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

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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.

rent this. seriously, do it.

"i want to gratefully acknowledge the powerful voice of women from all walks of life"

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)

dear soulmate

I met my most recent and intense crush last night.

[I use the word "met" liberally--what I mean is that I saw him, oogled over him, freaked out about him, and acknowledged him as my soul mate all in the span of 6 minutes.]

I noticed his dancing first. Flailing arms and hip-hopping and moves so extreme he ended up on the floor. Literally (though that might have had to do a bit more with slipping in a puddle of water spilled on the floor..?). After a barrage of foreigners (one who offered a romantic vacation for two to his home in Brazil; one who didn't understand the concept of "no;" one who hit on me to get to my "friend in the dress..."), he was a welcome (and perfectly silly) relief.

Did I mention his skin? Olive. Perfectly olive. And I'm pretty sure I heard him whisper "te amo" as he walked past me (a girl can dream, right??)...[Speaking of dreams...I have dreams of a multi-racial and bilingual family...this seems like a good place to start.] Oh, and glasses with a v-neck shirt. Seriously?!

And you should know that it is my life goal to be more brave.

So I had the option of walking away, saying something to him, or sending Kendra in my place. (I am blessed to have a roommate much more brave than I...)

Her: (chasing after him, poking him on the back) Hi. Umm...I'm so sorry if this is totally awkward, but my friend thinks you're really cute and...

Him: (laughing, excited) Really?! Okay...well...what do we do now??

His Friends: GET HER NUMBER!

Him: Oh, but sadly I'm not single...

Her: Okay...I'm sorry...I just had to ask. You know, just in case you were soul mates...

Friends: (sighing) Awww...soul mates...

(Kendra walks away)

And that was my baby-step towards bravery.

I live with the hope that enough baby-steps will lead me straight to the man who will one day, some day, be my husband; the man who will one day, some day, receive a decade worth of letters tied together with yarn (his will be the only other set of eyes to have ever read those words); the man who will one day, some day, know all the plans and dreams and heartbeats that led this little lady to him, full of love.

Today, a letter to that man:

I promise to be brave and love you forever.

sometimes, someone else's brain says the things that your brain wants to say, only with infinitely more eloquence

i'm questioning whether this wily brunette stole my journal and copied it onto her blog...

"So my dearest, darling-est, dreamiest husband-to-be, know this...
don't take me to the opera. or the rainbow room. don't make it a carriage ride through central park or a weekend getaway. i'm not even sure i need you to get on one knee. but do it on the door step. on the front stoop. sitting next to me. on the same level. turn to me and ask me to be your best friend, your lover, your absolute equal. so that then we can go inside and begin our life together, as we've always known we should.

That being said, you sure as hell better ask my father first. I believe in chivalry."

cardboard love

i love the idea of daily "grand" gestures and simple romance

and i'm glad that words can be so few and speak so much

i'm glad that boys exist who speak their minds

and share their hearts

i'm glad that some guys are unafraid of vulnerability

of admitting their fragility and their need for gentleness

and who affirm and appreciate and adore and value what they have

i like the idea of guys who are charmingly honest

and who believe in the possibility of an epic love story

because i believe in the possibility of an epic love story, too

cardboard love

we would've stayed home

i wonder if our parents knew who they were training us to love or what they were getting themselves into when they rounded us up for Sunday school and took us to church for lessons in morality and a weekly affirmation of God's blessing on our comfortable lives

i wonder if we would've stayed home had our parents known that one day, the Jesus we would love could be seen less in white middle-class churches and more in urban poverty, and that we would probably follow him there

i wonder if we would have continued to pray to Jesus if they knew that one day, this same man would be the reason that their sons and daughters would forsake an abundance of stuff, reevaluate priorities and bank accounts and reject it all to love orphans and care for special needs children and experience true fellowship with the body of Christ. i wonder what they would say to a pregnant girl and a blue collar boy claiming that this was the Messiah. they would turn around and walk away because it doesn't fit. it doesn't fit with goals of privilege, prestige and pleasure at our fingertips. it's a different kingdom altogether.

we would have stayed home if my parents had known that this jesus would change the direction of my dreams, make me rethink masters programs, citizenship and positions of power so that i can take home a big paycheck to buy a boat and a house and talk conservative politics all day long. those aren't my dreams anymore: somehow morality lessons evolved into thousands of miles in the air to fly to a place where we saw Jesus with the young man who was arrested on the streets and with the homeless and with the prostitute, and we realized that we want to experience that kind of closeness with jesus, too. then we learned solidarity, and solidarity asked that we reevaluate it all. jolene in jamaica and muhammed in the west bank and my cousin in the otay mesa detention facility and jesus himself asked that we reevaluate, for the sake of his gospel...to know him and love him and serve him well.

i'm sure we would've stayed home, but we didn't. so now here we are...