ruah YHWH, continued

i keep coming back to it

i can't get enough of it

ruah YHWH ruah YHWH ruah YHWH

i'm thinking of tattooing it somewhere on my body

my altar of remembrance

my discipler (?) told me that i should build one

right now

because right now

i am free

but this freedom, this joy, this ease of

living and breathing and being

may not last

will not last

it is here, though, right now

and so i'm led back to this idea of

ruah YHWH
breath of life
and how beautiful it is
because, in this time,
i have become aware of so many things
specifically, my breathing

when my breathing speeds up

and my lungs feel shallow

and my heart is racing

when the world goes dark

and doubt clouds everything

and i wonder who i am

The Spirit of God has made me; the breath of the Almighty gave me life.

this ruah YHWH is

everything

life-giving breath
Spirit of God

source of wisdom

God's creative action

His breath in me
giving me life

sometimes i forget to breath

which sounds odd, i know

but sometimes i find myself

holding my breath

in anticipation
or in angst
or in...?
i'm not really sure
all i know is that i'm not breathing

so i have to remind myself

to breathe the breath that He gives

now

and now

and now

and now

His breath transforms

But it is the spirit in a man, the breath of the Almighty, that gives him understanding.

His breath has power

By the word of the LORD were the heavens made, their starry host by the breath of his mouth.

death to life

death to life

death to life
with every breath

This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life.

4:57

i woke up at 5:00 this morning
actually, 4:57
to the door of my bedroom
jiggling back and forth
pushed in and out of place by the wind
i climbed groggily out of bed and
fumbled around in the dark
searching blindly for something to keep the door in its rightful place
ptl for my biblical imagery dictionary
(thousands of pages of weight, put to good use)

and i know that it was 4:57
because the clock was ticking so loudly
so incessantly
reminding me with every tick that time was passing
and quickly
so i grabbed it and lovingly
removed the batteries
because i wanted silence

i wanted the spinning fan to lull me to sleep
in my otherwise quiet room
in my cozy bed
where the fleece rubs up against my bare legs
and i want to stay here all day
letting my head sink into the pillow
and wrap myself in fluffy, warm blankets

but, i woke up at 5:00 this morning
4:57, to be exact
my body craved sleep
but my SPIRIT was awake
something, somewhere deep inside of me

woke up

and almost instinctually
began communication
with YHWH
the God who is

i only say instinctually because
i was mostly asleep
and my SPIRIT was leading my heart
to where it should go, but
doesn't, once my body comes to life

but i am more than my body
and i am more than my mind
i am my own 3-in-1
body, mind SPIRIT
led by the SPIRIT
to YHWH
at 4:57 in the morning

and my brain doesn't usually wake up until at least 9:00
so i don't know how to describe it
except to say
that it was obvious
that while the rest of me slept
my SPIRIT was awake, beginning to dance
with Jesus, for Jesus, around Him
I was turning, eyes closed,
before the Lord

and it was nice to communicate with the 3-in-1
without the mess of crazy-brain
tainting my words with fear and angst and distress
my SPIRIT was engaged in a song and dance
that had never been done before:

praise
specific prayers for
specific people
people that i don't pray for
so i know that it wasn't coming from my mind
prayers that i know went directly
from my SPIRIT
to HIS

i was asleep again
within minutes
though i don't know for sure
because my clock is now stopped at 4:57

i'm uncomfortable with all of this
talk about the SPIRIT
because i have a tendency to
over-humanize and to
over-intellectualize and to
avoid "weirdness"

i don't want to do flag waving before Him
or have hugely emotional experiences
with mascara running all over my face
and there is a negative connotation that accompanies the word
"charismatic"
(we had enough of that in high school chapel, thank you)

but i am more than my body
and i am more than my mind
and my SPIRIT has been groaning for life

so, okay, wake me up at 4:57
and i will let my SPIRIT dance

je t'aime

Je suis tombé dans l'amour en France.

Peut-être c'était la Tour Eiffel
ou les lumières réflecteur à la Seine.
Peut-être c'était les tours longs de train
et l'écrit à la main des lettres.
Peut-être c'était le lieu du marché, rempli avec le fruit et les fleurs et les gens,
et que mon coeur était ouvert dans une nouvelle façon,
pour la première fois.
Et j'ai raconté avec hésitation mes histoires
et a essayé les eaux avec circonspection
comme nous filmons en video bavardé et a envoyé les lettres electronique.
J'ai bêtement fait semblant que
la joie, l'excitation, le désir, heureux, béni sentant
dans l'intérieur de mon coeur
n'était pas de grande affaire.
Mais j'ai envoyé des cartes postales
pour indiquer mon affection profonde
avec les mots que je ne pourrais pas dire.

