Because Then You Would Know...

There are some things I can’t tell you.
Though it burdens me day and night.
There are pieces of my life
That are more wrong than right.
There are things I can’t tell you,
Under the surface, below.
Things I can’t say to you,
Because then you would know.

If I told you something,
Would it change the way you think about me?
If I shared the “nothing”,
Would you turn your head away?
If I spilled everything,
Everything you never knew about me...
If I gave you my secret life,
Would you leave or would you stay?

If I tell you everything,
Would you use it to go tell on me?
The thing that I say to you
Could you hear it and just let it be?
There are things I would share with you...
They sit under the surface, just below.
But I’m scared of the things I can’t say to you
Because then you would know.

If I told you something,
Would it change the way you think about me?
If I shared the “nothing”,
Would you turn your head away?
If I spilled everything,
Everything you never knew about me...
If I gave you my secret life,
Would you leave or would you stay?

I want to enlighten you.
Lean close and be my confessor.
I’ll give you a piece
You’ll be my admissions’ possessor.
But those things I can’t tell you
The things resting under the surface, below.
Things I want to say to you but can’t.
Because then, then you would know.

I need to stop cutting my own hair...

I cut my own hair today – again. I’ve done it like three or four times now in the last year or so. The previous time...well, it wasn’t exactly a disaster, but it doesn’t get much closer! That was May, and my last haircut. It could have looked a lot worse actually, it was just really short. My hair which was once too short now seemed at an awkward long. I wanted it cut. Trimmed even. Just to look half way decent. And this time I decided I was going to wait and have it done by someone who knew what they were doing. I planned to go somewhere over Christmas break but that didn’t happen. So I was holding out for spring break. What was another three weeks, right?

Apparently forever. As I stared at my hair in the mirror after my shower, I made a face. It was getting gross. It needed to be trimmed – if nothing else. Maybe I could just fix my bangs. Grabbing my scissors, I did. But then they were taken care of and the rest of my hair just...was. I began trimming, cutting, adjusting. Removing an inch or two in length before everything was said and done.

It was alright. I mean, I’m not terrible at “adjusting” my own hair...but I really can only get away with it because my hair is slightly curly...so the choppy edges fade in. I am definitely no beautician – nor would or could I ever make it as one. I looked in the mirror and made a face. “Meh, it could be worse.”

But it could be better.

If I had waited, heck waited long enough to drive somewhere and have my hair done today...it could have been better. But I took matters into my own hands. The result wasn’t terrible. But nor was it fantastic. It could have been worse...much worse. But it could have been better...

So often I take matters into my own hands. I want control and power and handle over what happens and when. Yet so I often I get done – and if I haven’t completely destroyed it – it’s never the best it could be. “Meh, it could be worse.”

But it could have been better.

Tremendous amounts of my life are surrender. Giving up power and control...letting go of my scissors to someone, the One who knows what He’s doing. He wants to do it better. And at the right time. Oh, Anika, someday you will need to learn...

Help...

I can't do this.

Dear Friend...

Dear friend,

I miss you.
It seems like it’s been so long since you’ve allowed me around. I don’t like to show up uninvited, although sometimes I can’t help myself. You don’t send me away, but it’s not like it used to be. The time we spend together is awkward.
What happened?
I feel as if it used to be so natural. It was so expected for me to come around...planned, unplanned, for a good reason or no reason at all. Often I would just show up. You wanted me there as much as I wanted to be there. Right?
What’s wrong?
Are we fighting? Is it something I did? Did I mess something up? I can’t possibly think of what it might be...but it has to be something. I’m willing to take the blame. Say it was my fault. Whatever it takes.
What’s going on?
This isn’t like you... This isn’t like us. We used to have such fun together. It seems like we were laughing all of the time. Although it wasn’t like I was a fair-weather companion; we’ve shared some tears too. I had this way of showing up, even when you weren’t really in the mood. And somehow, I always felt like I helped make things better. We were close, you know?
So now what?
Because I just don’t understand. Everyone I talk to says you miss me. Miss me as much as I miss you. If that’s even possible! So why do I feel so pushed out of your life? Couldn’t we hang out...like old times? Is it really so hard to let me back in the picture? Please, let’s find a way for it to be natural for me to be back...
Unless it’s you?
You seem so sad. The fact I’m missing isn’t the only thing different... Every time I see you there is a hurt and pain in your eyes. It’s not just me is it? There’s something more. There’s something sitting on your heart, something on your mind. I’m right, aren’t I? Oh, please find a way to bring me back, please! I want to be there for you... Won’t you allow me to be? It’s just not the same from here...

