Sunday, July 29, 2012

"Outside of You, I'm Lost"

It's almost August and a lot in my life is about to change.  In organic chemistry we learned about these little titratable protons that are easily removed from a molecule to form something new.  They kind of remind me of a loose tooth just holding on until it encounters an apple. Life on the edge of a cliff, ready to free fall (with a parachute of course!).   Every time we've gone over reactions in the last few weeks, I've had to push away the urge to get lost in writer's mode, creating essays and poems on why I feel just like that titratable proton--right on the verge of being removed by strong force to enter a new world.  I may be failing a class for the first time in my life, which is incredibly humbling, but at least I'm getting some nice life analogies out of it.  Too bad most people don't want to compare life to molecules.

Twenty five is turning out to be a strange age on my life timeline.  It's been hard, but not altogether terrible.  The bad has catalyzed many reactions that are forcing me to make some changes.  My mom isn't wearing her wedding ring anymore, and I'm pretty sure it's not going back on her finger.  That's a really strange thing to deal with when you are half way through your twenties and living back at home.  So much for coming home after college to get grounded and stabilized.

In a month, my mom will be driving a U-haul across the country to California, and since I don't have a better plan in the works, I've decided that I might as well jump in and go along for the ride.  East Coast to West Coast.  Over the course of the past few months, I've considered the possibility of living in almost every state (except the middle ones--I'm sorry guys!), teaching overseas with my newly gained TEFL certification, finding a rich husband. For all the plans I've gone through in my mind, none of them seem incredibly sound (except the rich husband?), and my motive for developing them reflects a heart that keeps running away instead of letting God come in and heal what's broken and missing.

But if I keep running, I'm going to have a breakdown, which is something I've had to finally own up to.  Even marathoners can't run nonstop (and I am definitely not anywhere close to the stamina level of a marathoner).  Today I drove a  bit through the backroads of Maryland.  The east coast is gorgeous.  I am forever astounded by the GW parkway, the drive up to New England, the drive through the hills of West Virginia, the historical wealth of DC.  But I still couldn't shake the feeling of how desperately I need a change, not because I'm bored, but because I feel like the life flow of my heart is at stake.  And when the heart disengages, it's game over.  In just a few months, my Maryland license expires.  I'm not going to renew it.  I'm not sure where I'll take up residency, but there is something both freeing and scary about the finality of that decision.

The only thing that I know for sure is that I'm in search of my center.  I'm in search of what wholeness looks like--the shalom that God gives.  Nothing missing, nothing broken.  That's a concept that has always deeply touched my heart, but I want it to be more than a concept now.  I want it to invade my life.  The perfect peace of God that restores wonder, awe, faith, a belief in goodness.  I've decided to lay down my plan making and calculated moves for a while, and just learn to live from my heart again. I'm not sure what that looks like.  Maybe for me, it looks like roadtrips up and down route 1, visits to see a  heart friend in Seattle, learning how to surf, kayaking, hiking, writing, playing the piano, becoming fluent in Spanish, sending hand written letters to all my dear friends who I thank God for all the time, taking that random trip to Montana.  Who knows.  But I want to feel real joy and God hope again, and I'm willing to leave the comfort of all that is familiar if that's what it's going to take to make space for that to happen.

Since nobody really reads my blog, this is more just my own way of saying, "Shew.  I finally found some words to express all that."

Cheers to better blogs to come.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Besides listening to the revolutionary Steve Backlund in church this morning and hanging out with my cousin for a few hours, my day has been spent in the crazy world of Organic Chemistry, trying hard to get E2, SN2, E1, SN1 reactions down.

While studying at the dining room table, someone turned on the news and my heart turned heavy as the names of the victims in the Aurora shooting were named at the Memorial Service.  The stories of bravery and courage brought legit tears to my eyes, and I had to leave my books for a few minutes to let myself feel some of the emotions circulating through the hearts of all those in attendance at that sobering memorial.  

It struck me so deep, the comment made about how one act of darkness caused tons of light to explode all over the place.  What a picture of Life.  What a picture of the way excessive hope is almost held on reserve for moments like this, where history gets marked with a tragedy that couldn't win in taking away the joy or kindness of the living.   

Today marks the anniversary of a friend who lost his life in a helicopter accident on his way home from a charity event three years ago.   Even though time has put distance between the event and present life, the tragedy still feels close.  Yet, I look at the lives of his widow and two incredible kids, and I see so many remarkable characteristics in them--choices they are making that are honoring him, walking out his legacy.  I see them choosing to overcome loss and turn it into something worthwhile. They are so courageous.  

Events like these make me glad I'm not in a position where I'm called upon to give words of consolation, because I would not know what to say in the midst of so many unanswered questions and mixed feelings of sorrow and relief.  I would only want to cry with those grieving, even in the midst of feeling joyous that many made it out okay. 

 Things like this bring humanity to an interesting halt, where we stop and evaluate what's important, finding ourselves valuing one another and the small things with a rare intensity.  There are a lot of big decisions my family is in the midst of making at the moment, but they all seem to come into proper perspective when hit with the shortness of life.  Making the perfect decision doesn't seem as important as living with a heart that is fully alive and committed, regretting nothing because life is too short for the exhausting "why?"s and "what if?"s.  


Friday, July 6, 2012

I want to be a home for the forgotten.

It's an injustice that some people live their whole lives without ever knowing they are remarkable.  Without ever seeing value in themselves.

That's not okay, and it makes me upset.  It makes me want to change how people see.   change how I see.

What kind of permanent revolution could occur just by simply putting on new glasses?
Sometimes I think we make such elaborate plans to change the world that we totally miss the simple truth that if we make an intentional decision to actually care about people, we can't help but change things by just being here, fully alive.
My parents left town today to head up to New York for a cousin's wedding, and I was given the important duty of making sure "the plants aren't dead when I return" from my mom. 

So after work today I unraveled the hose and made sure the flowers were saturated with the beautiful  H2O.  It's incredible to watch good soil soak up water, knowing that at that very moment nourishment is reaching deep into the roots, sustaining a living, stunning part of life.  

Sometimes I grapple too much with all the ins-and-outs of living, thinking myself deeply into the miserable land of insomnia and anxiety.  But doing simple tasks like watering plants helps still my heart, and silence, at least for a second, the hundreds of questions firing away in my head.  Maybe I need to make gardening an official hobby of mine.  It may do my heart good.