October Endings

I haven't written in a while.

And this makes sense:
when your soul is tired, when your heart is tired, when your body is tired, there is sometimes nothing left to give — let alone to write.

And this is what I demand every day:
that my students write.
- despite everything, in spite of everything, because of everything, for everything — that they write.

And here I am, stumbling over one, tiny blog post.

Things I am learning.

Called to walk through suffering. We are called to walk through suffering. Not against it. Not above it. Lately, my "incurable optimism" is appearing to be more and more like realism that has never known suffering. I am the ultimate wimp, but God is so good. So strong. And the only reason I have made it through some of these days.

I have never been an angry person, but I think I have always been angry. It's like I was just waiting for the moment that my anger — at all of it: our unjust educational system, our own mistreatment of each other, our brokenness and hate — would have something to hit. Something to target.

And there all of you are. Beautiful, and shining, and fierce, and fighting, and some days it takes everything in me not to scream, not at you, or to you, even, but for you — it is not you're fault you are like this. But from now on, it will be.

So tired.
I am so tired.

Will you please keep fighting? Will you fight when I can't?

Sunday Evening

The resounding silence of us,

hanging up.

After we have spent the last six hours

floating through all of eternity,

waving “Hello, there!” to pterodactyls and

the Appalachians and

hammerheads and

the Empire State Building and

robots and

teleportation devices

we are still experiencing

the sun and the moon

three hours apart.

What stretches longer?
The distance of miles or the distance of hours?

For us, it may be miles:

The warmth of your palm pressed against my face

is the span between a small ant

and its mate on the other side of a 

basketball court.

For us, it may be hours:

Your laughter jostling mine on a park bench

is a half-empty coffee mug

left on the kitchen counter

from two mornings before.

Whether it is miles, or hours,

I do not know,

but I do know the feeling

of climbing toward

the moment we meet again

five days from now

in an over-polished airport terminal

amid the buzzing of overhead P.A. systems and

men waving goodbye to the ones they love and

women waving goodbye to the ones they love

we will be two Pacific salmon,

swimming to the upper reaches of river,

only to give, and give, and give,

and one day — some day,

die.

Things That Are Important

1. Laughter
2. Hands
3. Roads
4. Learning
5. Warmth
6. Cold
7. Fire
8. Grief
9. Words
10. Words
11. Words
12. Words
13. Words
14. Words
15. Laughter.

Writing with you feels like pressing my hand against a window, you pressing back from the other side of the pane, and the glass between us suddenly dissolving into thin air — our palms kissing warmly, exactly as they should.

Cell Phone Lifespans

We throw around the word "dying" so often these days. I wonder what life would be like if these situations were actual, literal instances of death:

[Beep] My phone is dying. (Do cell phones go to heaven?)
[I'm hungry] I'm dying.
[Laughing] I'm dying!

*Shudder.*

Caffeine Withdrawals

One out of five posts on this blog are about coffee.

I feel like hundreds of tiny, sniveling woodland creatures with tacks on their shoes are trying to Riverdance on my brain.

Sharing Food

In many ways, we share our food as we share our lives. That first meal together, neatly cutting things into halves and swapping gracefully across plates: half my burger for half of yours; my hopes and fears for your greatest insecurities. We traded big, without a second thought.

As we have grown together, we have learned the rhythms of each other's chewing and the exchanges have become smaller, less formal: the unconscious reach of my fork snagging a bite of your macaroni, the natural movement of your hand stealing one of my chips; a story of your mom for a story of my uncle, one embarrassing moment for one proud one. There is no need to cut our meals neatly into halves; the swap has become so seamless I hardly notice the end of the meal sometimes, as it always inevitably stretches into wine, or gum, or cigarettes.

We're framed differently each time, depending on how crowded the place is — the only ones in the entire restaurant, or crammed at a communal table for six; our voices dwindling to whispers exchanged in a corner booth, or roaring to laughter at a table with friends.

Each time I am enchanted by the new flavors and tastes dancing on my tongue, and the way new memories with you sit in my heart for a long while afterward. Despite the delight of it all, our meals are paired perfectly with longing, as I venture to a place of new menus and specials, where I will eventually order a meal too large or too boring for just one person, where the rest of the food will sit by itself, perhaps too rich or too salty or too by itself for its own good. Hmm...

It is a beautiful thing, to be always craving and be always full.

Champagne Supernova

I used to hear this song and feel a swell of longing and pain ride in my stomach and sit, crawling through the depths of me and making me think of how much I missed you.

Now, I am hearing this song for the first time, dreaming of you and I, the world set out before us, a boundless story waiting to be written, our love stretching across rivers and oceans in different directions and meeting in the middle like two estranged birds, departing for seasons and always trusting that they will come home to one another.

