the art of loving

My New Best Friend (also known as the woman who is professionally trained and paid to listen and sort through my emotional junk every Wednesday evening) has assigned me some homework in the form of literature. It's my favorite type: part head, part heart. She's limiting me to one chapter a week (the worst kind of torture), but so far, my response to this book is: yes. My New Best Friend assigned it for a reason and I intend to get as much out of it as is physically possible for me in this time. I intend to learn, to grow and to share. Maybe you can glean some wisdom, too.

From The Art of Loving, by Erich Fromm:

"Love is an art, just as living is an art; if we want to learn how to love we must proceed in the same way we have to proceed if we want to learn any other art, say music, painting, carpentry, or the art of medicine or engineering.

What are the necessary steps in learning any art?

The process of learning an art can be divided conveniently into two parts: one, the mastery of the theory; the other, the mastery of the practice. If I want to learn the art of medicine, I must first know the facts about the human body, and about various diseases. When I have all this theoretical knowledge, I am by no means competent in the art of medicine. I shall become a master in this art only after a great deal of practice, until eventually the results of my theoretical knowledge and the results of my practice are blended into one-my intuition, the essence of the mastery of any art. But aside from learning the theory and practice, there is a third factor necessary to becoming a master in any art--the mastery of the art must be a matter of ultimate concern; there must be nothing else in the world more important than the art. This holds true for music, for medicine, for carpentry--and for love. And maybe, here lies the answer to the question of why people in our culture try so rarely to learn this art, in spite of their obvious failures: in spite of the deep-seated craving for love, almost everything else is considered to be more important than love: success, prestige, money, power--almost all our energy is used for the learning of how to achieve these aims, and almost none to learn the art of loving."

leaving oceanside

The hardest part about leaving Oceanside was leaving Oceanside.  I cried every day of my last week and a double portion on my last day. I would not miss 10 hour days and 2 hour commutes and sharing a schedule with the sun; I would not miss complete and utter exhaustion and I would be happy to enjoy things like rest and the energy to call a friend and time for play. But oh, I would miss Oceanside.

My biggest fear in leaving Oceanside was the inevitable distance between the richness of that time and place, and the life I would surely settle into 30 miles away. Richness seems like such a strange word to use when considering how my time there was spent: addressing symptoms of poverty and hearing stories of struggle and pushing back against so much heartache. And yet, hardly twenty-four hours goes by without me remembering the richness of conversations in my classroom, of the honor of being trusted, the gospel preached to me in such a peculiar way, and by such foreign priests.

Father Greg, one of my heroes, says of his time in Bolivia:

"I can't explain how the poor in Bolivia evangelized me during that year of 1984-85, but they turned me inside out, and from that moment forward I only wanted to walk with them. I knew that the poor had some privileged delivery system for giving me access to the gospel.  Naturally, I wanted to be around this."

I guess Oceanside was my Bolivia. Giving me access to Jesus in a way that is out of reach when I settle into my busy life and avoid the streets where He would've walked. Something truly rich is added to my faith when I get the privilege of learning Jesus and His heart for justice, and (maybe possibly even) being opened up to see the world (and a few beautiful souls) with the Mind of Christ.
Still, I only want to walk with them.

room for hope

"Yes, we are going to suffer, we will have difficult times, and we will experience many disappointments — but all of this is transitory it leaves no permanent mark. And one day we will look back with pride and faith at the journey we have taken.”          --Paulo Coelho

There are a few things that I've learned from my job thus far:

1. Carpool naps make me a better person.
2. Every student needs to be celebrated.
3. The depth of a person's story, especially their heartache, will make me cry every time.
4. There is almost nothing more necessary than hope. 

hope (noun)

a feeling of desire for something and confidence in the possibility of its fulfillment 

disappoint (verb)

to fail to fulfill the expectations or wishes of

 I went into this job knowing my tendency to over-invest, to take too much responsibility and to feel the burden of other's circumstances.  In an attempt to protect myself from the emotional weight of 50 hours of this each week, I told myself to hold loosely to hope, to not put too much hope in one particular student, to not let one good day get my hopes up for lasting transformation. Still believe,  always believe, but possibly from a distance.

hope --> expectation --> disappointment

hope --> expectation --> transformation

Disappointment and transformation are bound together, with hope at their center. Without it, neither can occur. If I seal myself off from hope in an effort to protect myself from the sting of disappointment, I am working my way fearfully through my days, afraid of the power of hope, afraid to be wrapped up in it with my 30 students, carrying their stories, hoping for them when they cannot hope for themselves. Without it, and without the potential for disappointment, I am not doing my job.

The potential for disappointment is always there. It always will be. At the end of any day, I've likely experienced it. In the sweet kid who visited D3 at every break and ate lunch with me and talked about his desire for change but ended up with a suspension by 8th period. In the girl who shared her heart with me then manipulated me minutes later. In the smart boy who refused to do his math homework. In the kids who seemed genuinely excited about progress, yet find themselves in the principal's office for something so preventable.

