A Week in the Life

I feel like I've been through a mind/heart/soul workout. I apparently do my growing in spurts, though we're going to try to fix this and make it a bit more steady. But I gotsa question or two as well.

Hum hum. Tuesday I went to a ballet recital and ended up watching the mice backstage. The best part of the ballet, though, is when Cinderella picks up her broom and starts dancing with it. I've always loved watching that, even since I was a mouse. The make-believe prince and the ash-covered princess- my fav. Also a bit convicting now that I've grown up a little because as I watched Cinderella I realized that most of my princes were brooms and that I've spent my life waiting for the ball. What kind of pathetic oppressed female am I? Hello, my name's Addie Jo and I'm a recovering hopeless romantic.

In related news, I talked with Bink on Sunday (she was talking about going to 'big kid Sunday School' because she's retiring from teaching the senior highs! Gasp!). We chatted about my summer plans and she gave me an uncertain look when I clarified that I was going to work at a day camp at the planetarium instead of at Camp Joy. Let me just say that I trust a lot of what Bink says and she understands why I'm going to be 100 miles away from where I might should be. The fact that her questioning glance set me thinking let me know that I'm not as over the end of my last summer as I thought I was. I'm not convinced that I'm doing right by leaving my campers alone for a summer, I have a crazy guilty feeling that I'm choosing science over God and I feel like somewhere in the depths of my stomach that I'm running away and not listening and I got a very good wake up call about listening this last semester from Catherine during one of our meetings at Caribou. So, all in all, I got in a big tizzy over a bunch of confused emotions and was reminded by the lovely Sarah Werner this morning that I read too much into things and that sometimes you mistakenly think something so you'll go somewhere you're supposed to be. It all works out for the best. I just hate being wrong- it's my pride and my insistence that I'm right. Hello, my name's Addie Jo and I'm a recovering bigheaded idiot with a self-inflicted broken heart.

Let's see... Wednesday me and Joyful babysat for a funeral for a member of our church. I was in my mom's office and found the movie version of Godspell, the same musical that the youth choir at UUMC in Chapel Hill had put on last year, I think. Joy was excited about it so we watched it until the kids arrived and I finished it with my mother later as I helped her get Sunday School stuff ready (PS- Anyone want to co-lead a college Sunday School with me at UUMC next semester? Because I haven't sat through a whole Sunday School lesson since freshman year of high school). I have only three words to say about Godspell- John the Baptist. Oh my goodness. Well, John the Baptist/ Judas and since John the Baptist gets beheaded and doesn't really hang with Jesus a lot, I'm pretty sure it's more Judas, but, if you've seen Godspell, you know that in most productions, including the original and the movie, they're played by the same actor who's onstage the whole time. Now, it could just be the awesome coat, but he's the character that drew my attention the most. He's the most... human... to me. I mean, he hesitates (most of this could be the 'creative interpretation' of the director) when he first sees Jesus, he rolls his eyes at the turn-the-other-cheek lesson, he steps away from the group and throws out a false assumption after the Good Samaritan and after the Beatitudes, he is the one disciple to yell the statement that makes Jesus pause. Then there's that little bit about the betrayal (Also, I really wish I could have known Judas so I would know what to think about him- I can't cast him away as an insensitive betrayer nor can I paint him as a tragic figure forced to conform to God's plan). But it's the same person that calls everyone to Jesus and stands beside Jesus before the Pharisees. He's one of the first to get the paint that declares him a follower of Christ and the one who helps set up the Last Supper, the last to sit at the table. I want to understand why a director would choose to make the character that kills Jesus and the character that brings people to Him associated through the same actor. This one character, two roles, seems like the only adult in the musical other than Jesus. The rest follow Him and sing in a child-like love. Is that so bad? I have to ask. Aren't we told to have the faith of a child? But God doesn't want blind followers, I have to object. He didn't want puppets, that's why we have to choose. There's obviously something good about being human, if God will provide for us more than the lilies of the field. Yet what a range of humanity there is! We can be singing in the streets, calling people to Christ or standing in the back, looking for the chance to betray Him. We have such a chance to fall- the lukewarm may only slightly vary, but the fervent can walk with Him up the mountain and watch their heart soar or leave Him and fall into the sea, listening to their hearts scream. I want the awesome coat. I want to be John the Baptist but I am so afraid I'll end up in betrayal. Hello, my name's Addie Jo and I'm realizing what a long way I have to go.

