My writing has been hibernating for some while, so much so that I was "forced" to go back to older writings and reminisce with such. The nostalgia was fantastic, but finally, I have some news. I would not tally this under the "Great news!" section, but rather the "Lesson learned" section; knowledge for the future, if you will.
It happened last week and it started with a guy. Ew. Gross, see I do not even like starting it out that way. I feel incredibly lame and incredibly desperate and my cool points have been deducted. Wait, I had cool points stored... right? Well, if I haven't lost you yet, it did start with a guy, his nice jawline and nice eyes. I feel like that is how it always starts, am I wrong? However, I cannot even say that this was an actually starting point with this guy, since we have known one another since we were 16 and attempted that whole "dating" thing before (should have gotten the hint the first time around). We decided to meet up for sushi, talk over the years that have passed and what has been going on, and two hours later we were saying goodbye.
Now, let me say this: This guy is not even in love with Jesus, so my first mistake was even saying yes to dinner. Secondly, I did not tell me friends about this, because I knew it would be uncomfortable. Why did I not even listen to that red flag?
A. Yes, stupid mistake.
B. My emotions were in full charge at the moment - not my mind.
Anyway, I invited him to church (thinking I could introduce him to Jesus [Jesus, Guy. Guy, Jesus]), but I also knew that that whole situation was like playing with matches. Been there, done that, did not work out. Why was I attempting to do this again? Refer to option A and B, please. I went home and attempted not to think about it whatsoever, but instead prayed for him and his heart. Which is totally O.K. to do... if my intentions were lined up correctly.
The night lined up as usual, changed into my P.J.'s, said my prayers, and fell asleep. Too bad that whole "falling asleep" action never kicked into full gear. Instead, I felt like I was stuck in stage 2 of my REM cycle, and even worse I felt like there was a battle raging inside of me. I had good versus evil rolling around in my mind like Sumo wrestlers. I kept thinking about why this is happening, but my Spirit knew exactly why.
I was not supposed to be involved with this guy at all.
Even if it were a measly dinner between two people, I knew that this was nothing but my foot stepping into quicksand. I ignored it though. I continued to talk to him and encouraged him to come to church and at least try it out. Finally, one night - after he literally cried to me about so much of his life,and I calmly explained that things don't have to be this way, but I was not going to hold his hand the whole way - he promised to come to church. I am not talking about just a promise, but a pinky-promise was involved. Fantastic... or so I thought. I thought since he opened up to me so much and made himself vulnerable, this was his chance to meet Jesus. Incorrect. He decided last minute not to come to church and I felt something strange happen inside of me. My heart made a squeeze. I know that was the moment that I realized that I actually had a drop of feeling for this guy. I quickly realized I was two feet into this quicksand and I had to ask God to help me out before this got to a sinking point. God had rescued me and all it took was for me to finally listen. I am so thankful it only took a couple of days for all of this to pan out, and not months.
I had an epiphany at church, too, when I was confessing everything to my best friend, Holly. I realized that my restless nights were due to God trying to wake me up before I fell asleep into this shake of my foundation. It was so beautiful to realize that God actually cares about me. So, so, so beautiful. I am now even more comfortable allowing God to just guide me along the way when it comes to relationships. I am done talking with the pretty guy with no Jesus love in his heart. He will find God on his own time, but again, I cannot be the one holding his hand through it. I will encourage him, but via text only.
It all kind of reminded me of Fitzgerald's "A New Leaf". I completely was the female lead role, unfortunately for her, she was too late in realizing her mistake.
Also, you should take a peek at my small groups website where we review what we discussed. Get involved!: http://satellitesphere.wordpress.com/
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
"Father of mine, tell me, where have you been?"
In my quest of searching and churning thoughts to write a new blog, I decided to take a gander into my old Facebook "Notes". To my unsurprising discovery, I found old politically-driven thoughts that seemed to spew flames, and an even older note that reflected on my past with a dad and his up and leaving, and the "dent" left behind. I posted this back in February 2009, with these words in parentheses ("I'm sure this will come down.")
Here is what I wrote.
For two years I was depressed. I was depressed because my dad had left my mom, me, and my little brothers. My dad had abandoned what we thought had been his life. But, in all reality, you can't really abandon life physically; therefore, claiming that we were his life and adding abandonment in to the equation doesn't add up. It doesn't divide evenly and it doesn't multiply without an "Error" sign on the calculator to life. At the age of thirteen, I had to accept that the only man I ever knew, the man I looked up to, no longer wanted to be there. But I had learned this already.
