April 30, 2005

stairwell accompaniment:Ben Folds- Songs for Silverman

my wonderful roommate, sleeping bag companion, fellow traveler, similar soul–Schmanda–has saved me the headache of posting pictures. I’ll allow her site to offer the visual story of my past week…

more here

but it never ceases to amaze me how quickly a week of refuge can send me spinning back into a life of self absorption, worry, frustration, time restrictions and doubt. if i had even a small portion of the patience God has with me or if my faith were even the size of a mustard seed…

right now I am taking the warm weather for granted. i lack a thankful spirit. i am worried about never finishing school. i don’t want to forfeit my passions out of a lukewarm spirit. i lack discipline. i am missing friends of the past. sometimes i wonder where all of my similar souls have gone and i feel alone at the most unexpected times. right now my dog’s cold brown nose is something to smile about. she is relentless in her pursuit of attention. i miss childhood. i miss the lack of seriousness it offers. i want to sleep in under the covers of my familiar bed. i washed my sheets today and they are gloriously soft and fresh. if only my bed could be taken outdoors because i miss sleeping outside. i need to read more. my stack of never-ending must-reads overwhelms me and i feel uneducated. too many words. i haven’t journaled in over two weeks and i wouldn’t know where to begin. i feel out of touch with myself. going through the motions? where is it that I can meet me again? in that familiar Institute of Art and its solid marble floors? on that Indian mount that places me just slightly closer to the sky i don’t look to enough? in the coffee shop that feels like home to my sometimes weary soul? running the steps? sleeping in the sun? eating mango sticky rice and laughing? where is it that I can find the me that I have misplaced in this overwhelming life?

i will continue the search.


stairwell accompaniment: Guster- Live in Portland

i’m leaving for california in 24 hours.
and I will explore new land in sandals and climbing shoes
and my hair is blue (really!)
and i will find solace in airports
and i will keep my safetybelt fastened until the pilot tells me otherwise
and i will live on a steady diet of my ipod
and i will drink the sunlight and desert warmth
and my sleeping bag will feel cozy
and scripture will be on our lips
and i will wake up smiling
and the rock will feel close
and our laughter will span the country (JOY abounds in us)
and my body will ache reminding me that— i am alive
and if brokenness is inevitable…let it be my pride
and already today tastes sweet.


April 13, 2005

stairwell accompaniment:Counting Crows

I am colorblind. Coffee black and egg white. Pull me out from inside. I am ready . I am taffy stuck and tongue tied. Stutter shook and uptight. Pull me out from inside. I am ready. I am fine.
I am covered in skin. No one gets to come in. Pull me out from inside. I am folded and unfolded and unfolding. I am colorblind. Coffee black and egg white. Pull me out from inside. I am ready. I am fine. -AD

I was listening to this song on my quiet and somber drive home this coldwet and dark night. It speaks of the mood that permeated my day. Today I feel the silence. Deep.

I was listening to this song and I was in my head intensely.

And then I got pulled over. Yes- flashing lights and all. I knew I did not break any traffic laws because I’ve been extra cautious the last six months because I’m driving on the tags that I have not switched over since I owned my jeep. But I digress…I was pulled over because the cop assumed I was driving a stolen vehicle. I assured him it was mine, smiled nicely and he waved my plates that have been wrong for over six months with a simple “take care of that when you get a chance” and a wink. I am on the fortunate end of any sex/race profiling. Single white female.

And I drive away as if nothing happened because my day’s mood is this dense and overwhelming. Pull me out from inside.


