Portholes: 12/22/12

My house looks like Christmas. I'm amazed. After spending so many years moving in the winter, or being so busy that nobody has time to hang lights, or being too poor to have any lights, or being poor enough to not even have a home, Christmas at home is an alien concept. And I kinda hope it stays that way. The atmosphere is so pretty I want to cry. I don't want to lose that.


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I think I have a case of Jack of All Trades, Master of None Syndrome. I'm smart. I'm skilled. I work hard. Those, I think, are the most essential qualities of a career person. But I'm smart enough to know too much; I'm skilled enough to excel at too many things; I work hard enough to accomplish too much. I'm also more indecisive than the average human, so facing a cornucopia of options for what to do with my life leaves me stymied. I can do anything I want, so what's the right decision? Sometimes I think it would be nice to just be good at one thing. Or to only care about one thing. I could proceed down the path, then, without hesitating a moment.

As it stands now, I feel alive when I sing, and conversely dead when I don't. At any given moment, if you asked me what I'd rather be doing, I'd probably answer singing. That is, of course, taking for granted that I'm not already. I also feel the urge to go, which I can't help but associate with a musician's life. Not to say that you can't be a musician if you stay in one place, but performing more easily melds with travel than most vocations.

I also have an English degree and a fervent love of literature that reaches beyond wanting to read books. I feel uniquely compelled to encourage others in their creation of literature. While I do like crafting on my own, editing is by far one of my favorite things to do. It's a joy to help others reach in themselves and pull out a work of beauty. I've also taken up the cause of defending the gift of story. Too few people appreciate it for what it is. For many, story gets left in children's books and trashy romance novels people use to distract themselves from a life they don't like. To call that a tragedy only begins to describe the bleakness of such neglect and abuse. Story fuels imagination. It enriches life. It teaches people how to live; or rather, it teaches people to live. When I read a story, I don't proceed from the ending resolving to model my life precisely after what I just read, but I do feel encouraged to move on from there living. When I go for a time without a story passing through my mind, lethargy begins to seep through my body and will. Life overwhelms and I become too weary to live. I need stories of life, in all of its beauty and depravity, to inspire me to live the one I have.

And then I wander into the kitchen and find extreme fulfillment in making a cookie. Or a pie. Or tomato sauce. Or macaroni and cheese. Anything really, although I am partial to foods with flour. It's easy to get lost in the blending of ingredients for a whole day and not even care to eat anything. Physical indulgence is not the end of food-making for me. Just making it is the point. I'm too practical to let it waste, though, so I do appreciate when other people eat it. It's a reward to take part in sustaining life of individuals.

Running through all of these things is a love for people. In a vacuum, everything I enjoy would still be a joy, but a much diminished joy. I want what I do to be good for someone.

The possibilities are limitless, therefore I ask myself again, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"


********


God's up to something. I can feel it in my bones. I don't know what it is, but I see evidence of it. Peace is flourishing in my spirit like never before. My family is experiencing unprecedented prosperity in the areas that matter; our relationships continue to strengthen; faith and contentment is multiplying; and most telling, we, collectively, started dreaming again. We've always been the kind to sit around and talk about all the grand things that might happen, encouraging other to keep moving forward in the face of adversity and discouragement, but life can be overwhelming. It recently became oppressively so, and the imagination of our household languished. At times it's been a struggle to be human. So I recently almost cried when my parents started dreaming up plans for what they might want to do with their future. For too long "future" hasn't extended far beyond making it through the next five minutes. The words "What if we..." are as invigorating as water after a long desert. Something's stirring in the wind, and I'm excited to see what it is.

Looking for the lilies.

My hopes for this site are always so high. I'm holding onto them, for if I don't, there's no chance for fulfillment. But in the meantime, this remains a place for me to indulge in sharing my stories.

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"Girl, that's what you've been doing, you've been dying. I'm gonna buy you some lilies to put on your grave, I think you're almost there."

