I'm Allowed to Have Bad Days.

I'm allowed to have bad days. 

I am human, after all. 

And as I sit here, listening to a song where the singer keeps repeating the words, "Everything's gonna be better next year," I can't help but wonder if that's simply a delusion at this point in time. They do happen to note that the only way it could be worse if you're "in a hearse," but truly, what if it doesn't get better next year?

In fact, why am I even thinking about next year at all? I've still got the rest of this day to try and figure out. And technically, there are only 2 hours and 19 minutes until tomorrow.

What I can say is that I kept moving forward today; even through the midst of stress and complete frustration and the overwhelming feeling that I'm duplicating work and the depression that follows thinking that I have not the slightest clue what I'm doing anymore, I took another step forward. In my eyes, there really can be no stepping back. There has never been a day where I lived the day before. In a sense of time, I'm always moving forward. Even if where I am looks strangely similar to where I was a year ago, I'm still moving forward. 

Time is cyclical. Time is linear. Time is confusing spaghetti strings tangled up in each other around a fork that keeps on turning - round and round and round we go. There is nothing new in this world. There are an unending amount of chances for wonder in this world. We will never know everything. We know we can always learn, always grow, always feel out situations for truth and light and peace and hope. We know that we will always meet days of discouragement, dispair, disrupting thoughts buzzing into existence out of absolutely nowhere, distracting us from what we think is our "one true goal." 

What if our "one true goal" is to think about those disrupting thoughts? What if our life is composed of an eternity of "one true goals"? My goal for this next moment is to breahte, to type, to know I am alive. Check.

For all intents and purposes, my life is beautiful. It may not seem that way from the inside out, and sometimes not even from the outside in. But my life is beautiful. I am alive. I get to have bad days and stress headaches, pains in my elbow from God-knows-what, garlic breath, and an overwhelming desire for sparkling water. I get to feel feelings, to cry when I need a release; to laugh when I don't want to cry any more than I already have; to smile at squirrels that hop like rabbits across a road; to buy balloons for a coworker; to forget to make cookies becaue I, once again, took work home with me.

I'm called to live in a world in which people are in anguish. I know this is my calling because I am here. If it was not my calling I would not be here. I'm called to share my abundance of poverty with those who have the same amount of nothing, possibly more nothing, than I have, and in that sharing of poverty, find riches beyond what I can imagine. I'm called to be transparent with my pain, recklessly generous with my love, and to take time for me. Much like airline stewards and stewardesses tell you on a plane, if there is a child sitting next to you and there's a decrease of pressure in the cabin, secure your own mask before helping someone else. I'm called to be a broken healer; but I'm also called to love myself, to take care of myself.

To sleep. To eat the food that will give me life, not the food that leads to headaches, stomachaches, and allergic reactions. To be gentle with myself and my shortcomings. To allow myself to have bad days and fully accept that it will either not always be this way or I will change something about it.

But for now, I sleep.

Exhale: 8.7.2013

An incredible weight rests on her shoulders. Once a moving, unstoppable force, she seems sluggish, tired, weary. Her bones ache. She sighs and no one listens. She is supposed to love herself and she knows that; but she just can't right now. There are too many things to hate. Like the way that one small mole has grown up on her arm; the fact that she's lost weight in one area, but it's shown up in another. Her heart is heavy, wishing that more children could join her fold, but as one arm extends, the other is jerked back, afraid of what might happen if she truly gave herself fully for those she knew were lost.

She wants to do the right thing, and most of her knows what the right thing is; but these days, it just seems like her limbs are at war with one another, her right hand not quite knowing what the left hand is doing, but dearly wanting to slap it into submission. Conflicted, tormented, she waits, knowing that one day, He will come.

And He will come. She knows that. Time and time again, He has come. She wrestles with the fact that there will always, until He returns for good, be that srange knowledge that He is here with her, holding her, sometimes directing stubborn limbs to do what He wants them to do, binding up wounds and lancing out infections, but soon He will be here for good. It is then that she knows that her limbs will live at peace with one another, in joyful service.

There are times when her heart sings with joy, watching as the lost ones find their way to her doors. She would enfold all those who would come. There are times when she weeps, watching as some leave home, thinking they can do it on their own. There is uncontrollable weeping when some are pushed out - when a finger decides to say to a toe, "I don't need you." Sometimes it feels like the damage is irreparable.

But she keeps moving. She cannot stop. If she stops, she dies. It is bad enough that her parts are at war with one another. She thinks about the persecution from the outside - if only they could see. If only they could know what is in her heart and on her mind. She loves those who persecute her too. She will not stop. She cannot stop. She can only hope that as a bride, she is lovely enough to entice others to follow. Some are repulsed by the way that her clothes have been washed. Some are burned by the light that is within her. Some are changed for good; some simply burn.

And still she walks.

Inhale 8.7.2013

Prompt: "We can have faith, yet keep God out of our lives." - Anonymous

Spent some time reading this morning and came across that wonderful gem. The idea is a bit strange, foreign to me seeing as the way that I was raised seemed to teach me something opposite - that faith is the sure way to know that one has God in their lives.

