New Year, New Goal!

It's become pretty obvious to me, based on the content of my posts, that I need a hobby.  I need something to take my mind off of life, and to give me something to look forward to.  I love sewing, but after working in a costume shop and occasionally getting ass-busting paid projects, I just no.  Besides, sewing and needlework can get expensive and I'm still not in any place to do whatever the hell I want.  For Christmas, my roommate gave me the official Game of Thrones cookbook, A Feast of Ice and Fire.  Last year, I didn't eat well due to various concerns (none of them worrisome), and this year I'm gonna make a to-do about it!  My goal is to cook my way through this book, which means about 8 recipes per month.  Some of them are simply breakfast assemblages and salads, so that will help speed it up.  After flipping through the book, I realized I already have most of the spices, and the awesome Armenian market down the street sells produce suspiciously cheap.  After deciding on the goal, I of course realized "crap, it's been done" a la Julie & Julia, but no matter.  I'm merely setting out to redirect my grocery bill into something more fun.  Today I made a medieval spice mixture called Poudre Forte, and if you know me at all you will know with what glee I made it.  Friends told me I should blog about my experiences, so we'll see how that goes.  In a few minutes I'm off to the market to get ingredients for a bowl of mutton and onion stew from Castle Black.

Update:  Is there a science behind making good broth from bones?  Because I almost failed chemistry in high school, and now my kitchen smells like a gym sock.

Sliding Down Towards Inevitability

I remember watching the BBC version of CS Lewis' The Silver Chair.  Watching Polly sliding down all that scree into a dark oblivion, without knowing what awaited her at the bottom.  I'm probably getting the facts wrong, it's been awhile, but the emotional memory is what I'm referencing.  I feel as though I am in the same place, going where I must, but feeling like it's leading me to certain doom.  Here I am, standing on the precipice of my life decisions, and I've decided to jump.  A few months back, I quit my job to go full-time as a freelancer.  The job was toxic, so I don't regret quitting.  The salary was meager, so the money is about the same.  Now, I am stuck here believing God has brought me this far, trying to trust his provision, but just not seeing it.  At least, not in the ways I want to see it.  He has provided for me in the funniest ways concerning my apartment, a place that I have tried to maintain as a refuge of the Peace of the Holy Spirit for whenever I have visitors.  I think my biggest fear right now is that I'm doing something completely wrong, my finances will go further south, and I will lose everything here he's brought into my life.  Once again, I feel a carrot being dangled in front of my face.
I suppose I feel stuck.  Getting a desk job is not only damn near impossible in this city, but it also feels like "going back to Egypt" (which is a Biblical phrase referring to the Israelites and their fears of leaving familiarity to head to the promised land).  Getting a part time job in this city is also something that is damn near impossible, because they never have sustainable income (when combined with another job, hence the leaving of the previous job).  I'm not sure what to do or where to go, except forward.  I've sent an agency submission to my first choice, and I haven't heard back yet (oh THAT'S what this is coming from).  It could be up to a month, of what? me sitting on my arse and waiting while I'm ungainfully underemployed?  Going forward at this moment feels like when I had my thyroidectomy.  I had to dress myself in those scrubs, clothes which might have been the last ones I ever wore if they screwed something up.  I had to climb up on that table and expose my neck, knowing it would be slit open in only a matter of minutes.  One botched move, and the surgeon could have taken away my ability to sing or speak ever again (I've probably mentioned this before, sorry/too bad).  But the only thing I could do was go forward, and trust that they knew what they were doing.  As it turns out, the surgeon did such an amazing job, I get wide-eyed incredulity from ultrasound techs.  When Polly slid to the bottom of that underground hill, there was a race of friendly (although glum) people who protected her (sort of, eventually, whatever).  Please, dear God, let this have the same positive result.  I don't need the approval of this agency or any other, I just need to know that I won't lose this sense of refuge that you've put in my heart here.  I want the Peace to dwell in my heart as I live here and look around at the ways in which you've provided, but I fear so deeply to lose it because you won't provide in a way that helps me keep it.  I've longed for a Home for so long, call me a materialist if you like.  It's not about the things, it's about you providing them and then taking them away from me.  You know I don't need more abandonment and confusion.  I guess I'm looking for some hope to hang on to.