I've been ruminating over death. Excuse me for sounding like Moaning Myrtle. I don't mean to, but these things happen.

Death was once a subject I avoided as much as I could. When I let my thoughts get close to it, it kept me up at night, and even clouded my emotions in the presence of daylight. In all transparency, it was also one of the biggest reasons I sought out Jesus. I heard very young that people died. All people died. Which meant that I, a person, was going to die too. That was frightening. I also heard that asking Jesus to "come into your heart" would save you from hell and eternal death, and allow you to live forever in heaven with God. I wasn't sure how it worked, but I wanted that. Unable to bear the thought of dying, at the tender age of four I asked Jesus to come in and save me. That's all being a Christian was to me then: not dying. And as much security as I found in my position with Jesus, anxiety still plagued me to the point that I asked Jesus to come into my heart several times over, just in case.

When I made this big life choice at the age of four, I was too young and ignorant to see the irony in my motivations leading me to the particular action I found myself taking. I hadn't read much of the New Testament yet, so I hadn't come across "you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God," or "those who want to save their life will lose it." When I did become aware of them, I was more than a little unsettled. I didn't lose my faith, but I wasn't sure what to make of all that. Dying was still terrifying, now suddenly I found out I had to die. There was no way of getting around it.

So I left that alone for a while and tried to ignore it. I don't want to advocate that passivity and neglect is the best way to deal with all problems, but in this case I do think it was what was needed. I wasn't prepared for such understanding, so it was best to leave it alone. When I was ready, it was right there waiting for me.

I've only recently been ready, sometime in the past year and a half.

The longer I live the less materialistic I am becoming. Moving will do that to you. Poverty will do that to you. Being jobless and forced out of your home will do that to you. Since I moved into this house, I've been reevaluating my relationship with the physical world, and I'm finding more and more that I'm not very attached to it. I never thought I'd say it, but that goes for my own body too. I'm not looking to actively get rid of it. On the contrary, since I've started letting go of myself, I've started taking better care of myself. But I know the day of my body's demise is coming and I dread it less every day.

This turn away from physical matters has led me to spiritual ones, so now when I read "those who want to save their life will lose it," I think about it in the latter context. This is a good thing, because that's as it was intended. I'm no longer distracted from the point by fear.

And I think coming to this has been the point of the last year and a half of my life. I've been dying. Not physically, but in ways more mysterious than that. I graduated, so the student in me died. As grateful as I was to no longer be beholden to an educational system, I had been her for 18 years. Loss is never easy. My ambition was to replace her with a new identity as a worker for financial gain, but instead I lost even more than I bargained for. I lost the use of my car. I lost my Internet connection. I lost my phone. I lost my computer. I lost my home. I lost my independence. With these things came the loss of ability to go anywhere, the loss of ability to make money at home, the loss of discovering new music and listening to any music at all, the loss of having the ability to learn anything I wanted to at my fingertips, the loss of the most stability I had ever known, the loss of interacting with family and friends.  And just when I thought I couldn't lose anything else, I lost my voice. I lost almost everything I treasured and with which I had aligned myself. I was isolated with no inspiration. That lack of inspiration was the key to my sorrow. Being alone in itself doesn't make an introvert like me sad. But my creativity died. My imagination became dim. My will to drink deeply of life to its dregs disappeared. I lost myself, and then I was truly alone. I had never really known what it was like to so longingly want company before.

Jesus was it at that point. I didn't have anything else. I've been without most things at one time or another the majority of my life, but I've never been without myself.

Spending so much undivided time with God himself helped me get to know him better, and my fondness for him has grown in ways I never would have imagined. I mean that with all sincerity. It's overwhelming sometimes.

Therefore, my breath caught one day when I read this:

"So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory." (Colossians 3:1-4, emphasis mine)

So I'm losing my life to find Jesus, and then he's giving it to me better than it was before, because it comes from him, and he is true goodness. Wow.

