The End ?

I had been so excited to write this last post, and for weeks before the 11th rolled around I knew exactly what I wanted to say. Upon it actually rolling around, I had no idea what to say and I made my last post and let it lie: I can't leave it that way forever.

It does not feel like it has been a year. Sitting here now it feels like a month ago that I started this and over the months I've grown so attached and so in love with this project that I hate to let it go. It feels wrong to stop.

The deepest things that I wondered if I would ever reveal on here, I did not. I was not as honest as I wondered if I would be, but still more honest than I expected, and this served me well. I hoped that in being honest about myself, other people would be encouraged to be honest with themselves, and if they found some connection with what I said, would find the strength to be honest to others in return. My hope was most definitely realized.

I wondered how people would react: I feared that I would be shot down and rejected. That never happened. I found companionship in my struggles, and that was unexpected. I found that people connected with what I said: enough to follow this project to the end.

The thing that stands out to me the most in the end is the enormous loyalty that people showed. I did not expect anyone to follow this project for a full year. I did not expect new friends to go back and read everything and continue following along. I did not expect people to notice that I had not posted and encourage me to do so. I did not expect people to miss this project when I let it go for weeks on end. I did not expect people to value it enough to be sad for it to end or want to celebrate it as an accomplishment. In the end, it is not the response to my honesty that stands out the most: I think I knew what the good result of that would be. But the interest of others, of acquaintances and friends, to continually value this project because it comes from me and because they value me was shocking. And humbling. I am not a good friend: not the way others are to me. It was the loyalty and the true friendship that was shown to me that I was not expecting: those are things that I never expect to be shown.

Thank you to everyone who showed me loyalty and friendship. I am completely floored that you would find me worthy of such things, and the value you've made me feel calls me to a higher standard. You have shown me a level of friendship that was not apart of me, and I am very glad that my year of honesty revealed that to me.

I am more than honored by a friend, Brendon Perkins, who has found such value in A Study In Honesty to not want the project to die. He has started A Study In Peace to continue the journey and I encourage everyone to follow along with it. Thank you Brendon, the value you've made me feel takes my breath away.

I'll be going back and finishing this for awhile: there are posts that were never written and holes that do need to be filled. But a love for writing developed through this and I don't think I can stop here. A new kind of project will be evolving soon: 400 Years of Silence will pick up where this has left off and it will be of a much different focus.

A year of honesty complete.

The End ?

The Spruce Goose

She was twenty years old when she fell in love with a plane.



She slid out of the back of her friends’ car, pulling her dress down as she scrunched out from behind the passenger seat. It was only 7pm but already it was a dark night with crisp cold air. She had never been to the Evergreen Aviation Museum before, and they were all there for a forties themed swing dance. The large stone statue of a pilot before the entryway was surrounded by young, fancy, giddy women posing and taking pictures. The pilot looked serious and out of place amongst the giggling frenzy and she found much humor at his discomfort in the moment. As the others hurried to the door she fell behind and looked up at his face: she found it both ironic and fitting that he should be here to greet her. He reminded her of a young man she used to know and he held an air of grandeur dressed in uniform with a helmet under his arm. She greeted him more appropriately with distance and silence, because she knew him well, and his passion for his trade beckoned her to follow the others inside.

They all walked into the hanger together, and with all of them young and pretty, she felt just like a youthful women from the forties: sophisticated, bright, and beautiful. They walked past the flags into the presence of history and she felt the weight of the character she embodied drifting heavily down upon her. Planes encompassing years of war, cultures, and countries surrounded her and she walked with black heels clicking smartly and pencil skirt keeping her straight. And that’s when she looked up.

The large wing of the Spruce Goose hung above her and everything began to take on an incredulous clarity. Her heels clicking slowly on the white hanger floor as she followed the wing deeper into the hanger. Her laughter that came out unsteady with disbelief. She had never seen anything so huge. She had never felt so small. She had never been so in awe. And standing beneath one of the wonders of the world and only being able to take in pieces of it in sweeping glances, she suddenly felt quite beautiful: like a young bright woman of the forties with hair swooped up in sophistication, with straight modest dress communicating class, and with bright lips both innocent and smart ready to live the right way.

She walked beneath the enormous wing of the Spruce Goose, and stood dwarfed by its hull, and she fell in love. It was giving off rays from its time and she was soaking them in. They made her into Rosie the Riveter, out for a night of fun with a live band and swing music, ready to dance with a boogie woogie bugle boy. So she did: she danced under its enormous tail, and laughed, and looked at all the company of planes and cars and was very much enamored by this new large love. This wonder of the modern world. This impossible feat. This embodiment of a miracle.



She was nineteen years old when she decided she would never love a pilot again, and she was twenty years old when she fell in love with a plane instead.

12/11/11

Ode to the blank spaces.

There are copious amounts of blank entries in this thing, and I have felt the need to fill them all. To fill them all with myself, my experiences, things I never said but should have, things I want to say but have no more room for. I have felt as though I was failing this project, and I tried to go back and fill them with Sticky Notes, only to discover that I had sticky noted important days in which I had other things to say. But I have decided to let the blank spaces speak for themselves. They are days that I was too exhausted, to busy, to happy, to sad, to busy living life to get on the internet and write. I am okay with the blank spaces, because they speak louder than my words.

12/10/11

Control...and being Out Of it.

You know you're a woman when a sentimental cat video can make you cry
and when you go to sleep at 5am and are insatiably happy all the next day while you slog around.
I have had to learn that my emotions are not me.
More so than the average women
they can help or they can hinder,
but no matter how out of control and extreme they are,
which they are,
I am just fine.

12/9/11

I don't want to.

It takes a long time to change when you don't want to.

When an animal is wary of something it will slink forward to check it out, but it will only get so close. Its past experiences have taught it to fear. There comes a moment when it freezes and you know it will either run away or cautiously proceed forward. I am frozen. I am realizing that what I have been wary of has become safe, at least safer, and I am not sure I want it to be. It's here frozen that I realize what a precarious tightrope I've been teetering on, and how much more precarious it would be to cautiously proceed forward.

It's taken me a long time to change, because I don't want to.

I'm looking forward to catching up on Chuck.

12/8/11

Simon & Garfunkel

When I was sixteen I woke up early in Rhode Island and danced to Simon & Garfunkel in the early morning light before anyone else was awake. I listened to them a lot that summer. Their sound and words still make me just as happy.

12/7/11

Buffy The Vampire Slayer

There are scenes and songs from this show that have not only made me who I am, but apply so strongly to my life that remnants of them still echo in my mind when I think back on things that have happened to me. Songs about not wanting to go, scenes about not wanting to forget: those remnants have found a solid form to me again and it was like a tidal wave knocking me onto my back and spinning me around. Buffy will always mean the world to me. She's who I try to be when I need to be protective or ready for a fight, whose leadership I try to emulate when my moral grit starts to wear down, whose selfless devotion to friendship has taught me how to approach others, and whose experiences and reactions encourage me to heal. I grew up with those characters and learned a lot about who I want to be from them: and I still am.

12/6/11

The 45 Most Powerful Images 0f 2011

A friend posted this on facebook today and I wanted to share it. There is so much in the world that I didn't know about and I was floored. Number's 12 and 31 stand out to me the most. Number 12 inspires me to be more than I am and for some reason number 31 hit me hard and I had the most severe reaction to that photograph. So here you go:

http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-most-powerful-photos-of-2011

12/5/11

The Screenwriter's Will

I did quite a few things today that were abnormal as of late.

I did one of those things in the Bible that we all know we're supposed to do but it's hard therefore we don't. And I don't want to forget how it happened: there was a moment of struggle in which I knew what I should do, but the second the moment arose I could do nothing else but what Jesus would have done. I always wonder what I would feel if I followed through with something like this...and there is that sting that I thought there would be but at the same time there is something else that is growing. Something light and bounding and joyful. Something which confirms a blessing upon me and my actions and it is encouragement to not let this be the last time.

I also spent a couple hours in deep discussion with two friends. It spanned the topics of mindless entertainment, fleeing temptation, standing firm in temptation, the nature of developing character, the hierarchy of art forms and entertainment, waiting in faith, acting in faith, the nature of truth and knowledge, clinging to the vine to produce good fruit, knowing when to cut off your hand to keep yourself from sinning, the nature of time, the nature of education, the validity of tradition, a reverence for ceremony, and more. I listened, was listened to, made others think, was convicted, found value in two unusually wise individuals and felt like an unusually wise individual myself. I got the feeling that something had taken me by the hand and was leading me toward the pursuit of more depth and wisdom, but most importantly His truth. It made me aware that there is something else that is growing. Something light and bounding and joyful. Something which confirms a blessing upon me and my actions and it is encouragement to not let this be the last time.

