Dating Is Not For Sissies

Sometimes, I talk to myself ... not in the schizophrenic way, of course.  It's just that sometimes, I have to sit down and pretend that I'm talking to someone else in order to learn how to be kind to myself.  Why is that?  Why is it so much easier to be gentler with others than with ourselves?

Well, either way, before bed, a short letter from me ... to me:

Hi beloved,

Today's been a hard one, I know.

He doesn't want you, I know.

And for so long, it's felt like nobody does ... well, no man, at least.

And even though you know that God is looking out for you, and even though You believe He has a plan, and even though you're trying to be strong and trust that this is just your time to wait, well, this whole dating world seems incredibly random and confusing, and ... not for the faint of heart.

Your friends and family have seen your pain and tried to help ease it as best they can.  They've said things like:

"The waiting is so hard, but when you finally meet the right one, it will all feel worth it."

"32 is still young!"

"I'm so sorry, friend."

"Maybe this is just part of dating, the bitter with the sweet."

Or, my personal favorite....

"He's a douche bag."

****

You are so blessed to have such amazing friends.  But, still, there's the wound.  Of not feeling wanted. Because every woman needs to feel wanted.  

I could tell you so many things.  I could tell you that it just takes one.  I could tell you that you are the 567th billion person to experience the pain of unrequited affection for another, so, welcome to the club of humanity.  I could tell you to get busy living, and he'll show up when you're not looking for him.  I could tell you that he WILL be worth it.  I could tell you so many things.

And they're probably all true.

But, tonight, I just want you to know that I love you.  And that I think you're worth it.  And that someday, he will too.

And don't forget to keep laughing,

me

winding down

I did some math today and figured out that I've worked approximately 32 hours in the last 3 days and slept 18 hours over the last 3 nights.  That means I've worked almost twice as many hours as I've slept, which can't be a good ratio.  That would explain why - when I woke up this morning - the first word out of my lips was (warning: salty language ahead) "Shit."  I can honestly say I think that might be the first time that's happened.  I was horrified at myself.  One should never wake up with such vulgarity on their lips.  That should be reserved for much later in the day, on the freeway, in traffic.  Just kidding.  (Kind of.)  But I was mad, just plain old mad that I had to wake up.  And I was ready to go back to bed as I stepped out of it, which is really not how I like to live my life, not how I believe the gift of life should ever really be lived.

But, here I am, all imperfect and unfinished.

I prayed today (a much better way to start the day), that God would be strength in my weakness, that He would sustain me and help me to give to my clients, despite the feeling of exhaustion that sat on my eyelids and shoulders.  And, although I can't say the day was easy, and that I had all kinds of wisdom and insight in my work today, I can say this.  When I get tired enough, I stop depending on me.  And I start offering my clients just plain old love, because that's what I've still got, tired or not.  And I've discovered I often have some of my best sessions on those days.  Interesting....

Love has a way of never running out.  When I stop worrying about paperwork and the to do list, and I just sit with clients, look them in the eyes, listen, try to understand, be present in the moment, I often find that my soul is quieted, and something expands in me big enough to hold their stories.  Because they are my stories.  They are human stories.  They are all of our stories.  We all feel pain.  Afraid.  Alone.  Sometimes, at least.  And it's a really beautiful thing, to take my tired old self into a session, and to connect with the soul sitting across from me.  Because, in that connection, I think we both come out the better for it.  Less alone.  With more hope.  I'm grateful for that tender mercy, for the truth of Christ's promise that in giving, we receive.

So, tonight, I've got praises on my lips.  Praises for God's endless well of love in Christ.  Happiness after ending my day with an incredible concert (I got to see my most favorite Iron and Wine tonight at The Wiltern)!!  And a whole lot of excitement about the pillow that awaits my heavy head.

Good night moon.

My Favorite Nugget Of The Day....

And I'm not talking McDonald's nuggets.  I'm not even talking chicken.

I'm talking fish, actually ... my niece's fish, to be exact.  She is four.  She is cute (my niece, not the fish).  I know all 4 year olds are cute, and that probably doesn't need to be said, but when someone is as cute as she is, one can really never say it enough.