In this light, death has become a great source of beauty. I don't hear the word and panic anymore. I actually often get an odd sort of comfort from it. Just yesterday a friend started talking about this very subject, and at the mention of dying I started crying for sheer joy. I know what that's like now, how painful it can be, and what wonderful things can come from it.

My epigram came from a brief bit of a conversation I heard someone having with my mother in recent weeks. While both intended for and relevant to her, when I heard it I felt like they were words for me as well. I'm eager to see those lilies. They're a lot prettier than the fear I've been dragging around.

I leave you with a song.

Because even I can find it difficult to keep quiet...

There are innumerable things I don't talk about much, if ever. This is one of them. Thus I can tell you with a sizable bit of confidence that you shouldn't expect to see a string of posts from me on this subject.

Also, the timing of this post has not been overlooked in either the writing or publishing. As separated from this subject as I do try to be, I'm not quite that willfully ignorant.

********

I dance near the edge of being un-American. So closely, in fact, I probably wouldn't argue with you if you said my steps, even the most practiced and calculated of them, crossed the line more often than I realize.

Had I been born in, say, Ecuador this wouldn't be too noteworthy. I haven't ever met anyone from Ecuador, but I'm supposing it wouldn't be a surprise for an Ecuadorian, or anyone else not born in the fifty states, to prize their own country over a foreign one. But, alas, I wasn't. I was born smack dab in the middle of Arkansas, about as home grown as one can be, and to this day have not even left the country for travel. A small, shallow spot in the Gulf of Mexico is the most exoticism my short, sheltered life has seen.

One thing I do prize about my country is I have the right to not like it. I can post this confession for the world to see and still be just as American as the stars and stripes flying atop the White House. (But don't expect me to start flying any stars and stripes atop my own house.) It seems odd to cherish this, yes, but the right to be discontent and dissatisfied publicly is one I don't take for granted. I'm like a self-aware Ebenezer Scrooge. An American self-aware Ebenezer Scrooge.

What is there to be discontent about? Waste. Entitlement. Selfishness. Blinding nationalism. I heard this phrase spoken recently in reference to my homeland, "We are the hope of the world," and I wanted to react. I'm not sure how I wanted to react, because I'm not the reactionary type, but I sure felt like doing something. Shout, maybe? Turn the TV off in huffy offense? Pace the floor? I'm pretty sure I did roll my eyes, and for me that's something. You know I'm seriously perturbed when I roll my eyes.

After working through the initial emotion I experience when encountering these things, I do begin to wonder if, in my worldly ignorance, I don't see them as prevalent in other parts of the world even though they may be there, and my ethnocentric worldview has only been convinced that Americans are particularly susceptible to such offending attitudes and behaviors more so than the rest of our planetary neighbors. Maybe Ecuadorians throw things away just as much as we do. I don't know. My only reference is what I hear from people who know what it's like in other parts of the world. Thus I can't speak from my own experience, and therefore try to be careful when making judgments. The impression I get, though, does not reflect well on my country.

As I mentioned above, I do pay attention to what others have to say of what they know about the rest of the world, and in doing so try to imagine myself living in other places and cultures. What would that look like? How is any given culture different than my own? Most importantly, I wonder how I would feel living in a different place, with a different people group, under a different government, with a different worldview. Through all my wonderings, I'm formulating an interesting conclusion.

Due to my own worldview, I doubt I would be content in any country or with any government. Not any that exists on this planet.

To an American mind, it seems obvious why I have fundamental issues with dictatorship, or monarchy. Placing all the power in one person's hands is never a good idea. Foul moods, selfishness, ignorance, any number of things can lead a person to make bad decisions, and it's scary to think that the well-being of a whole group of people could be upheld or destroyed by one all-powerful (human) leader.

