Eyes in a crowd

There are times in my life when I look for signs. When I am in parking lots I say to myself "if I get to my car before this person in the blue sandals passes me then it is a sign that..." Or sometimes it is more serious than that; perhaps I say to myself, "if this person sends me that unlooked-for email then it must be sign, because it something that I couldn't manipulate." Really though I am just trying to fool myself. If I can somehow trick myself into thinking that I actually have some say in the way my desires be fulfilled then I can feel some measure of control. Of course this is a double plague, a rather prismatic problem. There are so many facets to why I am wrong that it is like the shimmering surface of a gem, cuts that reflect, deflect, and cut the light to create an illusion. The truth is that I am not in control, and if I was then my life would surely be a great deal messier and most certainly going in a direction that would lead to destruction and despair. I know all to well what my flesh is capable of, I have seen it in action and it is an ugly sight, one that haunts me when I am weak. God is in control and he has not left his throne. That in itself is so monumental to me that I cannot begin to express my thanks. Not only is this frail insignificance that is my life in his hands, he has plan and a desire for how it should go. I may never know why God does what does, why he puts people in my life or why he wills what he wills but I know that the whole world is at stake, not just me. I am but one tiny butterfly in God's chaos theory, for it is only chaos to those with minds that cannot grasp it, meaning all of humanity of course! Secondly, I am wrong because I am too caught up in my own desires to acknowledge the will of God. My desires were given me simply so I could offer them back to the Father as a sacrifice, not necessarily so that they may be fulfilled.

So, why then do I look for your eyes in a crowd? Why do I wake from sleep troubled and graced by your presence and touch? Why do I get lost in the thought of your smile? Or better yet your deep-in-thought face, your angle of repose?

I am not a Robot...I am not talking like a robot...

I have always loved the movie Life is Beautiful. Somehow, despite a plot that is heart-breakingly sad, the movie is warmth and love. I remember the first time I saw it. I was taking Japanese in High School and as part of the international language program, all student studying a foreign language at my school were required to see the film, as it was in it's director's native Italian. I sat, a still-wet-behind-the-ears freshman, in the darkened Naro theater in downtown Norfolk with maybe 150 of my peers around me. I laughed and clapped and cried unabashedly, caught up in a beautiful love story between a man and his wife, a father and his son. Myself and the theater were plunged in the poignancy of love and sacrifice and death.
In stark contrast to Life is Beautiful was the cheesy TV movie I watched tonight and yet it elicited the same response from me. I cried unabashedly at the rawness of human emotion, at the hurt and trust and love and brokenness of the shallow characters of the movie. So many times in this life I have wanted to be a robot, no feelings, no emotion. How simple life could be! I would never be offended, never feel betrayed, I could never love and therefore, never lose. I would not feel stressed or sad or even angry, which in my case, could be a great improvement when driving on the freeway.
Embarrassingly enough, my first girlhood crush was on Data the android from Star Trek the Next Generation. Data spent his whole androidal life striving to be more human in action, thought, and emotion. Ironic that I would have attached myself to a character like this when I myself long to feel nothing sometimes. I think of my feelings as a burden most times, something that gets in my way and causes me to sin. But (in the words of Tevye) on the other hand, emotion is God given. What use would I be to a hurt and dying world if I could not sympathize with their pain and struggles? What kind of friend would I be if I could not cry with you when you are hurting or rejoice with you when you are triumphant? What kind of servant would I be to God if I could not show him gratitude and love for what he has done? What would be the purpose of my mouth if I could not smile, laugh, and sing praises? What use are my eyes if I cannot cast them lovingly upon others? What good are my hands reaching out to help if they could not reach out in love and compassion? What good are my feet if they could not walk humbly and obediently before the Lord?
The bible tells me that the heart is deceitful above all things, and I know from experience that I cannot trust my feelings. I trust in the Lord and he makes my paths straight. Yet, he is the infinite Creator and saw fit to endow this fragile vessel with the gift of emotion. He seeks that I keep it in control through his Spirit but also provides that I use it. Our Lord Jesus Christ himself wept at the death of Lazarus, wept with full expression of grief and with, I am sure, great empathy. In righteous anger Jesus overturned the tables of the money changers who dishonored the Father's house with their unscrupulous business practices. But even at the pinnacle of strong emotion, Christ never let those feelings lead him into sin.
I suppose deep down that is truly what I yearn for. I long to feel those emotions but not to let them dupe me into the pit of sin where I must wear the guilt of them like a veil. I long for the Spirit to guide me through my feelings to a place where they are a blessing to myself and to others. I want my life to be characterized by the love and compassion and joy and laughter of Life if Beautiful and not the pain and fear and anger that sin breeds. I want to see life through Christ-colored glasses, the way God sees me, through a glorious haze of Holy Blood. Perhaps this struggle is a see-saw and somehow the Lord and I must find that sublime balance between control and expression. Yet the only picture that springs to my mind now is David, dancing through the streets hardly clothed and completely enraptured in his worship of the God who Is.
Yes, perhaps I will become even more undignified than this...

