I find you in my bed,
tangled up in sweaty sheets
where nightmares dripped your name.
Your memory hangs above my head,
breaking through my plaster sky
raining dust on my tired bones.
A cloud of smoke strangles every gasping breath from within me.
I am filthy,
A coating on my skin,
Dirt you've left behind.
Powdered wreckage
Sticking to your greasy touch.
Hand prints cover my body in places you should not have been.
I am awake.
Knotted in my bed sheets.
You're 300 miles away
but you're here.
You are still here.
I feel you in everything I do.
I see you everywhere I go.
Your face, a mask on everyone I pass,
Their shadow, an embodiment of you.
The wind, your breath on the back of my neck.
Whispering things I cannot forget,
Binding me tightly with lies,
Chaining my wrists captive to your sin.
The cold metal cuffs etch angry wounds into my skin,
Breaking flesh to heal something that cannot be seen.
Lies
You see what you want to see,
What I want you to see.
You hear what you want to hear,
What I want you to hear.
We live a lie, fully aware.
Or do you believe this falsity?
Alone I am the liar,
Shielding your eyes for your peace and mine
Burying secrets you do not wish to know.
What I want you to see.
You hear what you want to hear,
What I want you to hear.
We live a lie, fully aware.
Or do you believe this falsity?
Alone I am the liar,
Shielding your eyes for your peace and mine
Burying secrets you do not wish to know.
Truth
"You don't know what I'm going through, when silence is all I give to you. So hear me, if you're out there. Take these words and try to understand." -Jack Savoretti
I don't let people in. I build up walls creating an impenetrable force around me: a protective barrier or a self-constructed prison. I try to break down my defenses and approach you as an unarmed soldier, but once you get too close I push you away. I keep everyone at arm's length. I yearn to bring people closer, embrace them, celebrate the intimacy of vulnerability and invite them into my life. Maybe then I would feel less alone, but they never scratch the surface of this hardened shell.
My words are sterile and withdrawn. I choose silence. I choose to be vague. It's more draining to formulate lies or sugarcoat reality than to admit the truth. "The truth." The phrase sounds so formal and the word truth alone feels so heavy. Merely typing it caused me to feel weight and pressure in my chest. Truth. I can't speak mine. I admit that saying I can't isn't entirely true. Saying I'm unwilling is far more accurate. However, there are many times when I physically can't get the words out. They get nestled somewhere in the back of my throat where they get stuck and I choke on them, forcing them to be swallowed back down where they can stay buried inside, eating away at me. Sometimes they get to the tip of my tongue and freeze, but instead of a chill running through my body it's a hot blaze intertwined with panic.
Whether I can't or whether I'm unwilling doesn't change the reason behind my silence. I don't speak because it hurts too much: the vulnerability and picking and digging at wounds that are already raw and painful. My silence makes everything appear okay when in reality I'm coming undone. Fire crackles when it destroys, the wind howls as its gusts blows things over, and water rushes in with great fury as it damages with floods. All of that destruction has sound. My self destruction is silent. The only way to give it sound is to give it a voice: my voice. To verbalize the chaos. To reveal these intricate painful webs.
I want to tell you all of this. I just don't know how. I don't know how to explain this pain. I don't know how to fix it. I don't want you to try to fix it. I just want you to be there. To listen. To sit with me. But once you know, once I put it into words or let you see my weakness, I only want to pull you closer. Instead I push you away. You know too much. I feel like I'm standing naked and vulnerable in front of you and your words have the power to wound or heal. I want you to hold me close so I feel less alone; but instead, I can't look at you without panicking. You remind me of what I avoid all day and seeing you hurts. You were my comfort and my safety, my soft place to fall now a bed of nails.
I don't let people in. I build up walls creating an impenetrable force around me: a protective barrier or a self-constructed prison. I try to break down my defenses and approach you as an unarmed soldier, but once you get too close I push you away. I keep everyone at arm's length. I yearn to bring people closer, embrace them, celebrate the intimacy of vulnerability and invite them into my life. Maybe then I would feel less alone, but they never scratch the surface of this hardened shell.
My words are sterile and withdrawn. I choose silence. I choose to be vague. It's more draining to formulate lies or sugarcoat reality than to admit the truth. "The truth." The phrase sounds so formal and the word truth alone feels so heavy. Merely typing it caused me to feel weight and pressure in my chest. Truth. I can't speak mine. I admit that saying I can't isn't entirely true. Saying I'm unwilling is far more accurate. However, there are many times when I physically can't get the words out. They get nestled somewhere in the back of my throat where they get stuck and I choke on them, forcing them to be swallowed back down where they can stay buried inside, eating away at me. Sometimes they get to the tip of my tongue and freeze, but instead of a chill running through my body it's a hot blaze intertwined with panic.
Whether I can't or whether I'm unwilling doesn't change the reason behind my silence. I don't speak because it hurts too much: the vulnerability and picking and digging at wounds that are already raw and painful. My silence makes everything appear okay when in reality I'm coming undone. Fire crackles when it destroys, the wind howls as its gusts blows things over, and water rushes in with great fury as it damages with floods. All of that destruction has sound. My self destruction is silent. The only way to give it sound is to give it a voice: my voice. To verbalize the chaos. To reveal these intricate painful webs.
I want to tell you all of this. I just don't know how. I don't know how to explain this pain. I don't know how to fix it. I don't want you to try to fix it. I just want you to be there. To listen. To sit with me. But once you know, once I put it into words or let you see my weakness, I only want to pull you closer. Instead I push you away. You know too much. I feel like I'm standing naked and vulnerable in front of you and your words have the power to wound or heal. I want you to hold me close so I feel less alone; but instead, I can't look at you without panicking. You remind me of what I avoid all day and seeing you hurts. You were my comfort and my safety, my soft place to fall now a bed of nails.
Silence
There's something incredibly intriguing about the effect that silence can have on a person. It has many comforting qualities and can be a place of retreat after a busy day. In silence you can rest, unwind, and feel a tremendous sense of peace as the silence overcomes the chaotic sounds that bombarded you with stress throughout the day. There is relief when you're finally alone and the sense of urgency that many tasks require throughout the day is gone. We seek quiet time to revitalize all the parts of us that have been drained emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually that day.
However, there is no such thing as true silence. There is always a faint sound: the sound of your breathing, the beating of your heart, a distant cricket chirping outside of your window or a low buzz as the heater turns on. Even that much silence can be uncomfortable. There is a certain level of silence that we normally crave. The type of silence I've just described is unsettling and can even be frightening. We're comfortable with background noise, whether it's the low volume of the television or radio, the sound of rain drops lightly beating on your window, or the humming of your engine as you drive home after a long day. Our definition of silence has become "less noise." With less sound, loneliness can be masked. The rain droplets can comfort you with their presence and consistency, the hum of your engine can form a pattern you cling to and can expect as you accelerate or slow down. The radio and television help drown out thoughts that could otherwise consume us.
