restless anticipation

halfway across the world

2010-07-24T09:48:00.010-04:00

Now that jet-lag is long-gone, I thought I'd get back into the blog-world by posting a bit about China. Some pictures, a few short thoughts...nothing ground-breaking. Here's one of my favorite shots from touring in Beijing. We spent most of the morning at the Great Wall. Words barely scratch the surface and a picture could never capture the full weight of the experience. It was incredibly humbling to be there, knowing the historical significance of the Wall.

We then moved on to the Forbidden City, which was built by Chinese emperors during the Ming Dynasty. Like the Great Wall, it was incredible to be standing in such a significant place in Chinese history. The beauty of the palace was breath-taking; pictures alone could never fully capture it.

And finally, I couldn't help myself with this last picture...I made a few friends along the way :) Love Asian tourists.

I think I fell in love with China--the people, the language, the culture, the history, and even some of the food (just say no to chicken feet). Going into the trip, I thought I would be overwhelmed by spirits of oppression and warfare simply because of what I had heard or read about China, but this was not true. Something shifted in my heart while I was there, something that I'm still trying to name and describe. I do know this--I left part of my heart with an 8 year-old with cerebral palsy in an orphanage in a small city in southern China. (He could use chopsticks better than me, by the way.) I don't meet the international adoption requirements in China yet, so I couldn't bring him home :) There's no way I could detail the whole trip here, so for now this will have to suffice. It was incredible, and I can't wait to go back.

Haiti

2010-01-16T23:04:00.003-05:00

I'm not gonna lie, I've been slightly glued to the coverage of the earthquake in Port-au-Prince. TV, internet, random twitter feeds...I can't seem to soak in enough information about the extent of the disaster. It's different than just rubbernecking at an accident on 285, though. There's a different feel to it--it's more than just tragic, it's a profound sense of loss for this people group I know almost nothing about. But as I've been watching TV, reading articles, or looking at the macabre photos, I've been struck by a few things.

First, I'm still not quite sure what to think about the extent of the media coverage of the situation. On the one hand, there is no way that anyone outside of Port-au-Prince could even begin to comprehend the extent of the destruction without in-depth media coverage. Furthermore, we Americans (myself included) are typically a selfish, rather narrow-minded group of people. We are a rich, powerful country, yes, but we need these gruesome photos to kick our asses into action. Otherwise, I think we'd just continue to flip through channels and take our clean drinking water and reliable electricity for-granted. By the same token, is there a boundary between journalism and exploitation of a devastated people group? I don't think that's the heart of most of the journalists/broadcasting companies, but I'm sure there are some that are there looking for the next "Time Photograph of the Year."

Second, I've been flipping between CNN and Fox News on TV (as well as online), and I've noticed that there's a difference between the two. (Yes, I know the two are quite different to begin with. I'm not that blond.) Most would say that Fox is more conservative, and their perspective is more "in line" with the "church." After all, wasn't Jesus a Republican? CNN, on the other hand, is more on the liberal side and therefore set "against" the church. Go look at each of their websites--one is covered with coverage from Haiti. If you're looking for news about the rest of the world, you have to scroll down and look for it. Even then, the headlines are sparse. On the other site, there's a picture with a headline from Haiti, but the other side of the page has headlines from the status of healthcare reform and the Massachusetts Senate race. Go look at the websites and you decide--was Jesus really a Republican? Or do you think he might have been a bit more like say Dr. Sanjay Gupta, who is staying in makeshift hospitals caring for the wounded and sick with a mere stethoscope and very primitive medical supplies?

The pictures are horrifying, particularly those that Time has posted. I just heard that traffic was blocked on one road not because of debris from buildings but because of piles of bodies. An article I read said that the "scent of death is everywhere," and that's why all the pictures show people wearing masks or bandanas or stuffing orange peels in their noses. The destruction is beyond anything I could ever fathom.

At the end of the day, all I know is that we were not created for this. We were not made for death, we were not made for destruction. This was not the original intent for creation.

"We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, also groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently."

-Romans 8:22-25

church, part two

2009-12-17T22:13:00.002-05:00

So, I've been back to Grace Midtown the past two Sundays. A friend/co-worker has gone with me each of the past two weeks, and we were talking this past Sunday about Grace and what makes it so appealing. The church is small, and their agenda is quite obvious: love God and love other people. Imagine that, huh?

There's something about being at Grace that is unnerving, though. Maybe it's the authenticity of the people there, or maybe it's the simplicity with which they approach the whole idea of church. I don't know, to be quite honest. But at the same time, there is something so comforting about being there. Uncomfortably appealing, those were the words I used on Sunday to describe it.

Maybe it's unnerving because I've never had a "church" experience like that before. Maybe it's unnerving or a little bit uncomfortable because it's a big step outside of the box given the churches I was "raised in."

But at the same time, I think that's what makes it so appealing.

love that will not let me go

2009-12-13T20:03:00.006-05:00

oh joy that seekest me through pain,

I cannot close my heart to thee;

I trace the rainbow through the rain,

and know the promise is not vain;

that morn shall tearless be.

quote

2009-11-22T21:40:00.000-05:00

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is hell.

C.S. Lewis, "The Four Loves"

church

2009-11-07T20:12:00.002-05:00

Last Sunday, I went to a small church in Midtown--Grace Midtown Church, a plant of a church out in Snellville. I had heard some good things about the church, so made a spur of the moment decision to go when I woke up last Sunday. I'm so glad I went--it was by far the most refreshing "church" experience I've had in a long time.

The service started with a few songs, followed by some announcements. The announcements had very little to do with marketing Grace Midtown, but rather they were primarily about what the church was doing in the community. One announcement was about a group of people going to Piedmont Park to hand out bottled water and love on the people walking in the Atlanta Pride Parade, and another announcement was about a weekly outreach to adolescent girls at-risk for being trafficked into prostitution. When was the last time you heard those announcements from the "pulpit?"