April 6, 2005

stairwell accompaniment:The Killers

So this is what happens when Schmanda and I spend an unusual amount of time together: we pass from the realm of relevant conversations and updates on our lives, our thoughts, our feelings and relationships and into useless facts and random information that make each other laugh. Today Schmanda and I were sunbathing on the back patio. It was noon and neither of us had brushed our teeth or remedied our bedhead. I took this golden opportunity to tell her about a recurring dream I have been having.
But first, allow me to give some backgroud:
In two weeks Schmanda, Josh and I are flying to California to camp, climb and hike in Sequoia National park for a week. The three of us are lovers of the outdoors and enjoy climbing. I used to climb regularly until a little over a year ago when two events discouraged my climbing career: my die-hard partner moved to a different state and I began doing massage therapy full-time. So for the past year my climbing time has diminised to nearly-nothing. Schmanda and Josh, on the other hand, have spent much time the past few months at the Krag clinging to the walls–and both are excellent climbers. In fact, just a couple of weekends ago they made an excursion to the Red in KY for some outdoor climbing/camping. So, not only am I slightly discouraged by the fact that my two traveling companions are far more prepared physically for this climbing adventure, I am also nervous about the care of my hands and arms. As a massage therapist, it’s unacceptable for me to endure ANY injuries to my upper extremities. I need to be extra cautious for the sake of my income. So…
Today I told Schmanda that I’ve been having this recurring dream that while we are in California I break my arm. Each time I have the dream it is the exact same climbing scenario, same right arm, same excruciating pain.
But it’s just a dream, right? Yea, I thought so, too. That is until tonight.
I shut my bedroom door and the clay woman I made in an art therapy education class I took a couple of years ago fell off my shelf. I picked her body up and found her right arm…broken off…and under my dresser.
I may be on permanent belay duty this trip.

fan the flame

April 5, 2005

stairwell accompaniment:Over the Rhine– Spark

Confession: I become unequivocally overwhelmed in the combination of extravagant thoughts and deep emotions. So much so that I often just shut down, turn inward, fight numbness. I’m feeling that way now. Is it even possible to make sense of it all? (and if not, should I just stop trying?)
(My roommate bought the new Over the Rhine CD and has graciously shared it with us. Something about OTR puts me in this ridiculously mellow and introspective mindset. Red wine and sunsets and blankets and bare feet.)
I wake up in a cold sweat of irresolute dreaming and throw off the covers. Two nights now.
It’s not often that I feel restless in life- I’ve found that I am easily entertained and even more easily inarticulately thankful for the hidden, impalpable gifts that God allows me to stumble upon. (need I even begin a list that will never end: sleeping in, heated seats on warm days!, and how today I felt the sun on my legs for the first time in months!) Schmanda writes about joy and I relate so well to the unexpected, unexplained smiling heart that overtakes me on days when I least expect it. But I cannot discount how my life’s days also bring the moments that I want something more than…this. And these days that is the overriding feeling: as if I am on the edge of something bigger than the plans I have made. So frustrating to feel a passion and only think of it in a future tense!! God- how quickly I try to make Your time fit into mine. Forgive me.
I told Mary Beth tonight that maybe I’ve just been a half-hearted creature in too many different “ministries” all at once when what I really need to do is jump fully into one and give (without expecting to receive!). What would that look like? And where is it that I will be most effective? I am selfish with my time, selfish with my words and selfish with my love. God-I have nothing worth giving on my own. It’s a lie that I am useful without You!

What is my heart’s cry in ministry? Am I allowing myself to hear it before I dismiss the thought? Open my ears Lord! You are bigger than I tell myself!

And tonight I sat in the nest chair in my livingroom. I found myself as the center of a conversation with Nelms and Mattlevi on love. The more the conversation progressed, the more mute I became. My head is swimming in their thoughts on “I love you”: when do you say it?, how do you know you mean it?, if you are saying it in action is it hypocritical to not say it in words?, how desensitized can the phrase become? and how can you avoid that overuse?, how does it change a relationship? what level of commitment does it call for?
And my head asks me: Why aren’t there more words in our language for love because there is more than one type of love!! Nelms makes it sound so simple. Mattlevi and I want assurance in action and motive. Why do I doubt myself so readily?

Today AZ and I sat in a small coffee shop and had lunch. We rifled through scripture, tossed our thoughts and I used “K-9” to refer to a specific breed of dog (who doesn’t know what the specific breed called a “K-9” looks like?!?) while she laughed at my ridiculousness. Today was Monday and tomorrow is Tuesday in April.

IS God the last romantic??