Creative Writing 101

Just had an urge, totally amateur, but something I always wanted to do.

“Glass Kisses”

Like the color of the glass on the table, after red wine has stained it for a day. That was the thought that crossed her mind, that was the indeed the very color it was. She placed the single glass of wine back to the tray, reflected on its color again, and proceeded to rub her finger along the edge, as if she was producing music. Gently, even sweetly, her index finger caressed the rim and made its way to her lips. In this moment she envisioned the owner of this glass, a man with glasses, slightly lanky, wearing a tweed jacket and reading “The Economist.” She imagined what it would have been like to fall in love with this man, to be desperately, voraciously consumed by each other. How they would reflect on history together, laugh about political foibles, enjoy current events, how he would push her in a swing, or massage her feet after long hours of work. You see, this was her habit. Sneakily, in the presence of any cup or glass, her index finger would coyly find its way around the rim and then to her lips, like a soft kiss no one ever saw. Each cup, was a new man, a new adventure, a new romantic desperation she in reality, had never known. “Four hundred, sixty-eight” was the mental note made in her mind.

It was this number that when people would asked how many men she had kissed, she wished she had the boldness to reply with. However, she would succumb to the truth, a meager 2. The first, an obligatory, awkward consequence of “spin the bottle,” and the second, an accidental lip grazing while slow dancing to Faith Hill during her junior prom.

She worked nights, and on her off days, would occasionally walk along crowded streets, parks. She would see bouncing babies, golden retrievers, and yet her mind was not jaded by the repetition of the lives of those around her. Instead, it overwhelmed with the glasses.

Her favorite glasses were of course, number two hundred twelve and ninety four. 212 had a distinct taste of champagne. Her arms were interlinked with his, riding off into the Parisian night sky, in a lovely boat for two. He wore yellow gold cufflinks in a black suit and smelled like brown sugar and sweat.  It was her wedding, it was beautiful. Her parents and his were all there, wishing them well, waving goodbye along the dock, and pushing them toward bigger and better things. The air smelled like water and coffee, like fish and cheese, like lace and wine. The cake was a simple tart, and along the dock, the boat, the whole city, was only candle light. She felt stunning, she felt desired, and knew that this was the happiest moment of her life.

94 was a lonely glass, left after the client had gone from the table, leaving a generous cash tip, few bites of steak, a butter stained knife sitting along the edge of the bread basket. She imagined this café adventure as a serendipitous meeting. Only one seat was left, he, with an air of confidence, asked to join. She accepts with a chin nod and the faintest flush of shyness. They spoke of their favorite things, both sharing interests in sculpture, post cards, macaroni and cheese, the color blue, and travel. The talk until the waiter grows weary from refilling their cups, and until the street lights paint the sidewalks orange. He offers to walk her home, to which she accepts. Their hands occasionally graze, both wanting to only enjoy the small intimate gesture of a hand hold, but both also willing to wait. He places a daisy in her hair, takes a picture of her using a disposable camera, and when they get to her door, he kisses her on her forehead and is never to be heard of again. Three months later, that picture is sent to her as a post card, “Having a sandwich in a crowded café was the best decision I have ever made.”

And so as she prepared for work, she thought of 94, the taste of the warm rye bread and texture of the risotto. She thought of the kind of laugh she had with 74. She thought of the girl friends she met 350 with, these thoughts flooded her mind and as she met her client, as he ravaged her, as he overwhelmed her body, she protected her lips and waited. The bruises the next day always looked like red wine stains on the side of the glass. They were always streaky, but ignorable.

On her off day, she would find four hundred and sixty nine.

 

Astronaut and Rain

What to say, what to say? I feel very reflective and ready to post something on wordpress but can’t exactly figure out what i needs to spill out onto this e-paper. A part of me feels a stream of consciousness method would be most suitable, but the disorganization of natural thought can sometimes overwhelm me. I feel like there are tons of things racing in my mind and most of it is being drowned out by soft tunes, or to be more specific priscilla ahn.

Maybe by writing a more objective, distant post, i can use it as a surrogate for whatever i really wanted to say. maybe not? I have been thinking a lot about the last two years (ish) or basically the whole adventure, career shift, going back to school and feel sort of.. i don’t know, maybe ihave let myself down a bit.

2 Years ago i felt the urge, the passion, the excitement for what was to come. To be inducted into a historical profession that has altered the way we practice medicine over the course of time. Washing hands, providing care, going out into the communities to tend to the underserved– i mean that was all nurses! Likewise, i never have felt so sure before that this was indeed what God was leading me to do. In His mercy, i felt so– special. Who am i to receive such a direct calling? Who am i to be able to hear Him in that moment so clearly lead me to something new? I felt bold and like I could do anything.

