A year ago, if you would've asked me what my favorite day of the week was, I would have told you that it was Sunday. I liked Sundays because Sundays meant that I got to get up and go to church with all my friends (I LOVED church), and then spend the rest of the day hanging out and pondering the thoughts that had been stirred while Jamie preached that morning. Sundays were my "deep thought" days, and I marvelled in the developments made in my heart on this particular day of the week. I always had a serious expression on my face on Sundays.
These days, I feel a little differently about my favorite day of the week. These days, I am falling in love with Saturdays. I have found that I have a habit of refusing to make plans for Saturdays, and instead just seeing where the day takes me. Today has been one of my favorites.
I was so tired last night, and fell asleep so quickly, that I actually have no idea what time I went to bed. I woke up for the first time at 8:30 this morning, and decided it would be best to get more sleep. The next time I woke up, it was noon. Awesome.
I stumbled up the stairs a few minutes later, only to encounter a half-conscious Jeremy in the living room. I made us some coffee and we proceeded to waste the next hour on the couch in our pjs watching Nashville public television. Oh glorious Saturdays.
Two hours later, I find myself spending the entire rest of the day in everyone's favorite coffee shop, Fido, located in the one and only Hillsboro Village. And quite an afternoon it has been...
I spent my first hour here just staring. I love when I have enough time to just sit and stare, and let my mind wander wherever it feels necessary. I always feel out of place in here (and yet I still love coming) because these are the type of people that I sometimes I wish I could have been one of. I found myself thinking of the different paths my life could have taken, if it wasn't for the events that have clouded my last five years.
I next thought of how glad I am that I have ended up on the path I am on, and that no matter how many times the turns have seemed too sharp, I still seem to have built a decent life for myself here. I remembered that I am grateful that God has finally given me a job that I see myself keeping for a while, working alongside people that I love to be around and who make me feel that I am very good at what I do. I remembered that I am grateful for the friends that God has gifted me with, people who know the depths of my heart and the darkest recesses, and love me still. I remembered that even when I am at my loneliest and unhappiest, I am still so very blessed. I chose to just sit and remember...
A good book, an amazing grilled cheese, and four hours later, here I still am. What a way to spend a cold, rainy Saturday, lost in the deepest hollows of my mind. I do love Saturdays...
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Don't Make A Wish
She sat down across from me, sighed, and looked up and met my eyes.
"Somedays I'm just so sad. Somedays I really don't like my life."
I nodded, and encouraged her to keep talking.
"I feel like I must have been made for more than this. Am I wasting my time? Will things ever change?"
I pulled out my journal and read to her something that I had written nearly three weeks earlier:
Sometimes I am convinced that my purpose is so much greated than the ways I am currently spending my days. There's gotta be more than this. I know I was made for more than this...
I am so glad that I serve a God who gives me people who echo my very thoughts. There DOES have to be more than this, especially if I'm not the only one who feels like this. I mindlessly spend ten or eleven hours a day at work, happily, and yet I still feel like I must have been made to live and to feel. I feel like I might do greater things.
Yet, part of me is content to be where God has placed me right now. Maybe it's because I have a job I can get lost in. Maybe it's because I work so much that I don't have much time to worry about it. Maybe it's because God has slowed me down enough to finally show me who I am, and what I am made of. I'm not really sure.
What I am sure of, though, is that God won't leave my soul empty forever. He knows what He's doing, and He's got everything planned. He hears the longings in my heart, and He gives me what I need to make it from one week to the next (yes, I've graduated from day-to-day to week-to-week). I am blessed, and I will learn to be content where I am placed.
Tonight as I was driving home, it occured to me that as I blew out my birthday candles the other night, I didn't make a wish. I love the thought that even though my heart may be empty right now, I am content in it, and I could not wish for more. To me, that is accomplishment. To me, that is growth. And truly truly, I think it's beautiful. It's the beautiful, compelling epic we call a life following Jesus. Here's to another year...