Apparently, along with being cute, she is also brilliantly, hilariously creative.  Because my sister informed me tonight that my niece has named her Betta fish "Captain Meeshang."  CAPTAIN MEESHANG.  I feel like that may very well be the best name I've heard for a Betta fish ever in my whole life.  Heck, I feel like that should be the name of a band, or a boat, or anything cool, really.  I want to go out right now and buy myself a pet just so that I can name him or her Captain Meeshang.

But, it gets better.  This is Captain Meeshang's 3rd name.  Captain started out as BlueBlue - which, though slightly more obvious - is still a pretty solid contender.  BlueBlue; it rolls off the tongue and sounds like the name of a friend, no?  And sandwiched in between BlueBlue and Cpt. Meeshang, her fish spent a small amount of time going by the name of Firesnout Dragon.  Seriously?!  The girl can name.

That's all I've got for you tonight.  But it gave me a good, long laugh at the end of a very long day.  And for that, I felt that Captain Meeshang, and my absolutely adorable niece, needed their own blog post.

Long live Captain Meeshang!

(Or maybe not, as he is - after all - a Betta fish, but still....atleast she gave him a name that has the potential to live in infamy.)

So I Made It To The Beach

...as promised in a previous post.

And it was so worth it.  Worth the 45 minutes in LA traffic.  Worth the Saturday.  Worth the little edging fear that always arises before I go somewhere to retreat alone for a time.  My soul often squirms a little; as much as I claim to ache for quiet and solitude, it takes me a while to adjust to it.  And I almost always fear alone time, before I remember again how much I love it.  Anyway, it was worth it.  All worth it.

I read.  I watched two very patient and loving dads play volleyball with their two young daughters.  I thought about the kindness of God, my Father, always rooting for me, always teaching me, always cheering me on.  I set some goals.  And I wrote.  I wrote out a prayer, actually.  Or maybe it's a poem, after staring at this for a long, long time (my recommendation? click on the photo to make it bigger in order to get the full grandiosity of the view):

And though it feels vulnerable, I'd like to share it.  I suppose the only preface I can offer for it is this: the older I get, the less I like neat, clean, pretty ideas that fit into a precise package, topped with a bow, (because that doesn't honestly feel very congruent with this imperfect, broken, but precious world) and the more I appreciate just being able to ask questions and trust in a good God, even when I don't get all the answers.

My Offering

Is it enough, Lord?  That I delight

in the beauty wrought of Your fingertips,

of the intentions of Your heart? Can it be faith - 

pleasing to You - that the way

late afternoon sun turns the air golden - a whisper -

and the crashing waves, the surges of water

toward my bare feet, washing over them

and then retreating

causes me to worship You?  Even though 

the ocean is an unkind world to plankton 

and other small sea creatures

who didn't choose their place at the bottom 

of the food chain?

Can it be enough, Father?  That I hang on

to hope - sometimes by fingertips -

and watch seagulls spread their wings and glide upon invisible cradles of air, 

and that I love 

You....

with feeble,

fickle

love - as the Author of this enchanting, but unjust world?

That I could stand and watch the dance

of colliding waves -

water, flung up

recklessly, in every direction-

for hours?

That I wish I were a wave, could come crashing down,

without thought of where I'd land,

that I wish I could collide with something - anything -

and go hurtling upwards,

outwards,

outside of myself, if only to feel

that I am alive.

Can this desire?

This honesty? This reaching out....

be a prayer, 

falling softly

upon a tender spot

in Your heart?

CB 1-22-11

Planning or Bust

Guess what I learned today? Thinking about planning doesn't actually equate to planning.

That's one of my goals this year. To become a planner. And when I realized that was a goal, I felt all proud of myself for it, for deciding to do it, for planning to plan. Because, the flip side of being a very in-the-moment-all-present person is that I'm often not a very good planner. One minute it's Sunday, and the next thing I know, it's Friday. And it goes from being August to April in about 2-point-5 seconds.‎ So, I bought a calendar this year, hung it on my closet door where I must look at it every day a couple of times, and decided to mark each day off every night. I figured, at a bare minimum, that would at least force me to anchor into where I'm at in the month, in the year, in the week ... or at least remember what day it is. And I have high hopes I might actually get some birthday cards out on time this year. Hope springs eternal in the human heart....

So, one of my goals for this weekend, this beautiful MLK Jr. holiday weekend, was to go to the beach. I wanted to sit by the water, watch the waves, spend some time talking to God, and then take out a pen and paper and think about bigger goals for this year, for my 30s, for what kind of person I want to become. I planned to plan.

