any growth in me for so long and that he never will. He invested so much in my life that he deserves that much from me. I couldn't ever honor his memory if I did not follow God.
The year went quickly in the sense that it feels like it literally happened yesterday. Writing this, here in my dorm room, I'm struggling to get rid of the lump in my throat and the tears nearly spilling when I think about him. The ache and the shock and the sorrow are still so strong that I can barely breathe. The year has gone so quickly that it seems like minutes since it happened. But on the other hand, the growth personally and in our church is so immense that the year had to have gone slowly to have facilitated it. That kind of transformation is not quick let alone instantaneous. So, yes, it has been a full year.
It was also both positive and negative. The negative aspect is clear. It's tragic and heartbreaking, something none of us will ever get over in this lifetime. But it has woken a lot of people up, including myself. It was helped us grow closer to one other and have greater empathy and compassion. It has made us rely fully on God, because without Him, none of us would have survived this. Honestly, it's a miracle of God that we did. In the moment, it was not a struggle I thought we could overcome.
So, why do I write this sad, downer of a post? Well, I didn't mention the significance of the day to anyone here. I didn't think they would understand how great a loss it really is. "Oh, your youth leader died? That sucks." What they don't get is that he was like a father to me, to all of us. I just couldn't go another second without acknowledging the day. It feels wrong not to honor his memory. His wife gave me one of his t-shirts that he wore all the time. She told me to wear it, but I just haven't been able to do it. It felt sacreligious, like I was defacing a sacred garment. And for the longest time it smelled like he used to, and I didn't want to get rid of that sensory memory. But today, I wore it. It no longer smelled like him, but strangely enough, I felt very close to him. I thought people might think that was weird. I almost do, but then I think of him as my father, and I feel like it's normal. I honored the day in my own, silent way.
He was the greatest man I have ever met. He did more in 43 short years then most people even dream about doing in 90. He was Godly and righteous. It makes me think of a scripture I read shortly after it happened that comforted me immensely.
"Good people pass away; the godly often die before their time. But no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come. For those who follow godly paths will rest in peace when they die." - Isaiah 57: 1-2
It's good to know that he's resting with God. I have peace about that, a peace I never had with my brother's death. The peace of knowing that Leroy is where he belongs, with God and is safe from the suffering of this earth. What a reunion we will have in eternity! I long for that day!
Thursday, January 24, 2013
"Stir carefully through the days. See how the flavor stays. These are the dreams you'll savor. Memories are made of this."
Well, hello there blogging world. I intended many more posts over the break, but I suppose I got sidetracked a bit. Life happens!
This has been an emotional break for many reasons. I've never been away a from home for that long before. I've been in college for two and a half years, but the first two were at a college a few blocks away from my house. Now, I'm a long drive away in Illinois, 12 or so hours from my home in Pennsylvania. I didn't anticipate the homesickness at all. In fact, I was quite excited to be an "adult" (yea, right) for a while. I quickly learned that walking away from a place in which you experienced every year of your life is not so easy.
I miss the little things the most. I miss my puppy, Shya, greeting me at the door with eyes that told me she never thought I'd come home and that she was very glad to see she had been wrong. Nobody greets you quite like a dog. I miss crawling onto my parents' big, comfy waterbed and laying with my mom before bedtime (yes, I do this as a 20 year old; these are things I know I'll miss very much someday, and I must take advantage of them). I miss the smell of our special laundry detergent that doesn't ever smell the same anywhere but at home. I miss buttering up my daddy until he'll give me a kiss on the cheek. I miss laying on the radiator when the furnace is on, and cuddling with an afghan my mother crocheted. I miss my favorite food...toast. I didn't know until right before break that you can actually make toast in the dining commons. Ah, but not the same when your mom hasn't cut it into shapes for you.
I miss walking around town late at night to a park a few miles away and singing by the river. I miss drinking coffee and reading in the coffeeshop near my house. I miss exploring the hidden treasure that is Yesterday's Best, a small, tightly packed bookstore downtown and finding wonderful surprises. I miss visiting my mom at work in the hospital and feeling powerful for knowing the codes to get into the "special" rooms. I miss walking back from school and seeing everything in its place like every other day and basking in the consistency, something which never seems to carry over to other areas of life.
I miss my church. I miss this the most, I think. It's my home and my safe place. I miss the rolling green fields it sits on and the beautiful trees that surround it. I miss the playground that grew up in and in which I became forever friends with my "sister" Chelcee. I miss the river that runs right through it all and the picteresque bridge that crosses between the playground and everything else. I miss the gym where I played for hours and the library where I met Jesus at three. I miss the kitchen I washed many dishes in and the tables I've dirtied with countless crafts. I miss the balcony and upper room where I've had sleepovers and from which I've watched concerts. I miss the stage I sing on and the costumes that I wear for coffeehouses, whether I'm a clown or a rock star or a Bible character. I even miss the bathrooms I clean every Saturday. But most of all I miss the memories.
