I'm falling apart, just a little crack at a time.
Seriously. I don't know how I got so stressed, or how to fix it. Ironic, since just yesterday I thought I'd finally gotten to the point where everything was "going to be ok." So I relaxed, and everything crashed. And I don't know how to talk about it, and so I panic when people ask because I don't know.
I don't know anything.
I've always known everything. Now is a terrible time to discover I'm not omniscient.
So. Even the barest whisper of a prayer on my behalf would be...well. We'll have to see.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
crushed mint
Even though it drives me crazy sometimes, one of the things I love best about God is that he's subtle. Not like notes under my door, or fresh orchids on the porch railing when I come home, although those are lovely. No, even more subtle than that. More like the faintest scent of mint on the breeze, that barely lingers until you notice it--but once you do, it's so obvious and refreshing and you wonder, how did I miss that before?
I've been so stressed. So worried, so uncertain. And I hate not knowing about Loma Linda. And the whole interview mix-up. And if I should even go there. And so I let myself get lost in that toxic, endlessly repeating cycle of it's-my-fault-and-now-it-might-be-too-late-but-God's-in-control-right-so-maybe-this-is-a-door-shutting-but-maybe-it's-just-a-sign-of-my-incompetence-because-it's-my-fault-and-now-it-might-be-too-late.... Over and over and over. Even when I sleep.
I sat down to try and verbalize it, because that's what I know how to do. The harsher it is on paper, the more I can get it out of my head and heart. But quite unexpectedly, I felt the barest bit of my attention caught, like I saw the edge of a shadow that didn't belong, from the corner of my eye. Or almost (not quite) smelled crushed mint or cinnamon--you know what that's like. So I paid attention and grabbed at the thought. And it pulled back, out of reach. So I said, ok, I can wait for it. It's obviously not mine. So I did.
I have to admire God's subtlety. He does know exactly how to get me to pay attention. If he had bellowed, "I have a plan for you, so stop worrying already!" yeah, I would have heard, sure, but he already said that. Several times. I have it in print. And I still fret.
But he made me stop and pay attention first. And then it was only a simple, "It's going to be ok." But he showed me, not how it was going to be all right, but why. I must be getting maudlin in my old age, but it actually brought a tear or two to my eye, being assured of that simple little fact. And if I can accept that assurance, I can only assume these headaches and the sick feeling in my stomach will go away. As an aside, smelling mint is a natural remedy for headaches. Who woulda thunk?
Oh, and today was our first cadaver lab (finally). I want to hang a sign up with that creepy kid from Sixth Sense saying, "I smell dead people." But I don't think Dr. Snyder would think it was funny. I scrubbed my hair twice. I think I'll like it better when they're alive and breathing and I actually know what I'm doing.
I've been so stressed. So worried, so uncertain. And I hate not knowing about Loma Linda. And the whole interview mix-up. And if I should even go there. And so I let myself get lost in that toxic, endlessly repeating cycle of it's-my-fault-and-now-it-might-be-too-late-but-God's-in-control-right-so-maybe-this-is-a-door-shutting-but-maybe-it's-just-a-sign-of-my-incompetence-because-it's-my-fault-and-now-it-might-be-too-late.... Over and over and over. Even when I sleep.
I sat down to try and verbalize it, because that's what I know how to do. The harsher it is on paper, the more I can get it out of my head and heart. But quite unexpectedly, I felt the barest bit of my attention caught, like I saw the edge of a shadow that didn't belong, from the corner of my eye. Or almost (not quite) smelled crushed mint or cinnamon--you know what that's like. So I paid attention and grabbed at the thought. And it pulled back, out of reach. So I said, ok, I can wait for it. It's obviously not mine. So I did.
I have to admire God's subtlety. He does know exactly how to get me to pay attention. If he had bellowed, "I have a plan for you, so stop worrying already!" yeah, I would have heard, sure, but he already said that. Several times. I have it in print. And I still fret.
But he made me stop and pay attention first. And then it was only a simple, "It's going to be ok." But he showed me, not how it was going to be all right, but why. I must be getting maudlin in my old age, but it actually brought a tear or two to my eye, being assured of that simple little fact. And if I can accept that assurance, I can only assume these headaches and the sick feeling in my stomach will go away. As an aside, smelling mint is a natural remedy for headaches. Who woulda thunk?