"I wish my life was like this."
"Why isn't it?"
"Because this is scripted,
and I can't write this good 'a script."
"Maybe you need a new screenwriter."

I need to make way for a new screenwriter.

12/3/11

AT LEAST

After spending half a day with a group of guys, I am ready to shoot in the face with my nerf gun anyone who tries to one up someone else. Because I can shoot farther, have better aim, throw farther, throw faster, throw with better accuracy, be sneakier, dive stealthier, fix things more accurately, stand taller, workout harder, play video games better than all you other people in the room. I have bigger muscles, more height, cooler clothing, more women that love me, and a better car. And AT LEAST your life isn't as horrible, terrible, no good, unjust and unfair as mine is. You may have gotten shot, stabbed, shancked, your car may have broken down, your entire family could have died but AT LEAST you are not in my dire situation: let me tell you all about it. What on earth is with certain mens need to one up everyone else, especially other men, in every way shape and form during every second of every day? What is with this primal dominance battle? No one cares if you think you're wiser, smarter, stronger, cooler, faster, stealthier, or overcoming hard times than everyone else. AND STOP MAKING JOKES ABOUT SEX. You've beat them to death and they're not funny anymore. Your filthy mind is not impressing anyone.

In my almighty opinion people should be proud of who they are and proud of who other people are just the way they are. People should let people be who they are and build each other up. They should take others seriously and listen to what they have to say when they need to be listened to. The focus should be off of ourselves and building up what makes us "better" and focused on humility for ourselves and uplifting others. Why can we not be honest about who we are and okay with who we are within that? Why can we not be gracious and humble about what we're talented in?

I've never felt so inadequate, insulted, and so in need of proving and defending myself to a group of people.

My worth in inherent.

12/2/11

Competence

Let us be informed and wise. Let us speak with competence. To do that we need to listen first.


Listen.

11/30/11

What's in a name?

I got on familysearch.org and looked up my great great grandmother's name, Antonina Soares, just to see what would happen. I then proceeded to spend the next two hours at least, looking up my family tree and tracing them back to when they came over from the Azore Islands. I was baffled to find that legitimate records of them were online and was strangely surprised at how fulfilled it made me feel just to find their names. I don't feel strong loyalty to my family like other people do. To many people, family is one of the most important things and they would do anything for them: often times this concept is lost on me. But I felt a deeper connection with the names of the generations that came before me and paved the way for me than many relatives that I've met face to face. I can't understand this.

What is in a name? My great great grandmother's name was Antonina. My name is embedded in the center of hers, and though I'm not named after her, it is derived from a form of her name. And in turn and I am derived from a literal form of her: my body and name all find their roots in her. Who was she? No one remembers what she was like. Was she caring and quick to smile or mean and closed off? Did she have an iron will and a sense of adventure or a bitter soul? She was married and had children in the Azore Islands before she ever moved to America. What must that have been like? She has a very light name: a very soft name. I imagine she was like that in her core, but from the plot line of her life I have to infer that she was a fortress of a woman. I hope she was lovable and I hope she was loved. Genetics are not joke: they contribute to so much that makes us who we are. What of me is her? For someone that knew her and then met me, what we they say reminded them of her through me?

Antonina begot Alzira (Elsie) who begot Alzira (Elsie) who begot Carol who begot Toni. And Joao (John) and Antone (Tony) and David (Dave) and Richard (Duke) all married into the line. And I wonder what's in my name. To be named after Antone and Richard: to be named after all men. I feel like there is something sacred to a name and wonder if I have daughters, if they will recite my name from three and four generations away, wearing the rings passed down from my mother to me, and if my name will roll off their tongues in a whisper and they will know nothing about me but that the words are sacred and cling to them as though they are the rings on their fingers. I would like to name my daughter Elsie. And maybe one of her daughters or granddaughters will begin carrying on the name Carol (because they will grow old and wise and have more daughters; isn't that strange?) And maybe those names will make them into who they are: My Vu, Antone (Tony) was a gardner when he was young, and my Ti Tony worked at a greenhouse most of his life: I wonder if this explains my inexplicable urge to grow things as well. I hadn't put that together until I had worked at a greenhouse for a season and my mother told me how odd it was that I had always wanted to garden since I was young. I wonder if my daughters will inherit anything from their names. I wonder if Antonina, Antone, Tony, and I all had this in common.

Maybe because of technology my name will never be whispered as simply sacred. Maybe my great great granddaughters will look through my pictures and videos on facebook. They'll read my old messages and emails. They'll read my study in honesty. They'll meet me as a young woman and grow up with me through all of my journals. Maybe they'll know me well. Maybe they won't like me. Maybe they'll love me. Maybe they won't really know me at all. But I hope that when I die and the years take away all remembrances of me, that my name will get to join that sacred echoing archives that I have discovered and which breaths meaning and soul into this independent body.

11/29/11

Love Letter

The Jews read what we call the Old Testament and view it as a love letter from God. Upon reading these verses I'm starting to see why:

“And I will betroth you to me forever;
yes, betroth you to me in righteousness and justice,
in hesed, and in tender compassion;
Yes, betroth you to me in faithfulness;
And you shall know Yahweh.”
(Hosea 2:19-20; Heb vss. 21-22)

“For it is hesed that pleases me, and not sacrifice;
And the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.”
Hosea 6:6

It seems so human. It seems like what we experience, or want to experience, every day. We want to be known and understood by someone, we want unconditional loyalty and trust, we want intimacy with another human being. God wants that with us as a community and it gives him the face of so many people I've known in the past and makes him so more closer to real in my eyes. What other men have demonstrated with feeling in the past is what I see God demonstrating and it moves me to want to respond.

11/28/11

Sunset

I have seen some incredible sunsets in my short 20 years, but of everything I've ever seen, this one topped them all. Sitting at the window as the plane began its decent to Portland, my friend tapped me on the shoulder and motioned me to look out the window. Outside in the distance was all clouds, and it looked as though the sun was a fiery liquid resting on the ground in the midst of them as clear defined pink and orange rays spread out through the clouds toward us and over the ground. It was something you would see in a national geographic. We landed in the darkness of night, the sun we had just seen had gone to sleep behind us. It was literally the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen and probably ever will see. It's no good trying to describe but at least I'll mention it so I'll never forget. There are indescribably beautiful things in this world.

11/27/11

Wasted

It's funny how the most mundane moments and songs can enact such a huge change in your life. This song came on the radio, and despite the fact that I've heard it many times before and feel no affinity toward it, its lyrics brought with it the feeling of finality toward my past and a desire for hope toward the future.



I don't want to give my past control over my future, and though I can't help the way I am now, I hate the thought of waking up one day to the realization that I let all my years go by wasted. I want to live life to the fullest and if that means I have to open back up doors that I nailed closed, I will start to entertain the thought of that possibility again.

11/26/11

Green :/

I never wear the color green.


11/25/11

A loved leader

“Your men love you. If I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough.”


I was watching "A Knights Tale" on TV and was astounded by the amount of marvelous quotes in that movie. This one especially stood out to me: it's what the prince says to William and it made me look at myself a a leader. It makes me think not only of the people I've led in the past but the people I am leading currently and how they act toward me, what they say to me, and how they feel toward me in general. On one side I'm relieved because I've seen so much trust, loyalty, and love demonstrated toward me from those people, but on the other hand it makes me worry. I look back on the way I've handled certain situations both in leadership and simply in life in general and I fear that I am not a good enough person to be a noble leader who is loved by their followers. I frequently demonstrate a stronger sense of justice than mercy, and often I've had to ask people what they think the right decision is because the one that I have decided is right to make is the one that other people I respect highly have told me is not the one that they would make. I fear I'm going to make those justice driven decisions as a leader and drive people away or lose their respect. And not just make justice driven decisions, but make decisions that are not holy. That's prideful thinking in a way as well: I want those that I lead to respect me and my decisions. But really, that's logical too. I'm leading them. Of course I want to lead them well. It all boils down to the fact that I want to be that leader: I want to be a leader whose followers look at my decisions and faults and love me because they know that my character is courageous, honorable, selfless, good, and focused completely on serving and protecting those I'm leading. That my character is noble. I don't think I am fully that person, but I do want to strive toward being them.

