Chhchchanges

Change February 24, 2012

I am so grateful for change. I’m grateful that every day is a new day and we don’t have to keep reliving mistakes from yesterday. I’m grateful that you are a God of redemption. Who always wants to give us a fresh start. That even the concept of days is that of starting over. The sun sets and then it rises again. And every day is fresh and filled with possibility.

I’m grateful that you love restoration. That you make new life out of the old. And that you make beauty out of the dirt and the dust. If there’s one thing I know you want me to remember it’s that you make all things new. That what was broken can now be made beautiful. That anything can be fixed. That nothing has to stay stuck and that every day is a chance to start living something different.

I love change. I love new friends and new faces. I love traveling to cities I’ve never seen in person. I love trying new foods and hearing new jokes. I even love the simplest things like trying out new hair styles and wearing things I normally wouldn’t wear. I love firsts. Even though they’re hard. Even though they hurt sometimes. Even though they’re awkward and uncomfortable I still love them. Because with firsts comes freedom.

Tomorrow is a new day. A new chance at life. A new day to get it right. It’s new foods and a new restaurant. It’s new routes and new streets. It’s new possibilities. And tomorrow’s possibilities are endless.

Purple Shirt

I wrote this a while ago on a day of remembrance. In 2010 there were a number of gay students who were taking their own lives. It devastated me. So people got together and wore purple shirts in honor of their lives. I was sitting there in my purple shirt crying. My heart was breaking for these students. Here's what I wrote:

Purple Shirt 10/20/10

I put this shirt on and I dedicate it to you. Young man. Too young to die. It’s purple because it reminds me of your pain. Of bruises hidden from the world. Buried beneath a facade of laughs and an heir of superiority. Anything to get through the day and to hide yourself away from one more round of teasing. Purple is beautiful, in it’s brightness and boldness. It is soft and gentle. It is loud and confronting. It is royal and honorable. All of the things that you were and could have been if you had chosen to live longer. If you had chosen to hang on for just a few more years. Holding on until the torment ceases and this moment fades into a distant memory of a time during your awkward teenage years.

We all have them. Sometimes mine got so dark that I wanted to end it all too, but I didn’t. Thank God. And I only have God to thank for that. But you didn’t realize it. You didn’t realize that in the midst of all your pain there is a God who loves you. That it doesn’t matter what His followers might say, God is crazy about you. But you never got a chance to hear that. All you heard instead were the lies, shouted to you by an enraged enemy. Whispered to you in the middle of the night. The torture you felt when you looked in the mirror and saw your own face looking back. The torment between feeling something so honest and pure, and not knowing if what you felt was right. But isn’t love right? When is love ever not right?

You never understood how you could be made this way and you tried so hard to make it stop. But, it wouldn’t stop. So instead, you embraced it, thinking that maybe by being who you are you would eventually be happy. And so, you got up each day, put your pants on one leg at a time, and walked out the door. Going to school. Doing normal things like a normal boy. All the while, you were mocked for just living your life. Not understanding why other people could hate you so much.

“There must be something inherently wrong with me,” you thought, as you tried to look into your own eyes. But you couldn’t see it. You couldn’t see why other people could be so angry with you. But as time went on, you started to see it too. You started to believe the judgments. You started to absorb the hate. And soon looking at yourself in the mirror became too much. Wrapped up in a world of lies, surrounded by shouts of anger, buried beneath daggers of disapproval and hate you felt like you were being eaten alive. Soon the pain became too strong to bear. So you decided to give them what they wanted. No more “living in sin.” No more sitting in isolation. No more representing all that they wanted to be, but were too afraid to become. When the weight of the mocking became too much, you did the worst thing you could do. Ending it all with a self-inflicted wound. Thinking that what you were doing would be best for all.

            So today, I wear this purple shirt. Hoping that my choice of wardrobe will somehow make amends for your choice in departure. Hoping in this way to show you that I care. Even though it’s too late for you to see it. But somehow still, through the solidarity of a nation showing our support for your soul, hopefully others like you will see us, standing together, and know that they are not alone.

Hippo Vid

It's been a really really long time.
I don't know if anyone even reads this anymore.
But I saw this video and just wanted to share it.





"I don't know whether she sees me as a hippo or sees herself as a human."

God can connect us all if we just look for the love in the other person. I think she sees the God in him.

Love.

