There's a Peace I've Come to Know...

                Yesterday, after studying several hours, I had a burst of inspiration and breathed a sigh of relief as I pealed back the plastic on a canvas, grabbed a brush, and heard the familiar pop as I opened a bottle of paint. I couldn’t help but thinking “I’m back. THIS is me”. I have a heart that yearns to create, to share, to interact with this world.  While I am so grateful for this year of school—a pricey but priceless experience of expanding my knowledge and strengthening my mind, I can’t say I’m sad to see it go. In less than 24 hours; officially 20 hours, but who’s counting…I will be done with my Master’s program. These past ten months have flown by and dragged on, all at once.

                The blues and greens swirled and blended on the canvas, much like how my heart and mind have learned to work together the last two years. Looking back, my heart was so invested in my experiences—partly due to my age—amygdala reasoning that explodes in the teen and early twenties has been taking the back seat to pre-frontal reasoning—I think, therefore I am, a la Descartes. This was a subtle shift and natural path of putting “childish ways behind me”. But over the last two years, I definitely had growing pains. It was hard to reconcile the strong emotions tied to my time in Nairobi, the many deaths that occurred there and after, the fulfillment of a dream, the letdown of coming home and not having a clear next step.  My heart was exhausted, and so my mind took over—I overanalyzed everything—friendships, decisions, and yes, my faith. My heart wanted answers to the hurt and my head said—alright, let’s get some. But as I reasoned, I waivered. I couldn’t understand how people could believe in a god who was big enough to see the pain in this world, but didn’t have the heart to fix it—at least on my timetable. The Christian platitudes pissed me off—it felt so hollow for healthy, wealthy Americans to proclaim God’s goodness when they rarely had to trust him to provide in tangible ways. I felt like a hypocrite—it hurt too much to process—so I didn’t. I decided to let my mind lead—after all, it’s always been my crutch—my clutch hitter that knocked doubt out of the park. The problem was, all my thinking perpetuated my tired fears. Admittedly, this year of school was a nice break—I had an excuse to not process and I “just didn’t have the time to read my bible, to care, to pray”—I was in grad school, for goodness sakes—there’s always an excuse for apathy.

                But I still found myself with the same questions, the same anger, the same doubt. My mind choked—it struck out when it came to batting away a years’ worth of thought patterns. By God’s grace, my heart started to speak up, to speak truth that life hurts, but there’s hope. Ironically, this year spent studying behaviorism strengthened my understanding that there is more than behavior—we are mind body and soul. It took compartmentalizing to bring me to a place where I saw my own weakness, my need for grace and humility. My heart and mind need each other. The last week, as I’ve studied intensively for my exam tomorrow morning, an old favorite song has been flooding my mind—one by Chris Tomlin titled “I Will Rise” the chorus articulates:

There’s a peace I’ve come to know,

Though my heart, my flesh, may fail,

There’s an anchor for my soul,

I can say, “it is well”.

Jesus has overcome.

And the grave, is overwhelmed.

The victory is won, He is risen from the dead.

I will rise, when he calls my name,

No more sorrow, no more pain… 

                This song has been significant for me in the past—the year after I found out about my hearing loss, when I’ve lost friends and family, and now—as I realize there is a peace I’ve come to know. My heart and flesh will fail—but there IS an anchor for my soul, and it is well.

When the Dust Settles

                I sat across from a dear friend, almost unbelieving that we were having a face-to-face conversation. Time and miles had separated us for so long. As we basked in the warm early-summer sun, sipped perspiring drinks, and talked—I found myself feeling like layers were peeling back. Layers of protection, of grief, of fear—callouses from two years of experiences and events that forever changed my life and outlook. My heart rambled and sputtered back to life as i finally allowed myself to feel, not just think. Sure, thinking and speaking can “look” like processing—but crying doesn’t mean the heart is healing. Thinking and analyzing are easier than accepting and feeling. Sure, I’ve talked about Kenya—about Kibera, cultural differences, the friends I made, the places I saw—but I think talking kept it off my heart and in my head. It’s “easy” to talk about experiences—but processing requires feeling and accepting—the realities of what I saw, understanding the bigger picture of my time, and—honestly, it’s a bit embarrassing to feel like I’m just beginning.

