Whatcha Gonna Do When They Come for You?

5 - Swimming lesson instructor.

6 - Teacher.

9 - Famous singer.

10 - Missionary.

12 - Writer.

15 - Married to a billionaire.

17 - Actress.

18 - Mother.

19 - Youth pastor.

21 - Pastor.

23 - Travelling poet through Japan, conquering skyscrapers and scary hairstyles with my devastatingly touching iambic pentameter.

At each age, these were my highest aspirations. Some are still with me (hello, famous singing career, here I come), and some are long dead. I never wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer or astronaut or princess, because it was never about the money (except marrying rich, of course); it was about living out what I was passionate about.

So. Self-analysis time. What am I most passionate about at this moment?

...Reading my Bible, making delicious food, making anything really, going on adventures.

Okay. Now why am I doing anything else?

Obvious answer: it's all part of the plan. Finish school, do what's required, I'll thank myself later. And realistically, I'll be done in just over 5 months. That's all. But until then...I'm dragging myself through the mud.

I want a better attitude! I really do. And there are parts about school I absolutely love to bits. But there's the parts that literally take the things I used to love and twist them into ugly representations of lovely things. Too hardcore? Fine. The joy for learning is gone when I'm over-worked and under-prepared and hungover (JOKES) and, in some cases, have already learned exactly the same thing in five other courses (this happens more often than you'd think). And other things still hurt. I think I've mostly forgiven the painful bits from over the last whiles, but it doesn't make the hurt any less legitimate. Sometimes I forget how badly it still affects my heart, and then a reminder stuffs itself into my face and I cannot breathe all over again.

Sidenote: What do you do when you know something that literally no one else on the planet knows except the person whose secret it is to tell, and this information could destroy everything for someone else? What do you do when there is no "sworn to secrecy," but instead a mutual silence? What do you do when you know you should do the right thing, but in the end no one will thank you for it?

End sidenote.

I am fighting through this, but I'd rather enjoy the ride. What's the worst that happens? I don't get A+'s across the board? Unlikely at this point, anyways. I don't graduate with highest honours? ...I'm guessing that I'm the only person who cares if I do that or not. The school I want won't accept me because my grades blow chunks? I take the road set out for me instead of the one that was obviously of me.

I am officially letting go of perfection and instead striving to enjoy this at least a little bit more than I have been. Hello, folks! It's celebration time. Freedom is nearly here. It's taste is strongly overpowering my leftover coffee and midnight cigarette (JOKES...about the coffee. JOKES! Gosh).

Drifting

That horrible letdown of defenses after a ridiculously long period of stress that leads to sickness.

I hate it. Being surrounded by the pressure of stress so tightly that, when it finally stops constricting, it still leaves me without breath.

I just watched a show where a boa constrictor was squeezing a guy to death, but they couldn't remove the snake because it had crushed his bones and if they did he would bleed out. The same thing that was killing him was also keeping him alive.

Ironic. One of the main stresses being removed meant letting go of the strict schedule that had kept me breathing. Now I have to reconstruct from the ground up all over again. I need to remind myself why I wake up in the morning instead of robotically going through the motions just to make it through the day.

There must be purpose beyond this.

It's Not His Price to Pay

So in the last few days, so many encouraging people have told me how much I have changed over the last several months. It's given me hope that even if I do not see it, at least others do. Well, some of them.

Tomorrow life starts up again and I need to deal with the issues of last week. Hoo-rah. I cannot let it get me down, though. Situations have to stop having the power to get the best of me.

There are so many things I want to change and I get discouraged when these things stay the same, but I have to be content knowing that things are moving along and in time stuff will progress in a positive direction. I am being so vague it's ridiculous. Um...nevermind. I went to explain but realized my brain is blank.

So. Breathe. It will not always be this way. Smile. Someday it will all be worth it.

He Sees Everything Black and White

Two days ago - the day, that is - somehow, miraculously passed without incident. It was like it did not exist. I was vaguely aware the day before but did not let myself get caught up, and then a few minutes past midnight yesterday in the wee hours I realized.

Five years to the day.

I have alluded to this day of the month in the past, but never this day of the year specifically. As with most of my pain, I am realizing, I never dealt with this day. I cried once, then shoved it away for good; any tears that came after were private, shocking, and only caused me to shove the feelings deeper. October 29, 2005...where do I even begin?

I guess I could start at a random conversation over blood in a hot tub summer '03...or a rainy night February 2004...or the last weeks of grade 11...or August 31, 2005. The last was the day things went from bad to horribly, horribly wrong. I was in love with my first love, and he loved me too. He "loved" me enough to pretend I wasn't a mistake. He "loved" me enough to lie to me when it was convenient. He continued to "love" me through the convenient right into the despicable. He "loved" me enough to sleep with a fourteen year old freshman. He "loved" me enough to allow his answer to evolve from an immediate "I'd marry you" to an "I think I would" to an "I just don't know anymore." He "loved" me enough to try to have break-up sex with me. He "loved" me enough to celebrate our break-up with a girl named Brooklyn in her hot tub. And he "loved" me enough to use me one last time when I was at my most vulnerable.

So I look at this day that still cuts like a knife, look at my life up to that point and the decisions I made, and wonder why it still hurts. I can guarantee with absolute certainty that at this moment, he's not thinking about me. He probably hasn't thought about me in months...years if I haven't popped up on his Facebook News Feed. The last thought was most likely regarding the next awful thing to say about me to his favourite group: another ex-boyfriend who used to be mortal enemies (just ask, one still has a battle wound), his friend who was always trying to convince me to be with him instead, and his friend who tried to rape me.