I've posted recently about how I believe that when people bash religion, they really should call it like it is - self-righteousness. religion bashing, especially from those who follow Christ, simply does not make sense. It's like Christianity is bringing back a coping mechanism that I used when I was 8 years old to make the mean boys stop teasing me - I'd tease myself. I'd make fun of myself. It was easier for me to make fun of myself than it was to listen to the taunting, the teasing. At this point in time, there are so many things that drive me crazy about religion bashing - that is one of those things. It's counter-productive. Who would want to join a religion where the members hate the religion? I certainly wouldn't; although, it seems now, I am.

I know I've ranted about this before, but it's still on my mind, and I truly think that my coping mechanism to get away from bullies when I was an 8 year old, scared, fearful girl isn't the best coping mechanism for the church. We will face persecution; we must stand tall, hold to our convictions and beliefs, and love our enemies.

My parents used to tell me that all the time - love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. It didn't seem to work. So I took matters into my own hands. Those 8 & 9 year old little boys didn't see it coming. All of a sudden, I wasn't a good target. I could laugh at myself for the very same reasons that they could laugh at me.

But it got me nowhere except hating myself. And I can only see that happening to the Church in a few years, maybe even shorter than that. And what is a church that hates itself? Does Christ's bride really need to hate herself when Christ loves her so much that he laid down his life for her?

Answer: No.

The Pharisees had faith. They, strangely, had more faith than the Saducees. They believed in spirits, in angels, in an afterlife. They truly believed that their actions were going to help them reach that afterlife, to be with the angels. But with their rules and regulations, they effectively kept God completely out of their lives. Their righteousness was theirs. it was on their own turf, for their own reasons. They couldn't have God in their lives while working all of their rules. They left God out. They had faith that there was a God and that God made the earth and sustained them; all other parts of their lives were theirs and theirs only, though.

We have become modern day pharisees, most of us, and that's why I think it's important to note the difference between "religion" and "self-righteousness." We can have a religion and have faith and have God in our lives. We can also have a religion and have faith and keep God out of our lives. Both of those things make one "religious." Only one of those things makes one "self-righteous."



*time*

Day 1 - 8/6/2013

The timer is set.

no frou-frou fonts, other than the header of this blog; no crazy design. no break in thought. just constant, streaming from my head to my heart to my fingers. you get the full-on experience of the paths that make up lisa's neuron paths on to this blog. maybe you'll care. maybe you wont.

no real reason as to why words aren't capitalized that should be capitalized. the only thing is that this is how I know how to breathe. I know how to breathe when i take my head up from the water of work, of business, of life, and lay it down on a pillow and just type. it does my body good. it's no race against the clock to see how many words I can get down at one time. it's just writing. eyes closed, hoping my fingers hit the keys they've been trained to hit since i was 8 years old.

maybe you will read this. maybe you won't. maybe you'll just find this weird; but the truth of the matter is that it isn't for you. it's for me. one of my favorite professors in college had us do this a lot. if we couldn't think of words to say, we were instructed just to write "blah blah blah blah blah" until a thought struck our fancy and we were told to write about that. stream of consciousness writing. some of it turned out pretty good. othertimes, i felt myself longing just to type "asdfghjkl;ahsjkdi;laenil;dalkj" until a profound thought struck. but I've strarted to realized over the years that sometimes it's not the profound words that strike. sometimes words just strike and we have no idea whether they're profound or not until we step back and take a look at what we've written.

so this is how I know how to breathe. this is my reprieve from a long, busy workday in which i feel like I'm drowning. I'm drowning.

my creativity is stifled. I feel like I'm starting to become someone I didn't want to be, but part of me doesn't know if it's just the fact that i'm completely out of my comfort zone. That I'm doing something completely different than I thought I "should" be doing.

i need to get out of "should be, would be, could be" thought patterns. They're disruptive to where I am. they make me think about different choices i would have had. they make me question and re-question my motivations for doing the stuff i'm currently doing. they don't keep me in the patterns of life. they don't keep me in the now. They keep me in the past, in the future. one foot in each. and as someone i know and love dearly says, "if you have one foot in the past and one in the future, you're pissing on the present." and that's what it feels like. maybe my sudden dissatisfaction with what's going on right now at work isn't because there are truly bad things happening at work, but it is because i feel that i am not living up to my 'potential,' that my talents are being wasted. i've allowed those little lies to slip into my brain, thining, "I'm too good for this. I don't need you or this." when truly, I couldnt' imagine a better boss, better coworkers, and a better work environment. I have people helping me learn how to do simple tasks simply because this isn't my background.

just because i don't have a background in something doesn't mean i can't be good at it.

maybe, whenever i get restless, i need to breathe and realize that i'm exactly where I need to be; i'm doing exactly what i need to be doing.

And there goes the alarm.

Goodnight.