Feet On the Ground

I had a going away party yesterday. I had it a little early because my beloved aunt is going to have surgery this week and she, of course, had to be a part of everything. She’s having her reconstruction surgery after completely defeating cancer. She didn’t even have to have radiation or chemotherapy. She’s so strong and faithful and God is SO awesome. Anyway.

So, if I defined success by the number of people who apparently gave a crap about me moving away to be bothered enough to come to my party, I’d be a big blasted failure.

You know who came? THE PEOPLE I’M GOING TO TALK TO ANYWAY. *headdesk* I’m not kidding…nearly half of the people that came I had seen that week. I invited so many people that I don’t get to see that often and might never see again, thinking that it would be so cool to have everyone in one place. A couple people had legitimate excuses- my bff came for 30 minutes because she had to go, ya know, be a bridesmaid in a wedding…and we totally hung out last night anyway. But some people gave very vague excuses. I don’t consider, “I had stuff to do!” a legitimate reason to not come to my party. You know what the real reason was? I don’t care about your party.

The only people that showed up from church were my band guys and their wives. A couple people that I have met from church were there- but they don’t go anymore and I don’t consider them “church friends” anyway. I consider them “real friends” and it’s sad that there is a difference between the two.

But for the rest of people at church? Their reason? I don’t care.

The party was at the church.

The people there pride themselves on being so perfect. Yet they are so selfish, so awful, and so stuck up their own asses that they can’t even think about honoring someone else. If I’m truly honest with you, and that’s something that I just can’t keep out of my writing…the thing that makes me happiest about moving away is that I won’t have to come up with excuses to myself about why I’m not going to church.

Here’s the reason. Flat out there. Not an excuse, a reason. I can’t stand most of the people at my church.

Now, I have a pastor that I love here, and a choir member there, and the guys in the horn section, and their wives…and a couple of the greeters, and the woman that works the information desk, and some people in the congregation that I wave to on occasion…

…and that’s, honestly, about it.

But those people? Those people are AMAZING beyond belief and I will never forget them. Ever. They are going to have places of the highest honor in heaven because they’re that spectacular.

Yet I find the majority so clueless, so obnoxious, and so flat out rude and lazy that I hate that they’re the picture of Jesus to our community.

How can they coexist in the same organization?

It’s sickening sometimes. The place operates haphazardly and foolishly. Too much responsibility is put on too many people, and that resulted in hundreds of thousands of dollars being embezzled by the financial adviser. Then after that, someone thought it was a good idea to put the financial operations in the hands of some 20 year olds.

Like that would ever fly in the real world.

I’m so. so. so. tired of stupid Christians.

So what’s success? Right now, I don’t know. I know that the church doesn’t think I’m a success, and I don’t think it’s a success.

I know that this probably sounds like a whole lot of whining. Yeah, it hurt my feelings that not many people came. But I’m so thankful FOR the people that did come that I don’t want to belittle their importance in any way whatsoever. I wouldn’t trade them for a billion fakes. What really makes me frustrated, though, is the picture that this paints. The picture that is so totally unlike Jesus. To love like Jesus is to be a success. But how do we show it? Church is the last place I’d look right now.

Tags: angry, controversy, learning, uncertainty

Today is Father’s Day.

Usually a day that I spend in bitterness and self pity. For the first time in probably, well, ever, I’m totally thankful for what I have rather than focusing on what I missed. I’ve been realizing lately how much God has restored to me or blessed me with that totally makes up for what I might have lacked in the past. And it has turned out to be a very busy celebration for me, and I said Happy Father’s Day!!!! to all of the following with unaffected gusto and sincere love:

Papaw has been coming to church for the past several weeks and today was no exception. After the praise and worship, I took him to breakfast.

I texted a very dear friend who has played somewhat of a strange father/uncle role in my life for the past year and whose guidance I now find a completely vital part of my life (even though I often ignore it).

Although I hug almost everyone, I don’t have a hugging relationship with the band leader at church. No idea why, it just never happened. I think it’s because he’s too hyper. Anyway, we have joked for the past couple of years that I’m his stepdaughter because I get slightly adopted when we go on choir trips. So I gave him a giant squeeze today when he least expected it.

I called my uncle who has been around though my entire life, stood by me through everything, and showed me no less love than he bestowed on his own daughters.

