Sibling Fights

I hate fights with my siblings.

I mean, I realize they are inevitable. Cain killed Abel. Jacob stole Esau's birthight. Leah and Rachel shared a love interest. Aaron freaking built a gold calf while Moses was away. Mary never helped Martha. And Jesus' brothers thought he needed a serious reality check. If the bible is any indication, the very fact I have brothers and sisters is going to mean, on some level, my life is going to suck.

But I still hate fighting with my siblings.

I hate it.

In my nearly 22 years of life, my brothers and sisters are the only ones who haven't run away when the going gets tough. They are the only ones I have been able to count on and lean on. In some cases, they are the only ones I trusted with the most real parts of me. We're presidents of each other's fan clubs, the loudest cheerleaders, the biggest supporters.

Except when we fight.

When we fight I feel like everthing I've counted on in terms of necessary human contact has slapped me in my face. When you only have a few people you really trust and that trust is broken...when the support you lean on has left you free falling to th ground...when you're the biggest, the best, the loudest - for them - and they throw it back in your face.

Then it sucks.

Fights don't last. And the cloth my family is cut from means that wounds will heal and all will be forgiven in the end. But until then, well, I guess, life is just going to have to suck.

When the Days are Long...

I have been awake for almost 22 hours. It is just a hair shy of midnight right now. In the last 22 hours, I have been in class for 3, meetings for 2, and a Puerto Rico sewing project night thing for 3. (If you're keeping track, we're now up to 8). I spent 2 hours putting together things for my building, writing e-mails, confirming maintenance reports and putting up posters. (10). I have spent somewhere in the ballpark of 6 hours on homework (16) and an hour getting to where I need to go and back (17). The other five hours? Listening. Phone conversation, two chat messages, five in person conversation, one e-mail, two texts. (That's 11 in all if you're still counting) All from different people. I became the ears to listen and the shoulders to bear everything else. I didn't sign up for this job. As someone up before 3am this morning, I didn't want this job today. I didn't understand why the kid who couldn't string words together to make a sentence looked like the target for everyone's bad days, bad lifes, bad moments, and by-the-ways-so-you-can-know's. The introvert in me desperately wanted my own little world. I wasn't prepared to deal with everyone else's. I can hardly, today, deal with my own. And every person I could think to bring my life to - to help me deal with the day I could not, were people who's days I myself had been asked to carry. It's hard to be the confidant and feel like there is no one for you yourself to confide in. But it's probably just my psychosis talking - when the days are long, my exhaustion places me there...

Some Thinking with Three of my Fave Bible Dudes...

This weekend, for whatever triggered the thought, I began contemplating the favorite Sunday School Bible Story of the fiery furnace. It is a great story. Three guys, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refuse to bow down and worship anyone but God the one true King. So, they are thrown into a furnace which is so hot it kills the people throwing them in. And yet, when the presence of God in the furnace with the three blows the mind of the king, they are ordered out (my guess is the furnace was still pretty hot...what are the chances the king lost a pile of “go-to-it” guys that day? Just saying...). Their hair is not scorched. They do not even smell of smoke. The king acknowledges the presence of one stronger than he. Awesome. Best Bible story ever.

But the triggered thought didn’t need a recapitulation of the story, the story I knew. My thought was originally this: even before Jesus, those who most adamantly served God had to endure the fire. I began to think about the fires I’ve had to walk through. Fires that, regardless of cause...I mean, maybe they weren’t demanding I bow down and worship another king...called me to faithfully respond in praise to the One who stands with me through it.

And then I was frustrated. A little perturbed. Slightly jealous. You see, when the three amigos made it out of “Hell’s Kitchen”, they were completely unscathed. They were unaffected by the fire and didn’t reek of experience. “What???” I shouted at this sudden realization. “Are you serious??? That’s not fair! Why is my life a system of all the remnants of every fire I’ve ever been through – fires God has not only stood with me through, but held me in?? How did Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego get out scotch free???” My thoughts continued on like this for quite some time.

Until it occurred to me there was so much of the story untold. Part of us imagine these superheroes who just sort of took on the fire with their bravery and skill. Walked out, traded war stories, and went out like men to see if they could start a bigger fire! But the Bible doesn’t tell us that...we’ve just given ourselves this image. Really, there is much the Bible never said. For all we know, Meshach went home and cried like a baby for nights when he wasn’t sleeping because he was still scared sick. For all we know, Shadrach spent the hours in the furnace wetting himself again and again. For all we know, for the rest of his life, Abednego refused to even start a fire...let alone roast a good marshmallow. While we are imagining three grown men trading stories about the weather with the Creator, just waiting for the king to get the hint, for all we know, the three stood held together with the presence of God pleading “please don’t leave, please don’t leave, please don’t leave...whatever happens in this fire, please don’t leave!” In fact, part of me imagines the latter is closer to the truth than not...

