Becoming Human (A Short Story)

21 Jan

Something happens when you come alive and are set free from fear.

You realize existence is messy and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Control is an illusion, a grasping at the air only to fall over.

This reality: It’s bloody, gritty, reality.
Broken hearts and broken bones are just a way of life.

So you begin to realize you don’t have to expend your energy trying to avoid the mess.

(You breathe a sigh of relief.)
Once upon a time, you had this idea everything would be smooth because you were trying to say and do all the right things.

The universe seemed to align and God was on side because you were be moral enough and separated yourself from the world, to be to “holy” enough to avoid being like the others you judged and pitied.

Any trials or pain that happened you blamed on some outside force of evil, or how God was testing you.

But you were terrified to admit when you did wrong, you couldn’t believe you could possibly still be struggling with wanting to lose yourself in something you’ve been told is so wrong, so you denied your desires instead of understanding why you have them in the first place.

But they didn’t go away. You can only shove down your humanity so much. 

So when all that inevitably blew up in your face, you couldn’t help but feel a little crazy.

You may have tried again and again, thrusting yourself into an endless cycle of failure and guilt, but when you finally realized it’s all a sham, you got angry.

So you fought back a little. You did something rebellious.

They looked at you and thought,

“There’s another one lost to the darkness.”

But what they didn’t realize was this was all part of your journey to grace.

So you broke and screamed and let go and let all the pain in.

You accepted the fact you are poor and dirty and dead.

You decided to live a little dangerously.

To embrace instead of exclude.

To dare to be open and see the truth all around you.

And I say, if it’s one step closer to you coming alive, go for it.

Feel all your emotions.

Question what you always thought to be true.

Allow your heart to be broken.

Because let me tell you friend, if you spend your life trying to guard yourself, trying to behave, trying to fit into some religious mold, you will cheat yourself out of truly experiencing life.

You will cheat the world out of what kind of beauty can explode when a human being is actually genuine.

And what happens when a genuine human being allows the spirit of a perfect and loving God to be life within them.

God doesn’t want a robot. He just wants you.

Real change comes not in us trying harder, but in giving up and letting go and realizing the beautiful and terrible truth,

We are broken and we can’t fix ourselves. 

………………….

Exactly.

That’s the entire point.

That’s what Jesus is for. 

 

 

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The Divorce of Things From Their Names

19 Jan

“The world is babbled to pieces after the divorce of things from their names.”

-Wendell Berry

We speak and write, but speaking and writing isn’t enough

we want charts and definitions to tells us what we mean

words are meant to communicate but

we’re always trying to read between the lines

to see things that may only be in between our consciousness

and our desire to find the answers we want

the ones we think satisfy our longings

 

I write this because I love words 

but sometimes I get tired of how they fail me

 

How they never seem to be enough

Even if I had a “genius” vocabulary

people will always read things differently

they will want neat clean definitions

to tell them what to do and help them win their arguments

besides, it’s not about loquaciousness

 

Brevity is clarity

true “genius” is saying more with less

So while I have this romantic notion improving my vocabulary

will cause the world to finally hear what I have to say

I know deep down it’s a fallacy

 

Because the world doesn’t need knowledge for knowledge’s sakes

we can “know” whatever we want  (Google it)

and it still doesn’t change the ache in us

 

Sometimes I lie to myself and think I need to fit it with these

intellectual and witty writers

but the truth is

 

I am not them

(this is me)

 

Just a girl trying to put a face on beauty with my few shallow words

Trying to strip away bad definitions of

big things that matter

 

Like happiness and success and desire

and God

 

I am simply trying to name what can’t necessarily be named

 

So much of defining is about trying to prove a point

instead, I’d like to use it to allow the beauty of a thing to unfold

 

There’s something in a name

when we name, there is an intimacy attached

 

and so maybe I can reunite ideas with their right definitions

and be sure to speak the sacred names

all of life has

not leaving out vowels or writing around the issues

because that will never move us forward

 

And so

I leave you with this;

the one definition, the one name that needs to be communicated above all else:

 

God= Jesus= pure love.