I miss my youth group and our crazy (and sometimes violent) game nights. I miss surprise hug attacks from Chelcee. I miss hugs from my 5 year old best friend, Lael, who holds on to me with such desperation and hunger for affection that I wish I would never have to let her go ( I had to say goodbye to her today; she cried and I cried and I think we're both still crying right now). I miss nights at dance troupe when my friend Leighton comes up with the funniest moves that we could never in a million years do just like her. I miss youth trips in the Chateau (our endearing nickname for the clunker van we travel in) and wondering if its actually safe to be riding in. The oil covered back windows point to "no". I miss nights around the camefire and listening to Leighton singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" like a crazy person.
I miss old times and people who have exited my life on Earth (eternity shall be a glorious reunion!). I miss a man who has impacted my life more than any other person. One who has been my father, my teacher, my cheerleader, and my co-star, among many other things. I look at every inch of my beloved church, and I see something he taught me there or a joke that I remember rolling on the floor laughing about or a word of encouragement he gave me. It was easy to run away to school, because I didn't have to see him everywhere there. I remember the day after he passed (a year ago this Wednesday), sitting against a post at the back of the gym with the chairs, the stage, and every memory staring back at me. Between the thoughts of disbelief and my refusal to accept what had transpired, I found time to realize that I could never walk into this place and not notice the extreme lack that came from the loss. The heart of our church body, Leroy's presence was so very vital, and it's loss is indescribable. I miss him every second, as does everyone else in our church, especially his wife, four daughters, his parents, three sisters, two nephews, 4 nieces and countless other people that he welcomed into his family. I miss life with him in it.
From all that I miss, I learn to appreciate my life and not simply my present or future but also, my past. I am humbled by the people and memories that I hold close. Many times I get bogged down by the weight of negativety that has marked my past, but in reflection I realize that there was beauty in it all. Many times I get caught in my loneliness, crying foul at loss and lack, forgetting to recognize what I do have and haven't lost. I have wonderful parents that even in the many trials they have faced still care for me and provide for me. I have a church family that again, humbles me with their genorosity and love and encouragment that they offer to me, someone who is so undeserving. I look at them and see that I have at least 5 sets of parents, dozens of siblings, and an amazing assortment of mentors who lead me in their wisdom. I get so down about having a very tumultuous and rather small natural family, but then I realize how blessed I am to have this church body behind me every step of the way. I am brought to tears and will miss them incredibly.
It's emotional, because I realize that this is the beginning of a forever kind of change. I don't know where I will be in a few years or what I will be. I don't know if I'll be a musician or a cashier or both. I don't know if I'll be finding an apartment in Illinois or moving in to one with my best friend back in Pennsylvania or doing something different in some other state. I just don't know, and it's exciting and sad and painful and joyous all at the same time. Not to mention terrifying! But I cherish every memory, good and bad. It all comes together to make me who I am, whether you see that as good or bad or in between. All I know is that missing brings tears of sadness but also happiness. We miss times gone by and that makes us sad, but it's a joyous thing to be able to remember and relive those times.
2 Peter 1: 12-16
"12 So I will always remind you of these things, even though you know them and are firmly established in the truth you now have. 13 I think it is right to refresh your memory as long as I live in the tent of this body,14 because I know that I will soon put it aside, as our Lord Jesus Christ has made clear to me. 15 And I will make every effort to see that after my departure you will always be able to remember these things. 16 We did not follow cleverly invented stories when we told you about the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were eyewitnesses of his majesty."
Every memory is a testament to the majesty of Jesus. I am reminded of His glory, power, and love through every thing I find myself looking back on and missing while away. So, while change is crazy and sad and exciting and scary, I will always have the memories of my past to remind me of life's beauty and God's magnificence. Every second we live, we are "eyewitnesses of his majesty." Wow!
This has been an emotional break for many reasons. I've never been away a from home for that long before. I've been in college for two and a half years, but the first two were at a college a few blocks away from my house. Now, I'm a long drive away in Illinois, 12 or so hours from my home in Pennsylvania. I didn't anticipate the homesickness at all. In fact, I was quite excited to be an "adult" (yea, right) for a while. I quickly learned that walking away from a place in which you experienced every year of your life is not so easy.
I miss the little things the most. I miss my puppy, Shya, greeting me at the door with eyes that told me she never thought I'd come home and that she was very glad to see she had been wrong. Nobody greets you quite like a dog. I miss crawling onto my parents' big, comfy waterbed and laying with my mom before bedtime (yes, I do this as a 20 year old; these are things I know I'll miss very much someday, and I must take advantage of them). I miss the smell of our special laundry detergent that doesn't ever smell the same anywhere but at home. I miss buttering up my daddy until he'll give me a kiss on the cheek. I miss laying on the radiator when the furnace is on, and cuddling with an afghan my mother crocheted. I miss my favorite food...toast. I didn't know until right before break that you can actually make toast in the dining commons. Ah, but not the same when your mom hasn't cut it into shapes for you.
