Offense Peace & Purpose
It was underneath the crystal chandelier, dancing barefoot in the grass, beside
children and scattered rose petals. It was around the table of faces I've
seen every Tuesday night for almost two years. The beautiful air of a union's celebration and
expectancy. Of a child to be born the following day. Of new life
being brought into our makeshift family. It was one of those moments that
settles into the soul and speaks with resounding clarity that all things are in
their proper place, that this is how life should be. It was belonging. It
was a Tuesday.
Then Wednesday
morning came.
Real life
happened.
Offense
It's a sort of falling dud to the hard cold
ground of the day-to-days. The search now being for the rhythms rather than
the song. When it becomes a battle between the “if only's” or the “now what's?" And in the
midst of the battle lines, the brief smile is put on with a "good and busy" response, when really a soul feels like it's being compromised for mundane wandering aimlessness to who-know's-what.
It's just a ferriswheel cycle human beings go on, and we don't have to admit it because we can hide behind emoticons and facebook thumb likes. We don’t have to admit it because we duck our heads into our houses avoiding interaction with neighbors for fear we might be seen a bit much more than we'd like.
Wednesday came.
I got annoyed at a lot of people and had a lot of confrontational
conversations in my mind. Odd enough was
that for me, the day was quite smooth and calm apart from a snotty tantrum in
the corner provided by a boy who was asked to say please before he could have
an apple slice.
It's just madness
that the wild child that dwells in my soul wants to still live a life of wonder is
being told to shut up, sit down, be quiet, be seen and not heard. To work
routines with my hands. I'm trying to learn how to talk and I'm being
silenced.
I'm offended.
I'm offended that
I have way more capacity than the world cares about having. That I have songs in my heart and no one to
create them with. I’m offended that my
days consist of things that will be forgotten about tomorrow. I’m offended that so many people are so afraid
of vulnerability and sharing their real lives.
That I have to conform to become a gentle and quiet approach when it’s
so contrary to everything I’ve learned about being human. In my home emotions were just there, we didn't dress them up in cute clothes and tell them to sit politely, they exploded in multitudes of directions, not usually very constructive...but that's how I learned life.
And now adulthood is telling me to contain that, and be a nice little domestic lady when all I want to do is kinda just be a freaking barefoot vagabond and forget about planting roots.
So I just get offended.
And now adulthood is telling me to contain that, and be a nice little domestic lady when all I want to do is kinda just be a freaking barefoot vagabond and forget about planting roots.
So I just get offended.
But why? Where is this coming from?
Somewhere along the way I’ve obtained a “right” to be
heard, known, and listened to. To be seen and appreciated. To be delighted in and found
beautiful. To be free to be myself and express myself. To be unique and set apart.
Peace
My mind drifts back to the Tuesday wedding and expectancy.
It was belonging, in the right place at the right time, for the right
occasion. A feeling that is hard to come
by on Wednesday afternoon since those special sort of moments exist only as brief and passing memories.
I want to avoid admitting that there is more to this whole thing
than spontaneous moments of living freely.
I want to avoid admitting that there is a need for me to get tied
down to a certain spot, a certain routine, specific limited time frames in the
day.
I want to avoid discipline.
I don't want to admit that it's easier to be free falling, running, moving, flirting, seeking… it’s easier to be on a quest than at a destination.
But here's the thing, from the wise thoughts of Corey (who tends to dissipate my greatest month's of mind struggles and questions with these sort of casual comments that just slip out) as I expressed my disappointment with feeling so boxed in and what the point of it all even is.
I started to have real conversations with God, full of honesty and realness. There were no packaged prayers tied up with wordy articulate bows and folded hands. I closed the door, stood up and yelled angry about the disappointments, cried on the floor about struggling friends, I asked 100s of times what my time on this earth is actually for, expressed my frustrations with myself that after all these years I still don't really know what it fully (in the heart) means to be a sinner in need of a cross and why the american christianity I've often been brought around is seemingly so freaking clean and organized in a way that makes me want nothing to do with it.
An alarm went off through the day several times to remind me to get behind that door and talk. Not package organized prayers, but just communicate with this gigantically silent God and ask Him how the heck this relationship works when I "feel like" I'm just aimlessly yelling at a silent wall that never audibly argues back with this woman who is so driven towards two sided dialogue.
Then there's the Bible. To actually begin to experience it as the other side of this dialogue and not some stuffy wordy textbook without pictures. Not some irrelevant thing or some feel good quote maker. In taking the time to listen to these lengthy responses to my yelling, I seem to continually get blindsided with unexpected answers that silence my rebellion and place peace in my emotional whirlpools.
And these little seeds planted in diligence, received thirst quenching waters, and started to sprout.
A very unexpected girl plopped into the center of my world and became a close friend instantly. Which later led into a phenomenal experience getting to know and continuing a relationship with a man experiencing homelessness in our neighborhood who has radically changed my heart in more ways than I can describe before-the-period-comes-at-the-end-of-this-sentence. (Future blog to come). That same day, a large group of people (mostly unknown to me) seeking creative community landed in my living room for three hours.
