to begin again

me2I hesitate to start this post. I don’t want to make pre-broken promises. I am broken, so how can my words be anything but?

I’ve never lost my passion for writing. But I have, from time to time, lost my voice. It gets buried within — too deep to find; too deep to retrieve. Clear writing takes clear thinking; for me, it takes fervor, too. I cannot write about something I don’t care about. Or, rather, I don’t want to.

But life has taken some twisty turns lately. It’s been hard to find my way, so different has the labyrinth been from the straightaway I’d imagined.

Decisions have been harder, too — and more life-altering. I’m in my thirties now. I can no longer afford the luxury of screwing up.

And so I’m taking take baby steps. I’ve always been a thinker, and I’m bordering on being over-analytical now. Not to say I can’t make decisions, but . . . when I get to the end of my maze, I want to know I navigated its zigzags the best that I could.

And I want you to know, too — those who have joined me, those who have cared; those who have stayed with me long enough to watch me try (again and again and . . .) to

begin again.

 

p.s. Thank you, those of you, who have reached out to me in my silence. You encouragement means more than you know.

on good friday

good-friday-love-hurtsGood Friday. Bad Friday. Black Friday. Easter Friday.

Whatever you call it, today is Friday, and the Friday before Easter, no less. I must be a bad person because it was only two days ago that I realized this was Easter weekend. Easter is supposed to be in April, right?

But no; no, it’s not. And I am a bad person, or surely you must think so — you who knows all, sees all, thinks all, is all.

(You were my all . . .)

But I . . . I got off track.

Today is Easter Sunday. But what does that mean? For Christians around the world, it’s the day their Savior died, two days before His resurrection. It’s a day of hope, a day of love, a day of sorrow, a day of repentence. What did we do to deserve this?

(Nothing. We did nothing.)

But what of the others, for whom Easter is brunch and bunnies and eggs and chocolates? What of the population for whom it’s Cadberries and marshmallows and pastel dies and little kid messes?  What of those for whom it’s nothing more and nothing less than any other holiday?

And what of the people that don’t celebrate Easter? What of those who’ve never heard of it?

I have to admit, I’m a little distant these days. A little remote. A little confused. The worldview I held as a child doesn’t compute anymore. Where is God, how is He, and Who? I grew up Protestant Christian and truly still believe. But the God I see now is bigger than I imagined — His message not limited by culture or geography. “Come unto me all you who are weary and heavy-ladened. I will give you rest.” “I have plans to prosper you, not to harm you.” “Love God and love others as yourself.”

Be kind, rewind.

It’s all the same, isn’t it? The principles of kindness and courtesy run the gamut across cultures. They are received and returned the same way. And God is bigger than a book, or a church, or a person. God is LOVE, and is there anything larger than that?

 

hello world

leafIt’s been a while. No, not since I’ve lived in you. I am immersed in you every day. Whether I like it or not, I am engaged with you — with your pressures, with your stresses, with your “Waits!” And though I may try to fly under the radar (how much easier it is to move unseen), still, you always find me. You find me with your wisdom; you find me with your hate. You seek out ways to destroy me; you are bent on my destruction.

But though you drag me down, “Surprise!” You will not win. I may be weak, but in my weakness, I am strong: I will stand my ground.

And if I must, I’ll go my way alone — but not quite. With head held high, I will seek strength in Him. I will view each sunrise with hope; take each blow as a challenge — to be tougher, to be wiser, to be . . . more.

Because how easy it is, flying under the radar, to forget who we are, who we were, who we always wanted to be. “Suffer little children,” He said. “Forbid them not to come unto me.” Because children are rock stars, can’t you see? If you want to know how to change the world, look into the eyes of a child. They are our hope. They are who we were supposed to be.

And so maybe I won’t always stay under the radar. Maybe I’ll fly out into the Son. Because this going-life-alone thing ain’t working, and I am tired of being afraid.

p.s. As an exciting side note, after posting my story about my dad’s cycling accident, a sweet lady named Ashlee contacted me and wondered if I’d like to share my story on her website. The story was published two days ago. You can link to it here.

never again

dadTwo weeks ago yesterday, my dad broke his neck. Two and a half weeks ago, he got married.

