Saints of Servitude

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace
where there is hatred, let me sow love
where there is injury, pardon
where there is doubt, faith
where there is despair, hope
where there is darkness, light
where there is sadness, joy
Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted
to understand, than to be understood
to love, than to be loved.
For it is by giving that one receives.
It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.
And it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Oh the glory that the Lord has made, and the complications you could do without

I am feeling a great amount of heartbreak for so many reasons that I can't really find the words for.
It's a painful thing; not having the necessary words.
Sometimes I wish I could cry.
It's like my tear ducts are always too proud.
Or maybe, in this case, that would make it too real.

"I read about how you touched them and they were healed.
Or even if someone just touched your cloak they were forever changed;
You let a broken women bathe your feet in her tears
And you washed your best friend’s feet
I am just wondering though, did you ever just hug people
I mean, I know that it is a silly question and all; I am sure you would have why wouldn’t you've?
But it's one of those things that was never mentioned that got me thinking about it
And how whenever there was a touch from you sins were forgiven and sickness fell
I think I’m caught up in my sins, and last time I checked all my body parts were properly working; nothing special here.
I am just a kid with a heavy heart these passing sunrises and sunsets.
I don’t think our encounter would have ended up in the gospels or anything
Because all I really need is a hug
That is okay for me to imagine, right
That’s not going to be conflicting with any sort of theology, is it
Okay good. Then hug me.
But not one of these sideways one arm around the neck type hugs
Or the ghetto right hand clasp fists elbows to chest pat pat on the back back
Or you put your right arm over my right arm and I put my left arm over your left arm and we make this weird sort of diagonal thing
No, none of those.
BEAR HUG ME MAN
Take your old school carpenter arms and throw them over my upper body leaving my arms dangling underneath yours somewhere and I can barely move them because you're squeezing me so hard.
But don’t pick me up and make my back pop because I hate it when people do that.
And hold me, hold me here in your arms until I start to cry
because I WANT TO CRY
But I just can’t seem to do it on my own
I have been teary eyed once recently but not even enough for a drip down my cheek
Theres just hurt in my soul that needs to be purged
So hold me in this hugging pose
Until the pain is flowing from my eyes and nose "

Normal is the watchword

I really appreciate Catherine Chalk.
I had the terrific opportunity to spend a significant amount of time with her today sitting on a couch talking, and it was such a blessing. I truly love our ability to be honest and lay everything out on the table right off the bat. I've realized recently that honesty is something I wholly admire in a person. I've had a lot of uncertainties in my life, and although I can appreciate the fact that not everything is black and white or cut and dry, I will take any opportunity to dispel the gray areas. During my conversation with her I also found myself reawakening a certain sense of self that I seem to be missing lately.
I love camp, but I feel like a floater here. Things that seemed so trivial before, take a greater importance in my life, and I spend a lot less time being conscious of what I have and my place in my own story.
I'm not sure if this actually makes any sense... but I'm just going to keep trucking along...

When I'm at home, despite whether I'm having a bad day or not, my purpose is clear, and I feel so solid and grounded. And I do spend a lot of time feeling that way here, don't get me wrong, camp has done amazing things for me; in the past and in these last few weeks. But I think different parts of me tend to be highlighted when I'm in either place.
I remember before I left for camp, I desperately needed a break. I felt so strained, and coming here was such a blessing. I could feel different things instantly falling into place, and started to wonder if Vernon was really where I was meant to be.
In the last little while, though, I realized that there are parts of myself, parts that I have felt growing and maturing and really adding to my character, that tend to fall away while I'm here.
I am apprehensive about returning home in 2 weeks, but at the same time, it feels right and feels like time. There is so much left to experience there, and so many people I feel at a loss without.
It's bizarre to think that this time last year, those people weren't even on my radar. I've always liked and admired Nicole, but I never considered she'd become my very best friend and confidante. I didn't even know Jen last year, and now I can't imagine my life without her. The MacBain's are like family to me, and I miss holding Ethan, Tenaya, Nathan, Ben and Lucas in my arms when I'm away. It physically aches a little to think that Janelle isn't up to date on my ENTIRE life, and I miss walking into work and instantly being cheered by Andre's smile.
I'm so grateful for the parts everyone has played in my life this past year, and I'm very excited for the next year.
I suppose that's all.
Namaste.