I was two when my biological father left my mother and me in what seemed like a alcoholic induced scurry. The details are blurry, but I don't question it. I like the fog to that history. Then entered Mark to the doorway of my little life and my mom's messy plan called life. They met through a friend and fell in love. Mark accepted me and even adopted me to his last name 'Jones'. I was, from there on out, Breanna Lane Jones. He became my dad. I'd brag about my dad to all of my friends about how he was the funniest person ever and he just loved me to death. I was literally daddy's little girl.
My mom worked day in and day out to keep the family going. She had my brother and my dad and me to support (the jobs were always odd with my dad). She made sure there was always food in our cabinets and my dad was always there for a good joke and family videos. With my mom's job taking us to different cities and states every two years, I learned not to get too close to anyone. I learned to just stick close to my family and try to remember that my time is limited. By the time we made our rounds to Collerville, Tennessee, we had a new addition to the family and it was all, what seemed, perfect.
We moved a couple of more times before hitting Virginia Beach, Virginia. I remember thinking the house was so ugly. It was big, brown, and looked a little dingy. I remember just wanting to go back to where I'd come from, which was Newport News (only a mere 30 minutes away) and get back to my friends and life there. But, of course, I couldn't... I had to move on.
It wasn't until when middle school started did I meet my best friend. Luckily, she lived right down the street from me and she was over everyday. We decided to start our mornings together and walk to the bus stop. I had finally found a best friend and her name was Angel. Almost everyday after school my dad would take Angel, my little brothers and me to the beach and we'd watch the sunset and play in the ocean. I swear, just looking back, I feel this utter peacefulness about it. I feel as if I took advantage of it all then... like I was too playful and I didn't stop to breathe and say "Life is good". Sometimes, I still want to go back and do just that. But, I can't.
Instead, I'm stuck with this memory. This memory of the summer before eighth grade. My parents marriage was dwindling and we were planning to move again (but only like ten minutes away, thank goodness). I can still hear everything so clearly. There is no ambiguity to this part of my life; this part of my life where I wish it could fog over. I had a highlighter in my hand, I stood in front of my mom and screamed at my dad how he won't hurt her anymore. He yelled at me and he stomped upstairs. He paced in front of the television set in my parents bedroom, and as I sat on the bed with my mom, the words I didn't want to hear leaked - "I can't do this anymore. I'm leaving. I'm done." I sat, silently, as my parents had this mutual understanding that they were tired of fighting this battle. They threw in their white towels and all I had was this highlighter to grip.
I ran into my bedroom where Angel was laying, crying too because she just heard everything. She sat there and held me and tried to tell me it was going to be okay. My mom followed in afterward and we all three just held one another. I wanted to know how we were going to make it. I had so many questions that I couldn't get out from behind the lump of my throat. So I just laid there until it all went black.
I woke up the morning of my first day of cheerleading, to find my dad loading up his red truck with black garbage bags and saying goodbye. I stood there and made sure never to forget this picture. I remember, while trying to learn cheers, I just started crying and felt completely helpless. But, no one was around, so I was cleared before anyone could dub me the emotional one of the group.
I was thirteen when my dad left. I was thirteen when I thought I'd fall apart. I was thirteen when I thought my whole world fell off of its axel. I was thirteen without a dad.
Of course, life continued and my dad would pick up my brothers for visitation and my parents wouldn't say a word. My mom had a new man in her life and my dad had a new woman. Yet, another mutual understanding that I couldn't comprehend. I'd sit in my room sometimes and just cry, wallowing in my thoughts that came a million miles per second. I felt like I had so many unanswered questions to why my life went in such a crazy, mixed up direction. Yes, I had a blessed life... but why couldn't I just have a dad to love me? Who cared for me? Why did he always have to leave? I think, I blamed myself. I tried to remember things I'd done and I would wish to take back. Maybe if I had done this, he would have stayed or if I hadn't done this, he'd still be here.
I'm still left with my dents. I still struggle with trusting guys. This never-ending fear that I will be left if I don't perform correctly in a relationship and my thoughts can sometimes get the best of me. But then, I have to realize that it's out of my hands to determine that. I come to this even greater understanding that no matter what man is in my life... I do have a Father. I do have this Father who provides, who will never hurt me and He will protect me. I have this Father that sits above everyone and everything, and tells my thoughts to quiet; reminding me of how much He loves me. He tells me I am his daughter and He will never leave.