The sermon was on 1 Corinthians 13, the "love passage." Here's a summary: Jesus is the ultimate model of love, in the way he went about his ministry as well as the ultimate display in the cross. Our aim, as followers of Jesus, should be love. The world, your city, your school, your co-workers, will know who you are and what you are about based on the love that you show for others. (Reminds me of the documentary "Lord, Save Us From Your Followers" that I saw recently...but that's for another post.)

After the sermon, the table was set for communion. What followed was time reserved for worship, prayer, and communion. You were welcome at the table as you felt led; there was no "peer pressure" to take communion as I often feel when I'm at other churches. At the end of this time, a guy just walked up on stage and started praying for Grace Midtown and everyone who was in the building that morning. I've never heard a white person in America pray as fervently and as earnestly as that guy did.

It was simple, yet so beautiful. So refreshing to be in a place where the agenda is twofold: love God and love other people. That's it. I'm actually a bit eager to go back.

Dear Bebe

2009-10-27T21:20:00.004-04:00

Dear Bebe,

It's been a year since Mom called me to tell me about your visit to the doctor. It's been a year since you were diagnosed with cancer. It's been a year since you went to Piedmont. A whole year. So much has changed, so much you've missed.

Lee graduated from Riverwood, and now he's a freshman at UGA. He pledged Sigma Chi--a frat boy just like Dad and Steve! Emily graduated from Samford, and she has a job at Mt. Paran Christian School up in Kennesaw as an athletic trainer. Will is a senior. He's got colleges after him for baseball, and he's still dating the same girl. Ruthie started school at Georgia State this fall, and she's working her tail off! You would be so proud of your grandchildren, Bebe!

I wanted to call you last week to tell you a funny story about one of my patients. I wanted to call you the week before that to tell you about my new apartment. I wanted to call you a few months ago and tell you all about my new job, my trip to Seattle, the apartment search. Your number is still in my phone, I hope that's okay. I've wanted to talk to you so much recently. I still can hear the sound of your voice and the warmth of your laughter. I hope those memories never fade from my mind.

We miss you like crazy, Bebe. It's been a year, but yet the grief remains. It's been a year, but we're all still learning to walk with a limp. Thanksgiving will be hard, but not hopeless. Keep saving our seats, Bebe.

Love,

your Anna

quotables

2009-10-01T19:47:00.002-04:00

My job involves working directly with people. People, no matter what the age, are always interesting. I've only been at my job for 3 weeks now, but I've already been told some pretty funny things. I thought I'd record some of them here to give myself a way to "keep track" of them...

1. First day seeing patients, the first patient I go see: We're working on swallowing therapy, and this particular patient requires thickened liquids. He hasn't said much of anything for the whole session, but as I'm about to leave he pipes up: "Next time, bring thickened beer." Me: "Sir, I'd love to, but I think you'll have to talk to your doctor about that." Patient: "I bet doctor come drink beer with me." Whatever you say, sir...

2. 6 year-old boy, in the middle of speech evaluation: "I was gonna tell you somefing but I not supposed to...but I gonna anyways." (I'm expecting some major secret his mom or dad have asked him to keep.) "I have six Stah Wahs moobies." :)

3. 8 year-old girl, when asked what kind of music she likes: "Well, there's this one song that's kind of in the middle." Me: "What song?" Girl: "Baby Got Back. That and Bad to the Bone." Seriously?

4. 3 year-old in the waiting room: Picks up the phone in front of the secretary's desk and says "Hello Batman!" He then said it was for me and handed me the phone to take a message.

This is only 3 weeks in, I'm sure there will be many more quotables to come!

powerful flick

2009-09-01T00:24:00.004-04:00

I just finished watching "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas." I can't remember the last time I was so riveted by a movie. Wow. Powerful, to say the least.

Set in World War II, the main character is an 8 year-old boy whose father is a high-ranking Nazi official. The family is uprooted within 10 minutes of the opening credits--they must leave Berlin and move into a house in the country. Unbeknownst to the mother, the new home is near a concentration camp. The main character, Bruno, is an adventurous kid. He eventually makes his way over to the camp, and forms a forbidden friendship with another 8 year-old, a Jewish boy named Shmuel. I won't go into details as to how the relationship or the rest of the plot plays out; you've just got to see the movie.

I've never been so impacted by the power of relationship. How is it that an 8 year-old, a child, a second or third grader, learned more about authenticity and the value of a person through one situation than I think I have in years? Maybe we adult-folk are jaded by life's experiences. We've listened with a careful ear to the pundits, to those who deem it in their authority to tell us just what another person is worth. Instead of forming our own opinions or discovering for ourselves the true worth of friendship, we let everyone else fill our heads. They're _____, so of course they'd do something like that, you hear your neighbor say as you recount a recent headline or observed event.

Somehow, a person has become the sum of his or her labels, a mixture of skin color, socioeconomic status, and/or religious background, with a demeaning stereotype that ties it all together in a neat little package. While still living in Berlin, Bruno is portrayed as exactly what he is: a boy. He plays with his friends, running through the streets pretending to be an airplane. He isn't yet jaded; he hasn't yet listened to those pundits I've listened to for far too long. When he is finally confronted with the propaganda of that era, he bucks the system. There are a few scenes where it's obvious he's wrestling with it all, but Bruno ultimately chooses to see his friend as a person and not a stereotype.

Powerful movie. Check it out if you have the chance.

unsettled

2009-08-30T01:09:00.000-04:00

what is it about quiet, about being still, about writing, that is so terrifying?

wrestling

2009-07-31T09:23:00.002-04:00

Just picked up the book "Same Kind of Different as Me" by Ron Hall and Denver Moore. My supervisor at Northside this summer told me it was one of the best books she had ever read, so I figured it was worth a read. I found the following passage absolutely hilarious, and thought some of my friends out there might enjoy it as well :)

As newlyweds, Deborah and I were just your basic Sunday-go-to-meeting Methodists. We parked ourselves in the pews most Sundays, and definitely every Easter and Christmas, since in those days it was still the widely held opinion that only hell-bound heathens--and possibly lawyers--skipped church on Easter and Christmas. We kept up that pattern until 1973 when some friends from a Bible church invited us to their home for a six-week "discussion group" about life.

