***Just a note. This, as with other blog posts, are not necessarily reality. Rather, many of my posts tend to be either loosely based on reality or based on something I read, the lives of those around me, etc.
Afterwords, you apologized. You said you were sorry, and that it was at least 90% your fault. As if one can put a percentage on culpability. You said that you never should have let that happen, that you should have kept your reason in check and your hands to yourself. You said that you were the man, that you had to be the responsible one, that it was all you, you you. And you apologized. For not treating me as you ought. For hurting me. You thought you hurt me, but I hurt you.
I tried to tell you why. I tried to explain that all I wanted was for someone to understand, but you misunderstood. Earlier, when I asked how your day was, you said "good" and then "goodbye," leaving me holding a silent phone. When I tried to tell you I felt left out, you gave me a sympathetic hug and told me that "it will be ok. Everything will work out." You're always telling me that--"It will be ok." As if time actually heals. What a lie. What a sickening, dark, twisted lie. Time won't remove underlying issues. Like you, time won't listen to me, time won't understand, and time won't love. I just want to be understood. And loved. Really loved.
I have become familiar to your changing the topic when I am trying to share parts of myself, of my past, of who I am as a person. Of my confusion towards who I ought to be. Oh, sometimes you listen.Sometimes you fulfill every requirement to nod and smile. But you do not understand. I want you to understand.
Yes, you apologized.You said you were sorry for what you believe to be an issue, for what you believe to be hurting me. It is not an issue. You did not hurt me. What hurts me is your not understanding this. Your not understanding me. But... maybe I have this wrong. Maybe you will understand someday. If I give it enough time.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Thursday, December 30, 2010
"But only say the word and I shall be healed" Thoughts of a shattered soul.
Especially in this paradoxical age of intellectual progress combined with spiritual regress, there is a heart-breaking dichotomy in society. I should clichely say that I ought to speak for myself here, but it seems that most people, at least the human ones, bar the door to their soul. There is a split between the person we are and the person we allow others to see. We try to appear to be someone even just a little better (whatever "better" may be) then our wretched selves. Sound familiar? Welcome to the human race. I don't have to elaborate. It's a reality cutting through to the core of this banishment called "life." To quote Casting Crowns, we are "happy plastic people under shiny plastic steeples, with walls around our weakness and smiles to hide out pain."
Coupled with the pain of this falsity, there is that incessant longing within our hearts: that seemingly infinite emptiness that lies within the deepest abyss of every soul. No matter how beautiful the sunset, how touching the smile of a child, or how marvelous the embrace, there is always the possibility of more. There is something about a gazing into a sunset that leaves one feeling so vulnerable, looking beyond. What makes it so healing to walk alone on a stormy night with rain soaking one's skin and wind whipping to the marrow of one's bones? It is those times that are most beautiful that the possibility of more shines most brightly. In his sermon titled "The Weight of Glory," C.S. Lewis calls this longing an, "inconsolable secret within each of us: a secret which can neither be told nor be kept silent." We are discontent foreigners in a strange land who bear broken hearts and shattered souls.
In order to break down this seemingly inescapable dichotomy within society, families, and the heart of the human person, reception of Communion must do at least this: it must make known our real selves, at least to the God we receive. Just prior to receiving the Blessed Sacrament, the faithful recite the words, "Lord I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed." In receiving communion, we are allowing Christ, through the Blessed Sacrament, to literally enter within the very persons He created. He touches the center of our being. Through Communion, we allow Christ to know us, gracing us with a small sharing the clarity we will find in Heaven.
Alright, enough talk. Pontificating ad naseum is not what this blog is for, and it is time for the habituated college student to shut-up and the lost teenager to resume her ramblings. This post finds its origins in a spiritually-tied-in-knots college student who has too much time and freedom to think over Christmas break. It may not be theologically correct and might go overboard on the poorly-written flowery imagery, but what I tried to explain here is the one thing I hold onto. Through reception of the Blessed Sacrament, even the smallest wound within us may "be healed," allowing us to lose ourselves through Communion and become known: to become one in, with, and through Christ.