It's just taken over five years to realize this, but I feel at peace. I feel the peace that I felt on those sunset lit, beach days and I'm no longer scared.
* *
Any thoughts?
Here is what I wrote.
For two years I was depressed. I was depressed because my dad had left my mom, me, and my little brothers. My dad had abandoned what we thought had been his life. But, in all reality, you can't really abandon life physically; therefore, claiming that we were his life and adding abandonment in to the equation doesn't add up. It doesn't divide evenly and it doesn't multiply without an "Error" sign on the calculator to life. At the age of thirteen, I had to accept that the only man I ever knew, the man I looked up to, no longer wanted to be there. But I had learned this already.
I was two when my biological father left my mother and me in what seemed like a alcoholic induced scurry. The details are blurry, but I don't question it. I like the fog to that history. Then entered Mark to the doorway of my little life and my mom's messy plan called life. They met through a friend and fell in love. Mark accepted me and even adopted me to his last name 'Jones'. I was, from there on out, Breanna Lane Jones. He became my dad. I'd brag about my dad to all of my friends about how he was the funniest person ever and he just loved me to death. I was literally daddy's little girl.
My mom worked day in and day out to keep the family going. She had my brother and my dad and me to support (the jobs were always odd with my dad). She made sure there was always food in our cabinets and my dad was always there for a good joke and family videos. With my mom's job taking us to different cities and states every two years, I learned not to get too close to anyone. I learned to just stick close to my family and try to remember that my time is limited. By the time we made our rounds to Collerville, Tennessee, we had a new addition to the family and it was all, what seemed, perfect.
We moved a couple of more times before hitting Virginia Beach, Virginia. I remember thinking the house was so ugly. It was big, brown, and looked a little dingy. I remember just wanting to go back to where I'd come from, which was Newport News (only a mere 30 minutes away) and get back to my friends and life there. But, of course, I couldn't... I had to move on.
It wasn't until when middle school started did I meet my best friend. Luckily, she lived right down the street from me and she was over everyday. We decided to start our mornings together and walk to the bus stop. I had finally found a best friend and her name was Angel. Almost everyday after school my dad would take Angel, my little brothers and me to the beach and we'd watch the sunset and play in the ocean. I swear, just looking back, I feel this utter peacefulness about it. I feel as if I took advantage of it all then... like I was too playful and I didn't stop to breathe and say "Life is good". Sometimes, I still want to go back and do just that. But, I can't.
Instead, I'm stuck with this memory. This memory of the summer before eighth grade. My parents marriage was dwindling and we were planning to move again (but only like ten minutes away, thank goodness). I can still hear everything so clearly. There is no ambiguity to this part of my life; this part of my life where I wish it could fog over. I had a highlighter in my hand, I stood in front of my mom and screamed at my dad how he won't hurt her anymore. He yelled at me and he stomped upstairs. He paced in front of the television set in my parents bedroom, and as I sat on the bed with my mom, the words I didn't want to hear leaked - "I can't do this anymore. I'm leaving. I'm done." I sat, silently, as my parents had this mutual understanding that they were tired of fighting this battle. They threw in their white towels and all I had was this highlighter to grip.
I ran into my bedroom where Angel was laying, crying too because she just heard everything. She sat there and held me and tried to tell me it was going to be okay. My mom followed in afterward and we all three just held one another. I wanted to know how we were going to make it. I had so many questions that I couldn't get out from behind the lump of my throat. So I just laid there until it all went black.
I woke up the morning of my first day of cheerleading, to find my dad loading up his red truck with black garbage bags and saying goodbye. I stood there and made sure never to forget this picture. I remember, while trying to learn cheers, I just started crying and felt completely helpless. But, no one was around, so I was cleared before anyone could dub me the emotional one of the group.
I was thirteen when my dad left. I was thirteen when I thought I'd fall apart. I was thirteen when I thought my whole world fell off of its axel. I was thirteen without a dad.
Of course, life continued and my dad would pick up my brothers for visitation and my parents wouldn't say a word. My mom had a new man in her life and my dad had a new woman. Yet, another mutual understanding that I couldn't comprehend. I'd sit in my room sometimes and just cry, wallowing in my thoughts that came a million miles per second. I felt like I had so many unanswered questions to why my life went in such a crazy, mixed up direction. Yes, I had a blessed life... but why couldn't I just have a dad to love me? Who cared for me? Why did he always have to leave? I think, I blamed myself. I tried to remember things I'd done and I would wish to take back. Maybe if I had done this, he would have stayed or if I hadn't done this, he'd still be here.
