Skin

What is time wasted? Who defines the word wasted? And who names time? The other day I was sitting in the sun, and as I felt the rays burning my skin I thought about how I want to soak up life, like my skin soaks up the sun. But how? How do I find it inside myself to look past all the different definitions of wasted? Definitions of time? For skin to soak sun is so easy. It happens on its own. It’s made that way. Skin was made to soak. Could I be made to soak? Can I be skin? So much of life is different than I expected. And much of my life is different than I planned. Each choice that I have made has brought me to here. Today. I know I’m not too far along the road.. only 21. But I feel the pressure of time. I feel the expectations of others. Of myself. And its like there are two of me. There is the me that just wants to please. Cross my legs, fold my hands, brush my hair, follow the rules, make them proud. All of them. She is responsibility. She is on time. She is hard-working. She is respectful. She is clean and neat. She is tired. And then there is the me that aches to run, to fly, to let my hair blow-dry in the breeze, to unfold my hands and let them make beautiful things, to open my mouth and speak, to stand tall and make myself proud. Myself and my Papa. She is raw. She is passionate. She is real. She is determined. She is free. She is skin. When I think of her I get butterflies in my tummy, like I do sometimes when I’m lacing up my tennis shoes before a run. Like Merida in the movie Brave. I love her. I need her. When I embrace her I feel more me. And I think there are things about the other me that I need as well. I can’t throw her away. She is part of me too, and so I learn to love her. I haven’t figured it all out. Though the mystery is almost addicting. I want to solve it. But I know that if I could, then there would be nothing left to strive for. How sweet it’s been to begin to let heart be who she is. And every day I’m closer to my true self. Still so far.. but closer than I once was. And as I look back I can’t find it in myself to call any of my choices mistakes. Wrong and right? Yes. That is a completely different story. One that, frankly, I’m not equipped to discuss quite yet. My thoughts are too confused and scattered for that. But every place I’ve been, whether good or bad, has been a place that Papa was always willing to go with me. He’s never left me. Even in my so-called wandering. I love that pinterest that says “Not all those who wander are lost.” In my silly human way, I find the ache to know things. To know them, not just as rules and regulations. Not just as a formula for the best outcome of life, but to know them for real. To let heart know them for herself. To risk. To live, rather than just survive. To venture close enough to the water’s edge that I risk getting my shoes wet. There are choices I’ve made that I wouldn’t want to go around bragging about, but I can’t name them. I can’t bring myself to name bad or good. They just are. And they’ve been what has made me myself. Every step has been needed. Every action taken, every hand held, every eye opened, every heart broken, every tear, every apology, every I love you, every drop of joy, every wound, every chance taken has made me closer to skin than I was before. And so my story looks different than expected. But expected by who? By me? By them? Certainly Papa is not surprised. He knew every line of this picture from the blank sheet of paper. And though sometimes the pencil’s stroke may be rougher, it is equally part of the beauty in the ends masterpiece. I don’t know everything. In fact I know very little. But that’s what keeps me coming back for more. Its where the burn in my chest comes from when I take a look at the track in front of me before I take the first stride. I think that’s the skin.. soaking. And all I want in this life is.. all of it. Every minute. Soaking. Even the "wasted" ones. Because I've come to realize that sometimes the wasted ones are my favorite ones. A sunday evening riding my bike to the park to sit in my favorite swing. I say.. no time is wasted time when you're skin soaking. I want the wonder. I want fullness. I want marvelous. "I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything i cannot transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape one way or another. No more walls." -Anais Nan I forget too easily. I forget the living. I forget the wonder. I forget the wholeness. When I get so caught up in money and plans and my own sight for whats ahead I find myself empty. And when I let Papa fill me.. all the things I ached for so much seem so insignificant in this feeling of fullness. In this place of true joy. Can I stay here forever? Can I always be skin? Could I ride my bike til my legs are noodles? And sit in my swing until my butt is numb? :) I ache for the moments like these. I ache for them always. I am determined to soak. I am determined to name my own time. And to name my own moments. Choices. Name them for what they are to me. To heart and I and Papa. And the trick, I think, is letting go of expectations.. of others and of myself. And letting go of fear.. fear of disappointing. Because there will always be someone that disagrees. There will always be someone that is disappointed. So I'll continue on my track.. watching my feet take on the road ahead of me... not sure what will be around the next corner. And wanting so badly to know.. yet addicted to the mystery. This is how I want to live. I want to be skin. Always soaking. Soaking in the joy. Soaking in the sadness. Open hands to receive what might be brought to me. Even the things that are hard to hold. I am reminded of a little boy that used to be mine. A baby angel boy that I used to bathe, lotion, change diapers, dress, feed, play.. sing to. I can see him in his hospital bed all swollen. And I remember the ache inside me.. not knowing how to hold this new sadness. Not sure what it meant, or what to do with it. It was close to christmas time and I'd sing him "hear the angels sing.." Today, he does. And I don't doubt that he did, even then. I still dream. I still dream that dream where I walk down that hallway and find him drained. And some days I don't want to soak. Not this. And I'm angry. And I want to scream. And I wish I could make someone understand. The haunting. The hole. The black darkness that's always there under my skin, waiting to surprise me and slither out with no warning. As time goes on, you don't miss him less. You don't hurt any less. You just learn to live with the pain. You learn to let it be a part of you. Because it is. You hate it. But you need it. So you soak it in too. What choice do you have? Because when you risk living as skin.. you get to soak all. Not just the happy.. but all. And somehow, its worth it. I think it makes life sweeter. It makes colors deeper. It makes skin softer. Freedom. I want to be free. But are you willing to pay the price for your freedom?

