Today I am struck by the transience of this world. As I begin to face goodbyes, I realize there are people who come into our lives, rub against us, nestle up to us, and then disappear, perhaps never to be seen again. I have friendships from college that I know will never end. But there are other faces I have come to love—professors that have mentored and invested in who I am, fellow writers I have sat next to in class for at least four semesters—and once I leave this campus I don’t know if I will ever see them again. Some of them will move from my life and I will hardly blink. But others, I feel this stab of loss, sense the desire to linger a little longer.
I don’t believe the human heart was ever created for separation. We don’t have a place in our brain to process the gaps completely. We just learn to cope, move on. Train our hearts to steel themselves and take another step.
I never fully understand what I have until it’s gone. I’ve seen these faces every week for years and taken them for granted. But now, I want to touch them, remember their faces. I want to acknowledge that they have touched me. And I wonder just how much our fingerprints will linger on each other’s souls. I wonder what God had in mind when he sent us all to be in the same place at the same time. I wonder about transience, and if it will all have a point someday.
And as I wonder, I mourn. I’ll be saying goodbye to someone or something nearly every day for the next twelve days. It’s hard. I want to just skip the end, jump in my car and leave it all behind. But I don’t think I can. I’ll carry it with me, in form or another. So I have to stay to finish and say farewell and hope for see you later. I have to experience the pain, and then let God heal my heart to carry me on to something new. I have to know that I am changed.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Rollercoaster
Yesterday, I strapped myself in for the final rollercoaster ride of the semester and my undergraduate career. If I go a little insane over the next three weeks here is why:
I am writing a fiction manuscript about a cantankerous older woman in Nebraska who refuses to evacuate during the threat of a propane explosion. She is convinced that this fire is God’s judgment coming for her, and somehow it is my responsibility to convince her otherwise (through the use of another character of course), without making the whole situation sound cheesy, ill-written, melodramatic, or unbelievable.
Secondly, I just signed my life away to Fringe Fest. Next Thursday and Friday my playwriting class will all be producing the ten-minute plays we’ve been writing this semester. There are nineteen of us. So in the course of the next week I will be rewriting and producing my own play about an abused woman and her sister. I’ll be directing my classmate’s play about friendship and the perils of miscommunication. And I’ll be acting in another classmate’s play, taking on the role of a fairly wild woman who has dumped her illegitimate daughter into her older and more responsible sister’s care. But of course, we are all rewriting our plays through this process, so who knows where we’ll all be in seven days.
So if you try to call me in the near future, I might not answer. Mostly because I won’t be able to hear you over the multitudes of characters living, breathing, and talking inside my head. Some people think being a writer is a boring life, but it only appears that way to those who don’t know any better.
I’ll also be finishing a literature course, studying Chinese, mailing out graduation invitations, researching grad schools, writing a curriculum vitae, planning a menu for an open house, saying goodbye to friends, and packing to move. And we’re off.
I am writing a fiction manuscript about a cantankerous older woman in Nebraska who refuses to evacuate during the threat of a propane explosion. She is convinced that this fire is God’s judgment coming for her, and somehow it is my responsibility to convince her otherwise (through the use of another character of course), without making the whole situation sound cheesy, ill-written, melodramatic, or unbelievable.
Secondly, I just signed my life away to Fringe Fest. Next Thursday and Friday my playwriting class will all be producing the ten-minute plays we’ve been writing this semester. There are nineteen of us. So in the course of the next week I will be rewriting and producing my own play about an abused woman and her sister. I’ll be directing my classmate’s play about friendship and the perils of miscommunication. And I’ll be acting in another classmate’s play, taking on the role of a fairly wild woman who has dumped her illegitimate daughter into her older and more responsible sister’s care. But of course, we are all rewriting our plays through this process, so who knows where we’ll all be in seven days.
So if you try to call me in the near future, I might not answer. Mostly because I won’t be able to hear you over the multitudes of characters living, breathing, and talking inside my head. Some people think being a writer is a boring life, but it only appears that way to those who don’t know any better.