The closest we can ever get to silence can be unbearable, almost as if the silence takes on a persona. What we typically seek can quickly become an enemy. The silence reveals its lonely characteristics and its emptiness leaves you with nothing but yourself. Silence screams lies. It uses falsehoods and unwanted thoughts relentlessly until you seek something to force it away and drown it out. How can something we seek out for its good qualities also carry such evil? It leads me to wonder: do we fear silence? Or, do we fear the loneliness and emptiness accompanied by it? Or, do we truly fear ourselves?
When there is silence, your thoughts rapidly unravel. Instead of playing in your head and being replayed in similar forms and pushed away throughout the day, they go deeper and get explored. You face things you never intended to. Your insecurities greet you the moment silence is in effect. My worries consume me when in silence. The silence confirms my fears, it traps me further in myself, and distances me more and more from reality. In that moment, my body dies, but my mind comes alive. Silence uses its lies to reach my weakest parts, the things I usually keep hidden. It hacks into my desires and tightens the tug that sin has on me. Silence leaves no mystery. There's no denying who you are with nothing to keep you from exploring deep within yourself. Those well-kept secrets, insecurities, worries, short-comings, and weaknesses are all at the forefront of your mind, competing for your undivided attention; simultaneously screaming things you usually can ignore.
Yet silence can be used for a greater good. We can hear the things our hearts are longing to hear. The soft wooing of God; beckoning us toward him, inviting us into His arms, greeting us with truth and an embrace as opposed to the unwelcoming response we get from our mind that's filled with lies. In silence, you can feel the love, protection, and comfort that only the heart of the Father can give. The loneliness of silence is deceiving, because we are never alone. In silence, we're resting in the shadow of the Almighty ("Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” Psalm 91:1). In those quiet moments we can fully come before God, bare our souls, pour out our hearts, and lay our burdens at the foot of the cross.
Silence: is it a blessing, or a curse? I think that the answer is up to us and how we use the silent times we're given. If we allow our wheels to turn and begin to believe the lies we're being fed or feeding ourselves, we're creating something out of silence for which it wasn’t intended. Instead, we can voice those thoughts to God, offer it all to Him and be filled in return with truth. Silence is a time where God can work on our hearts: convicting, comforting, molding and changing it to help us grow. It comes down to this: are we allowing ourselves to become victims of ourselves? I’ve heard many people say that they are their own worst enemy. How much of that can we attribute to our human nature, sinful desires, or situations we created for ourselves? God never promised things would be easy. In fact, He said, "...In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33
There's something so warm and comforting in that verse. It is the same comfort received when a father promises his child, "Things won't always be easy, but I'll make it okay. You're safe with me. I can handle everything you can't." How comforting that would be to a crying daughter, looking up at her father with adoring eyes and tear-stained cheeks, trusting him completely in his promise. It's the child-like faith we all wish to possess. I'd like to think that same peace, comfort, and reassurance can be obtained by us if we imagine ourselves on the lap of the Heavenly Father who is resting on His throne.
There is a promise to cling to that out of hardships will come a blessing. Out of pain comes new found strength, a greater faith, wisdom, and a deep change that could only come from Him. A chapter in a devotional book I once read said this: "I have observed that change seldom occurs without struggle, whether it's a caterpillar wriggling free of his cocoon to fly or a person squiggling free of addiction to rise with new found liberty." The author failed to mention the equivalent beauty of both: being reborn and made new.
I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've prayed for strength to continue while riding out and enduring this storm. It isn't always easy to cling to the promise of the incredible things that are ahead when they feel so out of reach. In times that it seems unbearable, that I’m crying out to God and pleading for His arms to wrap around me but I can’t feel Him near; I try to repeat to myself the things that I know and the promises God has made for my life no matter how unobtainable they feel. I know that He will always provide. Prayer is a time for conversation with God; conversation takes two people. How often do we talk to God, but don’t sit and quiet our hearts while we wait for His response?
Too often I focus on the negative aspects of silence. I know it’s solely based on a fear of myself. I fear my emotions, my pain, and everything I push away finally coming to head. I fear the memories, the nightmares, and the effect of the lies that I tell myself. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I allow myself to feel instead of denying the existence of these demons in my life. I don’t associate silence with only one thing. I do seek it at the end of the day as every fiber of my being yearns to unwind. The times that I can’t avoid silence are the times I fear. Those moments I feel incredibly alone. I see the life I’ve created and the hand I’ve been dealt but no matter how much I cry out to God all I feel is the distance between us.
What if I stopped avoiding the silence? What if I prayed for God to change my view of it? Silence would be a gift and a treasured time alone with my Father as I sit on His lap and share my joys and my sorrows. It would be a time where He could tell me the things I need to hear or offers me soothing words to hold on to that provide hope that's been lost. He may remind me of His love for me, tell me I've made him proud, reassure me that I’ll be okay, or promise that He will always protect me. It’s time that I start using silence with the purpose it was given when it was created instead of the darkness I associate it with. It’s time for that little girl with tear-stained cheeks to get the comfort she dreams about.
However, there is no such thing as true silence. There is always a faint sound: the sound of your breathing, the beating of your heart, a distant cricket chirping outside of your window or a low buzz as the heater turns on. Even that much silence can be uncomfortable. There is a certain level of silence that we normally crave. The type of silence I've just described is unsettling and can even be frightening. We're comfortable with background noise, whether it's the low volume of the television or radio, the sound of rain drops lightly beating on your window, or the humming of your engine as you drive home after a long day. Our definition of silence has become "less noise." With less sound, loneliness can be masked. The rain droplets can comfort you with their presence and consistency, the hum of your engine can form a pattern you cling to and can expect as you accelerate or slow down. The radio and television help drown out thoughts that could otherwise consume us.
The closest we can ever get to silence can be unbearable, almost as if the silence takes on a persona. What we typically seek can quickly become an enemy. The silence reveals its lonely characteristics and its emptiness leaves you with nothing but yourself. Silence screams lies. It uses falsehoods and unwanted thoughts relentlessly until you seek something to force it away and drown it out. How can something we seek out for its good qualities also carry such evil? It leads me to wonder: do we fear silence? Or, do we fear the loneliness and emptiness accompanied by it? Or, do we truly fear ourselves?
When there is silence, your thoughts rapidly unravel. Instead of playing in your head and being replayed in similar forms and pushed away throughout the day, they go deeper and get explored. You face things you never intended to. Your insecurities greet you the moment silence is in effect. My worries consume me when in silence. The silence confirms my fears, it traps me further in myself, and distances me more and more from reality. In that moment, my body dies, but my mind comes alive. Silence uses its lies to reach my weakest parts, the things I usually keep hidden. It hacks into my desires and tightens the tug that sin has on me. Silence leaves no mystery. There's no denying who you are with nothing to keep you from exploring deep within yourself. Those well-kept secrets, insecurities, worries, short-comings, and weaknesses are all at the forefront of your mind, competing for your undivided attention; simultaneously screaming things you usually can ignore.
