In Writing or In Person

After I posted my daily 5 post last night, with a little bit of an explanation of why making those lists moves and changes me, I got to thinking about how there are a number of areas in my life right now, where I'm involved with newer groups or relational settings, and how little of myself I feel like is being expressed in those settings at this point.

And then I opened my twitter account and wrote the following two successive tweets:

"I have to laugh when I publish a blog post and I realize how well you have to know me before my written self and my in person self match up"(from here)

and

"My in person self is reserved unless I'm comfortable. If I'm comfortable, the intellectual writer, thinker, prayer and Jesus lover emerges." (from here)

I'm still thinking about this topic this morning - about how in new relationships (with some exceptions) it tends to take a very long time for my most true self to appear and find expression.

Part of that comes from the introversion.  Often new relationships begin in group settings, and group settings have never been my forte. They intimidate me.  I don't like being the center of attention, so unless I am very, very comfortable that it is safe to expose myself in even a minor way to everyone in that group, I'll likely remain quiet, sit near the back, and tend towards preferring invisibility wherever possible.  I'm not shy, really.  If you ask directly I'll likely answer.  But I'm also comfortable with not needing to be the one who answers (the exception to this being the times in my life that I've been in a teaching or leadership role), and in fact I rather prefer it that way.

Part of it comes from that thing about safety. In the past I felt that to not immediately put everything on the table was a sort of lie of omission, and I couldn't stomach that idea.  I've exposed parts of myself in the past in settings that I knew might be less than safe, and I've paid a price for that.  As I've gotten older, and had some good therapy, I've learned about things like boundaries, and valuing myself enough to be careful with what and how I share myself, recognizing that the whole world doesn't need to know the deepest parts of my heart - that I can choose to reveal those things to a select few, and that in making that choice it is not living a falsehood, but rather seeing myself as a person who was created as a valuable child of God.

I'm remembering numerous times in the past where someone who has known me in person for quite some time discovers my writing (something that is admittedly harder to do these days, since I do far less of it in any sort of public forum) and then comes to me and asks some variation of the question "Where did this come from? Who are you????"

And so it makes me smile, and sometimes just a bit frustrated to ponder how my written self expresses the deeper parts of me that often take a very long time to emerge in person.  And it makes me smile in a bigger way to consider that several of my closest friends are those who met me in writing long before they met me in person.  Because they already knew the deep parts of me, we skipped that awkward stage, and it was and is a lovely way to begin a friendship, at least for my introverted self.

And I'm smiling because I know about myself that in person it takes me a while, and because those tweets last night sprang from a place of frustration over a number of arenas in my life right now where I feel hidden and unknown and the process of relationship building just doesn't quite seem to be clicking.  It sprang from a genuine wrestle with trusting safety, and from a place of impatience with the process of relationship building.  It sprang from a place of recognizing that there are a number of deep things going on in my heart and life right now, and feeling frustrated with knowing how and where to express those in ways that are safe, and will nurture them, rather than yanking them up by the roots.  And it sprang from a loneliness for local friends who know me in the deeper ways.

I'm the same person in person as the person who writes, but it takes a while for the two personas to catch up with each other.  And that makes me smile, and makes me impatient, and gives me hope (when I stop to consider the lovely relationships that do match).

You Ask, I Answer, Take 19

Today's You Ask, I Answer question comes from Johanna again.  She asked:

If you could write a book, what kind of book would it be?

This is a question that makes me smile.  I dream of writing a book, and I actually plan to one day, even if it's only for me.

Most likely I'd write a book of essays and stories from real life.  A memoir/essay style combination.  Maybe throw in some poetry or photographs or song lyrics that have spoken deeply to me.  These are the kinds of books that I love to read, and it's most likely what I'd write.  A story of God's work in the day to day moments of life, of God's sense of humor, of the moments in which I've come to know Him, and that ways that knowing Him has changed my life.

My favorite books are the ones that somehow meld story and truth, so that you don't feel preached at, and yet, you find, when you set the book aside, that your life has been changed and shaped because you read it, because of the truths it contains.  That's the kind of book that I'd love to write someday.