But bad decisions are not limited to individuals. There is no magic that grants a group infallible wisdom, or the infallible ability to heed infallible wisdom when they come across it. It's for these reasons I'm not really keen on democracy either. This is where the United States of America, the "government of the people, by the people, for the people," and I part ways. In my experience, the people don't know what they're talking about. I don't even know what I'm talking about, except for this, the conviction that we're all inept. That I do know, and believe.

It's this conviction that makes it hard for me to get involved with government and politics. I genuinely can't do it. Call me a fatalist if you will, but I believe so strongly that none of us will ever get it right that my conscience won't let me. I don't talk politics with my friends. I don't follow the latest news from the campaign trail. I haven't even ever voted for anything, and unless my convictions change it doesn't seem likely that I ever will.

I believe that infallible wisdom is only found in God. In deciding how to live my life, he's the source to which I look. I can't make everybody do that, though. God doesn't even make everybody do that. Therefore, our human governments can't dictate that God be considered when decisions are made. But when we don't chaos follows accordingly.

For those familiar with biblical history, you may remember God warned his people, the nation of Israel, that would happen to them. In case you need a refresher, or your biblical history knowledge is lacking on the whole, they didn't believe it. They begged to be given a human king. Other peoples had kings, and the last thing Israel wanted was to be left out. As a nation, they wanted to be taken seriously as a peer to the rest of the world, so when God told them he was the only king they needed, they rejected the idea. God gave them a king, then, and they quickly fell into ruin. The first three kings left sordid stories behind them, and by the time the fourth one came around, the nation split into two. If God's own chosen can't fare any better than that, it doesn't look good for the rest of us.

I guess, then, I'm not purely un-American. Un-Earthly is a better description. If any person presumes to make decisions for a people, whether they be autonomous in their decision-making or working with others, and they do it apart from God, I can't jump in and participate.

The reality which can't be overlooked, though, is that I am living on the earth under earthly rule. As long as I'm here I can't escape it. And I think out of all the nationalities available, being an American isn't so bad. It's great, actually. I'm safer here than I would be in many places around the world. I have opportunities that wouldn't be as readily available elsewhere. I also don't have people threatening to break down my door, or worse, because I follow and talk about Jesus. For all these things and more I am grateful. I could have been born anywhere, but I was born here, in privilege and blessing. Glory to God.

So I follow the rules, like a good citizen. And I don't grumble about taxes. One thing I feel I need to make clear is even though I am a discontent citizen, that does not mean I am a rebellious one. I seek to neither defy nor overturn any governments, least of all my own, and although I do not feel released to continually assert my voice in how the government should be run, I do not project my convictions on anyone else. To the contrary, I think it's important for people like me who value God's direction and still feel freedom to exercise their rights in full to do so. By all means, vote. Run for public office. Become president. I do not mean to suggest in anything I have written that all people who care anything about God should pull out of government and politics. Like every messy thing in life, governance requires grace. I have not been given the grace for such things. If you have, live in that grace. I have been given grace to do other things that I notice are not common in all people, so it's those things in which I strive and hope to live wholeheartedly, and it's also those things which I am not surprised to find people avoiding like their lives are dependent on it. In a way they are.

I'm sure it goes without saying, but I have not voted early for the impending presidential election like so many have, nor will I be queuing up in front of a polling booth on Tuesday. (Side note: in the six years I've been eligible, I have never registered to vote. As an almost chronic gypsy, having these particular convictions has been convenient; no registration transferring!) Whoever wins the election, I wish them the best. And I pray for it, too. I wouldn't wish the job of American President on my enemy. That's probably because my lack of grace in that area has rendered me unable to imagine how anyone could bear up under it. I sincerely hope the guy who wins over the Electoral College on Tuesday can.

Timshel.

What's this? A new post from Emily two days (nights) in a row?


I hear Mumford & Sons has put out a new album. Aside from the first single from said album, which I hear frequently on the radio, I haven't heard it. But I have listened to their last album, Sigh No More, more times than I care to attempt to calculate. (Good thing it's not titled, Listen No More.) So I'm definitely a fan of what they do, even though I have yet to board the Babel bandwagon.