Yet silence can be used for a greater good. We can hear the things our hearts are longing to hear. The soft wooing of God; beckoning us toward him, inviting us into His arms, greeting us with truth and an embrace as opposed to the unwelcoming response we get from our mind that's filled with lies. In silence, you can feel the love, protection, and comfort that only the heart of the Father can give. The loneliness of silence is deceiving, because we are never alone. In silence, we're resting in the shadow of the Almighty ("Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” Psalm 91:1). In those quiet moments we can fully come before God, bare our souls, pour out our hearts, and lay our burdens at the foot of the cross.
Silence: is it a blessing, or a curse? I think that the answer is up to us and how we use the silent times we're given. If we allow our wheels to turn and begin to believe the lies we're being fed or feeding ourselves, we're creating something out of silence for which it wasn’t intended. Instead, we can voice those thoughts to God, offer it all to Him and be filled in return with truth. Silence is a time where God can work on our hearts: convicting, comforting, molding and changing it to help us grow. It comes down to this: are we allowing ourselves to become victims of ourselves? I’ve heard many people say that they are their own worst enemy. How much of that can we attribute to our human nature, sinful desires, or situations we created for ourselves? God never promised things would be easy. In fact, He said, "...In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33
There's something so warm and comforting in that verse. It is the same comfort received when a father promises his child, "Things won't always be easy, but I'll make it okay. You're safe with me. I can handle everything you can't." How comforting that would be to a crying daughter, looking up at her father with adoring eyes and tear-stained cheeks, trusting him completely in his promise. It's the child-like faith we all wish to possess. I'd like to think that same peace, comfort, and reassurance can be obtained by us if we imagine ourselves on the lap of the Heavenly Father who is resting on His throne.
There is a promise to cling to that out of hardships will come a blessing. Out of pain comes new found strength, a greater faith, wisdom, and a deep change that could only come from Him. A chapter in a devotional book I once read said this: "I have observed that change seldom occurs without struggle, whether it's a caterpillar wriggling free of his cocoon to fly or a person squiggling free of addiction to rise with new found liberty." The author failed to mention the equivalent beauty of both: being reborn and made new.
I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've prayed for strength to continue while riding out and enduring this storm. It isn't always easy to cling to the promise of the incredible things that are ahead when they feel so out of reach. In times that it seems unbearable, that I’m crying out to God and pleading for His arms to wrap around me but I can’t feel Him near; I try to repeat to myself the things that I know and the promises God has made for my life no matter how unobtainable they feel. I know that He will always provide. Prayer is a time for conversation with God; conversation takes two people. How often do we talk to God, but don’t sit and quiet our hearts while we wait for His response?
Too often I focus on the negative aspects of silence. I know it’s solely based on a fear of myself. I fear my emotions, my pain, and everything I push away finally coming to head. I fear the memories, the nightmares, and the effect of the lies that I tell myself. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I allow myself to feel instead of denying the existence of these demons in my life. I don’t associate silence with only one thing. I do seek it at the end of the day as every fiber of my being yearns to unwind. The times that I can’t avoid silence are the times I fear. Those moments I feel incredibly alone. I see the life I’ve created and the hand I’ve been dealt but no matter how much I cry out to God all I feel is the distance between us.
What if I stopped avoiding the silence? What if I prayed for God to change my view of it? Silence would be a gift and a treasured time alone with my Father as I sit on His lap and share my joys and my sorrows. It would be a time where He could tell me the things I need to hear or offers me soothing words to hold on to that provide hope that's been lost. He may remind me of His love for me, tell me I've made him proud, reassure me that I’ll be okay, or promise that He will always protect me. It’s time that I start using silence with the purpose it was given when it was created instead of the darkness I associate it with. It’s time for that little girl with tear-stained cheeks to get the comfort she dreams about.
The House Your Father Built
You spoke fondly of your childhood.
Your father was a hard worker,
And your mother a free spirit.
A humble upbringing,
In the house your father built.
He spent weekends forming calloused hands
With his brothers by his side.
Your family moved in
And they watched you grow up,
In the house your father built.
It was a sacred place built with his own two hands,
Where family came first
And love was abundant.
And you ate dinner together every night,
In the house your father built.
Each milestone passed,
You lost your first tooth and learned to ride a bike.
Laughter could be heard echoing from every room,
And at night you slept safely
In the house your father built.
Time passed and you grew older,
Now ready to be on your own.
The next chapter of your life prepared to unfold.
And you said your goodbyes
In the house your father built.
One day a call came speaking the words no parent wants to hear.
There was an accident.
And outside the world went on and it kept spinning,
But for a moment time stood still
In the house your father built.
That day God called for you
And far away you soared,
Leaving behind your loved ones and childhood home.
And countless tears were shed
In the house your father built.
Now left seeking and needing to find
A glimpse of your smile and the sound of your voice.
There are pieces of you hidden just out of sight.
Love wove them into the boards
In the house your father built.
In memory of Seth Hidinger. 09/14/87 - 06/04/13
Your father was a hard worker,
And your mother a free spirit.
A humble upbringing,
In the house your father built.
He spent weekends forming calloused hands
With his brothers by his side.
Your family moved in
And they watched you grow up,
In the house your father built.
It was a sacred place built with his own two hands,
Where family came first
And love was abundant.
And you ate dinner together every night,
In the house your father built.
Each milestone passed,
You lost your first tooth and learned to ride a bike.
Laughter could be heard echoing from every room,
And at night you slept safely
In the house your father built.
Time passed and you grew older,
Now ready to be on your own.
The next chapter of your life prepared to unfold.
And you said your goodbyes
In the house your father built.
One day a call came speaking the words no parent wants to hear.
There was an accident.
And outside the world went on and it kept spinning,
But for a moment time stood still
In the house your father built.
That day God called for you
And far away you soared,
Leaving behind your loved ones and childhood home.
And countless tears were shed
In the house your father built.
Now left seeking and needing to find
A glimpse of your smile and the sound of your voice.
There are pieces of you hidden just out of sight.
Love wove them into the boards
In the house your father built.
In memory of Seth Hidinger. 09/14/87 - 06/04/13
Simplicity
“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3:22-23
I wonder if the complexity of the mind can be captured in something that otherwise appears simple. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Art can render patrons speechless as it summons emotions from deep within them. Anything that takes time to create has a story behind it, but to all on-lookers that story is different. I doubt there is anything that we can look at or read that doesn’t stir a variety of emotions within us. It may bring up memories, it may touch a broken part of our soul, or we may not be able to identify the feeling but instead only recognize the weight of the impact it has on us. It may leave an overwhelming heaviness in our chest but we find ourselves unable to place emotions to it or reasons for the feeling. Even with a point blank story, we can all walk away with a different interpretation. It isn’t by changing the facts; it’s by how our emotions caused us to perceive it.