Reverb 10: Day 2

Today's Prompt:

December 2 - Writing.
What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?
(Author: Leo Babauta)

I thought about this question all day.  I don't know that I have an answer.  Writing is an outlet for me, and not really a means to anything.  This blog is the place I show up every day and share something.  A quiz, a funny video, a quote, or whatever it is that I happen to be thinking about that day.

And because my blog really is the major outlet (other than emails) for my writing, and because it's all about anything and everything, I think that right now at least, there aren't really things that "don't contribute to my writing" and need to be eliminated.

And that's a pretty good feeling!

Live/Write

I came across this blog post by Rachel Held Evans late last night.

Quite the title - striving to live the way we strive to write.

These are the lines that struck me:

forgiving myself for crappy first drafts,
allowing trusted experts to make edits,
running into my fears rather than running away from them,
counting goof-ups as  “material,”
making art out of imperfection

All points that I'll need to spend some time considering.

Silences and Scheduled Posts

I'm feeling less spontaneous in my writing these days.  Less like sharing every single thing that crosses my heart and mind.  I've been walking in some odd, deep, (scary, wonderful) places this last while, and they're not things that I can fully put words around.

And, I'm finding that I want to spend less time with my laptop open in front of me.  I sit in front of it for school, and I generally leave my email open when I'm nearby and home in the evenings, but in those inbetween times, on weekends or evenings, or when I'm out and about, I'm wanting to wonder less about what's going on in my online world.  I'm needing to rest from blogging and facebooking and twittering, and emailing, and I'm mostly doing it on weekends.

That means that I'm not showing up here three times a day or so the way I was before I lost my job.  It means that on a weekend the only post you might see on a day is the daily 5.

And, because I'm wanting to pause and be more contemplative in what I write, it means that for the first time ever, (other than when I've been traveling), I'm consistently scheduling posts.  I did that last night for the rest of the week.  There's something different that I wanted to share with you for each weekday morning.  And, I'm pleased with the posts, because, while they do contain links to other places, I had the time to sit and share my heart a bit, to tell stories and explain why those particular links are catching at me, how they're part of larger themes that God is building in my life.

So, you can expect posts on a regular basis still, but they may not be all that spontaneous.  I've been thinking more about writing lately, and feeling the need to craft it with care, not just spew whatever thoughts spring to the surface.  And, to be honest, in the midst of this new season, of studying hours and hours a day, and of working through internal woundings and walking and talking with various friends, I'm feeling the need to be careful in my word choices, to treasure some things within me until they really take root.

The daily 5 isn't changing, and neither is the fact that I love this blog and I'll be here regularly.  I'm just needing to share that the way I'm choosing to write here is changing too, as my heart changes and grows and is shaped by the various seasons of life.

In other news...

I was thinking that these random morning posts are becoming something like an exercise a bunch of my artistic friends used to do.  It was from a book by Julia Cameron, and called morning pages.  The whole idea was that if you started out your day by simply sitting down and writing 3 pages of just whatever was on your mind - shopping lists, things you're thinking about - whatever, then this regular practice stirred creativity.  I actually find that by stopping here and writing down the random things on my mind, I feel more free to really write at other times.  Like writing down the random things creates space for the deeper things stirring within me.

I'm sipping green tea and hoping it will calm my stomach.  I woke again with a terrible stomach-ache and heartburn.  It's been happening every few months, for no discernible reason.

It's raining outside and they're promising it will turn to a whole pile of snow by tonight.  Last week it was 20C and I was wearing skirts and capri pants to work.  Today we have a "winter storm warning" in effect.  Only in Calgary.

Actually, I blame my dad for the snow.  Everytime he leaves the country it snows.  Doesn't seem to matter what time of year it is.  He and mom are enjoying poolside weather in Phoenix with my aunt and uncle this week.  And we're having snow.  It's just how it works, I guess.

Yesterday's plans to have coffee with a long-time friend were postponed to today.  I'm hoping they happen today, anyway.  He can be a little bit flaky.  (He's actually forgotten that he was my ride home from somewhere.  Twice.)  But he's a great friend, the one who was with me on that odd night nearly five years ago now when my depression was healed so suddenly and unexpectedly.  And I hope I get to see him.  I could use some time right now with the kind of friend who has all the details.  Who's been around through it all, and we can just talk honestly with each other.  And a hug.  I could use a hug from that kind of friend too.

