Living alone, you have to fight delusional thinking. Community, other
people, do not necessarily provide truth, but they do offer perspective.
They remind you to sort through the options, making you less likely to
latch onto a single dysfunctional idea and tie your emotions to it.
Solitude, in intervals, does bring clarity and health. But extended solitude is a black hole: the criminal justice system uses solitary confinement as a punishment for a reason.
I cannot compare my time back on the hill as solitary confinement. But as one who speaks as one alone, I maintain that God exiled me here. He is merciful, he is loving, he is kind, he is good. And he exiled me.
If this was even about me. He knew my grandma needed help getting through the first 6 months, and maybe I was just the most available body to do the helping. Maybe. Maybe more, maybe less. Speculation and interpretation. I'm a curious human who likes playing the victim. Indeed, the role of victim is one all 3 selves - the id, ego, and even the moralistic superego - can employ at the same time. It's a huge trap because it feels so good on every level.
The only thing I will ever undeservedly get from God is grace. I am a victim of nothing but steadfast loving kindness. I am extremely blessed to have gotten this time with my grandma. It is an extreme blessing that my reasons for leaving are 1) her spunk has returned and 2) college calls. They are both such good things.
Seasons change. Just ask the preacher-poet who wrote Ecclesiastes.
On one of the occasions when I verbalized my sadness about leaving her, one of my grandma's responses is that she did not want to steal my youth, that I should go live.
Of course I didn't, but I wanted to say, what youth? My faraway friends and I? sure we dance to loud music, raise our glasses and sing with the radio like we just had our heart broke for the first time, and make funny faces as we take selfies, and bop around town and the world like we are unstoppable—
—But we are only acting. We can't even act alone: we leapfrog each other into euphoria. Happiness and craziness come in gradations as we encourage each other higher, harness the spirit of groupthink.
Our youth was never stolen. Our youth was never ours. We are stealing it, smuggling it across the border, reveling in an ecstasy that we know will never last for more than a few hours or days; weeks if we get very lucky.
It's not that the euphoria is forbidden. It's that to whom much is given, much is expected. There is no time for youth because there is so much to prepare for.
There is no time for youth because we look into each other's tired eyes and see flickering candle flames: we are delicate, mortal (please, be my wind-shield). In the privacy of cars, bedrooms, kitchens, rose gardens, we voice our questions together. We are distraught together. People we love are hurting, the institutions that form society are crumbly, and it breaks our hearts harder than first love gone wrong, deeper. Can we really get through life without making the same mistakes? We have already made some of them.
We break together. We trust God together. We find comfort and, of all things, a little dignity.
Together.
Together.
Together.
Together.
Together.
Together.
I can't speak for them, but it is how I thrive.
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
"Back in My Day..."
I am once again convinced I should have been born in 1930.* This afternoon, after Grandma and I finished a couple chapters of the book we're reading right now, we spent just as much time talking and catching up, like usual. The state of the weather (chilly and dreary), as well as the time of year, reminded her how she used to go up to Mountain Lake each June when school let out. She and one of her friends would rent a cottage for the weekend, and they'd chaperone a group of older teenage girls, they themselves being only 20. The year would have been about 1947, if I'm doing my math correctly (which I am =).
Usually it would end up being rather cold, but they'd huddle under blankets and tell ghost stories, cook up warm suppers. The cottage was right on the lake, and across the road from the Inn. Every evening, they'd watch couples arrive and dance under the strings of party lights. Music from the jukebox would wave its way across the lake.
It's not the first time she's told me about her childhood and young adult years, of the late-night ice skating on the neighbor's pond with tons of friends, of the dances every Friday, the hayrides, the campfires, the hymn-sings, the sundresses and homemade ice cream on hot afternoons, the newsreels before a movie you paid a quarter to get into. It's also not the first time I've wished I could have grown up then, experienced a life I only get glimpses of occasionally.
People say we always cast a rosy, sunshiney shadow over the past, and I'm sure that is true to a certain extent. However, I think the 30s, 40s, 50s, and part of the 60s really were rosier for Americans. True, we were involved in lots of wars (but when are we ever not). There was the Great Depression (pretty much have grown up in one in my own house so that's nothing new either). And of course racial discrimination, which can't be justified.