They say that adolescents have a limited perspective on time and responsibility. They don't see cause and effect, they don't see the end of the road. Their brains are still developing; their mindsets are short-sighted, unaware of the potential of the future. I suppose that's my job. To help them see; to help them change their own minds, to see beyond the routine of junior high and neighborhood activity and to hope for something more.

My only words for them are, over and over again, "Baby steps. I want something better for you. I believe in something better for you. We will get there." And I say it to myself, too, because despite long and hard days, despite tears of sadness and frustration, this is my job. This is my work and my ministry.  Until June by contract, and beyond. Because tangled up in hope and expectation and disappointment and possibly transformation, is love. And that's what I have for them. And it's in the disappointments I feel it most, when a new day comes and there is infinitely more room for hope.

"All the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is what the world is..."

Aleksandar Hemon//The Lazarus Project 

anam cara, my soul friend

I told myself that tonight was reserved for one episode of Arrested Development, writing one little letter, and sleeping early to get myself back to being rested and happy. But then I got to thinkin' about souls and friends and this crazy little concept of anam cara, a soul friend.

"In the Celtic tradition, there is a beautiful understanding of love and friendship...the old Gaelic term for this is anam cara. Anam is the Gaelic word for soul and cara is the word for friend: "soul friend." With the anam cara you could share your inner-most self, your mind and your heart. This friendship was an act of recognition and belonging, a joining in an ancient and eternal way with the "friend of your soul." In this love, you are understood as you are without mask or pretension. The superficial and functional lies and half-truths of social acquaintance fall away, you can be as you really are. The anam cara is God's gift."

Anam Cara, A Book of Celtic Wisdom//John O'Donohue

[Before continuing, I feel the need to share my joy that cara is pronounced Kara, which, yes, is my name. How sweet is that??]

The theory says that everybody has an anam cara, but not everybody knows it. My thought is that, regardless of haves or have nots, everybody needs a friend to their soul.

We throw around the term soulmate too easily--this is more than that. It's more, even, than a best friend. This is more than a list of things in common or shared music taste and it goes far beyond girl talk. This is a person who knows you at the deepest levels, who challenges you, disagrees with you, forces you to see a new and better perspective. She can debate you in politics or talk theology for hours. She can predict what you'll say, how you'll respond and she knows the meaning behind every facial expression. She knows the challenges you face, your moments of selfishness, your short-sightedness. She knows the fears that keep you from action, the things that keep you from loving freely. She can sense your anxiety and she can speak truth into it, only because she is trusted with your story. And she knows more stories than most: she knows the responsibility of holding your joys and your heartaches. She prays with you and for you; there is a humility, a deep gratitude and a mutuality to this relationship.
You attempt the same for her.

And there is so much laughter. So many moments that would be embarrassing if there was a fly on the wall. So much quirkiness, so much ridiculousness. So many sleepovers. This friend, this anam cara, is a treasure.

I am so lucky to have found mine.





I'm reminded on nights like tonight...
after detailed accounts of our days and descriptions of every person and place
after encouraging text messages and calming phone conversations
after reminiscing through pictures and talking in circles about the fears in my heart
after sharing wisdom and reflecting on the parallels of our lives
after cursing the 1,615 miles between San Diego and Omaha
...what a gift it is to have a soul friend.

A soul friend and an internet connection. I'm forever grateful.

*I'm no expert on this whole soul friend thing, but I'm reserving the right to add one more soul friend into my life at some point. Not just anybody--he'll have to come with a ring and some pretty serious vows. I'll choose wisely.

a roadtrip, an escape

There is something so perfectly American (and yes, perfectly symbolic and cliche) about a summer road trip with my iPod on shuffle through 372 country songs. Summer was made for country music. The open road is in front of me (metaphorically speaking: in reality, we're driving through Los Angeles traffic, which is actually the opposite of "open road.") I somehow feel content with my sudden lack of plans, with uncharted territory.

A road trip seems made for escaping. For itching-to-go-adventure. For packing up and leaving it all behind. It's romantic and dramatic and exactly my plan: a new city, a fresh start, with only a dream to live by.

But this road trip is different. This road trip is my goodbye to that dream, a coming-home road trip, a drive that will let me settle fully into this place, where I already have roots. Where I already have hopes and people and all things life-giving. And it just might feel new, too. That other dream was a child's and it was fueled by impatience, like only a child's would be. And many, many other things. (Ask me about it some time, I'd live to share.)



So this road trip is an escape, yes, but of a different kind. An escape into something, if that's possible. And that something is beautiful and promising, if that's possible. That something looks a little like the open road: no street signs and no way to know exactly where I'm going. But here I am, ready for the journey.


