You Call Me Out Upon the Waters

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The 19th of December.

December 19, 2012.

I woke up the morning of the 19^th with a smile on my face, and everything was as it had been. However, when I laid my head on my pillow that night, I fell asleep with tear stained cheeks and an ache bigger than I could have ever imagined welling in my heart. Somewhere between the morning and nightfall I had gone from one, whole being, to a thousand shattered pieces, more than just a handful of which you walked away with after we hugged our last goodbye.

I guess the loss I felt as I watched you walk away from me was my own fault. The past 13 months I had placed my hopes and heart in you, rather than in Christ, and that’s a mistake I hope to never make again, though I find myself failing at it every day since then.

***

It’s been a long year, though looking back it went by rather quick. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s been a whole year, other times I feel like you’re simply a distant memory. Either way, 365 days, 8,760 hours, 525,600 minutes, 31,536,000 seconds have come and gone, never to be gotten back, forever swallowed into history. And not one of those days has gone by that I haven’t thought of you, the life and the love we shared, and the parting of stories that forged its way on that day.

***

December 19, 2013.

Though everyone thinks I should be healed by now, I’m not. Though I’ve lost friends over it, though I fight with family because of it, though I’ve come to hate who I am because of it, I cannot seem to let you go. I have a grain of hope in my soul that won’t seem to fade away. And even on days when I think that hope is gone, it finds a way to creep back into my heart. So on that day, the 19^th of December in the year 2013, I desired to break free from the restraint you’ve unknowingly put on me. Into the sea I cast my pain, the tide carrying it far, far away, dispersing it, lessening its grip on me. I didn’t cry this day.

***

It’s now a week later, and though I thought that on the 19^th I’d get the relief I’ve so longed for, I find myself still longing for your love again. I hate what you did to me, I hate the way I am now, and though I know that only I am responsible for myself, I still can’t shake the hate I have of what you did to me. And what I hate more than that, the thing I hate the most, is the fact that I only feel hate because I feel love. I still love you, though I don’t know why. And one day I’ll look back, with only a whisper of this love in my memory, and I’ll see the lessons I’ve learned, the ways I’ve grown, and the reasons for why. And maybe one day I’ll find myself in a new love, one far greater than that I ever felt for you, but until then I’ll remain, hurting and heartbroken, quietly.

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Pure Beauty: Dark Side of the Lens

Dark Side of the Lens

The Broken Hearts Lullaby

The Sixty Eight-

The first was about tanning. The second was about communication. The third was about spending time with friends. The eighth was about your friends. The twelfth was about communication. The fifteenth was about how you ran to the beach. The eighteenth was about those other two girls. The twenty-second was about your summer job. The twenty-fourth was about distance. The twenty-sixth was about communication. The twenty-seventh was about love languages. The twenty-eighth was about Spain. The thirty-fourth was about your summer job. The thirty-ninth was about your family vacation. The forty-first was about communication. The forty-second was about Spain. The forty-third was about Spain. The forty-eighth was about your bracelet. The forty-ninth was about me. The fiftieth was about my sadness. The fifty-third was about Spain. The fifty-fourth was about those other other girls. The fifty-sixth was about me. The fifty-ninth was about the homeless. The sixtieth was about teaching the kids Spanish. The sixty-fifth was about missions. The sixty-seventh was about us. The sixty-eighth was the last.

How to Heal-

            As soon as he walks out that door you think, “he’ll come back.” You convince yourself it’s a mistake, it isn’t real, you’re imagining it worse than it is. You hold firm in your conviction that he’ll realize he was wrong to leave you, that he made a mistake, that he misses you. You do this because it’s the only way you can breathe.

            You collapse all at once, you fall to the floor, the pain penetrates your heart and you stare at the door. Like a gunshot you feel it start bleeding out. Tears come like tidal waves and your breath like a twister. You can’t sleep. You can’t eat if it weren’t for your mother who drugged you.

            But soon it’s been three weeks and your phone hasn’t rung, and your door hasn’t been approached, and it’s taking conscious effort to pump your heart. You think maybe he needs more time. You think he just needs some space. You think if once he knows what it’s like without you he’ll come running back.