A Patchy Heart

I'm not sure really where to begin. Sometimes I just know I need to write. I can feel it inside.. things my heart needs to say. Things I don't even know are in there. I've been thinking about myself.. as a little girl. I can remember being really young and going to church with my family on sundays. I remember everyone smiling.. you know how church people are. All smiling, all happy, nothing wrong. Not a care. And I remember hating it. Literally being beside myself, wanting to hide.. which I often did, behind my mothers leg.:) I hated it because I knew it couldn't be real. There's no way. It had to be fake.. I could feel it. And as I grew older I began to see. When I was 9 my older sister's best friend passed away in a car accident. I remember being in the kitchen, and I can see her answering the phone and collapsing on the ground as her heart was forced to accept a new reality. I remember hearing her weeping. Breaking things. Serene had taught me to play "I dropped my dolly in the dirt" on the piano. She'd sat there with me for hours. She'd eaten dinner with our family. She'd been a part of our lives. My life. My lydsie's life... she'd been a part of her heart. Just a year later my older brother's best friend passed away at just 14 years old. I remember the last time I'd seen him. Dad had been in a good mood and bought us an above-ground pool for the summer.. you know, those cheapish ones? Levi had come over and we'd gone swimming. I have this picture in my mind of him goofing off in the pool, lips purple, laughing that laugh he always did. The one that made you want to kiss his cheeks. Then we'd gone inside and played video games. When he died, I don't remember much about it. Just that something inside my brother had changed. His heart had somehow... cracked. I remember a dinner sometime that week, and I remember his silence. When I was 16 I found my Jace. I have nightmares about that evening.. ones that wake me, and i find myself shaking and weeping. I remember that long walk down the hallway to the room where he slept. And how I'd walked it so carelessly. So.. oblivious to reality. Sometimes I wish I was still there. There are days that I ache to walk that walk forever. The one where I never have to know about all the break and cracks that make for a patched-up heart. I had found him and been forced to be the one to deliver the news to my sister. And again.. her weeping. Screaming. Breaking things. Pleading. And I stood by, silent tears, as I so often have in life. Even in my own. When I was 17 he went away forever. I remember sitting in the emergency room. I remember dad coming out, shaking his head and saying "he's gone." I remember the release. The disappointment. The letdown. The hopelessness. And finally I knew it too. The crack.. though seeing those I loved have their hearts cracked, made small marks on my own, this was different.. much different. My heart was now having to accept a new reality. Having to let go of something that I never wanted to give up. A little boy. The hope for a little boy who would grow to call me by name. Take his first steps. Ride his first bike. Play in his first football game. Go on his first date. Be my first date. And it goes beyond the heartache. Beyond the suffocating loss of expectations.. dreams.. wishes. I can remember the expectations I had for myself.. even in the midst of all this sludge. Expectations for my future. To be who everyone wanted me to be. To date only one person. The one I ended up marrying. To kiss only one man in my lifetime. To be pure. In all the ways I was "supposed to." I remember youth camps, girls groups, books on relationships and purity. And the message was always the same. Save yourself. Because it's wrong not to. It's better if you save yourself. Your marriage in your future will be better if you save yourself. God will bless you if you save yourself. I remember this analogy.. (and really this is what I thought I was going to write about.. ha.) I heard it so much as a young teenager that I almost grew to secretly hate it.. never being brave enough to admit to myself that I just might disagree with it. People would tell me that it was like I had a paper heart. And when I chose to date someone and give myself to them (however I did that) was me tearing off a little piece of my heart and giving it to them. And in the analogy the girl dates all these guys and gives away so much of her heart that when she finally finds the man she was made to spend her life with.. she has next to nothing to give to him. Nothing but a small broken chunk. It was like this picture was painted.. almost as a threat. If you do it wrong, you'll suffer. Your relationship with the man you were made for won't be as good. He'll be disappointed in you. He'll be disappointed that all he gets is a little ripped up piece of paper. How could you? How could you make such a mistake? How could you come to church with anything but a big, fat, fake smile on your face? How could you be so real? So raw? And the truth is.. as I've walked down that hallway.. the one where I was blind to all the reality. All the ache and the searing longing. I've grown. And Papa has just begun to open my eyes to see it. The truth is.. who says? Who says that the patched-up hearts are any less lovely and wanted than the perfect shiny ones? I think there is something captivating about a heart that has been through the damn ringer. The one that has suffered through the hard things. Because the hard things are the real ones. And with every memory I have that comes with haunting nightmares of sisters screaming and babies drained of life, I have a special crack in my heart. I have a crack for everything I've ever had to give away.. that I didn't wholeheartedly want to give. Everything that ends up in a different way than I had expected. Things, people that I gave myself to. Choices. Maybe wrong. But maybe just choices. Maybe there isn't really one specific way that is the absolute right one.. maybe you just have to pick one and be all in. And who's right is it anyway to point fingers and shame you for the choices you've made. Their your own. Why have I been so afraid of disappointing? No one gets to be disappointed in me. And my future marriage will be just as blessed as anyone else's. Not because I made the right choices or the wrong ones. But because I have a Papa that loves me so much I can't stand it. There is nothing I can do to separate myself from Him. And all He wants is to dine with me and let me eat and drink of Him.. let Him satisfy my thirst. He wants my heart. Patches and all.