As it turned out, we had actually been labeled "lost," "nonbelieving," and "unsaved," possibly because we had no fish stickers on our cars. (Which reminds me of one friend who, though newly "born again," retained the bad habit of flipping off other drivers while barreling down the road in her Suburban. Even with her newfound religion, she couldn't control her middle finger, but according to her husband, the Holy Ghost prompted her to scrape the fish off her bumper until her finger got saved.)

I laughed out loud when I read that. The chapter goes on to talk about when the author and his wife first became believers. He describes the "six-week discussion group" and how he felt almost pressured to "pray the prayer" before the group ended. "After five weeks," he writes, " I had it figured out: If you hadn't accepted Jesus by the sixth Sunday, you were probably going to hell on Monday. So, on the last night after we went home, I told Deborah I was going to pray that sinner's prayer Kirby had told us about."

What an interesting perception. Sadly, I think it still rings true today. Hall goes on to say that his wife refused to fall into that line of thinking, that since her dad had paved the Methodist church parking lot in her hometown, she was sure to be "saved." Before the end of the chapter, Hall goes on to mention that his wife "cross-examined the gospel like a prosecutor on a federal case" before she became a believer as well.

I was brought up in a church that leaned more towards the performance and praying the "sinner's prayer" that Hall described. While I call myself a believer (even though I buck at using terms that can be used as labels), I hope that at 25 I am learning to approach Jesus and the gospel more like Hall's wife, where I am cross-examining and wrestling with truth instead of blindly and passively accepting it, just because someone who is older or "wiser" than me told me to.

change is gonna come

2009-07-28T23:38:00.007-04:00

Change. I do not like it. We are not friends.

So much change in such a short period of time.

Graduate school is done. One of my closest friends moved across the country with her husband to start a new chapter of life in Seattle. Another friend is moving back to Charleston, another to Austin, Texas (from NYC) to take a dream job. My lease runs out in 63 days--I have to tell them by Saturday that I won't be renewing. I currently have a master's degree but no job. One offer rejected, another one basically handed to me on a silver platter just this afternoon.

Bebe isn't here to talk to about any of this.

Change, so much damn change.

I'll be honest, I've lost touch with God in the midst of it all. There's so much mess that's been brought to the surface but never dealt with. There are big decisions to be made. There's starting over to be done, with a new group of people, a new place to live, new job, new...everything, it seems. What do I tell him? What do I ask for? I don't even know where to begin...

I just finished reading Rob Bell's "Velvet Elvis." Great book, really makes you think about some things. Chapter 4 was by far my favorite--I read it three times before I moved on to finish the rest of the book. In this chapter, Bell gives a summary of a portion of his story. One part in particular has stuck with me--Bell is describing his time spent in a counselor's office, and he says the following:

And then he said, in what has become a pivotal moment in my journey, "Your job is the relentless pursuit of who God has made you to be. Anything else you do is sin and you need to repent of it."

Pursuing who God has made me to be? Relentlessly?! Intimidating, to say the least. My newly relocated friend Sarah told me about a book she's heard about (or read?) that talks about the importance of dealing with your childhood and family mess. The thrust of the book argues that you can't move forward spiritually until you have dealt with your crap.

I can't tell you how many times my family mess has been brought to the surface in my life.

Currently, I feel like I'm slamming my head against a brick wall with God.

I'm wondering if it's time to take a step closer to the mess, maybe let some of that shit hit the fan instead of hoarding it all to myself. (That's a disgusting image, isn't it?)

I'm wondering if the relentless pursuit of God and who he made me to be involves sitting down with a counselor. I'm almost certain it involves staying in Atlanta, at least for now. For me, moving is definitely a form of running from my mess.

And for me, being willing to sit down with a counselor is just one more item of change I can add to my list.

good read

2009-05-24T22:42:00.002-04:00

I finished A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis earlier today. Great book, wow. I picked it up a few weeks ago, and it's been so good for my heart. It's an honest account of Lewis' grief in the wake of his wife's death. While there were some sections I couldn't identify with because my loss was not of the spouse variety, on the whole the book gave a voice to much of the hurt I've felt recently. I thought I would share a passage I particularly enjoyed.

The more we believe that God hurts only to heal, the less we can believe that there is any use in begging for tenderness. A cruel man might be bribed--might grow tired of his vile sport--might have a temporary fit of mercy, as alcoholics have fits of sobriety. But suppose that what you are up against is a surgeon whose intentions are wholly good. The kinder and more conscientious he is, the more inexorably he will go on cutting. If he yielded to your entreaties, if he stopped before the operation was complete, all the pain up to that point would have been useless. But is it credible that such extremities of torture should be necessary for us? Well, take your choice. The tortures occur. If they are unnecessary, then there is no God or a bad one. If there is a good God, then these tortures are necessary. For no moderately good Being could possibly inflict or permit them if they weren't. Either way, we're for it.

I'm learning that this is not a "test of my faith," nor is it an exercise in detachment where I just ascribe everything to the "sovereignty of God" and keep going about my day. This is a part of my story, like it or not. This hurt, this sorrow, is a process, is a journey. Slowly, I'm moving through it. Timidly, I'm opening my heart to be healed. For some reason, in the midst of all my bitching, all my screaming, all my anger and frustration, God hasn't gone anywhere. Why he sticks around for someone like me, I don't know that my finite mind will ever comprehend.

Dear Bebe

2009-05-07T20:15:00.000-04:00

Dear Bebe,

It's a big month for our family, and we're all acutely aware that a key player in all the celebration is missing. Oh Bebe, you are dearly missed. My heart breaks just thinking about how much we all miss you. You would be so proud of your family, though. I can imagine what it would be like to talk to you on the phone, I can hear your voice in my ear. Since I can't call you, I'll write you.

