like a little wind

i am sitting in the willow tree on a tuesday without david. that has not happened in quite a while. 
it is strange to realize that i am entering the very last "summer" of my life. obviously, summer will exist after i graduate. but it will be different. consequently, today i have been mulling over the nature of change. 

john steinbeck has this to say about change:
“men do change, and change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass."

that is a near-perfect description of change. it is very 'neaky (as my little niece and nephew say). but it is also beautiful. this summer is a change. i am usually preparing to leave for camp right about now. then i spend the whole summer loving on children and sharing the Gospel and not sleeping enough. instead, right now i am working on homework and planning what to get when i go grocery shopping. it is difficult to accept that grocery shopping and homework is just as wonderful as being a camp counselor. but that's a part of why this summer is happening, i think.

i am learning that it is exciting to not be sure what my "task" is. it is exciting to learn that having joy and contentment is a choice that i have to make everyday. it is exciting to have so much predictability this summer. it is exciting to have free time. and it is exciting to be able to have time to process the changes as they become apparent.

april second.

bradford pear blossoms, daffodils, and those bushes with yellow flowers (that i can never remember the name of) hold such nostalgic thoughts within their petals and (in the case of the tree blossoms) musky scents: thoughts of running to my neighbors house, climbing pecan trees in texas, and endless biking trips around the neighborhood.

come april, everyone always writes that uplifting, but slightly trite post about spring. they write about the rebirth of the earth and nature's voice growing stronger. as i sit here, it seems so redundant to write about spring. but then again, there is a reason that there are millions of cliches surrounding that wished/prayed/longed-for season.

this winter, i have found my voice and my ideas waning into whispers and fleeting thoughts. life has been more difficult of a weight to carry and death has appeared like a sweet repose. continually, my eagerness to learn has mutated into a desire to get to graduation. my love for others has been muddied by my gross love of myself. even there, my love for myself has been muddied by lies and has been perverted to a strong dislike. what i'm trying to convey is the bleak darkness that has enveloped me. the snow has been beautiful and the white has appeared clean, but the lingering cold and the absence of sun has caused the happy parts of my life to collect dust.

and then came today. april second. a spring day.

the breeze and the warm sun has done my heart good. hearing nature's voice singing out amongst the trees and with the little birds has done my own voice good, for i want to join her. the vitamin d has done my body good. my thoughts remain quiet and feeble, and writing still is hard. but spring has just begun and little seedlings take so much time to grow.

hocus pocus focus locus

the amount of focused i have been this semester is a little magical to me. i have not just "skipped class", i have not procrastinated (half as much), i have gotten sleep (most of the time), have kept a (somewhat steady) workout routine, and have spent time with Jesus everyday.

if you know me, this is not at all congruous with my typical disheveled self. if i didn't know any better, i would say that a dramatic personality shift has taken place.

but this, in fact, is not at all true.

the biggest contributing factor (to my whole life but also) to this semester's success is the letting go of my (feeble) belief in the idea that my locus of control is internal. a whole-hearted surrendering to Jesus Christ every day has relieved the pressure and left only passion for (most of) the subjects i've been given to study (this statement excludes statistics. i have no passion for it. whatsoever. ew). 

within two weeks i have: cast bronze, written and presented an abstract for a research paper, began my last sculpture of the semester, thrown up outside of michael's, heard a poetry reading, worked with a world class artist, fell more in love with east tennessee, grown more fond of david, signed up for spring classes, and found out a definite graduation date.

that has left me a bit (emotionally and, at certain times, physically) dizzy. but there is still a peaceful gratitude that pervades my relationships, my speech, and even the way i plan. i am fully confident that "today" comes and goes like a wind. that thought just doesn't distress me as it used to. the time for me to know "where i'm going" is approaching so quickly, but i have never been so at peace with not knowing as i am now.