I'm sad today. And most days I can rise above it and thank Papa for the blessings. I can find the happy things and I can be thankful. Eucharisteo. But eucharisteo is hard. And sometimes I'm not good at it at all. I don't know why it feels like this sometimes. Like it happened yesterday. Like I'm having to accept the reality all over again. And the memories won't stop and it makes me so sad. The pain creeps in.. and it's so dark and so crippling. I had been doing so good pretending.. that I almost forgot it was there. But it never leaves, not really. It's always just under the surface. The sound of his little nickname on my lips is like a stab in the hole in my chest. My wound is achy and swollen.. and I'm not sure why. I always know it's there. It's become a part of me. A part that sometimes I resent.. but yet I wouldn't give it for the world. I need it. I miss the freshness of his sweet memories.. and I hate the lurking of the dark ones. So vivid. So clear. I loathe them.. but I need them too. Some days I just need to think on them.. allow their bitterness to pool around me. Some days when they begin flooding in, small pieces of the sweet ones begin to trickle their way through too. His wheezy chest that night the three of us took turns holding him in the recliner. Being so beyond exhaustion but wanting to dance at the sound of his heart beating so soft. The way cries had become music. The smell of his baby food mixed with cereal. His big round blue eyes.. so deep. His soft red curls and the way they felt in my fingers. How I loved the pink in his chubby cheeks. And it burns to remember his little face drained of life.. pale and cold. Thats how it works. The dark memories always stealing from the sweet ones. And how do I dwell on the good when the bad was so terrible..? And it lingers. It's always there. The hole. The never ending ache for a little boy who was supposed to call me Aunt Bethy. The one who was supposed to be a big brother to two precious little boys and a little brother to the sweetest girl I know. The one who I was supposed to take on dates and listen to his silly stories about things that happened that day and what he wanted to be when he grew up. So much pain. Aching pain. It throbs. It gnaws. It plants bitterness and anger. And sometimes I'm blinded by it's disgusting harshness. And I can't find the good. I can't make myself thank Papa.. not for this. I don't know why. I don't know why I can't scoop all four of my little angels up. I don't know why he will always be missing. I don't know why I sit wondering what he would look like if he were mine today. What would his little voice sound like? What kinds of silly things would he say? What I wouldn't give to hear his tiny giggle.. to touch his hair.. to kiss his cheeks. I long to hold him tight in my arms. Because if I could trace his face, hold his hands and count his toes.. then I could know he is real again. That he's not just a fuzzy memory in my head. I wish I could remember right. I wish the memories could be stored somewhere safe where they'd never fade. It's like bloody knuckles. Scraped-up hands and knees. I don't know how to get back up, always. I don't know if I know how to walk around all beat up. But here I am.. and days like these pass by. And the pain doesn't lessen. It just gets more bearable. You just get better at living with it. And I think that sometimes it's okay to have days that you're not so good at eucharisteo thanksgiving. I think Papa understands. And I know He's good. I know He loves me. I know it's okay. It's just that so much of life hurts..

