It Just Is

"Guess who I been thinkin' about? Casy! He talked a lot. Used ta bother me. But now I been thinkin' what he said, an' I can remember—all of it. Says one time he went out in the wilderness to find his own soul, an' he foun' he didn' have no soul that was his'n. Says he foun' he jus' got a little piece of a great big soul. Says a wilderness ain't no good, 'cause his little piece of a soul wasn't no good 'less it was with the rest, an' was whole. Funny how I remember. Didn't even think I was listenin'. But I know now a fella ain't no good alone."   -Tom, from The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)

I’m thinking about community, about friendship, about abandoning the periphery, leaving the sidelines every once in a while. Thinking about being a friend, having a friend, quitting loneliness and isolation, opening up to the communal, the common, the linked hands, one body, shared glory of the Kingdom.

It is an open-handed, open-hearted kind of thing. It is a sacrificial kind of thing. It is a journey to the center of self, to the center of others, to the center of him. It is intentional and a bit awkward, I bristle and sweat beneath it, and I swear I’m shedding skin over here.

I’m in my late twenties and I still feel socially awkward. This can’t be normal. I treasure my solitary pursuits and I’m afraid that fully embracing community entails abandoning those, if not entirely at least in part. I’m terrible at checking voicemails and returning phone calls. Sometimes I really don’t feel like talking, I’d rather just listen to you, or listen to those people over there I don’t even know, or trace the shape of the passing clouds on my daughter’s open hand.

Sometimes I talk too much and I’m afraid if I don’t stop no one will ever want to sit by me again. But someone asked me about writing, or empowering women and girls, or Harry Potter and now I can’t shut up. Seriously. Seriously.  I am not good at this. Extend a little grace as I figure it out?

It was easy in college, even for me. It was all communal living, shared spaces and activities. There was minimal effort, just show up. If I needed alone time, I stepped outside, took a walk, picked up a book and erected my invisible wall. It was the the quiet lapping of ocean water at my feet, the initial cold at first a sharp discomfort, but I could wade in as quickly, or as slowly, as I wanted.

These days, it feels a bit like all or nothing. It takes a lot more effort, and most of the time I feel

like I’m failing at this community thing, a round peg in a square hole, my edges don’t match up, am I really made for this?

Yes, yes. I need you. I know I need you. I couldn’t have made it through without you. And sometimes the loneliness looms large like a sea swell, and there are days we all need a hand to hold, a prayer whispered over our lowered head, to laugh until we ache together.

I wish it was still easy, but these days, connection takes work. Sure, there have been a few people in my life who I’ve met, and there were never any walls at all. We were soul-sisters, quickly. You get me. I get you. Let’s skip everything that comes in between and lay on the concrete under this night sky, counting stars and naming birds. But those people don’t come around too often, not for me anyway. I’m terrible (terrible) at small talk, but we have to begin somewhere, right? It’s uncomfortable and a little bit like stiff new clothes, but it’s the beauty of all of our humanity intersecting, my sharp edges bumping up against yours, you’re telling me your story, and it’s beautiful and rich and I’m so thankful to know you, that you are here.

This weekend, I sat with my pastor and friend Cory and I talked long and circular about the books handwritten in spiral notebooks in my garage and the books swirling like ether in my head. We talked about birthing words like birthing children, and we wondered why war metaphors make me squirm. I took my toddler to the bathroom, she strapped helmets on little boys’ heads, deft hands avoiding delicate skin, and we walked too far and got too sweaty.

It’s in the big; it’s in the small. Friendship is forged in the mundane, sharpened by circumstance, strengthened by difficulty. It’s in the showing up, the reaching out and up and in. My darkness is dark, I shrink back so that no one will see it. But it is your listening ear, the weight of your steady, unflinching gaze that presses the darkness up against the sky, stretches it thin, shatters it like a pane of glass, and oh Jesus, is that light breaking through?

Can we be this to one another? Can we figure this out together? I’m a clumsy friend, I’m probably too sarcastic and I swear too much. But I also love to listen, I love to pray, and I really want to hear your story. Let’s look to heaven together, wonder together, embrace one another. It’s not all wild and romantic and spiritual, it just is.

(And I really love this song. Community is so good for me).
 

the words don't come easy (but let's do it anyway)

“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.” 