For all which remains unspoken, this remains unforgettable: the presence of God never left. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego may very well have been seriously affected by the furnace which spared their life without so much as a physical marking of their experience. I doubt they went around bragging about the fire they had been in...how could they? Amazingly, the same fire which killed the kings biggest and best gave way to the testimony of God’s grace and faithfulness. Amazingly, they simply came out proclaiming the God who Is. Amazingly, my fires ask me to do the same...

Although I Try...

I’ve done my best.

I’ve tried my hardest.

I do what I can to try and not go anywhere on a pity trip. To not feel bad for myself.

I do whatever it takes to prove I’m not a glass doll.

So, I have some...issues. So what? Who doesn’t, right? So I’ve got a few more than most people...is that supposed to make a difference? Please don’t see me as less capable. Please don’t see me as some child that needs to be quarantined in a bubble suit in a padded room. Please don’t treat me like a god when I pull off things amidst what appears to be the least desirable circumstances...

I just want to be normal.

I just want to do life...

And yet, sometimes it’s hard.

One thing after another after another.

I’m hardly off the ground before something else comes to kick my face in.

Sometimes it’s just a little guy kicking me in the shins. Barely hard enough to trip me up without actually making me fall. And sometimes it’s the big bully who knows I’m about to get back up and sticks around to give me a good push down again anyways. [Heck, how long has Wilson been, in some way, shape, or form, the epitome of this bullying scum bag??]

And so sometimes it’s hard.

Sometimes it’s hard to look someone in the eye and say “Umm, yeah, it does sort of hurt but it’s not so bad...it’s only a week and a half without being able to do anything with my dominant hand. It could be a lot worse...”

Sometimes all I want to say is “Umm, yeah, you’re right, it does suck. If I get punched in the gut one more time I can’t promise I’ll have the will to try one more time. This whole ‘I get knocked down’ bit? Yeah...it could be better...”

It’s not really that I want to bask in my unfortunate circumstances. It’s not even that I want to quit trying.

It just that don’t get it...

I don’t get why some lives seem to have the same problems I do and some seem to have it worse and so many seem to have the “I can’t believe I chose turkey when there was salami!!!” style lives...where the worst things that go wrong, well, they really aren’t the worst things at all.

I don’t get why my life is a series of unfortunate events...without any breaths or breaks between the chapters. Not just with health stuff, but with all of it. They take turns and so I’m never given an opportunity to just...be.

And for as much as I want to be strong through it all...

I can’t always be.

Yet I’m not really allowed to be anything but.

At some point, they want to and do care...but mostly no one is really that interested in the traumatic story of my life and I have been told several times I shouldn't be either. I'm not allowed to let things get me down.

So here I sit, alone, bemoaning life’s seeming immediate unfairness. Because, right now, it just feels overwhelming...too much.

I try my hardest.

I do my best.

But sometimes, apparently, my best just isn’t good enough.

Sound and Fury

Sound and Fury
AK January 2010

I cover my ears from the piercing shrill;
Chaotic cacophony plaguing me still.
A strand of hair breezes my face as yet another passes by...
I cower down.
I want to hide.
So many things I cannot control...
So much life I cannot hold.

Reach through the abyss
Of sound and of fury.
I am lost in this black hole
And the darkness does bury.
So find me.
I’m calling.
Calling you to set me free.

Do you hear
The shouting voices?
Do you feel
The tormenting wind?
Do you hear
The demanding noises?
Do you feel
My breath caving in?

Reach through the abyss
Of sound and of fury.
Lost in this black hole -
The darkness does bury.
So find me.
I’m calling
Find me -I’m falling;
Falling on my knees.

Rescue me in this life I surrender.
Redeem me from the self I abhor.
Deliver me from the abyss of confusion.
Empty me until I exist no more.
Release me from the burden I carry...
Unleash me from the sound and the fury.

The Little Things...

I was trying to put in my contacts this morning. It is something I’ve done for the better part of year now. It’s no big. Eye open, silicone in, blink twice, good to go.

This morning I began the process as any morning. With my right contact resting on my left pointer finger, I held my eye open while allowing the cool, wet plastic hit my eye. I blinked. And then I screamed. My eye burned! I squinted my eye back open and was struck by the intense pink invading the creamy white of my eye. I blinked my eye a few more times before reconciling myself to the fact the intense pain would not be stopping. I frantically peeled the contact off of my eye.

I held it on my finger in one hand while covering my eye (as if holding it would take away its hurt) and began inspecting this small clear piece. Did I put it in backward? Was there a small rip or tear? Did I manage to put a tiny hole in its delicate surface? I put the contact back into solution and placed some eye drops in my throbbing eye.