11/24/11

Belonging

Today I felt like me. The real me. My dad waking me up in the morning and giving me a hug while I'm still incoherent, the dogs jumping on me while I'm still in bed and laying on top of me, the white snow covering and shining and glittering across everything, wearing a flannel and sweater and winter jacket and hiking boots and scarf and hat just to drive somewhere, being able to see my breath, feeling my hands freezing on the steering wheel, singing loudly in my car, enjoying my singing voice again, Ihopping and eating the "quick and easy" and staying for half the day and drinking seven cups of coffee and leaving a ginormous tip, being in familiar homes and familiar places, driving myself around again, bickering and laughing with family, drinking tea, eating cutie oranges and moose burgers, listening and singing to country music and feeling that way, plugging in my car, being bitterly cold, catching up and existing with old friends, and laughing embarrassingly loud. It felt like such a ripping and tearing to leave Oregon, but the second my old mountain man Alaskan friend came and gave me a bear hug in the Anchorage airport I knew I was home. A cold, dark, late night eating taco bell and talking and talking with an unconditional friend that has been around for more years than I can count on one hand: that was something worth returning to. It all is. It makes me feel like a piece to a puzzle, like a hand sliding into a glove, or a voice in a choir: I fit here. I'm apart of a larger and and synonymous whole in this place, and every atom of my being is ringing in time with the history and familiarity that shares my same soul and tells me I belong.

11/23/11

Childlike Simplicity

A persons favorite movie speaks volumes about their character. I've dug into my new and old favorite movies to find that common theme and I am both surprised and not surprised in the least to discover that the movies like Stranger Than Fiction, Arthur, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and The Village all contain a common simplicity that I seem to cling to. The characters learn to live and take hold of their lives, to have adventures and value the simple joys, and to express and live for the simple yet deep truths in life.

Harold fights back against complacency and learns to take hold of life. He learns to treasure the simple joys of baking, playing guitar, watching old movies, and being lazy with someone.

Arthur demonstrates a childlike innocence and simple expression of love. He demonstrates an illogical sense of adventure.

Ferris teaches us to not think so hard. To have adventures and play like a child.

Lucius shows a simple mindset and moral fortitude behind maturity and silence.

They're about the simplicity of love and the childlike nature of adventure. That's what I value and that's what I love, but that's not what I am. I am the vivacious woman behind each of those men. The baker, the writer, the student, the laugher. And I have to give props to those women because they stuck with their men that are so easy to admire and so difficult to walk alongside.

11/19/11

The Sequal

I WILL write this blog. Just not at 3:12am.

11/18/11

Little Secret

I knew exactly what I wanted to write about tonight, but then when I put my laundry in at 1am, instead of studying more for my micro test or writing what I wanted to I did something different... Because I didn't have time to write what I wanted to, I'll tell you a secret about what I did instead:

When everyone else goes to bed and it's just me, I look up youtube videos on how to do ballet, and I teach myself to dance in my big empty hardwood floored dining room. Don't tell...

11/17/11

Loving as myself

Whenever I write a story, I can never write characters that aren't me. They may act differently and do things differently than me, but their hearts are the same and I love them. I love them because I know the "why's" behind all their actions. I'm writing a modern day Samson/Delilah story and the more I write Delilah, and the more wrong she does, the more I love her. Because she's me.

My approach to people is much different than it was a couple years ago. I don't love people anymore. I am easily annoyed and I am quick to cast people aside that I think are rude, shallow, or different from myself. I look at them and I give them no excuse for being who they are. They get no leeway from me for being people that reject truth, honesty, and common courtesy.

I see a huge divide that I want to mend. There is a connecting point between my characters and I that makes me empathize with everything they do, but I have stopped making the effort to search out the connecting point between me and real people. I was telling someone about Samson and Delilah today and they jokingly, or maybe not so jokingly, called Delilah some sort of long and filthy name ending in whore. And I was sincerely insulted. Even though they may have been right, how dare they talk so carelessly about a woman who had real reasons behind what she did?

I love my characters as myself, and maybe more, because I see myself in them. I need to be loving others as myself, and probably more, because they have pieces of myself in them, and there are "why's" behind what they do as well.

11/16/11

Good People Exist

There are still good people in this world. Many people have demonstrated this to me in the recent past, but today it was much more apparent. A selfless person stepped forward to focus their life's goals on me and plan around me, and I was shocked. Good people still exist? How much faith in others have I lost?

11/15/11

Take 9

Take 9:

Trying to post today is completely useless.
This blog is a complete waste of time.
I'm done writing about myself
and I'm done being "honest"
and being "creative."
I'm so angry.
And I want to rewind years and years,
And do it all differently.
I cannot wait to be done with this stupid project
and my stupid self.

And yes, I am fine.



11/14/11

"Shake It Out" Manchester Orchestra

Locker Room Kid

You know that kid in junior high and high school that sat alone in the locker room to eat lunch? Maybe you saw him, maybe you heard stories about him, maybe you were him. Well, my new permanent place of residence, my default location to exist when all else fails, is my office. And I realized the other day as I hid out there and ate my dinner alone because I didn't know anyone in the cafeteria, and I didn't know anyone outside the cafeteria, that I was in my makeshift locker room. I was hiding out, the loser, because I had no one to be with. I spend a lot of Friday and sometimes Saturday nights in there listening to music, writing, sleeping, and doing homework. A friend of mine caught me in there alone this last Friday night and said to me, "You know Toni I've been thinking. Thinking about the deeper things in life. Like, how can a man live without water? Those types of things you know? Like, how can a child live without it's parents? And how does an attractive young woman end up alone in the student government offices on a Friday night?" I laughed heartily, and it was sincere laughter, but he voiced what I didn't want to address. It's not that I don't have friends. I do. But they aren't always around, and it's just so easy. I've gotten so comfortable just hiding, and I don't feel so alone when it's just me sitting by myself in a room rather than a room full of people.

11/13/11

Sticky note: gardening!

"Life's a garden--dig it!"

11/12/11

No idea what this is from...but I didn't say it first...I don't think

Arthur

11/11/11

Sticky note: tribal

"And I thrilled to the chant and the heavy beat
Of the rawhide drum, and the moccasined feet-
-Because that night, in the campfire's shine
Your flannel shoulder was touching mine."


I found it on a friends facebook. Don't know who the other is, but it's not me.

11/10/11

Sticky note: expression

"Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire."
~George Bernard Shaw

11/9/11

Sticky note: opal necklace

A friends response to my opal necklace from my Ti Bella:


"Your necklace reminds me of tragedy at sea."

11/8/11

Sticky note: hidden mickey

“Like” that tune? According to our friends at Disney D23,
the song played on the radio of your Kilimanjaro Safari vehicle
is “Hapa Duniani” performed by African Dawn –
it’s actually The Lord's Prayer in Swahili.

Fun fact posted on facebook by the Walt Disney World facebook page.

11/7/11

Birdsong:

My roommates and I were talking in Southern accidents all night, so as I wrote this, it just happened that the voice I was writing with became southern. A character evolved, so keep her and her accent in mind as you continue.

Birdsong:

I’ve never believed in God
Because people that believe in God never believe in me.
They tell me that because I am a woman
~~~~I am meant to get married
~~~~I am meant to be a supporter
~~~~I am meant to follow a man’s leadership
~~~~I am meant to yearn for my husband
~~~~I am meant to have children.

I’ve never believed in God
Because people that believe in God
~~~~always discredit what I say once I tell them:
I tell them what I am meant to be,
~~~~and that maybe other women can be that way too.
Maybe it’s just a coincidence and not their God
~~~~that make them think those things about me
Maybe they just disagree with everything
~~~~and that’s why they always discredit me.

I’ve never believed in God
Because if there was a God he made me to be the way I am.
He would tell me that
~~~~I am meant to be a leader
~~~~I am meant to be independent
~~~~I am meant to yearn for those in need
~~~~I am meant to produce truth.

I’ve never believed in God
Because people that believe in God say he lives through them, and what lives through them is not nice, it lies about me, and it does not speak the truth.

I started believing in God
Because I decided to be what I am
Which I guess was not a woman
Because I never got married
~~~~ And I supported those who were weak
~~~~~~~~ And leaned on those who were strong
~~~~ I led those who needed guidance
~~~~~~~~And followed those who knew better than me
~~~~ I yearned for the fellowship of another
~~~~~~~~ And found it in many a soul
~~~~I loved upon the parentless
~~~~~~~~And took part in raising them

I believe in God
Because a blue heron alighted on a bridge
And she told me God made me to be what I am
And by being that, I had become a real woman
And lo and behold I looked down and