Ten Were Bad and Two Were Good

In the book of Numbers, after he enabled Moses to lead the Children of Israel out of Egypt, God asked Moses to send out 12 men into Canaan, the Promised Land, and bring back a report of what they found. Moses sends them and they spy out the land. When they return, however, 10 of the men bring back a bad report, a report filled with untruths and they convinced everyone that although God has promised to give them this land, there is no way to defeat the indigenous people. Two men, Joshua and Caleb, stand up and speak the truth. "The land is exceedingly good," they said, "the Lord will deliver our enemies into our hands. All we have to do is claim the land." But the minds of the Israelites had already been poisoned by the bad report of the other 12 men. The people were so angry that they considered stoning the only two men that had actually brought back a good news.
I am no stranger to defeat. I have faced this adversary over and over in my short life. Yet I am stubborn and refuse to bow out to defeat. Life is not characterized by our defeats but how we deal with them, what we do with the hand dealt us. I have known hurt and betrayal, I have known pain and abuse. But I have also learned to embrace them, pull them close with both arms; not because I am a masochist, but because I am a pragmatist. I know that when trouble comes, when the knife is thrust into my back, when the bad report is spread, I will not be killed. The pain may be almost unbearable, it's true, but I am only pressed, not crushed, struck down but not destroyed. Can the Phoenix bow to defeat when he knows he will only rise from the ashes; not destroyed by the flames, but purified and strengthened by them.
Though none of the people believed Joshua and Caleb, though they were nearly killed for standing by what they knew to be right, they were the victors. Of all of the Children of Israel, Moses included, Joshua and Caleb were the only two of their generation that entered the Promised Land. Those who gave the bad report and those who followed along with them fell dead in the desert, still wandering.
I may be a rebel, but I am not without a cause and I believe this cause is the only one worth standing for: knowing Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings; then making him known and declaring the fame of this One I strive to become like.