They were on their honeymoon. They were going for a bike ride. An oncoming car was turning left directly in front of them; he didn’t see it until there was nothing to do but slam on the brakes – and go over the handlebars.

He landed on his head, breaking C6 and C7. His hands and feet went numb. He was scared.

We were too. We were supposed to go to dinner with them. I felt guilty because, while I love his new wife, their wedding hadn’t been easy for me. Their marriage was the final nail in the coffin of my once-family. I knew I shouldn’t feel that way. Things were better now than they’d ever been before. My dad was happier; my mom was, too. But still. It was my family. (Also, as a side note: In my childhood culture, divorce was/is akin to drinking alcohol or eating meat or having sex before marriage. It was a no-no. And we’ve already discussed the fact I’m a goodie-goodie.)

And so I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to dinner. It was out of the way and a drive in traffic. I was tired. I was supposed to go to spin class after work – I love spin class. And we’d just seen them at their wedding.

And so I hesitated. And then I got the call. Elyse, sobbing: “Your dad had a biking accident. He says it’s his neck. They’re rushing him to the hospital.” She was hysterical.

walk

Father and son

And suddenly, I was too. My mind was a blur: So little information, such a turn of events. Such guilt. Here I hadn’t wanted to go to dinner, and now the man who was my hero and role model and life rock was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital.

The things we take for granted.

And so instead of eating dinner or going to spin class or doing a thousand other things we usually do, we spent the night in the emergency room. At almost 1 a.m., my dad was life-flighted to a U.C. Davis Medical Center where they tortured him (okay, tried to fix his neck with traction) before taking him to surgery and fusing three segments of his neck. The neurosurgeon said it was a miracle he wasn’t paralyzed. The next day my dad said it was, too. He said he had “so much to be thankful for.”

And he did. And he does. And we are. And I am. And suddenly I know what’s most important. If anything worse had happened to him . . . I don’t know where I’d be . . . where we’d be . . . what we’d do.

And all I know is that, while his recovery has not been and will not be easy, we are so lucky to have him, and I’ll never again put exercise selfish struggles before family and the people I love. (That includes you, Elyse!) You mean the world to me, Dad. Thank you for being my rock. I want to always be yours, too. I love you.

life in cubicles

deskSometimes life doesn’t give you what you expect. And sometimes that’s okay.

I haven’t written in a while. Not because I haven’t wanted to. Not because I don’t have things to say. It’s just…

There hasn’t been time.

I have thoughts about guilt, family, priorities, life, plans, the unexpected, the past, the future, poetry… (I need to write another poem.)

And perhaps tomorrow I’ll find the time. Perhaps tomorrow, I’ll be able to breathe. As for today… I don’t want to blow surprises by giving rushed summaries because my mind is hurried. And so, please…

How many posts will I write like this, at the end of the work day, in the silence of the office? Just me and the clicking of keys on a keyboard in the cubicle beside me? There’s a man over there who works in a different part of the Agency – I don’t know his name or what he looks like or what he does. But I always know he’s over there because of his clicking… It’s sad when life is to be spent working in cubicles. But then again, life and work in cubicles is important, too…

And I try so hard to be diligent at work, but if I always wait until 5pm…? My posts end up looking like this.

waiting

waitingWhat worries me is the way it sucks it out of me. Life.

There’s nothing new under the sun, a wise person once said. And he is right. And he is wrong. There are new things, because there are new people. Yes, we’re all the same and go through similar things, but only you can experience your life, and even you can only experience it once.

And things never go as planned, and questions never go away. Everywhere we look we have scientists and preachers and stories and teachers explaining: This is how things are. This is where you’ll be. This is how to live. This is what you’ll see.

But in the end there’s a lot we don’t know and can’t control. There’s a lot we can’t see.

Sometimes there are no right answers, no easy fixes, no straight and narrow.

And in these moments, and in the end, it’s just us and the silence, waiting.