As the water pooled under my eyelids, I felt something. Looking into the mirror I gently lifted my lid and then, (somewhat awkwardly), attempted to blink. As a small eye drop laden tear pooled in the corner, I caught the drop on my finer. There a small, thin, brown eyelash stuck contentedly.

“Seriously?” Was that it? I couldn’t believe it. Was that little eyelash stuck behind my contact, causing me so much pain? Questioning, swiftly I retrieved my contact and allowed it easily to cover my eye. Painless. The eyelash had been to blame the whole time.

The eyelash was small, essentially harmless. They fall out all of the time. You blow them off and make a wish. Had I known it was loose, I probably wouldn’t have thought it a very big deal. But sometimes the littlest things make the biggest difference...

When the long promised call never comes and the phone never rings. One forgotten birthday. The sharpest, smallest comment placed in just the right spot at just the wrong time. When life is always too busy and there is never time. When the smirky remark is made when the thought was nobody heard. When attempts are made to wave at the friend who purposefully turns and walks away. All little things which get stuck under a thin surface and get trapped next to the place where it hurts the most. In themselves, practically harmless, yet they mean something so close to the inside.

But the little things go either direction. The good and blessings have just as much power and opportunity to seep under the surface as the bad and ugly. The unsigned note with the encouraging word. The signed card saying “thanks for always being there”. The word heard from the grapevine you were doing a “great job”. The deliberate stop just to say “hi”. The awkward hug at the best of times. The five minute conversation which says “you’re important and you matter to me.” In themselves, practically inconsequential, yet they mean something when allowed so close to the inside.

What are you doing with your little things?

I am a Lover

When I came to Spring Arbor as a freshman over three years ago I was awkward. Socially, my skills needed some...refining. I thought maybe I was comfortably a loner...a natural introvert. I thought I was destined to never be in close relationship. I thought I didn’t know how to interact. I thought I didn’t know how to be a friend...let alone make a friend. In the end, I just didn’t know how to love...or, for that matter, be loved.

The process of chipping the icy shell covering my existence was a painful process. I truly did not know how to open myself to other people’s care and, try as I might, I was unsure of how to go about caring.

Slowly but surely, however, my resistance came unglued. I recognized myself and my actions in light of love languages. People saw by investment. I was a doer. I loved by serving. I did things in order to try and prove to you that I cared.

And I, I needed you. I needed your presence. My need was rooted in deep insecurity. No one had really ever come into my life and stayed. If I felt loved, it was the result of someone who was willing to come and spend quality time with me.

But there were a few things I was unresponsive too. Gift giving – I didn’t even know where to start there. And then, well, I was articulate – but unable to share words of affirmation. I didn’t know how to tell you I appreciated you, admired you, wanted you in my life. I didn’t know how to encourage you. I didn’t know how to be encouraged.

And physical touch? You’re kidding, right? No one could touch me. No one was allowed near enough to make it into my personal bubble. I flinched at a pat on the back. Cringed at a hug. Endured touch if given...and never gave. Ever.

So it’s been three years. And I stop to consider how much my heart breaks – because I have found a means within side me which not only cares but feels deeply. My heart breaks, because I love. And I want to love. Some days I wake up and pout at the list of things I “must” accomplish. Because...I would much rather just love on people instead.

I have since stared to think about what it meant for me to love on people. If I wanted to do nothing but love on people for a while...what would it look like? And my response? “EVERYTHING!” Or mostly...

I am stuck on writing these encouragement notes every week... a few standards and then an assortment of others...because I just want people to know they are thought about, appreciated. I want to bring you cupcakes; I want to come up with a way to bring you “snow”; I want to put little gifts on your door for 12 days straight. I will bend over backwards for you on any given day. I will cover for your shift, work on something so you can go to bed (even though it means I won’t get to sleep), make the decorations, try to lighten your load...I still want to serve. I still want quality time...I am going to look for opportunities to be with you...whether it means just “being”, or it means we are doing or giving alongside one another. And, I want to physically show love. I’m not very good at it yet. I don’t think to give the hug first...but I want to. I want to love on you this way.

Perhaps the world, this world, has shown me how to love. It taught by example a loving life where it was possible to serve, to give to, to be with, to affirm, and to touch. I’ve learned to feel loved in all of these ways. I’ve learned to treasure the smallest of notes with the smallest affirmation – reminders I am valued. I’ve learned to feel cared for and not helpless when others do for me. I’ve learned to love it when someone pats my head or touches my shoulder. I’ve learned to feel loved when someone wraps their arms around me and holds on tight.

And I’m coming to find these things I have been taught...are becoming natural as responses. I want to do them. The more I love you (sounds awkward doesn’t it?), the more I grow in relationship with you, the more ways I am going to try to love on you. Sometimes in hopes you will reciprocate and sometimes, some days because I just want to love. I don’t choose one of them because it is my “love language” or even my “primary love language”. Instead I choose all of them because, without endeavoring towards it, I, I am a lover.