Oh, and today was our first cadaver lab (finally). I want to hang a sign up with that creepy kid from Sixth Sense saying, "I smell dead people." But I don't think Dr. Snyder would think it was funny. I scrubbed my hair twice. I think I'll like it better when they're alive and breathing and I actually know what I'm doing.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
perversity
It always starts out the same.
What year are you? they ask. Oh, my! Going on to medical school so soon, isn't it wonderful! I smile and nod, but privately I'm gritting my teeth because nobody needs clairvoyance to know what comes next. Approximately 2.8 seconds after we've settled where I'm most likely going to medical school, their eyes glaze over a bit, and they look confused. But...wait. You're not going to Loma Linda? Why?
It doesn't matter how much I extoll the virtues of WVSOM. Which I had thought was eminently practical, since it's 12 minutes from home, and my 'rentals have let me make my own decisions since I was, what, 16? So where's the downside to having someone to do my laundry and make sure I eat? But none of this matters. Nobody can conceive of a world where $280,000 for school versus $80,000 might just look a bit ridiculous, not if the school is Adventist. Not if I ever want to get married and have babies.
I've started being perverse, and flashing astonishment when they take this tack. Babies? Heavens no, I don't want a kid! What would I ever do with it? They're messy and loud and if I invest in something that expensive, I'm going for a puppy every time. Oh, the joy. Every one of them gets this horrified look and they shoot little glances at each other, thinking, She can't possibly mean that. It's downright unnatural. I smile cheerfully and begin discussing the merits of schnauzers verus rhodesian ridgebacks, just long enough for them to recover.
Then, we move on to reassurances, on their sides, that it's all right, I have plenty of time. But their voices trail off as they inwardly pity me. You almost don't need to read their thoughts to read them. Poor girl, she's going to be in a secular medical school. She has almost no chance of meeting someone there. I wonder why she hasn't found anyone yet? What is it that I don't know about her? I thought she was sweet, but...
Always the same. Always predictable. So now I'm just, down. And angsty. And angry. I've had so many people, random ones, in the past few weeks, tell me that I need to hurry up and find a guy before it's too late. Or change my med school preferences to Loma Linda. Or stay in the States when I'm done, at least long enough to find a man. As if my life is defined by my marital status. I think not.
And even when I tell them that I'm ok with this (finally), that I'm not freaking out because I've been single for most of my college education, they blink. Well, don't close yourself off! You need to be open to things! As if there are only two options: to actively shun all interaction, including eye contact, with the opposite sex; or to be hunting men with a spear, grabbing them by the hair and dragging them back to my cave. Seriously? Seriously.
What year are you? they ask. Oh, my! Going on to medical school so soon, isn't it wonderful! I smile and nod, but privately I'm gritting my teeth because nobody needs clairvoyance to know what comes next. Approximately 2.8 seconds after we've settled where I'm most likely going to medical school, their eyes glaze over a bit, and they look confused. But...wait. You're not going to Loma Linda? Why?
It doesn't matter how much I extoll the virtues of WVSOM. Which I had thought was eminently practical, since it's 12 minutes from home, and my 'rentals have let me make my own decisions since I was, what, 16? So where's the downside to having someone to do my laundry and make sure I eat? But none of this matters. Nobody can conceive of a world where $280,000 for school versus $80,000 might just look a bit ridiculous, not if the school is Adventist. Not if I ever want to get married and have babies.
I've started being perverse, and flashing astonishment when they take this tack. Babies? Heavens no, I don't want a kid! What would I ever do with it? They're messy and loud and if I invest in something that expensive, I'm going for a puppy every time. Oh, the joy. Every one of them gets this horrified look and they shoot little glances at each other, thinking, She can't possibly mean that. It's downright unnatural. I smile cheerfully and begin discussing the merits of schnauzers verus rhodesian ridgebacks, just long enough for them to recover.
Then, we move on to reassurances, on their sides, that it's all right, I have plenty of time. But their voices trail off as they inwardly pity me. You almost don't need to read their thoughts to read them. Poor girl, she's going to be in a secular medical school. She has almost no chance of meeting someone there. I wonder why she hasn't found anyone yet? What is it that I don't know about her? I thought she was sweet, but...
