Dream

It's Sunday morning and I was just sent upstairs to "listen to the Old Lady" - a.k.a. the Reverend Mother sing "Climb Ev'ry Mountain" from "The Sound of Music." My dad has always counted this old woman among the wisest sages as she beckons Maria to "climb every mountain, ford every stream, follow every rainbow 'til you find your dream," and as we talked about life and God and jobs and choices, he suggested that I go listen to the wise words that I always fast-forwarded through on our worn-out VHS tape.

Where I was so secure about my current status the other day, now I'm not quite as certain. I was up last night until about midnight looking for jobs that would better suit my degree (and, apparently, my potential), and I wound up turning off my computer and lying in bed frustrated at the position my life is in right now. "I am better than Kroger, I have more potential than this, I am severely overqualified for the job I'm at now so it's not 'good enough.'" And, while I was sitting on my couch with a feeling of "I've got this" just yesterday, now I'm sitting at my desk in the dark except for my Christmas lights, hearing the advice of so many well-meaning people bouncing around in my head but ultimately coming to the same conclusion that I've fought for months now: "I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

My dad told me to listen to that song and remind myself that, whatever I wind up doing, it is my life. The choices I make should ultimately be my choices - not what my career-driven friends or my stay-in-Ohio-forever friends or my go-dream-big-because-you're-better-than-this friends are saying. Last night I was actually considering the possibility of going away to a place where I could start over and figure my life out. (And by that I mean high-tail it to Ireland and clear my head with bloomin' heather and Guiness, Which I haven't completely ruled out as an option yet.) I'm a firm believer that the verse about God giving us the desires of our hearts means the actual desires, not necessarily the things we desire most; and my heart's desire - since I was eight years old clattering away in Microsoft Wordpad - is to write. That is my dream: to be an author, whether an author of essays or memoirs or the oddball novel. The rest - what I end up doing for a job while I write or whether I find a job that lets me put my editing and writing skills into practice - is, as Tom Branson told Sybil, "detail."

As I start putting my resume out into the work force and re-evaluate the timeline that I originally thought was such a good idea, I'm doing as my family friend said a few blog posts back and cuddling up to my God, asking Him for wisdom as I distinguish His voice from the others that mean well but do nothing more than confuse and frustrate me. I'm shutting off my distractions for a little bit every day and listening intently for that still small voice that implores me to use my talents accordingly and not worry about money or careers. He tells me that the most important thing in this time is not finding an answer, but rather putting my faith in Him as He digs the answer out of His dresser drawer and hands it to me in His time.

Guys, I've only been graduated for a month. I'm looking at options. I am not "stuck." (And I'm saying this as much to myself as I am to you.) I'm following by-ways and being brave and constantly working that writing muscle that is leading me closer and closer to my dream of being a published author. Who knows: maybe all this soul-searching I've been doing in my journal and my blog will turn into the book that I want to publish some day. But as I'm figuring these things out, I'm scooting over closer and closer to my God - the One who sees my future, the One who will give me the answers according to His timeline while I'm busy making my own agenda. My dad read a verse to me this morning from Habakkuk 3 that says, "Even though the fig trees have no blossoms, and there are no grades on the vines; even though the olive crop fails and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the Lord! I will be joyful in the God of my salvation! The Sovereign God is my strength! He makes me as surefooted as a deer, able to tread upon the heights" (3.17-19).

Even though I feel stuck and I'm making a little over minimum wage; even though I'm hearing the voices around me that are trying to be encouraging but are only getting me more and more frustrated; even though my "game plan" is turning out like I thought it would (or should), I will put my faith in my God that He has everything in order and will reveal His answers in His time. And until then, I will be diligent and faithful in getting closer to Him and building the foundation of faith so that, when He does show up, I will turn those victories back to Him and rejoice that He was the One who provided them.

~

Climb every mountain, search high and low,

Follow every by-way, every path you know.

Climb every mountain, ford every stream,

Follow every rainbow 'til you find your dream:

A dream that will need all the love you can give

Every day of your life for as long as you live.

