thoughtserrhea

I become increasingly uncomfortable in this culture.

It’s not a good sort of discomfort, and I believe some discomfort is.

Today I was in the grocery store. I’ve come to be very overwhelmed in the grocery store. I walk in and everyone is in a rush around me. Yesterday in fact, at church, a woman apologized while holding a door for me. I did not understand why doing something kind for me warranted an apology. Anyway, today I walked into the grocery store to busy people and bright signs, save more! It’s a bit over-stimulating for my senses, these fake, joyful bright colors. But no one smiles. No one looks the least bit happy. No one looks as if they’re enjoying themselves. A woman before me in the u-scan looks annoyed because the machine is working too slow for her taste. She tries to make annoyed eye contact with me but I won’t meet her eyes. Everyone hurries in the grocery store.

Everyone hurries in their cars.

Everyone hurries on the phone.

Everyone hurries.

Where is the humanity? I just want to scream at everyone, slow down, show some grace. You’re not in that much of a hurry. A woman in the grocery store tells the young child she is with, “stop crying. No one wants to hear that.” And for that reason alone, I want to tell the girl to cry. Cry because it will rip us from our bubbles. Cry because it will make us see each other. I want to be that kind of uncomfortable. The kind that rips me from my self-centered thoughts and forces me to see people.

I watched this. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=224E-VtB4k4) I smiled at the end. People honor the subway musicians. People honor the flash mobs. These small pieces of humanity we have left, these unexpected gifts and surprises that cause us to look up from our phones for a few minutes, to make eye contact in our delight, to see people for the beautiful beings they are.

Maybe that is why subways and airports are so beautiful: because everyone has a story and everyone is aware. Because we watch each other there, because what else is there to do? Because we are not in control of our time. And most people are not “good!” in airports, and most everyone knows it. Most everyone is a bit tired and stressed, and we’re all running in some direction, but at the same time, there is a slowness to it. You can’t use your phone on the plane. Well, sometimes you can, but most people don’t. You sleep. Or read. Or talk to someone you’ve never met and will probably never meet again. And it’s absolutely beautiful.

And then there’s the whole, howareyou? question and answer situation. I don’t know anyone who likes being told a snappy good to answer that question. But I also don’t know very many people who find new ways to ask, or don’t answer that way. Like at church yesterday. The greeter asked me how I was. It’s a bit of an awkward question, if you are to answer honestly. The question puts me on edge, no matter how I am. Part of me always wants to be super snarky and plant my feet in front of the asker and answer slow, and ask back as many times as it takes to get a real answer. But by the time the question is asked I am already too frustrated to sound genuine when I ask back. So I propose we just stop asking unless we are actually prepared to hear.

So I guess I am suggesting we all just  slow down.

BGSU year four

I should be doing the dishes, packing, wiping the dust from my dresser.

But I would rather write. Warm nights with the windows open seem to be fitting for that.

I'm not finished; I have a semester left to go. I realized recently that I could have finished, probably in August, if I had taken more summer classes. But I chose to fill my summers with people instead, and I am content with that. 

Oh, these four years. They've changed me. I'm at the same time angrier and calmer. I know where I'm headed, though I have no idea what tomorrow holds. 

The past year... going to Hungary- actually, the being in Hungary, the being in the refugee camp changed my life in more ways than I even know. God changed my heart. It took me all year to figure out how, and I'm still putting pieces together. So much.

I traveled over the ocean, alone, three times. 

I sat on a bench in a park I discovered in a tiny town in Germany in January and had a good long talk with my Creator. I spent a night with bad music and dance parties, just me and my Jesus in that hotel and then at four in the morning I sat down with all my luggage in the Munich airport and waited for the check in counter to open- well, first I got lost. But I found it eventually. And then ran through the Paris airport all the way from gate M1 to M44... went through security in Cincinnati twice because I forgot to dump my water, made friends with the people in line around me, listened to a girl in New Jersey talk about "the worst day ever," how her first flight had been delayed a few hours even though I had woken up in Budapest, heartbroken... oh adventures. Just me and my Jesus. It was good. 

My sisterfriend went across the ocean to Africa, and Asia, and now she's in Central America. 
And God gave me another sisterfriend here to lean on and be loved by. 
And a small (but growing!) community of people with passion for Him and His justice. 
And quality time with Lucy over Christmas break. 
And this lovely apartment, with Joan.
And the constant, sweet, and humbling reminder of who God is, how big God is.

This year was so hard. In my heart I was still sitting in the scratchy grass, annoyed by the ants, fire in my bones. 

God broke me down in beautiful ways, and surrounded me with beautiful people. 

Somehow it is warm again, summer is coming, somehow I am going back. (God willing) And I'll be back to this place again, another year to learn and grow and break and mold and morph. 

restless in my soul
haven't eaten in too long. i'll probably get a headache later.
i don't want to go out and be CHEERFUL
because i am restless in my soul


later: okay, that was better than expected. God gave me the gift of some really nice jeans, among other things, for FREE!

I haven’t written much lately. I don’t want to write, I just want to be.

Actually, I’d love to write, but writing is actually rather tiring, and by the time I get home I don’t want to put in the effort. I have a lot to say. But I’m tired. And I’m forced to do poetry right now, and that’s the worst thing- forced to be poetic. :)

senior wisdom. this is what I shared.

Find your identity in Jesus Christ alone. That is the most important thing I have finally begun to get a grasp on, to embrace. I don't want to be known by anything I am a part of or anything I do, my personality type, being an American or a woman or anything else. I want to be known as a follower of Jesus Christ. alone. There's freedom in the surrender, the daily choice to let Jesus be my identity instead of anything else.

MY FRIEND HAD A HEART TRANSPLANT LAST NIGHT AND SHE IS ALREADY SITTING UP TALKING, NO BREATHING TUBE.

GOD IS GOOD.

poetry

what do you want the reader to experience?

I can't find the soul in it.

you've lost me here.

where are we?

unfocused

anti-climactic

who are the characters?

syllables hindered the poem.

how are the characters connected?

what is the experience you take away from the poem?

doesn't flow

it could be longer

why can't i write what i just want to say?

i don't know your name anymore.

i want them to feel desperation, lonely, but okay

train whistles

dust

dusk

this cerulean wind haunts my soul like a shadow at dusk, quickly disappearing. this cerulean wind smells like landfill and faraway train whistles. full, and lonely. lost. You can hear the whistle from seven miles, and all the way it is loneliness. It runs in soft rhythms that taste sweet. turns dust to delight, wisps of lovely melancholy. This place is quiet, and the silence screams. He, the one in the cerulean wind, whom my heart smells these nights, his name means Birth. Jesus, hold this dust steady. his name means birth. he is the wind. he is the dust. i am the dust. restore us. the dust.