I don't know what possessed me to come looking at this old blog today, but wow, January 2019? That literally feels like a lifetime ago. I don't remember exactly what kept me from writing in the rest of the 2019 months, but I think anyone reading this will understand why a drop-off continued after 2020.
So much has changed since then.
So much for the world, certainly, but also so much for myself. The biggest example I can think of is that I realized something during 2020 that had nothing to do with the global pandemic. All that darkness I wrote about a few posts before this? I was right about it being serious burnout, but what I didn't realize was that it was specifically of the autistic kind. I'd never even considered that I was autistic before that year, but when a close friend was diagnosed it brought some things within me to light. It wasn't a bad thing. Actually it was wonderful. All that time, for so long, I was so convinced that I was just broken as a human. Realizing I was autistic also meant realizing...I wasn't broken at all.
It was a very emotional, but also a very freeing year of learning about myself and about ASD. And all of that learning, all of that new understanding for myself and my mind, lead to a beautiful time of healing. I realized I was autistic pretty early on in 2020, and by that summer I finally felt ready to...well, to exist again. My local library posted a job listing. I applied, and after one interview I was offered a position. A part time position, which was perfect for what I needed. The entire process felt as unreal as the rest of that year had, but the longer I was there the more real it felt, until eventually I looked up one day and realized it was officially the longest I had ever had a single job. I'm still there to this day!
Well, technically. At this very moment I am actually on a bit of a work leave, which was why I've had so much time to jog down some memory lanes and stumble across this blog in the first place. It's not a very fun work leave, though; I broke my ankle in three places, had to have surgery, and was told not to bear weight on the ankle for 8 weeks. I'm currently approaching the end of week six. Three more to go!
I've taken this time off to try and refocus myself on what I wanted to do all those years ago, back in 2019 when I had a dream of earning a living with nothing but my art, my writing, and a bit of gumption. I still have a RedBubble Shop, I focus most of my social media attempts on my BlueSky account, and sometime not too long ago I cleaned up my personal website. I make a couple of dollars a year on RedBubble with some popular Christmas designs, but otherwise I have certainly been less focused on art as I would have liked - and a lot less focused on writing, too. So I figured, why not give it another go? I'll just pick up right where I left off. There aren't exactly a lot of people here reading anyway, so that's about as low stakes as you can get.
So, then. Hi! Hello, here I am. Let's go again.
Tuesday, August 11, 2026
hindsight is 2020
Friday, January 11, 2019
looking for something to be
The holidays are quite the whirlwind of emotions, aren't they. Exciting and fun, filled with laughter and family and love; but also tiring and chaotic, leaving you wanting nothing more than to escape from the world and curl up under a comforting blanket with your favorite cup of tea. I'm afraid I've been spending a lot of time in the latter camp described there, and my art and writing habits have suffered for it over the past few weeks. I'm trying my best to cut myself slack though, because if I've learned anything over the past year it's how easily the positive things in life are lost to the overlay of negative if you do not give yourself time and space to see both.
So I haven't been drawing as much as I would like to, and I haven't posted much of anything in my usual shop fronts since the stickers that I designed for the Advent and Christmas season, but that's okay. I'm getting there. What I have done is started to keep track of things that I do accomplish in my journal at the end of the day, so that if some of the tasks I had laid out were not finished I can look back and remind myself of the things that were. I've continued to attend R.C.I.A. with my husband, and as that progresses we are both more and more excited to finally "officially" join the Church. New Year New Me is a popular saying in this month, but I try not to think of things with such a harsh line on midnight of that final day in December. It is a new year, and there are new chances to do new things and find more of yourself - but every day is a new chance to find more of yourself. You don't need a new date on the calendar for that.
Clearly, I have a tendency to ramble; but I suppose that's what I created this blog for in the first place! I did have somewhat of a point to this conversation with you though, and that's to remind everyone that it's okay to do nothing, if that's what you need. The past few weeks for me have been a lot of doing nothing in the art department, and most of the year has been a lot of doing nothing in the writing department. I did open my notebook today, though. I've found myself lately feeling a pull towards writing poetry again, and I wanted to write some thoughts down on what inspiration feels like. I have a tendency to scribble thoughts onto the page and forget about them afterwards, and as I flipped through the pages to start writing today I came across some writing that I did sometime in autumn. It's not quite a poem, because I have not put all the pieces in just the right place, but it does have the essence of one. I thought it might be nice to share this 'skeleton in my closet,' so to speak. The skeleton of a maybe-someday poem, and the skeleton of the emotions that I was working through at the time.
I'll end my post with sharing those words, but first I also want to take a moment and remind whoever is reading this -- no matter where you are right now, in the world or in your own mind and heart, you are worthy of something to everyone, and you are worth everything to someone.
The leaves are changing.
Somehow an entire summer has passed,
and not a single page was filled.
I remember last winter.
It was cold, lonely, painful,
hard to bear, harder still to live through.
Spring brought hope for a fresh start, but
this went deeper than the winter frost.
A longing for quiet and a desperate need for sound.
Exhaustion and an unending supply of energy.
The need to run with no motivation to move.
A call for company and a leer to anyone who comes near.
A voice that wants to be heard
to spread the Word across the world
and no way to speak.
No spark to feed the sleeping flames.
Scattered words without a poem to fit inside.
Half-baked characters with no story to call home.
A will to be heard, known, seen, needed,
without the motivation...to be.
So I haven't been drawing as much as I would like to, and I haven't posted much of anything in my usual shop fronts since the stickers that I designed for the Advent and Christmas season, but that's okay. I'm getting there. What I have done is started to keep track of things that I do accomplish in my journal at the end of the day, so that if some of the tasks I had laid out were not finished I can look back and remind myself of the things that were. I've continued to attend R.C.I.A. with my husband, and as that progresses we are both more and more excited to finally "officially" join the Church. New Year New Me is a popular saying in this month, but I try not to think of things with such a harsh line on midnight of that final day in December. It is a new year, and there are new chances to do new things and find more of yourself - but every day is a new chance to find more of yourself. You don't need a new date on the calendar for that.
Clearly, I have a tendency to ramble; but I suppose that's what I created this blog for in the first place! I did have somewhat of a point to this conversation with you though, and that's to remind everyone that it's okay to do nothing, if that's what you need. The past few weeks for me have been a lot of doing nothing in the art department, and most of the year has been a lot of doing nothing in the writing department. I did open my notebook today, though. I've found myself lately feeling a pull towards writing poetry again, and I wanted to write some thoughts down on what inspiration feels like. I have a tendency to scribble thoughts onto the page and forget about them afterwards, and as I flipped through the pages to start writing today I came across some writing that I did sometime in autumn. It's not quite a poem, because I have not put all the pieces in just the right place, but it does have the essence of one. I thought it might be nice to share this 'skeleton in my closet,' so to speak. The skeleton of a maybe-someday poem, and the skeleton of the emotions that I was working through at the time.
I'll end my post with sharing those words, but first I also want to take a moment and remind whoever is reading this -- no matter where you are right now, in the world or in your own mind and heart, you are worthy of something to everyone, and you are worth everything to someone.
.:an almost-poem about the leaves:.
The leaves are changing.
Somehow an entire summer has passed,
and not a single page was filled.
I remember last winter.
It was cold, lonely, painful,
hard to bear, harder still to live through.
Spring brought hope for a fresh start, but
this went deeper than the winter frost.
A longing for quiet and a desperate need for sound.
Exhaustion and an unending supply of energy.
The need to run with no motivation to move.
A call for company and a leer to anyone who comes near.
A voice that wants to be heard
to spread the Word across the world
and no way to speak.
No spark to feed the sleeping flames.
Scattered words without a poem to fit inside.
Half-baked characters with no story to call home.
A will to be heard, known, seen, needed,
without the motivation...to be.
Friday, November 2, 2018
your world's not falling apart
It's November now.
Isn't it funny how quickly a year can go by? Last year around this time I had the worst emotional breakdown I have ever experienced in my life, triggered by a multitude of events and ongoing problems that all culminated together to form one terrible, crashing, life-evolving moment. I won't go into detail about the events that lead to it here; that's part of my Lifesong, and it will come through that series in time. All you need to know now is that last year, just around this time, my life felt as though it were falling apart around me. The final straw was that I had reached a financial goal that had literally been the point of working, for me, at the time; but when I finally reached the goal...it was all for nothing.
I'm not certain that every person is built for a day job. I don't mean physically, or that some are incapable of keeping a job for any reason; I mean mentally, and emotionally. I say this as the risk of sounding like a "whiny millennial" because I'm certain there are others out there who might be feeling the same way, and might also be drowning in a sense of guilt because of it. It took a long time for me to find a job where I was happy working, but the last job that I held was just that. It wasn't difficult work, my co-workers were friendly and caring, my bosses were even more so. I loved working there, but after three years I still found myself reaching a...'wall' of sorts. An emotional trench, a hopeless pattern of working to pay for living (or in my case, student loans) and then being too exhausted by the mental and emotional price to do anything except hide from the world upon returning to my apartment. I struggle with anxiety in a general way, but in the months leading up to last November I found myself feeling the depression that can sometimes come hinged to that. The emotions and events of last year lead to my husband and I moving back to my parents' home, and it was all part of the decision that ultimately lead me to begin this journey into self employment.
Right now, sitting at my keyboard in the dim lighting of a windy autumn afternoon, I feel like I can say that I am truly happy. Of course not every moment is filled with laughter, not every blink finds me with a smile; there is still sadness, there is still anxiety, and at times there is still the touch of that depressive state that I found myself in for so many months. But now, finally, I find that I am starting to feel like myself again.
The most poignant example I can think to demonstrate this feeling is my reading habits. Last November, I was a handful of chapters into a book that I was thoroughly enjoying. Normally I'm the sort of reader than can pick up a book the size of Harry Potter late in the series and read it in the passing of one day; but with this book, during that time of my life, I started reading it before last November...and I finished it just over a month ago. Reading has always been a huge part of my life, and I have never felt so broken as I did when I found that I couldn't even find the motivation to pick up a book and read.
This is turning around though. I finished that book, started the next, and finished that book in a little over a week. I've started another, and I'm already three-quarters through the pages. With my motivation for reading returning, I've decided to push myself further still and work towards better daily habits - specifically, better art habits, and better writing habits. Last month I participated in 'Inktober' for the first time, a community art event that encourages artists to draw something every day and share it, even if it isn't 'finished' or 'perfect.' I am overjoyed to find myself past the month with a notebook full of daily drawings. I did not miss a single day, and I can only pray that I will have the strength to continue with more frequent art (though I will have to be honest with myself, and perhaps not expect a fresh drawing every day).
I am reading, I am drawing and painting, and now...I also hope to be writing. This post is more than a bit of a ramble, but I hope that if you've found this blog of mine you won't be turned away. I want to write more, even if that isn't a finished piece, and that is what this blog is for. This post in particular was written in hopes of collecting my thoughts, of writing down how I am feeling in this moment so that...if I find myself once again stuck in an emotional rut with little to no belief in myself, I can read this post and remember
I have made it out of that trench, that darkness once before.
I can do it again.
And so can you.
Isn't it funny how quickly a year can go by? Last year around this time I had the worst emotional breakdown I have ever experienced in my life, triggered by a multitude of events and ongoing problems that all culminated together to form one terrible, crashing, life-evolving moment. I won't go into detail about the events that lead to it here; that's part of my Lifesong, and it will come through that series in time. All you need to know now is that last year, just around this time, my life felt as though it were falling apart around me. The final straw was that I had reached a financial goal that had literally been the point of working, for me, at the time; but when I finally reached the goal...it was all for nothing.