            And when you both return to school in January, you think he’ll see you and miss you. You know that he’ll change his mind. You’ll think, “now he knows what it’s like without me, he’s going to want me back.” And four months pass and you’re friends now and you think if you just give it some more time, maybe then he’ll see his mistake.

            Then summer comes, and he’s graduated. And you sat with his family at graduation. And his family invites you to their house for a week in the summer. And you agree because you think that means he wants you back. So you go, and he doesn’t want you back. But you think, maybe he’ll want me when I leave, maybe he just needs more time to miss what we had.

            But when September comes you start to realize maybe he won’t come around. And you fight through the tears and you try and let go, but he keeps showing up on your phone. And you think he’s interested, that he’s ready to come back, but then you realize he’s not, and you have to let go.

            And now it’s winter, and it’s been two months since you’ve talked. And you start to crumble. It starts out slow, just a crack here, and a snap there. You grip the last shred of hope a little tighter. Your knuckles grow white and your breaths become sharp, and all at once, you realize you can’t hold on another minute. And you cry through the motions, and that hope is just history. Your throat goes dry and your eyes wont stop raining and your friends don’t understand. Suddenly you’re lost in the days, they blend together as one, a series of emotionless actions, of rising and falling.

Your chest becomes tight and your body feels weak. But you pick yourself up, and you smile with your teeth, and you put your feet on the ground. Outside you seem fine; after all it’s been eleven months. Your friends think you’re whole, that your hurting has passed. But inside your mind screams, your body shakes, your legs collapse. You feel shattered, asthmatic. Behind your smile, you’re broken, and know one even notices. They’ve stopped asking how you’re doing; they get mad when you bring up the past. Though outside your eyes shine, it’s only from the tears, and inside your heart breaks, though it’s been almost a year.

And the hardest part is that you know he’s doing just fine without you, because if he wasn’t, he would’ve come back.

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To Smile is Universal

This morning I found myself on the Boston Common serving food and drinks to the homeless in the area. Amongst the people I encountered, a handful of them did not speak much or any english. Though I could not verbally communicate with them, I was capable of sharing a smile.

This got me thinking about the universality of a smile. No matter where you're from, or where you've been, or who you are, or what your story is, a smile is universal. Isn't that just the coolest thing? That two people from seemingly two completely different walks of life can find themselves communicating joy through a smile? Of all emotions to share through expression, I have to say that joy is of the best. Though many emotions can be expressed physically, therefore translating from language to language, the act of sharing a smile is something that nearly brings a tear of joy to my eye.

Today I was able to share a moment with those who I did not share a language. All it took was smile. All it took was a smile and instantly I was connected to these people. All it took was a smile and language barriers collapsed right before my eyes. All it took was a smile to spread and share in the simple joys in life.

Praise the Lord for smiles.

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Choose Holiness

"Happiness is a perilous thing. It focuses our attention on ourselves and how we are feeling in the moment. But moments change. People change. Happiness will not hold. It's a season...I praise a Jesus who does not walk away from His bride-flawed though she is. Christ spent His entire time on earth not teaching us how to be happy, but how to be holy. He is the perfect example of what it looks like to sacrifice happiness for God's holiness."

http://www.relevantmagazine.com/god/practical-faith/when-happy-trumps-holy

Tonight I was in a meeting and we read the article When Happy Trumps Holy (linked above). This article was really convicting. As we were reading I began to reflect on the times in my life when I chose something that will make me happy over doing something holy or life giving. Everyday we are faced with choices, do we sleep in, or do we go to chapel? And when we get chapel, do we pay attention or do we work on some home, study for a test, or play a game on our phones? Every day we are faced with choices, and what we chose can define our life.