No one can ever truly understand someone’s work or their feelings. They may sympathize or empathize but without stepping into their skin we’ll never fully comprehend what was felt. We don’t have their memories. We don’t share their feelings. We don’t know when they were holding their breath, full of fear, as they wrote each word that revealed intricate parts of their souls. We don’t know when they finally let out a sigh of relief as they felt they have given all they possibly could. We don’t know when they were ready to give up, or when a spark of inspiration hit. We don’t know the meaning behind every stroke of the paint brush.
I always say that my words don’t do justice for what I feel. I often wish the emotions: the joy, frustration, pain, or burdens could be felt directly through my words. I know that it isn’t a case that there aren’t enough words to describe what I’m feeling; it comes down to the fact that I can’t place my heart next to yours. I can hand it to you and let you examine it, but you can only see what’s directly in front of you, not feel the pain that’s inside. We use music, art, and words to paint a picture of what would otherwise be left unspoken. I am always looking for a creative outlet to express what I'm going through; I don’t like to be silenced. I hate the idea of being oppressed and unable to express my opinions or thoughts. Yet, I realized that I am the one who oppresses myself the most. I won’t open up or let others in, I give pieces of information, I let words that need to be said left behind, I carry memories and fears, and I have a heart that is ready to burst with thoughts and pain but is kept on a tight leash. It isn’t free to let others get close.
I’m the type of person to find beauty in things that otherwise would go unnoticed. The soft tickle of your hair against your cheek when a cool breeze comes blowing on an autumn day, the feeling of cold asphalt beneath your bare feet after a long hot summer, the smell of a bonfire remaining in your hair as you try to fall asleep after a party with friends, the gentle tapping of raindrops on your window that tenderly rock you to sleep, or the crackling of the fireplace while you are curled up with a book during a snowstorm. These moments of simplicity should be treasured. So often they go overlooked and unrecognized. Instead, stress gets our attention, but peace goes ignored. Life often gets in the way and clouds our vision. Our mind is focused on tasks, to-do-lists, and our struggles. We forget to rejoice and appreciate each of the “tiny” gifts God has given us as constant reminders of the beauty of His creations and of His plan.
That sunset isn’t there simply to say the day‘s end is near. It isn’t there simply because of science. It is there as a daily reminder to thank God for another day and bask in His power and ability to transform. It is a constant reminder to look up and keep your eyes on Him. What if we began everyday with the sunrise reminding us of how the Son rose from the dead? What if we ended each day with the sun setting as a reminder of Christ dying for our sins? We are renewed each morning. If we looked at each day that way we’d constantly be reminded of our salvation and what it took for us to be forgiven. We would live a life of humility as we are constantly faced with our sin and God’s saving grace. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Everything we see is fleeting. Everything we feel and experience is temporary. There is no single way to capture the depths of each of our individual journeys. There isn’t a way to bundle up each person’s life experiences and put one photograph, sentence, or song to their struggle. I think the best way to capture the depths of humanity is to say we are new every morning. That is the simplest way to word it, yet it bears no simplicity at all. Those words are weighty and thought provoking. To me, they remind me that each day is an opportunity for change and that each day we will face something different. We go to bed with joy or sorrow on our hearts, and when we awake we are made new. God allows us to be transformed each day. There is nothing simple about that.
The beauty of searching for simplicity is instead finding complexity everywhere you turn. That’s when you can get a glimpse of how powerful our God is. Everything He has made is intricate, has a process, and has weight behind it. We will never understand everything, we’ll never have the answers, but we must have faith in our all-knowing God. He made everything and understands the complexity and knows our human desire to simplify everything so that we too can have a piece of the knowledge that He possesses. In trying to simplify things, we discover how inferior we are and find comfort in knowing that though we don’t have all the answers, Christ does. This is the greatest news of all for a hungry heart, because His love never fails and His mercies are new every morning.
I wonder if the complexity of the mind can be captured in something that otherwise appears simple. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Art can render patrons speechless as it summons emotions from deep within them. Anything that takes time to create has a story behind it, but to all on-lookers that story is different. I doubt there is anything that we can look at or read that doesn’t stir a variety of emotions within us. It may bring up memories, it may touch a broken part of our soul, or we may not be able to identify the feeling but instead only recognize the weight of the impact it has on us. It may leave an overwhelming heaviness in our chest but we find ourselves unable to place emotions to it or reasons for the feeling. Even with a point blank story, we can all walk away with a different interpretation. It isn’t by changing the facts; it’s by how our emotions caused us to perceive it.
No one can ever truly understand someone’s work or their feelings. They may sympathize or empathize but without stepping into their skin we’ll never fully comprehend what was felt. We don’t have their memories. We don’t share their feelings. We don’t know when they were holding their breath, full of fear, as they wrote each word that revealed intricate parts of their souls. We don’t know when they finally let out a sigh of relief as they felt they have given all they possibly could. We don’t know when they were ready to give up, or when a spark of inspiration hit. We don’t know the meaning behind every stroke of the paint brush.
I always say that my words don’t do justice for what I feel. I often wish the emotions: the joy, frustration, pain, or burdens could be felt directly through my words. I know that it isn’t a case that there aren’t enough words to describe what I’m feeling; it comes down to the fact that I can’t place my heart next to yours. I can hand it to you and let you examine it, but you can only see what’s directly in front of you, not feel the pain that’s inside. We use music, art, and words to paint a picture of what would otherwise be left unspoken. I am always looking for a creative outlet to express what I'm going through; I don’t like to be silenced. I hate the idea of being oppressed and unable to express my opinions or thoughts. Yet, I realized that I am the one who oppresses myself the most. I won’t open up or let others in, I give pieces of information, I let words that need to be said left behind, I carry memories and fears, and I have a heart that is ready to burst with thoughts and pain but is kept on a tight leash. It isn’t free to let others get close.
I’m the type of person to find beauty in things that otherwise would go unnoticed. The soft tickle of your hair against your cheek when a cool breeze comes blowing on an autumn day, the feeling of cold asphalt beneath your bare feet after a long hot summer, the smell of a bonfire remaining in your hair as you try to fall asleep after a party with friends, the gentle tapping of raindrops on your window that tenderly rock you to sleep, or the crackling of the fireplace while you are curled up with a book during a snowstorm. These moments of simplicity should be treasured. So often they go overlooked and unrecognized. Instead, stress gets our attention, but peace goes ignored. Life often gets in the way and clouds our vision. Our mind is focused on tasks, to-do-lists, and our struggles. We forget to rejoice and appreciate each of the “tiny” gifts God has given us as constant reminders of the beauty of His creations and of His plan.