                But the truth is a lot happened in four months—I stepped onto Kenyan soil and lived a childhood dream; I experienced a new culture; made friends from around the world; and just when I felt like I was home—it was time to leave. Before I left, my home changed—a friend died, people moved, babies were born. I hadn’t even cleaned the red dirt off my shoes when a family member passed away, and 2012 ended with me hearing of more deaths than births. I couldn’t process it all. The dust of tragedy and change swirled around me—I didn’t know where to look or where to start. But oh, I was busy—back to work, back to serving in church, back to writing lists and checking them off—the American way. Then, this crazy year of school started and I had an even better excuse to not think or process—I was too busy analyzing behavior to admit that I needed to process.

                Right before graduation my mother asked me how I felt about it—was I excited? Feeling accomplished? Honestly, my thought was—“oh crap—now I won’t have an excuse to not think about the last year—to not have answers”. For the record—I don’t know exactly where I’ll be working (or living, for that matter) long term, I don’t have a “five year plan”.  All I know is that this year was a gift—a busy, behaviorally focused, intellectually stimulating work. As I drove home from the weekend away—refreshed by visiting old friends, college pastime places, and soaked in the warm June sunshine—I realized it was the first time in a while that I “felt like myself”. but now it’s time for real work—it’s time for me to process and start mentally, emotionally, and spiritually dusting—the corners of my heart and mind that I’ve let sit untouched for the last two years—the ones that hold fond and painful memories—sometimes in the same memory. Now that the dust has settled—it’s time to start cleaning.

"I'll Be There for You"

*clap, clap, clap clap*.

 

So, it’s been 10 years since Friends ended, but the show still makes a dent in the tv line up- the 10 seasons re-run daily on various channels. I know the story lines can have questionable morals, Joey could use some therapy, but you can’t deny the show’s impact on television.

 

How is it that a show that began 20 years ago, ran for a decade, and is a decade old, still resonates? Why do people care about Phoebe’s past? Whether Ross and Rachel will work it out? Why does a show about 6 friends ring true?

 

As I type in my pjs, relaxing on a Friday night, I found myself thinking about how art imitates life. Friends lasted because it echoed what we all crave—consistent community that “will be there for you, when the rain starts to pour…” We all want to be known and loved. The six friends stuck it out through some rough life patches—divorce, unemployment, deaths in the family, and they knew they could count on each other. We all crave that. Everyone wants to be connected and known. We don’t want to be known only on a screen—through the façade we create with facebook posts or doctored Instagram photos where we can omit our bad habits, crop the stains on our shirts, hide our imperfections. 

 

Friends depicted a community where 6 individuals were known, faults and all. Rachel was entitled and ditzy, Monica had OCD, Chandler was struggling to reconcile childhood traumas, Ross shot himself in the foot with relationships, Phoebe was quirky and too idealistic, Joey was a womanizer. But they were loved. Not that they never called each other out on these things—in fact, much of the “humor” centered on the way these faults impacted their lives and the lives of their friends. They often “told it like it was” to each other, they knew what the others struggled with but hung in there—knowing that the others were “there for [them] too”. 

Heart Springs

This is nothing profound or even really my own, just a collection of writing, photos, words that have brought the season of spring to my heart recently.



Greg Lucas and his son, Jacob
 This post by Greg Lucas
 



“Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world.”
― Virgil Kraft

Things my Kindergarteners say: "Miss Elise, do you sneeze when the flowers come out?" I replied "yes, I get stuffy" student: "....like a stuffed animal?"
One of my students spitting out a boysenberry because they thought I said poison berry.

Fieldtrips where I get paid to wander around the arboretum with a dozen adorable kiddos.
 Visiting old workplaces, time with friends, an extra evening with no class this quarter,

"His power may be capable of healing my eyes and filling in your missing pieces, but His authority may not deem it best. I'm learning to respectfully trust His authority as much as I trust His power"- Jennifer Rothschild Missing Pieces

Just Don’t Stop

                I ran (okay, honestly, walked half of) my first 5k this week. As I trudged up a long and steep incline (a 325ft. gain…) my only thought was to just not stop. I kept walking, wiping raindrops out of my eyes, and putting one foot in front of the other. I finished without stopping.

