summer, 2010.
I haven’t blogged in forever, but in short, here is what I’ve been thinking/feeling/experiencing this summer:
- my spiritual life is dry, dry, dry. Sometimes it makes me angry, but normally, just apathetic. I don’t want to fight sin or do good works when I can’t see Christ. and I haven’t been able to see Christ all summer.
- I miss home way more than I thought I would. This week is FLYING by, and there are so many things I want to do and people I want to see and I don’t want to waste my time. I LOVE it here.
- In high school, I would only hang out with friends from church because I felt like I was supposed to, but really, I’d only want to spend time with my other friends. Now, I feel like I’m supposed to hang out with those other friends, but really, I only want to hang out with my friends from church. life is funny like that.
- I turned 21 and found out that I’m not irresponsible.
- It always amazes me how predictable I am. The people who know me best know things about me long before I do, but really, it’s never that hard to figure out. ever. I’m predictable and easy to read. But, I’m learning more and more how pessimistic I am, too. There’s so much I’m dissatisfied with, but I don’t really believe it will ever change – especially because it doesn’t really depend entirely on me. My pessimism is 100% without a doubt a defense mechanism, and it probably kills a lot of good things, but I can’t get my hopes up. ever.
- I still often wish I knew the future. At least, my future. But that’s because I believe the “Things will get better when ____________” lie.
- I believe a lot of lies and a lot of the time I’m strangely afraid to embrace what I know is true.
- I love where Jesus talks about the Father knowing how to give good gifts.
—
for someone who supposedly knows herself, i’m incredibly terrified of self-reflection, and i wonder how long i can ignore the obvious before it comes crashing down.
the poetry of my grandfather’s auction
My family is auctioning off my grandparent’s things today. They’re never going back to 607 Rosemont. I’m probably never going back to 607 Rosemont. Even if I do, it will never, ever be the same. My grandpa doesn’t garden anymore, and my grandmother doesn’t make us ham sandwiches and soup for lunch every day between tennis lessons and swimming lessons. Even the trees are different – a storm a couple years ago took down the giant magnolia.
My Aunt Barbara told my mom that anything my sister and I wanted was ours. My sister got my grandfather’s old 35 mm camera, and I’m getting their record player. My dad is probably getting one of grandpa’s guitars, and I asked my mom if she could find me a broach or some necklaces.
None of that seemed like the thing I wanted to hold onto, though, to remember how things used to be. I can’t ask for the tennis balls I used to throw against the wall near the basement, but I had to stop myself from asking for the pink cup that my grandma used to serve me milk in when she brought me milk and cookies.
I told Stephanie to find me anything that would remind me of our childhood – anything that would connect me to grandma and grandpa.
She found an old poetry book that my grandfather gave to his mother – Brady. I was named after her.
It’s perfect.
Today, I..
6:00 am – woke up
6:10 am – ate breakfast
6:30 am – worked out at the rec
7:30 am – cleaned up, got ready for work
8:00 am – picked up my key to the office and got some orange juice
8:30 am – got to the office
8:35 am – worked. a lot. doing all sorts of stuff – mostly writing and editing, which was nice, but also some spreadsheets and math, which was scary. And lots of organizing. Lots.8:00 pm – prayed with the rest of the staff, left the office
8:20 pm – got back to my apartment. ate dinner
9:00pm – went to bed.
I feel so corporate and American and very much like my mother.
Tomorrow, I will:
6:00 am – wake up
6:05 am – eat breakfast
6:20 am – do a workout DVD
6:45 am – get ready for work
7:20 am – leave for work
7:30 am – go help my department give a huge presentation
11:30 am – Lunch? Go do normal work in the office? Who knows..
4:30 pm – Drive to Valpo for a viewing
9:30 pm – Get back to my apartment
9:45 pm – Probably go to bed.
I’m becoming a businesswoman.. Today I was talking about the “Financial Comparison Analysis” and the “Executive Summary Report” … How did this happen?
i agree with brook.
About a week ago, Brook said she felt like moving into this apartment, we were just a couple of kids playing house.
I agreed then, cause it felt kinda surreal, and it felt very temporary.
Now, I agree even more so. I had a good talk with a friend from home yesterday. Normally, I’d go over to his house, watch 3 hours of Arrested Development or How I Met Your Mother or Jersey Shore, eat ice cream, and eventually we’d talk about what was really going on. I’d leave encouraged, and I’d leaving hoping he was encouraged, too. And I would go home, sleep, and wake up the next day whenever I wanted, play with my dogs, and maybe watch my dad play guitar.