That sunset isn’t there simply to say the day‘s end is near. It isn’t there simply because of science. It is there as a daily reminder to thank God for another day and bask in His power and ability to transform. It is a constant reminder to look up and keep your eyes on Him. What if we began everyday with the sunrise reminding us of how the Son rose from the dead? What if we ended each day with the sun setting as a reminder of Christ dying for our sins? We are renewed each morning. If we looked at each day that way we’d constantly be reminded of our salvation and what it took for us to be forgiven. We would live a life of humility as we are constantly faced with our sin and God’s saving grace. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Everything we see is fleeting. Everything we feel and experience is temporary. There is no single way to capture the depths of each of our individual journeys. There isn’t a way to bundle up each person’s life experiences and put one photograph, sentence, or song to their struggle. I think the best way to capture the depths of humanity is to say we are new every morning. That is the simplest way to word it, yet it bears no simplicity at all. Those words are weighty and thought provoking. To me, they remind me that each day is an opportunity for change and that each day we will face something different. We go to bed with joy or sorrow on our hearts, and when we awake we are made new. God allows us to be transformed each day. There is nothing simple about that.
The beauty of searching for simplicity is instead finding complexity everywhere you turn. That’s when you can get a glimpse of how powerful our God is. Everything He has made is intricate, has a process, and has weight behind it. We will never understand everything, we’ll never have the answers, but we must have faith in our all-knowing God. He made everything and understands the complexity and knows our human desire to simplify everything so that we too can have a piece of the knowledge that He possesses. In trying to simplify things, we discover how inferior we are and find comfort in knowing that though we don’t have all the answers, Christ does. This is the greatest news of all for a hungry heart, because His love never fails and His mercies are new every morning.
Darkness
“Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.” -Galatians 5:25
For the first time as I sit to write, it feels as though I’ve encountered something impossible. I feel as though I have no direction in what I’m about to say, or any faith in myself that this will be turned into something legitimate or that God will work in me or through me. I prayed for clarity. I prayed for wisdom. I prayed to be filled with His words instead of my own. I prayed to have insight that would inevitably lead to healing within myself. Yet, I continue to stare blankly wondering where to start. I figured, once I started writing the words will come to me.
I always thought that what I lacked in knowledge I made up for in faith. Now I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the other way around. I’m full of the Truth. I know what God has to say, I repeat His words to soothe my anxious soul. I remind myself of His promises. I state what He calls me to do so that I’m living a life that is pleasing to Him. I try to do everything by the Book. But what happens when knowing isn’t enough? Isn’t that when faith is supposed to step in? When faith fills you with a comforting sense of trust in the unseen, what has been promised, and what life is intended to be?
I’m beginning to realize the vast space that is between knowing and believing. For me, that space is filled with doubt, experience, and an inability to fully surrender. I find it difficult to trust, I find it challenging not to be in control, and I find experience speaks louder than knowledge. I’ve lived other people’s sin. When others sin against you, it undoubtedly leaves a mark. I know that this mark can never be washed away. I’ve come to terms with that, knowing that out of this evil will come good. I’ve accepted that this mark is merely a battle scar showing what I’ve overcome.
I’m at a standstill in my faith. I know the Truth. But I also know what I’ve endured. It has left its ever present mark. It remains as a fear of others, a startled response at the slightest touch, and a fear of intimacy. It remains as nightmares, an inability to trust, and a shadow that taunts me and reminds me that I’m damaged. Being filled with the Truth isn’t enough. I know what He says, but these fears still live in me. Knowing isn’t always believing; I say that hesitantly. I believe every word God has spoken. The Spirit is in me. I believe. I just don’t always walk with the Spirit. Our steps aren’t in sync. The Spirit walks a consistent beat of truth while I stumble from fear. How do I learn to walk with the Spirit, to keep in step without falling too far behind?
I can keep feeding myself the Truth, but experience is always nagging. So do I continue to fill myself with the good, or do I turn back and face the evil? Maybe it isn’t so black and white, perhaps it's a shade of gray? Do I call out what was dark, acknowledge its darkness, and fill its space with light? Even the tiniest spec of light eliminates blackness. Light will always overpower darkness. “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.”(2 Corinthians 4:6) I see the light, I feel the light, but I am living with a lingering presence of darkness.
Its presence is unsettling. It’s like breathing stagnant air. I've learned that the farther we push something to the back of our minds the louder it becomes. I’ve pushed away the darkness, I’ve buried the memories, and just when I think I’ve tricked myself into moving on the louder the thoughts become. I’m ready to face the darkness, no matter how cold and unwelcoming it may be. I’m ready to come into the light, and feel the warmth of a new day.
For the first time as I sit to write, it feels as though I’ve encountered something impossible. I feel as though I have no direction in what I’m about to say, or any faith in myself that this will be turned into something legitimate or that God will work in me or through me. I prayed for clarity. I prayed for wisdom. I prayed to be filled with His words instead of my own. I prayed to have insight that would inevitably lead to healing within myself. Yet, I continue to stare blankly wondering where to start. I figured, once I started writing the words will come to me.
I always thought that what I lacked in knowledge I made up for in faith. Now I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the other way around. I’m full of the Truth. I know what God has to say, I repeat His words to soothe my anxious soul. I remind myself of His promises. I state what He calls me to do so that I’m living a life that is pleasing to Him. I try to do everything by the Book. But what happens when knowing isn’t enough? Isn’t that when faith is supposed to step in? When faith fills you with a comforting sense of trust in the unseen, what has been promised, and what life is intended to be?
I’m beginning to realize the vast space that is between knowing and believing. For me, that space is filled with doubt, experience, and an inability to fully surrender. I find it difficult to trust, I find it challenging not to be in control, and I find experience speaks louder than knowledge. I’ve lived other people’s sin. When others sin against you, it undoubtedly leaves a mark. I know that this mark can never be washed away. I’ve come to terms with that, knowing that out of this evil will come good. I’ve accepted that this mark is merely a battle scar showing what I’ve overcome.
I’m at a standstill in my faith. I know the Truth. But I also know what I’ve endured. It has left its ever present mark. It remains as a fear of others, a startled response at the slightest touch, and a fear of intimacy. It remains as nightmares, an inability to trust, and a shadow that taunts me and reminds me that I’m damaged. Being filled with the Truth isn’t enough. I know what He says, but these fears still live in me. Knowing isn’t always believing; I say that hesitantly. I believe every word God has spoken. The Spirit is in me. I believe. I just don’t always walk with the Spirit. Our steps aren’t in sync. The Spirit walks a consistent beat of truth while I stumble from fear. How do I learn to walk with the Spirit, to keep in step without falling too far behind?
I can keep feeding myself the Truth, but experience is always nagging. So do I continue to fill myself with the good, or do I turn back and face the evil? Maybe it isn’t so black and white, perhaps it's a shade of gray? Do I call out what was dark, acknowledge its darkness, and fill its space with light? Even the tiniest spec of light eliminates blackness. Light will always overpower darkness. “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.”(2 Corinthians 4:6) I see the light, I feel the light, but I am living with a lingering presence of darkness.