"...right now I'm right where I wanna be...
Never felt so loved, so peaceful and so free...
There ain't no doubt that God's been good to me"

God's Been Good To Me//Keith Urban

summer reading, starting NOW!

after a week like this one, i am ready for saturday
saturday, i'm hoping, will be a peak into my summer days
sunny skies and a blanket in the sun
and a start to my summer reading list

my ever-growing list begins now:

1. The Pursuit of God//A.W. Tozer
2. Tree of Codes//Jonathan Safran Foer
3. The Cost of Discipleship//Dietrich Bonhoeffer
4. Tattoos On The Heart//Father Greg Boyle
5. Water for Elephants//Sara Gruen
6. From Harvey River//Lorna Goodison
7. The Book of Night Women//Marlon James
8. The Other Side of Paradise//Staceyann Chin
9. I Am An Emotional Creature//Eve Ensler
10. If I Could Write This in Fire//Michelle Cliff
11. The Time History of Paradise//Margaret Cezair-Thompson
...

[via]

"You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me."

--CS Lewis

eternity in our hearts

he has made everything beautiful in its time. he has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

ecclesiastes 3:11

i had eternity in my heart before i had any idea what that meant

it was always easy to hope for

in my mind, it was renewal and restoration and the Lord's beautiful and intentional shaping of lives and hearts

in reality, it wasn't always easy to see and much less easy to grasp

sometimes all you get is a glimpse...

in a conversation

or Easter dinner with your family

or a story of tangible hope

[then you wait]

c.s. lewis calls them "stabs of joy" and that never quite left me

(lord knows i love that man...)

"stabs of joy:" the momentary satisfaction of an eternal heart-longing; glimpses into a sacred plan; opportunities to see even just a fleeting image of what should and will be

they're beautiful moments, really

reminding us of His heart and His hopes for us, if only we'd hope in Him

we get glimpses and wait for His perfect timing

(honestly, though? His timing, in our impatience or our hesitation or in light of our own hopes and plans, feels more painful than perfect)

but He has been dreaming from the beginning and letting us in on His vision

if we'd just have the courage to let Him dream it over us

imagine it for us and with us

then, walk in it confidently

{via}

sometimes, my confidence is shaky

yesterday, in a moment of doubt mixed with fear, i turned to my mentor and said:
"but i can't imagine anything better than this"

read: i'm not sure if that there could be anything else in store for me

her response was perfect (per usual) and much more eloquent and insightful than my paraphrased version:

"you don't need to. He is imagining it for you. this place where you are now is just a glimpse of what is to come."

all i have now is a glimpse

but i can expect good things, eternal things

things that satisfy the heart of God

made beautiful in His time

your laughter

take bread way from me, if you wish

take air away

but do not take from me your laughter

do not take away the rose,

the lance flower that you pluck,

the water that suddenly bursts forth in joy,

the sudden wave of silver born in you

my struggle is harsh and i come back with eyes tired

at times from having seen the unchanging earth,

but when your laughter enters

it rises to the sky seeking me and

it opens for me all the doors of life

my love

in the darkest hour your laughter opens

and if suddenly you see my blood

staining the stones of the street,

laugh

because your laughter will be for my hands like a fresh sword,

next to the sea in the autumn

your laughter must raise its foamy cascade

and in the spring, love,

i want your laughter like the flower i was waiting for,

the blue flower, the rose of my echoing country

laugh at the night

at the day

at the moon

laugh at the twisted streets of the island

laugh at this clumsy [girl] who loves you,

but when i open my eyes and close them,

when my steps go, when my steps return

deny me bread

air

light

spring

but never your laughter

for i would die

{via}

{via}

your laughter

[pablo neruda]

"We must move away from asking God to take care of the things that are breaking our hearts to praying about the things that are breaking God's heart."

- Margaret Gibb

why i write (how i pray)

i don't quite remember when i started to write for my soul. probably somewhere around the time that i started to seriously consider Jesus. sometime after my "dear diary" notes about my ultra-crush on justin jones. after my winnie the pooh phase. sometime before now. i have evidence of this stacked high in an old oak trunk in my bedroom in northern california. pages and pages are added with every visit home. by now, there must be thousands.

i could never quite figure out why i love to write. my introverted side uses it as a tool to process before my extroverted side explodes the words from my mouth. my input side likes to collect phrases and stories. my crazy-brain loves it for the focus and attention it requires. my heart loves it for the clarity it provides. more than those things, though, i write (and love to write) because it is the purest and most creative worship that i can bring.

i've never been great at traditional prayer, or at least my perception of it. i can't sit still long enough, i twiddle my fingers too much and, with nothing grounding me to my thoughts, they come and go within seconds. i thought that was the only way to pray.