Emmie graduates from Samford in 9 days. You were always so proud of how hard she worked in college. You told me all the time how you thought she really blossomed in Birmingham. She graduates with a degree in Athletic Training. She doesn't have a job yet, but I know that's okay with you. She'll figure it out, and we all know she's gonna be great at what she does. Oh but Bebe, you would be so proud of her. Ruthie will be wearing your green hat that morning, so in your own way, you will be there.

Lee graduates from high school on Memorial Day weekend. "The boys" always held a special place in your heart; you talked about them all the time. He hasn't decided where to go to school next year, but he has some options. I don't know this for sure, but I would imagine that he's graduating somewhere near the top of his class. You should have seen the prom pictures--he's so handsome, Bebe. You already knew that, though; you told me all the time how handsome you thought both of the boys were. He's going to college in the fall, and you would be so excited for him. I'll be wearing your green hat that afternoon when he graduates, so in your own way, you'll be a part of the celebration.

Will still has a year left in high school. He has a cute girlfriend--I know you would talk about this incessantly :) Like Lee, he was so handsome at the prom. You would have loved to see his bright, wide smile in the pictures. He's doing well in baseball, and he's hit his share of home runs this year (including a grand slam!). You would be so proud of him, Bebe.

Ruthie is doing well with her classes at GPC. Last fall, she made dean's list! I can hear it now, you sucking in your breath the way you did when you were really proud or excited about something. You would have shouted this from the rooftop! She's doing well back home in Atlanta, and she's really thinking about her future. You would be beaming with pride over her, I just know it.

Oh Bebe, everyone in the family misses you so much. The next month will be pretty hard for all of us; I desperately wish you were here. Mother's Day is Sunday, our first one without you. I went to Target with Sarah to buy cards for Mom and Nanny a few days ago. I read all the funny ones, looking for one that would fit you. I bought two cards for Mom instead.

I miss you so much, Bebe. As I write them, I feel like those words barely scratch the surface of what I'm really feeling. I treasure the conversations we had, the pieces of advice you gave me, the funny stories you liked to tell. You were so much more than a grandmother to me. I wish I had told you that.

You would be so proud of your precious family, Bebe. We all miss you so much, and can't wait to see you again one day. Find Shep and save us all some seats.

Love,

your Anna

remembering

2009-04-09T12:01:00.005-04:00

I remember the moment in a small sitting room at the Atlanta Hospice Center. I remember it with intricate detail; it is a moment I hope I never forget. I don't know that I've told many people this story. It was only a few days ago that I wrote it myself.

I had just gotten off the phone with a dear friend I have known for almost 20 years. My family knew Bebe's time was coming soon, so I was calling Ashley to tell her that. I needed a quiet place to talk to her, so I wandered the halls until I came to what was the chapel area. Chairs were lined up in rows, begging for some sort of service to commence, inviting one to hope. The room was bright--sunlight flooded the room through the double French doors at the back of the room. The stark white walls were contrasted by the rich mahogany pews that lined them. A chaplain came in, I assume because she heard the tremor in my voice as I relayed the latest update to Ashley, 1,000 miles away. She saw I was on the phone; she smiled and left. I hung up with Ashley a few minutes later, both of us in tears, with promises to talk again within the hour. I looked around the room. Open and bright, the room was created to lift spirits and instill some sort of hope. All I could feel was a deep darkness, a death in my heart almost. I had to get out of there, so I walked across the hall to a much smaller sitting room. A short, overstuffed couch sat diagonal from an armchair, and a small wooden table held a lamp in the corner. "Perfect," I thought. "I'll sit here and let my heart crumble just a bit more." I sat on the couch and let loose; the tears flowed as if they had been dammed up for years. My head in my hands, I thought I might drown in the flood. I couldn't find the words to name the depths of the pain. "Don't take her, please don't take her," was all I could muster. I begged with God, pleaded with him to intervene. "Don't take her," I cried over and over again. After what seemed like an eternity, all I heard was "I have to."

Bebe's story came to an end two days before Thanksgiving. What kind of end, though? Her physical death was one end, but I would argue that the ending of Bebe's story was much more beautiful than that. Dan Allender writes in "To Be Told:"

An ending can be either good or bad. There are excellent novels that held my attention and moved me for hundreds of pages, only to end in a way that made me regret reading the story. Sadly, the same can be said of many "good" lives. It is not enough to live well and serve humanity, care for your family, and lead an honest life. A good ending involves much more than making a moral point or teaching a lesson. And a good ending is more than the resolution of the tragedy and tension of an exciting plot. A good ending doesn't have to be safe or nice. It only has to bring the story to fullness.

For months, a part of me has been so angry at God for saying what he said to me. He could have stopped it, he could have healed her on the spot. But now, four months later, I can see that Bebe's story had come to a fullness of ending. I'd argue that the weekend of her 80th birthday celebration was the culmination of that. Yes, Bebe died a physical death her on earth, and the quickness of her physical decline has left most of our family reeling in confusion and sorrow. However, God is using her death to bring about hope, redemption, and beauty in my story in a way that might not have happened if she was still here with us. I'm wondering if he's doing the same with others in my family as well as her closest friends.

I still miss Bebe. I miss her every day. But somehow, I'm not so angry anymore.

hope and fear

2009-04-08T10:23:00.004-04:00

I just finished reading the book "Beautiful Boy" by David Sheff. I read in a a few days; I literally hated putting the book down. The book is a father's account of his son's addiction to a multiplicity of drugs, in particular methamphetamine. The story is dark, painful at times, but ultimately redemptive. As the book is coming to a close, the father is reflecting on his own addiction to the constant worry and anxiety surrounding his son's well-being. Sheff reflects on why he chose to write about his story, his son's story, his family's story. Writing, he concludes, is his way of engaging with the reality of what has happened. Writing helps him work through his own addiction as well as his son's. He writes to bring clarity to their story; he recognizes that dealing with the past is the only way to move forward with hope. Although not a believer, Sheff writes about hope in the face of great fear with insightful poignance:

"Now, the children are asleep. Karen and I are in bed reading, and Brutus is running in his sleep. I put down my book and lie here, trying to comprehend exactly what it is that I'm feeling. Parents of addicts learn to temper our hope even as we never completely lose hope. However, we are terrified of optimism, fearful that it will be punished. It is safer to shut down. But I am open again, and as a consequence I feel the pain and joy of the past and worry about and hope for the future. I know what it is I feel. Everything."