Its presence is unsettling. It’s like breathing stagnant air. I've learned that the farther we push something to the back of our minds the louder it becomes. I’ve pushed away the darkness, I’ve buried the memories, and just when I think I’ve tricked myself into moving on the louder the thoughts become. I’m ready to face the darkness, no matter how cold and unwelcoming it may be. I’m ready to come into the light, and feel the warmth of a new day.
Friendship
"Sometimes friends become enemies, but what's worse is when they become strangers." -Hayley Williams
There's no way around it, losing a friend hurts. There are so many stories of friendships gone wrong: growing apart, hurting one another, an argument, or different life choices putting a strain on your friendship.
It's always painful to lose someone we care about. Becoming enemies with someone seems far easier than growing so far from someone that you barely know one another. If they become an "enemy" then there was an obvious reason for the split. There is anger involved instead of the confusion of "where did we go wrong?"
I have had friendships grow apart, but it felt like a natural progression. For the first time, I lost a friend in a way that was painful because we fought to avoid growing apart. In hindsight, if we hadn't fought so hard to keep one another and just let each other drift away, it wouldn't have hurt so much. We tried to fight for our friendship. We tried to save what we had. The key word here is HAD. It was gone. We wanted to salvage a time in our lives that we couldn't bring back.
I don't know why I held so tightly to the hope that we could remain friends. In fact, our friendship was often more painful than beneficial. There were moments I'd get glimpses and reminders of why I loved her and why she was my best friend. Then it went back to me putting in all the effort, and not seeing any in return. There was always a phone call that wasn't returned, texts unanswered, and constantly putting forth emotion and baring my heart and never getting any friendship in return. It was one sided. It was draining. It left me insecure, it made me question every move I made and every word I spoke, it made me wonder if I was "too much," or if there was something wrong with me.
The moment came when we had the most bold and truthful confrontation of our entire friendship. I saw her in a way I never had before. All of those things that made me hold onto our friendship seemed empty and painted with artificiality. Those endearing gestures and quirks that kept softening my heart instead turned me away.
God brings friends into your life for a reason. He brings them to help you through something, to teach you something, or fulfill whatever space it is in your heart that needs filled. You never walk away from a friendship the same person you were when you entered it. Each friendship serves a purpose. We all go through different phases and times in our lives and God brings us friends to accompany those times. Just as those times pass, the friendships do as well.
As much as it hurts, holding onto a friendship is more painful than finally letting go. You can't force a friendship that has run its course. You are holding onto the person they were, not who they are right now. Everyone changes. In some friendships you change together and in others you change and grow separately. Don't hold on to what was, let go and focus on what is to come.
There's no way around it, losing a friend hurts. There are so many stories of friendships gone wrong: growing apart, hurting one another, an argument, or different life choices putting a strain on your friendship.
It's always painful to lose someone we care about. Becoming enemies with someone seems far easier than growing so far from someone that you barely know one another. If they become an "enemy" then there was an obvious reason for the split. There is anger involved instead of the confusion of "where did we go wrong?"
I have had friendships grow apart, but it felt like a natural progression. For the first time, I lost a friend in a way that was painful because we fought to avoid growing apart. In hindsight, if we hadn't fought so hard to keep one another and just let each other drift away, it wouldn't have hurt so much. We tried to fight for our friendship. We tried to save what we had. The key word here is HAD. It was gone. We wanted to salvage a time in our lives that we couldn't bring back.
I don't know why I held so tightly to the hope that we could remain friends. In fact, our friendship was often more painful than beneficial. There were moments I'd get glimpses and reminders of why I loved her and why she was my best friend. Then it went back to me putting in all the effort, and not seeing any in return. There was always a phone call that wasn't returned, texts unanswered, and constantly putting forth emotion and baring my heart and never getting any friendship in return. It was one sided. It was draining. It left me insecure, it made me question every move I made and every word I spoke, it made me wonder if I was "too much," or if there was something wrong with me.
The moment came when we had the most bold and truthful confrontation of our entire friendship. I saw her in a way I never had before. All of those things that made me hold onto our friendship seemed empty and painted with artificiality. Those endearing gestures and quirks that kept softening my heart instead turned me away.
God brings friends into your life for a reason. He brings them to help you through something, to teach you something, or fulfill whatever space it is in your heart that needs filled. You never walk away from a friendship the same person you were when you entered it. Each friendship serves a purpose. We all go through different phases and times in our lives and God brings us friends to accompany those times. Just as those times pass, the friendships do as well.
As much as it hurts, holding onto a friendship is more painful than finally letting go. You can't force a friendship that has run its course. You are holding onto the person they were, not who they are right now. Everyone changes. In some friendships you change together and in others you change and grow separately. Don't hold on to what was, let go and focus on what is to come.
Humility
As I was lying in bed tonight thinking about my day and unwinding, I suddenly felt my eyes well up with tears. I was struck with how overwhelmingly blessed I am and was immediately humbled. Nothing special happened today, it was a rather ordinary day actually. God just spoke to my heart. I’ve heard God sends a wakeup call when we need it, whether it’s a gentle whisper or a giant flashing sign—He’ll be sure we’re aware of His message. I heard it loud and clear. I am weak, but You are mighty. I can't do anything without Him; He is my strength. Alone, I'm incapable. This mighty God can take control of my life. This mighty God has overcome the world.
Suddenly all of these problems and anxieties in my life became trivial. There is something grand waiting for me. There is more to experience on Earth than the burdens I’m currently carrying. In fact, I don’t have to carry them any longer. All of these burdens can be lifted up. The weight can be released off of my shoulders and given to the hands of the Creator who can handle far more than I can. There are greater things to experience. I’m living under a dark cloud and seeing glimpses of the sun. Aren’t God’s people supposed to be in the light?
I took my niece for a walk on Monday, pulling her around in her radio flyer wagon. My elderly neighbor pulled up beside me and rolled down his window.
“How ya been sweetheart?”
“I’m doing well, how have you been?” I responded.
“Oh, hanging in there.”
His response seemed like an ordinary response from an elderly man with an ill wife. He’s getting by, struggling through it all, but he’s still alive so he won’t complain. I realized, if I was being honest with myself, I would have responded the same way he did. I’m getting by. I’m surviving. How many people are stuck in survival mode? How do we find ourselves comfortable just getting by? We’re practically robotic going through the daily motions without a sense of the bigger picture. We do whatever tasks are at hand that need accomplished. We check everything off of our to-do-list, but where is God in this? Is He simply present as a single prayer we check off of our to-do-list? Or maybe He didn’t even make it on the list. Have you ever said a prayer out of habit, without really having your heart present? Your spiritual life can sometimes sit on the back burner when you’re in survival mode.