Oh, and Thursday. Thursday, I drove to Chapel Hill and back with David Crowder and Relient K. Six in the morning was a bit too early because me and God had had one of those late loud conversations again (thanks mostly to the good Oswald Chambers- if someone wants to have a conversation about 'undue familiarity' and what this death with Christ that we must needs go through really means, I'd love to talk); however, I sallied forth and recovered and around 7:45 I got to the song Intoxicating by David Crowder* Band. They do some nice la's in there somewhere, but towards the end, there's a set that make me smile bunches and bunches. The general gist of the song is that God's love is enough to drive us crazy in a wonderful way and so when they get to the la's, it's just like hallelujah- nonsense because there's no good words to describe how happy you are. There's this one repeat of the la's where one sneaks in early. La LA la, la-la-la la-la la la la la (imagine me singing it, or better yet go listen to the song yourself). And all I can think is that I want to be that la. I want to be the expression of a heart so excited about God that I can't wait until I'm supposed to speak, I need to sing out right now and the fact that I didn't wait makes the song around me more perfect. This overwhelming happiness (one might even say joy) can be linked to a sentiment in another song by the same band.

I'm so bored of little gods
While standing on the edge of
something large,
While standing here, so close to You
We could be consumed...
I give up, I lay down,
Rest my face upon this ground,
Lift my eyes to Your sky,
Rid my heart of all I hide.
So sweet this surrender...

Hello, my name is Addie Jo and I'm a recovering doubter, hater and harborer of things I swore I left behind a long time ago. But I know this God who's so much bigger than me who wants a heart for Him to fill, so I left my broom-princes at the door, along with my fears of who I could be, wanted to be and who I thought I was. I didn't leave my questions because I'm a mind as well as a heart and God wants a mind to use, even if I don't understand this whole human-God sanctification thing and even if I wonder about the stories I'm told. God wants all of me- He'll get rid of what I don't need, what won't help me to see Him more clearly, love Him more dearly, follow Him more nearly.

Though I want to end this post with my usual conclusive skill, it's not an end. It's not a beginning, either. It's a continuation. Day by day.

Because I Listened to Taps

I was going to google a poem and post it because poetry isn't my thing and prose is just another bunch of meaningless words when it comes to something as painfully real as the soldiers who have fought and lived or fought and died for my country. I was sure that I had heard at least three good poems that meant something when I heard them read on Memorial Days past, but I couldn't remember one speech. Even President Obama's speech this morning, in which he asked for all of us as a nation to take a moment at 3 o'clock to remember, even his speech is hazy in my mind.

Regular words, I thought, cannot describe the number of men I'll never meet and don't already know who didn't come home to their families. We make all the fallen heroes in their own right, though we never knew them. They're human heroes doing something I could never imagine doing. It's not like I have a best friend who's been deployed overseas. It's not like I've been to a funeral where Taps has been played over someone I knew well. I have no excuse to want to cry over this holiday and no excuse to be slightly angered when I see how little this means to so many people. We have men and women serving in danger right now, yet everyone's so excited about their three day weekend. I think the weather here has it right. It's been on the edge of rain all day and though the sun breaks through every once in a while, it remembers and mourns.
No, I know every life was a life well spent. I know that there is much to be glad about. But for this one day, I want to look at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and cry. For death, for life, for war, for peace, I want to cry because for once I want to share in the pain of people who have given so much for me and never asked for anything back. I want to cry.