Et je suis passé du temps à rêver,

et mes expériences j'ai désiré partager avec cet homme.

Je ne sais pas exactement ce que c'était.
Mais je suis tombé dans l'amour en France.

Il semble que je l'ai oublié en France
parce que je n'arrive pas à trouver ce cœur plus.

summerbeheresoon

summer 2008 was perfect in so many ways
france stands in my mind as the best two months of my life
america was great, too
weddings and out-of-state visits
and first kisses and birthdays
so much love
my heart almost exploded

summer 2009
i'm nervous to make predictions
i don't want to say better or worse
just different
in all the right ways
i can't wait

september brings depth

i prefer to ignore anything that i've written prior to september
anything written before september was an attempt,
an experiment in stringing words together
to make sentences
that had meaning

but what i wrote prior to september was shallow
and cliche
and lacked insight
or even an awareness of reality

what i wrote prior to september was sheltered
and generalized
and barely scratched the surface
of the constant clanging in my brain
and always finished with a happy ending
and reading these things makes me oddly uncomfortable
with who that person was

i don't like who i was prior to september
i was hopeful, yes, but i was hiding
i was scared
and closed off
a bit cold
and maybe even fake
like a little child
trying to write about grown-up things
trying to prove my goodness and my wisdom and my value
trying to be a me that wasn't me

a little child trying to write about
love
love
love
because i thought i was entitled to it
and i thought i understood it
and i'd read so many books about waiting for it
and my heart ached for it

and when the opportunity presented itself
i ran
like we were playing a game of hide-and-seek
and my heart knew all of the good spots
because it had been hidden all along
he wasn't aware that i had regressed into a child
playing games in the playground

and i was a little girl, pretending perfection
with baby hints at emotional turmoil
without telling you that i was in distress
without honestly saying
i don't understand
where is God?
can i trust this?
help

anything written prior to september is just
a collection of nice words and hopeful ideals
reality, though, points to brokenness and questions
and a journey towards healing
and a journey towards knowledge and understanding
and Him

september, and the silent months that preceded it
changed me
because as the world spins faster and faster around you
you can either
sit still, dizzied by the movement, longing to join in
or
be swept up by the motion
and be transformed

september brought depth
and freedom
to so many parts of my life
freedom to stop striving
freedom to be nothing but myself
brokenness, fears, flaws, scars and all
freedom to stop explaining
to let my heart out of its hiding
to exist, pressureless, as me
not as bright and shiny
and perfect Christian school girl
and perfect Christian family
and perfect Christian life
that i thought was mandatory
but Christian, that is, in need of Christ

september gave me an excuse to cry
to be upset
and to look past the mild pain i was experiencing
because of a fractured relationship and
living in a place of literal isolation and loneliness
to see deeper wounds
scars that had tattered my heart

september started a process
and it flooded my vision
things that needed to be changed
vulnerability
or lack thereof
inter-dependence
or lack thereof
communication
or lack thereof

september reminded me
that i have nothing to prove
but much to learn

and that writing is worship
(worship: giving God the recognition He deserves)
so here's my act of worship
i'll write from the deepest part of my soul and mind
if i'm happy
sad
angry
confused
joyous
excited
hurt
frustrated
if i'm ....
i'll write

midnight ramblings

it's late, i have class in six hours
my body still thinks it's in hawaii
and doesn't listen when i tell it to go to sleep
the dr pepper i had with dinner isn't helping

so it's the middle of the night and
i've registered for summer classes and
researched flights
i'm going to jamaica
and i'm going to hawaii
and my best friend is getting married
and i'm ecstatic

right now, i'm tired
but my body won't accept it
and i'm running out of things to do
i have a quiz tomorrow
but i don't particularly feel like studying
i am, however, considering skipping class
just one
history=boring
(i'm not sure why i chose it as a minor...i love history and always find myself bored during history classes...bizarro)

i'm feeling rather anti-school right now
spring break, please come back??
you are always welcome in my life
just three more weeks until easter
and good friday, and passover: round two
i can make it i can make it i can make it