But overall, the way people lived—the way they chose to look at life, perhaps even the way they thought—was different. A better different. Because people had different values.
Often, people blame the change on cellphones, faster cars, bigger planes, the internet and Facebook. But those are just a material expression of the internal change that has taken place, the change of values, the change of what is important to people.
Mostly, I think relationships aren't as important to us here in the 21st century, even though social media sights are all the rage. The focus is at least more on length (# of friends), less on depth (quality of friendships you do have).
When you value people, value friendships, it changes the way you work and the way you play; also, how much time you spend doing either, and what you do with that time. Many of us spend our time very differently than my Grandma and her friends and family did, than the "many" of her day did. And that (in my opinion) is why our culture changed. Friendship doesn't matter as much.
And it's sad.
Because I like Friday night dances!
O, and because America would be a happier, safer place, and friendship is über biblical and necessary.
*Just pretend with me for a few minutes and let's forget the doctrinal inconsistencies of that statement.
Usually it would end up being rather cold, but they'd huddle under blankets and tell ghost stories, cook up warm suppers. The cottage was right on the lake, and across the road from the Inn. Every evening, they'd watch couples arrive and dance under the strings of party lights. Music from the jukebox would wave its way across the lake.
It's not the first time she's told me about her childhood and young adult years, of the late-night ice skating on the neighbor's pond with tons of friends, of the dances every Friday, the hayrides, the campfires, the hymn-sings, the sundresses and homemade ice cream on hot afternoons, the newsreels before a movie you paid a quarter to get into. It's also not the first time I've wished I could have grown up then, experienced a life I only get glimpses of occasionally.
People say we always cast a rosy, sunshiney shadow over the past, and I'm sure that is true to a certain extent. However, I think the 30s, 40s, 50s, and part of the 60s really were rosier for Americans. True, we were involved in lots of wars (but when are we ever not). There was the Great Depression (pretty much have grown up in one in my own house so that's nothing new either). And of course racial discrimination, which can't be justified.
But overall, the way people lived—the way they chose to look at life, perhaps even the way they thought—was different. A better different. Because people had different values.
Often, people blame the change on cellphones, faster cars, bigger planes, the internet and Facebook. But those are just a material expression of the internal change that has taken place, the change of values, the change of what is important to people.
Mostly, I think relationships aren't as important to us here in the 21st century, even though social media sights are all the rage. The focus is at least more on length (# of friends), less on depth (quality of friendships you do have).
When you value people, value friendships, it changes the way you work and the way you play; also, how much time you spend doing either, and what you do with that time. Many of us spend our time very differently than my Grandma and her friends and family did, than the "many" of her day did. And that (in my opinion) is why our culture changed. Friendship doesn't matter as much.
And it's sad.
Because I like Friday night dances!
O, and because America would be a happier, safer place, and friendship is über biblical and necessary.
*Just pretend with me for a few minutes and let's forget the doctrinal inconsistencies of that statement.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Don't Forget the Sun
Dear Chris,
I heard the news on the way to Corning yesterday, that there had been an accident early that morning involving cars and a pedestrian. The pedestrian had died; the pedestrian was you. Later, in the coffee shop, they told me what I didn't want to hear. About the notes you left.
So I walked down Market Street alone, in the cold, under the gray sky. It was raining, and the waves in my hair became frizzy corkscrews. I clutched a cup of tea. Right then I couldn't really deal with either emotions or Calvinism, so I just thought of you, and how our lives had intersected. Three moments in time were especially poignant, all of them summer evenings.
When I was 12 or 13. It was the first time you came to our house, I think. I put on my Chuck Taylors, because you were the reason I had a pair. My choice of shoes was not the only thing you influenced; you also added the expression "sweet" to my vocabulary (I still say it whenever I'm excited about something). At some point that evening we had started a fire in the field, and I remember watching you and Andrew walking back out there to make sure it was really out, before we went for ice cream. You were both silhouetted by the sunset, and it was really pretty.
