"For us, there is only the trying"

So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years—

[...]

Trying to use words, and every attempt

Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure

Because one has only learnt to get the better of words

For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which

One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture

Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate

With shabby equipment always deteriorating

In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,

Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer

By strength and submission, has already been discovered

Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope

To emulate—but there is no competition—

There is only the fight to recover what has been lost

And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions

That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.

For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

Home is where one starts from. As we grow older

The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated

Of dead and living. Not the intense moment

Isolated, with no before and after,

But a lifetime burning in every moment

And not the lifetime of one man only

But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.

There is a time for the evening under starlight,

A time for the evening under lamplight

(The evening with the photograph album).

Love is most nearly itself

When here and now cease to matter.

Old men ought to be explorers

Here or there does not matter

We must be still and still moving

Into another intensity

For a further union, a deeper communion

Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,

The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters

Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.

(TS Eliot - Four Quartets: East Coker)

--------

I turned twenty today. And because school doesn't stop for birthdays, I woke up promptly at 6:30 am and didn't return home until 10. The day was both long and weary, but there were surprising moments of joy and pure beauty.

Sometime around 1, I was utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I felt weak and lost. So, I went to the olive grove. It's quiet, removed from the busy-ness of classrooms and dorms. And green (for the most part). I sat there and forgot time for a bit. The light sifted through the trees, and the wind made me feel alive.

I know this isn't new to anyone who has read my blog - this cycle of pain, exhaustion, and then coming to rest in peace and even joy. It's not new to me, but something I have to continually learn and relearn. I'm realizing today how much gratitude plays a part in being alive, in banishing the weariness and apathy. I love that the words grace and gratitude have the same root. Gratitude is a way of seeing the beautiful grace that is all around us.

So I sat there in the olive grove, and decided to be part of the "trying" that Eliot talks about. I made lists of 20s in my journal: 20 people I love, 20 places that feel like home, 20 beautiful memories, 20 conversations that have changed me, 20 shades of blue. And with each list, I gained a deeper love for this strange and unusual place called earth.

Earlier, a friend had asked me if I was happy, and that was a hard question to answer honestly. But after that time of seeing and listing beauty, I honestly could say I was happy. Not in a bouncy sense, but in a grounded happiness that comes from seeing and experiencing grace and beauty.

There is a crushing joy that crackles in every corner of this world. I am tiny and yet I am here. I have been given sense, awareness, existence, and placed on a stage so crowded with the vast, so teeming with the tiny, that I can do nothing but laugh, and sometimes laugh and cry.

Living makes dying worth it.

(ND Wilson, Notes from a Tilt-A-Whirl)

Read more...

Enough

Sidenote: I have at least twenty drafts sitting in my queue, and I fully intend on finishing and posting at least half of those. They're not current reflections of my life, but still, I'd like to post them.

[from April 2011]

Some days it just gets harder. Waking up with weakness and pain wears me down until some mornings I feel thin and stretched, too broken to even start the day.

At one point, I felt a strange, strong apprehension. Almost as if I saw depression, looked into the dark days ahead, felt the cold pain touch my mind. I cried in fear. I had faced this before. Please God, not again. My weakness crashed down on me - physical, emotional, mental - and I felt powerless to stop the depression. I wanted to choose joy, to see light, but I couldn't. Not on my own, not with this brokenness.

So I asked for prayer with a quick post on Facebook, which only a handful of friends could see. I quickly pressed enter, shut my laptop, and walked out of my room before I could delete my post.

I went outside and looked at the stars. Their beauty gave me clarity. I felt terribly small in the face of this terrifying and huge world. I lay on the concrete. It still held warmth from the forgotten sun. I felt small points of despair ebb away, and I knew joy would come in the morning.

That joy didn't wait for the morning. It came with the stars that faintly light up the LA sky, the chilling breeze that came through my window, in a peace that I cannot ever quite explain. The next morning, my pain was still there, but I had lost the sinking feeling of despair. But not the feeling of brokenness, I didn't feel whole, and still don't.

The miracle is - it wasn't my choice. I didn't choose joy, the way I didn't choose depression in the past. Joy chose me and sought me out in my darkness. It was the way the light filled my room, the prayers of my faithful friends, the text messages from classmates who missed me.

And for now, that's enough. Having joy is enough.

Read more...

Rain

Love this rain. How a raindrop settles on my face, then runs down, leaving way for the next inevitable drop. How it brings us closer, as we huddle for warmth in the library or around a cup of tea. How it makes the air feel alive and reborn. I love this rain.

Nobody stands still in the rain. Rain rushes us all from the shelter of one dry spot to the next. I found myself hurrying past the library with my hand above my head until a rebellious raindrop landed on my face. I had to stop. And look up. Rain is our common grace. It's easier to see grace with this image of rain. It falls from above and touches everything below. It is a gift.

I kept walking but with an uplifted head and entered class.

Two hours later, I forgot my moment of revelation when the pain set in. Rain makes my knees and hands feel a steel, sharp pain. I pulled my unwilling body across campus and hurried through the rain. Rain didn't feel beautiful or remind me of grace. Then I almost fell into a puddle that drenched my shoes and splattered my face. I had to laugh as I realized my stupidity, my sin. It began to rain harder. As it fell, the rain startled my soul into remembering God and His love. Maybe I wouldn't be so startled if there was no pain. Maybe it's not just the rain that startles my soul, but the pain as well. Maybe... no, not maybe, God ordained both. And I can rest in that.

"When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory

And I realize just how beautiful You are and how great Your affections are for me.