Climb every mountain, ford every stream,

Follow every rainbow 'til you find your dream.

Manage

For the first time in a long while I feel like I have a handle on things. I'm up to date on rent. I've worked three jobs this week and have extra hours lined up for next week. I have two pay checks to deposit. I filled up my truck with gas and made a grocery list on the waterproof notepad in my shower and got the basement ready for Joe and made a coffee date for next week and set up a dentist appointment and got a haircut (and regretted a haircut) and cleaned/reorganized my room and ordered checks and requested a new debit card. And while that card still says I'm a minor (which I am clearly not and have not been for quite some time), I'm starting to get the hang of this whole grown-up thing. Admittedly I did not handle the transition with much finesse: I clomped around with this chip on my shoulder like I had somehow been wronged by the universe as I was forced to do what everybody else does to get by. But it's far better to sulk for a while then get on with it than to fight to maintain a childlike status that doesn't get anybody anywhere.

I think I started to be OK with it the other day, when I came home from work at my side job the other day to clean my house and get everything ready for two of my work friends to come over. We ate taco soup made the day before so all I had to do was heat it up, but for the most part I prepared myself. And for the last few days I've been fairly self-motivated to do things, in and out of the house. And it's not as hard as I've been making it out to be.

I talked to Joey about moving and paying rent and everything, and he said he just saw it as something he had to do, and that was that. It's definitely not easy to look at paying bills and such with excitement, but it's certainly easier to handle if you view it with a shrug and a "this is what we do now" than with huffing and indignation.

I know it probably sounds silly to you who have been doing this for a while, but bear with me. This is all very new and different for me.

Weatherman

You've seen those movies where you get the perspective of the main character - normally a character who is dazzled (or tormented) by his own mind. The worst one I saw was in my educational psychology class: the prof showed us a video of a day in the life of a schizophrenic. Oh dear God, it was terrifying. More than that, it was frustrating. It's like one of those dreams when, no matter how hard you try, you only move in slow-motion. I hate those. Because they're so damn frustrating.

I see my life as scenes in a book. Or a movie, which makes me wonder sometimes if I should try my hand at writing a screenplay. That would be cool. Then everyone could see exactly what I see in my head. I'm sure it would pale in comparison to what actually goes on in between my ears, but at least it would give some kind of perspective of how my brain works. Believe me, I'm far from insane. But I operate on a level of "this is here and now" and "this is how I'll write it later." I hear the soundtrack of my life in my playlist specifically reserved for driving to Pennsylvania, and the songs trigger thoughts not of driving to see Joey, but being on the run to the next safe house where I and my partners will be safe (usually in those scenarios I'm the only girl, usually younger than the others but with the savvy of someone much older and wiser than I really am) until the authorities catch up with us and our rebellion again. (I still want to write that novel.) The other day when I was pulling into the parking lot at work, "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" by U2 came on the radio while the credits played in my head for the movie about a young person wondering if his or her life was destined to remain small and day-in-day-out. What I was out with what was left of the Penbury crowd on Friday, we asked one of the guys to do a Turkish accent and he gobbled like a turkey, and I immediately started forming descriptions in my head about how to put that into words without it sounding over-explained. (The last thing I want to be is condescending to my reader. Y'all are intelligent, you pick up more than I give you credit for.) The love story that I am currently in the middle of would surely rival the fictional best sellers cranked out by Steele, Sparks, and Picoult.

Which sounds like a law firm, doesn't it?

All around me are the characters for stories that I can never really get down just the way I want them. The plot of my life right now is just one scene in the grand scheme of a tale that I am longing to tell, but maybe think I should hold off until I'm a little older and have more than just the conflict to write about - readers want resolution, right? But the more I write, the more I am sure that I am a writer. Today I was writing an email to my dad and re-read the paragraph that I had just written, only to find the most delicious line I've written in weeks: "But life does go on, doesn't it? In its steadfast and sometimes cruel way, it plods fixedly forward and leaves us pockets of time to reflect and remember in between the 'have-to's' of getting groceries and washing windows."