i haven't been home in nine weeks
twelve by the time i get there
not that i counted or anything
but i'm just sayin, it's the longest i've been away, ever
and i'm so looking forward to
my bed
my bathtub
my carpet (if you knew how fluffy and soft my carpet is, you'd understand...)
my roof
my backyard
my kitchen

really, though, it's that i'm getting antsy
eight more weeks of school
then i'm a senior
in college
asldkfoaiweuralskdjfaosidf
so i'm thinking more about that
and i'm much more excited about planning for my future
than i am about contemporary social issues and
the history of modern france

planning, how i love you....
the line between "present" and "future" is quickly beginning to blur
finally, there is an excuse to spend hours researching, to use my clipboard, and to make charts and calendars and venn diagrams
i've planned my schedule for summer/fall/spring
it will be a sad sad day when a job requires my attendance five out of seven days
i'm used to two day weeks and five days of rest
i'm not ready for reality
ptl for grad school

oh, grad school, i so look forward to you

i've narrowed it down to two schools
and travel has been arranged
meetings have been scheduled
and i'm starting to pray so that when i'm there
hopefully, i'll just know, you know?

because i've never just known
anything
and i always thought that i would just know
but i didn't and i haven't
decisions are hard for me; commitment is nearly impossible
because there are countless options (2)
how do you chose just one out of so many (really, it probably won't be too hard...)
how do you know that this one is the one and you can rest easy knowing that you've chosen correctly? (i just freaked out about something that is so beyond grad school...welcome to my brain...)

these two schools are sisters
sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters (if you know where that's from, i'll love you forever)
and i have an inkling of an idea of which one i'll chose
my heart is already leaning in one direction and pushing back against the other
but i have to look at option two
because to not look would be silly, borderline irresponsible
and responsibility is my number one

my predictions:
option one makes my heart pitter-patter in a way that i'm not used to
like, a good way
like, if option one were a boy, i'd have a huge crush on it and would look at its facebook page multiple times a day and dress up real cute to try to impress it
good thing i don't have a facebook
too bad it's not a boy

option two=lose
sometimes, just thinking about that campus makes me nauseous
and i don't need two years of upset-stomach
but, it's got a program that is very appealing and so i might have to get over myself
and maybe let go of my pride a little
is it cheating on option one if i just look?
it's not like there's a ring involved...
it's just like a first date--like starbucks or ice cream or a nice conversation over lunch

that was a weird analogy.
i'm weird. it's late. i'm tired.

back to my school-crush:
i've already spent hours researching option one
i've practically memorized the website and the course requirements
i've looked for housing and i've monitered weather
and i've done all that i can to picture myself in this lovely place
and i totally can

i can really really really see myself there
i can really see myself studying in a cafe
playing in the rain
living in a loft with exposed brick walls and
drinking hot chocolate (coffee=bleckh)
exploring the eclectic city and finding all sorts of fun adventures
and having great conversations with like-minded people over starbucks or ice cream or lunch
(like a real date, not a date with a university)
(not that i have a problem with dating a university...i'm very much looking forward to march 30 and april 20)
(but i have very high standards and not just any old school is going to do the trick)

all that to say:
yes, option one, i will marry you! i'm SO glad you asked!

(honestly, what is going on in my brain right now?? i haven't a clue...)

goodnight.

love you, bye

we made a promise tonight, sitting on my couch, that our time together would never end without a
"do you guys want to pray?"

sweet sweet time in prayer lifting up
new relationships
broken hearts
anxious minds
hopeful futures

four of us, in completely different places in life, together on a couch
praying to a God in whom we've placed our whole lives
and all of our faith
and hope and trust

believing that His word is true and His promises are real and good and soon-coming

moments where our prayers echo our realities
and finish with an honest "love you, bye"

ruah YHWH

my christian marriage class is waaaaay better than i expected
which is odd, because i'm currently ambivalent about whether i even want to get married
which is more odd, i'm aware, given who i am, and how much i used to talk about/think about/plan my wedding and think about marriage and dream about a boy who would be my husband
but, right now, ambivalence
maybe it will pass, maybe not
either way, i'm okay with it

i'm okay with devoting my life to a quest of knowledge about Jesus

this theology class makes me think about Him in all sorts of new ways
my professor is so passionate about who He is
and uses the most beautiful syntax
that even if i didn't already love Jesus
his words would peak my interest
and lure my heart towards Him

i scribble down phrases in my notebook, verbatim
to look at and dwell on later
because what he says is true and beautiful
sometimes it brings tears to my eyes
in the middle of class
and that's embarrassing
so i avert my gaze
and i feel like i'm the only one who cares
and it's so much more than a GE requirement
and i want everybody to love what he says like i do

this class is changing me

today, he talked about being lovingly possessed by Christ
and my heartbeat quickened
because i've been thinking about this all week
and i felt like the two of us were in on a mystery that others had yet to discover
about all-things ruah
Ruah YHWH: breathe of God, mighty wind, Spirit of God