                Today, several days away, and no longer sore—I’m starting to see the application of that race for where I’m at in life. Not simply because I have to “keep walking” but because the last two years have been a lot like the course of the race—steep and difficult in the beginning—feeling like I’ll never make it through the twists and incline of re-entry, grief of so many family and friends dying, entering a crazy busy year of school, friendships changing—but I had to keep walking knowing the hill of those things wouldn’t last forever. Life has a way of leveling out—there is calm after the storm. Additionally, just like I didn’t run the race alone—I was a part of my church team—Team Taproot—I haven’t been on this journey alone either. I’ve had supportive friends, family, and mentors walking this journey with me. It’s seemed impossible, like the incline would never stop, like I would never be able to set to level ground, to be able to look back at how far I climbed—for the hard walk to be hindsight.

                But just like that hill, the hard times may be rollin’ but they don’t last forever. Today, in the middle of my two week break from school, I was having coffee with a friend and surprised myself by saying that “I can’t expect my walk (with Jesus) to look the same after what I went through (in 2012) and it shouldn’t”. Life-changes change life. Relationships ebb and flow, people and seasons change. I can’t expect what “worked” in the past to work now. You walk/run differently on an incline than you do on the plateau. Admittedly, it’s been a very dry and dark season. Life’s gotten busy, I’ve let what others think become too important to me. I’ve drifted, doubted—but I haven’t stopped walking. So as I keep walking, I change my pace, my perspective, and persevere in faith that the race of life takes a lifetime—I don’t have to run the whole way—I just can’t stop til He calls me home.

Wanting to be noticed

               It was while I was scrolling through my pinterest boards, looking for some witty quote or funny picture; something that grabbed my attention, made me laugh or think about a profound truth—that I realized the action was a glimpse of how I want to be noticed.

So much of what we do in life is to be applauded, to be noticed—to get a pat on the back, a “like”, a recognition that our presence is perceived, appreciated. I’m willing to go so far as to say that EVERYTHING we do is to be noticed—we gain or lose weight, change our hair, write a blog post, pursue that degree, date that guy, whatever it takes to share life with someone. We yearn for unity, common ground, a group, a message, a place in the world.

The sad truth is that each moment of attention is fleeting—“the Rachel” becomes a 90’s-has-been-fad, the relationship sours, the weight comes on—and we’re left back at square one. Now what—how can I grab people’s attention, how can I keep it, how do I know I am valued, when have I done enough? These questions plague and drive us. What’s the point?

As I bit into a burrito, the simply profound, and maybe ridiculous thought hit me—I am noticed and loved—Jesus knows I love chicken burritos, he knows my desires, my heart, my motivations (the good, bad, the downright ugly) and still keeps me as the apple of his eye.

I may not have the flattest abs, the letters in front of my name, the family I hope to have—but I am still loved, cherished, noticed.

“It’s not you, it’s me”—February 8, 2014

                It’s me—writing in sweats, watching soccer on a Saturday. It’s me, wondering how many more single Valentine’s days I’ll have—made brighter from the hugs of the children I work with and the annual bouquet from my Dad. I sit here writing instead of studying—I can’t clinch my fists when my heart needs to breathe. It’s me, looking back at what I could have said or done differently—knowing I grasped at straws, said stupid things, took that extra sip. It’s easier to look back and regret the smallest things that must have doomed instant connections, instead of brushing them off and knowing that “tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it”. So, it’s not you, it’s me.

                It’s not you—the ones that I look back and give a grateful sigh that a conversation or a friendship was all that I have to regret. It’s not you—the ones who sat in friendships, didn’t clarify—or couldn’t because you did even know. Naw, it’s not you from the past that I miss —everything happens for a reason.

                It’s me. Knowing that my life HAS started—it has purpose, joy, and so much love—right now. It’s me knowing that God has blessed me in numerous ways—and someday, maybe, you’ll be a part of that. It’s me, not expecting prince charming or a romantic comedy—although, let’s be honest—there will be lots of romance and comedy. I know you’ll have chinks in your armor and I’ll have jewels missing from my tiara. I know that it will be a beautiful battle to fight for unity, clarity, honesty. I know there will be days that are more comedic then romantic—where a glass of wine and a prayer are the ways to end the chaotic and clumsy day. But today, it’s me—single but satisfied that someday, maybe—it’ll be we.