Friday, March 21, 2008
Growing Up Is Hard To Do
It was a beautiful day. The kind of beautiful that makes you ridiculously happy to be alive, and to be where you are. I was originally sad about having Good Friday off, because I was too poor to not work, but once I went outside this morning I changed my mind. I decided to take advantage of the wonderful weather by driving down to Murfreesboro and tracking down some old friends. We spent the afternoon in the park. It was lovely.
As I was leaving their apartment this evening, I rolled down my windows and started to cry. Being with them was wonderful. Being in a place that held such a huge chapter of my life was wonderful. I miss it, in a way that makes me sad it had to be over before I knew what had happened. It made me sad that I didn't see the end coming, and didn't have a chance to find any closure, or be ok with it ending.
In Brazil, I learned the importance of growing up. I learned that eventually you have to just accept the fact that you are getting older, and you have to learn how to take care of yourself. You can't depend on someone else to take care of you forever. This frustrated me, because I never asked to grow up. I never asked to give up a life of fun for a life of learning to be an adult. It just happened, and I've refused to accept it.
The truth is, I've tried for a long time to deny being a grown-up. I wasn't ready, and I'm pretty sure I'm still not ready. Tough luck, because here it is anyways. I get up every morning, and I go to work. Nine or ten hours later, I come home and go to bed. I pay the rent at the beginning of the month, and I call my dad once a week to assure him that I'm still here. I recently managed to leave the country and come back, without anyone directing my steps, and I even manage to remember to feed myself (usually). Here it is kids: adulthood. At 22 years of age, I think I'm finally figuring it out. And I'm not happy about it. I miss my life, I miss the fun, and I miss having friends.
It was hard to be with my college friends today, because I often want that life back. It was as good as it gets, and without it I suddenly don't know where I belong. Without it, I've had to discover my own identity. It hasn't been easy. If I could go back for a little longer, I would.
This morning I went to a birthday lunch for one of my boys (he's still mine, right?); he'll be four on Sunday. Four. I can't believe it. As I watched him blow out the candles (on the pizza), I longed to whisper to his heart. I wanted to tell him to not grow up too fast. To not want to grow older. I wanted him to know how hard it is to grow up, so he will savor being young. I want to tell him this because I wish someone would have told me. I wish I would have known.
But then again, it wouldn't have mattered. Time passes, kids grow up, we all get older. Life goes on. Changes come. It happens, and we can't slow it down. Such is life...make a wish.
As I was leaving their apartment this evening, I rolled down my windows and started to cry. Being with them was wonderful. Being in a place that held such a huge chapter of my life was wonderful. I miss it, in a way that makes me sad it had to be over before I knew what had happened. It made me sad that I didn't see the end coming, and didn't have a chance to find any closure, or be ok with it ending.
In Brazil, I learned the importance of growing up. I learned that eventually you have to just accept the fact that you are getting older, and you have to learn how to take care of yourself. You can't depend on someone else to take care of you forever. This frustrated me, because I never asked to grow up. I never asked to give up a life of fun for a life of learning to be an adult. It just happened, and I've refused to accept it.
The truth is, I've tried for a long time to deny being a grown-up. I wasn't ready, and I'm pretty sure I'm still not ready. Tough luck, because here it is anyways. I get up every morning, and I go to work. Nine or ten hours later, I come home and go to bed. I pay the rent at the beginning of the month, and I call my dad once a week to assure him that I'm still here. I recently managed to leave the country and come back, without anyone directing my steps, and I even manage to remember to feed myself (usually). Here it is kids: adulthood. At 22 years of age, I think I'm finally figuring it out. And I'm not happy about it. I miss my life, I miss the fun, and I miss having friends.
It was hard to be with my college friends today, because I often want that life back. It was as good as it gets, and without it I suddenly don't know where I belong. Without it, I've had to discover my own identity. It hasn't been easy. If I could go back for a little longer, I would.