 

If that is the only conclusion you arrive at the end of reading this blog

If that is the only thing I know at the end of my life

that is enough

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The Struggle Between The Tree And The Wind

6 Jan

Am I the only one that feels this tension, this pulling within?

I am so afraid of being grounded, yet at times it’s what I want more than anything.

I decided, years ago, I’d rather be a wanderer.

But lately I feel old.

Lately I want to take my belongings out of storage.

Lately I want to live somewhere where I can build a home.

I know these thoughts are ok but sometimes I hate them.

I hate the thought of being stuck.

I  think, “I used to be wild and free.”

But no one is putting chains on me but me.

(This is me surviving.Walking, pacing, watching the sky change.)

I always tell people to embrace these  seasons of coming and going, of no strings attached.

It’s not like I have a family to take care of.

It’s not like I even have a job where I am stuck in one place.

(But oh at times, how green the grass seems anywhere else.)

I am 26 and no more sure than I was 10 years ago.
But I am ready for life to not be about me.

So I tell myself I can follow my passion.
I can live in abundance…

Wait….. I do.
I do live in abundance.
I have so much beauty, love, people. I am doing what I love, too.

Someone from New England asked me last night if I just love living in Texas.

After 8 years I could say honestly that I do.
(Trust me, even forming those words is an act of rebellion to my vagabond soul.)

I used to count my days by the places I went.
I relished living out of a suitcase.

I dreamed of endless places and people and possibilities.
It was never easy but it was worth the freedom I felt.

Have I gotten so comfortable?
Have I fallen into desiring normal instead of living an adventure?

Those things that were so intertwined in the fabric of my being, being reminded over and over that it’s not only ok not to know, but I’d rather not, cause

“Life is better off a mystery.”

So I can be free.
Every day can be magical
It’s all up to me.

I ask myself,

“Can I be a tree or can I be the wind?”

The answer is,

“Both.”

“When did I lose it?” I ask, fearing the worst.

The answer is,
“Never.”

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Twenty-Eleven, In Moments.

1 Jan

The morning came in subtly with shades of amber hues, contradicting the brilliant neon hues of the sunset.

And I think maybe some things come in softly and slowly and go out with a ferocious bang.

And vise versa. Because sometimes ends and beginnings blur together.
2011 felt  like an ordinary year, but it wasn’t.

I took a motorcycle class, got my website hacked by a terrorist, found out my niece has leukemia, biked down a mountain in Virginia, and wrote more the I have ever written.

I have had many wonderful and weird and bad experiences this year. I am going to focus on the good. Because life happens in moments, I will reflect that way.

Dear Sparky and Mermaid, you are indeed shining beacons of awesomeness in my life.

Working for Pais Project was more than just a job. I loved it, even the difficult moments. I met some great people, learned a ton, and was able to be a part of  writing the book, “The Cloud and the Line.” I was there for so many reasons, and when it was time to go it was bittersweet.

I love these guys. I had so much fun working with them. I don’t have a picture of everyone, but I loved my boss and coworkers as well as the people at Lakehouse Church. It was a good year in Arlington.

Vacationing in the Florida Keys with my favorite people was one of the most unexpected blessings and great adventures of my year. My dad was also there (he was taking the picture.)

What a magical place. It was a time of grace. The best vacation of my life. I am so thankful for Steve, who made all this happen.

I did a lot of cooking at my apartment in Arlington. My favorite part of living there was all the amazing Asian and Middle Eastern food. I walked to the Halal supermarket and bought fresh meat, produce and curry.

2011 was the year of really becoming a writer. I typed out a book for my boss at Pais, started writing freelance for  SEO and Social Networking companies, and of course, co-wrote the  “The Wizard of God.” I  also won a poetry contest and was nominated for a Pushcart prize.

I had the privilege of road-tripping with my man up to New England to see my family. We spent a fun day exploring New York City.

I love this picture of my parents and my brother Robert.

Water wars with my nephew Tre.

Hanging out in Portsmouth with my beautiful sister Terra.

Boston! One of my favorite cities.