Coupled with the pain of this falsity, there is that incessant longing within our hearts: that seemingly infinite emptiness that lies within the deepest abyss of every soul. No matter how beautiful the sunset, how touching the smile of a child, or how marvelous the embrace, there is always the possibility of more. There is something about a gazing into a sunset that leaves one feeling so vulnerable, looking beyond. What makes it so healing to walk alone on a stormy night with rain soaking one's skin and wind whipping to the marrow of one's bones? It is those times that are most beautiful that the possibility of more shines most brightly. In his sermon titled "The Weight of Glory," C.S. Lewis calls this longing an, "inconsolable secret within each of us: a secret which can neither be told nor be kept silent." We are discontent foreigners in a strange land who bear broken hearts and shattered souls.
In order to break down this seemingly inescapable dichotomy within society, families, and the heart of the human person, reception of Communion must do at least this: it must make known our real selves, at least to the God we receive. Just prior to receiving the Blessed Sacrament, the faithful recite the words, "Lord I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed." In receiving communion, we are allowing Christ, through the Blessed Sacrament, to literally enter within the very persons He created. He touches the center of our being. Through Communion, we allow Christ to know us, gracing us with a small sharing the clarity we will find in Heaven.
Alright, enough talk. Pontificating ad naseum is not what this blog is for, and it is time for the habituated college student to shut-up and the lost teenager to resume her ramblings. This post finds its origins in a spiritually-tied-in-knots college student who has too much time and freedom to think over Christmas break. It may not be theologically correct and might go overboard on the poorly-written flowery imagery, but what I tried to explain here is the one thing I hold onto. Through reception of the Blessed Sacrament, even the smallest wound within us may "be healed," allowing us to lose ourselves through Communion and become known: to become one in, with, and through Christ.
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| Photo taken by the lovely Mary Swinford |
What the entire world cannot contain, love imprisons here.
Friday, December 24, 2010
On Christmas.
Around Christmas time, I nearly inevitably get this sort of anti-climatic feeling in my soul. It seems as if so much stress and preparation goes into this one day, only to have it gone in the blink of an eye. I suppose one could say that is due to the secularization of Christmas and that the materialistic side ought to be set aside anyways. But, even liturgically where the season runs through February 2nd, everything seems routine. Every year, we enter into the same spiritual preparation for an event which took place in history over 2000 years ago. What's the big deal? Christ isn't coming tomorrow--Christ came, is here, and will be into eternity. Things in life just aren't as good the second time around, never mind the 2010th time around. Rather than getting caught up in rehashing age old events, I wish I could enter into the reality of the incarnation on a day to day basis--an ever-present reality of Christ's presence, constantly calling us back towards Him.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
spinning insanity
It would have been helpful to have had a hamster as a pet. It has taken me far to long to learn something that that tiny little rodent could have taught me as early as I could open my eyes. As it turns out, turning from one direction and running the other in a hamster wheel does not get one out of the whirling insanity. The perspective may be new, but the wheel remains.
At least, this is what life seems to be teaching me recently, in a recent fit of unhealthy introspection.
I've realized that the thing I've longed for most has always been the thing I'm most afraid of. That used to be death. Now it's love. You know, the pure Agape kind of love that orders everything to be as it ought. Thing is, I thought I changed, but I haven't. I'm in the same spot as always, just looking in a different direction. I'm still trying to hop off this wheel of insanity, just by different, but equally terrifying means.
To use another analogy: I'm sitting on the edge of a diving board. I used to want to climb back down, into the "pits of despair" (to be over-dramatic and cliche.) Now I'm looking forward, into the waters of life. (Another cliche.) Thing is, I haven't moved.
How long can I sit comfortable on the unstable tip of this diving board, too afraid to face either the solid ground behind or the impending waters ahead?
At least, this is what life seems to be teaching me recently, in a recent fit of unhealthy introspection.
I've realized that the thing I've longed for most has always been the thing I'm most afraid of. That used to be death. Now it's love. You know, the pure Agape kind of love that orders everything to be as it ought. Thing is, I thought I changed, but I haven't. I'm in the same spot as always, just looking in a different direction. I'm still trying to hop off this wheel of insanity, just by different, but equally terrifying means.
To use another analogy: I'm sitting on the edge of a diving board. I used to want to climb back down, into the "pits of despair" (to be over-dramatic and cliche.) Now I'm looking forward, into the waters of life. (Another cliche.) Thing is, I haven't moved.