I accidentally wrote a line with five - count'em, FIVE - alliterations. WHO DOES THAT BY ACCIDENT.

In the same way I was forced to plink out "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" for twenty minutes every day so I could move on to something else, dear Lord anything else but "Twinkle Twinkle" again, I write every day (almost) to keep my writing muscle in shape. And when I look around with the eyes of a writer, it gives me things to write about. No doubt many of the people I interact with every day will be characters in some story that I write some day. Or they might just appear as themselves in the "stranger than fiction" story I'll write about my real life. Who knows.

You'll just have to keep reading to find out.

Dollar

Friday was one of the hardest days of my young life. I went to the school where I worked for my student's visitation. They didn't have his body or anything, just a table full of his things - a baseball cap, his senior pictures, art projects he had done. There were about fifty kids there half an hour before the service started, and they were all in Alabama garb since that was his favorite team. Pictures of him growing up were scrolling on the projector screen with those moving songs that are reserved specifically for funerals and memorial services. It was simple, sweet, and a great way to remember him.

I went with my cooperating teacher, which made it easier because she knew him. She knows what it's like to see his empty desk and know he's not just coming in late. It was really nice to talk to her, too: she knew more information about his accident, and it was really good to talk to somebody who "gets it".

After I left the ceremony I came home to get changed out of my dress and went straight up to Cedarville. As I drove home, all I could think was, "I need to be with my sister." I craved distraction, something to smile at. Plus I haven't been out with people in months, and, though I don't miss many things about Cedarville, I do miss always having people to hang out with. We went to our friend's house downtown and watched "Friends" until we went to grab some pizza. It was simple, but it was so good to be out again.

My cooperating teacher said I grew up a little on Friday, but in my quest to figure out what makes a "grown-up" I never considered that as a factor - having your heart calloused by death, loss, grief. I hope I don't have many more growing-up sessions like this but I've sure I will. I'm sure there will be many more nights where I hold it together until I close the door to my room and cry into my pillow, many more afternoons when I lay on the couch and keep a straight face while I bleed my grief on a page where no one else will see. I'm sure I'll lie when I say "I'm fine" so I don't have to talk about it.

I don't want to, but I"m sure it'll be there.

Black

I got a text from my cooperating teacher yesterday, asking for prayers. One of my former kiddos had been in an accident and, at that point, was in brain surgery. The kids at the school were all over Twitter, asking for prayers. I sent out a mayday on Facebook, joining my own prayer warriors with theirs.

I got the text tonight while I was at dinner with a friend that he had passed away.

What do you say at a moment such as this?

I remember his face. I remember the tattoo on his arm - the one with the small birds emerging from a black void - that I always meant to ask him about but never did. I remember him being one of the only ones who would laugh at something I'd say from the back of the room when it appeared no one else was listening.

He was a talented artist with a contagious smile, second from the front on the far left.

He had the kindest of spirits.

His whole face was lit by his laughter.

And what do you say when that light is snuffed out long before its flame was meant to flicker?

Something deep within my throbs at the thought of this lost light. I can only imagine the sense of darkness that his friends and family must feel, to now be denied a soul that was so full of joy, so filled with potential. Oh, where would he have gone? Where would his talents and that infectious energy have taken him?

It is right to ask "O death, where is your sting" because it is rarely a sting that the Great Thief leaves. It is a bruise. It is an ache. It is a "something missing" that once was so familiar you hardly noticed it was there but you don't quite know where to go next now that it's gone. The morning will come. We will get up and get dressed and go to work and carry on, and soon it will be something we remember, though we won't know what reminded us of it.

But tonight we will grieve. We will smother our screams with our pillows as rage and disbelief and denial and questions boil forth. And we will collapse, exhausted, in sleep - far from peaceful, far from comforted.

Rest in gentle peace, sweet boy. You were a brightness to many; you were certainly encouragement to me. And your light, though unfairly taken from us, will never be forgotten.