I took my stepdad to the movies today. Just us. Might seem small to some, but that’s his favorite thing to do and we don’t get out to do stuff alone very often. We had a blast.

But most importantly, I totally rocked out at church this morning and praised harder than I have in months to let my ultimate Father know how much I truly treasure Him.

I. love. my. fathers.

Happy Father’s Day to all of the awesome dads out there who truly love people- even those that aren’t their own children.

Also, an extremely happy birthday to my beautiful state of West Virginia. Yes, it is a state of its own and has been for 147 years. It’s my beloved home. We have country people, DELICIOUS food (Jamie Oliver sucks!), a really cool bridge, beautiful sights, poor towns, curvy roads, snowy peaks, couch burning Satanists, legal snake handling, coal, too many rednecked Democrats, knights and ladies, bad cell service due to mountains, close families and bad grammar. We endure the bad because there’s so much good and know that even though we get horrible media portrayal, we’re diamonds amidst all that coal dust (which keeps your lights on).

Thanks, WV, for treating me well. I’m proud to be a part of you, even though I’m hopping the state line for law school! Couldn’t make myself go to Morganhole. Sry. Wubs?

Tags: father

There are a few things that, as a rule, I can’t stand. Church people and girls are at the top of the list. So girls from church are my personal hell on earth.

I realize that I’m generalizing and stereotyping. But in my experience, most of the girls I’ve had the displeasure of associating with in churchlike settings are vapid, shallow, concerned with appearances and unable to stand on their own. They’re daddies girls who are constantly seeking approval from everyone around them and their main goal is to marry someone who is important or the son of someone important in the church.

I used to want to be one of them. Oh, so badly.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make myself fit in. So I eventually quit. For a while, I quit everything related to church and even stopped playing in the band. When I returned, I didn’t hang out with anyone. I literally had NO friends close by. I went to school, work, and came home. My grades were great and I watched a lot of TV. It was a very quiet time in my life, and my only face-to-face conversations of any importance were with my mom. I spend a lot of time texting and calling my far away friends. And although I’d still see on Facebook all of the comments and pictures of church people hanging out, I had absolutely no desire to join in. I no longer cared.

I worked through a lot of hurt in that time, and after a while got to the point where I could see people that had ostracized me without feeling that old stab of pain. I even struck up conversations with people now and then, but this time I had no expectations.

Then I shocked myself by meeting someone I really liked. She started dating one of my friends and was the sister of someone I had gone to school with for years. We hit it off from our first conversation. She was hard to get ahold of when we weren’t at church, but every time I saw her we chattered away and had a blast. We hung out a few times with our friends and I looked forward to seeing her. I felt as if I didn’t have to be strategic around her- I could just show her who I was. We giggled, a lot, and whispered about things that would earn us shocked faces and frowns from most people around us. I liked her because she had a pretty real view of things that most people in church try to pretend don’t exist.

She was one of those people that, if you could PICK someone to be friends with, it would be her. We both got new jobs around the same time, and then the holidays were crazy, and so many times we said, “When things calm down, we’re going to hang out. Just us.”

Finally, I decided to try to make it happen. But she wasn’t responding to texts or facebook messages for days, or the next time I’d see her she’d apologize. Finally, I got fed up with it and asked her boyfriend if he could see if she was getting my texts. I’d heard stuff about her phone not getting messages before, and was still trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. She texted me later that day and started going on about how she was a loner and didn’t have much time to hang out and well, basically told me to quit trying.

Salt, meet wound.

I was hurt and extremely angry. I ranted and stewed and seasoned my bitterness like a witch’s brew. I wrote her off in my head and made every effort to avoid her. Fortunately, I didn’t see her at church for like, a month. Then, I saw her unexpectedly. She tried talking to me as I was walking outside to get my jacket from my car. I smiled stiffly and responded with as few words as possible and kept going. When I came back inside, I went into the bathroom. She was there. She tried to strike up a conversation. I kept trying to brush her off, but she persisted. Finally, I said, “I’ll come out and sit with you in a minute.” She grinned and said okay and walked out the door.

So, as I’m peeing as angrily as possible and berating myself for telling her I’d come sit with her, because there was no way out now- I heard God speak to my spirit.

“Forgive her.”