Healing

Thought for today:

We enter ministry in order to help heal others, but GOD uses ministry in order to heal us.

I was reading an email and that just occurred to me. Maybe Ill write more on it later, but for now I'm sick of staring at a screen. :)

Love to you.

I guess I miss you...

I wrote the first writing tonight and then realized that it sounded familiar. So I searched "My lover and my friend" and found the second one. I think this theme is a theme I write on a lot. So it's possible that there are a hundred writings on my computer on this subject that all sound similar to these two. Maybe it's the season I'm in right now...I miss you.

Love to you.

These are hard to post. It's so weird when you realize something about yourself and then somehow a part of you just feels open. Like "What do I do now? How do I sew this one back together?" I guess that's God's job not mine.

Love to you reading this.

 

October 16, 2011

Where did you go my little friend

My dear friend

My best friend

You are the one who is always there for me

The one I miss so much right now

Why can’t I hear from you?

See you

Be with you

I need you

Because life without you really isn’t so great at all

I can go on living

Walking

And

Talking

Breathing

And

Sighing

But I’m not really breathing at all

Just

Taking in breaths

To keep my body alive

It’s on life support

While you

My real life

The one who lets me know that I am truly

Living

You

Are

Slowly

Dying

Inside

I need you

Because without you I’m just sad

Without you it’s just

Crunching numbers

And

Making photo copies

And

Loading excel charts

And

The cut

And

The paste

And the

Cutting

And the pasting

Is what will

Kill me

I need you

New original thoughts

Words that flow from my hands

Melodies and rhythms that come from so deep inside

You sing to me and I need you

You whisper to me and I want to hear you

I miss it being us

You and me working through the night

You and me keeping me awake

You and me making the world a better place

I took you for granted

And you left

I ran from you

And you stopped chasing me down

I hid you

And you stopped making me feel ashamed

You decided you had better places to go

And needed to find yourself someone who would actually

Appreciate you

I’m sorry

I’m sorry I lied to you

I’m sorry I ran from you

I’m sorry I pushed you away

I’m sorry I forgot about you

I’m sorry I took you for granted

Because you are my best friend

My soul mate

You are the one I wake up to

You are the one I look for in the night

I miss the sound of your voice

And your sweet kisses on my forehead

I thought that you were a waste of time

And that instead I should be

Making money

Or

Finding meaning

Or

Making everyone proud

But you

Were there

Sitting alone with me

And you and I would

Laugh and laugh

And sometimes you’d bring me to tears

And other times you’d bring me to my

Knees

But I’d always walk away

Better

I’d always walk away

Fuller

I’d always walk away

Wholer

I miss you

The sound of your voice is fading

With fifty hour work weeks

And

Doing God’s work

And

Going through the motions

And

Trying to figure things out

And

Busying myself

With files

And

Stacks of paper

And

Running errands

And

Forgetting to grocery shop

And new friends

Friends who don’t get me the way you do

Friends who could never ever be

You

My best friend

The one I wake up to

The one who interrupts my dreams

The one who runs through my mind

The one who forces me to pull over while driving

The one who hallucinates my vision

The one who crops the trees into photographs

And

Paintings

The one who speaks in third person in my brain

The one who sees the whole world as a movie

The one who views color as somehow

Brighter

Than anyone else

You there

My lover and my friend

You there

Sitting on the edge of my brain

You there

Reaching out through the darkness

You there

Shooting like a lazer beam from Heaven

You there

Holding me through the chaos

You there

Reminding me that nothing else matters

You there

Telling me to just keep going

You there

My hope and my future

My dreams and my past

My visions and my eternity

You there

Mirroring me in the reflection of my

Maker

You there

The one I need the most

Because you connect me to myself

And My Father

You there

My

Nighttime
And my 
Daylight
You there
Are
My
One
True
Love.