There is something beautiful and redemptive about this story. While drugs and alcohol play almost no role in my life, the devastating loss of close relationships, through life circumstances or physical death, has played a major role in my story over the past year. Hope, at times, has been a nasty four-letter word. Why should I hope--what has it done for me lately? On the other hand, is there any other answer to all my mess than to hope?

I resound with the ambivalence between hope for and fear of the future that Sheff expresses. Hope invites you into your story, it begs you to engage. Hope opens you up to experience pain and sorrow with optimism, yet going down those dark roads can be a bit overwhelming.

Ultimately, hope, with the gamut of emotions it carries, brings redemption into our stories.

quote

2009-04-05T18:57:00.000-04:00

To be a person is to have a story to tell.

-Isak Dinesen

suffocation...

2009-03-18T16:29:00.003-04:00

...is the best word I can think of to describe what life here in the suburbs of Atlanta feels like. Everything here is too comfortable, too static for my taste. I need change, I need it desperately.

I think this feeling of suffocation has fueled a lot of my frustration and anger recently. I just want to get out, but I don't see that happening anytime soon. A few months ago, I wanted out because I wanted to run away from everything here. Now, I just want change. I want new scenery, new coffee shops, new sights, new restaurants...anything different from here.

The spring weather does help, though. I love the beautiful weather we're starting to get!

her morning elegance by oren lavie

2009-03-15T19:14:00.001-04:00

Props to Brian Duffy for telling me about this song. I'm a big fan.

world's best actress

2009-03-15T18:31:00.003-04:00

ambivalence (n.): uncertainty or fluctuation; having positive and negative feelings towards a person, action, or object that simultaneously draws one in opposite directions

complacency (n.): a feeling of quiet pleasure or security, often while unaware of a potential danger, defect, or the like

Either one of these words could describe life right now. On the surface, you might think that everything is alright. I can put on quite a show, and you will never know the difference. After twenty-four years of putting up a facade, I've become quite the professional. Ask me how I'm doing, I'll tell you I'm doing okay. I won't tell you I'm fine or even great, because I know that's a stretch. But if you watch me in day-to-day life, it looks like everything really is okay. What you don't know is that my heart is simmering with a deep ache, a pain I can't describe most days. Where the pain comes from, I can't really explain. It's a combination of a lot of different things: Graduation. The job search...in this economy. Church, God, faith. My story. Harboring bitterness versus extending forgiveness to a person in my past. Loneliness.

Bebe.

There is just so much, and it's all swirling below the surface. Somehow, I find the facade much more comforting. I am the world's best actress, even though I will never star in a TV show or movie. You will never hear my name mentioned in the Academy Awards, nor will I ever win a Golden Globe. But I am an actress, you just haven't realized it yet.

moving forward

2009-02-06T18:03:00.002-05:00

[and for the million hours that we were,

well I'll smile and remember it all,

then I'll turn and go;

our story's completed,

but mine is a long way from done.]

everyone's life is a story

2009-02-04T16:23:00.003-05:00

I have a small group of 6 eighth-grade girls that I "lead." I use the term "lead" very loosely, as I think I've learned more about myself because I spend time with them rather than them actually learning from me. To kick off the lovely year of 2009, the junior high staff at church has asked us to talk about sexuality in order to coincide with the series they are doing on Sunday mornings. Now, here's a question...does anyone out there really have the desire to talk to middle schoolers about sexuality? There certainly are people out there that do, I'm sure--and if you had asked me if I was one of them a month ago, I would have said no.

A few weeks ago, my girls wanted to have a sleepover one night on a long weekend. I thought it would be fun, so we scheduled it for Sunday night. We started the night with our first group discussion about sexuality. Not 15 minutes into our chat, one of my girls looked me straight in the face and asked me a point-blank question about my story that left me no wiggle room. I chose to be honest with them, and I told the girls a small part of my story that I don't really like talking about, a part that I feel marks me and disgraces me. As I sat there telling them about what happened and what God's done with my heart in the aftermath of it all, I knew there was a reason I had this group. I didn't know it at the time I was telling them my story, but I can say this now: For the first time in my life, I actually believe that my story could be used for good. Now, is it still hard? Do I still believe lies about myself because of what happened? The answer to both questions is yes. But, in the midst of all that, I think I'm beginning to see what redemption might look like for my story.

A year ago, I did this "reflection exercise" at the start of 2008. Part of the exercise involved spending time writing about the events of the past year and then asking God to show you a theme for the upcoming year. In my journal, I wrote that 2008 would be a year for healing. At the time, I thought healing would mean peace, calm, and relaxation. I couldn't have been more wrong about that. Now, I can see that healing for me required walking through some deep, dark valleys, valleys that I'm still trying to navigate through. Just a few weeks ago, before my girls asked me about my story, I did a similar exercise. I journaled about the past year so I could make sure I got all the events and emotions on paper. I wrote about healing, and how I saw that theme woven through the past year. As I started to think about this coming year, one word kept coming to mind: redemption. Just a week after I put that word on paper, my girls asked me about my story. Kind of mind-blowing, in my opinion.

[You are a story. You are not merely the possessor and teller of a number of stories; you are a will-written, intentional story that is authored by the greatest Writer of all time.]

overwhelmed

2009-01-26T21:05:00.005-05:00

If you could see my room right now, only one word would come to mind. Disaster. Utter disaster. I told a friend just yesterday that the physical state of my room is exactly what life feels like right now. A complete disaster, with my shit spewed all over the place. There's so much on my plate right now, I feel like I'm trying to eat a 10 course meal and I've only got 30 minutes to get it all down my throat. Where do I even start?

