Dead Minerals

We recently replaced our old, ugly white linoleum kitchen floor with gorgeous grey tiles. In the next month or so, we'll also be pulling up our old, dingy carpet and putting down driftwood-like laminate. We'll repaint the trim and update our stair rail for the perfect finishing touches. After that, we'll be staining our dingy, muted deck and playset this fresh, new grey color and we'll be freshening up (and tearing out) a lot of our over-grown, how-does-anyone-handle-this-many-plants- kind of landscaping. Our house is getting a much-needed face lift from head to toe, inside and out. We're cleaning, simplifying and personalizing and it's really exciting.

At the same time, it's also a bit nerve-wrecking. Bryan and I both have student loan debt and so though we aren't poor, we certainly do not feel like we have the freedom to spend our money however, wherever and whenever we want. We make extremely calculated decisions about money and even then, when it's time to commit a large sum of money to somewhere other than debt, we get anxious.

Is this a good decision? What if something unpredictable happens and we need this money later? Are we being poor stewards? Is it worth it? What about all of the people living in our world without a place to call home? Is it necessary for us to have new floors, really?

I think these are all good questions and I certainly go back and forth and feel quite a bit of ambivalence in the midst of the face lift but usually, once all is said and done, I'm really grateful for the change, the growth, and the obvious markings that we're growing up.

I think this directly relates with how I am feeling about my own Self at this point. I am coming off of this freedom high and I'm feeling profoundly grateful. I am also feeling a very strong urge to mark this chapter in a very significant way. I want to start fresh. I want to replace the old foundation with a stronger, free-er one. I want to discard the excess and freshen up the timeless, significant pieces that were previously buried. I want my outside to reflect the freedom that I feel (and hope to keep feeling) on the inside!

I'm a bit too noncommittal to go the tattoo route at this point so the closest other marker I can think of is to cut my hair. I want a new look.

For many people, a hair cut is just not that big of a deal. It's impermanent. It always grows back. No big deal. After all, it's just dead minerals, right?

Well, sort of. Except that for me, my hair has always been so much more. In a large way my hair has been a significant part of my identity (partly by overt choice) and an avenue for self-expression. Growing up I was "the girl with the long blonde hair" (people-pleasing). Then I became "the girl who used to have long hair and then she cut it off" (boundary-questioning). And then "the girl who had the blonde hair but then dyed it black" (middle-finger flaunting). Then "the girl with the dreads" (growth embracing). And then "the girl with the blonde, blue, and black hair" (self-exploring).

Today, my hair is anything but note-worthy or noticeable but I still think it's a way that I like to air out what's going on inside. My hair is pretty normal and boring. Nothing extravagant or edgy. Just straight, dark blonde, medium length boring, safe hair. This was fine for awhile because I was a new mom who was devoting all of her time and energy on a baby. My identity became "mommy" and I chose to put my hair-assessing, self-expressing self aside. I think this was fine and there was a time and place for it. However, now, it feels evident that this is no longer the time or place:

I need a hair-lift.

But, just like with face-lifting the house, I feel huge buckets of ambivalence about cutting my hair. What if I hate it? What if it takes longer to style? OMG- what if I have to blow-dry-it-every-single-day? (Nightmare!) What if I look 12? What if I look like a boy? What if Bryan hates it? (Truly, not gonna happen.) What if my mom hates it? (Might happen but should I care as much as I do?) What if I miss having a pony tail (my life line some mornings)? What if I regret cutting it? What if? What if? What if?

.............

What if I remember that it's just hair? What if I remember that my hair does not actually define me? What if I remember that I am more than my hair?

Thank God my life is not defined by dead minerals.

And it is impermanent and it will grow back. My hair can be an avenue through which I choose to express myself and a window through which I can air out my insides but it certainly does not name me, claim me, or change me. It is just hair.

I suppose if I remember all that, this time next week, I might be writing with a new 'd0! :) Stay tuned...

On the Cusp

I really feel like I'm on the cusp of something. I am thinking that something looks, feels, and smells a lot like freedom and I am giddy with anticipation. This recent season has been dark and twisty and murky and heavy and achy and ick. It has been full and empty. Bitter and redemptive. It has been exactly what I needed.