Instead, my friend and I texted for a couple hours and I told him I’d be praying for him, that everything that was going on really sucked, and that it’d get better. I put down the phone feeling terrible and distant. And then I went to bed, woke up, and made myself some breakfast. I walked to work, where I have my own desk and computer and phone line and everything. And then I came home and did the dishes and tidied up the apartment and made a (mental) grocery list.
And back in the day when I would play house with Laura, my best friend growing up, I would wake up, make myself some breakfast, and drive to work, where I’d have m own desk and computer and phone line and everything. And then I’d come home and do the dishes and tidy up the apartment and make a shopping list. Laura, normally, would stay home and play with her kids (baby dolls) when we played house. She has two sons, now.
Oh, and a 15 year old girl in my youth group from home just called me an adult. And I think we’re having a dinner party tonight. And it STILL feels temporary, but I’m starting to see that this is how it’s going to be for a while. And I guess that’s okay, it’s just a little lonely is all.
Kurt
I have very few personal memories with Kurt Shea. I remember that he wore an eyepatch under his glasses for most of 5th grade. He had longish blonde hair, and he was all about pokemon – sometimes, when we would line up waiting to leave the elementary school at the end of the day, he and I would trade cards, as long as no teachers were looking. I remember in middle school, he would sit with Greg Smith and Josh Treiber and sometimes Tyler Work, and they would all play those silly games on their TI-83 calculators.
I punched him, once. I must have been bragging about how strong I was, and he said I couldn’t hurt him, just try it. He told me to punch him in the stomach and I did, and he laughed.
I was standing next to him in our 5th grade graduation picture. I was wearing this pink shirt with hearts and stars on it, and he was next to me, wearing his eyepatch and his blue tie-dyed pokemon shirt.
Kurt died this week, fighting in Afghanistan, and I just remember him as a 5th grader. We all used to talk about what we were going to be when we grew up, and I can’t remember if Kurt ever said he wanted to join the Marines – but of course, America wasn’t at war when I was in 5th grade. None of us could have known he’d die when he was 21.
And we were by no means close – not at all. But it’s so strange to know that Kurt died at war. And I can’t shake the feeling that it isn’t supposed to be like this. And there are the normal answers that I always hear in defense of war (answers that I used to spout off, too) : “That’s war. People die. It’s tragic, but it’s war. He knew what he was signing up for.”
But when I say “it’s not supposed to be like this,” I’m not talking about the war in Afghanistan. I’m talking about a 21 year old who used to be 10 year olds with an eyepatch dying because people can’t get along. I’m talking about death, and about sin.
It’s not supposed to be like this.
Faith like a child
I was 11 when I read Matthew 25
for the first time.
And Jesus said that if I fed a hungry man,
I fed him.
And would you believe it –
just the next day I saw a man with a cardboard sign:
Homeless and Hungry. Please Help. God Bless U
It was Jesus.
And so I reached in my pocket and I rolled down the window
in the back seat of my Aunt Anna’s car
I couldn’t look at him.
I was embarrassed I didn’t have any more,
but I only got a $10 allowance, and I had already bought
some candy and soda at the gas station.
I wanted him to know it was because of Jesus,
but the light was about to turn green,
and I was so shy.
And when I rolled up the window and my aunt
pressed on the gas,
she looked in the rear-view mirror sympathetically;
I was crying.
She told me I was so sweet and so thoughtful,
And she knew I wanted to help –
BUT
You can’t trust people, honey,
He probably does this as a scam.
He probably has a home just like you do.
He’s probably using the money for beer.
He’s probably lying.
You can’t trust people, honey.
He’s probably just too lazy to work.
He probably has a nice car — I saw this documentary once..
He’s probably using the money for drugs.
You can’t trust people.
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given him anything.
I’m sorry.
And it was later that year, or maybe earlier,
I don’t know.
All I know is I was 11 years old
When I read Matthew 5 for the first time
And that very same year — it was in October,
I think.
That same year,
they let a bad man out of prison
before he’d served all his time.
And would you believe it,
Just two days later that man found a boy
from my little sister’s 4th grade class,
and he killed him at McCurdy field.
And I prayed they would catch him,
And I was so, so sad for Christopher,
and I was so, so sad for my sister.
And when they caught the guy two towns over
they found out that he was actually
mentally retarded.
His name was Edmund.
And my father was outraged because
the state of Maryland refused to execute him because of his IQ,
and I was just happy they caught him,
that he couldn’t hurt any more little boys.
And one evening we stopped for gas. It was raining,
And I asked, quite innocently,
“How will killing him make it better, dad?”
What if he had killed your mother, Liane?
What then?
Don’t give me that ‘turn the other cheek’ bullshit.
Think about it and tell me you wouldn’t want him dead.
Wouldn’t you?
He killed a 9 year old boy, Liane.