I’ll also be finishing a literature course, studying Chinese, mailing out graduation invitations, researching grad schools, writing a curriculum vitae, planning a menu for an open house, saying goodbye to friends, and packing to move. And we’re off.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
India
I bought my plane ticket for India today. In exactly four months from yesterday, I will be setting foot on Indian soil for the first time. I’ll dawn a sari and pull my hair back into one long braid. I’ll strap on my sandals and hopefully find paths to walk through the streets and the slums, into the hearts of the Indian people and the God who loves us both so strongly. I expect the unexpected. To be shocked, riveted, captured, enthralled. To weep and laugh, dance and rage. To be faced with questions, injustice, and a God who’s bigger than them all. I expect to be awed into silence and to crawl my way out with words. It gives me goose bumps to think about it, because I’ve got a receipt in my inbox that says I’m actually going.
Monday, April 5, 2010
One Word Past My Own...
Today I don’t want to write. I’m tired, and I look backwards at all the pages and hours and drafts and semesters, and I wonder, isn’t that enough? Can’t I quit now?
But now is when I have to write. I have to keep going, because it’s after this moment when my words might take on something more than I can give. When I’ve written every sentence I know to write and then I write some more—well God must surely indwell within some of them.
It’s easy to start something. Raw energy, new material, fresh perspective. It’s not always easy to finish, to run mile 25 and 26 when you’re already covered in sweat and your feet ache and you think, “Hey I’ve run 24 more miles than most other people I know.”
Right now I’m staring at a finish line. My diploma is waiting at the end of this season’s race. And I’m going to make it. The question is, will I walk or will I run to claim it? I’m close enough I could slack off, slow down, give just enough to walk across the line and get my finisher’s medal, but what about finishing strong? What about pushing through the pain and running, teeth gritted, head thrown back, heart pumping till it might break out of my chest, full-on run. That’s what I envisioned at the beginning of this semester. I still want it now. But there are a million small moments in the next thirty days when I’m going to have to choose to keep going. And the first one is right now.
I know it’s worth it. I have so many good reasons to talk myself into just finishing. I have no excuse not to finish reworking another draft on my final manuscript other than the fact that I don’t want to. Sometimes it’s painful to rip something apart that you’ve already accomplished, to admit there are flaws, and to believe in the process strong enough to undergo the pain of surgery and correction. And it takes energy and time, when honestly I’d rather go to sleep or turn on a movie… anything that takes less work.
But I can’t. That’s the only answer I have. There’s too much at stake. I’ve worked too hard and come too close to give up now. And there’s something beautiful to be said about finding a nook of beauty beyond myself, of discovering God writing something within that I did not know existed, at coming to the end of my strength and finding God has the muscles of heaven willing to carry me if only I’m willing to take one more step.
But now is when I have to write. I have to keep going, because it’s after this moment when my words might take on something more than I can give. When I’ve written every sentence I know to write and then I write some more—well God must surely indwell within some of them.
It’s easy to start something. Raw energy, new material, fresh perspective. It’s not always easy to finish, to run mile 25 and 26 when you’re already covered in sweat and your feet ache and you think, “Hey I’ve run 24 more miles than most other people I know.”
Right now I’m staring at a finish line. My diploma is waiting at the end of this season’s race. And I’m going to make it. The question is, will I walk or will I run to claim it? I’m close enough I could slack off, slow down, give just enough to walk across the line and get my finisher’s medal, but what about finishing strong? What about pushing through the pain and running, teeth gritted, head thrown back, heart pumping till it might break out of my chest, full-on run. That’s what I envisioned at the beginning of this semester. I still want it now. But there are a million small moments in the next thirty days when I’m going to have to choose to keep going. And the first one is right now.
I know it’s worth it. I have so many good reasons to talk myself into just finishing. I have no excuse not to finish reworking another draft on my final manuscript other than the fact that I don’t want to. Sometimes it’s painful to rip something apart that you’ve already accomplished, to admit there are flaws, and to believe in the process strong enough to undergo the pain of surgery and correction. And it takes energy and time, when honestly I’d rather go to sleep or turn on a movie… anything that takes less work.