I'm still left with my dents. I still struggle with trusting guys. This never-ending fear that I will be left if I don't perform correctly in a relationship and my thoughts can sometimes get the best of me. But then, I have to realize that it's out of my hands to determine that. I come to this even greater understanding that no matter what man is in my life... I do have a Father. I do have this Father who provides, who will never hurt me and He will protect me. I have this Father that sits above everyone and everything, and tells my thoughts to quiet; reminding me of how much He loves me. He tells me I am his daughter and He will never leave.
It's just taken over five years to realize this, but I feel at peace. I feel the peace that I felt on those sunset lit, beach days and I'm no longer scared.
* *
Any thoughts?
Friday, May 7, 2010
My balance needs a balance
"When your relationship with God finds a balance, relationships around you find a balance."
I read this as I was attending church one night, when everyone was split up and told to go to specific subjects that we thought God was trying help us with. I ended up at "Chastity"... for a really long time. As I was honing in on this word "Chastity", trying to clarify and understand that it really had nothing to do with a metal belt of some sort around my waist, I finally had a small epiphany. It was right after I read the above-mentioned quote that a small marching band in my mind went off. Once my subconscious came to be conscious of the fact that chastity is not so much a focal point of one particular subject in your life (e.g. staying a virgin), but it is also about your relationships with God and between others and the balance intertwined.
Balance. It is this specific word that plays a huge role in my life. Whether it is balancing my relationship with God (as in, finding a healthy balance on the pendulum), balancing my social life with my amazing friends, balancing my family life ("You hate us because you're always gone." "No, I do not, mother."), balancing the check book (How did I accidentally spend that much?), balancing the non-existent relationship I have with a male (those dooming and looming thoughts of the necessity of a boyfriend, then balancing back to the fact that it is not a necessity) - I feel as if I am always teetering. See, even my balance needs a balance. Daunting. Honestly, I think I would feel more at ease if God just shot me with a tranquilizer full of balance.
That would be too easy, though. This whole easy button mentality is not even a healthy one, because, frankly, it does not exist when it comes to God. Remember that part in the Bible when Jesus asked us to pick up our cross and follow Him? Matthew 16:24. That is where the easy button mentality was essentially thrown out of the window. Again, we are not on this road alone - see my post below - but, reiterated, it is a road in which we are maturing in our relationship with God. In this maturing, if we are welcoming the balance of our relationship with God into our lives and genuinely, whole-heartedly seeking this balance - what kind of balance will we see in the relationships around us? Just think about that.
God deserves and should be awarded the first choice of balance, because in pursuing Him, He'll give us landing gear to a road of understanding how to balance a social life, family life, and a check book. It would be nice to end this with some clever metaphor of how God is our airplane, and He is the only one who can balance us out on this flight; guiding, directing, and restoring balance in every other relationship (including the relationship with your bank account) around us through-and-through.
Okay, that was corny clever, but it will suffice.
I read this as I was attending church one night, when everyone was split up and told to go to specific subjects that we thought God was trying help us with. I ended up at "Chastity"... for a really long time. As I was honing in on this word "Chastity", trying to clarify and understand that it really had nothing to do with a metal belt of some sort around my waist, I finally had a small epiphany. It was right after I read the above-mentioned quote that a small marching band in my mind went off. Once my subconscious came to be conscious of the fact that chastity is not so much a focal point of one particular subject in your life (e.g. staying a virgin), but it is also about your relationships with God and between others and the balance intertwined.
Balance. It is this specific word that plays a huge role in my life. Whether it is balancing my relationship with God (as in, finding a healthy balance on the pendulum), balancing my social life with my amazing friends, balancing my family life ("You hate us because you're always gone." "No, I do not, mother."), balancing the check book (How did I accidentally spend that much?), balancing the non-existent relationship I have with a male (those dooming and looming thoughts of the necessity of a boyfriend, then balancing back to the fact that it is not a necessity) - I feel as if I am always teetering. See, even my balance needs a balance. Daunting. Honestly, I think I would feel more at ease if God just shot me with a tranquilizer full of balance.