How long can I sit comfortable on the unstable tip of this diving board, too afraid to face either the solid ground behind or the impending waters ahead?
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
terrified.
You know, I'm not afraid of living alone. There's something comfortable with the idea that the only person that I'll ever have to answer to on this earth is me. It's familiar and comforting to imagine the possibility of knowing that wherever I go, whatever I do, there will never be anybody but myself to call softly to me, whispering "hello... that's not right. Turn around." Nothing to worry about, and no one to keep me from taking a swim hazardously in the deep end when even the depths of this ocean called life isn't enough.
Like I said, I'm not afraid of being alone. No, what I'm afraid of is being with another. There's something utterly and completely terrifying about having someone else look into your soul saying "hey, I know you." To give part of myself away without knowing how it will be handled--this is what does, and always has, given me this sick sort of feeling in my stomach. When I look at couples around me, they mesh so well together. They know who the other is, what they stand for and believe in, and what they don't. The very thought of allowing someone to become so close to me that we're one is so foreign to me. It's so completely other than my self-absorbed life.
Maybe that's why I liked you so much. In my feelings for you, there was no risk. If you did have feelings for me, I know that you would never admitted it. I'm not who you're looking for. As friends, we could have those want-to-be intellectual discussions that ignore what was really haunting us. We were mad. When we talked about our theological questions, we both know that what we really meant to talk about was our lack of faith. Neither one of us would admit it, though. We danced around Truth to the rhythm of theology. That's why I loved you and hated you at the same time. My heart would scream "if only!" and wait for the day when you would admit that we may be more than simply friends, but the rest of me dreaded that day that never came. Because of that, you were a safe friend to have. I could, and still can, hide myself when I talk to you. Around you, I can live this lie and yet be more wholly myself at the same time.
No, I'm not afraid of living alone. I'm terrified of living in love.
Like I said, I'm not afraid of being alone. No, what I'm afraid of is being with another. There's something utterly and completely terrifying about having someone else look into your soul saying "hey, I know you." To give part of myself away without knowing how it will be handled--this is what does, and always has, given me this sick sort of feeling in my stomach. When I look at couples around me, they mesh so well together. They know who the other is, what they stand for and believe in, and what they don't. The very thought of allowing someone to become so close to me that we're one is so foreign to me. It's so completely other than my self-absorbed life.
Maybe that's why I liked you so much. In my feelings for you, there was no risk. If you did have feelings for me, I know that you would never admitted it. I'm not who you're looking for. As friends, we could have those want-to-be intellectual discussions that ignore what was really haunting us. We were mad. When we talked about our theological questions, we both know that what we really meant to talk about was our lack of faith. Neither one of us would admit it, though. We danced around Truth to the rhythm of theology. That's why I loved you and hated you at the same time. My heart would scream "if only!" and wait for the day when you would admit that we may be more than simply friends, but the rest of me dreaded that day that never came. Because of that, you were a safe friend to have. I could, and still can, hide myself when I talk to you. Around you, I can live this lie and yet be more wholly myself at the same time.
No, I'm not afraid of living alone. I'm terrified of living in love.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
longing for that place I've never been
There's something about the season of Autumn. Every breath of that crisp air feeling like a taste of something beyond, and the light filtering through the golden leaves showcases the Lord's earthly paradise. Melancholy is in the air, and it's pulling my heart north.
Growing up, fall was my family's time to go camping. After the craziness of gathering everything from enough socks to last over a week to extra jackets for those cold Upper Peninsula evenings, all us restless children would cram into our 12 passenger van and drive north.
As I grow older, my memories from my younger years camping are lessening. Thankfully a few still remain. One bright afternoon, my cousins, brothers, and I traveled the hiking trails from campsite to campsite, the danger of a spider web hitting our face lurking with every step. Another time, my aunt and I formed the sand leading down to the shoreline into steps to ease the walk, steps that fell apart the second one set foot upon them. Our evenings were spent taking in the scent of pine trees and campfires while filling our bellies with s'more and hot-dogs.
As I grew older, my experience of camping trips changed. I joined the ranks of those required to help clean out the van beforehand, and I found myself not only making sure I had enough clothes to last the week, but packing for my younger sister as well. The drive up was filled with less time sleeping and more time watching the world pass me by, contemplating the deeper parts of a middle school life. In the evenings, I began to take in good conversations along with s'mores. Life was good.