I miss walking around town late at night to a park a few miles away and singing by the river. I miss drinking coffee and reading in the coffeeshop near my house. I miss exploring the hidden treasure that is Yesterday's Best, a small, tightly packed bookstore downtown and finding wonderful surprises. I miss visiting my mom at work in the hospital and feeling powerful for knowing the codes to get into the "special" rooms. I miss walking back from school and seeing everything in its place like every other day and basking in the consistency, something which never seems to carry over to other areas of life.
I miss my church. I miss this the most, I think. It's my home and my safe place. I miss the rolling green fields it sits on and the beautiful trees that surround it. I miss the playground that grew up in and in which I became forever friends with my "sister" Chelcee. I miss the river that runs right through it all and the picteresque bridge that crosses between the playground and everything else. I miss the gym where I played for hours and the library where I met Jesus at three. I miss the kitchen I washed many dishes in and the tables I've dirtied with countless crafts. I miss the balcony and upper room where I've had sleepovers and from which I've watched concerts. I miss the stage I sing on and the costumes that I wear for coffeehouses, whether I'm a clown or a rock star or a Bible character. I even miss the bathrooms I clean every Saturday. But most of all I miss the memories.
I miss my youth group and our crazy (and sometimes violent) game nights. I miss surprise hug attacks from Chelcee. I miss hugs from my 5 year old best friend, Lael, who holds on to me with such desperation and hunger for affection that I wish I would never have to let her go ( I had to say goodbye to her today; she cried and I cried and I think we're both still crying right now). I miss nights at dance troupe when my friend Leighton comes up with the funniest moves that we could never in a million years do just like her. I miss youth trips in the Chateau (our endearing nickname for the clunker van we travel in) and wondering if its actually safe to be riding in. The oil covered back windows point to "no". I miss nights around the camefire and listening to Leighton singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" like a crazy person.
I miss old times and people who have exited my life on Earth (eternity shall be a glorious reunion!). I miss a man who has impacted my life more than any other person. One who has been my father, my teacher, my cheerleader, and my co-star, among many other things. I look at every inch of my beloved church, and I see something he taught me there or a joke that I remember rolling on the floor laughing about or a word of encouragement he gave me. It was easy to run away to school, because I didn't have to see him everywhere there. I remember the day after he passed (a year ago this Wednesday), sitting against a post at the back of the gym with the chairs, the stage, and every memory staring back at me. Between the thoughts of disbelief and my refusal to accept what had transpired, I found time to realize that I could never walk into this place and not notice the extreme lack that came from the loss. The heart of our church body, Leroy's presence was so very vital, and it's loss is indescribable. I miss him every second, as does everyone else in our church, especially his wife, four daughters, his parents, three sisters, two nephews, 4 nieces and countless other people that he welcomed into his family. I miss life with him in it.
From all that I miss, I learn to appreciate my life and not simply my present or future but also, my past. I am humbled by the people and memories that I hold close. Many times I get bogged down by the weight of negativety that has marked my past, but in reflection I realize that there was beauty in it all. Many times I get caught in my loneliness, crying foul at loss and lack, forgetting to recognize what I do have and haven't lost. I have wonderful parents that even in the many trials they have faced still care for me and provide for me. I have a church family that again, humbles me with their genorosity and love and encouragment that they offer to me, someone who is so undeserving. I look at them and see that I have at least 5 sets of parents, dozens of siblings, and an amazing assortment of mentors who lead me in their wisdom. I get so down about having a very tumultuous and rather small natural family, but then I realize how blessed I am to have this church body behind me every step of the way. I am brought to tears and will miss them incredibly.
It's emotional, because I realize that this is the beginning of a forever kind of change. I don't know where I will be in a few years or what I will be. I don't know if I'll be a musician or a cashier or both. I don't know if I'll be finding an apartment in Illinois or moving in to one with my best friend back in Pennsylvania or doing something different in some other state. I just don't know, and it's exciting and sad and painful and joyous all at the same time. Not to mention terrifying! But I cherish every memory, good and bad. It all comes together to make me who I am, whether you see that as good or bad or in between. All I know is that missing brings tears of sadness but also happiness. We miss times gone by and that makes us sad, but it's a joyous thing to be able to remember and relive those times.
2 Peter 1: 12-16
"12 So I will always remind you of these things, even though you know them and are firmly established in the truth you now have. 13 I think it is right to refresh your memory as long as I live in the tent of this body,14 because I know that I will soon put it aside, as our Lord Jesus Christ has made clear to me. 15 And I will make every effort to see that after my departure you will always be able to remember these things. 16 We did not follow cleverly invented stories when we told you about the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were eyewitnesses of his majesty."
Every memory is a testament to the majesty of Jesus. I am reminded of His glory, power, and love through every thing I find myself looking back on and missing while away. So, while change is crazy and sad and exciting and scary, I will always have the memories of my past to remind me of life's beauty and God's magnificence. Every second we live, we are "eyewitnesses of his majesty." Wow!
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