But I can’t. That’s the only answer I have. There’s too much at stake. I’ve worked too hard and come too close to give up now. And there’s something beautiful to be said about finding a nook of beauty beyond myself, of discovering God writing something within that I did not know existed, at coming to the end of my strength and finding God has the muscles of heaven willing to carry me if only I’m willing to take one more step.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Through the Eyes of a Child
Last week, Becca and I got an entire week of uninterrupted big sister little sister time. She rode back with me the entire seventeen hours from Nebraska after spring break and braved two plane flights all by herself last Saturday to return home. She came with me to almost all of my college classes, made a new friend with my professor’s daughter, went shopping with me at my second love (a used book warehouse called McKay’s), saw a world-renowned concert pianist, finger-painted, and finished an epic story about two princesses. We had a blast. Everyone this morning at school has been asking where my mini-me has gone.
In the midst of all our adventures, I found myself stopping to ponder the difference in perspective between my eyes and the ones of my nine-year-old sister. For one thing, it reestablished my appreciation for quiet and stillness. Becca was always moving, even when she sat, pumping her legs up and down in the chair and fidgeting this way and that. She was also constantly moving on to the next thing, asking what was next when I was still trying to finish the last. At first I wanted to chide her, inwardly thinking that she needed to slow down to fully appreciate things, but then I thought that perhaps we just appreciate life in different ways. Becca, she races to take in everything at once. I think she constantly moves because she doesn’t want to miss anything. She has eyes and a heart that are open to just about any and every adventure. Me, I have come to the realization that I will never be able to see it all, so I’d rather slow down and savor a select few things, soaking up all their riches. I like to pull up a comfy chair and settle into a moment, perhaps sip on a cup of coffee while it passes (only metaphorically of course; those closest to me know that I would never venture to drink the stuff in actuality, but I like the smell and idea of it).
Secondly, I noticed how easily I felt like silencing her voice or prompting her to sit down and behave properly when I was around my professors and peers. But they enjoyed her spirit, the carefree dreams of a nine-year-old writer and animal-lover. I realized that I’ve settled a bit too far into decorum, have lost the touch of innocent adventure and excitement of enjoying the little things in life, the child-like things perhaps. And I miss that. I miss being able to skip through a park or sing at the top of my lungs without worrying about someone looking, or dreaming without being squelched by the reality of logistics.
But mostly, she came into my world with the capacity to love what I had deemed unlovable. That is what humbled me the most. The heart of a child so willing to accept, so able to look past grievances and love what needs to be loved. I’m praying for the strength to reach that point too. I’m praying to see this person and situation with the eyes of God rather than my own. Perhaps with the eyes of a child, the faith of a child in a strong God. A God who does not differentiate between who and what he will love, unlike the struggling hearts of his grown-up children.
In the midst of all our adventures, I found myself stopping to ponder the difference in perspective between my eyes and the ones of my nine-year-old sister. For one thing, it reestablished my appreciation for quiet and stillness. Becca was always moving, even when she sat, pumping her legs up and down in the chair and fidgeting this way and that. She was also constantly moving on to the next thing, asking what was next when I was still trying to finish the last. At first I wanted to chide her, inwardly thinking that she needed to slow down to fully appreciate things, but then I thought that perhaps we just appreciate life in different ways. Becca, she races to take in everything at once. I think she constantly moves because she doesn’t want to miss anything. She has eyes and a heart that are open to just about any and every adventure. Me, I have come to the realization that I will never be able to see it all, so I’d rather slow down and savor a select few things, soaking up all their riches. I like to pull up a comfy chair and settle into a moment, perhaps sip on a cup of coffee while it passes (only metaphorically of course; those closest to me know that I would never venture to drink the stuff in actuality, but I like the smell and idea of it).
Secondly, I noticed how easily I felt like silencing her voice or prompting her to sit down and behave properly when I was around my professors and peers. But they enjoyed her spirit, the carefree dreams of a nine-year-old writer and animal-lover. I realized that I’ve settled a bit too far into decorum, have lost the touch of innocent adventure and excitement of enjoying the little things in life, the child-like things perhaps. And I miss that. I miss being able to skip through a park or sing at the top of my lungs without worrying about someone looking, or dreaming without being squelched by the reality of logistics.