Last night, after months of deliberation and research, I joined the cult of iphone, and I'm quite looking forward to discovering all the fun things it will let me do.  I had thought that I was going to need to wait another six months, until my current phone contract expired, and then switch phone companies, as a different company had far better rates.  But, I called my phone company, and negotiated, and they decided customer loyalty (I've been with them for years) was worth rewarding, and comfortably matched the price the other company was offering.  So, I took the plunge, and I think I'm going to love it.

I also have a hair appointment tonight.  The annual getting other fun colors added to my existing natural state appointment.  I only do it once a year or so, because it's expensive, but it's always fabulous.  Getting my hair done and being pampered at the salon I use is right up there with getting a massage for me.  So relaxing and it makes me feel beautiful and feminine.  (Plus, being able to treat myself well, without feeling guilty for it, was on one of my lists of goals for this year, so any appointment like this is a step in the right direction.)

And with that, I'm off to dive into the stuff the day will require.

Back later!

5 Years

Five years ago today, I wrote my very first blog post.  It was a slow start.

I opened a blogger account because a good friend of mine was in Sri Lanka, working for Samaritans' Purse, doing water relief work following the tsunami.  (As a side note, it's hard to believe that it's been over five years since that boxing day Tsunami, as well.)  He had a blog, and I couldn't comment on it without a blogger account of my own.

So I opened an account.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

In five years I've written 2989 posts.  That's the equivalent of showing up here 1.6 times a day, every day, for the last five years.

I've chronicled a journey beginning in the worst months of depression, through the moment of sudden healing.  I've written about life and faith and family and friends and shoes.

I've travelled a bit, and dreamed a lot.

I've shed a lot of tears.

And I've even made some friends out there in the blogging world.  One of them I even got to meet in person last year.

I'm thankful for this record of my life that has developed, and for each of you who have stopped in to say hi, or share your opinions, or journey with me.

Here's to another 5 years!

Daily 5 - Day 181

Today's Daily 5:

1. Payroll (which was far more complicated than usual this time) went smoothly this morning
2. Made a new recipe (part of the 2 new recipes a month goal) for supper tonight.  Couscous stuffed peppers.  photos to come...
3. Had a rather profound moment of realization, and meeting God on the train/walk home from work tonight, while listening to a sermon preached by Shane Hipps
4. Quiet evening, and time to write about the things that so struck me
5. my roommate helped me straighten my hair tonight.  First time since the accident I've done that.  My injured shoulders won't let me hold my arms up in the manner that the straightener requires for very long, and L. was willing to help when I asked.  Grateful for that... will be nice to not have to pull my hair back for work tomorrow.

Daily 5 - Day 179

Today's Daily 5:

1. Finding words again for some of the things that have been on my heart.  It's been a blessing to me these last few days of anniversaries and remembering, to be able to put words at least a little bit (however vague I've been at times) around some of it.
2. Loved the hoar frost today.  I walked to the bus, to go to my parent's house this afternoon, and the trees and shrubs were beautiful.
3. Almond Joy - thanks LP/CA.  You can't get these in Canada, and I love them, and there were some very generously included in the package I received yesterday.  It was fun to take one to my mom, and share with her too, since she also loves them.
4. Quiet time alone this morning to write and think and pray and rest.
5. Hanging out at my parent's for a superbowl party.  I don't mind football, but mostly it was good for me today to be in a social setting that didn't require me to engage in large group conversation.  I could still sit quietly and just sort of be, while enjoying some time with people.
6. Looking at a few bridesmaid dresses online with L. and just generally enjoying chatting with her.
7. Getting a ride home from my dad.  It was nice to chat with him about some of the normal details of day to day life and work that have kind of been crowded out in the midst of the multiple conversations about moving, car accidents and searching for a new car.
8. A hug from my mom.
9. hot-crossed buns for breakfast.  I love this easter treat, and get so excited when they show up in stores every year.
10. Listened to several sermon podcasts today while I played a game and puttered around the house.  It was nice to just soak in that teaching again.

Just, "Will you hold me?"

I wrote a post earlier this week thinking about unity and friendship.

I'm thinking about that again this morning. I've been thinking about it in one way or another for most of this week that has passed.