i don't believe in an external locus of control that leaves my life up to chance. that would be a miserable existence. instead, i rest boldly in the knowledge that i have a loving, guiding, ever-present Father. He is there. with me. 

alwaysalwaysalways. 

so as i am thinking on graduation and finals and a new year and growing older, i am unconcerned with the possibility that my fragile plans will fall through or that i will get hurt or even that i may fail at something crucial in my life. 

i know that He is with me. and that is enough.


post-script: this post is really scattered and unfocused. and it initially was supposed to be about how focus has become a part of my life. the irony abounds.

and you don't know why

i lack organization skills and i have a terrible logical flow.
so i'm going to split this post into two stories that come to one conclusion about my generation and society at large.
i hope that's alright.

A. last night, i had the incredible privilege to see five bands play that i know and respect on a college campus. they were all very talented in their own right, and i enjoyed them immensely.
the highlight of the night for me, though, was listening to my long-time favorite, night beds.

winston yellen sauntered onto the stage and my anticipation grew. he was obviously nervous (and slightly intoxicated) but as soon as he began to sing, that didn't matter. there is a vulnerability and a power to yellen's music that is almost prayer-like. his rhythms tend to be deeply rooted .if his music could lean into any genres it would be old-style country or jazz. that said, there is something intensely spiritual and introspective about his work, regardless of his broken worldview.

so he's up there, singing us soft songs about love and darkness and isolation. the words are piercing and relatable. i took a look around me, and the majority of the students there had blank expressions on their faces and looked like could not care less. stuff like that slays me.

B. last week, i was driving home to open for my largest musical inspiration (courtney marie andrews).  i was obviously nervous (but not intoxicated...just didn't want that parallel to yellin to cause any confusion) so i listened to the radio all the way to chattanooga. i generally stick to npr, the classical station, or oldies when i do turn on my radio. but this time, i just put on the "mainstream" music.

it was almost incredible to me that, song after song, what was being expressed (under a disguise of whiny voices and identical musical structures) was always apathy and despair and a longing for sexual satisfaction. those things all go hand-in-hand. those kinds of emptinesses (that's probably not a word) all point to Christ. and no one can see that. stuff like that slays me.

both of these stories are stark pictures of my generation (and society at large). we are a generation that suffers from intense isolation (due to whatever thing you want to blame it on) and a loose understanding of love and friendship. we are afraid to care about anything (like the students i mentioned) because we are afraid of being rejected from our peer group and becoming an unloved outcast. we are afraid to care about soulful things because we know that if we look long enough, we will see our weaknesses. we are afraid to be sober because we know that, in an a state aware of pain, we will be sad. we are afraid to be alone, but also afraid to be committed to loving someone else. we are afraid to do all these things. so we become sketch-like renditions of humans with hearts instead of the real deal.

the saddest thing about all of this, is that none of it is new. we are living in an ecclesiastical world where everything, even my life or your life, is a vapor. and when we live without the empowering love of Christ and the enabling grace of God and the inspiring fire of the Holy Spirit, it is indeed a vapid life.

the most joyous thing about all of this, is that we don't have to be apathetic and despondent. we have the choice (what a beautiful word) to commit to something real. it is a scary choice, so scary that many turn away from it, but it is the best one.

the lyrics to one song by night beds are:

when the sorrow comes,
and you don't know why,
come into my arms.
i'll hold you through the night.
and in the morning light,
we'll be sure to find
a kind of love so strong
it will make us cry faithful heights.

i know you get lost sometimes, man
i know you get lost.
i know you get lost sometimes, man
i know you get lost.
whenever you get lost, man
whenever you get lost, man
whenever you get lost, man
whenever you get lost 
hold my hand.

yellen usually performs this song without music. his voice rises up like a plaintive prayer.
this song is like what Jesus calls out to us. He assures us that when the sorrow comes and we don't know why, He alone is the one to hold us. He leads us to a powerful love. He brings us to our knees.

but until you or i or anyone else acknowledges that He is there and He is love and He is all,

we are lost.