I don't intend to communicate that I have arrived or that my life is figured out or that I'll be writing a best-selling Self-Help book called "Do What I Did and It Will Fix Your Problems". Nope. Not what I'm saying.

I am saying, however, that I can see some light, some glory, some refuge from the ick. I can feel something different. Something, as I mentioned, that looks, feels, and smells a lot like freedom! I'm not sure why, today, this afternoon, in the midst of crazy work schedules, hot summer sunshine, contractors in and out, and a sweet afternoon date with two friends, that my Lady God decided to grant me a bit of freedom, but She most certainly did. And I am soaking it up.

It may or may not have had something to do with the shiny, large, powerful black Escalade that I drove today with all the windows down and music blasting. How can you not feel free (unstoppable?) in a moment like that?! (It.Was.Awesome.)

For my own wishful keeping, I want to jot down some of what I will call my freedom thoughts:

1.) I believe God is inviting me to dance figuratively...as an expression of freedom. God wants me to be free!

2.) I believe in God's words to me through a Prophejess. About dancing. About pain. My flask. My life, my story, my tears... leading to healing for others. I also believe that this was God's way of making it clear that She hears and sees me.

3.) I believe in asking myself in a "like duh" voice, "why don't I like myself?! I'm ok!".

4.) I believe I'm not that "other" and I'm uniquely me at the same time.

5.) I believe in embracing the fullness of who I am and loving her.

6.) I believe in running at 5:45 am.

7.) I believe that in realizing I'm sabotaging hope, I can name it and choose something different.

8.) I believe in embracing my raw authentic self and allowing her to mature naturally.

9.) I believe in letting hope be hope.

10.) I believe in cutting my hair.

11.) I believe that being ordinary is okay.

12.) I believe in real conversations with good friends.

13.) I believe in honesty.

14.) I believe in the power of hands-on prayer.

15.) I believe in turning pages to new chapters.

16.) I believe in spiritual gifts.

17.) I believe in miracles.

18.) I believe in blogging.

...To be continued, I'm sure...

Be still and know

I want to be better at paying attention

Better at listening and seeing.

I want to be better at the quiet and the still.

Better at believing.

I want to hear you, see you, feel you.

I want to pour out my flask and untie my knots.

Help me hear beyond the voices,

and dance through the darkness.

Help me see beyond the faces,

and speak through the silence.

Help me love beyond the pain,

and write through the questions.

Go away self-doubt and judgement,

I want to find inner peace.

Go away fear and self-pity,

I want to find honest strength.

Go away chaos and confusion,

I want to find my soul's right path.

So that I might be free to be and do

As you have called.

So help me God.

Graceful Mourning

Life moves through my body
My breath in a perfect pause
Muscles are tense, fluid like rain
I move slowly, carefully, freely
I lose sense of noise, hear every beat
Note
Chime
I see not beyond this space
But feel your energy in my blood

Please don’t make me stop
I have not finished yet
You gave me the tree
Her sap
Her roots
My life is in her soil

The thing inside me
It’s fierce
It’s mad
Must I ignore or destroy or die?
It is all I know of desire
All I know of God
There, is the loveliness in me
Must I walk away?
I cannot
I see not beyond this space
But feel your energy in my blood

Note to Self

[[This is for the girl who gave away all her eggs.]]

I have decided to work on embracing the notion that humanity is a gift rather than a flaw. That God created us as these amazingly chaotic and beautiful and complex creatures of glory who are both in need of redemption and worthy of unconditional love.

Up until fairly recently, I have lived my life in polarities: either I worked hard to achieve perfection in hopes that I would be worthy to receive love or I gave up completely and simply declared that I just didn't need love. As I'm re-entering my faith journey and diving deeper into my soul-work, I'm coming to realize that it just isn't about what we do. It's about who we are.

This message is a familiar one. It's common; perhaps it's cliché. It sounds simple. It even looks simple. But for me, a girl who put all of her eggs in Perfection's basket, it feels pretty complicated. And sometimes, downright irritating.

If only there was a bright red button that I could push or a big blue pill that I could take so that this way of being could be instantly integrated into my being at the deepest, most intrinsic level. Well, there isn't. If there was such a thing, I certainly would have found it by now. I have come to realize that there is just nothing I can do to make being easier. And it is in this realization that I have decided to embrace the [crazy?] notion that humanity is a gift. And an intentional one at that.