“I felt bold and like I could do anything.” I’m not sure what or how or if that is what i really feel. By God’s providence I was led to nursing school, got through the first year, and landed a great externship (pros and cons, still for the sake of technical skills and what have you, it was good). And yet i feel as if i have not accomplished anything.

In the beginning i felt like even if the chips were down, even if money was gone, grades were bad, what have you– God’s providence would lead me straight to where i need to be. That I would not fall into poverty, expulsion, or academic probation. I feel worried with money concerns, the future– will everything be okay? Do i need to plan better? What about the hiring freeze?

Though i fully realize this is a faith issue– there are a few things that i have been grappling with that perhaps made me feel less “bold” That time– i thought God would really heal those whom we prayed for, i believed that i would one day speak in tongues and pray for hours on end, i believed that i would one day audibly hear the voice of god and prophetically pray over others words of encouragement. I know there all kinds of theology issues going on here– i know i probably sound like an idiot to those with formal education– but i just.. i did. I believed in what i told one person– i really did.

And it didn’t happen. None of it.

A part of me feels torn. Sad that i had given false hope, maybe even misled this person away from seeking for conventional medical interventions. Sad that the “supernatural” was perhaps out of my league. As I feel most do– when something utterly disappoints, we turn against it in opposition. From then on, my ideas of the supernatural were limited. I recognized that indeed God could use these gifts, but often when people would share I would think in my mind “that is probably what they hope for” or “how can they be so sure that is from God” or “does the word confirm it?”

I think it is good to question what we hear and to sift through situations to seek truth, but what i was doing was not quite as innocent.

From that– there were a few things i had to learn. God’s gifts are given to all. ALL. even if it is just one– is that not enough? Am i doing what i can with the gifts that id o have? I had to ask myself– why did the fact that that person was not healed or that thee “special giftings” never happen really push me to question feel slighted by God?

Insecurity, idolatry– i wanted God to work for me. I wanted God to open these gifts for me so that I could prove i was another level higher on the ladder of faith I thought we had to climb. There are times when i sit amongst people who love god and feel so inadequate. Id ont’ read all the books, i don’ t know theology, i don’t know  church related current events. I feel stupid.

Perhaps to compensate, validate even– i thoght these giftings would some how publicly announce my “maturity”. Of course the awkwardness of this whole situation is in that groping for appearance, i had grown so distant from God, what was this all for? God was not God, but something there to bolster confidence.

In repentance i desire grace. Who am i to say what is good or better– who am i to say what should be in my hands? Who am i to curse what has been given to me? Who am i to doubt His goodness?

I feel like i’m always so consumed in pride it amazes me that God could stand to be near me. Things are always in progression, so i hope.

I listened to a sermon the other day on my way to baltimore– it one portion Matt Chandler spoke about how a friend he knew died of cancer, slow and painfully, leaving behind two children. And yet– this is still an example of God’s mercy. To die in tragedy, and yet elected by Christ to believe and become an adopted son, is still better than to die peacefully at 104 never knowing Jesus.

I’ve been chewing on that this week.

Yes- things may go down bad. I may never get a job. I may not go abroad like i want to. I might come out of nursing school feeling like i wasted money and should have stayed closer to home. I might feel like a failure because people don’t see me as spiritually mature. I may feel neglected at dinner conversations because my book knowledge is limited to fiction and prose admiration. I may never receive the supernatural gifting prophesied over me.

and yet–

He still wanted me. Is that not enough?

Help me in my unbelief. Humble me in my belief. Keep me near the cross.

Pregnancy and Sampson’s Hair

ah ha, finally, some word press time.

I always feel like there has been so many things i’ve wanted to write about over the last few (well, more than few) weeks, but once i get here i sort of forget all of it. I guess i will start like i always do– small talk and perhaps my brain will start spilling out what it had initially intended to share.  My harder class is over now, which is like a breath of fresh air. I feel i have more time to do the kinds of things i’ve wanted to do– i.e. exercise (still haven’t gotten started on that haha), practice guitar so i’m not still in noob stage, read books i haven’t gotten around to, and of course play with my roommate and explore baltimore a bit more.

I can’t really emphasize it enough. Living with someone whos not crazy haha makes such a difference. Yesel is like the best roommate ever. She is clean, considerate, leaves cute notes and cards for me, and always heats up enough water for tea for two 🙂 Quality of life is exponentially greater when you are greeted or look forward to seeing someone at the end of a long day. So basically, my hatred for baltimore stemmed from poor rooming situations, not necessarily the city itself. Though still not my favorite (umm, what city can compare to Boston, London, Chicago?, exactly.), I sense this need to really take a look around. Suburban MD, montgomery county, or as one patient called it “Money” county is so different. Its bizarre to think it only be 40ish miles away. There are so many needs, IV drug abuse, sexual education, family health needs– it seems so overwhelming that for this semester I really haven’t done anything to help. Sigh.