In that earlier post I shared a line I penned as a part of a poem in the summer of 2008. A line that has stayed with me ever since. "...no John 17 goodness left in me..."

I woke this morning from a painful dream.

It's been a little while, a week or so maybe, since I've had a dream of this intensity.

And this one hurt.

Full of friendships that have changed. And full of goodbyes.

And I find myself thinking again of that poem I penned two summers back, and of two of the stanzas that surround that line that has so haunted me.

Stanzas that read:

goodbye
hard words to say
not the cry for unity
that I'd desired
no John 17 goodness
left in me

just Abba, Father,
my heart hurts
"Would you hold me?"
(copyright 2008)

That's how I feel this morning. That prayer, "Abba, Father, my heart hurts, would you hold me?"

Really hold me. In the way you have in the past, and the way I know you will again in the future.

I don't know how this will all play out.

I know these thoughts hurt more at this time of year. At this time of year when you celebrate family and friendships.

I've in many ways lost some of both in the last few years.

Not the cry of unity my heart desired. Not the cry of unity my heart desires.

Just the remnants of a dream this morning, and a prayer that requires some trust. "Abba, Father, I hurt, come and hold me."

John 17 Goodness

The words of Jesus are so hard. The cost is high, and, when I was talking about that with my roommate this morning, her simple question was, "but is it worth it?"

I had to admit that sometimes I just don't know.

I'm thinking about unity this morning. Unity in a body of believers, unity among a small community of Jesus loving friends. It's a topic I've given a lot of thought to over the last few challenging years, and it is one that is once again rearing it's head.

I'll come out and say it. I'm not sure sometimes that I long for unity anymore. I mean, I long for it in the "it should have been" kind of way. But not in any kind of way that still wants to invest time and energy, and pay the cost of seeing it formed or restored.

The words of Jesus haunt me. John 17, his great prayer for unity. "I pray that they will all be one...may they experience such perfect unity that the world will know that you sent me, and that you love them as much as you love me."

In the summer of 2008, in the midst of an extremely challenging day, a moment where I was deeply broken, and weeping, a poem formed on the page that was in front of me. One of the lines from my own writing, from that poem has stayed with me ever since. "...No John 17 goodness left in me..."

I'm feeling like that this morning. I don't really want unity, I want to walk forward, to be free, to move on from the things that have weighed so heavy. No John 17 goodness left in me.

And yet...

I feel the hard deep pull of obedience (to loosely quote Walter Bruggemann).

The strength of Jesus' words.

Because if he prayed this, than he truly desired it.

And if he desired it, then I need to align my heart with his.

And that is harder still.

In fact, I think, the more I follow, the harder it is at times to align my heart to that call for obedience, to align my heart to his.

Because the longer I follow, the more I realize that this will cost me everything. That it will hurt more than anything I've ever known. (Though even as I write that, my heart reminds me that in following Jesus there have also been the moments of deepest joy that I have ever known.)

I'll drink this cup too, if he asks, this dying again to my own desires, to self. And I drink it knowing there is a cost. And sometimes, sometimes I hate that cost (though I suppose that too is sin to be confessed and surrendered...)

Jesus, let my heart align with yours. Guide my steps this day. There's no John 17 goodness left in me, would you fill my heart with yours?

Pause, mid-afternoon

It's been a busy day.

I'm pausing just for a moment.

I just checked the weather outside. Including wind-chill, it's a full 10 degrees warmer than it was when I was walking this morning. That is very good news for the walk at the end of this day.

I've been having odd sorts of days lately.

I feel like I haven't been saying very much of substance here, talking mostly about the weather, or some of the minutiae of daily life.

Truth is that the things going on in and around me are somewhat deep and unsettling, and that though some are impacting me immensely, I can't really talk about them here without betraying the confidences of others.

Instead of writing substantive thoughts, I've been spending a lot of time thinking and praying and sitting in the quiet with questions and concerns.

Advent does this to me sometimes. This silencing and waiting. This year it simply seems compounded by the things that must be held in confidence.

So, for the moment, I'm going to keep talking about the weather, and the daily minutiae of life.

The story I want to write

I'm sitting here, and the quiet is surrounding me, and heightening my awareness.