Always the same. Always predictable. So now I'm just, down. And angsty. And angry. I've had so many people, random ones, in the past few weeks, tell me that I need to hurry up and find a guy before it's too late. Or change my med school preferences to Loma Linda. Or stay in the States when I'm done, at least long enough to find a man. As if my life is defined by my marital status. I think not.
And even when I tell them that I'm ok with this (finally), that I'm not freaking out because I've been single for most of my college education, they blink. Well, don't close yourself off! You need to be open to things! As if there are only two options: to actively shun all interaction, including eye contact, with the opposite sex; or to be hunting men with a spear, grabbing them by the hair and dragging them back to my cave. Seriously? Seriously.
Friday, January 21, 2011
second look
He was a wild, beautiful boy--but the knowing of this came slowly. It snuck up on you suddenly, because he seemed quiet and his face could, at best, be called plain and unremarkable and usually serious. But if you ever once saw him light up, and come alive, like I did, you could see how extraordinary he really was. I remember once, it was storming and the thunder shook the entire world, it seemed. And he stood in the middle of it all, and I watched him throw back his head and laugh, just like that. It was like he shone, even in the pouring rain, and he was fearless and wonderful and I remember thinking he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
--Calypso
--Calypso
Friday, January 14, 2011
I was born to tell you I love you
I've had this journal entry on here for days, and I always hesitated when I thought of posting it. It's a bit raw, and bewildering, and exhilarating and confusing and perfect, and I suppose that I waited because I didn't want a stranger's shrug for something that means so much. I'm not sure I'm capable of explaining it in a way that can be understood. That's your call.
January 12th, 2011
I have always hated the idea of being a missionary. Hated, deeply and passionately. Ask me why, though, and I don't know. It's like asking why I'm afraid of the dark--I couldn't tell you. There must be a reason, but I can't figure out what it is. It doesn't make sense, it just is, like the holes in donuts.
Imagine looking at the night sky. I've been doing a lot of that lately. I can be walking to my car, and suddenly, my head turns automatically and Orion leaps out at me, hanging low and bright and familiar, right where it should be. I recognize Ursa major and I look for the Lynx's trail, and they are always where I know they rest. Tonight, though...can I say that everything changed without sounding too cliche? But everything changed. Like the constellations shook themselves into new patterns that finally make sense.
I finally realized why I have always taken the persistant idea of working overseas, and crumpled it up, and stuffed it behind the boxes of good intentions in my head; and it's not what I thought it was. I don't always see. But today I saw a little old South American woman, treated for asthma, take a full breath for the first time in her life, and her black eyes wrinkled up as tears rolled down her cheeks. I could see her lips trembling as she smiled, taking another deep breath of the air that I always take for granted. I watched a little African boy dragging a big shoe behind him on a string, laughing while his feet stir up small puffs of dust because he has no shoes of his own. And they were beautiful, the two of them, so far away and so different than me. I let them into my heart; and before I realized it, I had reached back into that dark corner, and taken that dream, and carefully uncrinkled it and smoothed out the ragged edges and looked full at it. All I could think was, I want. I want this.
And I finally understood that I had shoved it away into hiding because it scares me to death. I am truly afraid. I am afraid to care so much about anybody; especially about people who need that caring so desperately, because they have nothing else. I'm afraid that if I leave what I know, to go to any place that requires that so much be given, I'm going to lose a piece of my heart to each of the precious people that come under my hands, and into my life--and if I lose so much of myself, what will there be left in the end? It's so much easier to stay detached here in the states, and so this is where I said I would stay. I didn't want to care. Caring can be hard and it hurts. Caring is handing someone a map to the center of your heart, and a knife, and hoping they don't use it.
I see how Emily, a stranger I've never met, has this amazing family in Africa, and how much they have become part of her heart. I can also see the pain that goes with caring so deeply. I don't want to form another family with another color skin in another country, because I'm afraid to lose them. I'm afraid to love, because I don't do things halfway. I don't know how. It's this grand adventure, and yet, I shoved it away because I don't know what I'll be afterwards. I'm terrified of being alone, but at least, it is familiar. I don't like it, but I know how to do alone, if I have to.