don't choose to live a small, a frightened, and an aimless life, there is so much in this world (and infinitely more in the spiritual world) to actually care about.

unpacking thoughts while packing up everything else

because i'm moving into an apartment with a few other girls, i had been planning on going through my things pretty thoroughly. then my mom said she wanted to make some changes to the room and asked me if i would pack up all my other stuff. while purging clothes and snippets of fabric and knick-knacks and such, i found tons of my older artwork. it's been kind of weird to look at my work from a few years ago. it's kind of been nice, too.

i started taking art classes at the college level when i was sixteen (at chatt state...so you know). i was so hooked and on fire. my adolescent dreams were definitely of my work being shown in galleries across the world and travel and the busy life that being a (successful) practicing artist would be. my passion was working in the darkroom. today, as i opened a huge box of HUGE prints (oh how wonderfully large those prints are), i realized how much photography consumed me. it kind of sounds ridiculous, but it's true. i wouldn't eat or drink or sleep or hang out with friends or anything because i was in the darkroom. i clearly remember spending 8-12 hours straight in there. just working and working and working. i only came out for air to glance at a test strip or stare at a negative or compare huge (dripping wet) prints. i can still remember always smelling like chemicals and feeling so fulfilled after looking at the filled drying line at the end of the work day.
all that to say, i do miss it. that time (artistically) was my favorite. i miss the passionate, enthusiastic experience of being good at something and being really close to my professor and having lunch in his office and him critiquing me harshly (and truthfully and constructively) and growing so quickly.
i spent all summer thinking about sculpture and how my focus has shifted to that, but i don't think i'm done with the analog photography stage of my life.

just some thoughts.
now i need to put more things in boxes.

(i also looked at my paintings. and laughed a lot. i am an awful painter. someday i might understand how to paint. but as for now, it's a mystery)

summer debriefing project. week eight.

this is the final week of my project. i'm home now. and although life is wonderful and full of nice things to share here, it's strange to blog about being home the same as i do camp/haiti. so i'm stopping after this.

so dramatic.

anyway, the summer at camp ended quietly. nothing too ridiculous happened. so i'm just going to make a list.

this summer was:

the summer of the chant. we chanted everyone's names as much as we could. especially RY-AN, and JAR-RED, and CAT AND KEAGAN.

the summer of power. i was continually surprised at the power of the gospel/Holy Spirit. i know i shouldn't have been, but God was working some crazy things in me that were amazing and encouraging.

the summer of loving others earnestly. i learned SO MUCH about dying to myself and loving others truly and pushing through differences in a healthy way and dealing with conflict and loneliness and isolation and oh my GOSH was it an awesome summer because of that! it didn't matter if it was david or jen or julie or anyone, i just learned how to be a more loving person. and different ways to show that love.

the summer of having astonishing campers. my campers were (for the most part) strong, loving, incredible people that inspired me greatly. i can't stress how many times i underestimated my campers. then i'd have porch talks with them or something and they'd blow me away with their stories of God's work in them.

the summer of music. in haiti and at camp, the worship seemed sweeter and more heartfelt. i was immersed from the beginning of the summer to the end in music.

the summer of praise. praising in my prayers or in my speech or in my life became more of a priority to me this summer. i prayed at church yesterday and jason turned to me and said "that was like, 80% praise." and i just nodded. that's been what i've learning to focus on this year. and it's a cool experience.

the summer hashtagging. as silly as that is, hashtagging RIDICULOUS things with the girls quickly became something that would frequently put a smile on my face.

the summer of snugglebussing. snugglebussing is the best. and i miss it. so much. the end.

the summer of stillness. so much of my summer was full of quiet moments where i got to listen. i listened to the earth singing and God's voice and it was perfect.