That would be too easy, though. This whole easy button mentality is not even a healthy one, because, frankly, it does not exist when it comes to God. Remember that part in the Bible when Jesus asked us to pick up our cross and follow Him? Matthew 16:24. That is where the easy button mentality was essentially thrown out of the window. Again, we are not on this road alone - see my post below - but, reiterated, it is a road in which we are maturing in our relationship with God. In this maturing, if we are welcoming the balance of our relationship with God into our lives and genuinely, whole-heartedly seeking this balance - what kind of balance will we see in the relationships around us? Just think about that.
God deserves and should be awarded the first choice of balance, because in pursuing Him, He'll give us landing gear to a road of understanding how to balance a social life, family life, and a check book. It would be nice to end this with some clever metaphor of how God is our airplane, and He is the only one who can balance us out on this flight; guiding, directing, and restoring balance in every other relationship (including the relationship with your bank account) around us through-and-through.
Okay, that was corny clever, but it will suffice.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Toilet Paper and God.
There are situations in which one may be placed in that can brew the feeling of uncomfortable. This can range from situations such as walking into a bathroom, performing your business (whichever number that may be) and realizing that there is no toilet paper to meet in front of you, on the side of you or anywhere in your tiny cubicle of a stall. This can also be the situation in regards to God and His hand-in-hand leading (Yes, I went from talking about toilet paper to God). See, the hand-in-hand idea seems so great when it comes to my walk with God. I can describe that as my, if I may, spiritual "high point". I have this eagerness and this pep in my step as God is guiding me.
Then He lets go.
And this is not a let go where He's out in left field and I am in right field and He's laughing as I am walking in circles. Instead this "letting go" is precisely what I need. It is another season in which I am learning to see that, as God was hand-in-hand with me, He was also slightly ahead; imprinting His footprints. As I am suddenly "on my own", I realize that, technically, I am not really on my own. God, and the all-knowing person that He is, set out to mature me in my walk so that when He let me go through some more growing, or letting go, I had these footprints to step into. I had a foundation already laid before me.
The irony of it all is that I do not realize this until I am in this total moment of instant... loss. Last week had been a, and I quote, "Punch in the spirit face.", John David. It had been this total shift of world where I was turned upside down, dropped and felt completely broken. Just the week before I had been on that hand-in-hand walk. Then I was uncomfortable. I did some crying out, when God had given me this reminder: being broken in Him is okay. He is the best puzzle master. He can put together my pieces better than I or anyone else could ever do. He brings the picture back together.
And He has.
In conclusion, toilet paper and God are nothing to be compared. Toilet paper makes its job by being the one thing to unravel, to be finished and to be discarded and flushed. God is in fact the one thing that does not unravel. He is nothing to be finished nor is He to be discarded and flushed. He is the opposite of this. He is the one that has and continues to make the trek before us, constantly and consistently putting His feet before ours to see the lamp He has given us shine out and see the footsteps. As I step into these footsteps, broken and all, I am made comfortable in the tight squeeze I receive. The brokenness begins to peel back with each step and God is waiting ahead, hand out, asking me to grab hold.
Then He lets go.
And this is not a let go where He's out in left field and I am in right field and He's laughing as I am walking in circles. Instead this "letting go" is precisely what I need. It is another season in which I am learning to see that, as God was hand-in-hand with me, He was also slightly ahead; imprinting His footprints. As I am suddenly "on my own", I realize that, technically, I am not really on my own. God, and the all-knowing person that He is, set out to mature me in my walk so that when He let me go through some more growing, or letting go, I had these footprints to step into. I had a foundation already laid before me.
The irony of it all is that I do not realize this until I am in this total moment of instant... loss. Last week had been a, and I quote, "Punch in the spirit face.", John David. It had been this total shift of world where I was turned upside down, dropped and felt completely broken. Just the week before I had been on that hand-in-hand walk. Then I was uncomfortable. I did some crying out, when God had given me this reminder: being broken in Him is okay. He is the best puzzle master. He can put together my pieces better than I or anyone else could ever do. He brings the picture back together. And He has.
In conclusion, toilet paper and God are nothing to be compared. Toilet paper makes its job by being the one thing to unravel, to be finished and to be discarded and flushed. God is in fact the one thing that does not unravel. He is nothing to be finished nor is He to be discarded and flushed. He is the opposite of this. He is the one that has and continues to make the trek before us, constantly and consistently putting His feet before ours to see the lamp He has given us shine out and see the footsteps. As I step into these footsteps, broken and all, I am made comfortable in the tight squeeze I receive. The brokenness begins to peel back with each step and God is waiting ahead, hand out, asking me to grab hold.
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