I'm not certain that every person is built for a day job. I don't mean physically, or that some are incapable of keeping a job for any reason; I mean mentally, and emotionally. I say this as the risk of sounding like a "whiny millennial" because I'm certain there are others out there who might be feeling the same way, and might also be drowning in a sense of guilt because of it. It took a long time for me to find a job where I was happy working, but the last job that I held was just that. It wasn't difficult work, my co-workers were friendly and caring, my bosses were even more so. I loved working there, but after three years I still found myself reaching a...'wall' of sorts. An emotional trench, a hopeless pattern of working to pay for living (or in my case, student loans) and then being too exhausted by the mental and emotional price to do anything except hide from the world upon returning to my apartment. I struggle with anxiety in a general way, but in the months leading up to last November I found myself feeling the depression that can sometimes come hinged to that. The emotions and events of last year lead to my husband and I moving back to my parents' home, and it was all part of the decision that ultimately lead me to begin this journey into self employment.
(I haven't been diagnosed with Depression, and I don't want anything I say here to be a commentary on those struggling with that in their daily lives. My brush against these emotions was not permanent, and I could never even pretend to imagine the strength it must take for those who live with Depression daily.)
Right now, sitting at my keyboard in the dim lighting of a windy autumn afternoon, I feel like I can say that I am truly happy. Of course not every moment is filled with laughter, not every blink finds me with a smile; there is still sadness, there is still anxiety, and at times there is still the touch of that depressive state that I found myself in for so many months. But now, finally, I find that I am starting to feel like myself again.
The most poignant example I can think to demonstrate this feeling is my reading habits. Last November, I was a handful of chapters into a book that I was thoroughly enjoying. Normally I'm the sort of reader than can pick up a book the size of Harry Potter late in the series and read it in the passing of one day; but with this book, during that time of my life, I started reading it before last November...and I finished it just over a month ago. Reading has always been a huge part of my life, and I have never felt so broken as I did when I found that I couldn't even find the motivation to pick up a book and read.
This is turning around though. I finished that book, started the next, and finished that book in a little over a week. I've started another, and I'm already three-quarters through the pages. With my motivation for reading returning, I've decided to push myself further still and work towards better daily habits - specifically, better art habits, and better writing habits. Last month I participated in 'Inktober' for the first time, a community art event that encourages artists to draw something every day and share it, even if it isn't 'finished' or 'perfect.' I am overjoyed to find myself past the month with a notebook full of daily drawings. I did not miss a single day, and I can only pray that I will have the strength to continue with more frequent art (though I will have to be honest with myself, and perhaps not expect a fresh drawing every day).
I am reading, I am drawing and painting, and now...I also hope to be writing. This post is more than a bit of a ramble, but I hope that if you've found this blog of mine you won't be turned away. I want to write more, even if that isn't a finished piece, and that is what this blog is for. This post in particular was written in hopes of collecting my thoughts, of writing down how I am feeling in this moment so that...if I find myself once again stuck in an emotional rut with little to no belief in myself, I can read this post and remember
I have made it out of that trench, that darkness once before.
I can do it again.
And so can you.
Thursday, September 27, 2018
unedited
What is a voice?
ink dripping from the tip of a pen
falling together
scattered across a page
What is hope?
sentences written in secret
words laced together into dreams
And a dream?
a new reality
woven together by the spirit
wrapped tightly around the light
truth that floods out from the heart
What is truth?
water, light, and fire
bleeding through the weave of dreams
straining to show the world
ink dripping from the tip of a pen
falling together
scattered across a page
What is hope?
sentences written in secret
words laced together into dreams
And a dream?
a new reality
woven together by the spirit
wrapped tightly around the light
truth that floods out from the heart
What is truth?
water, light, and fire
bleeding through the weave of dreams
straining to show the world
Saturday, September 15, 2018
pieces of a Lifesong - 6
There are pieces of my story which occurred over my college years that are important to mention, but I will only touch on them briefly here. Freshman year I lost a friendship with someone that I had been very close to for years, and it was painful enough that I felt absolutely broken by it. I didn't truly start to heal from that separation until I met the man who would become my husband (I'll call him 'John' from here on). The timing in which I met John (in relation to my broken friendship) already felt a lot like God had planned it out, but the way in which I met him was also so unlikely that there is no doubt in my mind we were meant to meet; at the time that we met, we lived 3000 miles apart. I knew John for a year, and it wasn't until I felt truly secure in his permanence in my life that my cat, who I had found as a child and had raised from a kitten, came to the end of her life.
I managed to leave for home a week earlier than the semester's end, and to be there to say goodbye, but it still left a larger hole in my heart than I had ever imagined the loss of a pet could. The entire time that I was saying goodbye, I truly felt as if she had held on to this world long enough to make sure I had someone else to care for me emotionally. Now that John had settled into my life, she could move on; it was this determination that lead to me wondering about Guardian Angels, and their place in our lives. I wondered, if we were meant to have an army to protect us, couldn't it be possible for just one to take a physical form, and to care for us the way that a loving pet does? My cat's passing made me certain that was the case, and she has held the western quarter of my medicine wheel - for emotions - ever since.
After college, I wanted to find a church home again. My mother's attendance to church had fallen after I'd started college as well, and I convinced her to come along with me to find one. John had moved across the country by now, but was currently attending a live-in education program (Job Corps) nearby, and wasn't able to come home every weekend to join the search. The two of us essentially became 'church hoppers' for some time, but my criteria was simple enough - find a church that made me feel the Spirit the same way I had at Camp Fireside. Find a church with life.
It was more difficult than I had anticipated. I was non-denominational at the time so we had plenty of options, but some felt quiet and unresponsive the way that the one I had grown up in had, and when we finally found some that did feel filled with life enough to take a closer look...the structure of the church felt off. It's difficult to explain what I mean if you haven't experienced it; there was life in the churches, but also a strange undertone of something other than God's presence. For example, one of the churches that we visited was planning on setting up other locations in the state, but only the founder of the church was allowed to preach. It was strictly forbidden for anyone, even other pastors of the church, to give sermons; and as a member, giving a percentage of your income was mandatory. We moved on though, and eventually did find a church that felt like home. There was even a band for worship songs that played guitars and drums! I remember arriving for our first service as the music was already playing, and feeling the drum-beat filling the air around me, moving up through the soles of my feet and into my heart. It was life, it was community, and it was Spirit all around.
Even then, I did not stay at that church permanently. We attended for quite some time, all throughout the time that I held my first post-college job, and well into my second. The first was a cashier position at Macy's in a local city, which was enough to pay my looming student loans - but just barely, and with hours of travel to get to the job each day that left little time for even sleeping. My second job seemed like a dream! I was hired as assistant manager at a bookstore in another nearby city; the drive was long, but it was everything I had wanted in a job! Until it wasn't. The people that owned the store, the customers, workers, and the atmosphere were all wonderful; but I wasn't there for even a full year when money began getting tighter for me than it should have been. I realized that I was missing paychecks, and had been (while being in denial about it) for some time. There is always more to the story, but here you only must know that I cared for the owners, and the store, and I still don't believe that there was any ill-intent on their part. I processed the situation (on my own, and with the store owner) for weeks, and the stress built up exponentially over that time. It reached the point where I was physically ill, over-exhausted and sick to my stomach, over the stress and anxiety.
One weekend, I went to church and wept during service, praying to God for the strength to have the conversation that was looming over my coming Monday. I couldn't afford to stay at the bookstore with my current paycheck trend, and I knew I was going to have to tell the owner that I was leaving. I had hardly slept or eaten for days, and I had finally reached that penultimate moment that many Christians are familiar with - I gave up. I prayed at church, I cried, and I gave up all control of the situation to place it in God's hands. If I was meant to stay at the bookstore, He would see to it; if I wasn't...well, I was meant to be somewhere else. After church I felt more peace than I had in weeks, and despite the fact that I was still terrified when it came time to speak with the bookstore owner, I never lost faith that the entire situation was part of God's plan. I didn't lose faith when I was unable to find another job, or when my unemployment was nearly reaching the limit of payments. I kept my faith, and my trust, as I settled for a paid-volunteer position with Americorps at a local elementary school, and as I eventually found my way to a job that had me moving away from home for the first time since college.
This chapter of my story might seem like a bit of a side-track, I admit; but my experience here taught me a lesson. I had always had faith in God and His plan, but this was the first time in my life that I had to truly give everything up, and place it all in His hands. Over the years, through and after college, I've unfortunately developed quite the relationship with anxiety. It's an issue that I still struggle with daily, but one of the greatest helps I have in dealing with this is in reminding myself that everything - everything - is part of His plan. The struggles that you deal with now are the lessons for your future; His plan isn't always easy to handle, but He is always there with you through it. All you have to do is call out for Him, and hold on.
Hold on.
I managed to leave for home a week earlier than the semester's end, and to be there to say goodbye, but it still left a larger hole in my heart than I had ever imagined the loss of a pet could. The entire time that I was saying goodbye, I truly felt as if she had held on to this world long enough to make sure I had someone else to care for me emotionally. Now that John had settled into my life, she could move on; it was this determination that lead to me wondering about Guardian Angels, and their place in our lives. I wondered, if we were meant to have an army to protect us, couldn't it be possible for just one to take a physical form, and to care for us the way that a loving pet does? My cat's passing made me certain that was the case, and she has held the western quarter of my medicine wheel - for emotions - ever since.
After college, I wanted to find a church home again. My mother's attendance to church had fallen after I'd started college as well, and I convinced her to come along with me to find one. John had moved across the country by now, but was currently attending a live-in education program (Job Corps) nearby, and wasn't able to come home every weekend to join the search. The two of us essentially became 'church hoppers' for some time, but my criteria was simple enough - find a church that made me feel the Spirit the same way I had at Camp Fireside. Find a church with life.
It was more difficult than I had anticipated. I was non-denominational at the time so we had plenty of options, but some felt quiet and unresponsive the way that the one I had grown up in had, and when we finally found some that did feel filled with life enough to take a closer look...the structure of the church felt off. It's difficult to explain what I mean if you haven't experienced it; there was life in the churches, but also a strange undertone of something other than God's presence. For example, one of the churches that we visited was planning on setting up other locations in the state, but only the founder of the church was allowed to preach. It was strictly forbidden for anyone, even other pastors of the church, to give sermons; and as a member, giving a percentage of your income was mandatory. We moved on though, and eventually did find a church that felt like home. There was even a band for worship songs that played guitars and drums! I remember arriving for our first service as the music was already playing, and feeling the drum-beat filling the air around me, moving up through the soles of my feet and into my heart. It was life, it was community, and it was Spirit all around.
Even then, I did not stay at that church permanently. We attended for quite some time, all throughout the time that I held my first post-college job, and well into my second. The first was a cashier position at Macy's in a local city, which was enough to pay my looming student loans - but just barely, and with hours of travel to get to the job each day that left little time for even sleeping. My second job seemed like a dream! I was hired as assistant manager at a bookstore in another nearby city; the drive was long, but it was everything I had wanted in a job! Until it wasn't. The people that owned the store, the customers, workers, and the atmosphere were all wonderful; but I wasn't there for even a full year when money began getting tighter for me than it should have been. I realized that I was missing paychecks, and had been (while being in denial about it) for some time. There is always more to the story, but here you only must know that I cared for the owners, and the store, and I still don't believe that there was any ill-intent on their part. I processed the situation (on my own, and with the store owner) for weeks, and the stress built up exponentially over that time. It reached the point where I was physically ill, over-exhausted and sick to my stomach, over the stress and anxiety.