Of course, I wasn’t giving in that easily. A dialogue ensued.

“No.”
“Yes.”
“She hurt me!”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to!”
“I don’t care.”

I’m certain that I had a big scowl on my face. I’m also certain that God was lounging on His throne with his arms folded and staring at me with a calm, yet pointed expression. I was having a standoff with someone who knew He was going to win. Soooooooo infuriating.

And, well, let’s just be real. There, in the church’s bathroom, I said, “Damnit!”

At that moment, I TOTALLY felt God smirking at me. My candor and whining didn’t bother Him. My stubbornness amused Him. I felt no censure, and I think it’s because He knew that I was deeply hurt, that I had deeply cared about her, and that I truly wanted to do the right thing.

I washed my hands and stomped over to the door. I took a deep breath and sighed it out forcefully and then, with a small bit of resignation mixed into a whole lot of determination, I said, “Okay.”

I went out there. Forgave. Talked. Hugged. Expressed my hurt. Cleared the air. Made a few jokes. Giggled. Hugged again.

That was a few weeks ago. And since then, I’ve only seen her once and said hi in passing. We haven’t had any other contact.

It still kind of hurts.

I still love her.

And I think God is proud of me.

Tags: awkward, grace, learning, pain, peace, risk

I. love. hugs.

I know that I’ve totally freaked people out with it before. But I come from a family that loves all over one another. I’ve grown up with a mother who might say, at 10 AM, “What’s wrong with you?! You haven’t hugged your mom today!” All of the children in the family are taught from the time they could walk to give hugs and kisses around the room to everyone before they leave. Soon, it becomes second nature.

I’m good at drawing it out of people, too. I’ve seen people who are not affectionate whatsoever start seeking me out or initiating hugs. I’ve had friends who told me that I taught them how to give a good hug. I’ve had friends who live hundreds of miles away say that they wish they could see me for even a moment because they needed a hug. Not just any hug- MINE.

How freakin’ cool is that?

An embrace is powerful. I don’t like side hugs and will demand, “BOTH ARMS!” if someone is giving me a lackadaisical squeeze. I love, for just one moment, making someone feel secure in my arms (which are, ironically, not extremely strong). My hug obsession started out with wanting to receive that feeling of security, but it quickly grew into wanting to give it, as well. If I’ve seen you a few times, I’ll hug you when I first see you and I’ll give you an extra squeeze goodbye. If we’re around each other for a considerable length of time (you know, a couple hours) I will probably throw an extra one in there for good measure. If we’ve really got a good thing going, I’ll probably drop a kiss on your cheek.

Some people probably think it’s weird that I have some friends that I greet with a kiss. It’s not weird. It’s a mark of how special you are to me and what a wonderful, comfortable friendship we have.

The best feeling in the world, to me, is when someone else practically pounces on me for a hug and kiss. I’m usually the one initiating, so knowing that someone else is that excited to see me makes me feel so incredibly and completely loved.

Do you hug? If you don’t, start. Sometimes just being pressed against another person for one second reminds you (and them!) that you aren’t alone.

Tags: love

I like quiet time. I like to be alone, watch TV, read. Sit in silence at the park on a bench or lay by the pool and soak up the sun. Lose myself in a movie without interruption. Close my eyes and listen to a gorgeous worship song (I Will Run) and remember the One who gave me life.

Peace.

I love peace.

Yet when I get around other people, it’s almost as if my peace is stolen. I realize that life cannot be experienced alone, but other people stress me out. I have always been a loner and therefore don’t have much experience with relationships and am terrified that I will screw up the simplest of friendships. So I blunder and fumble and end up making an idiot out of myself. I get too close too soon or hold back for too long.

I’m emotionally volatile and the lamest thing can make me cry. I’ve been known for my meltdowns, but thank God they’ve become less frequent over the past couple of years. I am so afraid and skeptical that I put people through tests without even meaning to do so. And if I’m stressed out, I snap at the most convenient person.

I love peace, but my relationships are not peaceful.

And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace for them that make peace. – James 3:18

A loving relationship should be a resting place. One of the best things about my mom and my aunt is that you feel better when you’re around them. Life slows. A sigh emerges. Tense muscles loosen. Neither have had easy lives but they exude peacefulness and it’s contagious.

