Mountains and Tapestries

If I were to write a dictionary full of words I know, this semester would be used in an example sentence about regression. The first three years of my college career have been full of learning experiences, new skills and new things. I started out pretty shaky--what freshman doesn't--but I then I started to get it, learning how to make my way through college and prepare myself for life on the outside. The first three years were filled with such growth. I rocketed to a high point in November of last year, and I made some progress last semester. That semester's growth wasn't as marked as last fall's, but I learned a lot about myself and others all the same.

This semester was different. This semester was a lesson in regression. At first, I thought I was just moving down the mountain into the next valley. I didn't worry too much about it. That's normal. About halfway through, however, I realized that was not the case. Instead of moving up the mountain of progress or down into a new valley, I had slid, was sliding back the way I came. I wasn't moving forward, I wasn't sitting still. I was regressing. Slipping deep into the valley I had so recently climbed, digging deep into the vale that I thought could go no lower. Going down, down, down until I was lower than the beginning, clueless, frightened, and alone. 

A second word I could use this semester as an example sentence for is reevaluation. Reevaluation of self, of faith, of friends. Of capacities and life goals, of preferences and relationships. I reevaluated almost every thread in the tapestry of my life and pulled many of these threads out all together, leaving the fabric thin in some places, altogether bare in others. And when I looked at it, I couldn't help but wonder how someone so young could have a life so devoid of direction and perceived meaning. 

Somehow in all that digging and deconstructing, though, I never lost hope. Hope that there was something bigger than me and more powerful than my helplessness. That there was Someone who had a plan and a promise of a brighter someday. That same hope that served as a lantern as I was digging and as the loom as I deconstructed, was the same hope that I used to climb out of the mine I had dug around me and the shuttle to weave the tapestry anew. 

This semester was about regression and reevaluation. I'm not on top of a new mountain yet, but I'm not in the bottom of that pit anymore. I guess that in itself could be a mountain top experience. It's a different mountain than the one I just slid down. My tapestry doesn't look the same as it did four months ago, but at least it doesn't have holes. I typically look back on a semester and can pull one big takeaway lesson that I can apply to my life, for the rest of my life. This semester is different. This semester was about the reestablishment of what I know to be true. Who I am and what I believe in. This semester was a review, not a new adventure.

The thing that God reminded me of this semester, through circumstances both personal and observed, is that good isn't what makes me happy. Good is what makes me like Christ. And if unintentional regression and forced reevaluation are what accomplish that end, then they are the best things that could happen to me. 

If I could trade it all in, I would. Because it's no fun to try to figure out what's going on in your life and why. It's no fun to have to look at the walls closing in around you and wonder why everything was so different now than it was at the start. But thankfully, it's not my choice. It's over. It's done with. It was God's will. And while I didn't like the shadows that I found myself in, it was ok. Because He had been there alone before, and He was guiding me through. All things work together for the good of them that love God. Even the things that I think are bad.

Hello again. It's been a while.

I'm not one to pretend that people are waiting with bated breath for my next blog post. After all, this is just a forum for me to share my passing thoughts with those who care to read them. Sometimes people do in fact want to know what goes on in this noodle of mine. Most of the time though, people just pass the post on their newsfeeds. And that's ok. I'm not writing this for other people. I'm writing it for me.

And you, too, obviously. Since you are, in fact, reading these words that probably will not be proofread. Sorry, not sorry.

The initial purpose of this blog was to talk about my escapades as an RTV soul in a JMC world. I have not delivered on that purpose. I apologize for that. Not too much has happened that is worth sharing. Until recently.

The Friday before Thanksgiving, the cast and crew of my morning show gathered together to sing praises to God and thank Him for what He has done in our lives. It was, in every sense of the word, very cool. God is constantly working in the lives of all of His children. It was a small thing. Only 30 minutes long. We had grapes and hastily selected songs and a key board with no stand. We improvised. It was a good time.

On another RTV related note, I spent the better part of my afternoon with a graduated friend planning out a radio show that we want to do in the near future. It was silly and filled with laughter and shenanigans that I will never write about here (because there is not enough time), but will never forget. The rest of my afternoon was spent catching up with a friend from freshman year. Tonight was spent on the Mezzanine laughing and joking with a friend from sophomore year about things I honestly don't remember now.

For so many of my fellow college students, social life and major life do not coincide, do not overlap. I am so thankful my experience is different.These are two instances, unrelated in every way except my major. Friday and today I remembered why I am so proud to be the last RTV Queen. Because it's a family. And family is everything.