Lately, I've found myself going from laughter to frustration to anger to tears in a matter of an hour. What's going on down there, what message is my heart desperately trying to get through to my deaf ears?

So many questions, there don't seem to be many answers. How do I grieve Bebe? If I grieve well, will I forget her? If I don't grieve at all, will I still forget her? Why can't I fix my daddy and make it better for him?

Where am I going to live come June 1st when my lease runs out?

Am I going to get a job when I graduate in July? Where will it be? Who am I going to work for? Where will I live between June 1st and the start of a new job, if that job isn't in Atlanta?

What is "church," and how does it intersect with relationship? Is it possible to have "church," or community as I'd like to call it, in the absence of "religion?" If so, what does it look like?

When is "he" going to show up? In the meantime, can I just maybe go on one date? :)

Why don't I feel like myself? Why does it feel like my emotions are spiraling out of control, and every time I try to "control" them the violent mood swings just seem to get worse?

Why are anger and avoidance such comforting coping mechanisms?

Questions. Questions. More questions. At some point, there have to be answers.

[let me know, heart,

are you still beating?]

quote

2009-01-19T16:16:00.001-05:00

The world breaks everyone,

and afterward many will be strong in the broken places.

-Ernest Hemingway

Interesting quote that has stimulated some thought recently. Thought I'd share.

psalm 13

2009-01-12T21:39:00.002-05:00

how long, oh Lord, will you forget me?

how long, oh Lord, will you hide,

hide your face from me?

how long must I wrestle with me,

and everyday have sorrow in my heart?

look on me, Lord, and answer me

give my eyes light, or I will sleep in death.

my enemies say "I will overcome her,"

and my foes rejoice even when I fall;

I don't want to fall.

but I trust in your unfailing love;

my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing to the Lord,

for he has been good to me.

[i will wait on you]

midnight kisses and new beginnings

2009-01-01T17:13:00.002-05:00

What is it about New Year's that gets everyone so excited? Why the need to celebrate so much? to be honest, I don't think I ever understood why people made such a big deal about it. What's the point in getting wasted, kissing someone at midnight while you toot your little horn, and then partying hard for the first few hours of the new year? I never understood it. Doesn't the clock strike midnight every 24 hours? What's the big deal with that one night that marks the end of December and the beginning of January? I never understood it until this year.

Everyone is looking for a new beginning. Everyone wants that clean slate, that chance to start over and "do things right" this time around. Whether you're looking for a new "you," and new "Mr. (or Mrs.) Right," or a new outlook on life, there's something about a new calendar year that carries that hope. Last night, as I sat around a table with one of my dearest friends, I couldn't help but give a sigh of relief as the clock hit midnight. Finally, 2008 was over. I, too, am ready for a new year. I'm ready for a clean slate, in more ways than just a white calendar page. Last year kicked my ass all over the place, particularly the last 3 months, and I was more than ready for it to be over.

I have to admit, though, that I was a bit disappointed this morning when I woke up and still felt that gnawing pain in the pit of my stomach. You know, that deep ache you feel when you're just plain worn out on life. You're sick of dealing with shit, and tired of feeling like the pile of baggage you carry around with you is more than an 18-wheeler could carry. There was something about midnight last night that made me hope for just a split-second that the end of 2008 meant the end of all the pain. I honestly hoped it meant that I could sleep easy because the burden of the past year had been lifted simply with the turning of a calendar page.

This morning, I woke up, and was rather disappointed to find none of that was true. I wonder how many other people felt the same way.

sadness on Christmas morning

2008-12-25T08:20:00.002-05:00

It's Christmas morning, and I don't want to get out of bed.

Getting out of bed means Christmas is here, and my Bebe is not.

Last night at church, a hundred memories came flooding back into my mind as soon as they started playing the first song. Every memory was from last Christmas when Bebe stayed with our family here at the house. She alternated each year between our family and my Uncle Steve's family. How could we have ever known that last Christmas would be her last?

As I sat in church last night, my mind kept running through a few specific scenes. First, how Bebe was sitting next to me at church last year. She sat to my right. When they started playing "Silent Night" at the end, I lit her candle for her and she held my hand while we all sang. I nearly lost it last night during that part of the service. My next thought is Christmas morning, with Bebe in her robe (just like every other Christmas she ever spent with us), sipping on coffee while we all waited on my sister to roll out of bed. Last year, we gave Guitar Hero to my Dad. Bebe sat upstairs in the TV room with me and Emily later that afternoon and just laughed as tried to figure the game out. When my sister got booed off the stage the first couple of times she played, Bebe's response was "Honey, you're not a loser in the game of life." Oh, Bebe :) Bebe spent the day with us, and later that night we all went to Steve and Laura's house, something we do every Christmas. After all the gifts were opened, Bebe reached into her purse and pulled out those five small envelopes. We all knew what was coming, we got the same thing every year. Each grandchild got a twenty dollar bill. For a woman with not much, this gift was more than sacrificial.

Today is one month. One month since the world stopped turning for our family. On the whole, I've been relatively okay. I've had my moments, for sure. Today is different, though. Today, we are supposed to celebrate the birth of Jesus. As much as I hate to admit it, that truth is taking a backseat to my family's painful reality. I miss Bebe a lot today, and I don't know how to balance that pain with the joy that defines Christmas.

this year's must-have for christmas

2008-12-17T13:42:00.001-05:00

my sweet Bebe

2008-12-07T20:37:00.008-05:00

I'd like to think that all granddaughters have a close relationship with their grandmother. The more I talk to people, the more I realize how special my relationship with Bebe was. Of all the people in my family, my Bebe knew me the best. She understood what makes me tick, she stood up for me, and she loved me for me.

My Bebe passed away on Tuesday, November 25th. I was with her when Jesus called her home, a moment that both haunts and comforts me in the late hours of the night. In the past two weeks, it's been a struggle to be present in a world that keeps spinning even though it feels like mine came to a screeching halt.

