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New Leaves this Color

Time

   I was looking through my best friend's facebook pictures and I found this today. This was me three years ago. I feel as though I have aged so much! I kind of hate it. That picture was back before everything happened. That was before the love came, and the hate, and the storm, and the sadness, and that was before my family deteriorated into nothingness. 

   I think at one time, I was very happy in my life. Nashville was full of adventures. 

   Maybe happiness is a choice, and maybe embarking on it, in itself is an adventure. 

   I wish I could turn back the clock. 

   But it's odd. I don't know if I would have done anything different. 

 

  Maybe, I just want to go backward to experience something big...maybe to feel it all again. What's that Goo Goo Dolls lyric? "When everything feels like the movies...yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive." I wish I was still bleeding again. Then I wouldn't feel so clouded and listless...like an aimless wander; a much older aimless wanderer. 

   I miss baby Jade. 

  I know nothing in life as unforgiving as Time. 

Dear You,

  I think you will be disappointed if you ever get here. I never think about you. I never picture your arrival. I would go as far to say: I have already stopped believing in you.
  Boys get tired of the chip on my shoulder pretty quickly, as in: one dinner date (if that). I think my demeanor and my eyes say it before mouth does. And he--whoever he is, internally hangs his head in defeat, and moves on. There is so much in the silences. If you ever come, I will explain that to you.
 Most of my friends say because I have already given up on you I show little faith in God. Some tell me I have a terrible attitude. I accept these accusations and to some degree believe they are both correct.    "Love is risky, but worth it!" they say. That never sits well with me. I wish something that is patient, kind, protecting and constantly persevering did not fall into the "risk" category. I always get sad at the state of our humanity because of that. Love is incredibly oxymoronic--"...Or just moronic." I usually say any time I can follow up that statement.
 I do not believe I am going to get any softer than I am right now. By the time you meet me, you'll probably overlook me. But had the timing been better, we would have been perfect together.
 I used to be a romantic; I mean...a romantic! I used to live poetry. Even when I was alone, I was in love. I used to take bubble baths, and wear berry lipstick, and florals of lavender and fuchsia and crimson. My skin always smelled of woodsy perfumes, and amber lotion. I used to curl my hair. I would sit on the bus and imagine you coming and sweeping me off my feet.
 But the impostors came...and they took a lot out of me.
 I take the blame for wrapping my imagination around a lot of lies and a lot of liars that pretended to be you. They pretended well--and I did too. But when it came down to our fallenness, I couldn't hack it. I couldn't deal with omission, and private nights in front of the computer screen, and sickness that tainted everything I ever thought I knew about love. I gave up on you when I knew that every day you'd have to put on the full armor of God to fight "Every Man's Battle," and instead of being a "Lady in Waiting" I decided to forgive you and forget you before either of us got hurt. Right now, I'm reading a book that is teaching me that I am "Captivating" and worthy your time because I'm worth God's time. But I do not feel as though I could be too captivating. If God wasn't captivating enough to keep man's attention prior to the fall, what makes me believe I will be captivating enough to keep you from stumbling?
 The only image in my mind I have of you, is this:

 I'm sitting across from you in a coffee shop, and we're still freshly married. I've already had one of our children and she's lying in the stroller next to me. I start talking to you about something enchanting, while I'm half distracted with feeding her. A gorgeous, thin, pore-less, woman in a short skirt walks in and for a moment you take your eyes off me...and you're gone. I lose you.
 The next part is kind of cloudy, because I can't figure out which one is worse: Do I want to be aware of it and become a puddle of used up goo on the floor? Or do I want to be the idiot who is oblivious to it? Do I want to be completely broken or a complete ditz? In reality, I suppose I look like a fool either way.

 I used to believe in fairytales. There is no fall in Utopia, and there's no lust in Heaven. Unfortunately, our life together is already shards of glass my battered feet will never be prepared to walk through.

 Dear You,

  If you're out there looking for me--
 
  Stop.

  We'll both be better off if I never know you.

Getting to God

 Last week, I left my job at J. Alexander's. I did so primarily because gas was entirely too expensive to drive 30 minutes a day from the east side to the west side of town. My secondary reason was the MAM magazine. I want to donate all of my time to ministry while I am blessed with the opportunity to do so. I was asked on Thursday to housesit for The Welker family, and to be responsible for children's ministry at The Keeill while they were out of town. Monday through Wednesday had been the most stressful, weary days of my life. Anxiety and depression cloaked itself around my neck and I was sinking back down into habits that I could not live a life of abundance with. After a great amount of prayer, I decided to crush one of my biggest idols and begin the process of starving my anorexia to death. I got up the courage to obliterate my bathroom scale by sending it sailing over the side of The Anchor's second story fire escape ledge. When it didn't shatter into a thousand pieces like I'd hoped, I pried it open, and ripped apart its insides. The only piece of the scale I kept was the face--to remind me that I had come face to face with the enemy, and with the power of Christ in me strangled him to death.

 Later that week, I made my way out to Fairview with heavy preconceived notions about what I was about to face: a weekend in the woods with no connection to the outside world. Sounded like Northern Michigan to me. As I headed West the trees began to haunt me. Not only was I reminded of the gut wrenching memories of Percy Warner Park, but also the way his chest smelled as I curled up with him in the cool sheets of a Michigan summer. The backroads had become a staple for his name, and I feared that walking into a situation like that, completely alone with no one to sit and chat with me would be the worst thing for me. 

 On Thursday around 11 p.m. I arrived at The Welker's. The house smelled somewhat like the cabin, but its overwhelming sense of home took me by surprise. I was invited in by the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen in my life. There were flowers left all over the house: ones from the garden, wild ones, unruly ones, proper ones, graceful ones, and daring ones. I was immediately overcome by a sense of peace I have never experienced in my entire life. The spirit of God was so perfect in that house, I was sure I had found my haven. 

 The majority of my days were spent re-reading William P. Young's "The Shack." I reconnected with Papa in very real ways, Sarayu, and Jesus. In-fact, I felt much like Mack: getting to know the trinity for the first time in a very tangible way. The first line of the book goes something like this: 

 "Who wouldn't be skeptical when a man says he's spent an entire weekend with God? And in a shack no less? And this was the shack [paraphrasing]." The Lord gave me the gift of a free vacation that I could spend sitting on the porch listening to the cool Tennessee rain reconnecting with my creator. I finally understand what it means to be a daughter of God and how Christ loves me. That was something I didn't understand before. I also learned a great deal about myself. 

 I think I was born to live in the country--no internet, no cable...just me, with a book and a cup of coffee listening to the rain. I found my sacred haven. My hope is to move out to Fairview after I graduate. I used to believe having many things would satiate me...that traveling much, attaining a degree, achieving a weight goal, buying a miracle pore cream would relieve my spirit. I made it so complicated when it was really quite simple. What I needed was stillness, and the presence of Jesus. For the longest time I searched for things: boys to date, clothes to wear, friends, social status, educational avenues...you name it. And I was a shopaholic. Now, I'm drowning in the excess of all the things I bought to heal a wound that was caused by having too much. I want very little for my life. I want to own a house out in the country...and I want my own dog. I don't wish for marriage. I don't wish for fame. I don't even wish for canvases or notebooks to write poetry in. I just want to live in my sanctuary. This weekend, I found it. I got to God in an unexpected place. 

Praise His name. 

Bowie National Park

Sweet Tennessee

Sweet Southern State