What if I decided that today was the day that I stopped surviving? Today was the day that I didn’t just begin to live, but I began to thrive. Isn’t that what God created us for? ”For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11) God doesn’t want us to get by, he wants us to prosper. He has a future planned out for us, and it’s far better than anything we could ever imagine. In survival mode, are we clinging to hope that things will be different? Or have we just accepted that this is how life is and given up? We are called to place our hope in the Lord. Instead, we do what we have to do in survival mode to get by and cope. We place our hope outside of the Lord and we wonder why we aren’t satisfied.
I don’t know how we enter survival mode, but I do know this: we’re far too comfortable being uncomfortable. We have forgotten our purpose. We have forgotten to put God first, not second to our to-do-list. We’ve forgotten that in all things we should be glorifying him. We get caught up in a conversation and say something we shouldn't. We read a website we think is funny, regardless of the language. We’re becoming numb to sin. It’s become such a part of our daily lives that we are no longer appalled by it but instead accustomed to it. We’ve been surviving so long that we’ve lost perspective. We’ve lost our direction. We’ve lost our fire, our passion, and the reason that we get through each day. We’ve forgotten about the promises God has in store for us. We’ve forgotten to live each day for Him and His glory. We’ve forgotten the most important thing… maybe because we didn’t put it on our to-do-list.
What amazes me through all of this, is that God never leaves us. He is still there waiting with open arms for us to come back to Him. He covers us with grace, and in our humble state we fall to our knees. I’ve been there many times. My words aren’t enough, and suddenly I’m stumbling over the few words I managed to muster up. Nothing feels like enough to earn his forgiveness. That’s the beauty of grace, it’s given freely, and we don’t earn it. Yet still, I apologize, I thank God for all the things in my life. I beg Him to keep me on the right path, to keep me from going back to the mundane. Then as quickly as my words were flowing, I’m suddenly at a loss. I truly know what it’s like to be speechless before God. Words could never describe what I’m feeling, but that will never matter because He is reading my heart as I kneel before him. I am weak, but He is mighty. That’s all I can keep mumbling to myself. The Earth is in His hand, and I’m barely a spec on it. But He found me valuable enough to create me and for reasons I’ll never understand, showered me with blessings.
I was just served a whopping helping of humble pie. I am unworthy. I deserve nothing He has given me. Still He gives freely and continuously. I am so small in comparison, but I’m important to Him. Is anyone else eating humble pie right now? I don’t want to get by, go through the motions, or live a mediocre life. I want to feel the abundance of His love and walk with Him. I want to live a life that’s worthy of Him. Every action should be my feeble attempt to thank Him for what He has given me and what He has done for me and show Him my love. I don’t know about you, but I’m done surviving. I’m ready for my life to be bursting at the seams with passion. And I think a daily dose of humble pie will now be on my diet. That way I won’t lose perspective or forget the reminder that God gave me, "I am weak, but He is mighty."
Suddenly all of these problems and anxieties in my life became trivial. There is something grand waiting for me. There is more to experience on Earth than the burdens I’m currently carrying. In fact, I don’t have to carry them any longer. All of these burdens can be lifted up. The weight can be released off of my shoulders and given to the hands of the Creator who can handle far more than I can. There are greater things to experience. I’m living under a dark cloud and seeing glimpses of the sun. Aren’t God’s people supposed to be in the light?
I took my niece for a walk on Monday, pulling her around in her radio flyer wagon. My elderly neighbor pulled up beside me and rolled down his window.
“How ya been sweetheart?”
“I’m doing well, how have you been?” I responded.
“Oh, hanging in there.”
His response seemed like an ordinary response from an elderly man with an ill wife. He’s getting by, struggling through it all, but he’s still alive so he won’t complain. I realized, if I was being honest with myself, I would have responded the same way he did. I’m getting by. I’m surviving. How many people are stuck in survival mode? How do we find ourselves comfortable just getting by? We’re practically robotic going through the daily motions without a sense of the bigger picture. We do whatever tasks are at hand that need accomplished. We check everything off of our to-do-list, but where is God in this? Is He simply present as a single prayer we check off of our to-do-list? Or maybe He didn’t even make it on the list. Have you ever said a prayer out of habit, without really having your heart present? Your spiritual life can sometimes sit on the back burner when you’re in survival mode.
What if I decided that today was the day that I stopped surviving? Today was the day that I didn’t just begin to live, but I began to thrive. Isn’t that what God created us for? ”For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11) God doesn’t want us to get by, he wants us to prosper. He has a future planned out for us, and it’s far better than anything we could ever imagine. In survival mode, are we clinging to hope that things will be different? Or have we just accepted that this is how life is and given up? We are called to place our hope in the Lord. Instead, we do what we have to do in survival mode to get by and cope. We place our hope outside of the Lord and we wonder why we aren’t satisfied.
I don’t know how we enter survival mode, but I do know this: we’re far too comfortable being uncomfortable. We have forgotten our purpose. We have forgotten to put God first, not second to our to-do-list. We’ve forgotten that in all things we should be glorifying him. We get caught up in a conversation and say something we shouldn't. We read a website we think is funny, regardless of the language. We’re becoming numb to sin. It’s become such a part of our daily lives that we are no longer appalled by it but instead accustomed to it. We’ve been surviving so long that we’ve lost perspective. We’ve lost our direction. We’ve lost our fire, our passion, and the reason that we get through each day. We’ve forgotten about the promises God has in store for us. We’ve forgotten to live each day for Him and His glory. We’ve forgotten the most important thing… maybe because we didn’t put it on our to-do-list.
What amazes me through all of this, is that God never leaves us. He is still there waiting with open arms for us to come back to Him. He covers us with grace, and in our humble state we fall to our knees. I’ve been there many times. My words aren’t enough, and suddenly I’m stumbling over the few words I managed to muster up. Nothing feels like enough to earn his forgiveness. That’s the beauty of grace, it’s given freely, and we don’t earn it. Yet still, I apologize, I thank God for all the things in my life. I beg Him to keep me on the right path, to keep me from going back to the mundane. Then as quickly as my words were flowing, I’m suddenly at a loss. I truly know what it’s like to be speechless before God. Words could never describe what I’m feeling, but that will never matter because He is reading my heart as I kneel before him. I am weak, but He is mighty. That’s all I can keep mumbling to myself. The Earth is in His hand, and I’m barely a spec on it. But He found me valuable enough to create me and for reasons I’ll never understand, showered me with blessings.
I was just served a whopping helping of humble pie. I am unworthy. I deserve nothing He has given me. Still He gives freely and continuously. I am so small in comparison, but I’m important to Him. Is anyone else eating humble pie right now? I don’t want to get by, go through the motions, or live a mediocre life. I want to feel the abundance of His love and walk with Him. I want to live a life that’s worthy of Him. Every action should be my feeble attempt to thank Him for what He has given me and what He has done for me and show Him my love. I don’t know about you, but I’m done surviving. I’m ready for my life to be bursting at the seams with passion. And I think a daily dose of humble pie will now be on my diet. That way I won’t lose perspective or forget the reminder that God gave me, "I am weak, but He is mighty."