Jack Kerouac

Let’s run after the fading light, my dear. Grab your bike, I’ve got your shoes, let me find my sunglasses, because the glare glints and gleams and I might be too blinded to notice you fall. Do you see the way the sun is drooping low, skimming the earth? We are surrounded by brown stucco houses, ringed in by mountains, and from where we stand we cannot see the horizon lines. But they are out there, and the sun is slipping below, lighting up the southern hemisphere even as we are met by darkness.

I think, my darling, this might be my favorite time of day. Walking with you, watching the light sharpen then fade, the streets half-clothed in dusk—these are the small miracles that sustain me. You’re really excited about your bike today. Except that you insist on riding it down the highest part of the curb, over and over again, and you keep falling off. Your knees are all scraped up, but you must not mind, because you keep doing it. Where can I find this kind of courage, persistence? Can you teach me how to keep trying?

The other kids are going inside. There are goosebumps on your legs, the cool breeze is lifting my hair. But let’s stay out a little while longer. Do you mind? I didn’t think so. This evening, it belongs to us, and it’s fine that you don’t want to hold my hand, that you’d rather run ahead. I’ll carry your bike; this is exactly why I bought the lightest one I could find. My arms are thin, the hills get steep.

I’ve been feeling uninspired lately. The words don’t come easy. I wish that creativity was simple, always flowing like a clear river. But it is complicated, and today, this week, it is a muddied river, full and polluted, being forced through a narrow inlet. But I see clear seas ahead, and you know how I crave open spaces, the wide, wide earth, fierce and wild and free.

I am searching for my voice in the tumult, fighting the impulse to compare, to measure up, to be someone I am not. I love words. I am not alive unless I am creating something with words. I am gathering up ideas,  I am laying them out in the sun to dry, because some of them are like crumpled scraps of paper, sopping wet and weighty. They need air, to be seen in the light, examined. But sorting through it all is difficult; it is work I am afraid of, intimidated by.

So I begin here, with the sacred everyday, the mundane and the common and the beautiful holy. The evening light, a slow bike ride, your lengthening curls and the way we bend to examine the rocks in the cracks of the sidewalk. I begin with what I know, who I know.

Creativity will never be as straightforward as I wish it was. It is less like a fully-stocked pantry and more like manna, enough for today. Sometimes it is compulsion, I could just write and never stop, and sometimes it is labor, hard work that I push through because if I don’t, I am not alive. So come alive with me, why don’t you? What awakens you, rises like the morning within you?  Let’s feel again.

What I'm Into

What I Read

If you read my last What I'm Into post, you might remember that Wuthering Heights was on my "currently reading" list. You might also notice that it's not mentioned below. No joke, I've attempted to read that book three times over the past few years and I never finish it. I don't know what it is, but I never get past page 50. It puts me to sleep. Oh well, maybe next year.

A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans- From what I understand, there was quite a bit of controversy/debate surrounding this book when it released. For what it's worth, I found it an engaging, thought-provoking, and worthwhile read. Rachel doesn't make a mockery of the Bible, as she's been accused of (although I wonder if those accusers even read the book?). She delves into a lot of subjects I'd like to explore more, probably here on this blog one day soon—the use of the word "biblical" as an adjective for one, how it applies to womanhood especially. This is what the entire book is about, presumably—the ways in which we choose to apply that word, how our cultural context and that of the Bible inform that, and ultimately, what it means for us as women, today, right now. 

Half the Sky: Turning Oppression Into Opportunity for Women Worldwide  by Nicholas D. Kristof & Sheryl WuDunn- I could write pages and pages about this book. It was a God-interruption. I am forever changed. I wish every human being, every Christian, would read it.

The Road of Lost Innocence by Somaly Mam- It's difficult to know what to say about this book. It is one of the most difficult I have ever read. At times I couldn't breathe, it was all so heavy. It is a good, good book, a necessary one, but even saying that is hard because the subject matter is so heartbreaking, so dark. Somaly tells her own story of being orphaned, passed around, sold to a Cambodian brothel as a young girl, her life there, her escape, her determination to rescue other girls. Her story, the stories of the other girls, they will change you. And Somaly is a light, an incredible and brave woman.

Undaunted by Christine Caine- I read this because I wanted to hear more about Christine's ministry, the A21 Campaign. She tells some of her own story, and the story of A21. It is inspiring, challenging, a call to action. 

Home by Toni Morrison- This is her newest novel, released earlier this year. Toni Morrison is easily one of our best living writers, and has been a favorite of mine for a long time, but this book fell short for me. Beautifully written, of course. I don't think she could write bad prose if she tried, and I'd give an appendage for a measly ounce of her talent. But her novels usually stay with me, for weeks sometimes, but this one hasn't. Maybe it's because I'm comparing it to Sula and Song of Solomon, but I can't help that. I'll probably revisit it again next year, see what I glean from a second reading.

Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison- This was actually the first Toni Morrison book I ever read, back in ninth grade, upon the recommendation of my English teacher. It has stayed me with all these years, and I'm so glad I reread it this month. It deserves an entire Master's thesis, not this tiny paragraph I'm giving it. The writing is suberb; sometimes it left me breathless with its beauty, its clarity. The characters are brilliantly imagined. I think Pilate is one of the most intriguing characters in all of literature. President Obama said this book taught him "how to be," and I get that. I really get that.

Currently Reading

A Mercy by Toni Morrison
The Bottom Billion: Why the Poorest Countries are Failing and What Can Be Done About It by Paul Collier
The Prophetic Imagination by Walter Brueggemann  
Protecting the Gift: Keeping Children & Teenagers Safe (and Parents Sane) by Gavin de Becker 

In My Ears

Listening to a lot of Waterdeep, Enter the Worship Circle and United Pursuit this month. Absolutely love this song. Enter the Worship Circle has a lot of albums, but I've been enjoying Chair & Microphone Vol. 3 the most.

Also, I've heard this song more than any human being should ever have to. Every time we get in the car, Diana asks for "apples," which means she wants to hear the "apple song." We play it over and over and over again; if I try for another song, she screams for "apples!!" Multiply 2 minutes by a forty minute drive twice a week. Yeah, waaaaay too much.

On My Television

Why do I even include this section? I don't think I watched any TV this month. There are a few shows I'd like to catch up on, I just haven't made time for it. Shows on my list to catch up on: Grey's Anatomy, Bones, Once Upon a Time, Call the Midwife. Maybe this month :)

What I'm Looking Forward To

I'm taking the Friday of Memorial Day weekend off from work, so I will have four days off! I'm still deciding how we'll spend the long weekend. I'd like to take Diana to the zoo, and if I can save some money, maybe to Sea World.

And, I know it's still quite a few months away, but I am also looking forward to the release of Sarah Bessey's first book. This is the only time I've ever considered pre-ordering a book.

Other Favorite Things

Can I recommend this TED talk to you? It is worth your time, especially in light of Steubenville, and stories like this, and this absolutely horrific one. There are no easy solutions, I know this. But we each play a part in our communities, here and abroad. There is something we can do, man or woman, to stand up against rape culture and gender-based violence against women and children. It happens too often, there is unspeakable suffering, and although I am still figuring out what I can do, I can't stand by idle anymore. Anyway, take a listen. Pass it along to the men in your life.

My favorite blog post this month came from Rachel Held Evans—Why Progressive Christians Should Care About Abortion.

Also found this wonderful little infographic:



I'm a big fan of the Myers-Brigg test. It's helped me understand myself and others a bit better. This sums me up pretty well, although it does leave out how I'm always running late.

My Little One

She turned two this month!! Here are a few pictures of this little doll

Little tea drinker

What are YOU into this month, my friends? I'd love to hear all about it

Friday Link Up

These are some of my favorite reads around the internet these past two weeks. Grab a cup of coffee (or tea) and enjoy!

In Which I Have Circles of Friendship-And a Lobster by Sarah Bessey

Why Progressive Christians Should Care About Abortion by Rachel Held Evans

Fourteen and Sexually Screwed Up by Grace Biske for Prodigal Magazine

"We need to consider these devastating realities and to learn to care and advocate for all our "sexually screwed up" kids. We need to learn to tend to those, like me, whose world has shattered. Can we stop telling kids to "save themselves" for marriage without considering that they may have already had sex stolen from them? When we don't do this we unnecessarily burden them. Can we bring up sex in other contexts besides when we want to say how pre-marital sex is displeasing to the Lord?"

Ask Jennifer Knapp (Response) Q&A hosted over at Rachel Held Evans' place

The Stories I Read to My Children by Katherine Willis Pershey for A Deeper Family

Karl Barth's 3 Aphorisms on Doubt by Derek Rishmawy

"But in the face of his doubt, even if it be the most radical, the theologian should not despair. Doubt indeed has its time and place. In the present period no one, not even the theologian, can escape it. But the theologian should not despair, because this age has a boundary beyond which again and again he may obtain a glimpse when he begs God, “Thy Kingdom Come!”