I may not see any of these people after I graduate. I may not ever hear that they got married or had kids or became a media professional. I may never hear about their dogs or mourn the loss of their loved ones with them or find out that they escaped the media world for something with normal hours and free holidays. But that's ok, because I will hold the memories of our time together in my heart forever, as cliche and ridiculous as that sounds.

I am thankful for my RTV Family.

I've been thinking about relationships a lot (Or, another relationship post)

I've been thinking a lot about relationships lately.

Not romantic ones, although I have seen a lot of those pop up or slow burn in the past few months. I’m mostly indifferent to that kind of relationship. No bitterness on my part. I just don’t really care as much as I probably should about them. I’m not sure why that is. I’ve long since stopped trying to figure that out.

No, when I say relationship, I mean anything having to do with people’s interaction with other people. I guess that includes romantic ones, but I’ve seen a thousand blogposts about singleness and dating and marriage and it’s just kind of making me uncomfortable. So we're going to steer clear of that, if it’s all the same to you.

I’ve been thinking about relationships lately and how quickly they can change.

Been thinking back on friendships of mine that can barely be classified as such. About friendships that snuck up on me, that started out as business transactions or convenient meal plans. About friendships that blossomed against my will or the will of the other.

It’s amazing what shared experiences can do. War stories and hell weeks can knit people together so much more quickly than a cup of coffee or kind words. Because high pressure situations bring out the worst in people, and when you see the worst in someone, you have a 

shining opportunity to love them anyway.

Of course coffee and kind words bring people together, too. But it helps if these things are 

done when there’s already a bond formed, however strained.

But something I've been thinking about even more than how quickly they change, is how much potential for disaster or wonder a relationship holds.

It’s a universal truth that people hurt people. It doesn't matter how kind or strong or interesting a person is. That person is capable of causing great pain, is capable of being dealt great pain. People hurt people and are hurt by people in return. Just ask the bully in the Projects whose dad beats him. Just ask the heartbroken mother who has to see her son in prison. The recently dumped girlfriend, the rape victim, the receiver of unkind words. Just look at yourself. Just remember the hatred and venom you yourself have received. The hatred and venom you spewed yourself. The witty comment you made about this person’s fashion sense or that person’s quirks. People hurt people. It’s what people do.

I’m not exempt. I’ve said and done poisonous things. Some of you reading this are well-acquainted with the things that I’ve done and said. I’m a person, and I’ve hurt people.

But people are also capable of great kindness.

There is a girl who calls bullcrap on every defense mechanism that I throw up. She looks at me, and she sees. But she doesn’t stop there. She does. She acts. She gives me words of encouragement and holds me when I can't hold myself. She loves.

There’s a man who I treated like dirt for five months. And then again for two. And he encourages me when he sees me. He sends me messages ensuring me of his prayers. He takes time to let me know that despite the hurt I’ve caused, he still calls me friend. He still cares, and though he will never, ever say it, he loves me.

Both of these people blow my mind.

They love people; it’s obvious. And the only reason that it’s even possible is because they love Christ who loved them first. I’m not saying that they’re perfect. Just loved and forgiven, loving and forgiving others in turn.

I’ve been thinking about relationships lately and how they shouldn’t work, but by God’s grace, they do anyway. Because while we are infinitely sinful, He is infinitely holy, and holiness beats sin every single time. People hurt people, but God heals.

Heartache that won't stop hurting

Everywhere I look, I see pain.

Breakups. Heartaches. Miscarriage. Cancer. I hear about people killing other people, people hating other people. Disease and misery swallowing up lives and livelihood in short order.

The world is a painful place.

It seems that I can't log on to Facebook, read the news, look at my text messages, or talk to my friends without hearing about something else that happened to another human being that makes my heart scream out in pain. Pain for the changed futures, the broken hearts, the hurting people. Pain for the lost and the broken and the dying.

Everywhere I look, I see pain.

I've never lost a child, never lost a close friend to the jaws of death. But I have watched friends grapple with the reality that a loved one has slipped into eternity. And it hurts. Because life is short. Everybody knows that everybody dies. That no one lives forever. That all hearts are broken.

So what do you do when that reality hits home? When it's your heart on the line, your child that passes into eternity, your grandfather that is inching along to the next life? It's one of those things you don't know your response to until it smacks you in the face, leaving the coppery taste of blood in your mouth. What do you do when your world stops around you?

This world affords a lot of options. Drugs, alcohol, sex, to name a few. Things that lessen the pain. But that's all it is. When you come down from that high, you're left where you were before: broken, beaten, and defeated.

But there's something that does help. Someone who can change everything, can make that pain bearable.

His name is Jesus Christ.