Whereas I am a tense ball of nerves at all times and omg am I ever going to calm down?!?!?!

I want to be like them. I want to be full of peace and freely give it to everyone around me. I want to access a place of peace and rest even when the outside world is chaotic. And I want to cultivate loving relationships that provide an oasis when someone is in my presence. I want to diffuse arguments and misunderstandings before they start and live with an obvious desire for things to be good in my relationships.

I need peace to show people how much I love them.

Tags: love, peace

I was pretty unfortunate looking in high school and the beginning of college.

I wasn’t hideous or anything, but my awkward stage lasted a lot longer than it could have. I didn’t have confidence. I had glasses and bangs. I’ve worn makeup nearly every day since I was in middle school and I’ve always dressed decently, but I was always a bit off somehow, and wasn’t really noticed.

So it comes as no surprise when I stopped in at church the other day and a girl there said, “You look like such a different person with straight hair and makeup.” No surprise because this girl has zero social grace and because, yeah, there’s some truth to it. The thing is, I’ve always worn makeup around her and sometimes I still wear my hair curly. It just looks better now than it did a few years ago. She tried to present it as a compliment with a hidden insult. It was probably obvious to everyone around.

I could have pointed out that she doesn’t wear eyeliner or mascara and really should. Or that she used to have super permed curly hair herself that looked absolutely awful on her. I smiled and said something to deflect the insult as much as possible when I wanted to retort. I have never been mean to this girl, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t need a reason.

I don’t really like her, but I gave her grace.

Then the very next day, I said something mean to someone I really care about. I know they care about me. They said something a little mean, hitting a sore spot that they know is a sore spot. So I fired back as hard as I could. It was nearly instantaneous, and I really hurt them.

I gave grace to someone who didn’t deserve it at all.

I retaliated against the person who, by all accounts, has been wonderful to me for the duration of our friendship and should have earned unlimited do-overs, undos, and freebies.

And they received no grace.

I feel awful about it.

What if Jesus revoked grace right when I needed it most? When I committed a sin that would be the equivalent of sticking gum under a desk rather than throwing it in the garbage? What if He suddenly got really angry about that whole cross debacle and snapped? Tore up the contract and threw me in chains?

But He won’t.

We’re at His mercy, but He is good. Always good.

I’m not.

I can only hope that I receive grace when I don’t deserve it from the person I refused it. And that I learn to keep my mouth shut and give grace abundantly.

Tags: grace, learning, pain

So I logged into my work e-mail this morning as usual, as they tell us to keep it open at all times while we’re there. I had a couple e-mails, and thinking that they were just the routine stuff that the new hires get, I clicked through them pretty quickly to skim over. I mean, it was 8 AM, and nothing gets more than a cursory reading before lunch.

Until I read an e-mail that said this:

Please know that God is using you for good.

Sometimes, God will put a light in a dark place,
not to enlighten the lost,
but to serve as a beacon,
to lead someone who has strayed from the fold and forgotten his way.

I have no idea who the sender is. I tried looking up his company profile, but I haven’t seen him. He’s not in my class, at least, I’m pretty sure he’s not. I’m COMPLETELY stumped. Oddly enough, though, I’m comforted.

Even if what we get isn’t what we really wanted, God will do small things to let you know that you are where you need to be for the time being. For instance, there are two guys in my class that I’ve really hit it off with and they’ve been my buddies from day one. Our collective sense of humor goes well together and even though we have completely different backgrounds and personalities, we really get along well and that is what actually makes me look forward to going to work. I know that I’m going to be cracking up within 10 minutes. But the funniest part? There are several shifts to choose from, and we all chose even before we started our training classes. One of the guys has the same shift that I do, and the other is only working one different day than both of us.

We didn’t know each other before we started. But I believe that God caused us to request similar shifts….which means we’re going to be working on the same team after training.

The job itself? Snore. Totally not what I want to be doing. It’s teaching me a lot, though. If I’m there, I might as well work hard at it and learn as much as I can. Including how to bring joy to other people, because the people there that bring me joy totally make it worth getting up at 6:30 in the morning.

Okay, so that’s a stretch. It definitely makes things a lot easier though.

Who are you bringing joy today? In your job? In your household? Your barista at Starbucks? I mean, he makes you happy by giving you a caffeinated drink. Can’t you return the favor?