I miss you so much. I want nothing more than to do life with you again. Please, let’s spend some time together soon?

Love,

Your Smile.

Wrestling?

"And Jacob walked with a limp..." I went back to where Jacob wrestled the night with God. I had been wrestling with God and after some discussion, I decided it was where I needed to explore next. I needed to sort through what Jacob did when he found himself in a place of redefinition...redefinition that was the result of a name change which was the result of time spent fighting God.

I found it interesting that Jacob thought he was fighting man and kept fighting even after he was injured, because he refused to be let out of the wrestling match without a blessing. And I considered the fact that this “man” was the one who seemed to start the wrestling. God started the fight. But Jacob refused to give in. And God later tells him that he “overcame”. Which seems strange considering it was God. You don’t just fight with God and win – not unless the intention all along was for you to come out believing you prevailed. Why did Jacob need to feel like he won? Why did God need a fight to begin with?

Either way, wrestling with God is hard. It took all night. All night they wrestled! But relief came in the morning. Was it so much that Jacob overcame – or than God allowed the wrestling to come to an end? There was no actual triumph, no actual win... And Jacob wouldn’t let go without the blessing. He wouldn’t let go of what he was wrestling with until he could guarantee the good. But before his blessing came a name. The struggle had completely redefined him. And the redefinition WAS the struggle. Israel means "to struggle with God". Which is certainly what the nation has done in its entire existence. Was the name good...or bad?

Regardless, still Jacob was blessed. And he was never the same. His remaining existence was not only defined by the fact he struggled (and his people continued to struggle) with God, he was constantly reminded of the pain the struggle caused. He forever walked with a limp – less than perfect. I wonder if Jacob limped with a smile or a cringe. If he had realized from the beginning he had been wrestling with God – would he have stopped? Did he look back on his wrestling with remorse? Or did knowing the wrestling bring a blessing far beyond his wildest imagination make the wrestling worthwhile?

If I’ve been wrestling with God...at what point are we at? Is morning coming when all will come clear? What should my response be? Do I surrender...or will God bless my perseverance too? I have been looking for redefinition, that much is solid – am I prepared for what it may mean to realize that God has me set aside as an “Israel”? That my redefinition isn’t through the struggle, but IN it? The struggle will define me and I will be blessed...and will bless...because of it? What will be my limp? What will be the reminder of my pain? Of the fight I refused to let go of without a blessing?

No Moves??

There were no moves. It was that simple. I had gone through the deck three or four dozen times at least. Nothing.

I was playing one of those hand-held solitaire games. Perfect for car rides, waiting rooms, and boring lectures. And impossible to beat. At least this one was. It would electronically deal you your cards, you would play your moves, and then the game would steal your cards and hide others in the deck. You would be anticipating your almost-win when all of the sudden you would realize you were down to the last three cards you needed, all of them would be uncovered on base and the deck would only have two left. What happened to the third card?? The one needed to win? We’re talking some seriously shady gaming practices...

But, regardless, I had never encountered anything like this. Not in all of my years as a proficient solitaire player. I had never encountered a game in which there wasn’t one single move. I had a few games that were scrapped early on...and a couple more games where my own bad first move left me with very few others but this, this was new. There was nothing. No cards to be stacked on each other from base. No deck cards to lie down in hopes of further advancement. Absolutely nothing. I shuffled through the deck again and then again and again. I was baffled. Not a single card. I put the game away and went to bed...only to take it out again every night for a week to contemplate the same phenomenon. The same seeming impossibility. I wouldn’t start a new game because I just couldn’t get it.

Finally, however, I was sick of staring at my dud cards. The fact I would turn the game on every night wouldn’t change the fact I could still not move a single card to a single location. And, with some pain, I pushed the “shuffle” button. It was time to deal a new game whether I could handle the trauma of the previous or not. The new cards came up on the screen. Black three on the white four. Ace of Spades into the home space. I went through and played and each move opened a new move and I found myself advancing quickly through the game. The same game which never before allowed me a win and, in fact, just now had left me without a move to claim. I went through the deck cards and uncovered the last of the stacks. One by one I moved them into their respective suits. Jacks...queens...kings...The screen blinked at me as it shouted my victory’s tale “WIN! WIN! WIN!”