And now...now, I'm still terrified; but this time, it's for a different reason, and knowing the why makes all the difference. I know the why of what I've wished for, and what I want my life to be like. It is so new to me, and somewhat uncomfortable, to finally be so certain that my place is not here, it's there. I know that I want it, rather than feel that I want it, because I can hold that discarded picture up and it is honest and true, and because I feel peace gently shoving over the fear when I look at it. I look at it and I see a laughing face surrounded by strangers, on a strange continent, under stars and constellations that I've never seen before. And it's beautiful, and frightening, and it tugs so hard at my heart.
I pinned that wrinkled picture back up in my dreams so that I can see it when I sleep. I'm going to keep looking at it, every time I can, until I can recognize the girl I see there.
January 12th, 2011
I have always hated the idea of being a missionary. Hated, deeply and passionately. Ask me why, though, and I don't know. It's like asking why I'm afraid of the dark--I couldn't tell you. There must be a reason, but I can't figure out what it is. It doesn't make sense, it just is, like the holes in donuts.
Imagine looking at the night sky. I've been doing a lot of that lately. I can be walking to my car, and suddenly, my head turns automatically and Orion leaps out at me, hanging low and bright and familiar, right where it should be. I recognize Ursa major and I look for the Lynx's trail, and they are always where I know they rest. Tonight, though...can I say that everything changed without sounding too cliche? But everything changed. Like the constellations shook themselves into new patterns that finally make sense.
I finally realized why I have always taken the persistant idea of working overseas, and crumpled it up, and stuffed it behind the boxes of good intentions in my head; and it's not what I thought it was. I don't always see. But today I saw a little old South American woman, treated for asthma, take a full breath for the first time in her life, and her black eyes wrinkled up as tears rolled down her cheeks. I could see her lips trembling as she smiled, taking another deep breath of the air that I always take for granted. I watched a little African boy dragging a big shoe behind him on a string, laughing while his feet stir up small puffs of dust because he has no shoes of his own. And they were beautiful, the two of them, so far away and so different than me. I let them into my heart; and before I realized it, I had reached back into that dark corner, and taken that dream, and carefully uncrinkled it and smoothed out the ragged edges and looked full at it. All I could think was, I want. I want this.
And I finally understood that I had shoved it away into hiding because it scares me to death. I am truly afraid. I am afraid to care so much about anybody; especially about people who need that caring so desperately, because they have nothing else. I'm afraid that if I leave what I know, to go to any place that requires that so much be given, I'm going to lose a piece of my heart to each of the precious people that come under my hands, and into my life--and if I lose so much of myself, what will there be left in the end? It's so much easier to stay detached here in the states, and so this is where I said I would stay. I didn't want to care. Caring can be hard and it hurts. Caring is handing someone a map to the center of your heart, and a knife, and hoping they don't use it.
I see how Emily, a stranger I've never met, has this amazing family in Africa, and how much they have become part of her heart. I can also see the pain that goes with caring so deeply. I don't want to form another family with another color skin in another country, because I'm afraid to lose them. I'm afraid to love, because I don't do things halfway. I don't know how. It's this grand adventure, and yet, I shoved it away because I don't know what I'll be afterwards. I'm terrified of being alone, but at least, it is familiar. I don't like it, but I know how to do alone, if I have to.
And now...now, I'm still terrified; but this time, it's for a different reason, and knowing the why makes all the difference. I know the why of what I've wished for, and what I want my life to be like. It is so new to me, and somewhat uncomfortable, to finally be so certain that my place is not here, it's there. I know that I want it, rather than feel that I want it, because I can hold that discarded picture up and it is honest and true, and because I feel peace gently shoving over the fear when I look at it. I look at it and I see a laughing face surrounded by strangers, on a strange continent, under stars and constellations that I've never seen before. And it's beautiful, and frightening, and it tugs so hard at my heart.
I pinned that wrinkled picture back up in my dreams so that I can see it when I sleep. I'm going to keep looking at it, every time I can, until I can recognize the girl I see there.
"I was born to tell you I love you."
Orion's Nebula
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Growling at the world
doesn't do any good for anyone involved. That's what I keep telling myself. Maybe tomorrow, I will stop growling and the world can stop cringing in the corner.