Valjean

I saw a family friend yesterday at work. When I got to work I was hit with this horrible feeling of, "I don't want to be stuck at Kroger forever." And while I tried to fight it and remind myself that it would be for a little while longer, I walked around on the brink of tears for most of the day, until they finally came when I admitted to one of my co-workers that I don't know what to do. I'm the one who messed up the game plan of my degree - I chose teaching before I even knew I hated it - and now I'm stuck with a degree that I supposedly can't use. And that scares me to death. My co-worker said that everybody feels like this at some point, and that most of the jobs he did started with friends calling him up saying, "Hey, let's go do this." He squeezed my wrist and said I would find something, and I felt a little better.

After I finished talking to him, I left the back dock and ran into our family friend. And when she asked what I was up to, I somewhat explained where I was in this post-graduation funk. She said that this is a time of rest, where I should focus on cuddling up to my God and taking advantage of this time of peace. He has a plan, and she said I should enjoy this rest, because when He shows the next step I'll be off and running to go do what He has for me. How she knows that I don't know, but the point is that I never considered this as a period of rest. I've been so focused on running around worried and angry that I haven't seen this time - where I am relatively secure and at least I have a "this step" - as a time to rebuild the strength of my faith in my God. Because, my friend said, that's what faith is: the belief that God is working, even when we don't see anything in motion. It's like the Ohio River: you go down to the Montgomery Inn and stand at the edge of the river on its calmest day, and it doesn't look like it's going anywhere. But you get in it and float on your back (which, I don't know why you would, that thing's filthy), and you'll end up somewhere else, if you only relax and let the current do its thing.

It's easy to think about being peaceful, when I"m drinking coffee in my pajamas, listening to Glen Hansard and looking out on the first snowfall of the year. The tricky part is when I go into another work shift later today and get fed up with doing the same menial task that I started yesterday and am still sore from this morning. And I get really worried that I'll get stuck in the rat race that I'm already sick of. But then I remember to feel my Father's arms around me. He has a plan. But He's whispering to me, "Not yet, My child." And I must be content to stay in His rest until it's time for me to move.

Mysterious

"Downton Abbey" season 5 premiere last night. Oh my word, the rest of this season will be so good!!!

We just started reading through James, and while I've been through it I don't know how many times already, I always catch things that I've never seen before. This time it was James 1.26-27.

If you've been keeping up with my blogs through the years (or heard me rant a time or twelve), you'll know that I despise religion. The man-made institution of religion that provides rules and regulations for how to be a child of God makes me so angry - children of God are considered His "prized possessions" because "He chose to give birth to us by giving us His true word" (1.18), so why are we as fellow prized possessions (a.k.a. fallen human beings) setting up these stipulations to become something that God has already made us? (Does that make sense?) I don't necessarily support the "feely-good" gospel (as my dad says) that says "you're completely exempt from condemnation and suffering strictly because you're a child of God" as a replacement for religion - to me that sounds like exempting God's children from responsibility, like the stereotypical rich kids who don't need to follow the rules because of their father's name or position. But I don't think that religion, according to man's standards, is the answer either. That puts too much emphasis on what you do as a means of "making you holy" rather than focusing on your identity as God's child. There needs to be a happy medium between the two unhealthy extremes.

That's why I don't have a problem reading vs. 26 with a little bit of sarcasm: "If you claim to be religious but don't control your tongue, you are fooling yourself, and your 'religion' (the profession of a belief that you really don't have or live) is worthless." The next verse puts to the fire the feet of those religious figures during James' day, the Pharisees who got under Christ's skin with their religious proverbs and condemnation of other (a.k.a. fellow) sinners: "Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you." It means getting your hands dirty in the act of helping this world, not running away from it and sitting on your bed with your Bible and highlighters, praying for God to fix the suffering outside your walls. And I don't necessarily thing that being corrupted by the world means going along with the sinful things that are held in favor of society; I think it could mean going to the other end of the spectrum and looking at the world with prejudice and judgment. That, my friends, is also a means of letting the world - and your extreme aversion to the beliefs of that world - corrupt you.