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

and about my SPIRIT (life and vitality)
ruah: as if a supernatural force is taking possession of my spirit

i've been bouncing back and forth between genesis and mark
old testament and new testament
trying to understand what ruah means
and what authority God has over the Spirit of man
mind, body, soul

OT: we were loved into existence
the Spirit of God created all things, all things are under His control
NT: Jesus is God's self-revelation; the Spirit of God descended on Jesus like a dove; the Spirit of God lovingly possessed Jesus Christ

then there is a bunch of stuff about the Trinity
an encounter with the three-in-one
another mystery that i have yet to fully unearth
Father, Son, Holy Spirit=ONE
so the Spirit in Jesus is God, and Jesus is God, and the Spirit is of God and is God
and i think my brain is going to explode
the Trinity is way beyond the reaches of my mind
maybe eventually?

but what i do understand is
Jesus, taking possession of my spirit
allowing me to share in the same nature as Christ
and that the purpose of life is a constant stretching of our capacity to know God
God is present in every moment, at every place
and the goal, our job, our life depends on our response to His presence
----------------------------
other news:
i just got tricked into buying girl scout cookies.
i tried the "i don't have any cash" trick, but was quickly informed that they take checks.
crap. so now I have a box of samoas, which really isn't the worst thing that could happen.
and my hair is almost long enough for a ponytail. ptl.

Listening to: Hillsong, Healer

By listening to, I mean replaying over and over again in my head.
My brain is practically a stereo system.

The first time I heard this song, it was accompanied by the true story of the writer, a man who faked sickness and healing and wrote this song about the faithfulness of God in physically healing his body.
It put a bit of a damper on the song itself.
The truth of the song was still there, but somehow, singing the words made me feel like I was lying too, that I was also fabricating a story.

And for the last six months, four lines from this one song that I don't care much for has replayed in my head, over and over and ovvveeerrrrrr again.

"Nothing is impossible for You,
nothing is impossible for You,
nothing is impossible for You,
You hold my world in Your hands."

I mean, over and over and over again, this truth plays on repeat in my brain.

My entire world is in His hands.
everything that I've ever cared about
everything that I care about now
everything that I will ever care about in the future
it's in His hands.
People, experiences, circumstances--in His hands.
Everything, in His hands.
And truth: Nothing is impossible for Him.

I picture a little child in a store full of glass statues, fine china, porcelain, carefully holding a piece of work fashioned with love, keeping it close to him, aware of his responsibility to keep it whole, keep it intact. He doesn't take this job lightly. He doesn't let it fall, or break, or crumble.

And what about God? With our worlds, He cares just the same.

What felt overwhelming and defeating yesterday holds no bearing as I sing these truths over my life. He holds my world in His hands.

Nothing is impossible for Him.

uggggh

i don't wanna go i don't wanna go i don't wanna goooooo

leaving sucks.

i love this place.

The wind is raging outside, pushing up against the house, knocking and begging to be let in. It's forcing its way through the wind chimes, and the trees outside are rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

I'm sleeping on the couch. One of those sleeps where I'm semi-aware of what is going on, but still, lost in my dream.

I wake up. Eyes half-open, I stumble down the stairs.

Gram, sitting at her desk, opens wide her arms.
I sit on her lap.
She holds me in her arms, like I'm a little kid again. It's nice.
She says, "I love you so much."

I love this place.

Now the music is playing upstairs.
Tango, twenty-four/seven.
I can hear heels tap-tapping on the floor, and Gerald saying "uno mas, uno mas."

I tangoed, too.
A nice man asked me to dance and led me around and around the floor.
Then Gerald asked me to dance. He loves to share his passions.
Tango embrace. I closed my eyes and followed, leaning into the arms of my partner, finding the rhythm of the music and somehow doing steps I've never learned, back-stepping and front-stepping, turning my body to the right, and back again.
I can tango? In hiiigggghhhh heels? Apparently.