The occasional burble of water in my oil burner and the soft scents drifting from it to fill the room I'm sitting in.

The softness of the blanket I'm wrapped in against my bare feet.

Sirens on the street swirl loudly on the street outside my window, catching my attention, and then they fade into the distance.

I've just finished reading a book about story. And about telling a better story with our lives.

Good stories have memorable scenes. Scenes that define and shape.

And I pause as I think of some friends and a memorable scene.

Of two friends living out their passions, making music, singing and strumming, and filling in rhythms, and another friend as he danced in front of the stage, totally unencumbered by who was watching... lost in the music...

I received an email from the friend who danced tonight. His sister is also a good friend of mine, and their mother is very ill. I told him, when they found out, and he emailed many of us to let us know, that I'd be praying for her. And I have been.

And tonight I read her update, words she'd written that he forwarded, and I prayed again.

And I thought of another family I know. All three of their children have a rare disease - one that is not genetically linked - they are the only siblings in North America to all have this disease. Their youngest is also profoundly deaf. And a little while back the mom to these three kids was diagnosed with a very serious cancer.

A number of people I know are grieving this week - a friend of theirs - young, only 25 or so, died late last week from complications of the H1N1 virus.

I pause for a moment to contemplate the things I said and did today, and the thoughts that were left unsaid, and I know that some of them didn't contribute to writing a good story.

I'm thinking about the experiences I have sometimes, about the one I had last night, and how that, too, shapes my story.

I want to write a better story.

The kind of story where less of the things I'm thinking need to be filtered out before they reach my tongue. Where there is more love and forgiveness, and less need to filter out anger and cruelty.

The kind of story that lets me see another person honestly, bumps and flaws and all, and love them anyway, even when they hurt me.

The kind of story where I live as a deeply loved daughter. Where I really know that as truth within me, and I let it permeate everything I do.

The kind of story with more memorable scenes. Swimming in a lake, and playing on the swings, and writing while propped on a hillside, or twirling in a park, and laughing. I want to write the kind of story that is filled with joy. The joy that somehow exists in the midst of ugly realities - of cancer and heartache and grief. Because sometimes the ugly realities are also memorable scenes.

I want to write a better story with my life.

Daily 5 - Day 78

Today's Daily 5:

1. Some thoughts coming together to form words
2. farmer sausage and roasted baby potatoes for supper
3. Fun dialogue over photos from my trip
4. eating a ripe mango as a snack
5. listening to Rob Bell preach (via my ipod) on "Blessed are they that hunger and thirst for righteousness"
   

Rolling Around...

So I have this question rolling around in my head... well, maybe two actually, and they're causing some thought and some dreams...

What if there was a way to take the stories of everyday living, the crazy experiences and the mundane, and use them to really communicate the beauty and ugliness and challenges and stunning ways of life, the ways that God is intertwined in all of that?

And what if I tried to do that?

Daily 5 - Day 4

Today's daily 5 moments of joy etc.:

1. a fantastic and challenging sermon at church tonight
2. seeing a movie solo this afternoon
3. a day that felt quite peaceful for the first time in a while
4. plans to spend the next hour or so curled up in bed, writing a piece that's been stirring in my heart for several days
5. leftover vietnamese food for dinner
   

Insecure

I'm awake way too early.

Granted, I have to be out of the house by 9:15 on my way to the day's plans, but this is too early.

And I'm feeling neurotic and insecure.

I shared some rather vulnerable thoughts with a dear friend last night (and, to clarify up front, the response was fine).

But, even when the response was fine, the neuroses and insecurities rise up. The voices get loud, and sometimes they gain power.

I always forget that that's going to happen when I share myself, particularly the deeper parts of me, in writing. But it happens every time. I think it's kind of like how they say that women forget the pain of labor so that they'll have another child. If I remembered how strong the voices of insecurity would become, I'd be less likely to share.

These days I'm better at combatting them, and the lies they tell. In fact, I was quite amused as I journaled about one of the lines they were using last night. It was, I wrote, both the most difficult, and the easiest to counter.

They get loud, and for a day or two I'm neurotic.

In any case, I liked this line that Hope posted to her blog last night. You can find it here. I'm praying for my authentic self to appear.

Pentecost...