And then, I had a lazy Saturday, went to two birthday parties Saturday night, and felt the need to veg out when I got home, staying up to watch OC reruns. So, Sunday morning I decided I'd sleep in and go to the beach this morning. And then last night, I stayed up late watching the Golden Globes, and then somehow felt that it was very important that I also watch interviews from the red carpet rerunning on the E! channel. And then I slept in this morning, and by the time I put two and two together about commitments for my day, I realized I'd have about 1.5 hours of beach time in which I was to reflect and plan and pray. And somehow, rushed reflection time seems oxymoronic.

So, I had a little planning crisis meeting with me, myself, and I this afternoon. Members who showed up to the meeting included, in no particular order: shame, regret, self-punishment, and anxiety. They are terrible candidates to have at a meeting with yourself, by the way. "Self?!" I thought, "How is it, self, that you've had an entire 3 day weekend, and that one of your only goals for it was to have a planning/prayer session at the beach, and here it is, almost over, and you never did it?! What is WRONG with you, self???!" Like I said, not fun. But, thanks to the gracious comfort and company of my roommate, who I invited to the meeting as well, realizing the ambush I was experiencing, I had a new realization.

Thinking about planning does not actually equal planning. And maybe I needed to hit a little "mini-rock-bottom" as my roomie and I laughingly called it in order to actually do this planning thing. Because I have never been much of a planner. So, I realized it makes sense that I'm not all that good at it yet. And, as my very wise mother always tells me, "most things are difficult before they are easy." So, maybe I'm still a toddler in my development as a planner, falling down more than I stand.

But, I'm learning how to do it. Slowly. With lots of mistakes. Eventually, Grace and Patience stepped into the meeting and performed a little coup' d'etat. They are very strong, and it only takes a couple of them to boot the others out the door. Now, I'm scratching this whole experience off as a little planning-rock-bottom.

So, the planning session is yet to happen. But, it will. It will. Very soon, I will go to bed at a decent hour and get up in morning sunlight and grab my Bible, a notepad, and a cup of coffee. I'll drive to the ocean and watch the waves and pray. Maybe I'll have a couple more setbacks. Maybe another episode or two of The OC will have their way before I triumph. Change is difficult, after all. But, just like the waves, my soul is connected to a Bigger Gravity, a gracious, loving Gravity. And He, this God of mine, is teaching me patience, and persistence, and how to get up each time I fall. And over and over again, He pulls me back to Himself.

Before I go - because I've made new plans for this day, you know :) - I must share a quote from the rock of a soul that is MLK Jr., in honor of his incredible and inspiring life today. I've been chewing on these words all week long, ever since a dear friend shared them with me.  They are some of the most profound, truth-filled words I've read in a very long time. Thank you, Martin Luther King Jr.....

"When our days become dreary with clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of no way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows. Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice."

Happy MLK Jr. Day, beloveds.

Change and A Lazy Saturday

It is 78 degrees outside.  I don't share this to brag, for anyone who may be reading this in much colder conditions.  Well, actually, maybe I am bragging just a little.  But I take no credit for it.

Nonetheless, them's the temps, and so I'm taking advantage of the temperate weather and sitting outside, revisiting this dear old friend of a blog, and drinking a cup of coffee on a very lazy Saturday.

And to set the scene, I thought I'd share a few pictures of my current environs....

Wide blue sky in front of me....

And golden sky behind.

Meet Jasper.  

He is sitting below me staring up at me with all of the world's sufferings in his eyes.

He is a wise old soul trapped in a dog's body that very closely resembles 

Gandalph from Lord of the Rings.  Check it out:

And then, of course, there's Charlie.  I put him on the coffee table to slow him down and to keep him from barking incessantly at the rustling of leaves that apparently poses a great threat to our home's welfare.  He finds standing on glass frightening.  And he tends to sit there, motionless, until I bring him down.  Also, notice the aforementioned coffee.  Yum.

And here's me ... or atleast, one half of me.....

So, that's the current scene.

I have to say, I'm loving this sunshiney day ... just as much as I loved Christmas, just as much as I loved the snow that fell endlessly on Flagstaff a few weeks ago as I headed back to California, just as much I loved the beautiful, peach flesh leaves of Fall.