It's funny, though, how many times you can listen to a song and not understand what it means.

It's also funny how two occurrences that look different on the surface can coincide like they were meant to be.

I was just thinking more about life again, and realizing afresh the close correlation between the increase in my faith, and the increase in things like joy and contentment, and even provision. As the former has grown, so too have each of the latter, and then some. Faith has become the proverbial gift that keeps on giving.

Almost immediately after, my thoughts turned to Mumford & Sons' song "Timshel." I began to sing it. "Cold is the water..."

Through the first verse chorus cycle. Then through the second. And then I came to this, and my eyes widened as it sank deep...

"And I will tell the night
And whisper, "Lose your sight"
But I can't move the mountains for you"

I've heard, and can testify, that walking blindly in faith is the better way to live. I've also heard that a minuscule bit of faith is enough to move a mountain. It doesn't take much, but the mountain won't move unless you believe it will.

It's such a joy when what I see and hear, especially when what I'm seeing and hearing is beautiful art, affirms what I know to be true, especially recent revelations of truth.

Nonsense is best.

The gap between my last post and this one is a few weeks longer than I intended. I'm only okay with that because there's a good reason for it.

To get to that, allow me to jump over to and back down someone else's path. Early this year my mom and I paid a visit to our dear friend Amanda who has cut our hair for the past few years. If I wasn't so attached to the crazy dark brown stuff growing on top of my head, I would have made an appointment with her every week just so I could see her. She's that wonderful of a person. Almost immediately after my mom and I made it to the aforementioned appointment, Amanda began catching us up on the happenings of her life, and what she told us was radical. She and her husband had divorced, she moved to a town an hour away, and she had decided to quit her job and start cleaning houses. The one thing she said that has stuck with me most these many months since is, "I've been shocking people all over the place."

I knew she and her husband had their share of struggle, but it always seemed to me that they would fight through it, whatever happened. I think other people had the same impression. She was also extremely connected to her family and her community. Half the people that walked into the salon had either known her her whole life, or had been known by her their whole life. I doubt anyone expected she would ever move away. And if that wasn't dramatic enough, she was dead set on changing vocation. I know she didn't make a killing cutting, coloring, and styling hair, but going from that to cleaning houses almost seemed like a downgrade.

But all that is why what she did was so great, and why I was excited for her. She needed dramatic change and wasn't letting what anyone thought about it stop her from doing what was best for her. The only opinion she cared about was God's, and she was willing to follow him even when it didn't make sense.

My life doesn't make sense. To anyone. Not even me. But I'm living it. And I'm more content and full of joy than I've ever been.

Which brings me back to writing. I've been so busy living that I haven't gotten back around to my blog as quickly as I thought I would after getting this computer. But, Lord willing, I'll wake up to another day tomorrow, then another one after that, and another, and my story won't be over for a long time to come, giving me lots of second chances.

I leave you with a song I only recently began to comprehend. I hope you can experience this at least once in your lifetime.

Knocking down cobwebs.

Does anybody even read this thing anymore?

Well, obviously, there hasn't been much available to read lately, so I'm not expecting that anyone has been reading the past few months. But this post. Right here. Is anyone even paying attention enough to see it?

Look at this, before I've even begun, I'm already digressing. The point I'm wanting to make known in this post is that I am once again the proud owner of a computer. I have many hopes for my reacquaintance with technology, one of them being a return to blogging. Thus the wondering about the continued existence of an audience.

And that's all I have to say right now. I won't be captivating many minds with this bit of brilliance, but here's to the future.

24-year-old single female seeks the voice of experience.

I need some perspective.

Most of the people I know and know of seem to think a stable home is vitally important for a family. When I use the word stable in this context, I mean it in a physical sense. We could discuss emotional stability, mental stability, spiritual stability, etc., but my thoughts are currently turned to a more tangible sphere.