Can't Sleep, Thoughts Will Eat Me

I had a late-night conversation with a friend recently about relationships, but the conversation itself was over Facebook chat, so I suppose it wasn’t as profound as it could have been.  It started with my ribbing her over an upcoming blind date, and ended when she had to go to bed.  Before leaving, she quick asked me my “top five” things I would want in a potential mate (freakin A, one of THOSE posts).  It’s hard to choose, but writing them down, I realized how much I’ve grown in the past year.  I had to quick consult the list, yes there’s an actual list, and realizing I hadn’t updated it in 12 months I edited a few things before sharing them with her.

A year ago almost this week, I broke up with someone I had been dating for a few months.  At the time, it felt as though I had given up on my only chance at a family someday, but I knew ultimately I would rather be single than be in a dysfunctional marriage.  This relationship was beyond hope.  About a week later, I became sick. Very sick.  Almost to the point of needing a transfusion, and it happened month. after month.  Several excruciating and inconclusive tests later, the anomaly was gone.  100%  and without explanation.  I know the prayers of my friends and family were what did it, Christ healed me and I don’t know why.  I was relieved, but ungrateful. In the aftermath I was left with feeling like I had been emotionally abused by God.  Like the hope of a family and a happy future had been dangled in front of my eyes and then taken from me on all fronts and then surprise! given back?  Months later, the rage at God is abated, and new fears have taken root to actually drive me closer to him.  Funny how that works, I won’t deny my fickle depression.  In all of this, I’ve learned how much I’ve made an idol out of wanting a family someday, and how more consciously than I’d like I’d started hoping my future husband (I HATE that phrase) would fill the gaps of love in my experiences, and show me what love can really be like.  That's not a fair or healthy expectation to place on him.  But then, you know, sometimes it’s hard to conceive of a God who is truly loving to you personally when you’re too weak to sit up on a couch.

I won’t bother you with my list, but I think the one thing I do want most out of a man is fortitude.  I have a mousy demeanor, but I’m the mouse that roared.  This past year’s struggle was the first time in almost 10 years I had truly fallen to pieces, but somewhere along the paths of my life God has given me the strength and wisdom to see how the pieces fit back together, and why they broke in the first place.  I struggle with depression, and I want someone strong enough to weather that, because I could be strong enough to weather his.  I need someone who is secure enough in himself to not be threatened when I pick up the power drill and do the damn job myself, or perhaps I want someone who’ll see the need and pick up the drill before I have a chance to. 

After my experiences, I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that I am not “owed” any sort of relationship at all.  I must reconcile the bouts of profound loneliness with the fact that God is everything I need, albeit I am too finite and flawed to ever truly perceive or fully realize that until his return.   I need to learn to accept that with grace, which means not consigning myself to some sort of emotional spinster-martyrdom.  Far easier said than done; I know I’m not the first Christian girl to blog about “If Jesus is the only one I need, then why…”  I haven’t accepted it yet, and probably never will if I’m honest.  It’s hard to have grown up in an age where marriage was a given, only to come of age (and beyond) in a world where it’s not.  The waiting game sucks.  My life is happening now.

More late-night rambling.

What a year I've had. What a year, indeed. Forgive me for not having posted nearly as often as I was planning; sometimes the words are hard to pull out. In mid-February, one of my classmates, Christina, passed away suddenly. I've experienced loss of someone in my life so young before, but never so physically near that there was a visible hole left behind. She was in my section at school, and our schedule was structured so that all our classes were with the same people. Your section becomes like a family, and our family had an empty seat in each room, each day. I knew her, but not well. I was looking forward to getting to know her that semester, and was purposefully trying to earn her trust so she would talk to me more. :) She was a strong young woman with a strong wall up, but every now and then in class I would be given glimpses of the beautiful, tender heart behind that wall. Sometimes I still see her face on the street, and for a moment I forget.