When I was 14. You and your younger brothers had come back East for a visit, and we had you out here for supper. Even though you'd lived here previously with the Jeror's, that is the first time I felt like I connected with you, simply because I was finally old enough to relate to someone 4 years my elder. That evening we all did regular things like play capture-the-flag, and eat s'mores. This time, you added the expression "fershizzle" to my vocabulary. When there was only a peachy tint left on the horizon, we got sparklers out and creased the night with light. We scrawled designs in the air and signed our names. When I traced out my signature, which you'd seen before on paper, you said, "Don't forget the sun!" So we both made the sun, with one ray extended to cross the two t's in my name.
When I was 17. You had moved back here and gotten a job. You said you were home. I invited you to my graduation party and you snagged a ride with Joe. Eventually, everyone else had left and it was just me, you, Andrew and Del sitting around the campfire a little before midnight. You were playing one of Andrew's guitars and singing. I liked the sound of your voice. It matched the stars. Later we went inside and you asked for a pen and a piece of paper. I got them for you, and you drew me a picture. It looked like something from a comic strip, with happy shapes, flowers, and puffy clouds. You wrote me a note on the back that was written the same way you speak. I hear your voice when I read it.
The last time I saw you was at the Christmas Eve service at church. I was standing in the hallway, and right before you left you came up and took my hand. We joked about how some people are weird and will shake each others hands for forever as they have a conversation. Well, we were those weird people. I held your hand for a long time. I wish I had never let go; but you had to leave. You started to walk toward the doors, and I shouted after you, "Merry Christmas, Chris!" You turned back and smiled at me with that beautiful smile that lights up your whole face and said, "Merry Christmas!"
That's not the whole story. I know there was a lot about you I didn't know. There was a lot you never let me see. All the years and years of hurt and mistakes. All the circumstances you walked through; all the things you did; all the things did to you. I heard about it, but I never saw it, unlike other people who knew you, cared for you. But I refuse to say that the you I heard about was the real you. Yes, I know it was a part of you. I know there was thick darkness. But the real you—your eternal soul, the you you were to me—was the sparkler in that darkness.
At the last moment, I know you didn't forget the sun because you yourself told me not to.
Love, peace, and all that jazz,
Mattea
I heard the news on the way to Corning yesterday, that there had been an accident early that morning involving cars and a pedestrian. The pedestrian had died; the pedestrian was you. Later, in the coffee shop, they told me what I didn't want to hear. About the notes you left.
So I walked down Market Street alone, in the cold, under the gray sky. It was raining, and the waves in my hair became frizzy corkscrews. I clutched a cup of tea. Right then I couldn't really deal with either emotions or Calvinism, so I just thought of you, and how our lives had intersected. Three moments in time were especially poignant, all of them summer evenings.
When I was 12 or 13. It was the first time you came to our house, I think. I put on my Chuck Taylors, because you were the reason I had a pair. My choice of shoes was not the only thing you influenced; you also added the expression "sweet" to my vocabulary (I still say it whenever I'm excited about something). At some point that evening we had started a fire in the field, and I remember watching you and Andrew walking back out there to make sure it was really out, before we went for ice cream. You were both silhouetted by the sunset, and it was really pretty.
When I was 14. You and your younger brothers had come back East for a visit, and we had you out here for supper. Even though you'd lived here previously with the Jeror's, that is the first time I felt like I connected with you, simply because I was finally old enough to relate to someone 4 years my elder. That evening we all did regular things like play capture-the-flag, and eat s'mores. This time, you added the expression "fershizzle" to my vocabulary. When there was only a peachy tint left on the horizon, we got sparklers out and creased the night with light. We scrawled designs in the air and signed our names. When I traced out my signature, which you'd seen before on paper, you said, "Don't forget the sun!" So we both made the sun, with one ray extended to cross the two t's in my name.
When I was 17. You had moved back here and gotten a job. You said you were home. I invited you to my graduation party and you snagged a ride with Joe. Eventually, everyone else had left and it was just me, you, Andrew and Del sitting around the campfire a little before midnight. You were playing one of Andrew's guitars and singing. I liked the sound of your voice. It matched the stars. Later we went inside and you asked for a pen and a piece of paper. I got them for you, and you drew me a picture. It looked like something from a comic strip, with happy shapes, flowers, and puffy clouds. You wrote me a note on the back that was written the same way you speak. I hear your voice when I read it.