One weekend, I went to church and wept during service, praying to God for the strength to have the conversation that was looming over my coming Monday. I couldn't afford to stay at the bookstore with my current paycheck trend, and I knew I was going to have to tell the owner that I was leaving. I had hardly slept or eaten for days, and I had finally reached that penultimate moment that many Christians are familiar with - I gave up. I prayed at church, I cried, and I gave up all control of the situation to place it in God's hands. If I was meant to stay at the bookstore, He would see to it; if I wasn't...well, I was meant to be somewhere else. After church I felt more peace than I had in weeks, and despite the fact that I was still terrified when it came time to speak with the bookstore owner, I never lost faith that the entire situation was part of God's plan. I didn't lose faith when I was unable to find another job, or when my unemployment was nearly reaching the limit of payments. I kept my faith, and my trust, as I settled for a paid-volunteer position with Americorps at a local elementary school, and as I eventually found my way to a job that had me moving away from home for the first time since college.
This chapter of my story might seem like a bit of a side-track, I admit; but my experience here taught me a lesson. I had always had faith in God and His plan, but this was the first time in my life that I had to truly give everything up, and place it all in His hands. Over the years, through and after college, I've unfortunately developed quite the relationship with anxiety. It's an issue that I still struggle with daily, but one of the greatest helps I have in dealing with this is in reminding myself that everything - everything - is part of His plan. The struggles that you deal with now are the lessons for your future; His plan isn't always easy to handle, but He is always there with you through it. All you have to do is call out for Him, and hold on.
Hold on.
Saturday, May 12, 2018
pieces of a Lifesong - 5
...heartbeat of the drum.
To truly continue this story of my own journey, I need to take you back in time once more, back before college and once again into my high school years - but not to a story about high school. If you've read the about section of my blog, you've read my mention of my Native ancestry. I wasn't raised in a tribal community, and as I go forward in this story I want to make it clear to my readers that I am not an expert on anything related to the tribes that I mention. I only have for you what I have learned myself, through life and experience, and through the way those experiences have mixed into my own journey. Nothing I say on this subject is intended to offend anyone - so please, if it comes across that way, do let me know! As I'm sure you'll come to find in reading this part of my story, I am always looking for ways to learn more about my Native ancestry, and I welcome any lessons that someone more experienced in that area might want to offer.
With that made clear, let's dive back into this story of mine.
With that made clear, let's dive back into this story of mine.
When I was in high school, my Mother started to do research into our family tree. Specifically, she began to research my (maternal) Grandpa's side; it was something Grandpa had always mentioned to her, and as a present to him she wanted to find out where his Native roots would lead. We were all terribly excited about the start of this journey (my Mother, Grandpa, myself, and even my Grandma as well - though her family came almost entirely from Ireland!). A cousin of ours on my Grandpa's side was invested in the research as well; he and my Mother worked together, and it wasn't long before they managed to find the start of the trail that would lead back to our ancestors.
Somehow growing up I had never heard mention of this Native ancestry until this research came up, and I was instantly fascinated by this new piece of my history. I had always felt a strong love for the outdoors, for wildlife (all, and some more strongly than others), and even found an interest in Native Americans through local pow-wows before the news of my family came about. Now that I knew that Native Americans and their lives were a part of me, I wanted to know more. With my love for Christ and his teachings growing stronger in high school, however, I also found myself wanting to make sure that I kept Him fully entwined in this search into my ancestral past. As my Mother began her search to find our genetic lineage, I felt my own goals solidifying. I wanted to learn more about this Native part to my blood and spirit - and I wanted to make certain that I kept Christ woven firmly through this search. I had heard Native beliefs referenced with paganism at various times in the past, and as excited as I was to learn more about this world I knew that I could only continue the journey so long as Christ was present.
It wasn't until my Mother found a relatively local tribe that was willing to let us join that I would find an opportunity to learn how God was woven into the spiritual beliefs of the Natives. We weren't related to the tribe that allowed us to join, but they were small and looking for members; our genealogy showed that we were related to a tribe, and they accepted that as enough. This tribe would be the first Native home that my family found in this search for our history. The people were very welcoming, and happy to answer the questions that we had. My mother's were about the more physical aspect of Native life (gardening, shelters, and crafts), and while I was interested in those subjects as well I found myself filled to spilling with questions about spirituality.
Do the Natives worship God the Father? Is the belief in the environment's spirits a belief in idols, or are they like angelic beings? What about the belief that ancestors are watching over us? How are names chosen, or gifted? And so, so many more that I am afraid I cannot remember.
Unfortunately, with this first tribe, many of the questions I had went unanswered. After some years the tribe would prove to have a falling out, with political drama pulling it apart and eventually leaving us once more without a real Native 'home.' Some of the members kept in touch with us, and when they formed a Drum of their own my mother was invited to join - and so my family found a Drum instead of a Tribe. While it was (and still is) somewhat of a disappointment to not be a true tribe member, joining the Drum was in many ways just as heartening.
Still, my journey to find a way to connect my Native ancestry with my Christian beliefs fell into much the same pace that my journey to find a Church home had. Slow, steady - and essentially on my own.
Do the Natives worship God the Father? Is the belief in the environment's spirits a belief in idols, or are they like angelic beings? What about the belief that ancestors are watching over us? How are names chosen, or gifted? And so, so many more that I am afraid I cannot remember.
Unfortunately, with this first tribe, many of the questions I had went unanswered. After some years the tribe would prove to have a falling out, with political drama pulling it apart and eventually leaving us once more without a real Native 'home.' Some of the members kept in touch with us, and when they formed a Drum of their own my mother was invited to join - and so my family found a Drum instead of a Tribe. While it was (and still is) somewhat of a disappointment to not be a true tribe member, joining the Drum was in many ways just as heartening.
Still, my journey to find a way to connect my Native ancestry with my Christian beliefs fell into much the same pace that my journey to find a Church home had. Slow, steady - and essentially on my own.
By the time I was in College I had at least found a spiritual balance. My journey to find a connection to my ancestry had woven itself irremovably into my journey of Faith. When I went to pow-wows with my mother's drum I did not join the creation of the music, but I did dance in the circle. When I danced to the drum, even without knowing the meaning of the words, the feel of the drumbeat coursing up through my feet and into my heart was strong, powerful, and just as fiery as the way I felt when Spirit coursed through me.
"Creator" was God, one in the same, of that I could be certain. I heard stories of the spirits of the land - Coyote, Eagle, Wolf, Thunderbird, and so many more - and I wondered if these 'spirits' of the land couldn't be God's angels, sent to reach a world that Jesus' word had yet to touch? I learned of the aspects of my own spirit, how different creatures could represent different pieces of myself, and I thought - couldn't a Guardian Angel (which the bible tells us we have many) take the form of a creature that would make you comforted to see them? Couldn't they take a visible form that would allow our human minds to process their presence easier? Couldn't our own spirit have a similar form?
My own journey brought me to the symbol of the medicine wheel, because it was a symbol of a Healer, and because of it's similarity to the symbol of a cross (a Celtic cross, specifically). Each quarter of the wheel is connected to a part of your spirit - the black quarter, west, for the spirit; the yellow quarter, east, for the emotions and heart; the red quarter, south, for the mind; and the white quarter, north, for the body or the physical aspect of your spirit. When I learned about the medicine wheel, a part of me knew then that I would find a piece of my spirit to fill each quarter - a spiritual guide for each aspect, or a Guardian Angel of some kind.
My own journey brought me to the symbol of the medicine wheel, because it was a symbol of a Healer, and because of it's similarity to the symbol of a cross (a Celtic cross, specifically). Each quarter of the wheel is connected to a part of your spirit - the black quarter, west, for the spirit; the yellow quarter, east, for the emotions and heart; the red quarter, south, for the mind; and the white quarter, north, for the body or the physical aspect of your spirit. When I learned about the medicine wheel, a part of me knew then that I would find a piece of my spirit to fill each quarter - a spiritual guide for each aspect, or a Guardian Angel of some kind.
The north was easy - I had felt a connection to the wolf since I was small, and often had dreams where I was a wolf, or could be one at will. Since I can remember, my dreams have been one of two kinds: fantastical and unrealistic, a story in my own mind - or incredibly real, and distinctly sharp in my memory. The east quarter of my medicine wheel came soon enough in the form of the latter kind of dream, the real and sharp kind, early in my college career. I was riding a fire-bathed chestnut mare at breakneck speed across an emerald hillside. There was nothing around us but green mountains, nothing between us as I held tightly to her mane, and nothing that would take us apart. I felt His presence clearly in the dream as well, quiet but strong, and it was the combination of the two that left me sure when I woke that the mare was somehow connected to my spirit.
I'm sure some of you might think this is silly; I'm afraid many of you have already stopped reading. I haven't really spoken about a lot of this with anyone before, but I feel a strong need to share it as a part of the story that I'm telling. I hope if you have made it this far, that you'll continue on this journey with me. It may feel scattered, even fractured, but...well, doesn't life often feel that way as you live it? It all comes together, I promise - and it is all part of the journey that leads me closer to God even today.
Friday, April 6, 2018
resurgence
I haven't been writing for months now.
It's not due to a lack of desire to write, or (I would hope) a lack of ability. It's felt...like an injury was healing, like something inside was broken, something integral to the writing process, and all I could do was let it be while I pulled myself back together.
I'm certain that I'm not the first, especially in today's world, to go on and on about how a life of student loan debt and working mindlessly through a job (many jobs, over time) that I wasn't happy in chipped away at my happiness, edged into my mind and my spirit and bogged it down with doubt and...dejection. I'm not the first, and I unfortunately won't be the last - but so, I won't go on about how I got to this place. I will only say that I was there.
I haven't been writing for months now...
In some ways that isn't true, because I have friends that I have written with - short, sometimes silly, always fun pieces of writing where our characters interact together on their adventures and through their fictional lives. I have done writing, in that I have strung together words into sentences, stacked those together into paragraphs, and utilized those paragraphs to create a comprehensive piece of writing for others to read within a writing game. I did this...in some ways to lift my spirits, but also to keep myself writing something. I could feel that something within me was broken, that the proverbial "writing muscle" inside was torn. I knew that I needed to let it heal, and these writing games were my way of making sure that when it did heal, it wouldn't be out of commission.
I haven't...really been writing...for some months now...
I remember, at some of the peaks in my writing path, how it would feel to sit and close my eyes, listening to the voices and songs that called softly but surely...to me. Called for me to listen carefully to the stories that were told on the wind, to listen for the poems that might form on the paper before me if I just sat quietly enough to hear them.
For so many months now, I...could not hear them.
I tried, oh how I tried. I sat with my eyes closed, clenching my eyes shut and gritting my teeth against the tears that fell. If I could just listen, if I could just hear those sounds on the wind once more I knew that I could write. Here I was, finally free of the weight that a "day job" hung around my neck, free once more to pursue the beauty within my spirit and around me, winding together with my soul and begging to be freed as well. Here I was, finally free...and terrified that I was deaf to them now. Anxiety clenched tightly around my heart, choking me at the faintest sign of even the smallest triggers.
And what was I supposed to do? Weeks passed, and as I learned to handle the anxiety, to recognize when a reaction was caused by it rather than my true self, I still found myself buried in it. Sounds are muffled all around you when you're buried. Voices on the distant wind are drowned out by the sound of rain against a window pane.
I haven't written anything for some months now. I've found myself seated by the window, leaning against the frame and staring out through the glass at the water falling around. I stopped trying to listen after the first month. I hadn't given up, not entirely, but I stopped trying to hear once I realized that all I could hear was rain. I was frightened that I wouldn't hear it again. I was terrified that the stories trembling within me would wither, turn to dust within my heart without ever calling out to the world, but I hadn't given up. I was hurt, but I could feel in my heart that it wasn't permanent. Even the spirit heals itself with time...