basically, this was the best summer of my life to date. and it's not quite over yet. but this year at camp was the sweetest year. not because everything was my "last this" or "last that"...but because i felt so fully present wherever i was and felt so full of Christ. i always come home from camp exhausted (in body and spirit). but this time i came home revived (at least in spirit...) and ready for the fall.

and with that, i conclude my project for this summer. it's been real.

stay sweet.

summer debriefing project, week five.

my mind is pretty much racing right now, so i'm not sure this is the opportune time to blog about my week. my sweet, sweet david and two other friends sent me mail that just blew my mind. so now i'm like "ahh i love these people!"

anyway.

this week i am just going to kind of overview because it wasn't a normal camp week. we worked a retreat called "all nations" and julie, jenny, and i were in charge of making dinner. it actually ended up being super fun, in spite of being in the kitchen alllll day erryday. all of our meals were  a success, in spite of a few mishaps ("this is a financial disaster!"-julie). mostly the week was spent reading, listening, laughing, watching "monster U" (so adorable), and a lot of thinking. i got to skype david, which of course was great. overall, the week was really about serving. service (like kitchen work) is so satisfying because there are such tangible results after your work is through. with counseling (which is a completely different kind of serving) the results are spiritual and emotional and you can't ever really grasp them. so it was a nice change to see people really enjoying my work. it rained all week too. and I LOVE CAMP WHEN IT RAINS! (i yelled this earlier this week and julie and jenny were kind of at a loss for words). yesterday was spent at ryan and lucy's house (our camp director and his wife) doing laundry. we watched "parent trap" and "gilmore girls" until it was dark and pretty much never moved from the couch. it was a pretty restful week and i'm so glad i got to be a part of it.

that's pretty much it.

forget you

The real test of being in the presence of God is that you either forget about yourself altogether or see yourself as a small, dirty object. It is better to forget about yourself altogether.
-c.s. lewis

lately life has been too beautiful for me to spend much time writing about it. i have been overwhelmed with love, joy, and peace. it's a fairly new thing for me to be consistently happy and the experience has been wonderful so far.

i ran across that quote (above) this morning while welcoming a new week and drinking black coffee. i whispered "oh clive, how true." and furiously underlined it with a marker. the context of the quote is a chapter on Pride in Mere Christianity. Lewis speaks of Pride as the chief vice of man and he says that one who is really aware of Christ's love and grace cannot have an all-consuming Pride.

there is something sort of stunning about that statement. the transforming nature of love is so powerful and real. when we begin to accept and believe that we are loved and wanted by a God who knows absolutely everything about us, our sense of self-worth becomes obsolete. we forget about who we think we should be and all we see is love. this isn't easy. and it's so gradual. but when you get a glimpse of yourself through that filter, it's a strong and beautiful thing that is not easily forgotten.

so yeah, through love comes humility.
isn't that nice?

this kind [or how i'm never prepared]

there's not a lot i can tell you now / that you don't already know / no new ideas of faithfulness / all i hope is for us to grow

the sun caressed your face / with a golden grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather

the candle-warmed nights in my bedroom / all of my half-completed sculptures / and your lovely laughing lips / oh they are gentle reminders of our youth

the moon caressed your face / with a silver grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather

that time we walked together  / hoping to see the stars / i touched your hand twice as i fell / into you so deep and far

the snow caressed your face / with purity and grace / and the wind made us shudder / your hands in my hair / assured me that you were there / oh my heart / it wasn't prepared for this kind of weather

twenty. vingt. veinte.

i promised myself i wouldn't write this post.
i literally said out loud "yeah that'd be too sentimental."

but here i am.

i don't really have a lot to say. except that i feel incredibly odd/blessed to now be in the magical decade known as "my twenties".
as my heart and mind grows up, i'm starting to realize the significance of age. how certain years really are important. even though your whole life matters.
nineteen was just what i expected it to be: unexpected. nothing made sense last year. nothing. even in hindsight, most of it is still confusing. my decisions were irrational for most of my nineteenth year and the consequences were mostly more confusion...not direct punishment.

