11/20/17

//

Day 17

//

God, 
I tried climbing up the stairs by myself today. The dog had to go the bathroom and kept doing that whiny thing he does and basically sat there waiting for me. Yeah, good. Play We’ve Got This Hope by Ellie again. And now, Songs of Deliverance. 

It takes me back to singing in Trisha’s car at the gas station. Or maybe it was to it. But before I go off topic, I was half way up there before I became afraid. And you know, I kept trying to think how proud Nolan would be. But then I started sweating. This is too high. I’m almost there. God, help me. 

Why is this my life? I’m not going to make it in time. Call Nolan. No answer. Until I went back down to put on slippers. He tells me later he’s not going to deal with my fear of the stairs anymore. Or something. And I already felt the disappointment because I only made it half way the first time when it was just you and me. 

Lord, even now I want to cry. Because while he played Elvis and sang along, I talked to You in my head. About my weakness or maybe the verse. Where Your power is made perfect in weakness. And I wondered why even though he wanted to help, it didn’t feel encouraging. Humiliating. That I’m afraid of falling. That I want Your presence encircling around me, Your smile asking me, come? It’s okay. I’m here. Your face. 

Because it’s easy for those who can walk to bound up and down the stairs (unless the person is afraid of heights) while I take my time. And yes, I’m a little cynical maybe that I feel like no one understands. And I know that’s not entirely true and everyone has fears. But sometimes I think you think I’m a baby because I’m afraid. And once I get upstairs, I find myself sobbing to Kallayah for reasons I’m unsure of. But I think it’s all this stuff you’re bringing to surface. Wanting intimacy with friends. Hating how I think of marriage. HATING. How the stairs are a small thing to be afraid of. And then I tell Trisha I’m randomly sobbing. And there’s so much I want to say but I don’t how to say it. 

Because you bringing all this to the surface is a lot. My heart aches. And I just want a breath. Breathe. It’s like declare all over again. Not that I don’t fit but that I keep crying. Over and over. I don’t want it fixed. But to sit with someone in it. And telling Kallayah I wish she could last night. Physically. But ughh I’m so thankful that this is coming to the surface even though it hurts so much. That she listens and prays and shares her heart with me. And her sensitivity. I can’t wait to give her a hug. And laugh in person. The wait will be worth it. You’ve gone above and beyond the last two years with seeing Trisha. So I need to trust the timing with this and grow in the meantime. I love you for giving me these friends I never expected. Thank you. 
No idea where I was going with this letter. 
love,

you tender haired girl

previous letter for Letters From A Tender Haired Girl found here. 

Advertisements

to the tiny lies

Peace, peace, it’s hard to find
Doubt comes like a tiny voice that’s so unkind
And all your fears
They conspire to unwind you–Peace Peace, Sara Groves

Dear Sara,

If you ever stumble upon my blog, I will gladly hand over my drawings. And hug you. And drink coffee. And talk about Jesus until the sky goes moon-lit. Thank you for inspiring me. And sharing your gift with the whole  world.

Love,

a girl who scribbles

to sweet dream again

rain falls down
windowsills & i
eat the second,

last piece of peppermint
bark. two squares a night
ensure i do not eat half a

pound of this mountain
air chocolate. every
time i exhale, i’m

edge-standing
inside a snow
pile. oh, sun

peeks out
behind cloud,
coy. warmth

i’ve forgot
since December
brought chill

i can’t quite
shake. rays
beckon tears

no stay, burns
come quietly
if under long.

but i am cold,
God, covered
by these blank-

ets, clothes.
inside my head,
a cynic laughs.

whispers end &
someone sings:
all we can do is

keep breathing.
in: i’m afraid
death is close.

inside every
shadow, under
my bed. out:

thank you a night
light holds my attention,
captivation you oath

night, morning, day
long—imagine
permanent smile.

There Will Be Another Friend.

This statement scares me. It did Tuesday night when Gwen (who is moving to France by the end of summer, hopefully.) told me during our last talk before she was to leave the next morning.

I don’t know what my face looked like, but I know I blinked hard at her. I know I became frustrated after she told me not to despair. Silence.

I know a few minutes after we got ready for bed that night, my mom looked at me and said, “are you sad she’s leaving?” tears welling, followed by loud cries.

Before I knew it, I was sobbing in Gwen’s lap, mumbling about her needing sleep, she needed to go, her simple “shh” and a prayer for me to understand she’s not the center of joy, but a bearer of Jesus.

If you haven’t already noticed, I get attached to people. With everyone I’ve met in life, I have in some way or another.

I’m afraid of losing people. Those people I’ve lost early on in life by redirection or other reasons makes me believe I will lose everyone I meet. Which is true because we all will pass away.

God has shown me something true: someone who makes an epically long journey (we’re talking 9-10 hrs both ways for only 2 days) loves you. Who drives you to 3 DIFFERENT stores to get cane tips, making you laugh the entire time. To the point where she has to get the car because you can’t get ahold of yourself, loves you. Who miss the turn to your house because she was listening so hard to your silence, because she knows something is bothering you and wants to know, loves you. Who sits in a field with a rainstorm soaking you (as this picture shows), because you walked with Jesus in a dream, loves you.

20140530-113911-41951174.jpg

Who show you Jesus from the moment your friendship began, loves you.

He’s shown me this too: the friends He gives to share life with you, don’t leave you. Even if they move to another country. Even if you have to use Wechat, Whatsapp, email, the phone, and real short visits that end in tears. (If you’re a tender hearted person like me, you get it.)

It’s worth it. The best friendships grow through understanding, distance, and prayer.

There’s a certain love you experience through God when He places people who show you His overwhelming love for you. It’ll make you cry for a few days as a thank you.

Thank God for the Gwen (or whatever his/her name is) in your life. And if you wouldn’t mind joining her prayer for God to bring another friend and He would show me that I’m not losing the one I have, but gaining, I’d appreciate it.