So I waited...
...one month...
...then two...
...three... .. .
It's not due to a lack of desire to write, or (I would hope) a lack of ability. It's felt...like an injury was healing, like something inside was broken, something integral to the writing process, and all I could do was let it be while I pulled myself back together.
I'm certain that I'm not the first, especially in today's world, to go on and on about how a life of student loan debt and working mindlessly through a job (many jobs, over time) that I wasn't happy in chipped away at my happiness, edged into my mind and my spirit and bogged it down with doubt and...dejection. I'm not the first, and I unfortunately won't be the last - but so, I won't go on about how I got to this place. I will only say that I was there.
I haven't been writing for months now...
In some ways that isn't true, because I have friends that I have written with - short, sometimes silly, always fun pieces of writing where our characters interact together on their adventures and through their fictional lives. I have done writing, in that I have strung together words into sentences, stacked those together into paragraphs, and utilized those paragraphs to create a comprehensive piece of writing for others to read within a writing game. I did this...in some ways to lift my spirits, but also to keep myself writing something. I could feel that something within me was broken, that the proverbial "writing muscle" inside was torn. I knew that I needed to let it heal, and these writing games were my way of making sure that when it did heal, it wouldn't be out of commission.
I haven't...really been writing...for some months now...
I remember, at some of the peaks in my writing path, how it would feel to sit and close my eyes, listening to the voices and songs that called softly but surely...to me. Called for me to listen carefully to the stories that were told on the wind, to listen for the poems that might form on the paper before me if I just sat quietly enough to hear them.
For so many months now, I...could not hear them.
I tried, oh how I tried. I sat with my eyes closed, clenching my eyes shut and gritting my teeth against the tears that fell. If I could just listen, if I could just hear those sounds on the wind once more I knew that I could write. Here I was, finally free of the weight that a "day job" hung around my neck, free once more to pursue the beauty within my spirit and around me, winding together with my soul and begging to be freed as well. Here I was, finally free...and terrified that I was deaf to them now. Anxiety clenched tightly around my heart, choking me at the faintest sign of even the smallest triggers.
And what was I supposed to do? Weeks passed, and as I learned to handle the anxiety, to recognize when a reaction was caused by it rather than my true self, I still found myself buried in it. Sounds are muffled all around you when you're buried. Voices on the distant wind are drowned out by the sound of rain against a window pane.
I haven't written anything for some months now. I've found myself seated by the window, leaning against the frame and staring out through the glass at the water falling around. I stopped trying to listen after the first month. I hadn't given up, not entirely, but I stopped trying to hear once I realized that all I could hear was rain. I was frightened that I wouldn't hear it again. I was terrified that the stories trembling within me would wither, turn to dust within my heart without ever calling out to the world, but I hadn't given up. I was hurt, but I could feel in my heart that it wasn't permanent. Even the spirit heals itself with time...
So I waited...
...one month...
...then two...
...three... .. .
. .. ...four.
A tap against the window pane,
a shadow through the curtain.
Friday, March 23, 2018
pieces of a Lifesong - 4
As I grew older, it felt...empowering, somehow, to realize more and more that I could come to my own understandings about Christianity, that I could do my own research and learn things that I might have never heard from my Mother, or even from the church that we attended. Once I was too old to attend Camp Fireside anymore, I felt a thirst that lead me on a search to once again find the kind of life and fire that I had felt in the chapel services there. The camp was so full of spirit and energy - surely there had to be real churches out there that held the same.
When I started High School, I found a way out of attending weekly church services by volunteering at a local animal shelter on Sundays. I still attended for the big holidays, and would still occasionally find myself going with my Mother on a day when the shelter was closed for some reason, but for the most part I had begun my own "solo" journey with Christ. The strength of my beliefs didn't falter, though. I met friends in High School with all different beliefs: some atheists and agnostics, some Catholic, some Jehovah Witness, and even some who were beginning to explore Wicca. Conversations with my Catholic friend (we'll refer to her as Gale, for convenience) were fascinating to me, because somehow even with my father's family being Catholic I realized I had learned so little about that denomination, and it was amazing to me how different it sounded from what I had perceived of that Church. Conversations with my Jehovah Witness friend were fascinating in their own way, because while most of the time everything was fairly casual, every so often she would make a statement or ask a question that would bring about an answer within me that felt so strong; it was those moments which assured me that, even though I wasn't attending any actual church services, I was still following a strong Christian path.
The strength of that conviction within me was reassuring when I moved on to college. I was moving onto campus hours from home, and still being without a driver's license meant that I would have very little access to off-campus transportation. I thought - briefly - about finding a church to attend while in college, but the difficulty in getting there combined with my...dejected level of motivation, and ultimately my decision was made. Why bother going to a church, where I wasn't likely to find that fire or spirit within the walls? I had more luck feeling the life that I'd found at Camp Fireside while listening to Christian Rock music, and found that the messages within the songs I heard were just as guiding and uplifting as some sermons I had sat through. So my 'church' for each week became woven into my daily life. I would listen to Christian music, and pray daily. At one point I even tried to keep a journal that I would write 'letters' to God in, discussing thoughts, thanking for small gifts, and praying for friends and family. There would be brief moments where I found myself wondering if I was 'doing enough,' but they passed comfortably enough. I was strong in my beliefs, and I felt no worry over if I was straying down a misguided path. Why did I need to go to a physical church anyway, if the men and women preaching to those who attended were just people, like the rest of us? I could talk to Jesus and God without their help.
Even though my church attendance dissipated while I there, College helped to strengthen my faith in other ways. I had friends there that weren't Christian, one in particular who had barely grown up learning anything about Christianity - or at least, barely anything truthful. This friend in particular helped me learn how to talk to others about my faith, how to help them learn what had kept my faith strong, and tell them the good news there was to share. I will never forget the expression on her face during the first conversation I remember as being a breakthrough with her. I can't recall the words precisely, but I know she was telling me about how she had always been wary of organized religion because she didn't want to have to judge people. I admitted that there were some "rules" that had to be learned to follow the faith accordingly, but I also told her about the biggest, most important rule that Christianity had to offer.
"Rule number one," I told her, feeling the strength of conviction and faith thread through my voice, and watching as it captured her attention. "Love. Love everyone."
She cried. I didn't quite cry, but between the energy and life and fire running through my chest and the tears running down her face I came very close to it. That was her rule, she told me. She tried to live her life by that rule all the time. She'd never known that about Christianity. From that moment on, she was even more interested in the conversations that we had. I never tried to "convert" her, but she was so open to the spiritual discussion that the topic came up often. Today, I don't speak with her quite as much as I had hoped I could continue to, but in the years to come (even after college) this conversation continued between us. As I learned more about my own Christian journey, she always learned more through me - and I still pray that her journey will eventually lead her to the Light.
College wasn't filled with church technically for me, but the discussion that I had - with that friend, and with others - about Jesus and spirituality over the years that I attended strengthened my faith in ways that I don't think a church ever could. After graduation I did find myself wanting to find a church to attend, but the joy of college graduation was laced together with the stress of student loans and entering the workforce, and my journey continued into territory that made me ever grateful for the strength of spirit that I had gathered with me before that time.
When I started High School, I found a way out of attending weekly church services by volunteering at a local animal shelter on Sundays. I still attended for the big holidays, and would still occasionally find myself going with my Mother on a day when the shelter was closed for some reason, but for the most part I had begun my own "solo" journey with Christ. The strength of my beliefs didn't falter, though. I met friends in High School with all different beliefs: some atheists and agnostics, some Catholic, some Jehovah Witness, and even some who were beginning to explore Wicca. Conversations with my Catholic friend (we'll refer to her as Gale, for convenience) were fascinating to me, because somehow even with my father's family being Catholic I realized I had learned so little about that denomination, and it was amazing to me how different it sounded from what I had perceived of that Church. Conversations with my Jehovah Witness friend were fascinating in their own way, because while most of the time everything was fairly casual, every so often she would make a statement or ask a question that would bring about an answer within me that felt so strong; it was those moments which assured me that, even though I wasn't attending any actual church services, I was still following a strong Christian path.
The strength of that conviction within me was reassuring when I moved on to college. I was moving onto campus hours from home, and still being without a driver's license meant that I would have very little access to off-campus transportation. I thought - briefly - about finding a church to attend while in college, but the difficulty in getting there combined with my...dejected level of motivation, and ultimately my decision was made. Why bother going to a church, where I wasn't likely to find that fire or spirit within the walls? I had more luck feeling the life that I'd found at Camp Fireside while listening to Christian Rock music, and found that the messages within the songs I heard were just as guiding and uplifting as some sermons I had sat through. So my 'church' for each week became woven into my daily life. I would listen to Christian music, and pray daily. At one point I even tried to keep a journal that I would write 'letters' to God in, discussing thoughts, thanking for small gifts, and praying for friends and family. There would be brief moments where I found myself wondering if I was 'doing enough,' but they passed comfortably enough. I was strong in my beliefs, and I felt no worry over if I was straying down a misguided path. Why did I need to go to a physical church anyway, if the men and women preaching to those who attended were just people, like the rest of us? I could talk to Jesus and God without their help.
Even though my church attendance dissipated while I there, College helped to strengthen my faith in other ways. I had friends there that weren't Christian, one in particular who had barely grown up learning anything about Christianity - or at least, barely anything truthful. This friend in particular helped me learn how to talk to others about my faith, how to help them learn what had kept my faith strong, and tell them the good news there was to share. I will never forget the expression on her face during the first conversation I remember as being a breakthrough with her. I can't recall the words precisely, but I know she was telling me about how she had always been wary of organized religion because she didn't want to have to judge people. I admitted that there were some "rules" that had to be learned to follow the faith accordingly, but I also told her about the biggest, most important rule that Christianity had to offer.
"Rule number one," I told her, feeling the strength of conviction and faith thread through my voice, and watching as it captured her attention. "Love. Love everyone."
She cried. I didn't quite cry, but between the energy and life and fire running through my chest and the tears running down her face I came very close to it. That was her rule, she told me. She tried to live her life by that rule all the time. She'd never known that about Christianity. From that moment on, she was even more interested in the conversations that we had. I never tried to "convert" her, but she was so open to the spiritual discussion that the topic came up often. Today, I don't speak with her quite as much as I had hoped I could continue to, but in the years to come (even after college) this conversation continued between us. As I learned more about my own Christian journey, she always learned more through me - and I still pray that her journey will eventually lead her to the Light.
College wasn't filled with church technically for me, but the discussion that I had - with that friend, and with others - about Jesus and spirituality over the years that I attended strengthened my faith in ways that I don't think a church ever could. After graduation I did find myself wanting to find a church to attend, but the joy of college graduation was laced together with the stress of student loans and entering the workforce, and my journey continued into territory that made me ever grateful for the strength of spirit that I had gathered with me before that time.
Friday, March 16, 2018
pieces of a Lifesong - 3
Camp Fireside was amazing.
A week-long summer camp filled with children, pre-teens, and adults of all ages where we lived together in (separate boy and girl) cabins, attended chapel every morning and evening, played games, and participated in so many fun camp sports and activities - all while learning more about the Christian faith. It wasn't just a protestant camp either; children from all denominations of Christianity were welcome. We were children, though, so differences in how we worshiped back home weren't nearly as important to us as the fact that we all did.
At this point in my life I didn't know much about Catholicism. My father's side of the family was Catholic, but I can't remember them talking about it very much - about God, yes, but not about the differences in our churches.
