Scary Close

i think this perfectly embodies why i want to write, why i love to read, how i want to live and why donald miller is my favorite.

the wholeness of life//ballast & rudder

disclaimer: i had difficulty titling this post.  the truth is, this is one i've been chipping away at for weeks.  it has remained amongst a plethora of drafts because it hadn't found its true meaning until today.  it started just as the wholeness of life when one thought had set itself afire all the way to my heart.  then it turned into ballast and rudder because of a beautiful analogy our pastor presented at church last week.  and lastly, today i add prayer and love, simple words that they are, but necessary to add for the full meaning of this post to be realized.

i thought about this year's resolutions very carefully.

i pondered and prayed about what 2015 should look like for me.  how might i grow?  how might i impact the world around me?  what can i learn?

and so, gumption came to me. rather than the other way around.  there it was.  perfectly packaged and presented.

this is it, i thought to myself.

my perfect guidance for the new year.  i was getting affirmations everywhere, so i plugged away at how i might live gumptiously.

last year, wholeheartedly was it.  and i found it was a hurtful word to carry on with.  it was a good kind of pain; a necessary hurt, for it made me realize and feel things i had long suppressed.

but so far, i am a bit at a loss as to how gumption has guided and will guide 2015.  i have found myself grasping for it blindly...trying to figure its way in to the moments that seem to call for it.  however, when the moments arise that seem to demand i find i have no words or the words seem to come out all wrong.  i find i am shrinking back instead of standing up.  i've even resorted to hiding at my worst.

and truly, i think now, almost two months in, i realize why this is.
my life lacks its most foundational guidance.

prayer.

a life that lacks prayer is a life that is rudderless.

my life without consistent, conscious prayer is a life that lacks direction, or in fact is going in every wayward direction.

but my life with prayer is like a ballast to a boat.

it is what gives balance, stability and weight to my life.  i am not usually one for boat analogies but this seemed to make the most sense to me recently.

a boat cannot do its job without a rudder and a ballast.  these two things are the essence of the boat's security and strength as well as direction and control.

they are akin to prayer and love in my own life.

without prayer i am lost.
i used to somehow manage to get by.  (all still by God's grace)
but consciously no longer can i.

as lent has begun (though as a church community we begin tomorrow) everyone is speaking of what they're giving up.  and it is good.  i'm all for it.  but i've spent many lents giving things up only to recall that which i gave up...not what the giving up brought me.

this year, i am focusing on what i am giving into.  and that is prayer.  there are many things i am too afraid to pray for.  there are many things i've stopped praying for because it has seemed that God has been rather silent on the matters.  there are things i do not ask for and there are people i have yet to pray for.

this convicts and plagues my heart.  a follower of jesus, as i call myself, is called to prayer...to pray...in each moment.

i am humbled by figures like brother lawrence, henri nouwen, andrew murray, and models in my own life who devote themselves to not only prayer but something much deeper; living a praying life.

so my thick focus for lent, for this leap of faith season, is this: to seek Him first. to seek Him in and through prayer.  on my knees.  daily.  praying for specific things, praying for hard things, praying for that which i've been too afraid to pray of before now.

out from prayer grows love
prayer is the wholeness of life
ballast and rudder

love//the words

you sat next to me.  it was something small to you, but it was something ever so large to me.  you sat next to me.  i sighed with relief.  i kept finding ways, small ways, to look at you.  to see your face, to watch your focus, to feel your warmth.  i crossed my legs and tilted my gaze so that you were in my peripheral.  i opened my journal and i wrote.  you opened your book and you read.  and i thought to myself, everyday could be like this.

it was a lofty thought.  to consider this, me and you, what we could be...forever.  forever.

and sometimes it felt like more than forever.  it was those moments, scattered as they were, that you were aware of me.  that you felt with me.  that you listened to me. that you called me.  that you waited for me.  that you sat with me.

it was profound.  it changed me. for the better, than for the worst, but ultimately for the better.

i remember you said, "you get too pensive."
i do, i thought, i do.
you didn't like that i had to stop to ponder so much.  you didn't like that we could never finish an argument without me taking a pause.  you didn't like when i said today needs to be me alone.  you didn't like it.

you were okay when it was you, not choosing to be alone, but rather to be with someone else.  that was okay.  that made sense.  but my need to be alone, that always confused you.

in the end: i gave myself away.
i changed for you.  i thought i could become exactly what you wanted, exactly what you needed, but it wasn't enough.  it wasn't okay.  not for you and not for me.

did you change for me?  did i cause you to do the things you did, to make the choices you did, the ones that hurt me, the ones you knew would hurt me?  did you understand the power you held over me?

it doesn't matter now, but i wonder if you did.  often i wondered.  it plagued me like a recurring illness.

but eventually, time stepped in, enough of it, for the redundancy of a thought to finally dwindle to non-existent

i remember texting you when i was on a bus in queens.  it was the first time i felt together in awhile.
do you remember what i wrote?

of course not.  it's probably a long deleted, or old archived conversation, far too brief to hold any importance for you.

all you said was, thanks.

i remember.  as soon as i read it, i deleted it. it said enough to help me to finally let go.

i'm so happy for you. 

those were the words that should have come months before, but couldn't find their way to you, not authentically anyhow.

our story is long over, but its effects remain deep.  we've both moved on in different ways.  and it's good.  really good.  if i held the pen to the story i always think, haughtily so, that i could have done a better job.

but i am wrong.  i never could.

i long ago gave up the idea of holding the pen.

today i was reminded that the surrendering of control is a good thing.

i realized it when you said hello..
it was perfect.
i recognized it when you pressed into my life, when you showed you cared.
i'd never come up with those words.
i couldn't have written that any better.  really, i couldn't have.

it is, for whatever it is or may be, the beginning of everything.