Confined
"No matter where you go or what you do, you live your entire life within the confines of your head." -Terry Josephson
I'm the master at pushing people away. I don't say that in a proud way, in fact, it's something I am trying to change about myself. I do it so often that I've become unaware that I'm even doing it. Sometimes I phase someone out of my life in a way that makes them unaware of what I'm doing. I've never been one for confrontation, so instead of ending a friendship I gradually "work them out" of my life until they're gone. It sounds harsh, but it feels like a painless way to cut the ties of friendship with someone. We just "grow apart."
There are people I love deeply that just can't seem to get close to me. Each time they try to break down a wall or ask me a question beyond the surface they get shot down. Either with a sarcastic remark or I simply remain silent. There's something safe about keeping the answer in my head. If I say it aloud it will turn into a conversation. I'll be forced to explore this deeper than I want to, or deeper than I think I can handle. If I say it aloud it becomes real, if its just in my head I can pretend it doesn't exist. I can sweep it under the rug and try to avoid it, though its presence still lingers. There are times I don't speak solely based on the fear of crying. I find weakness in my tears. I have a hard time allowing myself to be broken in front of others.
God bless my therapist for putting up with me! Each time we start to go a little deeper I suddenly stop speaking. The girl with a thousand stories is suddenly at a loss for words. It's not that there aren't words to express what I'm feeling, in reality there are too many. Most don't do it justice, others just spin into something incoherent that seems impossible to tackle. This is when I shut down. Suddenly my mind goes to other places. It begins to make up stories, sing songs, or think about something completely useless.
In my sessions I'd love to be "present." I'd love to go deeper. I'm there to get better, not avoid the chaos. But there are also times that I'd love to purposely shut down. There are nights when my emotions and pain are so present there is no escape. I don't choose to shut down, it just happens. During those long nights I'd love for it to magically happen, instead it occurs when I don't want it to. I often feel trapped in my head. I'm the only person I can't manage to escape.
Confined in your own head. It can often feel like a prison we've created for ourselves. We're chained and bound to these emotions and struggles and there seems to be no way to escape. How can you escape yourself? The part that is really strange is that this prison feels safe. If we keep our emotions locked away in their cell where they can't be reached, no one can break through the bars we've built around these secrets. As much as the battle rages for my therapist to get in, the war within myself is always stronger. For some reason, I'm determined to fight this battle alone, though my life has been one desperate cry for help after another. It's something I want so badly but can't seem to obtain.
Truthfully, it seems pretty selfish. Your friends want in, your family cares, but you are only trying to protect yourself. You think you're protecting them; saving them from this monster that you think you are, but you are really keeping them from the greatest gift of all: your authenticity. People want in. They want to know us. They want to go deeper. They want us to get out of the confines of our minds and share our burdens with them. And again, we're back to fear. But, I'm not willing to let my fear stand in the way of genuine friendships. I may get hurt, but I'm hurting more by keeping myself shut off from the world.
You can hide from others, but you can't hide from yourself. Those emotions you think you've pushed away are all just waiting to come crashing in. When will we decide to face them and deal with them instead of putting it off for later? Will there ever be a "right time" to face the pain? There's no better time than the present. I'm lucky to have help, something I've taken for granted. I think it's time to stop running. I know I'm tired of running around this cell alone trying to avoid everything that comes in my path. Virginia Woolf once said, "You cannot find peace by avoiding life." In all this chaos and running, the greatest thing we could ask for is peace. It's time to stop avoiding the pain, it's time to get out of our confinement and face these burdens head on.
I'm the master at pushing people away. I don't say that in a proud way, in fact, it's something I am trying to change about myself. I do it so often that I've become unaware that I'm even doing it. Sometimes I phase someone out of my life in a way that makes them unaware of what I'm doing. I've never been one for confrontation, so instead of ending a friendship I gradually "work them out" of my life until they're gone. It sounds harsh, but it feels like a painless way to cut the ties of friendship with someone. We just "grow apart."
There are people I love deeply that just can't seem to get close to me. Each time they try to break down a wall or ask me a question beyond the surface they get shot down. Either with a sarcastic remark or I simply remain silent. There's something safe about keeping the answer in my head. If I say it aloud it will turn into a conversation. I'll be forced to explore this deeper than I want to, or deeper than I think I can handle. If I say it aloud it becomes real, if its just in my head I can pretend it doesn't exist. I can sweep it under the rug and try to avoid it, though its presence still lingers. There are times I don't speak solely based on the fear of crying. I find weakness in my tears. I have a hard time allowing myself to be broken in front of others.
God bless my therapist for putting up with me! Each time we start to go a little deeper I suddenly stop speaking. The girl with a thousand stories is suddenly at a loss for words. It's not that there aren't words to express what I'm feeling, in reality there are too many. Most don't do it justice, others just spin into something incoherent that seems impossible to tackle. This is when I shut down. Suddenly my mind goes to other places. It begins to make up stories, sing songs, or think about something completely useless.
In my sessions I'd love to be "present." I'd love to go deeper. I'm there to get better, not avoid the chaos. But there are also times that I'd love to purposely shut down. There are nights when my emotions and pain are so present there is no escape. I don't choose to shut down, it just happens. During those long nights I'd love for it to magically happen, instead it occurs when I don't want it to. I often feel trapped in my head. I'm the only person I can't manage to escape.
Confined in your own head. It can often feel like a prison we've created for ourselves. We're chained and bound to these emotions and struggles and there seems to be no way to escape. How can you escape yourself? The part that is really strange is that this prison feels safe. If we keep our emotions locked away in their cell where they can't be reached, no one can break through the bars we've built around these secrets. As much as the battle rages for my therapist to get in, the war within myself is always stronger. For some reason, I'm determined to fight this battle alone, though my life has been one desperate cry for help after another. It's something I want so badly but can't seem to obtain.
Truthfully, it seems pretty selfish. Your friends want in, your family cares, but you are only trying to protect yourself. You think you're protecting them; saving them from this monster that you think you are, but you are really keeping them from the greatest gift of all: your authenticity. People want in. They want to know us. They want to go deeper. They want us to get out of the confines of our minds and share our burdens with them. And again, we're back to fear. But, I'm not willing to let my fear stand in the way of genuine friendships. I may get hurt, but I'm hurting more by keeping myself shut off from the world.
You can hide from others, but you can't hide from yourself. Those emotions you think you've pushed away are all just waiting to come crashing in. When will we decide to face them and deal with them instead of putting it off for later? Will there ever be a "right time" to face the pain? There's no better time than the present. I'm lucky to have help, something I've taken for granted. I think it's time to stop running. I know I'm tired of running around this cell alone trying to avoid everything that comes in my path. Virginia Woolf once said, "You cannot find peace by avoiding life." In all this chaos and running, the greatest thing we could ask for is peace. It's time to stop avoiding the pain, it's time to get out of our confinement and face these burdens head on.
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