So when I look around at the pain around me, the death and defeat that stains the air, I am held tight and secure in the arms of One who will not let me go. Who died so that I might live. And in those arms, I find peace and love and hope. Life doesn't cease to hurt. Bad things still happen. But they cannot destroy me, because the Creator of the universe is holding me.He gives life and hope and a promise His children will be reunited with each other in glory.

Everywhere I look, I see pain.

But in that pain, I see His promise and an opportunity for Him to work. The pain doesn't go away, but I know that as His child, someday, that pain will be a distant memory, completely outshone by His glory. I cannot wait.

But until then, I will lean on Him. I will trust in Him. I will spread His love to the lost, because the only difference between me and them, is Him.

Hold me

Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if my lunch plans had showed up that first Thursday of classes my freshman year. If I had eaten with that girl who got my Star Trek references and loved the Beatles and Bob Dylan almost as much as me. If I had just left the Dining Common to return to my room to study. If I hadn't walked up to a girl with fire truck red hair and her quiet friend with the pretty face and curly hair.

Probably in a ditch somewhere.

That's a joke, guys.

But in all seriousness, if that Thursday lunch hadn't gone the way it did, I would be a very different person than I am today. It was these two girls who made my freshman year what it was. Particularly that red head with the four piercings and the weird clothes and the funny hats. The art major, the oddball. If it wasn't for that unnaturally red hair, I would be a very different person.

Because she's always been there. When my very best friend transferred to another school, she was there to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and mend them with her tears. I don't think she realized it at the time, but one of the biggest reasons I healed was because she was just as broken as me. Different ways, definitely, but the world had taken its toll on her as well. And while I would never wish our respective struggles to return, I am so thankful for them, because it was in these struggles that made us who we are today.

I didn't intend for this to get all sappy. Originally, I wanted to talk about consequences of little actions and mindless reactions how one tiny thing can lead to something huge and monumental and insane. How her dying her hair bright red the summer before I met her changed and shaped who I am today. And maybe I will talk about that sometime. But this post has morphed into something different, at least in my mind.

Some people are always there when you need them to be.

But what happens when that friend, even the one from literal day one has crap blow up in their life and they can't be there? When struggles bring them down, too?

You turn to Christ. He's doesn't change. Doesn't get bogged down by the cares of this life. He doesn't have projects that pop out of nowhere and demand His total attention. He's there when you have to leave the comfort of a loved one's arms to go back to your own dorm. His phone doesn't die, He doesn't lose His card. He is always accessible and always, always 100% there.

I've known that crazy red head and her not so quiet friend for three years now. And they have always been there when I have needed them. But there may come a day when I can't reach them. And when that day comes, and my life is crashing down and I need someone to hold me together as my world falls apart, Christ will hold me up. He's been doing it all this time anyway.

I don't do endings

Sometimes I wonder why I even started a blog.

I’m notorious for not finishing things. From projects to sentences to cups of coffee, I leave behind a trail of things that I began with great gusto and somehow lost interest in about four steps, words, or sips in. The last time I did my laundry, I got as far as pulling out the underwear on the top of the pile before I gave up and just lived out of my hamper until all of my clothing was dirty again. This happens so frequently that I just gave up and bought a second hamper. It’s easier this way.

And maybe I should be working on finishing things. Maybe I should be learning discipline. But I have bigger fish to fry than folding my t-shirts before they become perpetually creased. I can’t think of anything, but I’ll let you know if I do.

Fat chance that will happen. That involves finishing a thought process.

Sometimes I wonder why I even started a blog.

There was almost a yearlong gap between my last two posts. I got four posts in and lost interest. Or realized I had no time. Or maybe I forgot I even started. Regardless, I stopped. But I came back to the typed word last night. I’m not sure why I started writing again. Well, writing for other people to see. I have pages upon pages filled with thoughts and stories and speeches and letters that will never see the light of day. Because I don’t finish things. I don’t like maintaining and sustaining things that can’t take care of themselves. There is many an unfinished sentence marring the top of a new page in my journal. I always tell myself I’ll come back to it, that I’ll finish this time, that it’ll be different somehow.

And it never, ever is.

But this time, I came back to it. This time, I’m sticking with my blog.

Sometimes I wonder why I even started a blog. But I figured it out.

Writing is soothing. It’s the balm for a wound that I never knew I carried until I’ve finally finished crossing my i’s an dotting my t’s. It’s a way for me to be transparent with the world while still hiding part of myself away behind the keystrokes and the scribbles. Writing lets me be vulnerable and open in a way that I seldom let myself be. I’m not saying that every post is going to hard and heavy and terrible. I’m not looking for pity or for sympathy or for attention. I’m showing a part of myself that doesn’t typically manifest in my day to day.