Breathe.

That picture was taken right before we started dating (the last time). I was genuinely beyond happy. It has been rare that I have been that happy since.

October 29, 2005, I went over to his house with candles in my backpack, a half-formed prayer tacked onto a fleeting thought (to Whom? I think even then I knew He was real), and a nagging feeling that this would be the day my life changed. Five hours later I had called just the right people to get a party together, and I sat on a couch in a perma-pot-stenched basement wearing a jacket from one boy and the arm of another, and I did not smile once. If I had to guess the next time I wore a real smile? Eight months later when I dedicated my life to God and was baptized.

I do not know how to let go. I do not know how to convince my heart to open so that I can heal it. This is the closest I have gotten...ever. I want it whole so someone else can finally come in and treat it the way I've always needed. I am so not there yet.

Drowning in the Ocean...A Big, Wide, Empty Ocean

When I'm walking and waiting and eating and engaging and conversing and crying and interacting and imagining and creating and cooking and laughing and lounging and showering and shopping and deciding and dreaming and fighting and flattering and sleeping and shivering and lying and living...I think I'm doing those things. I think I'm doing them convincingly well. I tell myself that this is just the way life is.

And then.

You walk into the room. Or call. Or just make eye contact. And all of a sudden, it's like I'm coming up for air. I realize that all this time that I thought I've been living like a normal person, in reality I have been holding my breath, drowning in a sea of withoutness.

I don't know how to live without you. I thought I did. I thought I could do life and be okay. But I'm not. And you might never know now.

I'm Dreaming of a...Grey Christmas?

That's right. Despite my most fervent prayers and denial of the weatherman's foretelling, there was no snow on Christmas. We did, however, get a lovely blanket of fog. Grey, dismal, horrible fog.

To combat the weather's reluctance to comply with my traditional Christmasy desires, I took on the joy of the holidays anyway and hung out with my family. Our Christmases have never been traditional, but this year was at an all-time...high?

I think I was nine when my mom decided we weren't going to have a Christmas tree anymore. For a few years we also didn't have gifts. Those are back now, but the tree never made a re-appearance. After that, my mom decided that she wanted to create a Christmas tradition that we would want to come home to when we're old and married. So for the last several years on Christmas Eve, my mom and dad and brother and I get together to slowly evolve our version of a family Christmas. This year, it looked someting like this: we start at 5 with fondue, and as soon as that's winding up we throw some appetizers in the oven. When those are finished, we throw some more in, etc. It goes on and on until dessert. Aaaaand then we throw some more hors d'oeuvres out on the table and eat until bed. Somewhere in the middle we also watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and usually play a board game. Then in the morning, it's up for any food we didn't finish the night before and home-made cinnamon buns and presents (this year we're doing renovations, so the pile of presents stood in the middle of the living room, sans tree of course, as the only thing in the room besides our new couch). And thus the new family tradition.

After that, we go to one side of the family Christmas night and the other on Boxing Day. Basically, it's three days straight of only eating and sleeping. It's wonderful.

But besides all that, even though it's wonderful to get to spend so much time with my family, one important truth remains: Jesus is the reason for the season (ahahaha, oh my but I do love clichés). Sure, He probably wasn't actually born on December 25th and where the tree and Santa fit in we'll probably never know (and a reindeer with a birth defect that makes only his nose glow? Heaven help us!). BUT, this is the time once a year that we should be taking some time to remember that He came, how He came, and why He came. He came for me.

The mist killed my white Christmas dreams, but that was about it. It's actually quite beautiful when I stop and get over my delusions of "what Christmas should be" and just...stop. Breathe. Accept that this is how it is, and be okay.

Grapefruit H2O

Somewhere in the confused suffocation of last week, I forgot what it feels like to breathe. I tell my lungs to inflate, I stare a hole through my chest at where they should be...and nothing happens.

How do I explain the journey of the last few days? There are no correct words. I fought, I smashed, I surrendered; I got up without waking, walked without seeing, talked without communicating; I dreamed, and then was smacked into reality. I am breaking into a million little pieces.

Tomorrow is a birth-place, a thinking space, an unknown face, and a resting place. It underscores my desire to never be alone, whilst drawing back into the wretched sanctuary of my bedroom. Will tomorrow find me courageous or terrified, standing tall or hiding low, faithful or heartbreaking...or just unfeeling?

I have forgotten what it means to draw a deep breath, let it melt into every crevice, and release the dust of ruined dreams. Tomorrow will be better.

That Name I'm Not Allowed to Call You

It's been nearly three and a half years, and I'm finally in that place of trusting again. I'm giving my heart into the care of another, and hoping he won't smash it into oblivion.

I don't know how to explain this overwhelming peace I have every time green meets hazel. My world comes into focus and I can breathe. I don't feel like there are ridiculous expectations on me, or as if I need to pretend I'm someone else to make him adore me.

I didn't even see this coming! I did not come to Bridal College to get my MRS Degree. I came here to seek God and continue to carry out His purposes in my life. I did not come here to meet someone. But I did.

I don't know what tomorrow holds, or next week, or next year. But what I do know is that for now, there is someone cradling my heart and I can trust him. When I get past my own insecurities and baggage, I might even believe him when he tells me, crazily, that he cares about me too.