~~~~ He had turned me into a blue heron
~~~~ A blue heron in the night
~~~~ And I flew away with freedom
~~~~ Empowerment in my flight
~~~~And I lived how I was supposed to
~~~~No label to define
~~~~And he told me how to go forth
~~~~And I did what was divined
~~~~And I felt how I was supposed to
~~~~Created as I was meant
~~~~And I lived a life of purpose
~~~~With power in my breath
~~~~And I lived a life of beauty
~~~~Both inside of me and out
~~~~And I knew I was real woman
~~~~Because by birdsong I did shout.

11/6/11

Acknowledgment to Lauren Johnson, who encountered the blue heron on the bridge that has since taught us more of what it means to be a woman and to be proud of that fact.

Sticky note: crush of love

"I forgot how good the crush of love felt."

A quote my Cultural Anthropology teacher told us. I don't remember the story but I do believe he was talking about a man who was being swarmed by children and when people tried to help him out he did not want them to remove the children because of the crush of love he had so long gone without. I think I too have gone without the crush of love for a long long time.

11/5/11

Sticky note: be good

"Don't try to be anything, just try to be good."

I didn't say it, but I believe it.

11/4/11

Wacko

11/3/11

Painting: "yes i do, sometimes i paint" by eff_3lab on Flickr
Song: "Panic, Shear Bloody Panic" by Hans Zimmer from Sherlock Holmes Soundtrack
Song: "Up is Down" by Hans Zimmer from Pirates of the Caribbean, At World's End

Crashing

We discussed another topic in General Psychology today and I took a ton of notes in class and stated my opinion. It was important and I don't' want to forget the stance I took. It's what I normally would write about, but I don't want to anymore, and I think it's finally important that I say why. It's because I'm crashing. And from here on out that's gonna show on this project.

Last year I crashed. Hard. I slid into an intense depression and I can still remember it being bitter cold outside as I stood against my back door, hiding under the bay window hoping no one would see me, listening past the sounds of the cars going by on the highway across the wilderness of the backyard. I remember talking to my sister on the phone and the more she spoke the farther I slid the phone away from my mouth so she wouldn't hear me crying. I shivered and sniffled and hid and felt so poor. Felt so low.

I couldn't study. I would sit and stare at my work and try to focus and I couldn't. There was a wall there. My sister has gone through the same thing and I've never felt so comforted as when she told me that I wasn't just lazy and unmotivated, but there was something wrong with me. Thank God I'm not just stupid, thank God I'm not just lazy, thank God there's something wrong with me. I sat in class and felt the anxiety and the panic attacks and fought to hold still. I felt too unhappy to function. I started to fail classes for the first time in my life and for the first time in my life I swallowed my pride and scheduled an appointment with a counselor.

We did not talk about God. She let me ramble and rant and would stop me and focus on one thing at a time. She kept going back to the reason I was there: I had told her, "I just need to get through this year." She taught me what I needed to change in my lifestyle that would help and I tried, sometimes with little success. She helped me realize that the more thoughts I had and the more jumbled and unorganized they got, the more overwhelmed I felt by what I couldn't understand or conquer.

This year I am not dealing with the same problems I was last semester: the damage and remnants from relationships are left over but the trauma's not fresh like it was. I recognize the damage that's been done to my emotional well being and ability to relate to people, but that's not my problem right now. I don't believe so at least. I feel scared and intimidated by the work I have to do with class, but I'm still hanging on.

For a reason unknown to me, I am crashing. My emotional well being, my happiness, my motivation, it's slipping away and I can't control it and I don't know how to fix it. This is what happened last year. But I see a remarkable change in myself: I am not the same person I was. My counselor told me to start a steady workout plan: I have started working out three times a week again. She told me to get a steady sleeping pattern: I've started trying to get up at the same time every day no matter what like she had told me. I see myself making changes to my lifestyle because I want to be fixed: I want to gain control. I've been prioritizing and making lists. I've been keeping a firm grip on my myself: I have not locked myself in my room, slept days away, or cried myself to sleep: I'm not panicking. There's a control and a strength that was not there before. There's a desire to persevere that did not exist before and despite the fact that I can feel myself going down, I am actively working against it.

I'm having many side affects though: I am quick to feel inadequate and quick to run from people when I get even the slightest hint that they disaprove of me in any way. I'm quick to feel boring and undesirable. I have trouble focusing and maintaing the ability to stay on task. I have trouble staying patient or being willing to work through things with people: I want to push them aside. I have trouble smiling when I'm alone. I have trouble putting in effort.

And when I think of this blog, I don't want to write anymore. I passionately love A Study In Honesty and I want to see it completed. I don't like the idea of not continuing and writing. But I sit down to do this and I don't want to. I feel the negativity oosing out of me, I read what I've written, especially my compilation with Ben Holtrop and I am shocked by how heavy and dark it is.

I remember being in this place before, and once again I am writing about emotions: something I've hated doing in the past but still feel the need to do. This time around I feel a difference in my attitude and my willingness to work against it. This time around I do not want to keep writing as opposed to spilling my heart online. So even if the posts that are to follow are simple or strange or pathetic, they'll still be there, reflecing who I am as low, dumb, boring, embarassing, inadequate, or totally emo teenage as they may be.

I didn't want to write anything tonight: it's always a surprise what comes out.

But I just thought it should be acknowledged and said: I am mysteriously crashing. And I feel like I should give a disclaimer and a warning because I don't know what this project will look like as I honestly strive to cope. I do know that this time around I'm gonna make it though, and just knowing that helps me make it.

11/2/11

War At Home

I wrote down what I wanted to write for posts for two weeks ago but haven't written them yet.

I wrote down the outline and parts of what I want to write for Ben Holtrop and my 365 collaboration.

I haven't really written anything like this in two weeks. Maybe more?

And I wrote about hoarding but it felt wrong. Writing feels wrong. I'm not connecting-I feel like I'm losing the language. But still all I want to do is write.

*

I have discovered Spotify. And today all I've been able to listen to is Josh Groban. This song ran through my head all day as I cleaned and I played it over and over again with many others. It sounds like what I'm feeling and he speaks much more elegantly than I seem to be able to anymore so I'll let him speak for me.



11/1/11

Hoarding

It's Halloween: I can't not mention it! I was excited for today: I dressed up as "power Toni" because I knew I had to get motivated to get things done--I'd been showing sings of crashing lately and I won't let it happen. I didn't trick-or-treat: I handed out candy to kids. I was dressed as a cutsie housewife and was thrilled about it. (If you've read ASIH and know me, you see the irony). I was so excited when the kids would come to the door, but a little scared to answer the door as well! There was a little spiderman at one point whose mask I had to fix because he couldn't figure out how to get the eye holes back over his eyes to see to pick his candy:) Halloween was different, but good.

Anyway.

***

In General Psychology today we watched a show called "Hoarders." It was fascinating. Here were people who could not let things go; had let their houses get so overrun with stuff that there was nowhere to walk. Nowhere to eat. No way to distinguish the things around you. One woman was vehement that she would not waste food and therefore had it everywhere, even rotting on the ground. Another man was obsessed with the idea of recycling things for a later use and therefore could not let things go. I identified with him: I have a tendency to keep things because I feel as though they might have a use later. I too do not want to waste and feel their need to keep and be wise. For them though it is destructive and obsessive. I found myself marveling at the good they wished to do and the bad that could come from it.

I watched that and felt convicted: I hoard and I have not cleaned. So today (okay, I'm cheating, it's the 1st of November but I watched "Hoarders" on the 31st!) I cleaned. I cleaned from three hours in the morning and then for two more in the evening until everything had found it's place. It took a long time to go through all the papers, throw things out that I had been holding onto, and put away all my clothes. I swept the floor and organized my shelves. Now my room feels a tad bare from all the cleared away spaces but it feels like me again. It's reaffirming to stand in my room. It charges me like a battery. The way everything is, the way it's decorated, what I've decorated with, all describe me. When it was messy I had more trouble finding myself in it, it felt out of control. Having it clean once again, I feel more myself again. I feel more concrete. My room reminds me who I am.

And I want to always be reminded who I am. I don't want to hold onto things and in doing that, even with good intentions, lose myself in the mess and the clutter. I don't want to hoard. I don't want to hoard physically, nor do I want to hoard emotionally: because I do that. I hold onto things and I can't let them go, I can't forgive them, I can't release the gravity of them from my mind. But I want to be able to look at myself and be reminded who I am, and I want to keep that image clear. Physically and mentally.

10/31/11

Part 7

Ben Holtrop collaboration to be uploaded.

10/30/11

Part 6

Ben Holtrop collaboration to be uploaded.

10/29/11

Part 5

Ben Holtrop collaboration to be uploaded.

10/28/11

Part 4

Ben Holtrop collaboration to be uploaded.

10/27/11

Part 3

Ben Holtrop collaboration to be uploaded.

10/26/11

Part 2

Ben Holtrop collaboration to be uploaded.

10/25/11

Part 1

Ben Holtrop collaboration to be uploaded.

10/24/11

Sticky note: sabath

"Sometimes you just have to make a big cup of tea
and look up scone recipes
instead of doing your homework."
-Emma Previs

A friend of mine posted this as her status on facebook. I found it terribly profound and thought I had already put it on here, but I guess not.