Not to Be Taken Entirely Seriously

Dear Mr. Wickham,

I wish very much to understand the nature of your feelings toward me, almost as much as I desire to understand mine towards you. Obviously, I have some problem with you, considering that I decided to call you Mr. Wickham and not any other character in a Jane Austen novel, but at the same time, I apparently care for you on some level because Elizabeth is originally taken in by Mr. Wickham. The point is, you fit the mold for the character and I would like you to say away from our version of Lydia, though I think the only breaking that would happen in this situation is her heart.
I don't understand why you put up with her. I rather hate that you once grouped me in the same category a her, but I should understand that this is probably the way you treat all women. From what I hear, you are quite the ladies' man. I can believe it. You took someone who was fresh off a heartbreak and quite set on believing that all men were terrible manipulators and made her quite enchanted. I'm not even sure how you did it. I think it was the fact that I was sure I had seen you before or maybe it was your behavior as we first met. I do know what made me suspicious about you. I think we ate lunch together twice last summer and the second time I had stopped to bow my head and say my quick lunch blessing as I was wont to do. I looked up and you had bowed your head as well. I was sure you were a lying jerk and was convinced that you were not worth the having. Well, congratulations, despite this you still fascinate me, but I'm much more cautious around you, as Lydia should be too.
I wish I could get inside your head for just a moment and have a good look around. I want to see exactly what your relationship with God is and who you are. I want to see what your intentions are toward Lydia, if you've just taken her on as a pity case or if you genuinely care about her. I'm sure it's nothing more sinister- if you had any passing desires, you could satisfy them with the wonderful girls you've dated recently. She's quite taken with you, you know. No matter what she says, I can hear her using some of the evasion that I use when talking about you. She's being lead on by you and I think it's time for you to take the responsibility in the friendship and become more distant. She'll find someone else to cling to and, believe me, if you don't get out now, you may never be able to free yourself.
As for me, I never intended to give anyone the impression that I hate you and I never intended for Lydia to pass that information along. I have always been interested in determining your character and though suspicious, you have given me no solid reason to hate you. I was most disappointed upon hearing the results of Lydia's and your conversation about me- I had not wanted you prejudiced against me before I had the benefit of a closer acquaintance. However, I am willing to lay my pride by the wayside and assume that I've been wrong, if only to allay your ill-will towards me over this summer.

With best wishes for your health,
A Mr. Darcy-less Elizabeth

Fail

Sigh. I wish I wasn't so utterly incapable of writing something that's not religion/faith based. Wow. I wish that I would use less negatives in a sentence. That's a bit confusing.

The problem with writing something that's not churchy is that my life is churchy. I'm back home. I go to church on Sundays, Mondays, Wednesdays and other random days when I'm working at the CDC or when I need to help set up for something or meet someone. I'm really bad at saying no to anyone at church. I mean, I'm only back for a month. I want to do the most I can. Which is why I ended up making three boulders, with the help of the lovely Jessie Moss, and ten commandments for the kid's play on Wednesday and Sunday. It's why I pulled my Ninja Turtle out of storage to do the children's moment on Sunday. It's why I drag my french horn from Chapel Hill to Hickory and pull out my flute after weeks, if not months, of inactivity. You'd think I'd have another portion to my life. Sadly, that portion is left in Chapel Hill and 100 miles is a long way away.

Geeze, and God is everywhere. I go fly a kite and I get ideas about how faith is like trying to fly a kite with no wind if you're not waiting in God- you get tired pretty fast and get frustrated. Oh, dear and Danny Gokey just talked about his faith on the TV guide channel. That kid is going to go places. PS if I voted, I'd totally vote for Adam. Just in case you wanted to know.

I hate being wrong. Someone should start a blog called Dishwashing Revelations because goodness knows I learn more washing the dishes than I do sitting in a lecture. I had just calmly placed a plate in the dishwasher after telling God that I thought He would fight harder for me. I can't turn around being reminded of Him. Fighting hard enough?

Sympathy, read grace

Stranger than Your sympathy,
And this is my apology:
I killed myself from the inside out
And all my fears have pushed You out.

And I wished for things that I don't need, (all I wanted)
And what I chased won't set me free, (all I wanted)
And I get scared but I'm not crawlin' on my knees.

Oh, yeah
Everything's all wrong, yeah
Everything's all wrong, yeah
Where the hell did I think I was?

And stranger than Your sympathy,
Take these things, so I don't feel.
I'm killing myself from the inside out,
And now my head's been filled with doubt.

We're taught to lead the life You choose, (all I wanted)
You know your love's run out on you, (all I wanted)
And you can't see when all your dreams aren't coming true.

Oh, yeah
Its easy to forget, yeah
When you choke on the regrets, yeah
Who the hell did I think I was?

And stranger than Your sympathy,
And all these thoughts You stole from me,
And I'm not sure where I belong,
And no where's home and no more wrong.

And I was in love with things I tried to make You believe I was,
And I wouldn't be the one to kneel before the dreams I wanted,
And all the dark and all the lies were all the empty things disguised as me.