It's not like Lady God sits up in her Lazy-boy watching us like some episode of Wipe Out cracking up every time we fall from our big plans only to see us get back up and try again expecting to get a different result. God created us imperfect and actually doesn't expect us to be anything else. But, we do. We expect to be flawless, first-prizers, who do it right every single time. It's like we expect to get apple juice by squeezing a banana. We weren't made to be perfect. We were made to love. Simple as that.

The message is that we are good and lovely just the way we are. Perhaps you are dark and twisty. Perhaps you're a deep feeler. Perhaps your thoughts bear the weight of the world.

Perhaps She has a bigger plan for us than Perfection.

Perhaps the dark and twisty, deep feeling, weight-of-the-world-bearing souls are the writers, artists, teachers, lovers, beings, who invite us deeper into our own journey of exploring and embracing the complex God-soul that we each uniquely bear.

Perhaps.

Me, Set Free

"I look forward to seeing what you set free looks like."

These are the words spoken to me by loving and ever so supportive husband while on one of our recent date nights. (Yes, we went from not having any in almost a year to two in the same weekend!) Being one of the most important people in my life, as well as my best advocate, I decided to let him in on my tiny little secret: the new blog. He was surprised (considering I've been anti-everything-writing for years now) and excited. He asked why and I said something like, "Oh you know, to help me find my Self. To see if I can still write. To begin to put myself out there. To try and see if it helps me feel closer to God, closer to life, closer to you, my dreams, my Self..." You know, nothing too major...

:)

So obviously, I have big plans for you, m' dear Blog.

Interestingly enough, I stumbled across my old blog from 2006 recently and it certainly sent me into a bit of a tailspin. First I was intrigued, then I felt shame and embarrassment and then I felt sad and then relieved and then finally, I landed in this space of feeling really proud. It's quite strange. The posts were so raw and risky and honest and unapologetic. It's like this girl (was it really me?) had a glimpse of her Self and was not sorry. She had no shame. I hear anger in her words but I hear hope. I hear hate but I hear love. I hear a white-knuckles, do-it-or-die-kind of commitment to authenticity.

And I am undone by it.

I remember being her. I remember loving it and hating it. I remember letting her out. She was vibrant in glory with unabashed zest and a real grudge against life. She was a take-me-or-leave-me kinda girl. I don't think she ever fully came to embrace all that was her being but I think she tasted freedom like she had never known. She had no idea it wouldn't last.

It wasn't long before I quieted her. Stuffed her. Sanded off the rough edges. Made her more pleasing. More balanced. More mature. And also more insecure, more ashamed, and more lost. She turned into me.

I envy her a bit, I do. I also believe that somewhere in the midst of these two parts, is a whole. A whole that is raw and risky and honest and unapologetic. A whole that is vibrant in glory with unabashed zest for life. A whole that has grieved those stories that took pain and ache and agony and turned them into anger and a shaking fist. A whole that is gentle and kind towards her Self and others. A whole that writes, speaks, prays, and dances with passion and gusto. A whole that breathes freedom and embraces humanity. A whole that says "I love me for me. And I hope you do too but it's really ok if you don't. Because I am enough."

Once, twice, three times a blogger.

Today is a hopeful day; so hopeful, that I started a blog. This will be my third attempt to contribute to the blogosphere and I am hopeful that this one will turn out better than the first two.

Blog #1 seemed quite similar to a consignment shop dressing room: Some potential but mostly lot of random pieces that were an accessory shy of being Lady GaGa's next big hit.

Blog #2 was a joint effort between my friend and I. We both enjoy being sassy and snarky and we loved the idea of having an anonymous blog where we could say whatever we wanted without having to take any personal responsibility for it. Thankfully, our souls are not as devious as we originally thought and the anonymous Bitch Blog was simply not sustainable.

And now we're to Blog #3. I've named her Wishful Keeping. This name came to be for several reasons: 1.) I wanted my blog name and the URL to match; 2.) all the other 327 name ideas I had chosen were already taken; and 3.) Wishful Keeping as a concept is intriguing, sounds kinda cool, and was 100% available (go figure). I know, deep right?

Welcome. Let's see where the words take us.