enter: writing. writing is my creative and prayerful worship. from scribbled notes on unlined paper and doodled truths, to letters written on a vintage typewriter--i meet with YHWH on those pages. give me the chance to put pen to paper and suddenly, stillness of heart and mind, openness to the Lord. the pages of my journal are full of Divine-human interaction (isn't that at the heart of prayer??). you can read my heart's transformation from cover-to-cover. you can see praise and hope and longing and the ongoing process of change.

i write my dreams--the dreams placed intentionally in my heart by the Lord. i write my hopes. i write my struggles. i document the way that the Lord speaks into these things, changes them and uses them by showing me Himself. david danced before the Lord; that was prayer. he wrote psalms that we pray, even to this day. i write because of the Lord, with the Lord, for the Lord; that is my prayer. certainly not the only form, but the one i love most.

how do you love to pray?

"You are called into prayer either that you might collaborate with Him in bringing His will to pass, or that you might be able to get a larger vision of what He is like."

--John White//Daring to Draw Near

i will trust in Your unfailing love, my heart rejoices in Your salvation;

i will sing to the Lord, for He has been good to me.

Psalm 13

"Do you hear what I say? This is where dreams--dreams, do you understand--come to life, come real. Not daydreams: dreams."

CS Lewis//Voyage of the Dawn Treader

"For the vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; if it delays, wait for it, it will surely come, it will not be late."

Habakkuk 2

"The person who does not decide to love forever will find it very hard to really love, even for one day."

Pope John Paul II

(in)adequate

We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words -- to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into our selves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.

--CS Lewis

"You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much..."

--Good Will Hunting

and that is a beautiful challenge to pursue. so what do you say?? let's do it.

blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven

(note: this post will be a bit of a downer...read on if you'd like)

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings." --Anais Nim

----------------

I grew up at 3024 Cabrillo Avenue, then 221 Oakham Court. My walls were painted pink and purple and I played make believe on the hammock outside my window. We had birthday parties and scavenger hunts and sleepovers and things were simply beautiful. It was before I noticed skeletons creep in to steal life, before insatiable addictions took their grip, before my eyes watched a human life shatter and crumble and dissolve.

There was brokenness, then separateness.

Then attempts at reconciliation.

I called long distance to offer a paradoxical love--it was the absolute most that my heart could give to a good but painfully broken man who (despite divorce and death) will always be family, but it was never never enough. It was stabs of joy, moments of hope, maybe, but I am only human. He was only human, too. It pained me to listen to lonely words, to hear bitter resentment on his lips and to understand the fear of death in his voice. His body slipped slowly beyond restoration, one organ at a time and I held desperately to the hope that there is no such thing as a body too broken for healing.

I can't imagine that it was the life he dreamed for himself. There were years of relational conflict, hospital visits and operations and a loosening grip on health, community and love, and then that was it. I made a choice: That is not the life that I choose to remember of him. I am choosing to remember double-butt man and dancing in the living room; that stupid ugly work van that picked me up from daycare, endless M&Ms; getting my toes cracked before bed, and a hundred other things worth remembering. I am choosing to forget the rest.

There simply wasn't enough love or compassion or grace to hold him here. But blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven; and oh, what a beautiful Kingdom it is--where there is enough love and compassion and grace to satisfy a tired soul for all of eternity, and it is where he rests. I'm absolutely sure of it.

head versus heart, part 1

tomorrow is october 9

any of my avid blog followers (mom...kendra...taylor...and i love you for it!) know that my 72 day count-down officially ends in 23.5 hours

except that the countdown has become rather anti-climactic

given that my plans change like my underwear (DAILY!)

to quote a death cab song:

i'm a war of head versus heart

my usually-timid-afraid-of-mistakes heart tends to whisper

my overly-rational-self-limiting-far-too-logical head tends to shout

what was 72 days devoted to rigid schedules and practice tests and lsat books piled high turned into quiet-enough-days to hear little secrets in the wind, echoes of a greater Voice:

make joyful decisions

you are not behind

make joyful decisions

you are not behind

make joyful decisions

you are not behind

i like that.

so, even in the noise of the last 72 days (did i mention the weddings? three jobs? the wardrobe currently living on my floor and in my bed and everywhere but my dresser...)

the whisper won and to my very pleasant surprise,

it wasn't a whisper anymore.

tonight, instead of frantically cramming logic games and reading comprehension

i'm wrapped up in a blanket

drinking chocolate milk

filling out applications

joyfully celebrating the decisions i've made with my heart, not my head

chocolate milk makes for the perfect evening

maybe someday, if we keep this relationship of ours up, i'll even let you in on what these heart-led decisions are :)

now, if you would be so kind as to riddle me this:

where is your heart leading??

"fill your life with as many moments and experiences of joy and passion as you humanly can"

Marcia Wieder

A friend once gave me one little piece of advice and it made all the difference in the world:

Make joyful decisions.

(Thank you Cara McMahon)