Christina's passing helped me to realize just how much I have a heart for the students at my school. I am lucky in that, because now that I've graduated, I have been given the position as a staff member down in the costume shop. I earnestly desire to see these kids grow into mature adulthood, and I am glad that I get to be a part, however small, of their journey. I am trying to purposefully be more open--less introverted. I want people to feel like they can come talk to me, because they can. Always.

Just a few weeks ago, I got back from Kenya. Our church took a team of 19 people to run a free summer camp for orphaned/vulnerable children living in a slum outside Nairobi. None of the poverty shocked me too bad, as our team had prepared me adequatly for what to expect, and God had certainly been working on my heart in that. My heart was free from dealing with that pain so that I could be there to love on the kids, and not feel overwhelmed by their circumstances. Praise Him for that. I don't have any major stories of life-changing awesomeness as many may expect, rather just a simple understanding of obedience. Two years ago, the 2009 team gave their presentation in front of the church, the Holy Spirit said "you're going on that trip," and I took that as a given. I felt this year was the appointed time, and I went. The second week of camp, I felt very strongly from God that I was supposed to share my testimony, so I did. I have no idea of the impact any of my words or actions had in those two weeks, and I may never know. I'm ok with that, because I know that I know that I know that I was there because I was supposed to be there, and I trust God to even use my flubs.

Since I've been back, I've felt different. I even look different, I'm told. Color in my face, more confidence. I have no specific idea as to what that stems from, but I do feel that during the trip I turned a corner in my learning to trust God and hand things over to him (relinquishing control is always the huge impossible goal). That, and the fact that I have officially beat cancer has finally hit home. I think I'm finally overcoming the shock, or maybe I just need therapy. I sometimes kind of want to grab people and shake them and say in tears "I had f*&%ing cancer! But its GONE!" But Hollywood has enough crazy already, thankyouverymuch. This summer I was sick for a month while I was preparing for the test that would determine if the cancer had come back, and in the midst of that, the doctor realized that the test didn't even need to be performed, I was so in the clear. I woulda been radioactive for 3 days if they went through with it; instead, I only lost about half of my hair. Only my hairdresser and I can tell, though. To everyone else, my hair just looks dry, destroyed and thin. I had a lot of anxiety before that test, partly because of the scary what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-me symptoms from the prep (off my thyroid medicine). Once I was in the clear, I had too much Kenya to think about. Now that I'm home, I'm wavering on this weird emotional tight-rope. I maintain my balance when I remember how God has been taking care of me, and how I have nothing apart from him (which is a hard fact to swallow for me). Home, job, food, clothes, cancer-free body, amazing church community, the list goes on. God is an incredible provider to me. But then I start to lose my balance when I worry about the future: moving soon (will I get the apt?), needing more work (but my car was stolen in Feb and my bike in Aug), student loans due soon (when is that money gonna go thru?), and the list goes on in this direction, too. Church was incredible today. It's a series about maturity, and to be honest, I'm thinking that I'm in an ok place. Sometimes I think my level of trust with God is borderline delusion, but then he always, always meets me. Obviously I need to grow, because I still struggle with so much anxiety that could easily be erased if I just let go. But to hear that some of what I'm experiencing might be considered "maturity," is a self-confidence boost that, quite frankly, I need (me and self-confidence? we're not friends). When I lack self-confidence, I lack the ability to share my experiences and understandings, which means that people miss out on my unique contributions as a human being created in the image of God. I love hearing what others have to say, and what they believe, why should I prevent them from hearing what I have to say? Because I feel that most of what I have to say, most of the way I see and love and experience God, is silly or wrong. Why is speaking up in homegroup so hard for me? Shouldn't be, but is.