Memories..

Today I drove past a cemetery and saw a burial going on.. There were people gathered around. And for a moment, everything was still. Death. I am forever altered. The word "death" isn't just a word anymore. It's a memory.. and one memory brings another, and another. And before you know it there is a rush of memories.. good and bad, sad and happy, carefree and painstaking. When I'm driving and I pull over to let an ambulance through, I go back. Way back. Those red and blue lights flashing. But mostly red. When I hear those three letters.. "ICU"... I smell the hand sanitizer, the face masks.. all the tubes. Hopelessness. Defeat. Like.. the air has been knocked out of me. I hear the beeping of the monitors, The lullabies.. the books. Hours and hours of just sitting.. watching. Waiting. Hoping. Praying. And then there he is. His little face. Which brings me to another memory. Waking up early and driving to the hospital.. Anxiousness, excitement. Fellowship. Laughter. Surprise! A beautiful baby boy. Bright red hair. Icy blue eyes. Perfection. Privilege. Gratitude. Joy.

Who am I to deserve this? Any of it? Even the really sucky stuff? "Why do bad things happen to good people?" Who, on earth, is "good people"? Definitely not me. That's for sure. What makes a good person? How should I know? I'm just a small human. Tiny. I only have significance because of my Maker. Who am I to say who's good and who's bad? And, for that matter, who am I to say what I deserve and what I don't deserve? It's a lot to think about. So complex. But, at the same time, so simple. Rest. Remember surrender?

"Remember surrender?
Remember the rest?
Remember that weight lifting off of your chest?
And realizing that it's not up to you and it never was?
Remember surrender?
Remember relief?
Remember how tears rolled down both of your cheeks
As the warmth of a Heavenly Father came closing in?
I want to do that again.
Why can't I live there
And make my home
In sweet surrender?
I want to do so much more than remember.
Remember surrender?
Remember peace?
Remember how soundly you fell fast asleep?
In the face of your troubles your future still shone like the morning sun.
Remember surrender?
Remember that sound
Of all of those voices inside dying down?
But One who speaks clearly of helping and healing you deep within." -Sara Groves

Isn't it relieving that we don't have to know? That we don't have to try and figure it out? We just have to trust. Rest. Be.

So far to go..

Life is weird. They say that YWAM will ruin you for the good... and I think I see it now. Sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating here. I feel like I should be DOING more. This is my home, and I never want to live anywhere else. But I want to be using my time well. I want to be serving, ministering to the lives of others, sharing the Love of Jesus. It's what makes me feel alive. And it's what I was made to do. Everything else just feels like a waste of my time. It's like the clock is ticking in both of my ears and every minute that passes is a minute that I'll never get back. What am I living for? Not just what's my religion? or What church do I go to? What am I LIVING for? Why did I get up today? Why do I run 4-5 miles a day? Why do I volunteer at ministries? Why do I go out of my way to make sure the people I care about KNOW that I love them and would do anything for them? What was I made for?

It's a crazy life when this is going through your mind all the time. But I'd rather it be this... it could be What am I gonna do on friday night? or When am I gonna get those jeans I wanted? or When am I gonna FINALLY get a boyfriend? or Why didn't he like me? What does she have that I don't? ..but is that really what I care about? Maybe sometimes. But, ultimately, when I let those things consume me.. I let the world consume me. I feel like God stands by and watches me.. weeping.

When I think about creation and how God created Woman... I think about myself. I am needy. I need to know that people WANT me.. that they want to be with me, that they think I am beautiful. I long to have someone who dotes on me. I dream of having someone who watches all the little things I do and loves me deeply. Someone who wants to spend his life with me.. Isn't that who God is? He isn't man or woman, male or female. He's God. But He's begun to show me how He and I are alike. He wants to know that He is wanted. He wants to know that I want to be with Him. He wants to know that I think about Him daily. He wants to know that I find Him beautiful.

So, where is all this all going? Heck if I know! This is how my brain works! But I am continuing to ask God what it is that He is revealing to me. I feel alive when He's teaching me something. I have so far to go. I hardly know anything. But He is my father, my best friend, my groom. He loves me deeply and WANTS me. Even if no one else does, yet. I have to find significance in that, right? Meaning. Purpose. I am God's desire. I am His bride. So then.. if anything matters, then everything matters.