10/23/11

Shifting Sand

"Who you like will change with what you value."

Will elaborate.


10/22/11

Sticky note: many types of birds

"In a great forest there are many types of birds."

A student from China told me that this is a common phrase where she's from. We were talking about how there are many different types of people when you get into big cities. This sticky note
really happened on this day.

10/21/11

Children encounter

Will be continued.

10/20/11

Mouse

I sat in the midst of three men during chapel that don’t believe women should be leaders in the church or maybe even church. The speaker talked strictly of women being able to be spiritual leaders and prophets in the church. I knew how uncomfortable they were and they were a direct opposition to me just sitting there because I feel called to be a speaker of the truth and a spiritual leader. I sat in the middle of them and I felt like a mouse. And I didn’t want to. I wanted to feel like a pillar standing tall between them but I felt small and powerless. I held my chin up but it didn’t help: they still felt taller. I felt powerless and tiny, and I felt like that was logical and of course I felt that way: I’m a woman, and that thought and that feeling of being a mouse made me sick. Made me ashamed and feel like a lower inadequate being. I felt owned. I felt like a slave. And I wanted to melt into the ground, sink under the floorboards, and that too made me hate myself even more. Hate myself for being a woman and therefore a mouse.

10/19/11

Solemn

On the solemn church. To be continued.

10/18/11

Of the spider and bug above my window

To be continued.

10/17/11

My guilty pleasure: to complain.

I am so tired of hearing people complain about their situations in life, how sick they are, how busy they are, how annoyed they are, how angry they are, and yadda yadda yadda. I hear people complain and it solidifies the violent desire in me to do the complete opposite. I have a high respect for people who are strong enough to fight through their difficult situations with the opinion that other things are more important to work toward and focus on.

But they say that what annoys you most in other people is what annoys you most about yourself. And I, ladies and gentlemen, am a natural at complaining. I have been known far and wide in the past for bemoaning my situation in life. One nice soul was kind enough to never be annoyed by it but always told me that he never took it as complaining: it was like I was informing him. I was glad he took it that way. I don't often desire people to help me or try to change my situation: as much as I am inclined to complain I am inclined to wear my feelings on my sleeve and be intolerably open. I have since learned to put some form of a damper on my openness but still the squashed desire remains.

I have not complained about being sick accept for maybe a slip up with one or two comments in the last week. The last couple days there have been many more slip ups and every time I even mention it I feel like kicking myself and washing my mouth out with soap. I'm not sure where the line is between complaining and informing because honestly it's not a sin to inform someone of your situation or be honest. As most things are, it is more than likely a heart issue.

My desire to not complain bleeds into other areas of my life. I do not like to ask for help. (I get the distinct feeling that my entries make me out to sound more and more like the stereotyped man every day...to anyone who has not caught on from the "i" at the end of my name, I'll have you know I am a woman.) I do not like to ask for help and I do not like to give other people any portion of my responsibilities. I do not like it when people sacrifice for me or give of themselves for me. I do not like to inconvenience people. I do not want to be a burden. I do not want to be obnoxious. I want to be the least amount of intrusive as possible.

It borderlines rediculous: someone in a position of authority over me offered to help me with some of my work. It's a part of what they are there to do: support me in what I do. It was typing up a list of names: they asked if they could help me in any way and I hesitated for an awkward amount of time and wrestled with the idea until I finally gave in. It took her all of five minutes to complete the task and I still felt guilty. There's something wrong there.

I have been so far to one side of the spectrum in desiring help and complaining that I have completely swung to the other side and refuse to ask for assistance or let people know how I'm doing. There is a balance out there somewhere and I'd like to find it. I think I'll start with looking at my heart before I go to say or ask for something: I'm counting on it being the compass by which act.

My experiences today involved being sick. Most of what I do is write about my experiences and what I feel or what I've learned. Before I started writing I wanted to write about those experiences, but felt too guilty that I'd be complaining to feel good about it: even now I feel guilty for writing this final paragraph. But here goes nothing: I feel weak and tired. My elbows ache and my throat is raw. My nose is stuffy and my eyes burn. I've spent the last two hours that I wanted to be sleeping catching up on my blog of which I never feel satisfied with what I post and always wish it sounded better and was organized better. Oh I'm such a poor and loathsome creature! I stink at being funny: despite what people tell me out of courtesy, I am not a comical person. This entry is my pathetic attempt at light heartedness. But I, in the end, am ill, and it makes me feel lazy but ultimately do the things I most enjoy, and feel a bit more loved as I baby and pity myself a bit more than usual. Thought: how loved I feel is partly due to how I love myself? Well that's a post for another time and another day...

10/16/11

Of Fear And Brakes.

My past experiences have made me extremely wary of making new friends. I have a natural tendency to believe that women are shallow and have no interest in investing their lives in the difficult aspects of my own. I have a natural tendency to believe that any man I form a close friendship with is going to result in that friendship ending in disastrous seperation. Yet I still have the desire to spend time with people and share time with people: even if it doesn't get deep. I want to coexist with others, even though I fear relationship. I have appreciated the friendships that have been forming over the last two and a half months: they have been filled with brief encounters of genuine affection, bouts of honest and raw conversation, and long hours of coexisting with lightheartedness. I have been comfortable with them because they have not been both time intensive and intense. This is not the way I have ever been before, but years of life and experiences have changed me into someone I never foresaw myself being.

I fear adding another person to the list. I fear what has happened before happening again, and even though a friendship can sound like something so simple, I have seen good turn to bad and like a car sliding into an intersection it was impossible to see it coming until it was too late. I want to put the breaks on early now. Too early for anything to go wrong. The past few weeks I've been watching history repeat, and entries from the beginning of ASIH are starting to apply to the now once again; they're like a guidebook to me. And with that I am beginning to realize how deep rooted my fear is. I do not want to add you to the list: I'm scared of you, yet my desire to coexist is proving just as strong as my fear. I want to push away and tip toe forward, I want to be completely honest about the now, or maybe hide it indefinitely. Lord have mercy, I am not up for a new mess. I am not up for a new disaster. And a small holy voice from countless characters I have idolized over the years is telling me, "be strong and courageous. Don't let fear rule your life."

I am tiptoeing forward with terror and conviction, ready to put the breaks on at any moment. Ironically enough, I have a new friend who has taken the breaks completely off his bike: less weight. He says he never really needed to use them except for one time: and even then they didn't help him much. I can think of a number of times in which my breaks were invaluable to me. There are some situations though in which breaks are not going to help you: the disaster is just inevitable. Maybe you shouldn't have been going so fast in the first place, maybe you should have been more wise as to what route you were going to take or how you were going to take that corner, or maybe like my friend who got hit earlier in the semester, there is just nothing you can do when things happen too fast.

I like to be ready with my breaks: but maybe in the end I just need to stop paying attention to them. If I pay attention to my speed, am wise with what route I take and how I approach the corners I won't need them. And for everything else--what's going to happen is going to happen: sometimes no amount of breaking can stop disaster. And that's when you have to listen to the voice of God as he tells you: "it is well, I claim this situation and I claim that it is okay."

10/15/11

Affirmation

I opened up my facebook and found this in my inbox:

Toni,

A few weeks ago your name popped into my head. I don't know what memory, sound, or action brought you to mind but I was curious about how you were doing. When I found your profile here on Facebook I should have just said "hey, remember me?" and asked you directly. Instead I found a link to your blog. Since then I've read my way through every post you've made. We were never close "friends" so I apologize if those words were not meant for me. If you ask it of me I will never visit your blog again, but first hear what I have to say.

I don't know how to say what your words have meant to me but I feel compelled to try. They've been challenging, heart-wrenching, exhilarating, frustrating, hopeful and life-bringing. Many made me pause and think for a while.

Your openness sets you apart. You sometimes don't say precisely what you mean, but you always say exactly what you feel. You experience more deeply and express yourself more eloquently than I ever will. You never just let life happen - you have to wrestle with it, try to make sense of it. And I think this puts you closer to God than you may see in yourself. This is not the easy path, but the longer you hold the course the more meaningful your life will be for yourself and all those around you.

In many ways our stories are similar. I have found encouragement in your words and comfort that I'm not alone in my struggles. I am certain I am not the only person your words have touched. I hope you have the courage to continue to be open and honest, and follow God wherever you think he may be leading. There will always be people cheering you on, praying for you, and hoping to see you succeed even when it feels like the whole world's against you (it's not!)

Toni, even if you never intended to share these thoughts with your old peer advisor, I thank you.

- ****