i think if i could categorize my nineteenth year with a word it would be "aimless".  don't get me wrong. last year had a purpose and my God is always always faithful. what i did last year mattered. what i'm saying is, i thought so much about everything last year, that i didn't have time to really think about anything. (okay, i know that sounds seriously mental, but it really makes sense...) my own neurotic tendencies completely shattered the possibility of my experiencing life in a healthy way. i just wandered in and out of different situations and circumstances like a wounded animal without a home.

so twenty is here now. nothing changes overnight, but i really would like to be able to turn my mind off, so to speak. i would like to stop thinking about everything all the time and just come back to the fundamental facts that i'm alive and have a heart that is beating and a God that is sovereign. i would like to stop rationalizing anything and everything into the ground. i would like to be more trusting and less cynical. i'd like to get better at loving people without fear of disappointment/of being disappointing. most of all, i would like to love Jesus so much more and so much fuller than i have. love Him to the point that i can accept things and stop trying to create my own scenarios where everything works out...or where everything fails.

so yeah. i'm twenty. this is a new decade. and it's going to be the best one i've lived yet.
right?
right.

fifty two

year of our lord
two thousand and twelve:

to you, two thousand and twelve.

to the calming explorations of sounds the half-hearts, and the icy bridges. 

oh the abundant sunshine for all of the rambunctious law-breakers. 

how it did rain in the morning, how the heartache did swell in the evening, and all throughout

the glorious mountains remained.
the mountains who reminded me that grace and love and faith are abundant. 

divine blood filling the empty cups and the birthday of no one terribly important. 

all of the lazy artists, the do-nothings of society, thinking thoughts and creating beautiful things.

remember the adventure unparalleled? the pure hearts? the young dreams? the faithful Father?

trees with ghostly white petals.
stars in the sky. 

a friend who died.
and a thank you note to those dear little ones who kept me alive. 

the living too large and dying too old.
the trying to exist in reality. 

the comfort of darkness.
the joy of being in the presence of light. 

the blowing of too many kisses and that little ginger candy obsession. 

the notes to self. 

my pink, freckled shoulders.
the number nineteen.
many lazy lightening bugs. 

this dirty city and this filthy heart.
my beautiful ayiti, who takes turns haunting me and comforting me daily. 

a noodle-crazed panda. 

the fact that my friends are not sailors. 

old canoes and rough living. 

singing crickets and singing chad. 

Jesus the man who knew what it was like. 

the truly believing.

the river, so full of peace. 

those flashbulb memories. 

when i couldn't come out and really say "iloveyou".

the waning moon and the dying sun. 

the fact that i'm disappointing, my dear. 

those panic-stricken birds. 

the missingmissingmissing. 

scary/happy/lovely/nice/strange dreams. 

mysaltytears. 

mymountains. 

the no good heart that was so wrong. 

the fictional story about my dear sister and misplaced love. 

my love-affair with roan mt. 

may day merry making.

reminding myself to sieze the day. 

remember how i diagnosed myself with selective attention deficit disorder?

oh and those moon walkers

and that divine little boy doomed to die because he loves us and is obedient to his father

and finally, all of the children screaming for peace.

i have survived the end of the world.
i have seen love.
i have witnessed the strength that only grace can supply.
i have been reminded of my own darkness.
i have been comforted with the fact that it is not my own any longer.
life has gone on.
the breathing has begun. 

may grace and peace come to you, next year.
and may the love of Christ infest and infect you so i have no choice but to accept it.

thus ends fifty two weeks of writing.
thus begins a lifetime more.

bare wrists

so every year (especially during the summer) I collect bracelets. by the time the end of the year comes, my wrists are covered halfway up my forearm.
i love it. i love knowing that each bracelet is connected to a memory or a thought or people or all sorts of different things. i really do. and the only time having that many bracelets is a pain is when i get out of the shower or wash dishes. then my wrists are damp for the rest of the day.
but still i love it.

however, every year, i get to a point where i start anew. i shed my bracelets and bare my wrists. it's a cathartic process.

usually, that time comes with the new year or christmas or something.

but because i'm stressed out and wanted to do something drastic to channel that stress, i shed them today.
sitting in the library, working on a paper.

it feels so good and freeing to have clean arms and let go of the people/memories/heartache that are attached to the bracelets.
there's a picture on my photoblog, if you're interested.

le cafe.