 

March 19, 2011

I want to Remember

What it is that I

Loved

About

Filmmaking

What is it that made me want to sit in a lab

For hours

And just

Edit

Scene after scene

Shot after shot

Until it told the story

I had already written

In

My

Heart

What is it that compelled me

Pulling me there

Placing me in that spot

Behind a camera

In front of a computer

With a head set on

And Final Cut open

Trying to create a new history

A new story

Of a time idealized

And made up

Pretended

And brought to life

By my eyes

And let out

For just a moment

From the center of my heart

I want to remember you

My muse

My past

The one that I used to dream about

I want to remember what made me tick

What drew me to you

What made me want to live in you

Always

I want to hold onto you

The past that I have erased

The past that I have destroyed

The past that I have desecrated

I burned you

I buried you

I shut you out

Pretending that you don’t exist

That you never existed

At all

I tried so hard to forget you

My friend
My lover

You became my foe

No longer the one I wanted to be but instead an

Enemy

Of a time that I just wanted to let go of

You hurt me

With your lies

With you promises of a dream come true

With your ideas of what could possibly happen

I remember

Standing on the el tracks in Evanston

So excited to get a chance to get to know you

So desperate for the realization that I might actually

Become

You

I wanted you

My friend

I thought about you so dearly

I talked to my mom on the phone

And couldn’t stop smiling

Dreaming about you

Loving you

Feeling you

And then

You betrayed me

You broke my heart

You used me

You made fun of me

You destroyed me

I had to get you back

I wanted revenge on you

But

It was too late

So instead I ran

I turned around and ran from you

I pushed those parts of me that grew in you

Far

Away

From

Me

Because I wanted nothing at all to do with you anymore

I didn’t want to remember that

Pain

That blow

Of a dream differed

I didn’t want to think about how much I loved you

If I could only forget ever loving you

Then I would never have to be hurt

Again

Right?

But I didn’t realize something

I didn’t realize by forgetting you

By killing you

By destroying you

By erasing you

I was actually

Forgetting

Killing

Destroying

And erasing

A deep part of

Myself

A part that didn’t just happen over night

A part that wasn’t birthed in a moment of consequence

But you were developed

Like the images of a photograph coming into view in the dark room

You were my dreams

Coming to life before my very eyes

You weren’t just a Hollywood fantasy

You were hours and hours

Days and days

Months and months

Years and years

Of

TV

And

Movies

Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood

And Pinwheel

You were my

Imagination

My only friend

And by killing you

I killed my past

But not just the moment you hurt me

But the years and years it took to get to know you

I divorced you

And in leaving you I left a big part of me

The one who was formed in the hours of watching TV

The one who was molded in the nights of falling asleep

Dreaming through the night about a time

And a place

Where memories are recreated

Where dancers never stop moving

Where life is lived out loud

Where the lights always twinkle

And the stars shine brighter than the sun

That place

Where you had swept me to

Where you had called me to

It wasn’t just a fluke

A failed season

It wasn’t a change in weather

It was you

And me

Dancing

And moving

Living and loving

Twinkling and shining

Through time and space

From that point to this one

On

Into

Forever. 

Seasons Change

I'm sick. Sucks. And I know the reason I'm sick is because the seasons are changing. Not because I've been on an emotional whirlwind this week. Not because I'm exhausted. Not because I work a ton. Not because I've stopped washing my hands every time I put something in my mouth, and instead have decided to "embrace germs." No. Only because it is Autumn and the leaves are falling from the trees and the days are getting shorter and my allergies are spiking and it is no longer Summer.

Wah.

So I didn't feel like writing, but felt like I should blog about SOMETHING as I haven't in quite a while. So I wanted to see if I could find an old writing on Autumn and I found this one. Which isn't really about Autumn at all but is more about Summer. I wrote it on March 7, 2011, which I realize was right after my California trip and smack dab in the middle of my wrestling with moving there.

The seasons are changing and so is my life. I can feel it. As the nights start earlier and the air gets colder and the trees start to drift off into hibernation here is my life, entering a season of change. I started a new job, I can feel my friendships shifting, and so is my heart. I'm craving color and new foods and new songs and a new relationship with God. 

I'm starting to realize how present God has always been in my life. I'm realizing that God designed me a certain way and encouraged me to be this way throughout my life. When I started a new relationship with God three years ago, I decided that the old was gone and the new was here. While I think that's true to an extent, I also think that God was molding me even back then. I was too quick to run away from who I'd always been and trying to find out a new person. But I'm still me. I think I believed "dying to yourself" meant leaving the parts behind that aren't only focused on God. While part of me knew that God doesn't want me to be a Zombie for Christ I still stifled parts of me. Good parts of me. So now I think I'm entering a season of remembering who I am and embracing God within all of that.

Yes I'm babbling. Yes I'm thinking outloud. Yes I'm making this up as I go along. Would you expect anything else?