A little sanguinity from a devout Melancholic

I have noticed a trend in my life and moods. Funny it should take as long as it has for me to see this tiny truth, but I am slower than most so there you are. When I am depressed, when I am down, when I feel like lifes walls are closing in, it seems that my cynicism and doubt reach their high. I must confess I am quite a cynic most of the time. It is not something I am proud of or that I wear on my sleeve but it is there nonetheless. I always had a soft spot for poor Thomas and Peter...the Doubter and the Brash-Impulsive, for I see so much of myself in them. Anyhow, when I am at my worst nothing seems possible; I lose my confidence in people, in the world, in the system.
As a quick (but way far) aside, the ancients used to classify people by their "humors". The Greek, Roman and Arab philosophers and physicians came up with a theory to explain temperaments. There were four main catagories: sanguine, choleric, melancholic and phlegmatic. Each temperament corresponded to a substance in the body that influenced the personality of the individual. The reason I mention this is because, although I know nothing about my body chemistry I do know I must be melancholic, a description that rather speaks for itself! Hence the seemingly depressive nature of my writings. My sincerest apologies!
The truth I wanted to share in this blog was not my cynicism, nor my wavering confidence in others. What I have discovered is that when I trust in the Lord, when I drop my hands to my sides and admit, once again that I don't know anything and I hold no power in my feeble hands, He reminds me that He does. God speaks to my heart and reminds me that though they might fool me, people have never pulled the wool over God's eyes. He knows everything; from the first movement of the first atom in space to the first thought in my own mind. There is nothing hidden from God's sight.
Furthermore, when open my bible, when I light the lamp of God's word and consent to follow Him down any path on which He chooses to lead me no matter the cost, I am reminded also that for Him there is nothing impossible. By the power of my weak human mind I can only imagine the infinite impossibilities of this world. When I am living through the power of His Spirit, though, a universe of possibilities opens up; there is nothing that seems beyond reach. His hand is powerful and it yearns to show me things beyond my wildest dreams, wonders that are uniquely God's. He asks that I put my faith and trust in Him and He will take care of the rest. There is not enough wonder in my mind nor words in my brain to comprehend or express the supremacy and capacity of God. He is far grander and more deeply consuming than my moods or fears. His hands are never idle in this world or in my heart; they are constantly and steadily at work for good, accomplishling His will and purpose. When I choose to set aside my own petty issues and feelings I can glimpse a portion of the wonder of our Lord...and it goes beyond anything I could possibly say here!

Nocturne on a Toy Piano

I did something tonight I knew I would regret. I knew that somehow this act would only bring me pain; inexplicable pain. And regret, regret almost instantly. There are things in this life that trouble me, keep me awake at night, things that really shouldn't but do. A recurring theme in my writing is insomnia. I have a mind that refuses to lay lax when I rest my head on the pillow. Thoughts and memories, and inexorably regrets, grind away like gears in a tightly wound clock. My actions tonight did not serve to dull the processes of my brain either. I knew the minute I had submitted the application that the situation was bound to stir ill sentiment.

The feeling was compressive and lonesome. Almost like walking into a room of people and knowing from the scornful looks on their faces that you do not belong, unwanted. The most melancholy notes drummed out on a toy piano, discordant in their resonance. Once, a long time ago I read the letter of a dear friend to someone else. Halfway through I came across my own name, written in disdain and harshness. The unfriendly words were a shock and hurt my heart and I remember them to this day. But I knew what I risked when I read words that were not penned with my eyes in mind. This fact did not affect the sting in my heart and the injury of their disapproval.

That is what surfaced when I acted this evening, a nocturnal whim. Something so innocent and, ironically, friendly, tainted my mood and sleep. Once again I will lie in bed nursing only tears and sighs for company and let my mind churn away restlessly.

I cannot begin to describe the loneliness of being alone, prostrate in longing. Set apart in mind, always the outsider looking in. Somehow unable to cope with just being me an not a part of them, unwanted and unused; an empty vessel, a broken instrument.