I didn't know my peer advisor well: he was always nice, would catch me in the Bruin Den and check in with me, always greeted me and used my name in passing in the Quad, and that always stood out to me. I was impressed by how consistently caring he was and enjoyed the fact that he remembered who I was. But he graduated and the world kept turning and that was that: that's why when I saw his name in my inbox it took me a few seconds to recognise the last name and realize who he was. I was shocked: how on earth had he remembered me?

I feel like I've used this phrase quite a bit lately, but honestly I was floored. I never think that people actually read my blog, though I always kind of wonder who happens upon it or has read an entry here or there. I've been so influenced by other people's works of art and writing that I hope people find value in my own, and it's always one of those guilty wishes that someone would happen upon it and actually find value, depth, wisdom, and quality in it. And out of the blue, my old peer advisor did.

He provided insight about myself that I hadn't realized. Things like, "You sometimes don't say precisely what you mean, but you always say exactly what you feel." And, "You never just let life happen - you have to wrestle with it, try to make sense of it." I pondered those things: they are completely true about the way I approach life.

Thank you for finding value not just in what I write and in what I find value in, but also for finding value in me. I was so encouraged. I gained insight by being able to see your perspective of ASIH and of myself. I have since found your PCT Journal and am making my way through it:

Fellow adventurer: I am glad to have gained a new friend.

10/14/11

Swoon

Casey + Brandon from Fancy Rhino on Vimeo.

Sitting in the offices the other day, I wanted to listen to the song "You and I" by Ingrid Michaelson but my friend continually kept telling me to wait: she said there was a video she wanted me to see that had that song in it. I didn't much care about her video, and hinted this point to her, telling her that all I wanted to do was listen to the song and finish up an email I needed to send before the end of my office hours. I have since learned that I should not be so impatient nor place negative expectations onto what other people think or do: my life would be much different had she not forced me to watch the above video.

I don't have a romantic streak anymore: nothing seems appealing in a cute way anymore, I seldom swoon at anything and if I do it's mostly joking or not completely sincere. I used to have ideas of what would be fun to do with my significant other: I wanted to go to the zoo, have him paint my toenails and there were all of these strange things that seemed romantic and appealing: but not anymore. Nothing seems sweet. I want nothing to do with the romantic.

I don't want to get married: I have no desire to put myself in that position. I don't trust people enough to trust myself to one of them, I don't believe that real love really exists, at least not for me, and I don't want to be tied down.

Too many past failures and disappointments have made me bitter toward the condition of man and I don't have any faith in myself and others: I'd rather be alone. If you had known me in High School and my freshman year of college you would be shocked to hear all of this from me now. Much has changed in the last year let alone the majority of my life.

But I watched this video and I found a healing that I didn't think was possible. I saw the look on a husbands face as his bride comes down the aisle and the way he adores and loves her and it was refreshing. Watching them gave me hope that good relationships really do exist. I found myself giggling and genuinely swooning for the first time in a long time.

These songs have now been stuck in my head for days on end and I've listened to them both more than ten times each in the last three days. Maybe twenty? Who knows: they've been that healing.

In the end, this video...well...it looks kind of nice.

10/13/11

The miracle of delayed text messages.

I finally finished up everything I had to do with classes and errands and speed walked home through the rain. It was about 2:40pm. I walked in the door and once more went straight to my room and closed the door. I would have liked to crawl under the sheets and curl up in a ball, but with my pant legs still wet I jumped on top and grabbed my book. Once again, "The Neverending Story" was my companion on the road to satisfaction and restoration. I read and read and read, eventually curling up under my blankets when my pant legs dried. I was waiting for a friend to get a hold of me and repeatedly checked my phone but all was blessedly quiet and I focused in with all my might on the characters and plot line at hand. For three hours I read and laughed and gasped and felt with the story. When I finally couldn't take it anymore: I was too hungry and had to go to the bathroom too bad to stay in the same position any longer, I checked my phone, jumped up and ran to the bathroom. When I came back I picked up my phone and checked it again: four new messages. I was floored. I had a message from my mother who was in Maine and wanted me to know, a message from someone else whom I can't remember, and two messages from my friend that I was waiting to get a hold of me. He had apparently sent me one message at 2:50pm and another at approximately 3:32pm. I was amazed. If I had gotten those messages when they were sent I would not have been able to take a much needed Sabath and I would not feel as rejuvinated and okay as I did right then. I felt completely blessed that such an odd little miracle had befallen me.

I told the story to a few friends outside the cafeteria in the offices, and ate with some friends, and sang with some more friends and felt even more blessed. My evening has been planned out by someone other than myself and it was just what I needed.

10/12/11

Masculine Culture

Today in Cultural Anthropology we discussed the differences between different cultures: we observed them not to point out their flaws and weaknesses or to build ourselves up, but to understand the difference that exist between people groups and dig into why we are the way we are.

There is a man named Geert Hofstede who has come up with a system of comparing different aspects of societies all over the world. One of the things he measures is “masculinity.” Here is the definition of this dimension in culture:

“Masculinity (MAS) versus its opposite, femininity refers to the distribution of roles between the genders which is another fundamental issue for any society to which a range of solutions are found. The IBM studies revealed that (a) women's values differ less among societies than men's values; (b) men's values from one country to another contain a dimension from very assertive and competitive and maximally different from women's values on the one side, to modest and caring and similar to women's values on the other. The assertive pole has been called 'masculine' and the modest, caring pole 'feminine'. The women in feminine countries have the same modest, caring values as the men; in the masculine countries they are somewhat assertive and competitive, but not as much as the men, so that these countries show a gap between men's values and women's values.”

And here is the description of the United States Masculinity dimension:

“The next highest Hofstede Dimension is Masculinity (MAS) with a ranking of 62, compared with a world average of 50. This indicates the country experiences a higher degree of gender differentiation of roles. The male dominates a significant portion of the society and power structure. This situation generates a female population that becomes more assertive and competitive, with women shifting toward the male role model and away from their female role.”

This is what I understand from the text: women always have a tendency to be modest and caring but will be more or less assertive and competitive depending on how much men dominate the power structure in their society. Men will be more modest and caring in a feminine society, and women will be more assertive and competitive in a masculine society, but tend to be more inclined to their assigned characteristics.

In America we are a masculine culture. There is a heightened sense of assertive and competitive characteristics in the men in our culture, as well as in many women. Many of the leaders in our culture are men, though this is gradually beginning to change, and many leaders regardless of their sex exhibit assertive and competitive characteristics. Therefore when a typical American envisions a leader they envision them as not only male, but with assertive and competitive characteristics. This affects an Americans opinion on who makes the best leader and what characteristics they should contain.

I see this in the modern American Christian. The Bible states the roles of men and women in a marriage: the man is the head as Christ is the head. That’s not what I’m writing about. Christians will claim that the Bible states that men are supposed to be the leaders when it comes to spiritual teaching in the Church. They back up this claim using I Timothy 2:12 where it states, “I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.” The opposing view often states that there is a need for taking cultural context into consideration and that Paul was talking to a specific audience in their specific situation. The conservative Christians disagrees. I often have to question this disagreement as they argue about how they take the Bible literally and follow exactly what it says. But, if they’re going to take to Bible literally, than does Paul not say that women are to hold no authority over men, in any situation? They shouldn’t be teaching in schools or leading in business. I usually hear the conservative say that there’s a context to which Paul speaking here in response to that: which is exactly what the liberal would argue as well.

In turn, how are we to take the verse, “Women should remain silent in the churches. They are not allowed to speak, but must be in submission, as the law says.” (I Corinthians 14: 34). As I look back through Old Testament scripture I find nothing in the laws about women being silent in churches, or about church structure in general that carries over to the way the New Testament Christians were organizing their “services.” It makes me wonder if this is context once again, if this applies to a specific culture with specific struggles, and how someone who claims to take the Bible literally can allow women to read scripture in church, make announcements or, worship freely: especially in a charismatic setting.