I started to think about the areas in my life where I fail to make the decisions that are holy. I find that throughout the day I am constantly choosing happiness over holiness. Most mornings I choose to sleep until the last possible second instead of getting up with an extra twenty minutes so I can spend time doing a devotion, journaling, or praying. Instead of holiness, I pursue happiness every day. By the time I’ve gotten to class I’ve already carried on a conversation with a friend I’m walking with about how it’s too cold, and too windy, or too rainy, or too early. And sure, that conversation feels good, because it allows you to vent about something you’re angry about, but is it life giving? Instead, we could have talked about something we had been struggling with, and what we needed prayer for that day. When I get to class I find myself zoning out on what the professor is lecturing about, even though it is beneficial information.

By the time I get back to my room, I find that my roommate is gone, and to this I rejoice. The room to myself means I get to get in bed with my laptop and watch a show on Netflix. I spend a few hours indulging in the latest TV series because I deserve it, I’ve been working so hard and I’m stressed, or it’s only a couple hours. But why not first spend time with God in prayer? Why not use this quiet time to submit my fears and anxieties to the Lord? Later that night I find myself amongst a group of girls, talking about how much homework they have, and everything that happened that day that upset them. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a part of these conversations. Those ideas infect a group of people because people like to commiserate with others about the trials they face. (This, of course, is not to say that the trials we face day to day are something to be talked about with out close friends, but the way in which they are talked about can either be to fulfill a temporary need, or it can be to further grow in own walk with Christ.) Instead, though, how refreshing would it be if we talked about the things we learned that day, or asked one another questions about faith, life, and love?

Happiness is temporary, and the pursuit of happiness leads to despair. However, the pursuit of Christ, the full, earnest pursuit of Him, is life giving. And from this honest pursuit, we find happiness as a side effect. However, this happiness, the one that is a result of our passionate pursuit of our Creator, is eternal.

Every day we are faced with choices. Not only in what we do, but also in how we approach life. We can approach it in pursuit of happiness, but time and time again we will fail to achieve it. Everyday we should choose holiness. Everyday we should choose Christ.

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It Is Happy To Love Even If You Are Not Loved In Return

Much-Afraid shrank back. "I am afraid," she said. "I have been told that if you really love someone you give that loved one the power to hurt and pain you in a way nothing else can."

"That is true," agreed the Shepherd. "To love does mean to put yourself into the power of the loved one and to become very vulnerable to pain, and you are very Much-Afraid of pain, are you not?"

She nodded miserably and then said shamefacedly, "Yes, very much afraid of it."

"But it is also happy to love," said the Shepherd quietly. "It is happy to love even if you are not loved in return. There is pain too, certainly, but Love does not think that very much significant."
                                                     -Hinds' Feet on High Places, Hannah Hurnard

A most beautiful passage from a most beautiful book

I am the Vine

+ "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." John 15:5 +

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My Rainbow Shoes

The reason I love my rainbow sandals so much isn’t because I got them on Block Island at the surf shop my dad loves, and it isn’t because they’re so comfortable it feels like I’m walking on air. Nor do I love them because they’re in great shape after four years of use. No, I love these shoes because the threads on the straps are starting to uncoil. The soles have worn down and my big toes nearly skim the surface of the earth when I wear them to take the dogs out to play. I love these shoes because the once light tan surface is now worn almost black from sweat and rain. I love them because each crevice is nearly filled with grains of sand, too stubborn to be moved from their new home. I love them because I wore them every day of my 15th summer, the one me and my best friend went to the amusement park nearly every day. I love them because I was wearing them the day I got stuck directing traffic at the triathlon in the pouring down rain. I love them because they’re the shoes I left sitting on the edge of the dock when I got to go tubing on the lake. I love them because they were the shoes I wore the day I moved into college. I love them because I was wearing them the day me and my first love stepped on to the ferry boat and I showed him my favorite place in this world. I love them because they are the shoes I wore every time I mowed the lawn and walked my dogs. I love them because they’re the shoes that have met sand, and dirt, the forest floor, airplane floors, school halls, shopping malls, stepped in gum, stepped in puddles, kissed rock jetties, and were on my feet when I was first kissed. I love these shoes because in every loose thread and in every place the sole is worn thin, a story is written. Each day of my life, each summer memory is recorded in the soles of these sandals. Every adventure, and every daily task is documented on those well-worn wonders.

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