The Gospel in Her Home: True Beauty  by Tiffany Valdez

Why I Write: A Story in 3 Parts by Adam Walker Cleaveland for A Deeper Story

At Least One Person Waiting by Jonathan Martin for She Loves Magazine

A Letter to My Daughter, On Marriage by Caris Adel

No, the love I wish for you is an inefficient partnership. The one that knows it will take decades to know and know again, know anew, the person that you are. An inefficient partner who is willing to submit to the slow process himself, showing his own wounds and weaknesses, even though he is told not to. I want an emotional man for you, even though he is told men are simply logical.I want someone who knows himself well enough to know what hides behind his walls, but who loves you enough to sacrifice his pride so you can join him behind it. And I hope you are just as willing to have him hide with you behind yours when it’s a season of hiding.

The (real life) Dictionary Definition of "Mother"  by Lisa Jo Baker

10 Beautiful Words About Love That Don't Exist in English at Urbandud

The Mother Wound at Mama Unabridged

You may have heard about the “trolley problem” – a nifty thought experiment that forces you to consider whether you would sacrifice a life that is dear to you in order to save the lives of many others. This used to be an interesting philosophical problem to mull over; now there is no mystery. My heartfelt apologies to anyone on that imaginary trolley, but I would save my son. Always, always, I would choose to save my son.

On Being an Observer

I have been an observer as long as I can remember. As a young kid in elementary school, I fought my temperament, did the whole "fitting in" thing, but even at recess, I was always more comfortable on the sidelines, watching first, then engaging.

I remember the first time I saw Harriet the Spy. Does anyone else remember this quintessential 90s Nickelodeon movie? While I had no desire to be a spy in that sense (I would make an abysmal detective), I loved Harriet and her notebook, how she carried it everywhere, scribbled things down. And while I'm sure the contents of her childhood notebook and my own would be drastically different, I found a kindred spirit in her character.

I carried around notebooks. I looked out the windows when we were driving on the freeway and imagined the stories of the people in the cars next to us. I watched people at restaurants, walking through the mall, tried to figure out how they were related, would go home and write down their descriptions, create narratives, write down what I'd heard, what I'd seen, what I'd imagined. I spent hours creating stories, most of them unfinished, writing dialogue, practicing practicing practicing.

I'm reminded of a quote by Anne Lamott, from her book Bird by Bird:

"I took notes on the people around me, in my town, in my family, in my memory. I took notes on  my own state of mind, my grandiosity, the low self-esteem. I wrote down the funny stuff I overheard. I learned to be like a ship's rat, veined ears trembling, and I learned to scribble it all down."

I've lost a lot of this as I've grown up. Partly because an adult carrying around notebooks and scribbling everywhere she goes isn't as charming as a child doing it. But that's not the whole story. I've lost my penchant for observation. In most social settings, I'm still content on the sidelines. But now, I'm distracted, nervous, self-conscious. Out of boredom, out of fear of what others think of me because I'm sitting alone, I reach for my iPhone. Every time.

And this isn't a post about making myself, or you, feel guilty for looking at your phone too much. Not at all. It's about writing, about how essential it is to be an observer in order to be a writer, especially a writer of fiction (and oh, I've felt the fiction writing itch overwhelming me lately. It's a good, good feeling).

This is a resolution I'm sure many of us have made, at some point or another, for varying reasons. Put down the phone. For me, it's because there are stories practically beating at my ribcage within me, waiting to be told. There is so much I want to write, but I know I cannot write it all if I am not an expert observer of humanity. All of my favorite writers, they are masters at dialogue, at capturing the nuance of conversation, describing the idiosyncrasies that make us human, individual. I think of Steinbeck's Samuel Hamilton, who draws pictures of beautiful things, like trees and rivers, on the corners of his blueprints. Or Toni Morrison's Pilate, who is always chewing on something, a stick or a piece of string or the seed from a fruit eaten hours before. Gatsby and his "old sport," Holden Caulfield's "phony."

These small details, they matter—and I don't want to miss them. They originate in the real, living world around me, are invigorated by imagination, characters are born.

So next time I have a long wait for my coffee at Starbucks, instead of pulling out my phone, I will open my eyes. I will look outward, not down. I'll take in the humanity surrounding me, complicated and rich and just rife with story. I'll listen to the voices, follow the narrative like a golden thread, and maybe, just maybe, pull out a notebook and scribble down what I see, what I hear, what I imagine is happening beneath the surface.

Just don't ask to read my notebooks. Chances are you won't understand a word.