Now, immersed in college and unable to head north, I find myself longing for those crisp fall evenings where I had naught to do but trace my feet in the sand and watch the sun sink below the horizon. As much as my heart breaks for want of this beauty, part of me realizes that the Upper Peninsula is not really what I long for. Not as a final end, anyways. It is simply an imperfect arrow pointing towards something deeper. By the time I hit teenage years, camping was reduced to yet another family event I was required to participate in. In my family of ten, nothing ever goes right and I began to get caught up in this. I became more than a little annoyed at my sister waking me up every night to go to the restroom, and my seven siblings and I never could agree on who got the chocolate pudding cups and who had to settle for vanilla. The lack of flushable toilets became more disgusting while my sleeping bag felt less and less comfortable. My family's camping trips may be filled with wonderful memories, but they are less than perfect.
Still, standing on lake superior and looking at those beautiful sunsets, I found myself in the place where I feel more at home than anywhere else in the world. Yet, at the same time, those are the moments when I am less at home than ever. The beauty of untouched nature calls my heart towards an even more beautiful Place, a mystery, a breathtaking wonder that words could never contain. Longing--this my only road-map to this Place. Psyche says it beautifully in C.S. Lewis' novel "Til We Have Faces:"
It's fall, and my soul longs to be back at that place so badly. Back to the Upper Peninsula, and beyond to that even greater Place where I've never been.
Growing up, fall was my family's time to go camping. After the craziness of gathering everything from enough socks to last over a week to extra jackets for those cold Upper Peninsula evenings, all us restless children would cram into our 12 passenger van and drive north.
As I grow older, my memories from my younger years camping are lessening. Thankfully a few still remain. One bright afternoon, my cousins, brothers, and I traveled the hiking trails from campsite to campsite, the danger of a spider web hitting our face lurking with every step. Another time, my aunt and I formed the sand leading down to the shoreline into steps to ease the walk, steps that fell apart the second one set foot upon them. Our evenings were spent taking in the scent of pine trees and campfires while filling our bellies with s'more and hot-dogs.
As I grew older, my experience of camping trips changed. I joined the ranks of those required to help clean out the van beforehand, and I found myself not only making sure I had enough clothes to last the week, but packing for my younger sister as well. The drive up was filled with less time sleeping and more time watching the world pass me by, contemplating the deeper parts of a middle school life. In the evenings, I began to take in good conversations along with s'mores. Life was good.
Now, immersed in college and unable to head north, I find myself longing for those crisp fall evenings where I had naught to do but trace my feet in the sand and watch the sun sink below the horizon. As much as my heart breaks for want of this beauty, part of me realizes that the Upper Peninsula is not really what I long for. Not as a final end, anyways. It is simply an imperfect arrow pointing towards something deeper. By the time I hit teenage years, camping was reduced to yet another family event I was required to participate in. In my family of ten, nothing ever goes right and I began to get caught up in this. I became more than a little annoyed at my sister waking me up every night to go to the restroom, and my seven siblings and I never could agree on who got the chocolate pudding cups and who had to settle for vanilla. The lack of flushable toilets became more disgusting while my sleeping bag felt less and less comfortable. My family's camping trips may be filled with wonderful memories, but they are less than perfect.
Still, standing on lake superior and looking at those beautiful sunsets, I found myself in the place where I feel more at home than anywhere else in the world. Yet, at the same time, those are the moments when I am less at home than ever. The beauty of untouched nature calls my heart towards an even more beautiful Place, a mystery, a breathtaking wonder that words could never contain. Longing--this my only road-map to this Place. Psyche says it beautifully in C.S. Lewis' novel "Til We Have Faces:"
"No, no no," she said. "You don't understand. Not that kind of longing. It was when I was happiest that I longed most. It was on happy days when we were up there on the hills, the three of us, with the wind and the sunshine where you couldn't see Glome or the palace. Do you remember? The color and the smell, and looking at the Grey Mountain in the distance? And because it was so beautiful, it set me longing, always longing. Somewhere else there must be more of it.