I remember now what i wanted to say, I wanted to talk a bit about birth– new developments (as in Proverbs 30 and “The Business of Being Born”) have made me love the process even more! Something short-ish i wanted to point out–

Culturally, birthing has numerous implications– in every society there are different ways to have a child (in a hospital, at home, sedated, etc), positions, medications (or no medications), pain management (or no management), the view of pregnancy varies with each woman and in that respect– birthing is an individual experience, shaped by the cultural roots which seep into the mother’s perception of life and supported by the various physiologic, hormonal, and emotional/environmental responses that push the woman into psychological motherhood. And yet– there is something significantly universal about this experience. Regardless of nationality, culture, race– the process of preganancy is essentially the same among all women. I mean– is that not wonderfully amazing? The millions of reactions, cell differentiations, formations of organ systems are all the same!

So pregnancy in itself, to me, is this sort of magical rite of passage into something universal, something so grand, and yet something so distinctly and perfectly yours. Thus, the act of giving life is much more empowering and liberating I would think– than merely a punishment for the sins of Eve. This idea makes me delight in God’s mercy. In Eve’s sin– we expereince pain in childbirth– however, the oxytocin release also causes a simultaneous euphoria and the  mother-instinct to kick in. He didn’t have to let this happen– but out of love for women, out of love of life– He initiated pregnancy as a way to connect to other women, to connect to our children, and yet to be something special, unique, and only ours. hmm– I thank God i am a woman– though it is painful, scary, and weird to think about– the idea of participating in labor, joining a community so old and varied is a challenge that i hope one day i’ll be up for. (obviously i’m not pregnant) haha! mm so i guess i did do a lot more rambling than i expected. oops.

on to another– unrelated ish topic. I’ve wanted to write about this because in some respects I feel maybe the way i’ve learned this story is not really correct. In the story of Sampson and Delilah- (a classic–Judges 16), something popped out to me that had not before.

In the midst of the Philistines trying to capture Sampson, they tell Delilah to entice him and find his secret– so on and so fourth– he says different things, and ultimately it comes down to the hair.

But– was it really the hair? In this scenario– isn’t the key to his strength God’s favor? Yes- the hair is a symbol of his commitment to live as a Nazarine– but lets face it– he already had broken and walked away from that commitment. Why is it that the cutting of the hair prompted God to leave? In all of the other scenarios where Delilah is trying to get the secret– it simply states she asks, pleads. But in this final scene– she “annoyed him to death, so he told her all that was in his heart” Bingo!

I don’t think it was the hair at all. I think God left him because in telling her ALL that was in HIS heart– the deepest secrets, the initimacies that only was shared with God, it was the final act of rebellion. There was no more place for God in Sampson’s heart. All was shared and given to Delilah. Additionally, as Sampson is weak and bound, his final act of killing the philistines is done while his hair is still shaved, maybe a an inch or two long. In him telling her and truly believing it to be the hair demonstrates his distance from God– that even Sampson had forgotten where the strength came from.

Physically, I think Sampson had already had sex with her (since she was with him while he was sleeping, he slept in her lap, i mean– for that era– that is pretty unheard of). Which makes me think– it wasn’t even the physical giving to Delilah that made God leave Sampson– but the soul giving.

This is simply my interpretation. But what i was so greatly challenged with is the call for purity. Not just physical, don’t have sex kind of purity– but a purity that treasures the intimate moments with God, that maintains discretion,  an emotional abstinence if you will. The Church is clear about sex, but I think we often forget to mention the dangers of sharing your whole soul and life with a boyfriend or girlfriend. We share our fears, our desires, our dreams– the funniest little moments, the subtlies of who we are with someone so freely– what is left for God?

And in retrospect, i think this is true. The emotional giving cannot be taken back. There is only one childhood with special memories and things. Those memories and dreams should be reserved for the one who made them happen and with he one whom becomes unified in spirit after marriage. The thought of loose memories, fears, embarassing moments hidden in people i don’ t know anymore is sad. How much greater and more satisfying would it have been if those tiny moments were shared only once?

i guess this is more than enough for now.

the camera is my worse enemy

Today i lost or misplaced a folder containing all of my important documents. Sigh– dont’ you hate losing things you purposefully place in a location you know you will never forget, when in fact you do forget.

After this morning defeat, i checked my mail, retreat stuff, bank stuff, and facebook. I can’t help but feeling a bit depressed after flipping through random people’s pages. When i reflect on my college experience i think of a few different events, people, but mostly just doing nothing or being really stressed. There aren’t too many memories of “fun” per se and there definitely aren’t any pictures of me at all in my college years.