I love this place.

p.s. Heated toilet seats are such a cold-morning treat.

it's spring break

i'm a traveler at heart

san diego-catalina-hawaii-san diego

now: hawaii
home away from home
rain all day
paia with gram
sleep in a loft
tonight, i'll dance tango

today, life tugs in the direction of good

mark 1

...the most intensely beautiful study of scripture that I've ever done. Hours and hours and hours each day spent in a tiny, freezing cold, dimly lit tent, studying scripture, manuscripting and scribbling notes, debating meaning.

Wonderful. Beautiful. Perfect.
No other form of study seems to do scripture, or Jesus, or life, justice.

Day 1, after three hours=frustration.

I completely missed the point.
The Jews were anxiously hoping for and longing for the Messiah in the deepest part of them. They longed for the Old Testament promise to be fulfilled. They longed for Jesus in a way that I haven't known in a long time.

And I missed it.
I wanted to get to the part about Jesus and what He said and what He did. I wanted to talk about the wilderness and His temptation and His baptism. I totally missed the point that John the Baptist was preparing the way for the longing for the Messiah to be fulfilled and he was pointing with his entire life and being to Jesus.

I wouldn't have been able to tell you what it meant to truly long for Jesus in the depths of my soul.

But He is the Messiah, the One who we've been waiting for. And now, my soul remembers what that aching, longing desperation for Jesus feels like.

He has authority, echoing Divine authority.
He has the authority to touch a leper and restore to him his life.
(TOUCH: when something touches something holy, it becomes holy itself)
He has the authority to forgive.
(FORGIVE: set free from bondage, process of washing/cleansing, requires atonement)
He has authority to teach and to cast out demons.
He has authority over the physical and the spiritual realms, over our Spirits.

SPIRIT: our life and vitality
it can be moved in a particular direction, impaired or diminished, then revived again
ruah: as if a supernatural force is taking possession of our Spirit.
manifestations of divine energy
the dimension of our personality where relationship with God is possible
the human life in man--appetites, emotions, passions

What I want for, what I ache for, is that Jesus would have possession of my Spirit, that my Spirit would be under the authority of Christ.

When He came, the Heavens were torn open.
Jesus allowed the Kingdom of God to break open.

OPEN:
can be metaphoric, spiritual, literal or physical
in the Old Testament, heaven opens to send judgment, blessing, salvation

And Jesus is God. And He offers evidence, over and over and over again.
And "Son of God" means something completely different than what I thought it to mean.
And "Son of man" means something completely different than what I thought it to mean.
And "authority" means something completely different than what I thought it to mean.
The strongman has been bound and his house plundered.

And Jesus has not changed.
Wedding guests do not fast while the bridegroom is with them. So we eat.
And I want a new surname, like when Jesus gave Simon the surname "Peter," or when He gave James and John the surname "Boanegers."
(SURNAME: new identity, captures the essence of a person)
I want Jesus to tell me who I am.

And, to Jesus, can I just say "whoa?"
Because really, whoa.
Moment after beautiful moment, whoa.
Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Authority over the human body and disease, over Spirits, over evil, and even over nature.
All things are under His control.
"Who then is this, that even wind and sea obey Him?"
Whoa.
Finally, His disciples see who He is--fullness of Divinity, breadth of power.
And maybe the tension just completely disappears and the gravity of who Jesus is becomes clear and what else do we need to know?

What else matters?

food for thought

I don't like restaurants.

I love eating, but I don't like restaurants. Partly because they're expensive and I'm slowly running out of money; partly because they make me strangely anxious. I would much rather be in the comfort of my own home, where we can eat, then sit and chat for however long we feel like it. That applies to fast food as well. And birthday celebrations.

I used to think that I liked going out to dinner, especially if I got to get dressed up. I don't. I love eating at home, wearing jeans and some comfortable worn-in top that doesn't cling to every curve or need to be pulled up repeatedly. Plus, I always spill, and I feel much less guilty about spilling on jeans than on my silk dress that I bought in France.

Restaurants stress me out. So many people running around, plus you feel a lot of pressure to make the dinner event as a whole great, because you're paying for the food and the ambiance and you're spending time with this other person, so you better make it good. But I promise a much better conversation if we eat at home. I feel more secure at home, which means I feel more secure with whoever I'm eating with, which means that conversation is bound to be good. Plus, we can pick the soundtrack. And, doing the dishes is oddly relaxing for me.