Oh. How He loves us. Oh, how He loves us. How He loves us, oh."

Read more...

Shadow and Light

Life is complicated. Today affirmed that fact with a sfz(orzando). All things bright and beautiful, that was today: Shakespeare read-aloud on the cool grass in a deserted park with two younger brothers and handful of chocolates. Obviously, today was not the complicated part of life. But yesterday was, and Wednesday, and it's hard to believe Tuesday even existed in the same world of this Friday. Tuesday, the day that was tears, doctor visits, and the return of the oh-so-notorious antibiotics. This whole week has been a curious mixture of shadow and light. The shadows came from every bend and struck my body, heart and mind. They hurt. But the light was just as powerful as the dark.

Thursday, I met with friends, and we read together, talked, and prayed. We came out of that house with new and old truths that felt so real, so very close to us. It was beautiful.

A dear friend reminded me that "life is as fleeting as a breath." Oh yes, yes, and love is strong. These days of shadow and light make up the fabric of our very own narrative, the story that says: we are weak, and He is strong. He is also good, so very good.

It's easy to say that now, of course, now with healing wounds and fresh memories of gentle words and sunshine. I wish I could say I remembered His goodness during those times of shadow. I didn't. I cried, I whined and fell into a dreaful apathy where I almost didn't care if God was good or not. I wince, now with this solid truth of goodness in hand, I wince for my past sin and the future times when I know I'll forget this world-shattering truth. But for now. I'm grateful. And I can lay here on the grass with the dappled patterns of sunshine and shadow, and I can nothing. Just let the quiet wonder of His goodness flood my world.

Read more...

.

This. Is. Beautiful.

I pull the words out, forcing them and hoping that speaking is believing. I say them again. I'm curled tight on my side, pushing the words into my heart. But really? I don't think this is beautiful. I think this hurts. It hurts so much, it hurts too much. And as hard as I try, I can't blend my words with my feelings. They mix as well as oil and water. I am not thinking of beauty or trust or sanctification, I just feel pain of the open, raw skin all over me. This is not beautiful.

I'm scared now, and words come tumbling out: memorized verses, promises, quotes. The words fill the empty space of room around me, as if I hope to conquer my feelings with a sheer multitude of words. They don't work. I sit up. I'm surrounded by empty air, and the words batter against my heart. I'm exhausted. Maybe they're right. And then, some words begin to sink in...

Words: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. This isn't the valley of the shadow of death, and still I fear evil, I doubt Good. But Thou art with me. I repeat those words, over and over. Thou art with me. Maybe this is beautiful.

Words: My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. In my weakness, in this weak pathetic body. I wrestle with those words. They break, bend, shatter my excuses. His power stands here, whether I admit it or not. His power and glory, I am just his whiskey priest.

And now the words make sense. They burst upon me as rushing water. This is beautiful. Because He who suffered death and wrath, He stands for me. This is beautiful. Because He comes to my weakness and sin. He doesn't heal me tonight, He restoreth my soul. And now I can say and believe, at least for tonight:

This. Is. Beautiful.

Read more...

Day 3

How He ruthlessly perfects
Whom He royally elects;
How He hammers him and hurts him,
And with mighty blows converts him
Into shapes and forms of clay
Which only God can understand,
While his tortured heart is crying
And he lifts beseeching hands;

Yet God bends but never breaks
When man's good He undertakes;
How He uses whom He chooses,
And with mighty power infuses him,
With every act induces him to try His splendor out,
God knows what He's about.

Anonymous

The Mundane: The infection came back today. I've obviously written a lot about this, so I'll try to keep this entry short. I faced an empty house and filled the silence with words to God. Words intermingled with tears and laughter. It was one of those days when I just wanted to know why. And I didn't want to face the next few days and the inevitable pain that would come. But as I read portions from the Book of Common Prayer aloud, something akin to peace came to me. I'm not calm now, I'm still worried, still in pain, but I'm not as terrified as I was earlier today. It could only come from Him.

The Miraculous: Sanctification. Just think, this is all for His glory. God uses trials to bring us closer and closer to His image. I held glow-in-the-dark stars in my hand, a gift from a friend: perspective showing me just how small my troubles are. Who am I to complain? I'm not the first person to suffer nor the last. Christ suffered for us and conquered Death. And that's my hope, that through all of this, there is an answer to the 'why?' His glory. And I rest in that.

Read more...

Relapse

Seems like I'm back to the beginning, watching the same scene unfold: the pain, the tears, total loss of strength. It gets worse every time. I doubt I'll even be able to walk for a few days, my hands will probably lose strength soon also. 

Plans are snatched out of my hands. It's hard to study or do any type of college prep when the pain is this bad. Much needed Time slips by as I sleep through the day, the only escape from pain. I hate relapses, they come too suddenly, with too much force. Just two days ago I was strong enough to run! And now... this. I can barely move from my room.

And yet, while I was reading Luke today, with an almost hopeless knowledge that the next few days would only be worse than today, I found comfort. Hope.

Even if my plans are snatched out my hands, an infinitely better one is at work. Even if I lose all strength, I can rely on a strength that created the world. Even if I hate the pain, I can love, and know that I am loved, Him who gives it to me. 

And with His help, I can think of the upcoming days and say, as Mary did:

Be it unto me, according to Thy Word.

Read more...

Turning

To turn, turn will be our delight,
'Til by turning, turning we come round right

A week ago:

no pain

no medications

and joy

Now:

pain, definitely pain

new medications

lots of tears

and joy

Read more...