The stupidness of hating pictures is that in reality you just hate the way you look and don’t really want to remember your face looking that bloated/shiny/foolish. But then the real zinger is that inevitably you have no tangible recollection or even proof that you were there. No proof that you enjoyed the people or situation, and no proof that they enjoyed you.

Its silly that i even complain about this because i know that it is always my objections when people do want to take pictues and when i do take pictures i’m making stupid faces or ruining it by frowning or looking creepy.  5 tears of life have gone by essentially undocumented. I feel saddened knowing that I won’t ever be able to really look at pictures of myself or show my children what i looked like in my youth.

I feel sad that in all the pictures of my friends, i am rarely ever in them, but i am mostly sad because i know that i will probably never change. I will probably never really want to take picures and hence, will most likely die completely unremembered.

Well, clearly that is an overstatement. But in the ends, the real point to this entry is that i regret not taking pictures and know that won’t really change.

in other news, i haven’t gone to work in over a week and i really am sad to go back. I dont’ hate my job, but i certainly don’t really like it either.

Things I do like:

i learn alot, see a lot, feel like i understand the woman’s body better, get to work with nurses and doctors, have done a decent amount of IVs and blood draws, am feeling less noob-ish when it comes to patient interaction, free parking, it is 12 hour shifts ina course of 3 days, i’m getting paid, provide us with scrubs, and the hospital is somewaht closer to home than baltimore.

Things I don’t like:

The nurses all hate their jobs, which makes me not really want to be there either, a lot of the doctors are selfish and practice for convenience instead of what is best, i have seen a lot of ethical violations for the patients and their families, the doctors and nurses in general are racist and treat non-english speaking patients worse, traffic sucks, night shift kinda sucks, 3 days are totally consumed by work and are really tiring,  lots and lots of politics, lot and lots of cattyness too.

A part of me sort of wants to reconsider nursing because of the workplace environment, but then i wonder if it is just this unit? Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. I know i need to trust that God is at work and placed me here and is challenging me to be better, to care and advocate for my patients, or think of ways to make the system less hostile and more equal among those who practice within it. Either way, it certainly will make me push to really evaluate job opportunities and environments.

i’m rambling.

blah

Working night shift is weird. It feels realy weird to even write on wordpress, it has been a while. Even though I’m tired, its hard to get back on to a normal day schedule. I’ve realized I get really involved with things. I can’t just switch back to days, if I’m going to do this, i’ve gotta go all the way. So here I am, and i’m still pretty awake.

I’ve been meaning to write for a while, and now that i’m here its like  a deer in the headlights, brain overload and then nothing comes out.

I guess first things first– i’ve wanted to reflect on old retreats and the whole experience of it all.  It has been a wild ride to say the least. My first retreat planning, it was all a dream. So many hopes, so many ideas. I saw it for what i could be– 4 days where young people could get a taste of heaven. A glimpse of true glory, true joy. True salvation.

An isolated vacuum of solid teaching outside the media overload of sex, beauty, and material charms, where lives would be challenged as much as changed. Where ministry of relationships of loving on the kids, encouraging them, keeping in touch with them, would be equally as important as praying in tongues and loud music. I had hopes to change a generation, change lives, and make it fun all at the same time.

Idealistic, and yet still a part of me hurts for what I still hope retreats could be.  And of course it wasn’t perfect, but God truly worked through the leadership and the kids. Everyone came into it with a hungry heart– to be different, to finalyl change things.

Maybe it was the disastrous disappointment of failure, or the lost “feelings” that left us jaded– but winter was a totally different retreat. My heart was weary with school, being somewhere new, away from community, away from people who know and care about God. Conversations about God were limited to simple conversations, short meal prayers, and soft whispers into the night as i drifted off into sleep.

I blamed myself for a lot of things. If only i had prayed like i did in Summer. If only i was reading more of the word. If only i wasn’t a wreck. All of it just became a burden, and the guilt of looking at it that way consumed me. Wasn’t this supposed to be ministry? Aren’t people supposed to be changing? Lord– where are you? Did i not organize it rightly? If i have so fallen from your favor, why did our church feel the need to place me in this position? Was it because no one else could or would do it? Was it because it was just expected out of me? Who am I to orchestrate an event on this scale? I’m just a kid myself– i’m just as immature, lost, broken, and hopeless.

Bitterness, resentment for church, for the people i worked with racked my heart. “I’m putting everything i got into this, hours on end, on top of school, and no one seems to even care enough to send me back an email?” shortly after id think “well no wonder– i’m mean and lack compassion. I treat myself as if i’m worth more than others because i make booklets and nametags”

Tortuously i continued this way– and even in the retreat, i never felt so alone, so desperate. Why was i here? Why was i in charge? I had to ask myself– if i felt like this was a total failure, if i felt like no one, absolutely no one, cared about how i’m feeling, would i still do this? Was it worth it? Is God worth it? What or who am i doing this for?