Is that okay? I'm much more of a home-body than I ever recognized. So come over. We'll cook, eat, and we can hang out while the water runs and the mess slowly disappears. It'll be great. I promise.

toussaint academy

Today was my community service day. I wasn't going to go because technically it's Spring Break and I was feeling like I just wanted to be alone to think and process through some pretty big things on my plate. I think, though, that maybe God wanted me there. I wasn't planning on going but I did have the brilliant idea to walk up to campus and check my mail, maybe go to Founders, maybe spend some time in prayer. That was the plan. No community service, not today.

But, as I was walking up the final stretch of the hill, the van that drives our group each week just happened to pull out in front of me. Rolling down the window, they yelled "Are you coming??" Shoot. Umm..."Ya!" And I got in the car because I couldn't, in good conscience, say no. The students at Toussaint are much more important than my mail, which would be waiting for me when we got back.

Thank goodness I went. They expected us. There were only three of us today, as opposed to the regular 10, and I'm so glad that I was one of them. We're building relationships and it's frustrating and hard and I'm so glad that I was able to be there today to spend as much time with them as possible, to help them begin to see us as trustworthy and stable and dependable. They need a little bit more of that in their lives.

Toussaint is a school for homeless kids in downtown San Diego. Some of them have been homeless for years, some for weeks; all have been through something incredibly traumatic, something that you can only understand if you've been there yourself. We go each week to do a mural project with them, to build solid relationships with them, to encourage them, as college students, to keep dreaming and keep working towards their futures.

We've been going for a few weeks now, and it has been so much harder than I expected. I'm still in the process of figuring out the role that we're supposed to play in their lives. Are we their friends? Are we their mentors? Do they value us at all, or are we just another thing that they have to do as part of their program? Do they want to talk to us about all of the things going on in their lives, all of the things that they've been through, their daily heartbreak? Do they know that we care? There's no black and white answer.

There's no black and white answer, no manual for what we're doing, and it's frustrating. I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated for them--that what they've experienced is so unfair, that they don't know what we're talking about when we say things like "community" and "home" and "family." It breaks my heart that when I talk about my parents being supportive and loving and nurturing, they don't get it. I feel guilty. And I'm frustrated with them--that some of them seem so anti what we're doing, so disengaged. I'm frustrated with myself that I'm frustrated with them--that I have this idea that they should value their time with us because we come once a week just to do this really cool art project with them. Then I realize, of course, that they have every right to be frustrated too. They have every right to distrust us, to wonder about our intentions, to judge our dependence and whether or not we'll follow through. They have every right to be frustrated about the injustice that they face every single day.

But we're trying to build relationships; we're trying to tell them that we do care--about their pasts, and their present, and their future. We're trying to tell them that what they've experienced is not right and it's not fair and they didn't deserve it. It's hard. I want to sit down with each of them, or maybe give them a punching bag, and just tell them that it's okay to cry, it's okay to be pissed off, that I don't know who wouldn't be. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. I want to make sure that they know that they are valued, that they have so much potential, that they are talented and creative and funny and smart. I want to tell them that I have no explanation for them, I have no idea what to say or how to help them cope or grieve their losses; I want to tell them that I admire their strength.

But right now, it feels forced and awkward and there is obvious tension between the role we're currently in and the one that we want to be in. So next week, we'll paint and listen to music and eat together, and hopefully, that will be the beginning of a beautiful community, one that they understand and can come to love. We'll see.

shades of grey

I'm a black-and-white kind of girl. All or nothing. Perfect, or a waste of time. My eyes pass over the middle ground in search of the "perfect" way.

But life is rarely perfect, and life rarely falls into black-and-white containers. Thank God.

Life can't just be black and white, cut and dry, yes or no. If only it were that simple. But life is push and pull, tension and release, charcoal and slate and heather and silver and taupe. Life is so undefined, decisions are so relative, we fall in-between. It's frustratingly beautiful.

My life is constantly lived in all shades of grey, because there is tension between the black and white. I feel myself pulled in every direction, with no answers and little clarity. So I'm just going to write. I'm going to let my writing fall in the grey. I'm going to begin an attempt to navigate the grey. From now on, you won't get just little bits and pieces of my black-and-white attempt at perfection. The grey means you get it all.

So here's my life, bouncing around like a rubber ball, falling into the perfect shade of grey.


p.s. I didn't just go emo...I still love colors...
p.p.s. I prefer the European spelling of grey. It makes me feel intelligent and cultured.