Mmm, yeah
Stranger than Your sympathy
Stranger than Your sympathy
Mmm hmmm mmm

-Goo Goo Dolls, Sympathy

Lack of Intention

"If we have never had the experience of taking our commonplace religious shoes off our commonplace religious feet, and getting rid of all the undue familiarity with which we approach God, it is questionable whether we have ever stood in His presence."
-Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

See, I agreed to house-sit because I was getting paid to watch two dogs and a cat and do nothing else for a night. Apparently God remembered that I like porch swings and thunderstorms, because I got both. And apparently God was sick of me ignoring Him and forgetting others because He took the advice of a friend and made me pull the book off the shelf and took the words of a man writing nearly a century ago and spoke.

I learned how to wait on a porch swing last summer reading a book. I learned how to listen this summer on a porch swing reading a book. How ridiculously complex the Almighty is! He is willing to come and watch a poor little girl watch His rain and yet He is 'surrounded by clouds and darkness' and too big to be simply with me. I say too big but three letters is an epic word choice fail. The Universe is in His hand and that doesn't cut it either. Much too small.

'Undue familiarity.' I don't understand and I hate to be wrong. You know that moment when you realize that your parents were people too? That they cared and lived and made mistakes and are as much a part of the world as you are, not just some familiar piece of furniture in your house? Hum. Maybe this is growing up spiritually, the day you realize that God is much bigger than the best friend, happy Jesus that Sunday School brings to mind. They should put a disclaimer on that mess. And I'm so sick of milk.

But then, we're supposed to be childlike, in faith, in dependence. Is not the Christian a walking contradiction? It's like the gate to a garden: it might be simple enough to open the gate, but to someone who's never seen a flower, what's inside is quite confusing. Even if your parents put a vase full on the table every morning, a flower growing is quite different from a flower put on display. So much to learn.

I hope there's a swing in my garden.

With Thanks to David Crowder and NASA's picture of the day

So I've got this problem. I want everything to be nice and wonderful and disgustingly sitcom-esque. And, as evidenced by my adjective, I apparently have a problem with nice, wonderful and sitcom-esque worlds.
I've got this other problem. I think maybe Paul might have mentioned it. I want to do good, promise I do, but I keep on failing. A lot. It's quite obnoxious. What I want to do, I don't and what I don't want to do, I do.

But the harder I try the more clearly can I feel
The depth of our fall and the weight of it all
And so this might could be the most impossible thing
Your grandness in me making me clean.


Did you ever see a such a colorful hybrid as the human? Made to be light and yet covered in dark. Or, better, made to reflect light and covered in dirt. Imagine dusty old mirrors and smile because dust is dead human skin cells, entirely our fault. Well, at this point, debatable as the dust could occur because of the situation of the mirror, etc,. but we're going to let that go for the aesthetics of the analogy.

See, this dirt thing, this dust thing, I seem to have a bit of a problem with it. From whence does it come? And what purpose does it serve? Should there be any good reason why we should have dust? I mean, couldn't God make a universe without dust? He's good a stuff like that. Making universes, I mean. Well, He's good at everything. Over achiever.

I get really mad at it too. All these philosophical problems I have are just excuses not to face the music. It's really scary music, though! It doesn't sound pretty, it's definitely atonal and clashy. It's not even haunting or heart wrenching. And all these metaphors are ways to dress up this abominable separation and if I don't say it, I will never admit that there hasn't been a full half hour that I've been able to have a conversation with God that doesn't turn into a lengthy string of accusatory shouts in months. I feel so fake. I am so fake. I want to fix it, so badly, but every time I get to fixing it, I get so mad that it was broken in the first place (forget that I broke it, He shouldn't have left the three year old alone in the china shop) that I never get two sincere words of apology in edgewise.

The heart breaking makes a sound
I never knew could be
So beautiful and loud
Fury filled and we collide

So courageous until now
Fumbling and scared
So afraid You'll find me out,
Alone here with my doubt.

Here it comes, a beautiful collision.
And I don't want this cycle of death, yet I smile when I hear that a song of immense faith is followed by a song of immense doubt. Oh, God, where are you now? He always waits until I need Him and maybe I'd feel better if I was the one that was right for once, but then again, probably not. And my life is bright sunlight all around me framed by huge storm clouds just waiting. There is nothing more beautiful to me because I know that the storm is just water around dust, grace covering humans, it just takes some looking to see.

Starlight is white or blue or red or yellow, but it's just a pinprick of pure light until it's blocked by a cloud of... dust... And then the Universe is beyond beautiful.

Upon a Monday Evening

Clouds fly across a bright full moon. Life has given me much that I don't want to think about, but must. If this is living, I don't know how much I hate life being this way.