As for Camp Fireside, I know what you must be thinking - church twice a day? How could that possibly have been the basis of a camp that groups of children enjoyed attending? But church at Camp Fireside was unlike any of the churches around at the time. It was music, and fun, and laughter, and joy. Their building itself was only an un-insulated wooden structure with screens stapled to the windows, wooden benches for pews, a small raised platform at the front, and an overhead projector that had seen many a better day in the past. The music was played by an entire band at the front of the room, set up on the raised platform - a guitar, a drum set, singers, and even the occasional ukulele! The songs were upbeat and interactive, and all about our Savior and the stories within the bible.
It was fun, but it wasn't even really about the fun. The entire camp was filled with Christians, and everyone was gathered into this chapel twice a day, everyone was excited and happy to be there - and ecstatic to be worshiping God. There was a life in this place, a strength of Spirit that I had never experienced outside of Camp Fireside. It was a fire, the sort of fire that you always hear those big TV preachers talking about to the audience that's falling to their knees in tears. It was a feeling that, once I had outgrown the camp, I continued to search for in every church I attended as I went through the next years of my life.
And it was at this Camp Fireside that I had one of the most memorable moments of my own Christian journey.
You see, every week at the camp the chapel services were set up in a pattern. There was usually a sort of 'guest speaker' for the week, some pastor or preacher that was there for some time during the summer, they always had a plan to help the campers really understand what it meant to accept Jesus as your Savior, and it always came together for one particularly emotional service every Thursday evening.
This camp was still in my childhood, so I unfortunately do not have very detailed memories to share with you of all the sermons that I heard, but I do remember one week in particular that really struck something in my heart. All week long, this guest speaker had been focusing on inviting people up to the front to share their stories of salvation, the story of how they came to find God. Each evening chapel he would end with sharing a story that he'd been told in the past that was particularly strong, and then he would invite others to come share theirs. Then, on Thursday, he shared his own.
I don't remember his entire story, but I vividly remember how it came to an end - because the emotions it held sounded exactly like my own every summer during Vacation Bible School. He said that each year he would attend a summer program, and would go up to the front to accept Jesus as his Savior, and each year he felt no different. He explained how it felt when, as a young teen, he finally realized it was because he hadn't felt the acceptance, he'd said the words but hadn't truly meant it - not because he didn't truly believe, but because he hadn't yet grown enough or had enough experience to understand the importance of the moment. He went on to explain how he had locked himself in his bedroom that night, and had sat on his bed alone to do it again; his eyes glossed over with tears as he described to us the feeling that each person going up that week had shared as well, the rush and the feeling of love and power that came over them as they reached out to Jesus with their hearts and spirits.
This had not been my first year at Camp Fireside by any means; in fact, I believe it was one of my last. I had been through Thursday chapel before, and I had never found myself in tears until this evening. The guest speaker went on to invite a few others up to share their story, and then invited anyone who wanted to, to come up to the front to pray with him and accept Jesus as their Savior. I didn't go up, but as everyone dipped their heads to pray along with the speaker, I closed my eyes, dropped my head, and sent out a silent prayer of my own.
"I'm sorry," I cried, silently, to the Lord as the room followed the guest speaker's prayer around me. I knew logically that I didn't have to apologize for not having been 'truthful' all the times before, but the apology repeated itself through my mind a few more times before I could go further. I apologized, and I confessed my love for our God, and I asked Jesus to come into my heart "for real this time, forever." True to how the man at the front had explained in his own story, I felt in that moment a rush of love and power unlike anything I had experience before. I hadn't known that anything could feel stronger than the life and energy that encompassed the chapel at Camp Fireside during service, but I knew there was nothing that could feel more powerful, or amazing, than the rush that I felt in that moment - at least not in this world, not without meeting Him face to face.
From that day forward I was completely convinced that I understood what the teachings in the Protestant church meant each time I'd been told Once you've accepted Jesus into your heart, you're saved - forever. I was confident that I could not be torn from this path I had found myself on, no matter what questions I was asked to try and falter my faith, no matter what hardships I faced in my life, no matter what church I attended -
or...didn't attend.
The downside to this amazing experience, after my years at Camp Fireside were over, was that the church I attended with my mother came no-where near the level of life and energy I felt at the camp. It felt...empty. I had no reason to think that the people attending the church didn't believe, but I didn't feel...any spirit during the services there. So when I was old enough to choose for myself, I found a way to get out of attending by volunteering at a local animal shelter on Sundays. My mother was upset at first, but eventually life became busy enough that she found herself elsewhere on Sundays as well.
There was nothing in my heart that doubted my faith in Christ, I knew I was on the right path to follow Him in life and in spirit. I just...had to figure out where that path was now going to lead me.
A week-long summer camp filled with children, pre-teens, and adults of all ages where we lived together in (separate boy and girl) cabins, attended chapel every morning and evening, played games, and participated in so many fun camp sports and activities - all while learning more about the Christian faith. It wasn't just a protestant camp either; children from all denominations of Christianity were welcome. We were children, though, so differences in how we worshiped back home weren't nearly as important to us as the fact that we all did.
At this point in my life I didn't know much about Catholicism. My father's side of the family was Catholic, but I can't remember them talking about it very much - about God, yes, but not about the differences in our churches.
As for Camp Fireside, I know what you must be thinking - church twice a day? How could that possibly have been the basis of a camp that groups of children enjoyed attending? But church at Camp Fireside was unlike any of the churches around at the time. It was music, and fun, and laughter, and joy. Their building itself was only an un-insulated wooden structure with screens stapled to the windows, wooden benches for pews, a small raised platform at the front, and an overhead projector that had seen many a better day in the past. The music was played by an entire band at the front of the room, set up on the raised platform - a guitar, a drum set, singers, and even the occasional ukulele! The songs were upbeat and interactive, and all about our Savior and the stories within the bible.
It was fun, but it wasn't even really about the fun. The entire camp was filled with Christians, and everyone was gathered into this chapel twice a day, everyone was excited and happy to be there - and ecstatic to be worshiping God. There was a life in this place, a strength of Spirit that I had never experienced outside of Camp Fireside. It was a fire, the sort of fire that you always hear those big TV preachers talking about to the audience that's falling to their knees in tears. It was a feeling that, once I had outgrown the camp, I continued to search for in every church I attended as I went through the next years of my life.
And it was at this Camp Fireside that I had one of the most memorable moments of my own Christian journey.
You see, every week at the camp the chapel services were set up in a pattern. There was usually a sort of 'guest speaker' for the week, some pastor or preacher that was there for some time during the summer, they always had a plan to help the campers really understand what it meant to accept Jesus as your Savior, and it always came together for one particularly emotional service every Thursday evening.
This camp was still in my childhood, so I unfortunately do not have very detailed memories to share with you of all the sermons that I heard, but I do remember one week in particular that really struck something in my heart. All week long, this guest speaker had been focusing on inviting people up to the front to share their stories of salvation, the story of how they came to find God. Each evening chapel he would end with sharing a story that he'd been told in the past that was particularly strong, and then he would invite others to come share theirs. Then, on Thursday, he shared his own.
I don't remember his entire story, but I vividly remember how it came to an end - because the emotions it held sounded exactly like my own every summer during Vacation Bible School. He said that each year he would attend a summer program, and would go up to the front to accept Jesus as his Savior, and each year he felt no different. He explained how it felt when, as a young teen, he finally realized it was because he hadn't felt the acceptance, he'd said the words but hadn't truly meant it - not because he didn't truly believe, but because he hadn't yet grown enough or had enough experience to understand the importance of the moment. He went on to explain how he had locked himself in his bedroom that night, and had sat on his bed alone to do it again; his eyes glossed over with tears as he described to us the feeling that each person going up that week had shared as well, the rush and the feeling of love and power that came over them as they reached out to Jesus with their hearts and spirits.
This had not been my first year at Camp Fireside by any means; in fact, I believe it was one of my last. I had been through Thursday chapel before, and I had never found myself in tears until this evening. The guest speaker went on to invite a few others up to share their story, and then invited anyone who wanted to, to come up to the front to pray with him and accept Jesus as their Savior. I didn't go up, but as everyone dipped their heads to pray along with the speaker, I closed my eyes, dropped my head, and sent out a silent prayer of my own.
"I'm sorry," I cried, silently, to the Lord as the room followed the guest speaker's prayer around me. I knew logically that I didn't have to apologize for not having been 'truthful' all the times before, but the apology repeated itself through my mind a few more times before I could go further. I apologized, and I confessed my love for our God, and I asked Jesus to come into my heart "for real this time, forever." True to how the man at the front had explained in his own story, I felt in that moment a rush of love and power unlike anything I had experience before. I hadn't known that anything could feel stronger than the life and energy that encompassed the chapel at Camp Fireside during service, but I knew there was nothing that could feel more powerful, or amazing, than the rush that I felt in that moment - at least not in this world, not without meeting Him face to face.
From that day forward I was completely convinced that I understood what the teachings in the Protestant church meant each time I'd been told Once you've accepted Jesus into your heart, you're saved - forever. I was confident that I could not be torn from this path I had found myself on, no matter what questions I was asked to try and falter my faith, no matter what hardships I faced in my life, no matter what church I attended -
or...didn't attend.
The downside to this amazing experience, after my years at Camp Fireside were over, was that the church I attended with my mother came no-where near the level of life and energy I felt at the camp. It felt...empty. I had no reason to think that the people attending the church didn't believe, but I didn't feel...any spirit during the services there. So when I was old enough to choose for myself, I found a way to get out of attending by volunteering at a local animal shelter on Sundays. My mother was upset at first, but eventually life became busy enough that she found herself elsewhere on Sundays as well.
There was nothing in my heart that doubted my faith in Christ, I knew I was on the right path to follow Him in life and in spirit. I just...had to figure out where that path was now going to lead me.
Friday, March 9, 2018
pieces of a Lifesong - 2
My earliest memories of the church that I grew up in are pastel patches of color in my mind. I remember the pews that the church had as tall wooden walls with a door on the end which my Mother was able to lock from the outside, so I was unable to escape and run about the church. I remember that the beginning of service was filled with music and song that I was happy to sing along to, following the words projected on a screen above once I was able to read. I remember waiting as patiently as I could through the early, 'boring' part of service, and I remember excitedly dashing out of our pew when the children my age were dismissed to the back of the church for a child-geared lesson while the adults enjoyed their weekly sermon. One of the more vivid memories I have of this time is a lesson during the Christmas season, when we were read the story of Jesus' birth while we made reindeer figures out of pipe-cleaners and colorful pom-poms. When I was very young I did not particularly understand the lessons that we were being taught, at least not entirely, but I did enjoy ever moment of church.
As I grew older I moved from the younger Sunday School classes into the older lessons geared for middle and high school students, and I began to stay with my Mother in the pew during the actual sermon. The lessons that I learned as a child settled into my mind, and I began to truly appreciate the stories that the Bible held. I had questions, and the minister and Sunday School teachers always had answers for me that made sense and felt right.
What happens to someone when they die? They went to heaven, of course; they lived forever with Jesus and God the Father, and they watched over those that they had left behind on earth. How does God know when we've apologized for something that we've done wrong? You tell Him within your heart, and He can hear you no matter where you are. How do we know that we've been saved? You just accepted Jesus Christ into your heart as your savior, and your soul will be saved forever.
It all sounded so wonderful, and it was so calming to have the answers to these questions running through my mind. Sometimes more troubling questions would come up, or more confusing things. Usually the answers were just as easily found - either the teacher or minister would tell me without hesitation, or they would help me find the answer within the Bible, and assure me that all the answers I needed were within. Sometimes, though...their answers didn't feel complete, didn't sit quite right within my heart.
