Every chink in the armor, an excuse to cause offense

The Swell Season's "In These Arms"

Several nights ago, a dream: I’m walking up and over the crest of a small hill, leading up to a cabin. I smell the woods behind me and feel the sun on my back. On the porch of the cabin, sitting on a wood bench much like one would find in a park, is you. I am closer to the house now and two girls I hardly know, walking with me, run ahead into the house. I move to follow them but my head turns involuntarily towards you, wrapped in a thin blanket, tears slipping silently down your face. “Oh, hon”, I say and veer towards you. But you turn your face away. I reach out for your shoulder but as soon as I touch you, you shrug it off. “No... I don’t need anything. I’m fine. Go inside.” you insist. And in that moment, I feel everything within me change. My heart breaks for you in a way it never would before. I feel my blood congeal within my veins. My bones so soft and yielding are hard and steel now. I feel tall and commanding and powerful and I cannot stop the flood that comes out of my mouth. “No. No! YOU don’t get to do that. YOU don’t get to just dismiss me like that. What right have you to refuse empathy, refuse comfort from someone who genuinely cares? What gives you the right? It’s your feelings, right? You can share them with whomever you want to, right? Wrong. There are certain people in your life for a reason. You let them continue a one-way relationship with you, and eventually God’s gonna pull them out of your life so that you don’t bring them down. Or they’ll leave of their own volition because you never really let them in. How can they be in your life if you never let yourself be vulnerable to them? So these people in your life are here to take care of you, for you to take care of them. Not using your friends for their Godly value is an abuse of friendship. Who are YOU to refuse to be blessed by God? And who are YOU that, in this moment, when no one else is around you, when no one is here to comfort you, and when I have already given up on you before now, who are YOU to refuse the comfort of the Almighty God who’s will for me to hold you just now was so overpowering that it overrode my desire to leave you be? Who are you?   ...You could have so much, if you would only give a little.” And, lips pressed tightly, hands shaking; I leave you there, shocked into silence, one solitaire tear still making its way past your nose. I have never raised my voice in such a way before.

We can't hold us anymore

no we've got to fold
down to the floor, yes I know it's cold
but baby our hearts have gone
Ingrid Michaelson's "Once Was Love"

the butterfly. life's fragility epitomized in that singular being. the butterfly flies near you and you hold out your hand. it flutters down into your palm. but what then? how do you keep hold of something so precious, so beautiful? do you curl your fingers around it, caging it in? the butterfly will struggle to free itself from your grasp. the tighter you hold, the more fervent it beats its wings in an effort to escape. in fact, it will struggle so much that eventually the powder on its wings will rub off. the butterfly will become incapacitated. it will struggle itself to death. maybe not dead, dead. but essentially the same. useless. dead to the world. what point is there to a life without flight? survival impossible. forever dependent on the captor. on you. no, rather, it is in offering freedom that you even have a chance of holding onto the butterfly. when holding it, you keep your hands flat, palms up and open. you offer the butterfly the chance to leave at will. and in recognizing the spirit within that beautiful creature, that need for freedom, you understand the butterfly fully. when your hand is open, not trapping, the butterfly stays with you. it's that simple. the tighter you hold to something you love against its will, the more you lose it. you end up crushing it. but if you truly love it, you'll give it the freedom it needs, even if there's a chance you'll have to love it from afar.

I'm winning you with words because I have no other way

Jaymay's "Gray or Blue"

once. you asked me a question. a loaded one. how do i feel about you? i wrote a list. i wrote a letter. but still the words eluded me. i didn't understand. words are my way. why would my strength fail me. why am i at a loss for words when i am so good with them?

"For a man who makes his living with words, you sure have a hell of a time finding them when it counts." -from CASTLE

They say that home is where the heart is

I guess I haven't found my home

-Ingrid Michaelson's "Are We There Yet"

I want to go home. Only trouble is, I don't know where home is. Anywhere but here, perhaps? No, our hearts must settle on a place, must feel a pull to a certain dwelling, hear a calling from a place of love and memory. But my heart has never settled. Once upon a time, my home was Mimi's. My junior year especially, when I spent every other weekend with her, I called her house my home in my head. When I was in middle school, I felt like church was my home. I relished every Sunday morning spent in Sunday school and in service, every Wednesday of choir practice. Often, school has been my home; a recurring theme throughout my life. When I was in elementary school, I often wished I could run away. In some of my more serious moments, I even planned it all out. I would live at school. (Not the brightest idea, I know). In middle school, I eagerly awaited the school bus every morning, dreaded getting on that same bus each afternoon bearing me back to my parents' house. In high school, I gave every excuse to stay in school an hour or so more: marching band, tutoring, detention. When I joined the youth group at my aunt's church, that church became my home. Where once upon a time any church felt like home, this time it was her church. The youth room, specifically. When I was prevented from going to youth for months at a time (and that happened quite frequently) my heart would physically ache to be there. Even now, I often refer to my apartment on campus as home.

If home is where your heart is, then I have no home. My heart is with those I love the deepest. And those people are scattered here and there. I have no place to call home. but it's times like these, when i am weary, burdened, scared, sad, hardened, or broken, that i long to run home. I want to run home. right now. but i'm stuck here.

But then I feel mortality surround me

Regina Spektor "Music Box"

This morning when I got on Facebook, I saw that my old Spanish teacher from high school had put up a status asking what everyone's top three items on their bucket lists were. I started thinking about it in my 8:30 class (don't judge me, it's physical science so I never have to pay attention) and I started writing my own bucket list. Although there are many things I want to do as I age, these are the ones that I a) want to do the most or b) am least likely to have the chance to do. I will leave it up to you to decide which ones fall under which category. I'll be adding to this in the future, I'm sure but for now, here it is:

1) learn Romanian
2) learn ASL (American Sign Language)
3) live in a Spanish-speaking country for at least two years
4) hug Monet
5) learn to tap dance proficiently
6) learn to play guitar
7) learn French

I'm a new soul, I came to this strange world

hoping I could find a bit 'bout how to give and take
-Yael Naim "New Soul"

I've never blogged before so this a strange new experience for me. This first post is not a real post. It's more of  an explanation of the way I explain things. I use metaphors a lot. And I don't explain them. Be prepared for that. I will title every post with a line from a song and if the line (or two or three or even the whole song) is too long for a title, I'll continue it in the beginning of the post, along with the artist and the song title.

This blog is just a way for me to organize my thoughts. It is a kaleidascope of emotions; things that make me love, despair, laugh, mad, smile, stress, and praise God. Speaking of my Adonai, He is at the root of everything I am. I pray my posts in some way please Him and that I never use this blog as a way to demean anything or anyone I speak of and I pray that, by my posts, others will know that I am a child of Light.

Bear with me and my musings, please. I hope you enjoy them, relate to them, or laugh at them.