In the fall I lived in North Carolina for three months. It was a sweet time. I read a lot. I became pretty reclusive, but it ended up being a good thing. I wrote a book. I still can’t get over that.

I saw some great concerts in North Carolina including One Republic,

John Mark McMillan, Michael Gungor,

and of course, The Civil Wars.

We saw them right after we finished writing the book.

It was a great ending to an amazing year.

Steve, Becca and I at the Biltmore in NC.

I am thankful for this year. It has been challenging as all years are, but I feel like I have grown a lot and seen a lot of things come to pass.

Favorites of 2011

Albums-

Josh Garrels- Love and War and the Sea Between

Katie Herzig- The Waking Sleep

Movies:

The Tree of Life

Midnight In Paris

TV Shows-

Pan Am

New Girl

Books-

All Is Grace, Brennan Manning

Trail of Crumbs, Kim Sunee

And now… onward.

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Part B: The Redemption of Jekyll & Hyde

22 Dec

This time of year everything is magnified.

All of the year seems to come to a head.

The good done.

The bad that still exists.

The ugliness of consumerism.

The beautiful idea of gifts given with no strings attached.

(Is that possible? Can a gift really be a gift? Can we, who thrive within a system of reward and punishment, truly understand grace?)

This Christmas, It would be good to acknowledge that I have no love outside of the love of God in me.

My attempts are always rooted in self-gratification.

There are no naturally pure motives.

I cannot give without wanting to be given back to in return, or to have people see my gift and think I am a good person.

I cannot love without desiring that person to make me feel good, to fulfill my emotions, to boost my ego.

I cannot even write without wanting people to read these words and think of me as spiritual and humble.

The truth is, I am selfish to the core.

I look out for number one.

I see myself as apart from others, as capable of creating my own world around myself.

Me, left to my own doing, will destroy myself.

There is no love in me.

…………………wait………………………..

It doesn’t stop there……….

The tables have been turned.

I am not left alone to destroy myself.

By an insane grace I cannot even begin to express through my writing,

I have been saved,

from myself.

from the wretched and lonely idea I have to make it on my own.

from the disgusting belief disguised as religious piety that I can somehow conjure up some kind of love, some kind of godliness.

And that, that is my new reality.

At times I feel split, a regular Jekyll and Hyde.

Image by Jean-Thomas Louvier

How could I taste such Pure Love one moment and such bitter humanness the next?

How could a vessel so filthy be filled with a Spirit so pure?

I know myself, I know my motives, I know my deep dark hidden thoughts.

(But they are known greater by Someone greater.)

This christmas, it would do me good to remember there is nothing good in me apart from Christ,

but I am not apart from Him.

That’s where the story continues.

It doesn’t stop in my own pain, my own grossness.

It isn’t the truth because maybe you are impressed I am being this self-deprecating, this vulnerable.

(Even that can be another boost to my ego. Ewww.)

It doesn’t end at a realization of my own poverty.

I can’t just believe God to be everything and me nothing, it can’t end there.

Or I will stay in the gutter.

I’ll never be the person God made me to be.

I’ll never be Jesus to the world.

You see, the end of the story matters just as much as the beginning.

Part A:

I once was lost.

I once was blind.

Part B:

But now I am found.

But now I see.

This is the grand paradox, the tension we all live within.

We come from dust and return to dust.

We are poor, filthy, wretched beings,

and somehow

We are light,

We are glorious eternal creatures.

We are unstoppable, indescribable beauty.

Because

He came.

He walked.

He loved.

He died.

He lives in us.

So we could realize our nothingness in ourselves and our everythingness in Him.

This is it.

This is my story.

This is my song.

This is Christmas.

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10 Impossible Things Before Breakfast

20 Dec

There are mornings I wake up and immediately believe two lies:

1. That today is just another day.
2. That I am jut an ordinary human being.

I forget:
1. I am breathing. Life itself is a miracle.
2. I am a hero on a journey.
3. Everything is mine, because it was given to me.