I've always thought my favorite season was fall because it has so many great parts to it. But Fall is always SO SHORT. My favorite weather is high of 75 and a low of 60. Nothing colder than that. I like it warm but not HOT.

Babble done.

Love to you for reading this.
 

March 7, 2011

Summer

You are a distant memory

Floating on an Autumn breeze

Right into my September

You are no longer here with me

Though I so wish that you could be

Somewhere past December

I remember you like I was a child

Sitting in your July sun

Running through your August clouds

Sifting through your June green grass

With your light shining bright

And beads of sweat dripping down the contours of my back

Running along the hollow of my spine

As I sit back and enjoy your

Warm brown turpentine

And now I wait for you

While I freeze inside a too-long winter

Looking backwards from March

Wondering how there could still be snow this late

In the season

I look up at the sky and see no trace of you

Only grey and white

With my dear friend

Mr Sun

Trying so hard to

Just

Poke

Through

The clouds

The trees remain brittle and brown

Showing no sign of life around

And all the while I’m looking down

At mud

And melting snow

Wondering why it

Refuses to just

Die already

I see this one grey skinny limb

Of a tree that needs leaves in order to seem fatter

As it breathes 

Desperately

Searching for a sign of air

Somewhere

Between these gusts of cold winter chill

And you there

Summer

Whispering in a dark midnight

Telling me of times when stars danced overhead

And I could lay beneath them

Wrapped up in you my lover

And my friend

I miss you

Because you bring me closer to the way things should always be

Laying in the shadow of a green tall tree

A place where I can feel my toes

And my fingers don’t burn in an

Icy block

Where my car is clean and shiny black

And not caked in

White

And grey

Salt

A place where colors fade in the sunlight

And

The sky is always a bright blue

And

Ice cream cones drip down my arm

And

Flip flops

And tank tops

Are worn every day long

A place that exists somewhere

Right now

Where drive ins last all year round

And the thought of snow days is a fable told by an old ancient

Grandmother

Where palm trees grow tall

And look like hairy creatures from

The Wild Ones

And you

Summer

Are no longer just a three month long season

You are no longer just a time of year

You are no longer a momentary lapse

Or

A brief existence

But instead you are

Eternal.

Take me there Summer

Take me to that place where I can be with you all year long

Where I can see the brightness of your face

And be enveloped by the warmth of your beauty

Where

Rainbows come after the storm

And

The ground is always hot with sunlight

And

I could cook an egg on the side walk

And

I can catch you like a lightening bug

In a Mason Jar

Oh

Take me there

Summer

To that place where I never need a coat

And gloves are only an option

And I never ever again have to scrape

Ice from my windshield

Where my automatic starter never gets used

And

My winter boots stay in the closet

And

Converse can be worn

All year round

Where I can leave the house with wet hair and

Know I won’t catch Pneumonia

And

I can ride around with the windows down

And

I can go for long walks outside

Where the lakes aren’t frozen over

And

I can camp out in my back yard

And

I can sleep outside in a tent

And

Concerts are held under the stars

And

Convertibles are in fashion

And

I never ever have another sinus headache

A place where the trees never die

And the squirrels never hibernate

And

The wind always blows as a

Light

Gentle

Breeze

And you are there

Summer

My Lover

And

My Friend

All

Year

Round.

 

Another Adventure Post

Here's another thing that came up under "adventure." I was still working at an actual job when I wrote this, but I guess in my mind I was already gone. I think I subconsciously know that whatever I do I will always be a writer. I think I know (or maybe fear) that whatever job I get hired to do will always be somewhat temporary.

Here's this one.

Love to you.

December 5, 2010

I write and I paint. And I communicate. Through words and photographs and doodles. Through sighs and tears and deep deep laughs. I hold onto the world, and then for a moment, I let it go. Out into thin air. Where it twists and turns and floats far away from me. Disappearing like a mist on the breeze. Other people get up every day. They brush their teeth and wash their face. They get dressed in their business casual, scrub pants and scrub tops, suits and dress skirts attire and then, they head out the door, to an office or a hospital or a factory or the top floor of a sky scraper and they put in their 8-10 hours and they do work. But not me. I sit at home or in coffee shops, I go to the library or to the book store and I type and type for minutes on end, about thoughts going on somewhere inside of my brain. 