Tags: appreciation

So. Bianca asked. Most people didn’t ask, just said that they’d pray. But she did, and I feel like she asked because she wanted to know how to pray most effectively. Not only that, she wants to grieve with me as I grieve. I’ve honestly never really had many people who considered me that important.

It’s an extremely personal matter, and I don’t feel comfortable putting many details on here because of how personal it is, how much I’m grieving, and also because it doesn’t include only me. I don’t want to hurt the people who are killing me. I don’t want to trivialize what I’m going through by putting it into mere words.

It was a romance. A romance that hadn’t really happened yet, but that I’d had a very small taste of, and something I believe that God was working out to give to me in the future. I believed and I labored in prayer over this like nothing I’ve ever prayed for. I put my soul into this. I was willing to hang on and believe for as long as it took.

And I just found out last night that it will never be mine. I didn’t even know that he was dating her. I feel so foolish. Completely duped.

It’s one of those situations where you can’t even think beyond, “What the hell?”

Because it is hell. What I’m going through right now is the most torment I have ever experienced in my life.

And now I know why tragedy inspires most writers. All I want to do now is write out everything I feel even though it doesn’t make sense. I think I could write forever out of the pain.

I loved him more than I have ever loved anyone in my life. He was the first person I loved, and he taught me that I could actually love someone and that I wasn’t too broken to feel like this. But he doesn’t care, and he’s killing me. He broke my heart and then sent it back.

I don’t want to write forever out of the pain.

I don’t want to grieve this. I spent a very, very, very long time believing for this and I am so not okay with giving more tears and more space in my life to pain. I’ve lived a life of pain and heartache and abandonment and hurt and rejection and I don’t want it anymore.

I’m constantly nauseous. I haven’t slept. I’ve never cried that hard in my life. Of course, finding out on Facebook that the most noncommittal man in the world got down on one knee for someone else didn’t help. He gave her a ring and asked her to spend the rest of her life with him. They’ll recite vows and kiss and she’ll bear his children.

Not me.

It’s a stark reality and I have to accept it and get used to it. I feel like I can’t function. I can’t breathe right. I can’t think straight. I just can’t do anything right now. I want to stop and sit and take comfort in familiar things.

Yet somehow, in all of this, God has been here. He knew that it would happen. I would never, ever, ever have believed for something so strongly had I not believed that it was His plan and His voice and His hand involved in every single aspect of it. I believed for the hugest miracle ever. Now I realize that I didn’t hear His voice at all, and I’m terrified of the implications of that.

But He picked an unlikely source to use to speak to me since I apparently have no idea what He sounds like personally.

David Crowder Band recently released a new CD called Church Music. Ironic title considering that it’s basically techno praise and swine flu will have to manifest in actual flying pigs before we’d ever play any of those songs at my church. Yet it’s basically the best CD I’ve ever heard, and definitely the best thing I’ve heard from DC*B. I got hooked with the album A Collision and was sorely disappointed in Remedy because it was really tame and “normal” compared to A Collision. But Church Music is just on a whole other level of weird. By weird, I mean awesome.

There’s a song called Church Music – Dance (!) and you can listen to it by going here and scrolling to number 13. It has a funky beat and really does make you want to dance. But the most important part of the lyrics are:

Dance if you’re wounded
Dance if you’re torn in two
Dance broken open
Dance with nothing to lose

Perfectly free
Dance if you want to be

It’s SO amazing that God knew that I would go through this and exactly when. The CD has been out for a little while but I just got it and listened to it this morning. It is the only thing that really got me through today without being catatonic on the floor.

You know how yesterday I said that I’ve given up on being happy? The song doesn’t ask me to be happy. It just tells me to do exactly what you don’t want to do when you’re wounded and broken open – dance. Just enter into mindless movements of celebration, even if you’re like me and have no coordination whatsoever.

I’m broken. I’m wounded. I’m not sure if I can live through this. But I can be free from the grief and heartache and all I have to do is live. I don’t have to figure it out. The situation tells me that I’m worthless and will always be a reject and that my hardest efforts will grant me nothing. But God says that I’m perfect in His eyes and that His Son made me perfectly free. To be wounded and dance, and it’s beautiful to Him.