The last time I saw you was at the Christmas Eve service at church. I was standing in the hallway, and right before you left you came up and took my hand. We joked about how some people are weird and will shake each others hands for forever as they have a conversation. Well, we were those weird people. I held your hand for a long time. I wish I had never let go; but you had to leave. You started to walk toward the doors, and I shouted after you, "Merry Christmas, Chris!" You turned back and smiled at me with that beautiful smile that lights up your whole face and said, "Merry Christmas!"
That's not the whole story. I know there was a lot about you I didn't know. There was a lot you never let me see. All the years and years of hurt and mistakes. All the circumstances you walked through; all the things you did; all the things did to you. I heard about it, but I never saw it, unlike other people who knew you, cared for you. But I refuse to say that the you I heard about was the real you. Yes, I know it was a part of you. I know there was thick darkness. But the real you—your eternal soul, the you you were to me—was the sparkler in that darkness.
At the last moment, I know you didn't forget the sun because you yourself told me not to.
Love, peace, and all that jazz,
Mattea
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
And I Say Thank You
Thanksgiving, like Christmas and Easter, is one of those holidays that we should celebrate all the time--not because of the food (thought I'd clarify that point), but because it's a heart attitude that we should constantly cultivate. We should always celebrate Jesus' birth and resurrection, and we should always be thankful for those two great events. Being thankful for what God has done is the only way we can relate properly to Him.
However, this Thanksgiving, rather than writing up a list of a bunch of random things I'm thankful for, or writing a long essay on the awesomeness of salvation by grace, I want to focus on my friends that God has given me.
For I am extremely thankful for my friends! The apostle Paul frequently thanked God for his friends, and I feel a great need to appreciate my friends too. It is uncommon to find such good friends as I have, even in Christian circles. So here is a blogger shout out to Hannah, Jordan, Mariah, Jennifer, Jared, Josiah, Mikaela, Jonathan, Alex, Bethany, Demory, Delian, Ben, and Michelle.
You are all eternally valuable to me.
You pull me to higher standards, and help me set my mind on things above.
You are God-centric.
You inspire a whole variety of pleasant emotions in my heart.
You are real and natural and grounded.
You encourage me.
You get me out of myself.
You help me make sense out of life.
You are amazing examples of what it's like to be servants, sons, and daughters of God.
You give me peace through the peace God has set in each of your hearts.
You do marvelous things to me.
You show me how to live.
You are respectful of each other.
You are kind and generous.
You demonstrate wisdom.
You give me hope.
You show me how to worship.
You are fun.
The list goes on (seriously, it does), and each of you have star roles in some of those areas or minor roles in others...because you all have a unique way of interacting with me. A unique combination of strengths and weaknesses that meld with my strengths and weaknesses and let us be friends. Life without any of you would be horrible...which is why God must have given you to me :). He knew how much I would need you.
Thank you.
However, this Thanksgiving, rather than writing up a list of a bunch of random things I'm thankful for, or writing a long essay on the awesomeness of salvation by grace, I want to focus on my friends that God has given me.
For I am extremely thankful for my friends! The apostle Paul frequently thanked God for his friends, and I feel a great need to appreciate my friends too. It is uncommon to find such good friends as I have, even in Christian circles. So here is a blogger shout out to Hannah, Jordan, Mariah, Jennifer, Jared, Josiah, Mikaela, Jonathan, Alex, Bethany, Demory, Delian, Ben, and Michelle.
You are all eternally valuable to me.
You pull me to higher standards, and help me set my mind on things above.
You are God-centric.
You inspire a whole variety of pleasant emotions in my heart.
You are real and natural and grounded.
You encourage me.
You get me out of myself.
You help me make sense out of life.
You are amazing examples of what it's like to be servants, sons, and daughters of God.
You give me peace through the peace God has set in each of your hearts.
You do marvelous things to me.
You show me how to live.
You are respectful of each other.
You are kind and generous.
You demonstrate wisdom.
You give me hope.
You show me how to worship.
You are fun.
The list goes on (seriously, it does), and each of you have star roles in some of those areas or minor roles in others...because you all have a unique way of interacting with me. A unique combination of strengths and weaknesses that meld with my strengths and weaknesses and let us be friends. Life without any of you would be horrible...which is why God must have given you to me :). He knew how much I would need you.
Thank you.
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