I think conservative Christians who claim that women cannot be pastors are more slaves to their culture context than they realize. The Bible never talks about having one person be the head teacher of the Word of God over a group of people, let alone having that person be only male, and it contains examples of women proclaiming the good news and being prophets in their society. The Bible does concretely say in certain letters from Paul to specific people groups that women should not speak at all in church or hold any authority over men. Yet we still see conservative Christians in our culture letting women hold positions of authority over men outside the church and allowing women to hold positions of authority in a church as long as they are not the pastor. And worst of all we see some Christians claiming that men just naturally are better leaders because they tend to have the characteristics of a leader.

Why is it that some people think men have more leadership characteristics than women? What are these characteristics that they have that women don’t have to the same degree? I have heard that men are more decisive, logical, and assertive as examples. I would say that people who believe that in America are looking at the characteristics of good leaders in their culture, seeing that those characteristics are held by the majority of males, and concluding that that men naturally have those traits and therefore men are better leaders. I, being a women, who thinks more logically than emotionally, though many conservative Christians claim to know me better than myself and tell me that I make my decisions emotionally despite what the evidence of my life shows, see that in society there are plenty of men who are not leaders that do not have those characteristics, and are still fulfilling perfectly acceptable roles in society. Not all men have leadership characteristics, whereas others do. Not all women have leadership characteristics, whereas other do. You cannot make an assumption about gender characteristics based upon the leaders in your masculine culture.

It’s nothing new to say that the Bible has a cultural context. It’s nothing new to say that people’s mindsets and worldviews are a product of tradition and their own cultural context. It’s nothing new for me to say that I am a women who exhibits characteristics of a “male leader” that feels led to lead not just in her society but in a spiritual way as well: and not just over six year olds in Sunday school. My opinion is heightened by the fact that I don’t believe in one person, as a pastor, being the head over an entire group of people, and that women being pastors is the real argument that is raging. The argument I’m making and the points I want people to see are nothing new. So maybe all I’ve really stated is a view held by a significant population of Christians, but at least I’ve added it to my repertoire of honest beliefs that make me who I am.

10/11/11

Sabath II

It’s been a theme in my life lately that when I get overwhelmed to the point where I can’t go on, it is always something new that brings me deep satisfaction. Once it was biking as hard as I could out to the heirloom roses before the sun went down. Another time it was watching an old anime show for days straight. Last night as I suffered a total psychological melt down and turned into crazy Toni, I rushed around the house in order to get ready for bed, threw on my sweater and green sweatpants (my green sweatpants making Christmas colors with my red socks: something that normally would bother but this time I found strangely comforting), let just my hanging lights and fake candles set a soft and folkish feel and began to type like a mad woman.

Writing: it’s the only thing that calms the madness these days. When I can’t think, when all I can do is feel, and I need a fix of something, it’s writing that I turn to. Nothing else will do. So I curled up in my layers of blankets, surrounded by low lights and pillows, typed and cried and typed and cried and got everything out on paper, and felt almost the better for it. At least a bit more emotionally organized.

In my break from classes today, I crashed through my front door, went straight to my room, and I curled up with my pillows and blankets and low lights , in this room that feels so much like home now: the colors, hanging windchimes and lanterns, posters and anatomy, the good and bad memories that have already been made—and opened up “The Neverending Story” which I had pulled off my bookshelf the night before and thrown on my bed to sit next to me as I had written, and had left there to sleep next to me all night. So I picked it up and began to read.

I used to read all the time as a kid. Probably because my older sister was an avid reader. She devoured every book she could get her hands on and my mother would always complain that she needed to actually get off the couch and do something with herself. Go outside. My sister would always complain that no other mother ever demanded that her child stop reading. So I took after her and I too loved to read. I would go through series of books like the Star Wars series for kids, the Dinotopia books, and I still remember the young adults fantasy section of the Loussac Library in Anchorage, Alaska where I used to go and get books off the shelf by Jane Yolen. I remember I read a book once about a girl who grew wings and escaped out to a barn where other people like her were hiding. I always envisioned the barn out in the mountains to be right in a spot along the long and scenic Seward Highway: a spot I would continue to drive by, and years and years later even bike by, and it has never lost it’s magic.

I would read and read and sit on the couch and hide under the covers at night with a flashlight. And as I curled up in bed with "The Neverending Story" last night, I felt a deep satisfaction that was just what I needed. I was taken back to those days in my childhood when reading was something I had all the time in the world for.

In "The Neverending Story" there is a young fat boy who gets picked on by all the other schoolchildren. He steals a book from a bookstore, hides in his schools attic, and reads. He reads no matter how hungry and cold he gets, no matter how long he has to sit there to finish this book that it is his destiny to read. There is a line that says,

“If you have never spent whole afternoons with burning ears and rumpled hair, forgetting the world around you over a book, forgetting cold and hunger— If you have never read secretly under the bedclothes with a flashlight, because your father or mother or some other well-meaning person has switched off the lamp on the plausible ground that it was time to sleep because you had to get up so early— If you have never wept bitter tears because a wonderful story has come to an end and you must take your leave of the characters with whom you have shared so many adventures, whom you have loved and admired, for whom you have hoped and feared, and without whose company life seems empty and meaningless— If such things have not been part of your own experience, you probably won’t understand what Bastian did next.

I am Bastian. I had to smile and laugh to myself as my one free hour ticked away and despite the fact that my stomach was growling in an audible way, I could not tear my eyes away from the pages. The thought had occurred to me as I had read the afore mentioned words: if I was hungry, or especially cold, I don’t think I could concentrate to read. But here I was starving and sacrificing all bodily needs for the sake of this all important story.

I’ve never felt like the pathetic character in a book. I’ve always felt like I could be the hero: that I could make the tough decisions and do what needed to be done. But now I feel like Bastian. When the book is depicting his life and what he’s thinking I feel akin to him. I feel like a failure, weak and pathetic; no good. Bastian and I read the same words of "The Neverending Story" as it tells us about Atreyu and his great adventure. How he has no fear and he rises early before dawn for his quest. How he knows what needs to be done and he fights through temptation without thinking twice about what he wants. He walks the edges of cliffs and out upon giant spiderwebs over endlessly deep canyons without fear. With a firm sense of duty. He goes on a quest with no direction and no understanding but just trusts that it will all be as it should.

Bastian and I read Atreyu’s story together and we both wish that we could be him. We see ourselves and we know who we are. We know we are not the hero. And we take pride in our hiding and reading alone, in our not stopping our reading no matter what: we’re persevering like Atreyu! We take pride in holding off eating until the last possible moment: we have a firm sense of duty: just like Atreyu! We know it’s not much, but it’s what we cling to.

I have loved feeling both satisfied by reading, and a kinship with another human being who feels as pathetic as I with Bastian. Both satisfaction and kinship not things I have had much to do with lately. But I have an advantage on Bastian. I have read this book before. And I know what will happen to us and so I already have hope in the darkness of our present state and I can’t wait to keep going and relearn what I’ve forgotten.

And maybe even now, though I’m exhausted and need sleep, I will stay up wearing my motivational glasses and read through drooping eyelids the story of Atreyu, Bastian, and myself.


10/10/11

What I learned today.

What have I learned today? Not to drive over the speed limit and to be thankful that God saves people's lives. What a glimpse of the devastation that would come with a friends death looks like. I learned that just because you spend most of your day sleeping does not me you won't be tired. I learned that when you stick your toe in the sinking sand of sin you get sucked under real fast. I learned that I can still get angry. Impossibly angry. I learned that just because people have respectable traits does not mean that they are all around respectable. I learned that I have made irreparable and monumental mistakes. I learned that I can feel genuine hate for others and in turn, myself. I learned that I have qualities that my friends berate on a frequent basis. I learned that by writing daily in an honest way about myself and looking back upon the most frequent of posts, something is beginning to be very very wrong with me, and I am glad that I have seen it before it gets too bad. I have also learned that I have no idea what I need to do to make the wrong right. Apparently that's what I've learned today.

10/9/11

a growl

I vow
Oh, I vow
A vow of silence.
But of course not!
I’ll give it up tomorrow.
~~~Give it up with my convictions
~~~And my morality.
I make a vow of chastity.
~~~And that’s laughable:
~~~I’ll do what I want.
Oh, I’ll make a vow.
And I’ll forget it the next day.
~~~The next hour.
~~~The next minute.
~~~I’ll have trouble remembering what I want to write next.
I’ll slink back to my cave
A writhing mass of disgust
Dark and angry and real
~~~I don’t need to smile
~~~~~~To make you comfortable.
~~~And my eyes will look like they’re really seeing:
Because now they are.
They’ve tasted and they’ve seen.
And they know both good and evil.

I need to wrestle it out.
Clutch it in my hands
~~~Between my fingers
~~~And squeeze the life out of it
~~~Strangle it long after it’s dead.
I need to rage
~~~And be looked at with calm.
Rage.
~~~Like a whirlwind. Like a storm.
I need to sweat it out on the pavement
Bike it out in the distance
Dance it out in wisps and reaches.