This song is kind of stupid, and I don't quite understand it —

but it's nice to hear it for the first time. It's nice to see the world for the first time. Everything looks different, and better. Blessed.

Harrington

I have missed this.
The distant sound of Odwalla lids screwing on bottles,
sitting next to the whispered chatter of
midterm papers and lab reports spinning out of
tired college fingers on
tired Macbook keyboards.
The quiet arrival of 1am,
the feeling of detaching your soul from the screen
for just one moment
only to realize the overwhelming emptiness of
the chairs surrounding you.
Where are you Francisco?
I remember finals week, spring 2012
welcoming the sunset
and greeting the sunrise
all in one sitting
with potato chips and half-open eyes,
smiling warmly, victoriously
at the procrastinated products on the desk before us —
we were warriors, then.
Now, I'm sitting alone,
at one of those tables
too high for comfort
staring into the glassy black of the
window reflections
sleeves still rolled up to my elbows
this hulking lack of productivity
looming in front of me.
This is hard sometimes,
and I am tired,
but boy, have I missed this.

Tangles

I am combing through my selfishness
With an afro pick,
a wide-toothed comb,
weaving seamlessly through
the largest of knots, yet
passing over the tiniest tangles,
in hopes they'll go unnoticed,
by everyone but me.

At the end of the day,
when I am worn and weary
from a day of thinking too much
and not loving enough,
the knots will still be there,
tiny, tiny reminders
of how messy
my messiness
is.

Things I would like to remember...

(-)
1. It is hard to understand grace
2. It is hard to give grace
3. It is hard to accept grace
4. Everything we do affects someone, somewhere
5. I am selfish, often
6. I am loved, always
7. There is beauty in saving some things for last.
8. I am not good at painting my nails
9. Spanish is important to practice
10. We are not as resilient or capable as we think.


(+)
1. Rolling hills & tall grass
2. Spaghetti
3. Sand on gym floors
4. Cheese
5. Red, black, plaid, green
6. "Mirrors" by Justin Timberlake
7. Soap & musk & beach
8. Coffee
9. The Head and the Heart / Death Cab / Young the Giant
10. That feeling of coming home to your favorite friends.

Readjustments

Learning time and time again how to recognize my limits and readjust my goals.

I am not invincible.

This is not Joanne vs. paper, or Joanne vs. sleep, or Joanne vs... anything, really. Listening to myself (with a disgruntled heart). I need rest. I need to make things easier sometimes.

I can't help but feel a little bit saddened, like I'm giving up, or not capitalizing on this amazing opportunity, or wasting other people's time and energy (not to mention $$$).

Somewhere along the way though, I had forgotten completely about the process, and focused entirely on the product; ironically playing testament to the sort of thing I'm criticizing in my thesis. In fact, I am wasting my own time and energy, trying to do the impossible in the next three weeks: stay sane, love others, and take care of myself.

Time for readjustment. There isn't enough time to regret the fire of the fall that withered into stagnant ash during winter quarter. I don't have time for that! So onward -- writing, writing, writing.

So, okay. I can do this. Maybe it will be 40 instead of 60. Or 30 even. (NO! Okay, I can do 40.) That is okay. I will write a book another day, if I really want to.

Readjustment is important. Humility is important. Still learning, all the time, to set my sights on different moons.

Striking

The stars are polka-dotting the sky
as trumpets sing an invisible greeting
of God winking from the moon
down at you,
for you.

Monsters & Me

There's a fight to be won for the love you find at home
There is work to be done before you rest your weary bones
I'm finding peace don't come to everyone I know
So I will love in this life till I finally have to go

Well I know I have lived just a wrinkle of my life
And I hear so many times, it'll be over when I blink twice
So please forgive if I don't walk off that plank stuck in your eye
I've got my life to love and I'm here to take what's mine

Growing up child is just a matter of time
Forgiven all you've got so won't you dance under the sun
Growing old feels like your giving up your soul
And I'd rather give it freely to the ones that I call home

I ain't scared no not afraid of the world in front of me
I found my way without your help with a broken family
I'll take my breaks with my sins, I'll do as I do please
With my friends till the end, there lies my loyalty
With my friends till the end, my lies their loyalty

I used to close my eyes to what stirred under my bed
Now they're open wide to the monsters in my head
Instead of claws they whisper lies, sinking fear in quiet steps
So I will fight in the light till i give my final breath

- Run River North, "Growing Up"



-----

Hmm.