This morning I went to a birthday lunch for one of my boys (he's still mine, right?); he'll be four on Sunday. Four. I can't believe it. As I watched him blow out the candles (on the pizza), I longed to whisper to his heart. I wanted to tell him to not grow up too fast. To not want to grow older. I wanted him to know how hard it is to grow up, so he will savor being young. I want to tell him this because I wish someone would have told me. I wish I would have known.
But then again, it wouldn't have mattered. Time passes, kids grow up, we all get older. Life goes on. Changes come. It happens, and we can't slow it down. Such is life...make a wish.
Monday, March 10, 2008
A Journey In Reverse
I wrote a lot while I was in Brazil, and I'm going to post it and backlog it. It may take a little while to do so, being as I have to type it all up and I'm still so tired, but I will get it all on here eventually. Bear with me.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Day 2: Speechless
This morning I rode the bus to church next to a girl who was sold into slavery at the age of eight. For fifty cents. By her own parents. What do you do with that?
I've been convinced for a while now that we are each given our own unique hell to survive in life. Mine looks much different from yours. Mine also looks much different than the ones of these children. These children have truly seen hell, and they have survived. Many of them are not more than half my age, and they have seem more pain than I have ever even heard about. Yet, these children hold the secrets to life. They hold the secrets to love. They have endured so much, and they love anyways. Without regard, and without condition.
Tonight I walked to church with a boy that is twelve years old. He met me this morning, and yet he wanted to hold my hand the entire time we walked. He doesn't speak my language, and I don't understand his. Yet he loved me, and he wanted to guide me on my way. Without words we took the 30 minute walk, and he spoke more to me than if he would have talked in words I understood. I am lucky to be here, and I have much to learn.
May I not miss out, and may I remember to stop and listen.
I've been convinced for a while now that we are each given our own unique hell to survive in life. Mine looks much different from yours. Mine also looks much different than the ones of these children. These children have truly seen hell, and they have survived. Many of them are not more than half my age, and they have seem more pain than I have ever even heard about. Yet, these children hold the secrets to life. They hold the secrets to love. They have endured so much, and they love anyways. Without regard, and without condition.
Tonight I walked to church with a boy that is twelve years old. He met me this morning, and yet he wanted to hold my hand the entire time we walked. He doesn't speak my language, and I don't understand his. Yet he loved me, and he wanted to guide me on my way. Without words we took the 30 minute walk, and he spoke more to me than if he would have talked in words I understood. I am lucky to be here, and I have much to learn.
May I not miss out, and may I remember to stop and listen.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Day 1: Face It And Fly
The alarm went off at 3:40 in the morning. I rolled over and turned the light on.
"Anne! I need you to wake up and tell me everything is going to be ok. I don't want to go!"
"I'm awake. You'll be fine."
I don't remember the drive to the airport. When we got there, I lost my mind. I needed something to go wrong so that I didn't have to get on the plane. No luck. I got to security and Anne stopped me and told me that she couldn't go any further. I burst into tears. I cried through security, and slowly regained my sanity before I boarded the plane.
In Miami, I cried again. I was so scared. Nothing in me wanted to get on that plane. But I faced it, and I got on.
Ten hours later, I landed in Brazil. No turning back now. Nine hours later, our bus pulled into Garca. I was amazed at the sights. I got off the bus having no idea what to expect, but here I was. I made it. Point me to the nearest bed, please.
"Anne! I need you to wake up and tell me everything is going to be ok. I don't want to go!"
"I'm awake. You'll be fine."
I don't remember the drive to the airport. When we got there, I lost my mind. I needed something to go wrong so that I didn't have to get on the plane. No luck. I got to security and Anne stopped me and told me that she couldn't go any further. I burst into tears. I cried through security, and slowly regained my sanity before I boarded the plane.
In Miami, I cried again. I was so scared. Nothing in me wanted to get on that plane. But I faced it, and I got on.
Ten hours later, I landed in Brazil. No turning back now. Nine hours later, our bus pulled into Garca. I was amazed at the sights. I got off the bus having no idea what to expect, but here I was. I made it. Point me to the nearest bed, please.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