Back to the point, a lot of people seem to place high value on physical stability, particularly when talking about families, and my present question is "Why?." I don't disagree with them, but I also can't say that I agree completely.

Maybe my childhood is to blame for my wondering. It certainly is for my wandering. The longest I've lived anywhere is approximately 3.5 years, and that seemed like an eternity to me. My average is markedly shorter. Not only that, I've traveled most of my life almost like it was my job. It's not been quite that extreme, and some seasons are more full than others, but for someone who doesn't get paid to bop around the landscape, I've done it remarkably a lot.

As the person I am now typing this, I don't regret my life at all. I do wonder from time to time what staying in one place would be like, but never do I regret or feel mistreated. When I was younger, the nigh constant flux was a lot for me to handle; so much that it caused a lot of tears. Perhaps that's why people bestow such importance on staying in one place: to save their children from distress. I understand that. Well, I understand that as best as I can from my non-parent perspective. And if I may be so bold as to also speak this from that perspective, as much sympathy as I have for that position, I suspect too many parents are overprotective.

"No!" I hear you say. "That can't be! Don't insult my quality as a parent!" you admonish. "It sounds like your parents weren't protective enough." Maybe. I won't say there's no room for you to be right. But, although I can't claim to know all of their thoughts, I'm willing to bet I know my parents better than you do, and I wouldn't call them neglectful at all. I know the moving our family has done for the past quarter-century was not at the core of what they believed was important for us, especially not in my mom's heart. My dad didn't specifically want it anymore than she did, but he handled it better. Both of them wanted their own home where they could be together, build their life, raise their kids, and give each of us a platform from which to launch out to develop our own lives. That sounds nice, doesn't it? But life...God...dictated differently, and they were willing...forced...to go along and try to make the best of it. I think they've done an admirable job. Had they organized their and our lives as they wanted, we wouldn't have left the region where I was born. Even though it was difficult for me initially, speaking now as a 24-year-old product of physical instability, I'm grateful they didn't insist on having...weren't allowed to have...their way.

Is this an odd perspective to have? Or more accurately, is this appropriate? Acceptable? I guess the more pressing question (to my mind) is are we...am I...just an anomaly? I think I've fared rather well with a transient life, and I presume others would do the same given the opportunity, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe most people would curl into a ball, either physical or metaphorical, and become bitter and mad at the world. I don't know.

What makes me wonder about this are speculations on my future, which now seems so near and simultaneously so far, and time spent with people at stations of life I have yet to reach. When I hear them speak I wonder if they know something I don't. In fact, I assume they know something I don't. I want to believe there are things I don't understand and can't until I reach the same side of the bridge. I can't help but think, though, and want to give my experience as much credit as I possibly can.

When I combine the full credit of that experience with the voices of my inward leanings, I get a message that says, "Looks like settling down's not for you." Maybe partially settling down would be okay, but planting my feet as two deep-reaching roots would be a stretch. My wondering then becomes, what does that do for my chances of having a family, or more specifically a healthy family?

Thus we are back to where I began. I seek to understand why so I can make better decisions. Or at least informed decisions. I can see myself living in the same place, maybe actually more the same general area, for a long period of years, but not spending all day, every day there for large chunks of time, and certainly not owning the space in which I live. I know. I'm weird. Who doesn't want their own house? Particularly what woman doesn't want her own house? Me, apparently. What I want to know is can I be this brand of weird and not destroy my family? And can I drag my kids out all over creation as I'm out doing whatever it is I'm doing while not at home without devastating them? Or will I have to leave them frequently for short periods of time and will that frequent absence be more harm than it's worth? Will meeting a man be the beginning of my staying in one place? Will my inevitable choice be transience or family?

And then there's the question that could trump them all: as my life progresses, will I change so much that all these wonderings won't matter anymore, won't even be relevant anymore?