I'm also telling myself that making lists of the reasons I am allowed a snarl or two isn't helping either. I'm not very good at listening, as it turn out. Can add that to the list.
And, when I was looking for a picture, just now, to sum up my mood, I found this one. And it made me laugh. For real.
I guess this is me.
:-D
I'm also telling myself that making lists of the reasons I am allowed a snarl or two isn't helping either. I'm not very good at listening, as it turn out. Can add that to the list.
And, when I was looking for a picture, just now, to sum up my mood, I found this one. And it made me laugh. For real.
I guess this is me.
:-D
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
pumpkin roll
So, what a day, right? Just to clarify, previous post means that I got accepted into WV School of Osteopathic Medicine, so I can officially breathe a sigh of relief and fritter away the rest of my college education. I told my mum that now I can go drink and debauch without fear, and she gave me the gimlet eye. I have to practice that--it's very quellingly effective.
Found out that (finally!!!) the network is back up (network? what network? I don't know anything about a highly illegal network of shared files) and so I spent the afternoon (all of it!!!) watching movies and shows (fringe!!!). Wow, that's an appalling amount of exclamation points. I used up a two-year supply.
I promised pictures of the house when we finished it. I don't actually have them on me, because I am bereft of clairvoyance and didn't realize that the one thing I would forget to bring back with me would be my camera. But I do have some of break. Here...
Found out that (finally!!!) the network is back up (network? what network? I don't know anything about a highly illegal network of shared files) and so I spent the afternoon (all of it!!!) watching movies and shows (fringe!!!). Wow, that's an appalling amount of exclamation points. I used up a two-year supply.
I promised pictures of the house when we finished it. I don't actually have them on me, because I am bereft of clairvoyance and didn't realize that the one thing I would forget to bring back with me would be my camera. But I do have some of break. Here...
Getting ready to fill the tile with grout. I'd found my old coveralls and they were a God-send.
Dad does some beautiful wall-work.
Alex got nailed by a clumsy vampire bat...or had some moles removed. Take your pick, but the bat is my story and I'm sticking to it. Wicked awesome stitchwork, tho.
We worked until 11, 12pm every night, trying to get into the house by Christmas.
Celebrating because we had a kitchen sink that worked!
Uncle Greg surprised us on Christmas Eve with a mini Christmas tree up by our beds. I think the floodlights and paint add a nice touch, personally.
Aunt Lori sent us Christmas in a series of boxes, this being number one (with a second Christmas tree!)
...and this being number four.
Some of the most precious people in the world.
Dad, finally in his own bed on Christmas Eve.
My dog had been in OH for a year while we built. I was so glad to have her back!
Us.
Unfortunately, I don't have a picture of wiring, which is sad because I did most of it in two days and damaged my wrist on the crazy recepticles. It's braced and still sore, and I have no proof that I earned it legitly.
But--we were in by Christmas, and by New Year, the house looked like a home. And I made a pumpkin roll, and it was excellent.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
The beginning...
We've been working fairly constantly since I got back from break. I don't mind work, and it was worth it all to sleep/camp in our own house on Christmas Eve, after a year homeless. I'll throw up some pictures when the place doesn't look so much like a construction site, but here's one to start out with, so you know where I'm coming from. We'll be done by New Year's Eve. And that's a promise. Just wait and see.
Elma Fuddly
Christmas was unpredictable. I guess that was a blessing, stepping out of the comfort zone, blah blah blah. I played for the entire Christmas program at church—what a heart-stopping time. The stress was practically dripping off my fingers. Gotta love adrenaline but when I can’t use it immediately, it pools in my muscles and starts to ache. I can’t decide whether my favorite part was the middle of the first piece( where I forgot what key the song was in), the time I dashed up front to sing with Grandma because she was having trouble with the song (and I do. not. sing. in. public), or the last of it, when I thought I was done and sat down only to discover, as the entire church is looking at me, that I’m supposed to accompany while the guys sing “We Three Kings.” By that point, though, it was jolly, since so many other things had gone wrong, and been switched around, that I was feeling rather cheerful--it couldn't get any worse. It helped that the boys were all dressed in fluffy blue bathrobes and Elmer Fudd hats, though. I dearly hope somebody got a picture. Ms. Linda shouldn’t have told them to use their own discretion when picking out wise man outfits.