Religion bothers me because it takes the focus off what it truly means to be a child of God. It's not based on how much you bring to the winter potluck or how much you put in an offering plate or whether you have hymns or a full rock band in your worship time. None of those things are a proper, God-professed measure of your faith. But it surely must be based on something more than your "identity." Yes, praise Him who claimed us as His prized possession. Yes, rejoice that, if you have made the decision to become one of His followers, you are destined for an eternity of worship of and fellowship with our God. But you can't forget to put that faith and that blessed identity into practice. "Don't just listen to God's word. You must do what it says. Otherwise you are only fooling yourself" (James 1.22). I'm not saying that those actions are what make you "saved". But if somebody gives you a shirt for Christmas, you wear it out in public and show people your new shirt; you don't leave it in a drawer and tell people, "Hey, I have this great shirt at home."

Do

I had laid awake in bed for two hours before I got up at 6 am on my first day off in six, cuddled up on the couch with my Casey-dog (don't tell my mom), a cup of coffee, and "Downton Abbey." My Christmas tree is lit up for the last time of this Christmas season, and by the end of the day it will be all packed away again. This is by far my least favorite time of year, when we have another eleven months until this joyous season rolls around again.

What does it mean to be a "grown-up"? When I was eleven I thought it meant being like Mia Thermopolis in "Princess Diaries," living in your own floor-sized room with a cat and a laptop computer. Little did I realize that she was only fifteen years old, and by the time I reached fifteen, I believed that once I reached eighteen and went off to college, I would really be a grown-up. Your adulthood must grow as you progressed through school, which meant it began freshman year and continued up until one graduated from law school or grad school. That myth was quickly tossed out when March of my senior year rolled around and found me watching "Tangled" and coloring pictures with one of my friends who was a year into law school.

Well, if it's not linked to age, I thought, it must be linked to occupation. But that doesn't really mean anything either. My Doctor Uncle Kevin is a prime example: he's worked his way up through grad school and has finally become a doctor with his own practice (he's a psychologist for young kids and uses "play therapy" - meaning video games and our family board game - to reach through the walls that those young souls have already built up), but some of our best conversations start out with, "Remember that Bugs Bunny episode when...." I love him dearly for it: he maintains his level of childlike wonder even though he's well-learned and, by the world's standards, a grown-up.

As I get older and deeper into the world of "adulthood" based solely on my age, I'm finding that there's no real point where you turn the corner and flip the switch off in the section of your brain that was reserved for pretending and running around outside catching fireflies. It must be a state-of-mind, rather than a milestone like riding your bike for the first time or losing your first tooth. Maybe being an adult in age and practice isn't linked to being "grown-up" in your mind. The story goes that, when I was born and could fit in one of my dad's big hands, he whispered to me, "Don't grow up, baby." And while he hasn't been able to stop me from getting taller and graduating first high school and then college and moving out and getting married and having my own babies that I implore not to grow up, he's taught us to keep that wide-eyed wonder for the world around us, to embrace new experiences with a sense of excitement rather than apprehension and heavy sighs.

Maybe that's the grand secret. You have no choice but to go through life and take what it throws at you and learn from the mistakes you make and enjoy the highs that you are blessed with. But rather than being jaded and bitter about the times when you fell down, you take it in stride and get back on your feet with a smile, because you know you'll be smarter the next time. It's the same as jumping off the swing set and realizing that it's better to land on your feet than your face and getting back on the swing to try it again.

Right now being a grown-up means going to work and coming home to get on Pinterest and watch the Looney Tunes episodes that I've recorded because I can't stand to watch another football game. (I never realized until I moved back home that there is no end to football in my house: if it's not a game, then it's listening to people talk about football...dear God, is there no end to this awful season?) If you've been keeping up with my blog posts over the last few months, you'll agree that my version of grown-up does not have all the answers. My kinda-aunt asked me the other day what I'm going to do now that I have my teaching license, and I told her that I have not one single clue. But that's, as I've been told, the exciting part: I have all opportunities in front of me, the chance to do anything.

And that, perhaps, is the best thing about being "grown-up."