I had no answer. And so it goes. I continued on with spring semester, slowly detaching myself from the ministries i was apart of. QTs were cursory obligations, McCheyne’s checklist as a dutiful christian. Moments of grace fell upon me, but still just a quick breath when i was gasping for air.

Perhaps the sham of it all, the deadness of it all was awakened after someone had jokingly pointed out that I was only qualified to be a leader because I was someone’s friend, not because I would be a good leader. Out of some laughter on their end i suppose, it hit me like a brick wall. This church i belong to, didn’t belong to me. No one would notice, no one cares. No one even knows my name. I’m a shadow, a memory, an email address, a likeness to someone with more potential than me.

what is the point of it all? Why do i still go here? I love the people i serve, and yet i am fully aware that i have been pulling away. Conditioning my love and time, making excuses. A part of me longed so much for senior leadership to notice me, not as someone’s girlfriend or sister, but as me, as Lisa, as a member.

I dont know why i longed for this so much. I dont’ know why i expected this interaction and was disappointed when it didn’t happen. I dont know where this even came from. Did i always want that? Is that where my motives have always been? All that GOd had done– was it surface surgery to get to the deep damage that was so deceptive, that even I could not uncover the disturbing sin of it all?

After a good piper sermon– it finally clicked again. Grace. Grace. Grace.

Regardless of my motives then and now, did it change the fact that the Son of the most high God, died and belittled himself in such a way that while i felt like i had no one, infact he didnot  have any one. While i felt lost and unnoticed, he was unnoticed and spurned. While i felt like no one cared, his own father left him on the cross. He was the man of sorrows, and all for me.

In the grand scheme of things, did me or someone else planning these retreats really matter? Not really. But in the grand scheme of things– was I enough to die on the cross? yes. How could it have never hit me like this before?

So here i was, 5 feet deep in my own pride, my own selfish need for approval and just letting it go. And in those first few days, i’d ask myself- “what does that even mean?! i’m so sick of people telling me ‘just lay it at the cross'” if this were an english class i’d be impressed, but now i’m just frustrated because that isn’t real directions or instructions. Was a metaphor supposed to get me out of my sin?

I understood that in part it is because you can’t just give instructions for people to fix their lives because it is all so broken. All you can do is tell them, take it to the source, the maker– He’ll know whats wrong, after all, he was seen the damage happen and was there before it happened. Pray honestly and know that it is okay to feel hurt by the actions and words of others. It is okay to feel hurt. Don’t just act liek its all happy because you have an audience or because you want soemone to think you are more mature for being stoic. Be honest, upfront with me (God), and know that it doesn’t change the cross.

Though you may feel rejected, He was rejected for me. Though i felt broken, he was broken for me. Though i felt unworthy, he is worthy. The truth that faith is more than feelings also became real. If faith was just based on how i felt, how could any of that make sense? It was out of anguish, sadness, for what could of been, for what i had made it and for what i had become as a result that made me who i was, because i relied on how i felt to dictate the faith of his grace.

All i can say is that everyday i felt little progress. I felt like i was constantly reiterating the prayer for humility, a prayer of thanks for a grace and love i would never fully understand. It  is only now, months later that i can sayi see some progress.

So i preface with this whole thing because i think this retreat has also been a unique experience In the begining i dreaded it, i wouldn’t check my emails for weeks, out of fear there would be something about it. I would fantasize about something suddenly happenning and for some reason i would be unable to do this. A woman at our church offered to meet with me and talk with me about how it all was going. After giving her an email with the sparknoted version of teh above, she told me her heart hurt for me as she read. I cried for an hour.

In part because i finally felt like it was okay to be hurt and lost and burnt out. In part because i felt like someone understood and wasn’t just telling me to do something to fix it. It was a simple sentence that for some reason was exactly what i needed to hear. In a strange sequence of events– it dawned on me as I read from Esther.

Retreats are retreats. The happen twice a year. Sometimes people aren’t affected. Sometimes they are changed forever. Sometimes people agree with you, sometimes they don’t. But what doens’t change is the cross. Our church can and will find someone if i should decide i can no longer organize them. But sweetly, gently, the Lord made it clear in the words of Mordecai– that i was chosen for such a time as this.

There will be people who will experience God. There will be people who can get touched, who can awaked out of the depths, because of this retreat, and He loved me enough to allow me to be apart of it. Out of love he would like to use me for his Glory. Who am i to decide what is successful, what is not?