What happens to the people in the world who have never heard of Jesus?
"Well," they would said. "Sometimes we just don't know the answers, sometimes we will have to ask Him when we finally meet him face to face."
I remember this question in particular quite starkly, because I remember it as the first chip at my confidence in the Church that I grew up in. It seemed like such an important question, how could Jesus have not left us with an answer?
For the most part though, I found nothing but grace and happiness in the protestant church. Summers were always wonderful; the church held a 'vacation bible school' at their parish, a week long day-camp which would have fun and games, as well as bible lessons and church sermons with plenty of song. Each summer the final sermon of the week would end with a reminder that the only way for us to get to Heaven was to accept Jesus as our savior, and an invitation to the front of the church for everyone to gather and accept Him. We were taught that you only had to accept Him once, and then you were saved forever. I remember going up every year. I never felt very different afterwards, and everyone always went up together, so I always followed.
This early part of my church life was always so warm, and...well, positively bubbly. I recall learning more and more each week in Sunday School, but it wasn't until I was old enough to begin attending a summer camp (called Camp Fireside) that I can recall my religious journey really starting to evolve...
As I grew older I moved from the younger Sunday School classes into the older lessons geared for middle and high school students, and I began to stay with my Mother in the pew during the actual sermon. The lessons that I learned as a child settled into my mind, and I began to truly appreciate the stories that the Bible held. I had questions, and the minister and Sunday School teachers always had answers for me that made sense and felt right.
What happens to someone when they die? They went to heaven, of course; they lived forever with Jesus and God the Father, and they watched over those that they had left behind on earth. How does God know when we've apologized for something that we've done wrong? You tell Him within your heart, and He can hear you no matter where you are. How do we know that we've been saved? You just accepted Jesus Christ into your heart as your savior, and your soul will be saved forever.
It all sounded so wonderful, and it was so calming to have the answers to these questions running through my mind. Sometimes more troubling questions would come up, or more confusing things. Usually the answers were just as easily found - either the teacher or minister would tell me without hesitation, or they would help me find the answer within the Bible, and assure me that all the answers I needed were within. Sometimes, though...their answers didn't feel complete, didn't sit quite right within my heart.
What happens to the people in the world who have never heard of Jesus?
"Well," they would said. "Sometimes we just don't know the answers, sometimes we will have to ask Him when we finally meet him face to face."
I remember this question in particular quite starkly, because I remember it as the first chip at my confidence in the Church that I grew up in. It seemed like such an important question, how could Jesus have not left us with an answer?
For the most part though, I found nothing but grace and happiness in the protestant church. Summers were always wonderful; the church held a 'vacation bible school' at their parish, a week long day-camp which would have fun and games, as well as bible lessons and church sermons with plenty of song. Each summer the final sermon of the week would end with a reminder that the only way for us to get to Heaven was to accept Jesus as our savior, and an invitation to the front of the church for everyone to gather and accept Him. We were taught that you only had to accept Him once, and then you were saved forever. I remember going up every year. I never felt very different afterwards, and everyone always went up together, so I always followed.
This early part of my church life was always so warm, and...well, positively bubbly. I recall learning more and more each week in Sunday School, but it wasn't until I was old enough to begin attending a summer camp (called Camp Fireside) that I can recall my religious journey really starting to evolve...
Friday, March 2, 2018
pieces of a Lifesong - 1
There are a lot of people who will tell you all about their childhood memories, and what they can recall. They'll spin elaborate stories of wonderful times and fun gatherings, or tragic accidents and unfortunate events - they'll remember their childhood, or they will say that they do, without any trouble at all. I don't know if that is normal, or if it's perfectly common to only remember small clips and pieces of your childhood; but I do know that for me, normal is the latter. I don't really remember a lot; most of what I remember is sort of how you might remember a dream. I know the specifics of plenty of events in my childhood because of the stories that I've heard, but when I try to think of them in my own mind I can only recall emotions, general ideas of how things might've happened, and - occasionally - a few memories do come around into sharp focus.
I have been a Christian for my entire life, and so to tell about my memories of my early Christian faith I have to delve into those dream-like memories, and utilize those few sharply-focused moments as foundations to weave together a story.
My father grew up in a very Catholic family, and to become part of that family my Mother - also a Christian, but not Catholic - had to promise that she would raise their children, together, in the Catholic church. What she didn't realize when she agreed was that my father, as soon as their youngest (that's me) was baptized, would cease attending church at all. I was far too young to remember this part of my life; my Mother had told me that she continued attending the Catholic church for some time after he stopped going, but that when it was clear he wouldn't be returning, she could no longer take being alone in a quiet Catholic service with two young children at a church that did not offer a during-service class or daycare. She brought us to a Protestant church instead, and that's the church that I remember growing up in.
I was too young during that brief time at the Catholic church to remember much, but I do recall some other moments from my childhood where we attended Catholic services - funerals, mainly. My memories of these services are brief and fluttering, but I can recall the strong smell of the incense used and how it burned my nose, and I can remember communion during one funeral in particular. It's honestly a bit embarrassing now that I'm older (which is probably why it's one of the sharper memories I have of childhood!) but this is, after all, about honesty! The funeral was for someone who was close to me, family-wise, but I cannot recall precisely whom it was. I remember kneeling in the front row of the pews next my mother while they brought communion to the family. I was old enough at this point that we had been attending my Mother's church for some years, and through them I knew of communion as being a small saltine cracker and a tiny cup of grape juice. So at the funeral I happily took the offered wafer, after it had been dipped into the chalice of "grape juice," and popped it into my mouth just as I saw my Mother do beside me.
And then I promptly gagged at the taste of the 'juice.'
My Mother was thankfully prepared for the possibility, and quickly ducked down to whisper instructions at me. "Don't you spit that out!" she whispered urgently, clearly knowing me well enough at that age to recognize what my expression meant would come. "That's Jesus!"
So I knew that I couldn't spit it out - I loved Jesus, and I had learned enough from our regular church by then to understand that 'spitting him out' would've been terribly dreadful. I remember clenching my teeth together and forcing the bitter flavor in my mouth down into my throat, then gagging once more for good measure as I whispered back to my Mother, "Jesus tastes bad!"
The rest of my early Catholic Church memories are fleeting, cloudy, and few. I was raised in the church that my Mother brought us to after she left the Catholic church - Christ Community Church it was called. The people were friendly and welcoming, and it was here that I spent the early years of my Christian faith.
I have been a Christian for my entire life, and so to tell about my memories of my early Christian faith I have to delve into those dream-like memories, and utilize those few sharply-focused moments as foundations to weave together a story.
My father grew up in a very Catholic family, and to become part of that family my Mother - also a Christian, but not Catholic - had to promise that she would raise their children, together, in the Catholic church. What she didn't realize when she agreed was that my father, as soon as their youngest (that's me) was baptized, would cease attending church at all. I was far too young to remember this part of my life; my Mother had told me that she continued attending the Catholic church for some time after he stopped going, but that when it was clear he wouldn't be returning, she could no longer take being alone in a quiet Catholic service with two young children at a church that did not offer a during-service class or daycare. She brought us to a Protestant church instead, and that's the church that I remember growing up in.
I was too young during that brief time at the Catholic church to remember much, but I do recall some other moments from my childhood where we attended Catholic services - funerals, mainly. My memories of these services are brief and fluttering, but I can recall the strong smell of the incense used and how it burned my nose, and I can remember communion during one funeral in particular. It's honestly a bit embarrassing now that I'm older (which is probably why it's one of the sharper memories I have of childhood!) but this is, after all, about honesty! The funeral was for someone who was close to me, family-wise, but I cannot recall precisely whom it was. I remember kneeling in the front row of the pews next my mother while they brought communion to the family. I was old enough at this point that we had been attending my Mother's church for some years, and through them I knew of communion as being a small saltine cracker and a tiny cup of grape juice. So at the funeral I happily took the offered wafer, after it had been dipped into the chalice of "grape juice," and popped it into my mouth just as I saw my Mother do beside me.
And then I promptly gagged at the taste of the 'juice.'
My Mother was thankfully prepared for the possibility, and quickly ducked down to whisper instructions at me. "Don't you spit that out!" she whispered urgently, clearly knowing me well enough at that age to recognize what my expression meant would come. "That's Jesus!"
So I knew that I couldn't spit it out - I loved Jesus, and I had learned enough from our regular church by then to understand that 'spitting him out' would've been terribly dreadful. I remember clenching my teeth together and forcing the bitter flavor in my mouth down into my throat, then gagging once more for good measure as I whispered back to my Mother, "Jesus tastes bad!"
The rest of my early Catholic Church memories are fleeting, cloudy, and few. I was raised in the church that my Mother brought us to after she left the Catholic church - Christ Community Church it was called. The people were friendly and welcoming, and it was here that I spent the early years of my Christian faith.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
hello again, my name is still
I've been standing up on that cliff again recently. For some time the breeze was pleasant, and I let the wind wave through and around me. Storms rushed in, and I found myself pulling my wings in tightly, huddling against the ground and waiting, wishing, for the wind to pass.
But I do love a good storm.
I'll stay crouched, poised, watching the horizon through the wind and crashing rain, straining to listen through the rolling thunder. Perched upon toes, wings opening again just barely - cautious of the storm, but excited for the clear skies that are sure to follow.
But I do love a good storm.
I'll stay crouched, poised, watching the horizon through the wind and crashing rain, straining to listen through the rolling thunder. Perched upon toes, wings opening again just barely - cautious of the storm, but excited for the clear skies that are sure to follow.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
the thing with feathers
I got quiet again, and I don't have any fancy excuse for it. I've been working, and living, and working on living, and working on keeping myself writing in one way or another, and that one way isn't always on a blog. I still muse to myself, though, and talk to others in my life and maybe "write" a bit in my head, I just haven't made as much of an effort to get on here and put it out there. I will admit that a good part of that is just laziness - another part is simply that I had trouble motivating myself.
So here I am again.
The past few months have been relatively quiet as far as "living my life" goes - insofar as "quiet" can be called changing jobs to an almost ideal job, and then losing it due to financial situations brought on by the economy effecting small businesses only a few months later. I'm currently unemployed, searching for employment actively, and have been for a sometime over a month now. I also find myself feeling quite at peace with the whole situation. The "me" from a few months ago might have seen this as a strange way to feel, but that was me from a few months ago. That was me before these quiet last few months were decidedly UNquiet in terms of my spiritual life.
I feel joy.
I wanted to get back to church with my husband, and I wanted my mother to come with us. She's been going through her own personal trials with God and her own spirituality, though, and so I put the choice of church in her hands. I had gone through and explored the area and knew the setting that I needed, and though I found myself happy with the church we had found my mother still felt the need to explore. So we church hopped a bit, and eventually this did lead us back to the same church which I had (and still do) find so much life and comfort in.
Around this same time is when the financial situation at my place of work started to get shaky, and became increasingly stressful. I found myself in a situation where I had prayed for this position, and now had it...but was no longer sure if it was where I was meant to be, considering the trials and hardships that the people and business were involved in. I couldn't figure out what to do, and so for one of the first times in my life I found myself completely and unconditionally giving it up to God. I had put my trust in Him many times in the past, but this was the first time I truly found myself breaking down and praying with all my heart and soul for Him to just show me what to do and where to go. I found myself asking daily for Him to tell me, and I would do it. Show me, and I would go.
and He did
There was one morning on my drive to work where I was going through this ritual, and I honestly felt as though I heard a reply, telling me to read the bible daily. I'll admit I've never fully read through the entire book, and so with this answer I committed to it. I also felt that I was being pulled more to attend church weekly, rather than just when I or my family was feeling up to it. We'd been going rather regularly, albeit to different churches, but for the first time in my adult life I actually felt the need to attend regularly.