It's fall, and my soul longs to be back at that place so badly. Back to the Upper Peninsula, and beyond to that even greater Place where I've never been.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
tales from the waiting room
A few months back, I went with my roomie to the doctor's office. While she was in her appointment, I killed time on her iPod touch. It took forever to type, but here's what I left with:
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
As I sit here in this pale green and grey waiting room, I'm wondering how much longer it will be. Not how much longer until my friend comes out, although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wondering that too. No, I'm wondering how long until I'm one of them. I glance around the room and see the employees all dressed in their brightly colored scrubs. In such light clothing, how can they keep warm in this prison of dated wallpaper and frigid air conditioning?
"Is it five yet?" one of the employees asks the other "I have errands to run and cleaning to do yet tonight." Work, errands, and chores--such is life.
But, is that it? Is that all there is to my life? Why go to college only to meet so dull and typical a fate?
I look up from my friend's iPod. An elderly lady is walking in, using a cane to support her. "How is your MS treating you these days?" one of the employees asks with a half sincere smile. Finally, a brief ray of warmth in this stone cold confine.
Over the sound of my stomach rumbling, I hear her reply: "oh, I'm not as I used to be, but I'm getting by." I glance at my watch. It's nearly dinner time now. I've been waiting for nearly an hour. One hour of this cold, negative existence, with this electronic device as my only friend.
"Ten minutes left." the employee tells her coworker. Slipping through the center of the hour glass--that's how these jobs call one to live life.
An employee dials a number on her cell phone. "Hi hon I'll be there to pick you up in about fifteen minutes so be ready. Mm hm"
Ugh. More obligations an living by the clock. I feel like barfing.
"Ok just be by the door this time." she continued, "I love you. Bye"
There. That's it! She said it!
I glance up to see the lady with MS greeted by an elderly man and a little girl. "grandma!" the little girl ran into her grandma's arms with obvious excitement and love in her eagerness. "Careful now," the grandpa warned "your grandma's muscles aren't as strong as they used to be."
"oh come now" the frail elderly lady smiled as she engulfed her bouncy granddaughter in a hug.
There it is again! That's why!
Like the woman on the phone said to her child--love. That's why they spend their days in this cold greyness. This doctors waiting room may feel like a prison, but if it is, it is a prison of love, and staying here is one of the freest choices these employees have ever made. These people love.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
As I sit here in this pale green and grey waiting room, I'm wondering how much longer it will be. Not how much longer until my friend comes out, although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wondering that too. No, I'm wondering how long until I'm one of them. I glance around the room and see the employees all dressed in their brightly colored scrubs. In such light clothing, how can they keep warm in this prison of dated wallpaper and frigid air conditioning?
"Is it five yet?" one of the employees asks the other "I have errands to run and cleaning to do yet tonight." Work, errands, and chores--such is life.
But, is that it? Is that all there is to my life? Why go to college only to meet so dull and typical a fate?
I look up from my friend's iPod. An elderly lady is walking in, using a cane to support her. "How is your MS treating you these days?" one of the employees asks with a half sincere smile. Finally, a brief ray of warmth in this stone cold confine.
Over the sound of my stomach rumbling, I hear her reply: "oh, I'm not as I used to be, but I'm getting by." I glance at my watch. It's nearly dinner time now. I've been waiting for nearly an hour. One hour of this cold, negative existence, with this electronic device as my only friend.
"Ten minutes left." the employee tells her coworker. Slipping through the center of the hour glass--that's how these jobs call one to live life.
An employee dials a number on her cell phone. "Hi hon I'll be there to pick you up in about fifteen minutes so be ready. Mm hm"
Ugh. More obligations an living by the clock. I feel like barfing.
"Ok just be by the door this time." she continued, "I love you. Bye"
There. That's it! She said it!
I glance up to see the lady with MS greeted by an elderly man and a little girl. "grandma!" the little girl ran into her grandma's arms with obvious excitement and love in her eagerness. "Careful now," the grandpa warned "your grandma's muscles aren't as strong as they used to be."
"oh come now" the frail elderly lady smiled as she engulfed her bouncy granddaughter in a hug.
There it is again! That's why!
Like the woman on the phone said to her child--love. That's why they spend their days in this cold greyness. This doctors waiting room may feel like a prison, but if it is, it is a prison of love, and staying here is one of the freest choices these employees have ever made. These people love.