He only did it so he could go back to a warm bed and hot meal.
Don’t give me any of that liberal, left wing bullshit
(he said this as if I knew what he was talking about).
Think about it and tell me you don’t want him dead.
You want him dead, don’t you?
Yes, dad. You’re right. They oughta kill him quick.
Yes, dad.
And who knows how old I was
the first time I read Matthew 18.
I learned in Sunday School
that Jesus told the little children to come –
the kingdom of heaven belonged to them.
And I’d even heard it said that faith as small as a seed
could move mountains. MOUNTAINS.
I must have been so naive, at 11,
to believe all that stuff Jesus said.
At least, everyone told me I was naive — I’d understand later.
This is just how it is, Liane.
Get used to it, okay?
Life’s not fair.
But couldn’t it be, someday?
I must have been 11 when I lost
the faith of a child.
winona springtime.
It’s almost summer, which means I’ll probably start blogging again. I like blogging, but I like togethering more, and I haven’t felt the need to blog because I’ve got all these lovely, wonderful friends here.
Elizabeth just showed me a video of her past two years at Grace, and it was the first time it hit me that she won’t be here next year. I didn’t want to cry, but of course I did.
And it’s a new phase in my life, too. I’m not going home this summer… staying in good ol’ Indiana, working for a marketing company, buying my own groceries, paying rent… I won’t have a dog to play with or mountains to drive through with the windows down and the music up. I’m convinced this summer will be good. I’m sure it will. There will be so much to do and see, and I’ll be closer and less disconnected from the people I love out here. But I won’t see my family. My little sister is going to college in the fall and will be living at school, 3 hours from home and about 13 hours from where I am. I appreciate her so much.. through this whole process of searching for an internship, getting rejected for x,y, and z, she was the only one in my family who really had confidence in me. She was the only one who gave me support the whole way through. She’s amazing.
I need to make plans for the summer. I know I want to run another 5k, and I want to go swimming in Lake Michigan when it’s warm out. I want to go to Chicago at least once, and I want to go home for my birthday. I want to go thrift shopping in Ft. Wayne and go to new coffee shops and see new artists. I want to read, and I want to write lots of letters. I want to volunteer at Our Father’s House. I want to go canoeing a lot, and bike around the lake. I want to grow, but I don’t want to become an adult.
I don’t like crying for old times, because I like being excited about the new. But those old times were really, really great.
sticks and stones can break my bones..
I received this email from a professor today, in response to an email I sent him last night.
I received this email from a professor today, in response to an email I sent him last night.
ouch.
Rejection bites. No matter how nicely the letter or the DTR or the phone call or the email is worded, rejection always stings. It says, “Hey, I know you exposed a part of yourself to me hoping I’d give you a chance, but sorry. There’s something wrong with you. You’re not __________ enough. You’re too _________. Sorry, we’ve chosen someone else. Good luck next time.”
Honestly, I haven’t had to deal with much rejection in my life. Of course, there was that time my boyfriend cheated on me with like three other girls and then my best friend stopped talking to me..but besides those times, I know that I’ve pretty much always gotten what I wanted. I’ve had the titles and the positions and the responsibilities and the awards I wanted and tried for. Of course I’ve experienced disappointment, but rarely, and pretty sporadically.
I didn’t get Student Body President in 5th grade, I remember that. I didn’t get voted as President of the middle school youth group at my old church, even though I was the only practicing Christian. I didn’t get into Vocal Ensemble the first time I tried out, but I did the second.
Dr. Harmon said that we don’t realize we have expectations until they’re not met.
And now, I’m beginning to realize that I have always expected to get what I want. Now, that expectation isn’t being met. I didn’t get the MDDC Journalism Scholarship. I didn’t get a phone call or a text I was hoping for. I didn’t get the attention I wanted. I didn’t get the position at SpringHill. I didn’t get considered for the youth group internship. Chances are I’m not going to get the internship at BMH. And I keep wondering what I’m doing wrong — rather, I keep wondering what’s wrong with me.
My mom would tell me I’m not trying hard enough. I’m sorry, but that can’t be true. My dad would tell me I chose a dying major and there are no real opportunities for me anyway. Well, that passes the blame off of me a little bit, but it’s also flat out untrue. Some pastors would tell me I don’t have enough faith – I don’t love God enough. Others would tell me He’s got a plan, He knows what He’s doing and He knows what I need.
I know that. I accept that. But it doesn’t make being told “no” any easier when I can’t see what’s in front of me. And the easiest thing in the world right now is for me to default, to embrace what all these rejections say about me and block out the truth of who I am in Christ. That would be so easy.
I hope there’s a reason for all this. There must be. But I’m running out of options and I just want to know what’s going to happen in my life.