Fast forward through the explosively stressful situation that ended with my place of employment ultimately deciding that they could no longer afford to keep me on staff, and I find myself in a situation which some might find even more stressful - no job, and still loans to pay with a supply of savings that will, eventually, begin to dwindle.
I feel fine.
More than that. I feel as though I am exactly where I am supposed to be, and there is not a single fiber of my being that feels doubt in the plan that I'm sure God is leading me through. I have no idea where my path is currently leading - I can't even begin to imagine! - but I feel safe. I feel cared for, and watched over. I feel His presence and guidance, and His direction in how to spend the time that I have while also looking for new employment. In the past month I have felt more alive and full of His Holy Spirit than I can remember being for quite some time. I can feel His hand guiding me to spread it, and I have witnessed the spread of His love as He's guided me to do my part.
I feel hope.
Prayer Request:
That you may feel and see and hear and all around truly experience the effect of His hand and Holy Spirit influencing your life, and the lives of those around you. That you might have the courage to give your life up to His plan, and feel safe and cared for even when the world around you might not give that impression.
I pray for those who have found Him, and need His guidance and love.
I pray for those who are searching, whether they be near or far from Him.
I pray for those who aren't searching, but still need Him.
I pray for you.
So here I am again.
The past few months have been relatively quiet as far as "living my life" goes - insofar as "quiet" can be called changing jobs to an almost ideal job, and then losing it due to financial situations brought on by the economy effecting small businesses only a few months later. I'm currently unemployed, searching for employment actively, and have been for a sometime over a month now. I also find myself feeling quite at peace with the whole situation. The "me" from a few months ago might have seen this as a strange way to feel, but that was me from a few months ago. That was me before these quiet last few months were decidedly UNquiet in terms of my spiritual life.
I feel joy.
I wanted to get back to church with my husband, and I wanted my mother to come with us. She's been going through her own personal trials with God and her own spirituality, though, and so I put the choice of church in her hands. I had gone through and explored the area and knew the setting that I needed, and though I found myself happy with the church we had found my mother still felt the need to explore. So we church hopped a bit, and eventually this did lead us back to the same church which I had (and still do) find so much life and comfort in.
Around this same time is when the financial situation at my place of work started to get shaky, and became increasingly stressful. I found myself in a situation where I had prayed for this position, and now had it...but was no longer sure if it was where I was meant to be, considering the trials and hardships that the people and business were involved in. I couldn't figure out what to do, and so for one of the first times in my life I found myself completely and unconditionally giving it up to God. I had put my trust in Him many times in the past, but this was the first time I truly found myself breaking down and praying with all my heart and soul for Him to just show me what to do and where to go. I found myself asking daily for Him to tell me, and I would do it. Show me, and I would go.
and He did
There was one morning on my drive to work where I was going through this ritual, and I honestly felt as though I heard a reply, telling me to read the bible daily. I'll admit I've never fully read through the entire book, and so with this answer I committed to it. I also felt that I was being pulled more to attend church weekly, rather than just when I or my family was feeling up to it. We'd been going rather regularly, albeit to different churches, but for the first time in my adult life I actually felt the need to attend regularly.
Fast forward through the explosively stressful situation that ended with my place of employment ultimately deciding that they could no longer afford to keep me on staff, and I find myself in a situation which some might find even more stressful - no job, and still loans to pay with a supply of savings that will, eventually, begin to dwindle.
I feel fine.
More than that. I feel as though I am exactly where I am supposed to be, and there is not a single fiber of my being that feels doubt in the plan that I'm sure God is leading me through. I have no idea where my path is currently leading - I can't even begin to imagine! - but I feel safe. I feel cared for, and watched over. I feel His presence and guidance, and His direction in how to spend the time that I have while also looking for new employment. In the past month I have felt more alive and full of His Holy Spirit than I can remember being for quite some time. I can feel His hand guiding me to spread it, and I have witnessed the spread of His love as He's guided me to do my part.
I feel hope.
Prayer Request:
That you may feel and see and hear and all around truly experience the effect of His hand and Holy Spirit influencing your life, and the lives of those around you. That you might have the courage to give your life up to His plan, and feel safe and cared for even when the world around you might not give that impression.
I pray for those who have found Him, and need His guidance and love.
I pray for those who are searching, whether they be near or far from Him.
I pray for those who aren't searching, but still need Him.
I pray for you.
Friday, June 7, 2013
wibbly-wobbly, shiny-whiny!
At any given point of any given day, I know without a doubt that God is there by my side, always there when I need him. It's always there at the back of my mind, an ever present subconscious knowledge. However, there are SOME times where I know this in a much more conscious way - times like when it's pouring rain and I, being still a somewhat inexperienced driver, must drive through said pouring rain in the dark, ink-black, shiny highways of pitch-colored night.
These are the moments when, rather than simply knowing that He is there and being thankful for it, I find myself carrying on a continuous conversation with our Father, chatting away with Him about how grateful I am that He is there in the car and steering my wheel correctly when the lines seem to disappear and the street lights make it impossible to see out my windshield every moment that I pass one. I sing along with my christian-rock CD's, and in between different lines I start yabbering on about how the rain is scary and the night is shiny in all the worst ways, and Please God keep my wheels safe and let me drive through the water not on it.
It is a very rainy night here on the east coast! There's a tropical storm on it's way, and it's bringing downpour after downpour with it!
Stay safe, all of you readers.
Prayer Request: May the Lord be with YOU in YOUR car as well, guiding your wheel and making sure your tires stay on the ground! Not just in bad weather, but in all weather - at all times.
These are the moments when, rather than simply knowing that He is there and being thankful for it, I find myself carrying on a continuous conversation with our Father, chatting away with Him about how grateful I am that He is there in the car and steering my wheel correctly when the lines seem to disappear and the street lights make it impossible to see out my windshield every moment that I pass one. I sing along with my christian-rock CD's, and in between different lines I start yabbering on about how the rain is scary and the night is shiny in all the worst ways, and Please God keep my wheels safe and let me drive through the water not on it.
It is a very rainy night here on the east coast! There's a tropical storm on it's way, and it's bringing downpour after downpour with it!
Stay safe, all of you readers.
Prayer Request: May the Lord be with YOU in YOUR car as well, guiding your wheel and making sure your tires stay on the ground! Not just in bad weather, but in all weather - at all times.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
i know who stands before me - i know who goes behind
I've decided to try something new (again!). Not terribly new, no, more just a new way to tell myself I'm trying something new to give myself a new way of thinking about writing and this blog and blogs in general.
I'm going to write as if I already have an audience, which is...what I was trying to do this entire time, true, but this time I mean, I'm going to write something (maybe, almost) every day, even if it's just a few lines or a short quip, as if someone is checking this blog every day just to make sure I'm still posting SOMETHING.
So, then
I (mostly) re-charged my air conditioner in my car today - this hopefully means that there will be a much lower chance of me passing out from the heat on my drive to work on the highway.
My mother, husband, and I started going to a new church. Yes, ANOTHER new church. This one is really awesome! In many of the same ways as the previous church, which I would have been happy at, but which my mother wasn't entirely comfortable at for her own reasons. So, we'll be going here, to this place that maybe we can call home.
And if our God is with us--
then who could ever stop us?
And if our God is with us
then who could stand against?
Prayer Request:
That YOU find home. That none of us may ever have to be an orphan, or homeless, for very long.
I'm going to write as if I already have an audience, which is...what I was trying to do this entire time, true, but this time I mean, I'm going to write something (maybe, almost) every day, even if it's just a few lines or a short quip, as if someone is checking this blog every day just to make sure I'm still posting SOMETHING.
So, then
I (mostly) re-charged my air conditioner in my car today - this hopefully means that there will be a much lower chance of me passing out from the heat on my drive to work on the highway.
My mother, husband, and I started going to a new church. Yes, ANOTHER new church. This one is really awesome! In many of the same ways as the previous church, which I would have been happy at, but which my mother wasn't entirely comfortable at for her own reasons. So, we'll be going here, to this place that maybe we can call home.
And if our God is with us--
then who could ever stop us?
And if our God is with us
then who could stand against?
Prayer Request:
That YOU find home. That none of us may ever have to be an orphan, or homeless, for very long.
Monday, May 20, 2013
praying: Lord above
Here's something I find interesting. It's a theme that crops up a lot in various movies, books, and even songs. There are plenty of people out there who claim to not believe in God, whether they call themselves atheists or not, and more often than not - at one point for another - they may suddenly find themselves in a situation that seems so utterly hopeless to them that they send a prayer up to God.
In movies and books it's when the character has hit ultimate rock bottom. Absolutely everything has gone wrong that could go wrong, and since it's a story it will probably start down-pouring on them as well. Then they'll drop to their knees and shout some profanities at the sky and scream that they've given up, and then something funny happens. They stop shouting for a moment, look back up at that sky, and wind up saying something along the lines of, "I know I don't believe in You, but if you're out there..." These same people who earlier in the story so whole-heartedly, hot-headedly believed that He was nothing to believe in still find themselves calling out to Him in the time of their greatest need.
It's such a popular theme in stories because it happens so often in real life, too. It doesn't matter how many times a person says that they don't believe in God, and how hard they work to convince themselves that He does not exist, there is still bound to come a time when they find themselves on their knees before Him begging for help, crying out to Him, "...if You're out there..."
And it's that "if" that is so often the first step to their salvation.
In movies and books it's when the character has hit ultimate rock bottom. Absolutely everything has gone wrong that could go wrong, and since it's a story it will probably start down-pouring on them as well. Then they'll drop to their knees and shout some profanities at the sky and scream that they've given up, and then something funny happens. They stop shouting for a moment, look back up at that sky, and wind up saying something along the lines of, "I know I don't believe in You, but if you're out there..." These same people who earlier in the story so whole-heartedly, hot-headedly believed that He was nothing to believe in still find themselves calling out to Him in the time of their greatest need.
It's such a popular theme in stories because it happens so often in real life, too. It doesn't matter how many times a person says that they don't believe in God, and how hard they work to convince themselves that He does not exist, there is still bound to come a time when they find themselves on their knees before Him begging for help, crying out to Him, "...if You're out there..."
And it's that "if" that is so often the first step to their salvation.
"Well no matter who you are, and no matter what you've done,
there will come a time when you can't make it on your own.
And in your hour of desperation,
know you're not the only one
prayin', 'Lord above, I need a miracle!' "
Prayer Request:
That in your time of need, you find help and hope in Him, and know that he is always by your side.
That whatever it is you need help with in this moment of your life, He will send whatever you need, as He wills it.
And also, that if your GPS sends you down a crazy set of hellish back streets, and a large pick up truck is going much too fast around a corner, that He sends an angel down to keep you safe from harm.
in Jesus' name!
Friday, May 17, 2013
truly You are always there
So there's this radio station in my area that happens to be the only christian music radio station near enough for me to pick up on my ride to and from work. I can only get it when I'm close to work, and even then sometimes it fades into static (or, if it's particularly coudy...classical music?) but I love it when I do get it, and I'm hearing so many new songs about God. They're all pretty good, and some are awesome to sing along to; then every so often I'll hear one song in particular that really strikes at the heart, or brings up a tear-jerking-but-wonderful memory from my journey to God. I had one of these such moments on the drive home today when I heard these lyrics,
"I remember the moment, I remember the pain.
I was only a girl, but I grew up that day.
Tears were falling,
I know You saw me
Hiding there in my bedroom, so alone,
I was doing my best, trying to be strong.