I know it's late in the day to be mentioning this, but today was Pentecost, the day the church commemorates the coming of the Holy Spirit.

It's been a particularly profound thing for me this year, and I spent a large chunk of the day writing and reflecting on many things.

Processing events of the last week, and the last month and a half, and the last year and a half.

Some longer reflections on Pentecost may show up here later in the week, but for now, I just wanted to wish you moments filled with the breath and the warmth of the Spirit of God. Filled with the healing and restoration that are miraculous, and can only be brought by him.

Come, Holy Spirit, Come.

Henri on writing

I'm sure I've probably posted these before at some point, but I love these thoughts from Henri Nouwen on the value of writing, and thought I'd share them again.

Writing to Save the Day

Writing can be a true spiritual discipline. Writing can help us to concentrate, to get in touch with the deeper stirrings of our hearts, to clarify our minds, to process confusing emotions, to reflect on our experiences, to give artistic expression to what we are living, and to store significant events in our memories. Writing can also be good for others who might read what we write.

Quite often a difficult, painful, or frustrating day can be "redeemed" by writing about it. By writing we can claim what we have lived and thus integrate it more fully into our journeys. Then writing can become lifesaving for us and sometimes for others too.

Writing, Opening a Deep Well

Writing is not just jotting down ideas. Often we say: "I don't know what to write. I have no thoughts worth writing down." But much good writing emerges from the process of writing itself. As we simply sit down in front of a sheet of paper and start to express in words what is on our minds or in our hearts, new ideas emerge, ideas that can surprise us and lead us to inner places we hardly knew were there.

One of the most satisfying aspects of writing is that it can open in us deep wells of hidden treasures that are beautiful for us as well as for others to see.

Making Our Lives Available to Others

One of the arguments we often use for not writing is this: "I have nothing original to say. Whatever I might say, someone else has already said it, and better than I will ever be able to." This, however, is not a good argument for not writing. Each human person is unique and original, and nobody has lived what we have lived. Furthermore, what we have lived, we have lived not just for ourselves but for others as well. Writing can be a very creative and invigorating way to make our lives available to ourselves and to others.

We have to trust that our stories deserve to be told. We may discover that the better we tell our stories the better we will want to live them.

Comfortably Situated

I am propped up in bed. With three pillows behind me, and another beneath my knees.

I have magic bags draped across both of my feet and ankles, which are desperately glad that I decided to set aside any and all tasks that required standing tonight. I slipped on some snow and ice yesterday and fell. Not badly really. Just a moment that was lacking in gracefulness. (And who can be graceful, really, in winter boots and coat, while walking down a slope on an icy, snowy lakeshore?) I didn't think it was all that bad at the time - I knew I'd twisted one ankle a bit, but upon waking this morning and attempting to move I discovered that it was perhaps a bit worse than I'd thought. It would seem that I actually managed to roll both ankles as well as twist my left knee. I climbed three flights of stairs this morning on my sore knee and ankles. I wasn't yet ready to acknowledge that I might be in pain, and I was avoiding someone who arrived at the building at the same time as me and was taking the elevator. I couldn't bear the idea that my first human interaction of the day would be an insincere conversation with said person. Taking the stairs was a mistake. I discovered today that limping is a difficult proposition when you can't take the extra weight on your opposite leg. So I kind of waddle for the moment. It looks goofy.

I'm sorting through bills. Catching up on some emails. Making lists. There are lit candles scattered around the room. That always makes me happy.

I'm still not feeling too great - I got quite ill at work on Friday, and though I've managed to eat at least one meal a day since, my stomach is still being choosy. So I had toast for dinner. Followed by blue jello. I love jello. Yes, I know what it's made of, but I love it anyway. (Just as a side note, if you've ever watched or participated in synchronized swimming - that stuff that makes their hair so shiny - clear gelatin. It's the dickens to wash out later, but does the trick for keeping your hair in place in a way that no hair gel will. And it actually makes your hair incredibly soft.)

Eventually here I'll get around to some reading - I have a new book to start, and I'm nearly finished re-reading a favorite from last year's list. I may even take some time to catch up on life and write in my journal. Or I might just watch last week's episodes of Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice online while semi-reclining, since I did go to all the trouble of getting comfortably situated.