But mostly, she came into my world with the capacity to love what I had deemed unlovable. That is what humbled me the most. The heart of a child so willing to accept, so able to look past grievances and love what needs to be loved. I’m praying for the strength to reach that point too. I’m praying to see this person and situation with the eyes of God rather than my own. Perhaps with the eyes of a child, the faith of a child in a strong God. A God who does not differentiate between who and what he will love, unlike the struggling hearts of his grown-up children.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Heartstrings
I’m graduating this semester with a B.A. in English writing. What I won’t be graduating with is an M.R.S. degree. Sorry, Lee University. Despite all the propaganda, no ring by spring for me.
Despite my scathing views of Lee University’s mating obsession for its students, I’ll be honest by saying it’s not the future I would have envisioned for myself several years ago. As a naïve sixteen and seventeen-year-old, I wanted to skip the whole college thing and go straight for the babies. And even when I did settle in for the academic ride, I thought for sure by graduation I’d have found the one. Or perhaps be holding somebody’s hand. Or at least surely have had a date. Or if push came to shove, be promised one. But I haven’t. Unlike many of my friends, I am not planning a wedding. And over the last few months, for the first time I can say I am really, truly, honest-to-goodness okay with that.
I’m even, enjoying it.
Right now, I find myself in a season where I don’t even feel ready for a man. And in some respects, I don’t know if I ever will be. There are so many things I know about my heart now than I did not know when I left for college four years ago, but I’m still in a season of watching God open up a vision for where I might be created to fit.
Last semester, my friend Charlotte and I were talking about guys and dreams and futures. And she looked at me and she said, “It’s not about what I want. It’s about the gospel.” And she’s right. Making choices isn’t about a standard of morality. It’s not about asking if something is permissible, not about seeing how far I can let my heart go emotionally before I cross a dangerous line. It’s about offering what I have to the service of the gospel, about asking what will bring God the most glory. And that applies to every aspect of life. I think some people can glorify God most strongly when they walk through life two as one, and I think that for some people God can be more glorified in a lifestyle of singleness. And I’m not sure yet what the answer is for me.
But I’m okay with either one, and that makes my heart joy-filled. I’m finding such sweet places hidden inside the heart of God that I don’t think I would have ever been able to find if I had started sharing my life with a man four years ago. And I think there are so many more, I hesitate to think of giving them up just yet, of letting any distraction steal my focus.
It’s not a cakewalk. There are days and nights when it is still difficult. I don’t allow myself to watch certain types of movies on Valentine’s Day, and there are genres of books and movies I won’t entertain. Period. There are places I have to pull my heart back from lingering in. But overall, I’ve found a deep grace that God is pouring over my soul from years of pressing into his heart. A rich, wondrous grace. Besides, we’re lying to ourselves if we think that finding someone to love will solve all our problems anyways. What kind of deceptive logic is that?
All I know is that I’m graduating, and I’m single, and I’m excited about life and mysteries and journey. I think there is more to life than finding earthly love. And I am content, because God tells me who I am, and the glory of His kingdom is a calling worth living for, no matter what.
Despite my scathing views of Lee University’s mating obsession for its students, I’ll be honest by saying it’s not the future I would have envisioned for myself several years ago. As a naïve sixteen and seventeen-year-old, I wanted to skip the whole college thing and go straight for the babies. And even when I did settle in for the academic ride, I thought for sure by graduation I’d have found the one. Or perhaps be holding somebody’s hand. Or at least surely have had a date. Or if push came to shove, be promised one. But I haven’t. Unlike many of my friends, I am not planning a wedding. And over the last few months, for the first time I can say I am really, truly, honest-to-goodness okay with that.
I’m even, enjoying it.
Right now, I find myself in a season where I don’t even feel ready for a man. And in some respects, I don’t know if I ever will be. There are so many things I know about my heart now than I did not know when I left for college four years ago, but I’m still in a season of watching God open up a vision for where I might be created to fit.