Going back to anxiety, this evening I was working on a sewing project, listening to Brave Saint Saturn's album "The Light of Things Hoped For," one of my favorites in college. The last song on the album, "Daylight," came on and I couldn't continue sewing. I felt this weird emotion rising in me, like I wanted to cry--sob, even--but I ended up crying and also laughing (some sobbing, too). I completely lost it at the lyric "a heart of flesh you gave me...," because only just this year have I felt my heart not made of stone anymore. Lately I've been so emtionally on this tight-rope, that its been hard for me to sit down and spend some quiet time with Jesus, because I am so afraid of what seems like everything in my life, and I'm afraid I'll just cry (and why do I think Jesus wouldn't like that?). This song let me do that finally, but what came out instead was this mix of fear of the future (in the face of all the abundant assurance from Christ I am too weak to embrace), joy to see how far I've come (this song used to be a beacon of hope for me), and just plain bewilderment that after all these years, he still cares for me and is only beginning to reveal his love to me. I thought I was so afraid, but I don't think I'm nearly as fearful as I think.

I found this video on youtube to share, and despite the cheesy montage, I cried again. Soo good. Also... from this post, it seems like I cry a lot. I do now, and I'm proud of that fact. I am proud of the fact that I no longer feel like I can't cry, or that I'm incapable of it. It used to be hard for me to get to the point of tears, simply because there was such a strong wall up in front of my own heart. I think it's finally coming down.

"Daylight," Brave Saint Saturn

First Bird

I was digging through my file folder while getting ready for taxes, and I found this poem. One of my roommates in college, Sarah, had sent it to me just after I graduated and was working at camp. It was handwritten on a piece of paper and illustrated beautifully with dogwood branches drawn in crayon. :) I loved it then, but it has this quiet depth I didn't really understand. Seven years later, I think I get it.

First Bird
by Julia Kasdorf

The first bird that sings
sings for all birds, even

when she stands for nothing
but herself, a dun-colored finch

on a dogwood branch.
No telling what a bird knows,

if this seems the first time
light glowed on the horizon,

or if she thinks her beak
alone has pierced the night.

We know nothing can be whole
that hasn't been torn.

There is no holy thing
that hasn't been betrayed,

the way notes, once forced
into her tiny throat,

come out this dawn as song.

On Sunday, our pastor read this passage from a Puritan book of devotion called “The Valley of Vision.” I’ve never read any Puritan writing before; despite the bad wrap they’ve gotten in popular culture, everyone I know who’s into theology and has read them seems to like them. I may have to start. This piece struck me for its almost John Donne-ish passion and ecstasy, something I certainly hadn’t associated with that movement.
* * * * * * *

O Father of Jesus,
Help me to approach thee with deepest reverence, not with presumption,
not with servile fear, but with holy boldness.
Thou art beyond the grasp of my understanding,
but not beyond that of my love,
Thou knowest that I love thee supremely,
for thou art supremely adorable, good, perfect.

My heart melts at the love of Jesus,
my brother, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh,
married to me, dead for me, risen for me;
He is mine and I am his,
given to me as well as for me;
I am never so much mine as when I am his,
or so much lost to myself until lost in him;
then I find my true manhood.

But my love is frost and cold, ice and snow;
Let his love warm me,
lighten my burden,
be my heaven;
May it be more revealed to me in all its influences
that my love to him may be more fervent and glowing;
Let the mighty tide of his everlasting love
cover the rocks of my sin and care;
Then let my spirit float above those things
which had else wrecked my life.

Make me fruitful by living to that love,
my character becoming more beautiful every day.
If traces of Christ's love-artistry be upon me,
may he work on with his divine brush
until the complete image be obtained
and I be made a perfect copy of him, my master.

O Lord Jesus, come to me,
O Divine Spirit, rest upon me,
O Holy Father, look on me in mercy for the sake of the well-beloved.