Re-adjusted.. I think

So I've been home for almost two months now.. and things have changed a little since my last post. I started to re-think SBS and have been really trying to hear God about things. Last week I did something crazy and I visited Oklahoma City Community College! And this week I'm doing something even crazier and visiting OSU-OKC! I am looking at getting my associates degree in nursing. It's crazy, I know. But let's just back up about, oh nine months or so and look at things. When Jace got sick and was in the PICU for about ten days, God really stirred in me a passion for nursing. I wanted to be a nurse that brings hope and peace into the rooms of my patients and a nurse who is always looking for opportunities to share God's love. And since I've been home He's been reminding me of that passion. I would love to work in the PICU or even as a Labor and Delivery Nurse. And I believe that no matter where I am God will use me to minister to people. In the grand scheme of things.. all I really want is what He wants. I belong to Him. And He knows better than I do. I still don't know for sure what will happen, and I hesitate to even try to plan things out.. because I know they usually don't work out the way I plan. But, maybe I will be in school in the fall? Who knows? I feel a little flaky, because I said I was going to do one thing and now I'm saying another.. but honestly I don't know! It's an adventure! Right here in Oklahoma! Isn't it amazing how God always keeps us guessing..? I think it's kind of fun that way!

In the meantime.. :) I've been hanging out with my sweet family and a few friends and God somehow keeps my attention to teach me more things! I have been volunteering at a ministry called "All Things Baby" twice a week. Women (and sometimes men) come into our office, needing baby supplies. Diapers, clothing, shoes, toys.. anything! You name it! I get them signed in and in the computer system and then they are sent back to get set up and prayed for. I absolutely love it, and am so glad God can still use me even though it may feel small. My weeks are pretty crazy. Sometimes I'm super busy and sometimes I have a lot of time on my hands.. which I usually spend playing with my niece and nephew and hanging out with my sisters. I'm so excited to see what God has in store for me next and hopefully I will know soon! ;)

Home Again..

I'm finally home! I've been here for about two weeks and things have changed fast! When I first got here I had a friend from DTS come home with me for about a week. So I took her all around to fun places and showed her what I could of Oklahoma.. and then she went home. Which, I think, is when reality sort of set in. I remember I drove her to the airport and dropped her off and then came home. And when I got home no one was there. Everyone at my house has work and school. So I literally sat on my bed and stared at the wall for 20 minutes. I can't explain what it felt like. For the past six months I was going going going. And all of the sudden I don't really have anywhere I need to be or anything I even HAVE to do. I started cleaning things and trying to find things to do to fill my time, because otherwise I was going to sit there and think about how much I miss it. And I do. I miss the atmosphere of people just seeking God's face 24/7. That's what we existed for the last six months.. and it was absolutely amazing. I miss worship and intercession three times a week... but not just ANY worship. The kind where you're on your face weeping in awe of who God is. And I learned so much.. I think now it's just a matter of learning how to take it and put it into my everyday life. And it's really hard. As time has started going by I realize how easy it is to get caught up in routine and schedules... and I forget how much I love spending time with my Jesus. In the car, today, I turned the music off and just listened to His voice and talked to Him about a lot of different things. And then I wanted to cry because I loved it so much... and I couldn't believe I had gone so many days without listening and spending time just hanging out with Him.. praising Him. I love Him more than I can say. And it's been such a blessing to have come this far, and have had the opportunity to dedicate these last few months to Him and just letting myself fall in love with Him. My relationship with Him has grown so much deeper.. and I know He wants to teach me so much more. I'm pretty sure I'm working towards going back in January of 2011! I want to take the SBS (School of Biblical Studies) where they take nine months and go through the entire bible and just pick it apart. Then it has a three month outreach.. so it would be a year long. Which is a long time to leave my home and my family again. But I can't think of anything I could possibly want more right now. I wasn't created to just exist. I was created for adventure! And that's God's desire for me! And, now, His desire is mine. I almost can't remember what I wanted before all of this! All I want now is to take Him by the hand and go where He will lead me! And I'm pretty sure He's told me the next adventure is SBS!

But this last week God has really opened my eyes to see how easy it is for me to spend all my time thinking about the past and future. (The future A LOT!!) I'm excited about where He's taking me and what He wants to do! And DTS was amazing.. and I can easily spend a lot of time missing it.. and missing the people there. But I'm not in either of those places. I'm here. In Edmond, Oklahoma. And I'm so glad to be home. I absolutely love my family.. and I've missed them so very much. Everyday with them is precious to me. And I'm spending all the time I can with them! God is teaching me to love with all my heart. And it's an adventure, here, too! Because it's where God has placed me for the next ten months. And so I will choose to BE here, putting my heart into everything I do and continuing to let God teach me things! What a blessing that He's gracefully opening my eyes.. and continuing to reveal Himself to me! I'm so glad to be home!