So here i am. Daily reminding myself that this isn’t about me getting some weird confidence boost. This isn’t about people listening to me or respecting me. This is simply about grace and letting God produce, work, initiate, mature something in the youth.

Though i had lost so much of my idealism after winter, slowly i am seeing God restoring the hope for this retreat once again. Not because i am working harder or better, but simply because He is good. And if no one else thinks it is, if everyone thinks this is a failure, i’m a failure, i must hold on and remind myself I am enough, i am not a failure, an the cross holds to prove it.

Random 25 things about me (that is obviously too late to post on facebook)

I dont’ even know how this works, and i know some people have been wanting me to post this (haha), but i always felt it was sort of after the fact. Well, I’m at school and have 30 min to spare, so why not.

1. I drink at least 3 cups of coffee everyday. I drink it black for taste, but also as a subtle tribute to my mom, who also drinks her coffee black.

2. My room is a crazy mess, but my bathroom sparkles. I wash, scrub, lysol wipe my bathroom anywhere from every other day to once a week. Otherwise i feel disgusting, the irony being #3.

3.  I would rather forego showering, than be late. Hence, i often do not shower. hahaha

4. I HATE leftovers. Something about knowing that the millions of bacteria in my mouth has had oodles of contact with the food on my plate– and taking that home to fester in my refridgerator and eat it later really grosses me out. It also never tastes good.

5. I never knew why, but for some reason i think my mom was punishing me for something and when I went to the haircuttery, the woman cut off all my hair and i had a boy haircut. I cried. But then eventualyl accepted my short hair and kept it that way until high school.

6. My first concert i went to was a New Found Glory concert at the 9:30 club. A man behind me dumped his water bottle right over my head, why? i do not know. Since then, i have had a great aversion to the 9:30 club and most concerts in general.

7. I am a beer snob. I only want to drink microbrewery or at least european beers. I need a full bodied taste with a beautiful amber color. <3!

8. I used to think i sang on key. I only recently realized i pretty much sing every falsetto using song slightly flat (sounds pretty weird/bad). Meaning, every song sang in church– I sing off key. I thought it was everyone else.

9. I have an obsession with puppies. yesel got my a puppy calandar, and at times I think its the only thing keeping my emotions stable in times of stress. hahaha

10. I get nosebleeds a lot. I mean.. a lot. Especially in winter. Some winter’s I’d get nose bleeds 2-3 times a day. I do not know why. Sometimes I’d go to sleep with one, and wake up with one. Sometimes i’d fear washign my face, because then it would begin and just be messy and my face would be all wet and dripping dilute blood.

11. One of the things i miss most about UMCP is the diamondback sudoku. The baltimore newspaper here has really easy ones. Even the later week puzzles are lame. I miss the nearly impossible friday sudokus in the diamondback.

12. I love crafts that have a little bit of defect in them. Something abotu an imperfection makes the craft become alive. I had a room in my old house that a friend and I painted– it had many mess ups, but made me feel like it was a part of me, at least a representation of me, or life at least.

13. I make sociology theories about all kinds of people. Ugly people, pretty people, obnoxious people, quiet people, Asians, non-asians, business majors, vegetarians, guys, girls, ahahaha all kinds of theories about all kinds of sub groups and not sub groups.

14. I hate rice and bread.  I donot want to eat rice with korean food. I do not like the bread on my sandwhich. I love salt and taste, dont’ give me stuff that takes it out. haha

15. I am extremely fidgety. Hence the incessant playing with hair (which i hate about myself) and i often press down on my (used to be there) callouses on my fingertips. It reminds me of “pill rolling” in parkinson’s disease. It makes me want to stop, but if i’m not doing that– i play with my hair. there is no remedy!

I’m out of time. soo…. i know if i save this i won’t ever post it. So better just do it now. Perhaps i’ll update?

(i probably won’t).

On Beauty.

In stress, the lens of self-criticism is cranked up a few notches and is hardly regulated. Top it off with a bridesmaid dress fitting with the 2 thinnest people i know– not a good combination. 

The need/desire to appear beautiful, thin, toned, what have you is at times overwhelming. The very sentence makes me feel superficial and petty, but i cannot deny its truth. This is something i have struggled with since puberty, since 5-6th grade, since who knows. Truth be told, i know i am neither obese nor hideous, rather that i feel mediocre, un-stunning. In an attempt to universalize my own experiences, i feel as if part of the very struggle imparted to women by the fall of Eve is that desire to be desired. The longing to feel loved, beautiful, remarkable– to someone, even for just a moment.

This struggle is neither overcome completely or done with– now that i do have an amazing boyfriend who’s affection is unmatched. Rather, it is a deeper need. a thirst for a love so deep, only Jesus can satisfy. I know this and have been told this time and time again over the years, and was reminded over the weekend once again. 