I want to believe these impossible things before breakfast.
And the list continues:

4. All things worth having are a gift.
5. I already have everything that everyone is searching for.
6. Nothing is worth more than this day.
7. Epic stories are in me, waiting to be told.
8. I am loved extravagantly, I with all my counted flaws I stupidly keep track of in the darkened mirror.
9. Everything is finished. The struggle is believing that.

Speaking of number 7, all this feels like a fairy tale at times, a place like Narnia or Middle Earth or Oz, like falling deeper down the rabbit hole or taking the red pill.

Can I believe in what seems to be a story? Or is it that the stories tell a greater Truth that our world can’t grasp?

What is the reason these stories seem more alive than our “mundane” lives?
Why do they resound so deeply within our broken frames?

Could it be because they are the way we understand The Story?

And so I bring you number 10:

10. God came as a human infant; bloody and screaming, into a dark stable reeking of manure. He grew, walked among us, healed the sick, mended the broken, tore down the old system of religion, ate with the whores and criminals, loved all. He was murdered and came to life, defeating death forever, giving us the greatest gift: himself (true life) to all who believe.

Because of #10, because I am a character in This Book, I can believe the other 9 impossible things before breakfast.

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The Beauty of Creative Collaboration

10 Dec

It’s my last night in North Carolina. I am sitting in the black office chair for the last time. I have practically lived in this chair for the past three months.

I written over 90,000 words in this chair.

But I didn’t do it by myself. Never in a hundred lifetimes would I have dreamed I would have written a novel like The Wizard of God. 

The beauty of this book is that it is a collaboration.

It is the product of the stories of those who have been on a journey of looking for Jesus in the midst of some  religious road blocks, of those who have found themselves as beggars welcomed in to eat at the King’s table. It’s a story of people, coming together and discovering grace.

And that is my story, our story.

Thursday night I finally saw The Civil Wars in concert. I wrote the epilogue of the book the day before, and it was a wonderfully timed celebration.

The opening band, Milo Greene completely blew me away. I was expecting some singer songwriter dude, but it was a full band. Four lead singers, each of them with incredibly unique voices, all of them playing multiple instruments, switching on and off, intertwining, harmonizing, to create this melodic audibly mesmerizing sound.

I whispered to Becca,

“Man, each one of them could be a successful act on their own!”

But I was glad they were not.

In a world that makes art a competition, it is nothing short of a miracle to see talented people with different voices coming together to make create a diverse symphony.

And then came Joy Williams and John Paul White. Never have I been so glad of musicians joining together.

In all the reviews and articles I have read about The Civil Wars, the one thing that strikes every listener is the marriage of their voices. Listening, watching them is something very hard to describe.

It was spiritual, the way their voices carried, lifted and lowered, danced around each other, settled.

Pure magic. A wild blending of talents that turns into something so free yet so smooth.

Ah, the beauty of creative collaboration.

When we partake in such things, I am convinced we are looking through a peephole into the another Kingdom.

That’s it, isn’t it?

What we want. Why we get the shivers. What feels right. The happy ending.

Togetherness.

Coming with our own voice, or own words, our own story, our substance one ingredient to make a delicious bread that will leave the world satisfied. 

To know we are part to a body. We all long for it.

So much of art (I could replace “art” with “my existence”) has been about selfishness, arrogance mixed with self-deprecation, some sort of weird creative person self-loathing-elitism. (seloathistim??)

We call it individualism, independence, other words that sound responsible and American. Yet we end up in misery when we try to go at life alone. We call it being a moody artist, survival of the fittest or whatever, yet we lose so much when we compare, compete, push aside people to try to succeed so we can see our names shine in a fading spotlight.

I don’t think that’s joy. I think that’s misery and loneliness.

Joy is knowing we are a part of the whole. A unique, beautiful part, but a part none-the-less.

Joy is knowing we need each other.  

It’s understanding we are all made of the same stuff, and the things about us that are different are not to be feared or hated, but celebrated and made into art.

It’s closing your eyes and being lifted by the sound of music and voices whirling into one, making sense of what emotions can’t spell out.

It’s sitting in a room with people and letting the spirit flow, letting each person bring a piece to a puzzle that’s larger than any one soul, to go on a journey that could never happen alone.