A Ronny Christmas
“How are you doing today, Ronny?”
“Oh, fair to middlin’. I’m just hanging on like a hair inna biscuit.”
“Are you going up on the mountain to open presents?”
“Naw, I don’t worship no Christmas tree. The little’uns are going to be doing their ho ho ho, Merry dang crap, but I’m just gonna go drink beer and watch the game. Bah, humbeer.” And he laughs.
What a cheerful man Ronny is. He truly has a heart of gold. If he hates you, he's going to kill you (literally); but if he likes you, then there is nothing on heaven and earth that he wouldn't do for you.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Snapshots
A silent, snow-swept ridge, empty save for a large brown dog, old and moving stiffly now but still full of repressed glee, and a girl, dodging slowly in her winter farm gear but still running. Everything is muffled—the cows stare out from the sheltering pines, boggle-eyed and too astonished by the spectacle to make a sound from their forest shadows—and even the dog’s low-pitched whuffs and the girl’s high fox-yips seem to fade before they reach the tree line. C’mon, girl! They flip snow at each other and struggle forward through the drifts, until they reach the fence-line and cross.
The girl crouches beside a thick log wall, wire strippers and an outlet her hands. It is dark outside in the snowy woods, but in this open room, covered with sawdust, boards, and pieces of tile, it is warm. The iron stove in the corner glows with heat, and adds its flickering light to the glow of the work lamps. She is singing under her breath, "It's a marvelous night for a moondance," loving the way the sound echoes in here, and mixes with conversation from upstairs where the others are laying tile, a job she will complete tomorrow. She finishes twisting the copper wires together and wraps the ends in electrical tape, screwing the completed outlet into the wall and moving on.
The girl stands behind her father, hands on his shoulders as he runs an electronic debrider in the large, infected wound. She’s hungry, and wishes she could blame her dizziness on the faintness that always accompanies low blood sugar, but she can’t. It’s amazing, what her father’s hands can accomplish, but as the blood makes a quick trickle down the skin, she feels a sweep of vertigo. The anger doesn’t help—why is this happening? I don’t understand—and she feels a surge of shame. Her life will consist of this, so she grits her teeth and focuses. Surely I can control my own mind...and her hands relax as the dizziness fades.
She sits in the half-light glow of an empty half-finished house, next to the window whose frame she’s just sealed, and stares out at the dark and snow. The cat in her lap curls deeper into the tan work coveralls that are pulled down to snug around her waist, and pushes her head into the girl’s stomach as the absent-minded petting ceases momentarily. But there is so much to think about, so much to worry over. She feels her soul shrink a little more every time she thinks about the work she could have put into the past semester, and didn’t. I am ashamed. And she worries even more for a sister who can’t seem to see that a failure to give everything she has, now, is going to keep her from realizing the future she has planned. She worries about money, and about her future and her past. Her faith in herself is almost gone—and she wonders how giving your worries to God actually happens. She needs to know.
The couch is almost too small for the people piled on it, but it doesn't matter. The girl shifts to accommodate an elbow in her ribs, and continues crocheting the soft red yarn in her hands. She laughs and sends back a quick retort to her cousin's jibe about empty ring fingers; and then the girl indulges herself in doing what she does best. She fades back into the couch and watches everyone around her, stepping outside of the talking and laughing to simply enjoy the picture and the feeling of family. It is a beautiful thing and tugs on her heart so hard that she almost can't stand it--so she takes the unfinished hat in her hands and plops it down over the back of her tall cousin's head, turning him into a Jew with questionable fashion sense and adding to the joy.
The girl darts into the house and up the stairs, shedding snow and clothing. Once she warms her fingers under scaldingly hot water, she reaches for a brush to attack the icy dreadlocks gently clinking against her frozen ears—and then stops. She leans forward intently, one hand lightly touching the mirror, and really looks. For months it’s been, You look tired. You need to get more sleep, and stop worrying so much. Are you all right? But now the eyes looking back are glowing, clear green with a golden center, brilliant and alive in a laughing, rosy face. She leans back with a surprised chortle, thrilled beyond belief. I guess I woke up, after all.
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