My smile of success faded easily into that of perplexing confusion. I had just transitioned seamlessly from a game with no moves to that of an immediate win. On a game in which a successful outcome was one in 152? Yeah. Right.

And yet, I began to think – as I often do – about the parallels it was drawing with my life. How often I become stuck in situations where I am left to believe that I have absolutely no moves left, that there’s nothing I can do. And in fact, sometimes that is exactly the case. Still I stare in awkward disbelief. “How is it I can do nothing? Not one card? I can’t make one attempt?” I spend an ungodly amount of time weighing every option. “There has to be a way...” But, with a cringe of surrender, I eventually come to a place where I cash in my chips. Where I give in and say “I guess we try again...” Sometimes it is a matter of fact; sometimes it is a matter of the very air I believe myself to be breathing. There is something disheartening about realizing your every try was worthless and the next round might provide some moves but is still going to end in the same result. Why bother?

Except I was struck this time. I was left to wonder this time. About my plans. How unusual it was that the exact time I was willing to say “Yup, game, you win! I suck again...and again I can do nothing!” is the exact time I was given victory. A victory I desired, but hadn’t anticipated. A success I worked for continuously, but never earned...had just been given to me. So this time I was struck, by how many victories are waiting past my inability to surrender. How many open games of solitaire do I have in my life? Where I’m staring at the cards and pouring through the deck and recognizing that I’ve been out of points for the last 73 rounds and still I’m going “There has to be a way to win...” There is. But it’s going to take giving up the game you’re playing in favor of trying a new one...

The more time I spend trying to get by in life, the more time I spend realizing that I spend a lot of time wasted. The more I realize that my job wasn’t to get by, my job was to be faithful. And somehow, being faithful is all about surrender. Sometimes life really is about cashing in your chips and saying “Here we go again...To do the best we can with the cards we’ve been dealt...realizing I’m not the one in charge of winning the game.” Perhaps my perspective is a little skewed. Perhaps my theology is a little off base and my philosophy a bit to be desired. Or maybe I’m just getting to a point where I can’t do it all any more. Where to win I must first know what it means to lose and I must first be lost if I ever wish to be found...

Laughter

It’s funny what you pick up on first. What you notice. What you pay attention to. I’ve decided it is thing we most long for. Any woman who has been trying to have a child will tell you they can hear a baby cry from six aisles away at Wal-Mart; they notice every young mom in the mall; they are that much more appalled by every instance of child abuse and neglect they hear about on the news (“those people don’t even want their babies and I can’t have one!”). I once had such a friend tell me “you would think these children were coming out of the woodwork just to torment that empty place inside of me...” It wasn’t that there were more babies, more toddlers, more moms taking their little ones grocery shopping...there was merely a keener awareness of the thing she lacked, longed for.

I think it shocks us when we first recognize those things we long for. I know it always shoots a hollow pang into my entire being when suddenly my eyes are opened to something I’ve been missing. Tonight it was laughter. As I walked into the dining commons, it was all I could hear, laughter. And it wasn’t just any laughter; it was my “friend’s” laughter. I was pulling out distinct laughs. I saw group of them sitting together...talking and laughing and eating. And I turned my head to see the same thing again and again and again. Sometimes it was a solitary person I recognized with their group. Sometimes it was several together.

And I broke. Part of me wanted nothing more than to sit down and demand they allow me to be part of the joke. Part of me wanted to know what was so funny or to laugh because nothing was. I wanted the care-freeness of being in a group. I wanted to sit down and eat – really eat – and enjoy what I was eating – with a group of people where I didn’t feel like I was invading or eavesdropping in on the conversation. Where I wasn’t pity-invited to join or demanded I not sit alone for the millionth time but instead genuinely allowed to comfortably be part of the laughter.

I want to laugh.
I miss that simple joy.
I want the ability to smile with abandon and allow a deep, real laughter to escape. Not a casual smirk with a throat chuckle, but a full laughter - without wondering what those around me are thinking or if they care.
I want to laugh.

It’s funny what you pick up on first. What you notice. What you pay attention to. I’ve decided it is thing we most long for. Tonight it was laughter.