"Getting older's not been on my plans"

   "God's problem is not that God is not able to do certain things. God's problem is that God loves. Love complicates the life of God as it complicates every life." - Philip Yancey     Once the blindfold was taken off of us, we had everything. All good and perfect was ours, but we destroyed it. We destroyed the heart of the Lover because we are foolish and selfish. I haven't always had the greatest sense of empathy. When I am in the midst of my own drama, I remain quite emotional; when I am viewing someone else's drama, I remain quite logical. It is the blessing and cursing that I carry. It is the juxtaposition that I carry from my mother and father.   But, imagining myself as the beloved, eyes unshielded and the world laid bare...I see a bit more clearly. When I graduated high school, my brother bought me a laptop. It wasn't the first selfless act he had ever done for me, nor would it be the last, but I remember this one particular time because there a

   It is as every lover wishes: their gift to be accepted and cherished. I was always one for accepting the gift of someone graciously. I remember, when my parents had but little money, they would give me and Andy things that perhaps they couldn't afford, and we never once accepted with anything less than humility. We were taught that gifts are to be accepted whole-heartedly.    So it was with him. All he wanted was for the one he loved to accept what was most perfect. And, in the beginning, his lover did. It was easy. Because when things are easy it isn't hard to accept...anything. In fact, when things are easy, it is quite simple to accept without reproach.    Love is simple, or is it? He was always meant to be the hero of her story. He was always meant to be the best lover. He was always meant to be the best. But, his lover demeaned him. It wasn't hard though. Because when we humans are given perfect, we doubt intention. We begin to believe that things are: "too g

   When we find that we are wading through the muck and mire of the deepest part of ourselves, where lies our heart, we find brokenness. We find, at times, scars from arrows that have been lodged there from long time past, or perhaps we still find arrows that never have been removed. By what do I mean? There are two messages that we encounter in life: the message of romance and the message of the arrows.      The hardest part of being a human is dislodging the arrows so the romance isn't effected or is at least restored. But, most of the time, we are hit by arrows we don't know exist until we get older. We can experience these arrows through loss which manifest as abandonment, or we can experience them through a violation of the mind, body or soul which can manifest as abuse. Whilst reading this book for the first time, I couldn't see the arrows in my own self. I didn't believe that I had any. I had little to worry about as far as abandonment or abuse.      But, someh

   In the deepest place of ourselves, there resides our desires and our longings. It is the place that although flooded by the daily musings of work and family and friends still remains unfettered. The problem: is that most of the time the flood of our daily musings is too deep to wade through. It is a place I am longing to return to.     Throughout my life, I have done what I wanted. I never wanted for my own path because I was always on it. But, I do believe it has lead me to the place where I am now: "a whitewashed tomb." Sounds harsh...but I see myself as though I could be on the path of the pharisaical. And I mean this: that my mind is bound up in doctrine, but my heart has lost its desires and longings.     When I found my faith, I found a renaissance within myself, a "rebirth." And, for a long time, I lived this; I fed this; I breathed this rebirth. However, somehow, as of late, I have denied these longings. Do I know when it began? Perhaps with the death o

   When I have had a bit too much, when I think,  "I would like someone who tells me what he told me: you are beautiful." Or, maybe I would like someone who tells me I want to be with you. I have learned that the reassurances that come with commitment are comforting.     But, lately I have had to reassure myself. And, it is hard. There is something almost magical that I miss when I think about what I had and where I am now. But, I must say that I am happy. I have no complaints. I am good.     But life comes with obstacles. Life comes with telling someone you don't want something like marriage and a family to reassure them, when you thought that you had come to the realization that you wanted it. But, maybe you don't.     I think I say things sometimes so that I don't get hurt. I think I say things so that I am not obligated to deal with responsibility. I am a fragile person. I am almost like porcelain. But, I also believe that I have been hurt enough to have a

      Ernest Hemingway once said this, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” How dark and demented. What in this statement is appealing? A writer writes for purposes that only he understands, but that writer is also human, and what human actually wants to bleed for the sake of being understood? Macklemore raps that, “The greats weren't great because at birth they could paint. The greats were great cause they paint a lot.” Such can be said for a writer. How often on a forum do you see a famous author answering the question, “What can I do to become like you: famous?” The answer invariably is: write. Just write. Write everyday. Write when you don’t want to write. Write when you have nothing to say. Just create something with your thoughts and words. Write.       But damn! That is exhausting. Hemingway and Macklemore, two creators of the written word that have transformed generations of people, took the proverbial knife to their skin and wro

  I have been in a negative mood for the last two days, and I can't seem to figure out why. I think I might have an idea though. Yesterday, I was contacted by every boy I have ever dated. Okay, not that it has been more than 2, but still. First, a little after midnight I was messaged by the ex. It was a response to a text (response) I had sent him 5 days previously. Then, yesterday, I was contacted by Z, the other one about a concert that he was inviting me to.   Now, I have been in contact with these men in the past; it is nothing new. But, I wonder if being in contact with them has caused me subconsciously to alter my mood. I wonder if, even though I haven't had too much outward negative response to them, if in someway it has affected me. What else could it be? I am not menstruating, and I am not ovulating. I did recently quit smoking, but it was over a week ago, and the cravings are few and pretty far between.    The sad part...is that it isn't these men who are affect

  When I lost my brother, I found it hard to listen to anyone who couldn't get along with their siblings. I would bristle when they would talk negatively about them. I couldn't understand that if they had a sibling why they wouldn't want to make it the best relationship they could. But, I grew up. And, I realized that I was/am the lucky one.   When my brother found out he was having a baby sister instead of brother, he got mad. When he held me for the first time, he fell in love. I do believe I am a small, insignificant shadow of who Andrew thought I was. I hope to one day live up to his view of me. But, if you could only have known him. If you did, you are blessed beyond measure. If you didn't, your world is missing a grand piece of sunlight. I will never presume to know why God took him before what I thought was his time. But he did.   For (almost) 5 years, I have had to be okay with this fact. I don't want this post to be about his death or my lack of life w

  At the epiclesis on Tuesday, the 3 knocks of wood against wood sounded. It was all I could think about during most of Good Friday's liturgy. The wood on which hung the salvation of the world. After the last supper, Christ dies...on wood. Walking in the sanctuary, it is eerie full of void. It is dark and depressing seeing the door of the tabernacle held open with no life inside. That's what I narrated in front of...an empty tabernacle.     Knowing Christ is risen is something that gives us hope during this most holy day. Knowing that the mystery of faith: Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ will come again is ever hopeful while we stare at the shrouded crucifix and bare altar. Humans need hope in darkness. We need light in despair. We get none of that this day. We must wait. We must wait as Christ waited in the grave.     But, then comes Holy Saturday. The day on which "Christ our Light" enters into our world and brings us the hope and light we so desper

...the Son of Man came to serve not to be served      If I had to decide which Mass of the liturgical year is my favorite this would probably be it. From the beginning of the Mass where we sing the "Gloria" to the removing of Christ from the tabernacle, we experience the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. And, as humans...our souls need the highs to combat the lows, but we need the lows to appreciate the highs.    Maundy Thursday is the day we celebrate the institution of the Eucharist and the priesthood: two sacraments that remind us of God's imparted grace. During last night's homily, my priest starts out with this, "The body and blood of Christ: it is not cannibalism which is repugnant, nor is it just symbolic which is palatable." So, what do we have? We have the pure body and blood of Christ given in the form of bread and wine. We are the outsiders of the box and yet the truthsayers. We see the Eucharist for what it truly is: the only thing