When I think back to my crazy three months writing a book in North Carolina, this is what I will remember, and smile.

Help “All Things Become New” For My Niece Sierra

28 Nov

Sierra Luby

This darling girl is my *almost* two-year-old niece, Sierra.

She is one of twin girls, born to my brother and sister-in-law Davis and Mindy.

The (Other) Lubys- Mindy & Davis, AJ, Julia & Sierra

Sierra is special, and though I’ve only had the privilege of meeting her once, she holds and special place in my heart.

Sierra, like my younger brother Robert, was born with Down Syndrome.

And like Robert, she was diagnosed with Leukemia before she turned two.

One of the Best Guys I know

Thankfully, my brother is a perfect picture of health, happiness and just plain awesomeness! He turned 22 a few months ago.

My family is praying and believing the same thing for Sierra.

What Sierra Thinks of Hospital Food.

Sierra started treatment about a month ago and will be in the hospital for the next seven months. Family and friends out in Northern California where the Lubys live, are looking for ways to raise money to help meet the hospital bills that will soon pile up.

So from today on, if you buy my self-published book, a 75 page collection of poetry, All Things Are Becoming New, all proceeds will go to the Luby family to help with Sierra’s medical bills.

It’s only $7 and available through create space by clicking the link above. 50% of that money goes straight to the print-on-demand company to actually make the book, and 50% will go to Sierra.

If you already have my book or hate poetry or just want to give more, you can do so directly through paypal by clicking here. 

Thank you so much, and thank you for all your prayers.

Here is an excerpt Mindy wrote from her Caring Bridge Journal recently.

All Smiles

Sierra makes such an impression on people… even after they leave pediatrics and head off to some other department, they  are still keeping up on her status in the hospital medical record computer.  Their reaction to seeing her is hilarious (for lack of a better word).  After they have read about what’s going on and how her blood counts look they expect to come see poor sick little Sierra laying in her crib looking pitiful… instead they are greeted by a smiling, waving, up and walking around, trying to escape the room, Sierra.  Thank goodness everybody has fallen in love with her… with my regularly-scheduled melt downs and freak-outs I’m certain we would have been kicked out of here by now if it wasn’t for her.  She even melts the hearts of the other kids… there’s a little boy (he’s 3 years old) and I see him all the time when I go out into the hallway.  He’s not in isolation like Sierra, so he goes outside of his room and walks the hallways… I always wave and smile and say hi to him… he stares at me and never cracks even the smallest of smiles.  Today he and his dad were walking past our room, he looked in and saw Sierra waving at him and he smiled and waved and stood there and watched Sierra for the longest time.  I wish she could go visit with the other kids, I just know she would make them feel better. 

Click on the link below and for the twin ultimate cuteness! (You have the watch the whole thing, it’s so worth it when they start to laugh)

http://www.facebook.com/v/1582504373936

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Thanksgiving Dinner With Perfect Strangers

24 Nov

Today I had thanksgiving with a family I don’t even know. I was unsure about it before hand. I text my friend Mere and said it was going to be awkward. She said “Awkward makes for the best stories!” She is wise. So I decided to write about it.

It’s not like I didn’t know anyone. I know the grandma, my temporary next-door neighbor, a spunky lady with red wire-rimmed glasses nicknamed by her kids and grandkids “Ba-poo.”

I walked in and was immediately welcomed with hands, drinks, open arms, questions, jokes, a tour of the beautiful home and introductions and explanations of “who’s who” in the tangled family tree.

“TEXAS?! You’re from TEXAS!? Honey, come here!”

I was hugged tightly by a (Texan) daughter-in-law, finally feeling ok with saying that’s where I am “from.”

As usual, it’s not always simple to explain who I am and what I am doing here.

“Technically, I was born in California but I grew up in New Hampshire but I’ve lived in Texas eight years.”

“What part??”

“East… near Tyler… then near Dallas…”

“So what are you doing here?”

“Working on a book project…blah blah blah explain, explain  la la la.”

“Oh like ghostwriting?”