A glass can only spill what it contains

So I have made the conscious decision to start blogging again. I miss writing in a very achy way, and I should probably get back into practice before classes start up.
I'm not sure how I feel about life these days. I've been having a lot of D&M's (Deep and Meaningful) with Caitlyn recently, because I've been feeling like I'm losing sight of myself.
I've been priding myself over the past few months on how self-aware I seemed to be getting, but now I'm just not so sure. I've been through a lot of really intense stuff in my short life, and yet it seems to me that it's the more inconsequential stuff that appears to be throwing my life into a tailspin lately. Maybe it is that realization that has me so on edge.
Regardless, my heart has been feeling pretty strained lately. It's being stretched and squeezed to it's limits, and although I am aware that it's a muscle to be worked, it's not something I enjoy all that much. I was pouring it all out to Caitlyn earlier this evening about the things I feel versus the things I know to be true. That although I feel utterly heartbroken all the time, I know that healing is taking place in direct correlation, and despite my extreme emotional highs and lows, I am completely aware of where I am and what I need/am ready for regardless of how I feel.
It's funny, I had a moment after unleashing this wave of emotion where I felt completely vulnerable and embarrassed of everything I had told her, and was sure she was going to write me off as being a complete basketcase, but instead, she told me how impressed she was with how aware I was of my own needs and emotional boundaries.
It seems ridiculous now that I would ever think Caitlyn would think I was a basketcase; she's such a steadfast best friend, and she sees all the beauty and maturity in me that I fail to ever recognize on my own.
I feel lately like I have to work to constantly remind myself that I am safe and taken care of, and despite many possible pitfalls, I have so many terrific things going for me.
I thank God every day for Caitlyn, and her unwavering ability to make me see that.

This somehow became a lovenote to her, so I'll continue my emotional downfall later on.
Namaste.

ps. I've started listening to mewithoutYou a lot while writing; it is brilliant and therapeutic. Try it sometime.

Maybe our stars are unanimously tired

I don't want to hurt anymore.
I can't.
You mean more to me than anyone I have ever met.
I would do anything for you, and that scares me, because I'm not entirely sure you've done enough to deserve that.
You're so good, and so kind, and yet somewhere along the line, that ended between us.
I've been holding out for a sign that this isn't just useless progress, and I don't see it, despite all the ways I try to make myself believe there's something there. Something that isn't pain.
I love you, and I want to be in your life so badly, but I also know that, at least right now, you being in mine is just causing a lot of damage.
So I'm letting go.
It hurts so much more than I could have ever imagined.
But I need to do this.
I need to let you go.

Beyond Words

And I'll still love you
Beyond what words can say
I'll take your every suffering moment
And bring a better day
I'll still love you
More then what I hope to be
Let me wrap my arms around you
Let me take your breath away

Before the gleam of your taillights fading East to find yourself a better life

I haven't really felt like writing lately. Last night I was telling Jen about how, growing up, my mom always talked about the day when I would become a famous author, and I would sign it "Mahala Sarah" and make the dedication out to my mom, who taught me everything I know. I would usually just roll my eyes when she floated off into this fantasy world of hers, but it's a dream I still keep tucked away. I seem to be doing that a lot. Tucking things away. Dreams, hopes, ambitions, little prayers.. and I don't think it's what God wants for me. When I was a little girl, I had this picture in my mind of what my life would look like when I was 20 years old. I was talking to Clint yesterday about how, "whenever we start something new, there's always a certain expectation... and then there's reality." They rarely match up perfectly.

So does that mean that we should get rid of expectation entirely. Be satisfied with whatever we can get?
I think this post stopped being about life goals somewhere along the way.
But I may as well continue.... I'm starting to think that that's not good enough for me. I deserve more than "the best I can get. "

The glove compartment isn't accurately named, and everybody knows it - so I'm proposing a swift orderly change.

Cause behind it's door there's nothing to keep my fingers warm, and all I find are souvenirs from better times.

Chill

You stand still in the cold, paralyzed in your anguish, transfixed
By each swirling snowflake, which remind you every
Year without fail of the off-white hospital room and how you thought
That falling snowflakes were a lot like a crumbling tower.
And now you know without a moments hesitation that you’re the tower which
Resembles now, more than anything, the snow in February,
You know the kind, half-melted, and off-colored from months of
Shoe-soles and snow-shovels to the face.

And the chill, it creeps through the deep fissures
In your armor and that’s all it takes, you never think to take heed
Bat an eyelash - you stay peacefully inattentive, distracted by delirium
Not a single tremor until the fateful day it reaches the thick
Of your bones and by then, what can you do
But sit in careful deliberate silence, for fear the next insubstantial upset might crash
Your world to pieces and through the cracks will spill
Sorrow and you’re too focused on staying alive and breathing to realize that
You’re already deceased and buried in your silence and your stillness.

Mahala Sarah Woodford