Giving a Name to This Feeling

I do not write my blogs nearly as bluntly as I feel them, and forgive me, for this one will be no different. In all probability it will be even more shaded and verbose, hiding the nature of its subject, than most others. But that aside, let me just ponder this in writing...
I have never been good with emotion, or at least expressing it honestly. To feel emotion is to be human. Even the most hard hearted person feels, they just choose to ignore and supress. At the risk of sounding extremely redundant and simple, I feel my feelings, if you know what I mean. I feel them a great deal. Some people experience happiness in a smile or a laugh. Some people feel loneliness in just being alone and glum. Others taste desire as just a very strong want. How do you go about explaining your emotion? They are so much more than sentiments, so much more than mere words; to me they are physical experiences.
The sensation starts in my throat, just barely a tightness in my throat. It tingles down my neck, slowly making its way to my chest. the feeling undulates, coarsing through the space around my heart, where it lingers and trembles. The feeling finally makes its way home and settles in my stomach, where it feels as though the Monarch butterfly migration has just taken place. The fluttering, fanning, frenzy of a thousand tiny wings makes me nervous and excited and scared all at the same time. Most would associate this feeling with the anticipation of something good and perhaps some others, with a case of the jitters. For me it is the anticipation of something that could either be wonderful or disastrous. It is difficult at best to try and catagorize this sensation. Deep down I know why it occurs but yet I cannot exercise the least bit of control over it. In fact I despise this feeling. It causes me to lie awake for hours at night when I should be asleep. It makes me lose my appetite. I know when it is coming and I dread its arrival but I am powerless to stop it. Powerless. In that word I feel I have encapsulated my feeling. For me, Lindsay, personally and not for anyone else, this emotion I feel is like powerlessness. It is all the most primal emotions tied into one; it is fear, it is hope, it is strong desire, it is a little love, a little hate, a desperate happiness and a heart-breaking sadness. And yes it is possible to feel all these things at once! For me it is wanting something, fearing that I cannot have it, and hoping against hope that my fear is unfounded. There is only one occasion in life in which my body reacts with this unpleasant emotion. It is good though, that the feeling is rare, for it is tiresome and strength sapping to feel powerless often.
I know that this has probably made very little sense and has wasted a good five minutes of your time if you were unfortunate enough to read it. Yet some how I am not apologetic anymore. I have said what I feel in the best words I could find to convey my message. It does not have a moral, there is no way you can apply it to your life. It is simply a grammatical ride through my emotions. Honestly it has not made me feel better to write this and my throat is still tight and there are still butterflies in m stomach. I will sleep fitfully tonight and wake up with the same person on my mind. Still, my feeling now has a name and that is saying something.

Combing Life for Bliss

Life, in my opinion, is like combing a beach. Mile after mile of sand stretches out before you, each next step an opportunity to uncover a treasure. Beautiful shells, sea glass, an old, rusted skeleton key, perhaps even a coin or lost jewelry might turn up. But all that is buried beneath the sand is not good. It is a risk, beach combing, for you never know when you may come upon a broken bottle, a sharp nail, trash or something equally undesirable. Sometimes you may spend the whole day, or even a series of days, searching the sands without a single thing to show for the work. It is in this aspect that I see life. Life stretches on in front of me, every new day an opportunity to discover something great. Sometimes I spend days, weeks, even years with apparently nothing to show for the work I've done. Other times life unearths tragedy, heartache, and sadness, much like a sharp, rusted can might cause pain while sifting through sand. But ultimately, whatever wound life caused is healed and the endless search continues until death. The best thing though, when combing a beach or when plodding along through life, is when you stumble upon a tiny treasure that was a complete surprise, a thing truly unlooked for.
Often the feeling that accompanies these moments in life is bliss, one of my favorite words. Bliss, by definition is complete happiness. Now happiness, unlike joy, is circumstantial meaning that blissful moments are fleeting, still shots from a full length motion picture. Blissful moments are fireflies, one second you see the delicate green glow light up a spot in the night, the next second the light has gone, moving on into deeper shade. But this uncertainty, the very rarity of bliss is part of its appeal. Blissful moments are sweetest because they are so infrequent, so unexpected. There are only a small handful of instants in my life that I can catalog as being characterized by bliss, a feeling so sweet and wonderful that you want to laugh, weep, and lose your breath all at the same time.
Just as combing a beach seems like endless work, life often seems like drudgery. When the minutes are added up it seems that there is so much precious time wasted on the mundane, years of life spent working at a job you hate, years of life down the drain sitting in traffic, doing laundry, even sleeping. There is nothing more perfect than something that breaks the monotony of life, even if it only lasts an instant, even if it is only the briefest of glimpses into bliss. Happiness made complete, if only for that infinitesimal fragment of time. Though they are short, it seems like these moments are clearest in my memory; as sharp and technicolor in my mind's eye as if they had just occured. And it is these tiny treasures, gathered from the endless shores of life that make all the searching worth it.