* * * * * * *

I particularly love the phrase “I am never so much mine as when I am his… but my love is frost and cold, ice and snow, let his love warm me…”
Getting lost in my relationship with Jesus this past year or so has helped me immensely to find myself. Where pain and sorrow have sought to carve away at my heart, I’ve found Jesus filling in the canyons, making level the paths in my life. I feel like I see him much more clearly than I ever have, and I am thrilled to know that my whole life is ahead of me on this route. As an actor, connecting to my partner is still a challenge for me, as it probably will be in life. But bit by bit, I am witnessing my own guard begin to be let down, and realizing that I’m not afraid. Reflecting on relationships, I realize my passion for the marriage commitment: I want to know how Christ loves me unconditionally. Brokenness in my life has kept me from fully grasping that, and I want to see it in a way that I can better understand. I am an overcomer. “My heart melts at the love of Jesus.”

On Failing... Again...

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
Inever had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through;
I want God, you, all my friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, reassurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin;
I talk of love--a scholar's parrot may talk Greek--
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.
~CS Lewis

Lately I’ve been continuously reminded of my own sinfulness. And there is a lot of it. These past few weeks for me have been overloaded with stress—spiritual, physical, mental. I broke once; scared all my teachers and half my classmates. I often allow myself to get overwhelmed, and I’ve been realizing more and more lately why that is. I just don’t trust God enough. Still. Of course that sounds a little trite, but here’s what I mean; I keep trying to do things on my own strength. I’ve been reading Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz, and chapter by chapter, I am consistently awed by his frank honesty and willingness to admit things I will rarely, if ever, own up to. I’ve been needing a good hit in the head from a “spiritual 2x4” lately (that’s what we called it in youth group growing up), and I just got a few good ones. My heart has been so raw lately with all the stress from school and some potentially scary test results from my doctor (everything’s fine, btw), I see God is using all that inner turmoil to churn up my heart like tilled soil. I hope. All these scars and ugly blemishes on my life that I’ve allowed to fester unchecked… I hope to be rid of them. Watch me try to do it on my own once again. Watch me as I cry out to God briefly, and then turn to my own strength to try and heal myself. I wonder why I love so much to give to others and do things for others, but I never allow them to serve me. “You want me to help you with that?” “No thanks,” I say, obviously struggling, “I got it.” Not that I don’t want the person to help me, I just don’t want them to inconvenience their own life for me. I don’t want them to waste their energy. I do that with God. A lot. I know my problems aren’t as big as some people’s, I know the things I complain about often prove my gold shoes are too tight. But God still longs to help me carry my burdens, to teach me to give them up to him because he is way stronger than me. But still I insist on carrying them myself, because I feel like he ought to have bigger fish to fry. Like I'm not worth the trouble. When I try to do everything myself, I miss out on letting go of the struggle. When my heart struggles, I get stressed, and I don’t allow the peace of the Holy Spirit to calm my heart. I want my heart calm, so that I can reach out to others and allow that calm and love to flow into their lives. On my own strength, I feel a dam blocking anything flowing out of me. I feel my heart closed off to others, and I get snappy and selfish. In my busy-ness and stress, I let go of relationships and hurt people. I wallow in my own brokenness, walking around in my own open shackles like a fool. I learn of new mistakes, and I beat myself up for them, but I don’t turn to him and his grace. I won’t allow myself to accept it. Accepting it means I’ve failed, and I hate admitting failure. Just ask my teachers. They’ve been trying to cure me of my perfectionism from day 1. I seem to have poisoned myself thoroughly with the American notion of hard work and self-reliance. If I could just pull myself up by my bootstraps, I’d be ok. Such a lie. To borrow a concept from another writer whose name escapes me: without Christ, I would have neither boots, nor straps on which to pull. I wish I could write some sort of resolution at the end of this, but I have nothing. I have only myself, looking to what lies ahead, hoping that I will finally allow Christ to truly be center of my life. I want to stop doing this myself, because it is obvious that I can’t.