As i reflect on His movement in my life– i see he has really protected me in this respect. The  main example i can think of is not being able to go to Devotion on the Ocean. I truly love Impact, this retreat, and the people in it– but i think my heart would have been so overcome with envy, i would be hindered from growing. I have yet to ever go to a full devotion, but the times i’ve gone even for a few days i mostly felt so inadequate, fat, and ugly that when i would go home, i would have to rehab myself to stop beating myself up for not being as thin and beautiful as the girls there. Even looking at pictures, i could pretty much only focus on how thin and awesome the other girl’s bodies are and how i would never look like that (5’7, model body, pretty much magazine worthy) FYI: Impact has some of the most beautiful women i have ever seen, physically, emotionally, spiritually.

Anyways, I listened to a sermon by Carolyn Mahaney (wife of CJ Mahaney, http://www.sovereigngracestore.com/ProductInfo.aspx?productid=A1395-01-51) and was gently reminded and encouraged of His plan/regimen of beauty– an imperishable beauty that does not wither with age or physical form. Similarly, the “Cry of the Bride” rally reinforced this and i know He had so wonderfully planned those two events to align and fill me up with the love that i was searching for, the security to know that in Him– i am his beloved — and that he who made even the most beautiful flowers on earth, was enamored at the thought of my soul. 

I thank God, that he does not base and measure me on the appearance and basis of my outward form. But rather transforms my heart to be adorned with good works, fruit of the spirit, and a gush of life and joy that no man can create or sell me.

Additionally, the sermon broughth out the point that the bible does not condemn the use of beauty products, jewlery, etc., only the excessive thinking and soul consumpton of them. I used to think being a christian meant forsaking the “material” and embracing Him and him alone, that if i felt the need to wear make up or buy new clothes i felt sinful and wicked. But that is wrong  too. It shouldn’t be one or the other. Its not wrong, but i need to be careful as to what my motivation is. Do i want these new clothes because I want to somehow honor Him with them (wear them to church for instance or be appropriate to culture to talk to my peers/co-workers) or do i want them to honor myself, to be a false security blanket of momentary beauty? 

i feel like im rambling.

More and more i realize I NEED the word. I cannot survive without it, i cannot see the beauty He has put in me without it, i cannot stop comparing myself to others without it. Lord, lead me to it.

This is the video (i think?)Cathrine Mullins talked about. still, knowing this, its hard not to still think or want to look like that. sigh, i need jesus more each day. 

another dove film. 

Enfeebled prayer

I was listening to this sermon yesterday night, and was moved to tears with conviction. 

Oh how the urgency for prayer has dwindled in my life. It has become shallow, spoken softly as i simultaneously do things like mix my soup or turn out the lights. Not even enough respect for His greatness to just be still and close my eyes. Cursory, brief, words barely for anybody other than myself. 

Calvin said that our prayer lives are enfeebled by prosperity. That is truth in my life. I sit in my nice apartment, with groceries, and text books, and good health– and yet my heart is restless, i can’t sleep at night and resort to advilpm because my mind is busily making to do lists. In the wake of everyhting i could possibly want or need, my heart became so sufficient. There was no desperation, no crying out, no weakness before him. 

My prayer life was that of an occasional text message to a friend far away. In fact my spiritual walk has lost is glory, its resounding power– through humble, joyful prayer. I remember the days of Impact prayer meetings, a group of maybe 5-10 individuals on our knees to exalt him. Shouting, laughing, crying all for His namesake. In the covenant chapel, among 5-10 of my peers, i dont’ think i have yet to feel so a powerful wave of the holy spirit. It was there that i learned what spiritual hunger is, it was there where my heart broke for VA campus and for Timothy minisry. It was there within those few hours, sitting in solitude and yet a whole solidarity with my brothers and sisteres, where some of the most defining decisions in my life were made. 

More so, my spiritual journey has been markedly shaken, moved into repentence and grace through honest prayer. He has been my lifeline amongst sinking ships. 

And in spite of that, i have forgotten, or rather become apathetic to this commanding gift He has given me. The resurrection of Christ has unifed me to Him. Ask and I shall recieve, in accordance to His will. Yet i have not utilized this means of grace. 

Lord, refine me– that i may cling to you through a war cry of prayer. That my heart would beridden of its complacency and be swept away in the tenderness of communing with myKing and Maker.

Amelie <3!

So I am supposed to be studing, which of course lends itself to wordpress writing in the mean time. 

Quick fire facts that i wish to share before i begin this entry that has been lodged in my brain for a while: 

-Smoking is probably the worst thing ever. Not only does it increase risks for all kinds of lung disease, the 10-20% who don’t die from it or get COPD, will most likely need to get their jaws removed, tongues snipped out, hole in their throat, unless they are the small % of people who are genetically indestructable (which is probabyl not you). Additionally it poses all kinds of risks to other diseases which will indefinitely kill you slowly and painfully. 