I’m a pretty passionate person, I’ve been told. Intense about things that don’t really matter, like how people wrap headphones when they’re finished. In contrast, I’ve been told that I don’t care about the weirdest things. Like my phone or my computer or deadlines or grades. But there is a part of me that’s good at hiding that I’m bothered. That I’m stretched to my breaking point and moments away from adding college to the list of things I didn’t finish.

That’s why I started this blog. To get this itchiness to quit out of my chest and onto paper, because for all my ability to talk and speech, writing works best.

Granted, writing doesn’t fix everything. I’m still taking 18 credits and working three jobs. I’m still doing more than I should for an extracurricular. Still the chaplain of a society of seriously amazing girls who should not be looking at me for any sense of direction, because I am the worst example I can think of. Still passionate about the weird little things, still apathetic about some of the important things.  I’m still, for all the accolades I’ve received and know-how people seem to think I possess, just a scared little girl who can’t be bothered to fold her laundry.

I usually don’t have trouble with conclusions, ironically enough. I always know what I want the end product to be. Clothes folded and neatly tucked away in a too-small dresser. Coffee cup empty and in the dishwasher. Blog full of posts and maybe even readers. I guess I just get lost along the way. But this time, I’m having trouble with how I want this post to end. So I’m going to do something I don’t usually do and just end it, no tying in how I see God in this, because I’m still trying to put that into words. So I’ll let someone else finish it for me:

And when before His throne

I stand in Him complete

“Jesus died, my soul to save,”

My lips shall still repeat.

                                -Elvina Mable Hall, “Jesus Paid it All”

He’s good at finishing things, from Creation of His world to the sanctification of His children to the coming of His kingdom, God leaves nothing unfinished.

Okay, so maybe I was able to tie this up. But that’s not me. That’s God, for reasons I can’t even begin to comprehend, using me to talk of His goodness. Because He is good. And that goodness never finishes.

Soothe my soul?

It's a Friday night, and I am at a desk, in my dorm room, doing homework.

Okay, writing a blog post, but you know what I mean.

I have a long standing tradition of going out with my friend Emily on Friday nights. Sometimes we go to nice restaurants with cloth napkins and wine glasses on the tables that we ask our server to remove because we don't drink. Other times we go to Whole Foods and just sit at the burger bar and talk for hours while we eat our organic pizza. Sometimes we walk around downtown and take elevators to the tops of tall buildings because we get bored of life as short people. We've been to Paneras and Embassy pavilions and planetariums and thrift shops, and sometimes, when we're too tired to do any of those things, we just sit quietly together on the Mezz or on her couch. Sometimes the only way to soothe our heavy souls is the mutual healing sitting alone can provide.

But there are some nights that even these dates don't provide the necessary respite I so desperately need. Sometimes the only thing that can soothe my weary mind and body is solitude. Tonight is one of those nights.

I used to hide on the Mezz on nights like this. When laughter and speech were more painful than calming to my psyche. But for some reason, I can't bring myself to linger in those rooms full of technology and swivel chairs. Because you're never alone on the Mezz, the ghosts of good memories and bad memories and friends and classmates too loud and present for you to find any true sense of calm. The ever changing mood of that hallway always gnawing at your mind and heart.

That's why I'm in my dorm room. There's something about the horrible wood bunks and dressers that calm the fiery inability to sit still that is always threatening to drive me crazy. It's familiar. Yes, it's a different room, on a different hall, with different people in it than I've ever had before. A different smell, different feel, different layout. But when I really think about it, when I really look around, it's not so different than years past. My books are slanted to the left, body butter and pens and glasses cases and tissue boxes sitting on top, tucked in between each other. The soft humming of a battered pink laptop ringing in my ears. Everything about my room, even the differences, is so freaking familiar.

Because it's the differences that make it bearable.

There's something soothing about listening to my roommate type at her desk behind me. About both of us idly wondering where our favorite Korean has gone off to. About knowing that I am safe and loved by two people I just met a month ago. I have an extensive adopted family, but there is something about these two that brings out a different part of me. Something transparent. Somehow, these two new people in my life provide a calming, quiet influence that make it almost easy to be in the dorm on a Friday night.

It's been a while since I've posted. I usually only do so when my heart is under a great burden. And this time is no exception. But it's nights like these that I remember that while the ghosts of my past are indicative of all the change that has marred my life and the lives of others, God is unchanging. God is powerful. God is all encompassing and sustaining, and He never, ever leaves. He is familiar and predictable in a way that nothing on this earth can ever be. While my life may have surprises, God is not one of them.