"Jean-Jacques said that he always entered a cafe with a certain emotional disturbance"
-F.J.W. Hemmings. Baudelaire the Damned

i am currently sitting in my favorite cafe (that is also one of my most favorite places) writing a paper on Charles Baudelaire. i stumbled across that statement in one of the biographies i was perusing and i couldn't help but share it.
there is something magical about cafes/coffee houses.
there is an atmosphere of forgiveness, inspiration, and comfort.
they are a place where one goes to think, write, love, draw, speak, read, be still, and countless other good things.

a stranger that i recently met, named Raoul, said that he goes to cafes to "solve life's problems."

yes.

if you're not a coffee-drinker/cafe-goer, i pity you.
they are beautifully perfect little places.

journal entry/sometimes

October 30th
sometimes I feel so alive I could be dead.

like some how the blood coursing through me is actually only saltwater and I’m actually some weirdly shaped wave that’s just waiting to crash and wash over some dirty spot on the sidewalk at school.
sometimes I feel so alone that I’m claustrophobic. 

like the air around me is actually full of tons of people waiting until to hurt me or to be hurt because that’s all humans can honestly do to eachother.

sometimes I feel so young that I grow old.

like somehow I am burdened and aged by the fact I know and have lived so much less than I want.
sometimes I feel so cold that I’m burning.

like the rain is actually little bits of fire spreading on my skin and setting flame to the old body, just leaving the new, tender skin of my real self.
sometimes sometimes sometimes.
more like all the time.

all the time I feel dead, claustrophobic, old, and burning.

like somehow I’m going to be fine because I’m just as much of a mess as everyone I know.

that’s all. 

the end.

forty four

my sister saw your face buried in the leaves

but i don’t believe her

one day she cried
she saw me walking by your side

but i don’t believe her



it’s been three long years
that you’ve been gone
and three long years
that i’ve been sorry

my sister hold my cold hand
through the wood
and i love her for it
her dark eyes say that she knows
all that i don’t

and i love her for it



the fiery trees
tell me it’s autumn again
and i wish your head
was here on my shoulder

my sister rarely laughs
since you’ve passed
she loved you more than i could
i hold her close
and tell her to let you go
but she loved you more than i could

together we run through the snow
to your little grave
together we say hello
we blow a kiss to your wintery face



it’s been three long years
that you’ve been gone
and three long years 

that i’ve been sorry

it was three quick years
that she loved you
it was three quick years
that you loved me
i’m sorry sister
that i didn’t know
i’m sorry lover
that i said no
we have no time
no time you know

so let’s wait three months

and she’ll be older
and i’ll be wiser
you won't be forgotten
but after the winter
is when all things blossom

forty two

sent to jessica when I got home today:

Home. When I came over the hill and saw the mountain range I yelled because those mountains are mine.

monday mania

a list:
granola, almond milk, craisins. in a clown mug.

painting and john denver on vinyl with brandon

cold, cold rain

grey

new rain jacket

that's neon pink

yeahhhh

sufjan coming to chattanooga in a month or so

me going to chattanooga in a couple days or so

biking at night

sniffles

skipping

sleeping

coffee

a letter from a dear girl

plaid

louis armstrong and ella fitzgerald

nothing, really.

"and then,” she whispered (to no one in particular)”and then we see that in the end, all she misses are his kisses.” she bit her lip and half-closed her eyes.

a dull ache part two

.

unedited.