– Cast away is a great movie– thanks FX for successfully helping me procrastinate for 3 hours. 

– I can’t stand that these enters are making double spaces. 

OKAY to the nitty gritty. I’ve been meaning to write this essay that nostalgically brings me back to AP lang (Oh, Ms. O’dell, wherever you are, your “to be” verb hatred still hinges on my heart, but please don’t judge all the to be verbs, i’ve given in). 

So, i have been meaning to get the Amelie soundtrack, because hey, i like amelie, and i deleted all the old songs i had, and since i always was listening to it for study music– i am pretty sure i was classically conditioned to get into study mode at the sound of slow piano. ANYWAYS,  i downloaded it and can i say that my love affair for amelie was completely refreshed. 

If  I were to get real deep about it, which of course means that i am traveling down that route, the soundtrack is so subltle, quirky, and at time very sad. My favorite is ” Comptine D’un Autre Ete, L’apres-Midi” which is solo piano piece. Strange how emotion is so univeral. The tone is a muted sorrow. Not a dramatic or epic tragedy, but a loss substantially felt by one person and one person alone. Like a hero who’s legacy has been forgotten, or a woman who has lost something of great personal signficance. Or like someone who temporarily lost  themselves, but only for a moment. And in those moments, the weight of sadness can only be felt by the one person alone. There is no accompaniment, not support. Just you.

Another great piece is  “L’autre Valse D’Amelie “. There is a sweet innocence in the quality, rhythm of it. Like school children dancing or playing jacks, an essence only uncalloused, naive hearts can understand. As the song progresses, it moves into more complex sounds and blends, the basic underlying song is the same, but with different instruments moving, singing in all different directions.

Isn’t that how life is? We are all moving to the same things, gravitating toward what is familar, what is warm, what is home. Yet, as we age– all perspectives, personalities are pushed into new areas.  I also love the eclectic collection of sounds used: pianos, xylophones?, acordian?, i’m not even sure which instruments are really playing. For in life, we value the unexpected, not the classical, telling hallmarks of a normal life, but rather the slightly weird, the things that are unique, small. And it is in these distinct moments where we become who we are. 

The pieces in this soundrack go hand in hand with this movie. Just a small story about one girl, one person, who decided to take a risk on life. And though the victories are sometimes small in comparison to the larger societal battles, there of course lies an indwelling beautiful crescendo of excitement that results. Life, love, faith, truth, take courage, and it is in the small wins, the simple joys that shape and push us forward.

The Internet Hiatus is over!

Woo hoo! after 3 weeks of waiting and without internet (well right at my fingertips), new computer is here with a functionining ethernet port!

Thanks to my tech savvy, smart shopper, here i am. I am pretty, scratch that, absolutely sure i would have given up in buying a computer or just drowned in all the meaningless numbers and data that i have no interest in, Ghz, gb? mb? 

after round 1 of exams i feel a lot more at ease in general. i’ve been able to get groceries (no more oatmeal, greenbeans, and/or string cheese for dinner), i’ve upgraded to lean cuisines (of course). 

So i have been itching to write for the last 3 weeks, and now that i am here my mind is blank, completely white canvas. Sigh. 

The only things i can think to say (briefly) are: 

1. A birth of a baby is quite possibly and probably the greatest miracle and clearest indication of God’s divine hand in creation and in science. 

2. 5 hour energy bottles > any and all other energy drinks. 

3. Not having internet is somewhat liberating and like prison at the same time. Free from any obligations under the stipulation ” i can’t check my email” which is true, but completely isolated from real world events and forced to watch hours of randome television, on such channels like AE, ABC family, TLC, so on and so fourth.

4. We as a society are so hesitant to beleive in God but readily accept and faithfully beleive prescription meds can fix us, without any awareness as to how or what it is doing in the body to “work”

5. On an objective note, HIV is probably the coolest virus ever (not the effects, just the activity and process of infetion). Don’t believe me, check the link.  

6.  My lenovo is enjoyable, though the ctrl and function key mix up is annoying. 

7. i can not WAIT for this semester to be over. 

8. My (well, Eric’s) iPod is not working. Not listening to sermons on the drive sucks, it makes the hour go by fast and i always learn so much from them. Tim Keller is my new fav. 

9. 8 ams are the worst things ever invented by academia. 

10. Just to make it even, i am trying to think of something remotely interesting to post as a one-liner, but don’t really see any amusing end to this sentence. so with that lame note, i guess ill try to write something more thought provoking or deep later (as wordpress is really only for that haha).