Last semester, my friend Charlotte and I were talking about guys and dreams and futures. And she looked at me and she said, “It’s not about what I want. It’s about the gospel.” And she’s right. Making choices isn’t about a standard of morality. It’s not about asking if something is permissible, not about seeing how far I can let my heart go emotionally before I cross a dangerous line. It’s about offering what I have to the service of the gospel, about asking what will bring God the most glory. And that applies to every aspect of life. I think some people can glorify God most strongly when they walk through life two as one, and I think that for some people God can be more glorified in a lifestyle of singleness. And I’m not sure yet what the answer is for me.
But I’m okay with either one, and that makes my heart joy-filled. I’m finding such sweet places hidden inside the heart of God that I don’t think I would have ever been able to find if I had started sharing my life with a man four years ago. And I think there are so many more, I hesitate to think of giving them up just yet, of letting any distraction steal my focus.
It’s not a cakewalk. There are days and nights when it is still difficult. I don’t allow myself to watch certain types of movies on Valentine’s Day, and there are genres of books and movies I won’t entertain. Period. There are places I have to pull my heart back from lingering in. But overall, I’ve found a deep grace that God is pouring over my soul from years of pressing into his heart. A rich, wondrous grace. Besides, we’re lying to ourselves if we think that finding someone to love will solve all our problems anyways. What kind of deceptive logic is that?
All I know is that I’m graduating, and I’m single, and I’m excited about life and mysteries and journey. I think there is more to life than finding earthly love. And I am content, because God tells me who I am, and the glory of His kingdom is a calling worth living for, no matter what.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Musings from the Library
So, I’ve been sitting in my favorite back corner of the library for the past several hours. Yes, it’s a Saturday and I’m in the library. I was also here on Friday night. Some of you may have ideas about what this means for my social life at school, but it’s okay. I already know, so you can stop fretting and keep them to yourself.
So, I’ve been sitting here writing, and I just looked up and noticed that the books on the shelves across from me include titles such as Censorship, Books Banned in the USA, and Book Burning. I’m trying to write a piece of creative fiction, and the books across from me have been smirking at me this whole time. I don’t really have anything profound to say about this observation, other than the fact that I’m not superstitious and taking this as a bad omen. I thought it was ironically funny, and it brought a laugh to my otherwise boring Saturday afternoon. I hope maybe it makes you laugh too.
Today is an indifferent day. I’ve written at least three pages of a short story in the last couple hours, but it doesn’t feel absolutely thrilling today. It feels good to know I’m making progress, but good in the way of knowing I’m doing what I’m supposed to right now and not being lazy and killing brain cells in front of a movie or something. Not good in the sense that my imaginary world of characters is exploding and creating something all on their own. But that’s okay.
Some days are just not extraordinary. Actually, most days aren’t extraordinary. Most days you just have to do what you have to do. I’ve had a lot of days like that this week. No thrills, no excitement, just working at it a little more at a time. But if I keep it up, maybe in a few weeks I’ll have a manuscript to bring back to show to the books in my favorite corner of the library. Then it’ll make me feel better.
So, I’ve been sitting here writing, and I just looked up and noticed that the books on the shelves across from me include titles such as Censorship, Books Banned in the USA, and Book Burning. I’m trying to write a piece of creative fiction, and the books across from me have been smirking at me this whole time. I don’t really have anything profound to say about this observation, other than the fact that I’m not superstitious and taking this as a bad omen. I thought it was ironically funny, and it brought a laugh to my otherwise boring Saturday afternoon. I hope maybe it makes you laugh too.
Today is an indifferent day. I’ve written at least three pages of a short story in the last couple hours, but it doesn’t feel absolutely thrilling today. It feels good to know I’m making progress, but good in the way of knowing I’m doing what I’m supposed to right now and not being lazy and killing brain cells in front of a movie or something. Not good in the sense that my imaginary world of characters is exploding and creating something all on their own. But that’s okay.
Some days are just not extraordinary. Actually, most days aren’t extraordinary. Most days you just have to do what you have to do. I’ve had a lot of days like that this week. No thrills, no excitement, just working at it a little more at a time. But if I keep it up, maybe in a few weeks I’ll have a manuscript to bring back to show to the books in my favorite corner of the library. Then it’ll make me feel better.
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