I think what it comes down to is that I am a Seasons Girl through and through.  I need them, the seasons.  I really do.  I need the visible, tangible reminders about cycles of life.  I need the too-hotness of Summer (remind me of this when I am blogging about third degree burns from my seat belt, ok?) to make me all the more grateful for the sweet cooling down of Fall.  I need Fall's golds and reds to remind me that even the process of loss can have so much beauty in it.  I need the way the world grows quiet during Winter.  I need the blossoms that form without anyone knowing it when all around seems dead, and then bloom one day - unexpectedly - into bright, bursting, colorful shouts of glory that life is back, that Winter was just a comma, not the period.

Sometimes I wonder about the juxtapositions of life, about how often true, deep appreciation for what we have requires the contrast with what we don't have.  It's that whole mantra about how sometimes you have to lose something in order to know how much it meant to you.  Summer makes you appreciate Fall, and Winter does the same for Spring, and around and around we go.  Why is that?  Why can't we see things for what they are while we have them?  I don't know.  I don't know that I'll ever know.  But I do know that this seems to be the case.  I do know that absence really does make the heart grow fonder, and that, for whatever reason, we humans seem to need the tension of loss and emptiness in order to enjoy the blessing of gain and fullness.  I don't always like that reality, but I've found it to be true.

My days, as of late, have felt more empty than full.  I know this sounds terribly depressing, and I suppose it sort of is.  But, it's where I'm at.  And I'm an honest gal.  So, there you have it.  It's not that I don't have really beautiful blessings in my life.  I do.  I really do.  I have dearer than dear friends.  I have a good job in which I get to help people.  I have health and intelligence and a supportive family.  I've got lazy Saturdays.  I've got my mother's full lips.  I've got hope.

But some significant parts of my life are changing, and other parts that I wish would change keep droning on, always staying the same, no matter how hard I cajole, no matter how much I try to manipulate them otherwise, no matter how many pennies I throw into the fountain.  And that makes the change that I see coming around the bend that much harder to hold.  Sometimes, it is this kind of change - the kind that happens subtley and slowly - that can be hardest to process.  Because it's hard to grieve something that is still in front of you.  Am I sounding all cryptic and mysterious?  I don't mean to be.  I just don't really wanna write about the details of the matter, because, really, it's more about the experience of recognizing that nothing is permanent that I'm trying to process.

And, these days, this lack of permanence has been feeling like a sad thing, because it's leaving me with the empty spaces of Winter.  And the world is too quiet.  And I long for Spring.  Which is why today's clear blue skies feel like such a sweet mercy.

But, yesterday, I had a new realization, a little blossom of spring in my soul, amidst the too-quiet.  Yesterday, I felt a new kind of hope growing in me about this lack of permanence, about the ever-changingness-of-life.  Life sort of forces you to keep your hands open, if you're honest.  It sort of forces you to hold all things loosely, even the things and people you love the most.  And, all of us, when honest, will admit that loss is a scary thing.  But, the other side of this coin is that change is always possible.  And, as scary as it can be to uproot, it's the only act that will eventually allow one to plant something new.  I know these are platitudes, the kind of platitudes that would probably make me want to smack someone in the face if they said them to me in the wrong moment.  I know that.  But I feel like - in learning how to live with empty spaces - I'm earning the right to say them, at least to say them to myself.  Because I'm living out their truth.  I can't explain why the realization hit me yesterday; nothing specific triggered it.  I think maybe I just walked out far enough into the pain of the unknown that I started to sense it.  Like a star peaking out through the darkness, I could feel in a new way the world of possibility that comes with open-handedness.  And I felt less afraid of it, because as temporary as joy is, so also is pain and loss a temporary thing.  And uprootedness holds a new kind of freedom. 

So, that is how I'm holding the longing.  I'm trying to take flight with it, to rest upon what I can't see, upon Who I can't see, and to hold my palms wide open and let good come and go and then come again.  There's a freedom in it, when one looks loss square enough in the face.  Because it doesn't kill you, no matter how much it hurts.  It doesn't kill you.  And you become less afraid of it and start to see the potential.  That was the hope that snuck into my heart and caught me by surprise yesterday.  Who knows what awaits....

What I do know is that today, I feel less like a tree and more like a bird.  I'm falling out into wide open space, trusting in what I cannot see, waiting for what I don't yet know.