In the 24 years I knew her, Bebe was a beautiful, special woman. Full of life and never short on red lipstick, she never missed the chance to tell you how much she loved you. Yesterday, at her memorial service, my sister, my cousin, and I had the honor of sharing some words to remember her. We chose to use the theme of "Lessons Learned," in an effort to summarize some of the most important lessons Bebe passed on to her granddaughters.

If I had to summarize Bebe in a few words, there is a plethora of words I could choose: memorable, unforgettable, beautiful. But, if I had to pick only one, I'd have to choose the word love. Bebe was a well-loved woman--the evidence of this is in how many people were so deeply sorrowful when they heard of her passing, or the number of cards that filled her hospital rooms. More importantly, Bebe loved her family and friends, those dearest to her, so well, both through her actions and her words. Whether it was her red lipstick on your cheek, her holding your hand in hers during church, or her slight southern drawl as she told you how precious you were to her, Bebe never missed even the smallest chance to tell you how much she loved you. Although she made sure to pour her affection on you when you were with her, she continued to love in other ways when you weren't with her. Every time I talked to her on the phone, she told me how proud she was of our whole family. She did the same with all her friends at Campbellstone and Peachtree Road. With Bebe, there was never a shadow of a doubt that she loved you. Of everything I ever learned from Bebe, I'd have to say that this is the most important lesson of all. It can be summarized by this--a few weeks ago, I was sitting in her room with her at Piedmont, just the two of us. She said these words to me, "Its nice to be important, but its more important to be nice." If I could sum up my Bebe, the beautiful woman that she was, in just a few words, I'd rephrase this last lesson to me: Its nice to be well-loved, but its more important to love well.

I miss her already, so much sometimes that my body aches. Her voice is the last thing I hear at night before I drift off to sleep. This Christmas will be hard for our whole family; it just won't be the same this year. While we can all take comfort in the fact that we will see her again one day, for me the most comforting truth has been this: Bebe can see again, she can see for the first time in thirteen years. Her eyes have been healed, and she can see her Jesus with new eyes. I can't imagine what a sight it must have been for her, that moment when Jesus came to take her home. The first thing she truly saw in thirteen years, the face of our Savior, welcoming her with open arms. While the pain of the reality that she is gone from this earth is deep, the joy of imagining that precious moment for Bebe is all the more comforting. My Bebe is home now, and she can see again.

exhaustion

2008-11-16T22:28:00.003-05:00

I am tired. Tired of hard. Tired of wrestling. Tired of being tired.

About three weeks ago, I shut down. Life got too hard, I couldn't handle it anymore. So I shut down, I slammed the door to my heart. This has been the first time in a while now that I haven't let myself feel.

And now, I've turned into a hermit at best and an angry, volatile person at worst. I haven't taken care of myself, I haven't let people take care of me, and I haven't taken care of my friends.

Funny thing is, I don't remember making this decision. It wasn't a conscious, deliberate choice, at least I don't think so. How do I get back in? I'm terrified I won't be able to find the key.

beauty in the breakdown

2008-11-07T23:24:00.005-05:00

I saw a movie tonight that was quirky as all get-out, but the central plot-line resonated with something deep inside of me. Carrie Anne and I saw "Rachel Getting Married." Interesting choice for a Friday night, I must say. I'll hold off on a synopsis for now, as I think it might be worth seeing instead of reading about.

There's a scene in the movie where the main character, Kym (played by Anne Hathaway), is sitting in an AA meeting of sorts. She tells a haunting story from when she was 16--already a junkie, she was left in charge of her young brother for the afternoon, and he drowned when she ran the car off a bridge on their way home from the park. By the end of the story, it's apparent that she has shared this with the group as a response to someone's statement about how God has forgiven him or her for whatever drug of choice was abused. She ends by saying that she's not sure if she even wants God to forgive her for what she did. I couldn't ignore the sharp pang in my chest when she said those words. Something inside me agreed with what she said. It surprised me because it was the most honest thing I've heard from my heart in two weeks, but not because I didn't know it was there.

By the end of the movie, I was reminded of something Dan Allender said in the Mars Hill recruitment video Erin sent me. Although there was great tragedy in Kym's story, the end of the movie is a picture of great beauty. Am I willing to believe that the same is true of my story? That my most painful tragedies, my deep heartaches, my contempt and shame, are accompanied by a beauty so great that I can't even begin to fathom it's depths?

I'm reminded also of a passage in "The Horse and His Boy" from the Chronicles of Narnia:

"Don't you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?" said Shasta.
"There was only one lion," said the Voice.
"What on earth do you mean? I've just told you there were at least two the first night, and --"
"There was only one: but he was swift of foot."
"How do you know?"
"I was the lion." And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion to gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach Kind Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."
"Then it was you who wounded Aravis?"
"It was I."
"But what for?"
"Child," said the Voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own."

needing change

2008-11-07T09:53:00.001-05:00

I need a new template. This one is boring. Might be some experimenting over the next few days. Not sure exactly how to do this, though? We'll figure it out...

happy halloween?

2008-10-28T20:23:00.000-04:00

Too funny not to post. Gotta love this angry dog...

impatient

2008-10-26T09:00:00.004-04:00

how long, oh Lord, how long?
how long until you heal?
how long until you redeem?
how long until you return?

my heart is restless and weary,
the perpetual wrestling is taking it's toll
my strength depleted,
my soul dehydrated,
i'm begging for rescue.

so how long, oh Lord, how long?

identity theft

2008-10-24T13:58:00.005-04:00

What do you do when you feel like your identity, your self-concept, is melting in your hands? If it comes in the form of a lost relationship, we reach at every loose end, trying to find a way to tie it back together and "fix" it. If it comes in the form of a disease or lost loved one, we comfort ourselves by chalking it up to "God's sovereignty" and completely avoid wrestling with the underlying root of our heart's painful cry.

Yet, a different situation may also arise. What happens when you actually see your flawed self-concept for what it really is, and you realize that it's nothing more than a security blanket you cling to with knuckles white because the reality of living outside that identity is so terrifying? Where do you go from there? While the lies you live in are devastating to your heart, there's some level of comfort in the fact that they haven't been too bad to you for twenty-four years...