Especially these lyrics:

I used to close my eyes to what stirred under my bed
Now they're open wide to the monsters in my head 
Instead of claws they whisper lies, sinking fear in quiet steps 
So I will fight in the light till I give my final breath

Fear has come up in a lot of conversations I've had recently. I think it's important to understand why and when we make decisions out of fear. I think it's easy for us to avoid taking risks, to hide from change and new things under the facade of "wisdom." What we really mean is fear. We're acting out of fear. No really. Are you really "guarding your heart"? Or are you just... scared?

Listened to this Ted talk once about the "art of asking" and why we're afraid to ask people for help. The speaker, Amanda Palmer (of the Dresden Dolls - Suzy!) says, "They see it as an unpredictable risk, but the things I've done, I don't see these things as risk. I see them as trust."

She continues to talk about her crowd-surfing experiences and what it means to trust that the world will catch her. She's talking about trusting the world, the universe, the cosmos, whatever you want to name that universal-something that draws us all together. Taking risks means trusting that this "something" will catch you.

I believe that something we can trust is God. And we don't have any reason to fear new relationships, new jobs, moving across the country — maybe all three of those things at once — because time and time again He will make good out of everything. He will provide. Psalm 27:1 says "The Lord is my light and my salvation. Who is there to fear? The Lord is my life's fortress. Who is there to be afraid of?" Why would be afraid of anything when we've got the Big Guy on our side? No, really. Why?

The skeptics are all like, Shooooot Joanne you're just making excuses to be impulsive and spend $90 on climbing shoes when you barely have enough money to afford groceries next week. And in some respects, you're right. Going with my gut has led me to some bad relationships, some terrible decisions, and an overdrawn bank account. Trusting my heart, though, is a different story. Trusting my heart is different from those smaller, fleeting impulsive decisions because my heart is not my own — it belongs to Jesus. For the things that truly matter — the big "scary" decisions that involve putting myself out there (I mean really, really out there — like, cliff-diving-into-a-pool-of-sharks-out-there, like walking-on-a-burning-tightrope-out-there), God has completely caught me.

Recently one of my friends asked me some questions about who I am today and how my past experiences have shaped me or will shape who I am in the future. I was overwhelmed today (in a good way!), thinking about who I was at 15, 16, 17, even 18, and how much restoration and renewal God has given me. While I'm still the same socially clumsy f-up I was back then in so many ways, today I walk with a different stride. I am stronger (maybe wiser), but more importantly, I am not afraid.

As we grow up, the monsters get bigger. But we get bigger, too.

Here's to the unknown! To falling, to running, to jumping, and not knowing where your feet will land next! Here's to life's next adventure, to "taking the road less traveled," to taking the biggest risk and loving others as God loves us. LET'S DO THIS.

"There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love."

Questions I Can't Answer

1. What does it mean to be an authentic self?
2. Why is freedom important?
3. Can we ever be truly free and truly equal?
4. How do we fix our education system?
5. Why me?

As I sat there,
I prayed to be drenched in sunshine,
that if I closed my eyes tightly enough,
the blades beneath me would soften into clouds
that would lift me closer to the sky
where I could paint all the things I wanted to paint
— splashes of crimson and violet and lavender
seeping cerulean, viridian greens dripping into oceans,
transatlantic art,
bursts of vermilion, bittersweet, persimmon orange,
screaming yellows: school bus, saffron, highlighter
rage, neon rage
exploding, constantly exploding —
without anyone
telling me
it was too much
to handle.

I am so wracked with introspection I can barely think;
and I'm nervous, or something,
or just sad; deeply saddened by the thought of leaving,
you —
I mean, all of you,
all at once.

Fleeting / Ecclesiastes

"Remember your Creator
in the days of your youth,
before the days of trouble come
and the years approach when
you will say,
'I find no pleasure in them' —
before the sun and the light
and the moon and the stars grow dark,
and the clouds return after the rain;
when the keepers of the house tremble,
and the strong men stoop,
when the grinders cease because they are few,
and those looking through the windows grow dim;
when the doors to the street are closed
and the sound of grinding fades;
when people rise up at the sound of birds,
but all their songs grow faint;
when people are afraid of heights
and of dangers in the streets;
when the almond tree blossoms
and the grasshopper drags itself along
and desire no longer is stirred.
Then people go to their eternal home
and mourners go about the streets.

Remember him — before the silver
cord is severed,
and the golden bowl is broken;
before the pitcher is shattered at the spring,
and the wheel broken at the well,
and the dust returns to the ground it came from,
and the spirit returns to God
who gave it."

I have never wanted to remember anything more than You.
You see more than my tired eyes ever will,
You comfort more than my weary arms will ever hold,
You are, You are, You are.

You are.
You are.
You are.