No one to turn to,
That's when I met You."
My goodness! I thought, this here, this song is just what happened to me too! (Except for the bedroom part.) I had been having a fairly annoying day; I say annoying because nothing happened to make it a bad day, but there were various silly things which were minor annoyances building into a general annoyance that seemed to perpetuate the day - for me, and for those around me as well. It was just enough to have crumpled my mood by the time I was driving home, and this song perked me right up. And then there came the chorus,
My goodness! I thought, this here, this song is just what happened to me too! (Except for the bedroom part.) I had been having a fairly annoying day; I say annoying because nothing happened to make it a bad day, but there were various silly things which were minor annoyances building into a general annoyance that seemed to perpetuate the day - for me, and for those around me as well. It was just enough to have crumpled my mood by the time I was driving home, and this song perked me right up. And then there came the chorus,
"All this time, from the first tear cried
'Till today's sunrise
And every single moment between
You were there, You were always there
It was You and I
You've been walking with me all this time"
As if He was TRYING to tear and to tug at my heartstrings even more than they had been already. The chorus was so simple and so pungent with love for God that I found tears springing to my eyes almost instantly. It wasn't much, but it was just enough of a reminder for me, almost as if He was sitting in the car beside me saying, "Hey, I know today was a little miserable, and I know your tire blew up on you just the other day too, but don't worry. I'm here, so it's okay. Remember that I Am always here."
As if He was TRYING to tear and to tug at my heartstrings even more than they had been already. The chorus was so simple and so pungent with love for God that I found tears springing to my eyes almost instantly. It wasn't much, but it was just enough of a reminder for me, almost as if He was sitting in the car beside me saying, "Hey, I know today was a little miserable, and I know your tire blew up on you just the other day too, but don't worry. I'm here, so it's okay. Remember that I Am always here."
And I did remember.
And it was okay.
(The song is All This Time, by Britt Nicole, in case you're curious.)
(The song is All This Time, by Britt Nicole, in case you're curious.)
I'm sorry to say that I don't have much more of a point to this post; but at least I'm writing something again! Getting into the habit is a good thing, and I know that as long as I keep writing something about Him and how I see Him in my life every day, something good is bound to happen on this blog.
Prayer Request:
That every time someone feels themselves stuck in one of those moments of sadness, or annoyance, or self-doubt, or general miserableness, they remember that He is there, and so everything is really okay.
That YOU remember, because as long as you do, and as long as you know Him in the deepest place of your heart, everything is bound to turn out just fine.
Just you wait and see!
hello, my name is!
Over my last few months working at Macy's I carried with me a tiny little notebook in which I had begun pre-writing blog posts out, so that I could come home from an unfulfilling day of big-company-retailing, type it up on my computer, and hit post. I wrote many things within this little notebook. Most of them ended up being sad, slightly depressed ramblings about how unfullfilling my days were. They became slightly more depressing with each new entry, and needless to say I never posted any of them. Once I'd written them, I didn't feel the need to. After all, who would want to read something that miserable anyway?
I'm feeling much better now!
I'm feeling very blessed, and very much at peace with my current work situation - that is, working as the Assistant Manager at a little indie book store with a small crew of peeps that all care for one another and treat each other like human beings, instead of a number clocked into a computer system. I still have a hard time picturing myself holding any job title with the word "manager" in it; I just never imagined myself in such a role. I've settled into the new job, and with each day that goes by I feel just a wee bit closer to actually feeling like an assistant manger -- you know...in my eyes. It was a big step for me, but I truly feel like it's where God wants me to be - why else would things have worked out this way?
Every so often I still get nervous. It's just the way my brain works. I can be confidant, and strong, and able. I can also be incredibly meek and shy, and it's this aspect that sneaks up sometimes while I'm driving home on the highway (Me! Driving! On a highway!). I'll think about where I am, job-wise, and suddenly my heart will begin to flutter up from my stomach and into my throat. A bit of adrenaline pumps into my veins and the world comes into focus just a bit more sharply. It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with the wind blowing up, fiercely into my face and it's all that keeps me from slipping over the edge. Then I remember that I have these wings, and if I could open them then the ground wouldn't seem so far away. So I open them, just a little, and the wind keeps buffeting me and holding me up, and each and every day I can open them just a little bit more. My heart is already fluttering; it's ready to soar even if I'm not. And flying is, after all, just learning to throw yourself at the ground and miss.
This ramble turned out a bit longer than I intended! I just wanted to post something on here, just to get myself that much closer to doing it (maybe, almost) every day again.
Like I said up there, I feel blessed right now. I feel like I am truly on the path that He has set forth for me. It took awhile to get to where I am, it look a lot of patience, and a lot of trust in God that something good was at the end of all that time put in at Macy's, but here I am. It's hard work! But it's good, and right, and it feels just a bit like home.
AND I have a song stuck in my head from a radio station that I juuuust barely get on my radio towards the end of my commute.
"I am no longer defined
by all the wreckage behind.
The One who makes all things new
has proven it's true.
Just take a look at my life!
HELLO MY NAME IS
Child of the One True King.
I've been saved, I've been changed
and I have been set free!
'Amazing Grace,' is the song I sing.
Hello! My name is
CHILD of the One True King!"
Prayer Request: Nothing specific; that you, and all those cared for by you, find the path that God intends for you. And then, when the path is found, that you may have the COURAGE to follow it!
It's a bit of a fright -- but it's OK.
HE's there to walk it with you.
I'm feeling much better now!
I'm feeling very blessed, and very much at peace with my current work situation - that is, working as the Assistant Manager at a little indie book store with a small crew of peeps that all care for one another and treat each other like human beings, instead of a number clocked into a computer system. I still have a hard time picturing myself holding any job title with the word "manager" in it; I just never imagined myself in such a role. I've settled into the new job, and with each day that goes by I feel just a wee bit closer to actually feeling like an assistant manger -- you know...in my eyes. It was a big step for me, but I truly feel like it's where God wants me to be - why else would things have worked out this way?
Every so often I still get nervous. It's just the way my brain works. I can be confidant, and strong, and able. I can also be incredibly meek and shy, and it's this aspect that sneaks up sometimes while I'm driving home on the highway (Me! Driving! On a highway!). I'll think about where I am, job-wise, and suddenly my heart will begin to flutter up from my stomach and into my throat. A bit of adrenaline pumps into my veins and the world comes into focus just a bit more sharply. It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with the wind blowing up, fiercely into my face and it's all that keeps me from slipping over the edge. Then I remember that I have these wings, and if I could open them then the ground wouldn't seem so far away. So I open them, just a little, and the wind keeps buffeting me and holding me up, and each and every day I can open them just a little bit more. My heart is already fluttering; it's ready to soar even if I'm not. And flying is, after all, just learning to throw yourself at the ground and miss.
This ramble turned out a bit longer than I intended! I just wanted to post something on here, just to get myself that much closer to doing it (maybe, almost) every day again.
Like I said up there, I feel blessed right now. I feel like I am truly on the path that He has set forth for me. It took awhile to get to where I am, it look a lot of patience, and a lot of trust in God that something good was at the end of all that time put in at Macy's, but here I am. It's hard work! But it's good, and right, and it feels just a bit like home.
AND I have a song stuck in my head from a radio station that I juuuust barely get on my radio towards the end of my commute.
"I am no longer defined
by all the wreckage behind.
The One who makes all things new
has proven it's true.
Just take a look at my life!
HELLO MY NAME IS
Child of the One True King.
I've been saved, I've been changed
and I have been set free!
'Amazing Grace,' is the song I sing.
Hello! My name is
CHILD of the One True King!"
Prayer Request: Nothing specific; that you, and all those cared for by you, find the path that God intends for you. And then, when the path is found, that you may have the COURAGE to follow it!
It's a bit of a fright -- but it's OK.
HE's there to walk it with you.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
back in the saddle
I've been slacking again.
I've been thinking about writing, and then thinking about why I haven't been writing, and I've come to think that I had found myself wedged into another of those spots where I was afraid to write about what was going on in my life. Afraid that if I spoke of the happenings, they might disappear like a moth into darkness.
The last post I made, I was heading off on vacation. Over the break I took part in some back-and-forth emails with a woman who owns a book store, whom I had spoken to a year before about a job possibility. Her business is doing better, and I've begun to work there now one day a week. That's all I'll say for now, because a part of me is still afraid that any potential good news spoken of may be snatched away the instance of the utterance.
I am content now. I miss having two days off each week rather than having one day off and using the other day to work at the book store, but I will live with only one. This potential opportunity is worth that. I thank the Lord for the opportunities that He's given me -- I pray that I am on the path He means for me, and I have faith that it's a path to something wonderful. Something meant to be.
This post is shorter than some. I realized that in order for me to feel "safe" to continue writing about anything on here, I needed to write first about those things I was afraid of losing. However, I feel secure in my one day a week job and can only pray that things continue to go well.
I'm happy to say that I've bought a new composition notebook in which I hope to begin planning a story. A new one. A long one.
A novel?
Prayer Requests:
That I, and you, and everyone and anyone else in the world may never be afraid to hope and dream and wish for something wonderful. That they WILL wish it, and reach for it, work for it, and achieve. That they may see His hand in these and all things. That they may see Him.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
one single moment
I've been a bit scatterbrained lately, not really concentrating long enough to write much. Vacation is looming closer and closer -- four days away now, and I'm sure during vacation I probably will not have enough concentration to sit down and write either. That doesn't mean I'm ignoring writing altogether, it just means that I'll ponder and think of something that might spark an idea for an entry, but my brain can't quite focus on it enough to put it down on paper. I'm still seeing God, of course. How can I not, when He is all around?
Have you ever had one of those moments, where everything is perfectly normal, life as usual, and then something changes? Something small, unnoticeable almost. Everything gets quieter, or brighter, or more vibrant. The world directly around you becomes, somehow, more at peace. The air seems fresher, the light more calming. Even the sound of human life can seem a bit less like a racket.
It's hard to describe these moments properly; it's difficult to describe how they sound, feel, smell, or present themselves. I believe it's a moment where you are suddenly, entirely, surrounded by love. He has taken a moment to focus all of his attention directly on this moment. He's always watching, always there, but suddenly in these moments something breaks through in your mind so that you can truly feel Him there. It's love. It's always there, but in these moments it's somehow...something much more. Sometimes, when these moments occur, I wonder if this is how the entire world felt in the moment that Jesus was born. In that moment when he took his first breath, and God came down to live among us, I imagine that it must have felt something like those moments -- only infinitely more potent.
Have you ever had one of those moments, where everything is perfectly normal, life as usual, and then something changes? Something small, unnoticeable almost. Everything gets quieter, or brighter, or more vibrant. The world directly around you becomes, somehow, more at peace. The air seems fresher, the light more calming. Even the sound of human life can seem a bit less like a racket.
It's hard to describe these moments properly; it's difficult to describe how they sound, feel, smell, or present themselves. I believe it's a moment where you are suddenly, entirely, surrounded by love. He has taken a moment to focus all of his attention directly on this moment. He's always watching, always there, but suddenly in these moments something breaks through in your mind so that you can truly feel Him there. It's love. It's always there, but in these moments it's somehow...something much more. Sometimes, when these moments occur, I wonder if this is how the entire world felt in the moment that Jesus was born. In that moment when he took his first breath, and God came down to live among us, I imagine that it must have felt something like those moments -- only infinitely more potent.
"Love is raining down
on the world tonight.
There's a presence here,
I can tell.
He's the savior
we have been waiting for.
In our humble hearts
He will dwell.
God is in us, God is for us
God is with us,
Emanuel."
--"God is With us," Casting Crowns
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