Stepping outside of this artificial comfort zone is terrifying. It means a new you, a new Anna. An Anna that lives in the light, an Anna that doesn't cower in fear in the corner. An Anna that wrestles with her story instead of seeing it as repulsive and avoiding it altogether. Even though the new mindset, this new identity, is everything I've always wanted to believe about myself, for some reason I still find it so easy to hold onto to this tattered security blanket of a flawed self-concept.

Instead of seeing myself as permanently marked and repulsively dirty, there is a God who tells me the exact opposite. Isaiah 54 has been my resting place for the past 10 days as I've wrestled with this issue of identity:

"Do not be afraid, you will not suffer shame.
Do not fear disgrace, you will not be humiliated.
You will forget the shame of your youth,
and remember no more the reproach of your widowhood.
For Your Maker is your husband,
the Lord Almighty is his name--
the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer,
he is called God of all the earth."

and now, she's comin' into her own

2008-10-13T21:50:00.002-04:00

Today marks six months. What a wild ride it's been. Although the pain has transformed to a deep, dull ache, the reality of it all is at times just as overwhelming as in those first few moments of realized betrayal.

[He reached down from on high and took hold of me;

he drew me out of deep waters,

he rescued me from my powerful enemy,

from my foes, who were too strong for me.

They confronted me in the day of my disaster,

but the Lord was my support.

He brought me into a spacious place;

he rescued me because he delighted in me]

-Psalm 18:16-19

I wouldn't trade the last six months of my life for anything in the world.

restless night

2008-10-08T23:32:00.002-04:00

God calls his people on a path that ends not in arrival, but in anticipation.

- Dan Allender, "The Healing Path"

sharing is overrated

2008-10-03T23:17:00.005-04:00

selfish (adj.):

1. characterized by or manifesting concern and care only for oneself

2. concerned chiefly or only with yourself and your advantage to the exclusion of others

One of the first lessons we learn in social skills in the sandbox is sharing. Think about it--all we're ever told as little kids is to "play nice" and "share." The opposite of sharing, selfishness, is abhorred by mothers of 4 year-olds everywhere. Selfishness is a bad thing, and children who don't share must not be raised right (or so the soccer moms accuse). As we get older, sharing moves to issues beyond shovels and sandboxes. How generous are you with your time? Have you booked every ounce of your schedule so that all of your energy is shared with someone or something? How much money have you given to whatever humanitarian aid cause is the latest fad?

What I can't figure out is why no one ever told me it's okay to be selfish with my heart. Why is it that now, at 24, this is such a huge lesson for me to learn? Too often, I make excuses for my need to take time for myself. Instead of meeting you for coffee, I tell you I'm "tired." Instead of catching a late-night movie, I claim that I "have work to do." When I make these paltry excuses, what I'm really asking for is your approval. I'm begging you to tell me it's okay to take the time to care for myself. I need you to tell me it's okay to be selfish with my heart, because I don't trust myself to do it on my own.

good tunes

2008-09-29T21:09:00.004-04:00

Music, specifically lyrics, cut to my heart pretty quick. Can't seem to get the OneRepublic cd off the iPod playlist--I love these guys' music. Current favorite track is "Prodigal." Simple but great lyrics, in my humble opinion.

so ashamed, so ashamed,

but I need You so,

and You wait for me,

yes, You wait for me.

Been blown away by God's faithfulness recently. Between some good tunes, great friends, and Psalms 18, 86, and 103, I'm wrestling with the gospel in a real, radical way. It's scary as hell some days, hard as crap on others, but on the whole, I wouldn't trade it for anything else on this earth. His pursuit of my heart in the midst of my busyness and complacency is astounding.

absolutely hilarious

2008-09-21T21:04:00.000-04:00

worth a listen

2008-09-19T11:42:00.009-04:00

Do you know where your heart is?

Do you think you can find it?

Or did you trade it for something

Somewhere better just to have it?

Most days, I can only give an answer for the last question. An honest yes, at best.

Check out OneRepublic's cd. Worth the download. Or the free burn...whichever you prefer :)

let me make my own pattern

2008-09-06T23:02:00.001-04:00

in a way, I need a change
from this burnout scene
another time, another town,
another everything
-"shattered," O.A.R.

50 minutes in the life of a 5 year old

2008-09-05T10:04:00.007-04:00

I'm currently in graduate school working on a Master's in speech-language pathology. As part of our program, we have clinical practicum in our on-campus clinic. This semester, I'm working with a 5 year old little boy, and I can't help but laugh about some of the things he says to me. Here's a peak into some of our conversations...

(scene: sitting on the floor, attempting to read "Where the Wild Things Are")
boy: "are you a woman?"
me: "yes, I am."
boy: "am I a woman?"
me: "no, you're a boy."
boy: "am I hot?"
me: "I don't know, are you feeling hot right now?"
boy: "hot...ha...hot....ha....am I H?"

(scene: playing Spill the Beans, and the boy hauled off and knocked the whole barrel of beans over)
me: "uh oh, why did you do that?"
boy, looking me straight in the eye: "yes."

Nothing like the candor of a 5 year old.

operational definitions

2008-09-02T22:16:00.001-04:00

restless (adj.):
1. marked by lack of quiet, repose, or rest
2. unquiet or uneasy, as a person, the mind, or heart

anticipation (n.):
1. expectation with confidence of fulfillment
2. intuition, foreknowledge, hope

Restless, uneasy, constant mental motion, yet hopeful and anticipatory, eagerly awaiting the day of His return.

Romans 8:18-19, 22-24
"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed...We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has?"

blog virgin

2008-09-01T21:45:00.000-04:00

I'm new to this...do all blogs start with a "why I started to blog post"?

If so, here's my reason: I'm not sure. Maybe to see what all the hype is about? I do enjoy reading other people's blogs, so maybe it's a subconscious peer pressure type thing.

We'll see how it goes.