Then there's the very long aggravated questions of the point and purpose of this passion for music I've had for 13 years that still continues to just get absorbed into my bedroom walls never to be heard. Recently, two songs, came out of this frustrated place. I feel I've never written more truly and sung more contextually appropriate to my actual life than these. Which is kind of a big deal, since I have not been able to find authentic words to sing and repeat apart from my verbatim journey through the Psalms. On the day my soul broke into loud sobs frustrated over an incredible frustration with this music inside me and it's lack of momentum in any direction, a chain reaction of events and mind blowing circumstances of encouragement occurred.
The most important of which was a realization of the sense of liberation in admitting this all through tears. That this isolation serves to dismantle the pedestal dream for accolades and refine the truer calling through pressing fires. That there's more than being a song maker tickling people's ears. It's to bring out the real honest woman who sings as the redeemed and victorious through the dark looming valleys and triumphant highs that life pulls us thorough.
Then, almost by default, what I believe should have happened long long long ago, in a city full of music and opportunity, the first rays of light and direction fell upon my feet. And a community of musicians suddenly materialized and became available to push me into realms of musical discipline that I do not have the strength to go at alone.
The response to the cry of the first chorus of my first ever, true, song:
And He did, in many many more ways than one.
It's really more about revealing the growth as a person who has been pursuing the depths of what life can offer and the difficulty that confronts that quest with age and settledness. If you were to read the old blogs here, I'm sure you might find a woman who was, at times, quite arrogant in thinking she had found the only way to live.
There's merited difficulty of facing the reality of being a human that fits in with the working gears of a society. If all were wandering, we would not have such luxuries as septic systems, sailboats, art galleries, refrigerators, and pretty much every good thing we appreciate. These things come from multitudes of disciplined people who have walked through these maturing steps of adulthood and created beauty and function.
There's another layer to that though, of being able to confront those frustrations, not merely dismiss them and act like they're just odd emotions that should be numbed out. We can and should confront the ugly discontentedness instead of accumulating pretty words and pictures about how "good and busy" we might be.
I'm realizing the freedom in being vulnerable, and more than just the transparent-show-the-world-your-stuff type which comes pretty easily for my extroverted nature. I venture to say there's another kind of vulnerability that let's me expose that I actually have
no solution,
no answer,
no direction,
no purpose...
without first finding it in the life of Jesus. He lived the most radical and vibrant life, interacting with random misfits, bringing beauty and food to people around Him all the time, calming storms both in and outside of people, and His life song/word was greatly neglected but it didn't matter because His life wasn't consumed with achieving tangible outward manifestations of the goodness He carried, but for the kind of World and Hope to come.
It's not just a whimsical wandering arbitrary relationship with an impersonal universe whom we can know no tangible thing about. It's sweat and blood, sacrifice and story. It's a person we can only know in day-to-day discipline and regular interaction. It's not sporadic flirtations seeing where they'll lead--it's defined attributes that give our minds a place to begin the quest deeper and deeper into the most knowable force, experience, and very Presence of all that is and means to be human.
It's belonging.
Even on Wednesday.
I'm grateful and pained by the wanderlust adventure seeker in me, but my hope is that it will continually drive me into fearless actions and interactions within the context of the day-to-day disciplines of society and spirituality, and I hope that by sharing both sides on the platform of this simple blog, I may encourage you to journey all the more into the truth of what it means to be a unique human being in a world that often beats us up with threats of boring mundane repetition. And how, within that context, we may maintain momentum and drive for the unique purpose and plan that we are meant to live out.
Thanks for reading.
Blessings,
M
But here's the thing, from the wise thoughts of Corey (who tends to dissipate my greatest month's of mind struggles and questions with these sort of casual comments that just slip out) as I expressed my disappointment with feeling so boxed in and what the point of it all even is.
The discipline is there to carry you through when the spontaneous isn't always available.So, the quest began for a new sort of journey, aiming to structure my musical and spiritual life around a certain sort of framework. To not be afraid of losing authenticity in the repetition.
I started to have real conversations with God, full of honesty and realness. There were no packaged prayers tied up with wordy articulate bows and folded hands. I closed the door, stood up and yelled angry about the disappointments, cried on the floor about struggling friends, I asked 100s of times what my time on this earth is actually for, expressed my frustrations with myself that after all these years I still don't really know what it fully (in the heart) means to be a sinner in need of a cross and why the american christianity I've often been brought around is seemingly so freaking clean and organized in a way that makes me want nothing to do with it.
An alarm went off through the day several times to remind me to get behind that door and talk. Not package organized prayers, but just communicate with this gigantically silent God and ask Him how the heck this relationship works when I "feel like" I'm just aimlessly yelling at a silent wall that never audibly argues back with this woman who is so driven towards two sided dialogue.