(You know, all of that sounded great, but I’m still terrified and in more pain than I can imagine. It’s 2:41 AM and I can’t sleep and my stomach is completely empty but I feel like I’m going to hurl. And I keep watching the sneak peak video of Glee where Mr. Schu raps Bust a Move. I have serious problems.)

Tags: fail, heartbreak, men, pain, romance

I saw my grandparents today. I ran into them at a gas station, which, ironically, which was where I saw them the last time we spoke a couple weeks ago. Hey, it’s a big deal for us to get a Sheetz, and it’s still a novelty. As I was peering into their car window we were commenting on the irony of seeing each other there again when Papaw said, “No, this is a coincidence.”

He was holding a folded up piece of paper that I didn’t even see him pick up. He said that he had been going through some things downstairs and found it the night before. It was an old letter that I wrote him, probably when I was in third grade or so (it was written in a haphazard cursive “script”) that told him he was the best Papaw in the whole world and that I loved him.

Things have been pretty strained between my family and my grandparents for several years. They’ve gotten better, but our family totally fell apart when I was in middle school. Before then, I was Papaw’s girl. I spent most of my time with him and went everywhere with him. It was awesome. Which made it even harder when the whole family debacle happened. We’ve never discussed it, but every time I see him, the sorrow that I feel is completely reflected in his clear blue eyes.

Which is why he held onto that letter, and why I am glad he did. It was important that my 8 year old self told Papaw that I loved him. It’s interesting how little kids always draw pictures for the people that they love. Even though it’s usually a little bothersome because it’s like, “Okay, what am I supposed to do with this?” after they give it to you, it’s one of those things that touches your heart when you find one later. It’s a reminder of that certain moment when someone thought of you, and loved you, and wanted to do something to express that.

I never understood why people kept scrapbooks, but this is why. It’s a reminder of that time when something special happened or someone did something special for you. Just you. You mattered, right then. It doesn’t happen often and we lose touch quickly and then those items become necessary. When we’re little, we have an unbounded desire to express our feelings toward people. But as we grow and get hurt and busy, it’s not so important to express what we feel anymore.

It should be important. It should grow more important every time you see that person. Just let them know. Because eventually there may be a misunderstanding, or an argument, or a death. Then you’ll wonder if they ever really knew, and you’ll need a scrapbook to remind you that they did.

I miss a lot of people.

It started in 11th grade, when one of my closest friends moved away. Followed by another, and another. They leave just as I get so close that I kind of expect them to be around forever, that I can’t imagine not being able to drive over and see them on a whim, or hear my phone ring, followed by being informed that I should be ready in 5 minutes because we were going somewhere. It’s that type of thing where life decides that you’re just too darn comfortable with the way things are, so you have to lose someone really important.

I know that it started with my father. And it continued with him, and in the midst of saying goodbye to all of these friends, he kept leaving me too. Until finally I stopped playing his stupid games, but I still had to feel the sting of being left behind. It’s yet another thing I hate him for. He made me so sensitive to this phenomenon that happens all the time, to so many people, and yet it nearly paralyzes me.

I’m pretty good at maintaining these relationships if the other person is willing. One of my best friends has never lived near me. I recently just met someone who I’ve talked to since 7th grade. We don’t need to be around one another to keep a friendship alive. It would just be nice to have someone around again.

I don’t understand why everyone had to leave. The most frustrating thing is when I get so upset with life the way it is that I think the only answer is to leave, and then I hear those people complain about how their problems followed them, or they found worse problems, and they would give anything to move back.

Well, why’d you leave in the first place?!

Yet I understand the urgent feeling. Sometimes I feel so trapped, afraid that there aren’t enough opportunities, afraid that the opportunities available won’t be able to find me because so many other people are seeking out those few chances to succeed. I feel willing to sacrifice familiarity and the closeness I have with people here for those chances to move up in the world, to do better. But I wonder, most of the time, if I feel that way because I’ve been left behind most of the time. If there’s not enough here to keep me, to matter to me, because I was the one that remained here to do nothing and to be insignificant while the people I loved dashed off without a backward glance. The more I see them get entrenched into their lives in their new places, the less important I feel to them, and the more important it becomes to me to find a place of my own.

Maybe I just want to be the one that leaves before it happens again, because this last one nearly shattered me into a million pieces.