I need to sit.
~~~And fume. And be.
A being that knows itself far too well.
~~~And doesn’t like what it sees.
I need to get better.
~~~And not by way of hugs and prayers
~~~~~~Teddy bears and kisses
~~~White light and joy
~~~~~~A quick fix Jesus
~~~Not by way of heart to hearts
~~~~~~Pink dressed schoolgirls
~~~Or smiles and sweetness.
~~~~~~The dutiful christian reaching out to the gentile.


By way of a firm grasp on the shoulders.
An honest look straight to my eyes
~~~The same one in mine.
And I need to be told:
~~~We will do this.

~~~~~~~~~And I will ravage whoever tries it and does not have my eyes.

They say: love—it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free.
~~~I have seldom been free. And,
~~~I do not think that I have ever been loved.

10/8/11

Mother Teresa

One of the reasons I've wanted to become a nurse was because I have a thing for the sick and dying. I want to hold the people that everyone thinks are too gross to go near, love the people that others think are too dumb or stupid to be loved, and show people that their value and worth are not dependent upon their situation in life. I want to hold the dying. The thought has crossed my mind before, "If there was a job in which I could just hold people as they die, that would be it for me. That's all I want to do: show the dying that they are loved."

I sat down in my office today and sitting on the desk was a book about Mother Teresa. As I flipped through the photography and read the quotes my heart began to constrict. They were pictures of her home for the dying. Pictures of people missing body parts, bone thin, bleeding, oozing, and severely unloved. And there were pictures of the volunteers there that held them and stayed near them, took care of them and their needs in order to make them as comfortable as they could and most importantly, to feel as vastly loved as they could as they spent their last moments on earth.

Suddenly, I realized that there was a place that I go could in which I could hold the dying as they passed. Where I could show them love in their last moments and work healing into a lifetime of suffering. But I did not have the reaction I thought I would. The thoughts that ran through my head were not the thoughts that I expected. I wouldn't want to live outside of America the rest of my life: America is the best country to be in. Working with a bunch of behind the scenes people and a bunch of nobodies of society? I would get no credit: no recognition. To stay there the rest of my life would mean never making anything of myself: never doing anything great or living up to my potential. I wouldn't want to live in unsanitary conditions and pour myself out to people every day and get nothing back: I wouldn't find fulfillment, I'd just be exhausted and drained all the time.

Who am I?

That's what I've wanted isn't it? To love those people? And I can do that and now suddenly being presented with the real opportunity, I don't want to? Do I really believe that I'd be happiest in America? That I'm too good to live in poverty? That loving people would be unsatisfying? That caring for people isn't real success? That I need to find recognition and prestige through social standing to be worth anything? Who on earth am? That is not what I want to be. That is not how I want to feel.

It's been continually driven home in my life that God gives and he takes away. I've had a tendency to claim my selfless love for others as a characteristic of my own, and I wonder if God is reminding me that it is only because that is one of his characteristics that I contain it. That if he takes it away, that is not who I naturally am.

I desperately need to re-evaluate who I am, what I want, and what I value. I know who I want to be: it's not who I am. There are plenty of characteristics we claim to have, desires we claim to have, ideas for our life that we claim to have and we say to ourselves and others, "if only I had the opportunity this is what I would do." Or, "if that ever happens to me, this is how I will react." Sometimes when we're really faced with a situation or an opportunity though, we are really faced with the fact that we are not who we want to be. I desperately want to change that.

Mother Teresa is who I want to emulate. I remind myself that I can only do that through God, though that's an ideal and I don't know if I completely believe it. These are some of her words that I do not want to forget.


"Love to be real, it must cost--it must hurt--it must empty us of self."


"I never look at the masses as my responsibility. I look only at the individual. I can love only one person at a time. I can feed only one person at a time.

Just one, one, one.

You get closer to Christ by coming closer to each other. As Jesus said, "Whatever you do to the least of my brethren, you do it to me."

So you begin...I begin.

I picked up one person--maybe if I didn't pick up that one person I wouldn't have picked up the others.

The whole work is only a drop in the ocean. But if we don't put the drop in, the ocean would be one drop less.

Same thing for you. Same thing in your family. Same thing in the church where you go. Just begin...one, one, one."


Convicting? Let's not lie about who we are: we are not the people described in these quotes. But we want to be. Let's be honest about that. And let's push each other to be those people so that maybe we'll have a chance with one another instead of living a lie alone.

10/7/11

The divinity of modern medicine

A leader in my life recently had her baby and I hadn't seen her in about a month. I finally got to see her, her husband, and her new baby boy today. They told me the story of her thirty-something hour delivery processes and how problem after problem had arisen. The worst part to me was that at one point they gave her a medication that she reacted abnormally to, and ended up for twelve hours not being able to speak, stay coherent, or remember where she was, what was happening, or even who her loving husband was. Today as he stood close to his wife and baby, rubbing her arm, pressing his cheek to her neck, he told us that there was a point in which she was bleeding, incoherent, and it was impossible for the baby to be born naturally, and that if it were one hundred years ago, her and their baby boy would be dead. I was struck. Struck by the most passionate and sincere of loves, struck by the idea of him losing what gives him vitality, and struck by the miraculous blessing of modern day science. I was overtaken by horror and awe at the total devastation that could have occurred, and I thank God that he spared humanity such a jarring distortion from the way it should be.

What a blessing. What a blessing that love like theirs still exists. What a blessing that a beautiful human being was brought into this world. What a blessing that it all turned out with a story book ending. What a blessing that we live in this day and age. What a blessing modern technology and medical science are to us.

It has been argued in circles claiming to be Christian that science and medicine are not spiritual, not necessarily of God: that prayer and faith that produce unexplainable miracles are much more holy and divine. But I say that if modern medicine can save the life of a loved wife and son in the face of total chaos and dysfunction that that is a blessing. That is divine. That is a gift straight from God no matter how explainable it is.

When I find it hard to praise God all I'll need to think of are the thousands upon thousands of husbands who lost their wives and children before and the incredible amount of broken families of the past. Praise the Lord for where he's brought us.

Praise the Lord.

10/6/11

Storm Brewing

I have been amazed at my perseverance this semester thus far. I haven't felt so overwhelmed or unhappy that I've felt the need to shut down and not get done what I have to. But that's changed tonight. Tonight I feel exhausted because I don't sleep. Tonight I feel overworked, overcommited, unprepared and incompetent. Tonight I miss old friends, have no patience, have no grace for others and their opinions. Tonight I'm tired of hearing that people are to busy: to busy for me, to busy to serve their community, to busy to do anything but dedicate their lives to school and facebook. Tonight I'm angry and feel like throwing in the towel on my responsibilities and slinking away to hide under the covers. It reminds me of something I wrote quite awhile back: I'm not sure how long ago. I've been waiting for a time to write it down and I think now is good.

* * * * * * *

I start like the breeze. Like the clouds on the horizon and you can feel it in your knees. I overcast you, and them, dark and brooding and overriding. I push like the wind: forcing and demanding, unrelenting and dizzying. I speak like the lightning and I see, then I feel, I look like the thunder. You feel it, and I know, and I build: I am empowered, and the lightning strikes. And with it that thunder. Louder and feeding-off you. And I will cry like the rain. Hysterical. Not withheld. And inside, I will shake. Like the earth. And like mud in the morning, I will collect my broken branches and shambles, and slide back into your sunlit solid arms. And your mercy will smell like fresh cut grass and your grace will sound like joyous bird songs and your wisdom-you will careen around me like galaxies awhirl, stars atwirl, and deep echoing endless knowing. And nauseous, I will take a step back.

10/5/11

Strength

I met an old man who loved his wife. Loved her with the love they write about in great literature, they film for the movies, and which every person believes is too good to be true. He was gentle in actions and words, frail in his age and soft in his good humor. I imagine him in sweaters, silently drinking tea, walking slowly in the fall, taking naps in a large arm chair. I recently heard that his wife was getting ready to pass on. And I found out that the morning she passed, as her breathing grew labored, he held her hand, leaned in close and told her it was time to leave. And so she did. In my minds eye I remember his soft and gentle manners, his frailty, and I am moved by the strength of an old man to give the love of his life permission to move on. I am changed: I see him as a stalwart, as strong arms, a surging wave, a radiant leader. He demonstrated a strength of the soul and a supernatural fortitude that transcends his physical countenance and anything that I would have the gumption to exhibit. He is worthy of respect.

I have gained a powerful loyalty to and respect for

a real man of power in God,

who without even knowing it has

completely transformed

my definition of

strength.

10/4/11

Adjustment Bureau

We watched this movie today for Faith and Film and it brought up a lot of questions for me about stepping out of the norm, trusting my gut feeling, and finding fulfillment. It made me doubt the decisions I've made to follow the typical college career path, made me more inclined to believe that what I feel is meant for my life really is, and challenge my hierarchy of values. That was the point, after all. It makes me want to take courage and run.

10/3/11

Lord have mercy

Lately I've been afraid to open my journal in public
because prayers are written on many pages
and

Lord have mercy
Christ have mercy
Lord have mercy

is written on many a page.
Because the Lord gives and the Lord takes away
And he's been giving back the same 'ol
And taking away the peace.

So as it creeps back in
And I fight to breathe,
The phrase I cling to
is

Lord have mercy
Christ have mercy
Lord have mercy

I feel he's balancing my stability on his finger tips
And I fear his decisions
and his faithfulness.
And I keep forgetting,
and I can't remember why,
It's okay to breathe.

Oh God my God,
Seriously,
Take it away
Have mercy.

I claim sanctuary.
To breathe.
I can breathe.





10/2/11