wake up

When we’re young we see adults engaging in lives that seem so elegant and manicured. We place ourselves in their shoes and dream dreamers’ dreams of what it would be like to live within those moments also. But when those things actually begin happening to us we allow them to slip by without a turn of our head. It no longer becomes the fruition of what was once our longing. It simply becomes life.

There’s no resolution in that. There’s no living. Yeah, dreams are important to living, but rather than imaginative dreams, I want an imaginative life. 

I feel the need to share this. Whether you care or not, here it is...

Christine Wilson was my first "friend" at Southeastern. I use the quotes because she was really just the first person I used all the dumb introductory get-to-know-you phrases on. Whatever the case may have been, we played the, "Hey, how are you?!" game for a good few months, dilly-dallying around progressing our acquaintance-y to friendship. Well, the past few weeks we've been upping our status and now we're full on friends. Like friends friends. The ones who call to tell you they're not doing anything so you should come keep them company for the heck of it.
I'm telling you this because Christine Wilson is cool. And you would like her too. And now I realize the Lord is just as un-incidental as I say He is...

i wanna forget how convention fits

There's a comfort in conventionality. Stirring raisins and cinnamon into my oatmeal every morning is a silent way in which I acknowledge that my day will be planned around uniformity--reminiscent in appearance to the day before. I sit on a taut white comforter against bright floral throws and cover my legs with the same knitted blanket I have used for over two years. Even the forest green ceramic bowl I use to hold my warm cereal tells of days past, mornings of stark resemblance to this one.
All that to say, this makes me wonder how much of my life is conventional, housed in by presuppositions that it must be so in order for any semblance of normalcy to be held. But then I analyze that question. How badly do I wish my life to be normal? How strongly do I really desire to fit into the molding of uniformity and adjust to the worldly standards of expectation?
I think of the freedom that the Lord has given us. Complete freedom to move and breathe, yes, but also freedom to roam about this world and release His presence wherever we dare to. A "normal" trip to the store can quickly turn into a wild spiritual adventure, depending on my determination for it to be so.
I want to speak up, touch, give and take from this world. As a body that houses Jesus, I see Him doing that. I see Him doing so much more than I do, thinking that that is how it should be--after all, I'm no Jesus. But what about the words He spoke in saying that we will do greater things than even He did? The power of the Holy Spirit (the same one that resurrected a murdered Christ) is now mine for eternity. There should never be a normal moment with that kind of power embodied in me.
I love oatmeal. I love consistency. I love knowing what's coming next.
But more, I love being pleasantly surprised by the unknown. I love learning how wild and abnormal the Lord I serve is. I love knowing that deep inside me is the potential to be wild and abnormal too. I'm ready. I'm finally admitting it.

Spring is here! Let's pot plants and whistle outside.

I grew up reading the books most teenagers wouldn’t appreciate, let alone understand for the value that they held. Books that knew me. I came to know them also, and would continually call upon them for reassurance throughout my life. To a certain level, they defined me. I helped define them. We were in it together, yet worlds apart. I loved those books. I still do, but even now, they’re different. I’m different. It’s this blasted curse we’re all under. It’s this blessed transformation process called growth. It’s something else, too. 

Sometimes I'm eccentric. I say 'sometimes' because I don't always fall under the abnormal category. I actually tend to steer towards the stand in a line and mimic everyone else way of living. All too often. It's not that I like conforming, and I don't know that I would even consider myself a contortionist of sorts, but rather I can comfortably lack the vivacity to explore and dare. I count down the days to a future that will never arrive, waiting. Constantly waiting.
Well the waiting must end. Now.
Sometimes must become always. Or else some will just become a modest synonym for none.

terminal A

I always order a tall skinny vanilla latte. After the sun sets they dim the lights in the airport and you feel as if you've been asked to just sit and relax for awhile, like an upscale ballet is about to start or something. That's how I feel anyway.

What do I see? A man reading one of this week's best-sellers from the airport bookstore that he probably payed ten dollars more for than he should have. A Starbucks employee eating an apple danish, slowly. I don't know what she's thinking about, but I know she's thinking. I'd imagine she's prolonging her snack break by taking bites in ten minute intervals. And, of course, the high profile businessmen on their way to somewhere warm and in need of their expertise, stirring refined white sugar into their venti paper coffee cups. I also see children. A lot of children. Everyone's always excited in the Orlando airport--Disney is the choice destination for those traveling here, so it makes sense. But even in spite of the anticipation, everyone is taking their time. Everyone's enjoying the night, it seems. 

As for me, I'm waiting. My sister's on her way. I'm playing Sweet Disposition on repeat and trying to get a liquid thought to emerge. I'm excited. Not "we're going to Disney World for a whole week!" excited, but excited in all the senses I should be. 

I guess anticipation is weird. You wait so long for something, your sister's arrival for instance, and you almost make yourself believe you can't live without it. But then the night comes when she boards the plane and calls you after landing, and suddenly...well you realized you lived without it. And not only did you live, but you had fun leading up to it. You may have even been okay if it were next weekend she decided to come. 

I'm not saying I don't want her to come or that this weekend isn't going to be as great as I imagined it to be. I'm just saying, unlike these kids coming to see Mickey Mouse for the first time, I understand more about life than I used to. I understand that days come and go, some exciting and some dull. But they all come and go, either way. 

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We're all searching for something, all of us. We're all waiting for the moment in which we can boldly announce we've made it, we've found the treasured "there". I don't think we recognize that this moment is that moment. We've always been there. It's just disguised itself as "here".

The "in-between" is only a trick.

Okay.
Do you ever feel like a poser? Perhaps a pseudo-intellectual who can quote poet's names but can't extend the conversation any further?
I'm pretty sure we all do on one level or another.
I'm not all that intellectual. I'm not all that bright either, it's just a misconception that's been made and is now irrevocable.
I'm just trying to get by and use my love of art and writing to express something. God knows what (I clearly don't).
And please. I beg you. Do not mistake me for someone who knows what she's talking about or who can recite "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" effortlessly. I can't. Probably never will.
As Salinger so eloquently wrote, "I'm quite illiterate, but I read a lot."
And yes. I just name-dropped.

Love on the 102nd Floor

            

Ashley and Chris Engagement

Today I am remembering something that happened two months ago, yet still remains to be one of the most lovely moments I've ever seen. Vedere l'amore!