Then there's the Bible. To actually begin to experience it as the other side of this dialogue and not some stuffy wordy textbook without pictures. Not some irrelevant thing or some feel good quote maker. In taking the time to listen to these lengthy responses to my yelling, I seem to continually get blindsided with unexpected answers that silence my rebellion and place peace in my emotional whirlpools.
And these little seeds planted in diligence, received thirst quenching waters, and started to sprout.
Purpose
Of course, there's no magical moment when everything comes sliding into its position ready to begin the flawless performance with the accompaniment sound track. I'm pretty sure that is only found eternally. But some pretty special things happened by no mistake of timing.A very unexpected girl plopped into the center of my world and became a close friend instantly. Which later led into a phenomenal experience getting to know and continuing a relationship with a man experiencing homelessness in our neighborhood who has radically changed my heart in more ways than I can describe before-the-period-comes-at-the-end-of-this-sentence. (Future blog to come). That same day, a large group of people (mostly unknown to me) seeking creative community landed in my living room for three hours.
Then there's the very long aggravated questions of the point and purpose of this passion for music I've had for 13 years that still continues to just get absorbed into my bedroom walls never to be heard. Recently, two songs, came out of this frustrated place. I feel I've never written more truly and sung more contextually appropriate to my actual life than these. Which is kind of a big deal, since I have not been able to find authentic words to sing and repeat apart from my verbatim journey through the Psalms. On the day my soul broke into loud sobs frustrated over an incredible frustration with this music inside me and it's lack of momentum in any direction, a chain reaction of events and mind blowing circumstances of encouragement occurred.
The most important of which was a realization of the sense of liberation in admitting this all through tears. That this isolation serves to dismantle the pedestal dream for accolades and refine the truer calling through pressing fires. That there's more than being a song maker tickling people's ears. It's to bring out the real honest woman who sings as the redeemed and victorious through the dark looming valleys and triumphant highs that life pulls us thorough.
Then, almost by default, what I believe should have happened long long long ago, in a city full of music and opportunity, the first rays of light and direction fell upon my feet. And a community of musicians suddenly materialized and became available to push me into realms of musical discipline that I do not have the strength to go at alone.
The response to the cry of the first chorus of my first ever, true, song:
God I need you to come and set me free, I'm stuck behind these prison bars of my own solitude melody.
And He did, in many many more ways than one.
Closing
There have been hundreds of small moments of joy in the day-to-day delights. The goal of this particular post is not to discredit any of those. Especially those that come through being able to be a giant person reliving childhood through the vicarious opportunities that come with a toddler.It's really more about revealing the growth as a person who has been pursuing the depths of what life can offer and the difficulty that confronts that quest with age and settledness. If you were to read the old blogs here, I'm sure you might find a woman who was, at times, quite arrogant in thinking she had found the only way to live.
There's merited difficulty of facing the reality of being a human that fits in with the working gears of a society. If all were wandering, we would not have such luxuries as septic systems, sailboats, art galleries, refrigerators, and pretty much every good thing we appreciate. These things come from multitudes of disciplined people who have walked through these maturing steps of adulthood and created beauty and function.
There's another layer to that though, of being able to confront those frustrations, not merely dismiss them and act like they're just odd emotions that should be numbed out. We can and should confront the ugly discontentedness instead of accumulating pretty words and pictures about how "good and busy" we might be.
I'm realizing the freedom in being vulnerable, and more than just the transparent-show-the-world-your-stuff type which comes pretty easily for my extroverted nature. I venture to say there's another kind of vulnerability that let's me expose that I actually have
no solution,
no answer,
no direction,
no purpose...
without first finding it in the life of Jesus. He lived the most radical and vibrant life, interacting with random misfits, bringing beauty and food to people around Him all the time, calming storms both in and outside of people, and His life song/word was greatly neglected but it didn't matter because His life wasn't consumed with achieving tangible outward manifestations of the goodness He carried, but for the kind of World and Hope to come.
It's not just a whimsical wandering arbitrary relationship with an impersonal universe whom we can know no tangible thing about. It's sweat and blood, sacrifice and story. It's a person we can only know in day-to-day discipline and regular interaction. It's not sporadic flirtations seeing where they'll lead--it's defined attributes that give our minds a place to begin the quest deeper and deeper into the most knowable force, experience, and very Presence of all that is and means to be human.
It's belonging.
Even on Wednesday.
I'm grateful and pained by the wanderlust adventure seeker in me, but my hope is that it will continually drive me into fearless actions and interactions within the context of the day-to-day disciplines of society and spirituality, and I hope that by sharing both sides on the platform of this simple blog, I may encourage you to journey all the more into the truth of what it means to be a unique human being in a world that often beats us up with threats of boring mundane repetition. And how, within that context, we may maintain momentum and drive for the unique purpose and plan that we are meant to live out.
Thanks for reading.
Blessings,
M
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