“Umm sort of… kind of like a collaboration…”

This repeated many times throughout the evening.

I could barely keep track of  who I was meeting,  but I can’t keep track of my own life either and somehow it all works out.

A few drinks in and it didn’t matter. Then the food came.

Sitting at a table together, barriers come down.

It didn’t matter I didn’t know anyones dreams and desires, or even the favorite band of the twenty-one year old next to me or whether he believes in God. We both thought it is damn good cheesy corn casserole and in the moment, that’s what mattered.

It didn’t matter they had been through weddings, births, deaths, divorces, years and miles with each other and I came into their world thirty minutes ago, they accepted me as a human being.

And don’t forget football. Nothing brings people together (especially in the South) like football. Though I feel estranged from that world, like a bored alien observing a foreign planet where men in spandex run around with a ball and people scream,  I could at least relate to the fact the venue they played in was ten minutes down the road from where my old apartment was.

The conversation continued over touch-downs and three types of stuffing and two types of turkey and too much gravy.

“So what’s your book about?”

“Ummm…. well, it’s like… blah blah blah and then sort of like blah blah ‘loosely based’ on The Wizard of Oz.’ Mumble, mumble, na na. Yes.”

Or something like that.

Ok, so maybe I ate and drank too much to make sense, or maybe I never do anyway. Maybe I love the fact it doesn’t take a simple sentence to explain my life.

I  got a bit misty-eyed when I looked around at the love this family had for each other, laughed hysterically at the anecdotes about other years when the cat’s tail caught on fire, and I stifled a giggle when the seven-year old said the blessing,

“And I pray for the pilgrims…. even though they are dead…”

Though I was far from people who really know me (besides my dear friend Becca) it didn’t matter. Because there is something raw and real and beautiful and maybe a little messy about sitting down at a table to eat with perfect strangers on a holiday that is all about friends and family, only to walk away feeling completely satisfied in my stomach and in my heart.

And finally, here are some points of gratitude as of lately…. 

Soundtrack of my life lately: Katie Herzig & Josh Garrells.

Watching Hulu with Becca after a long day.

Memoirs. Brennan Manning’s in particular.

Spinach. (I put it in everything, can’t get enough)

The miracle of writing one more chapter.

Spontaneous Sushi lunches with Steve.

Modge-Podge.

Watching the leaves fall off the trees as I walk around the neighborhood.

Laying on the swing-bench just to look up at the sky and breathe.

Yoga to wake up.

Jean-Thomas randomly calling throughout the day.

That I get to see The Civil Wars finally in two weeks.

That I get to go (home) to Texas in two and a half weeks.

Knowing this book will be completed.

Jesus… all He is… the beauty all around me He is continually opening my sleepy eyes to see….

What if Grace was so thick it hung in the air like a dense fog? With every breath you breathe in pure Grace, there is no distance, no lack, no barrier. You couldn’t take in a breath without filling your lungs with Pure Life. 

This is exactly the way it is…

(Steve Roy)

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The Madness Of Celebrating Death

21 Nov

I walk, as I do, before the sun goes to bed

it happens early these days

despite it being hot enough to sweat

I sit on a hill facing some trees

I pick up a leaf dead and nearly colorless

and crinkle it in my fingers

I laugh for no reason

other than life being funny

then it comes as a rush

torrents of joy through my body

and I see above myself

a bird watching this being

alone on a hill shaking with giggles

I wonder if maybe I am

a child

ripe with newness

or a mad old woman who has seen

too much of the world

or maybe I am both

laughing and crunching leaves

enjoying the sound it makes

crazy and free and whole

feeling too young or too old

for my twenty-six-year-old skin

never getting “used to” being me

in all the coming and going

all the madness and beauty

and I stop laughing for a moment

and stare at the trees

so long they seem to shift

what’s left of their colors melding

their branches beckoning me

to join their yearly party of temporary death

and I concur with myself I must be crazy

and laugh a little more for effect

then I pause to catch up with

the narration in my head

and I realize

I am seeing again

and like the ruined leaf

dying a bit

so I may live a little more bravely

next spring

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