And somehow, it feels so invalid. Like what I do isn’t real. Like what I do is just an attempt at a life that exists somewhere off in la la land. I fight it. I fight this lack of regard for what I do with my life. I try to pretend like I feel legit by actually closing the door during writing time or taking a shower, getting dressed, and leaving the house to go off to somewhere else. Somewhere where people are walking about. Where I have the chance to interact with other human beings. And not just sit inside of my own head.

But somehow, it still feels like it’s fake. Like what I do isn’t actually doing anything at all. When I sit on the couch and type away, and then someone comes over and talks to me, interrupting the stream of consciousness flowing towards the screen, it always startles me. Startles me out of the moment. Out of the stream. Out of the flow of the work I am doing. I get so annoyed, like those thoughts are lost forever. And I want to tell them. “Please, when I am typing away, please do not talk to me.” But it sounds so rude. I want to get one of those big red lights, like Uncle Jessie had on Full House when he was recording in the basement. I want to hang it above my head and when it’s on people will know not to bother me. But I know that they don’t get it. Like what I’m doing is just playing on the computer, while what they do is actual work.

I feel silly comparing the two. Comparing my typing my thoughts to your dispensing valuable medications or giving check-ups to sick three year olds. But this is all I have. This is my only occupation. For now. Or possibly, hopefully, fearfully forever. I want to say, “I would never come to your job and interrupt you while you are on the clock and for me this is my ‘on the clock’.” But they could never understand that. Because to them, I am just searching the Internet or playing around or wasting time and not actually writing anything of value. Or so I feel in my head. I may be completely wrong about all of this.

            I always feel the pressure. Of starting all over. I wonder if it’s too late. If you can’t really switch professions at twenty-nine. I become enraged at myself for getting a Bachelor’s degree from a liberal arts college instead of going to a University where I would have started some sort of valid career path. I kick myself for actually going to school to get a Masters in Communication. I mean who does that? Who goes to school for six years and ends up with two completely worthless degrees? In my self-deprecating fantasies, I wish that I could do it all again. Go back and get on a solid career path at eighteen. Instead of dreaming my life away through college and grad school. 

Sometimes I wish that I could get up like everyone else. Get dressed in my uniform and then head out the door to corporate America. A land where I fit right in. Where I am able to run the rat race with everyone else. Where I look like and blend in with everyone else. In this perfectly corporate fantasy I have an actual job. One that I go to every day. That makes a dent in this world. Something that I can explain easily and doesn’t involve being labeled as illegitimate or idealistic.

            But I know that this is not for me. I know that my fate has been signed, sealed, and delivered. And instead, I am doomed to always be a writer. To always be a dreamer. To always be stuck somewhere in the delusions of my mind. And for this, I am somehow grateful. Because this is who I am. I am a girl with an afro and a nose ring and a very visible tattoo on her left arm. Who likes to dress in bright colors. Who actually loves the feeling of typing and gets excited over glitter and new fonts. I am not a number cruncher or a uniform-wearer and I would be absolutely miserable if I had to do either for 8-10 hours a day. I know that if I didn’t write I would not be me. That a huge part of me would wither away and die. 

And I know that that part of me is actually the best part of me. The part of me that believes in something. The part of me that smiles and laughs and can always see the good in every situation. The part of me that likes new people right away. The part of me that wants to hug you even though I’ve only known you for an hour. The part of me that sings loudly even when I’m off key. The part of me that lives for adventure and trying new foods and seeing new sights. The part of me that listens really intently and only speaks after I’ve heard you out. Or apologizes if I interrupt you in excitement. The part of me that is genuine. Sincere. Who really does love you even though we’ve just met. The part of me who lives for the sound of music and the sight of clear blue skies and mountain peaks. That visceral part of me. That feels things so deeply and can always relate even if I’ve actually never been there. But I always feel like I have. 
 That part of me. The best parts of me. The parts of me that I know are deeply connected to the heart of God. 

These are the parts of me that bring me to the computer every day. The parts of me that doodle on napkins. The parts of me that paint and sew and read and sing and watch movies and laugh and laugh and laugh. The parts of me that hug tightly and never want to let go. And all of these parts of me would die if I wasn’t creating. If I wasn’t communicating. I know that I wasn’t made to wear a suit every day. I wasn’t made to even put on a stethoscope every day. I was made to create. To write. To speak. To listen. To vision. To dream. 

This is my work. And this work is valid.