If I was an Alien who Came to Study the Human Race

If I was an alien who came to Earth,

I'd spend my time in airports.

In airports humanity is exposed,

and raw.

In airports you can see the sorrow of goodbyes,

the joy of hellos,

the infinite capacity man has to love.

In airports everyone's walls are down,

their facades ripped off,

forcing their true colors to emerge.

And in airports the hope within humanity is clear,

the people illustrating what some think is lost.

Everyone is either

coming or

going

parting or 

reuniting,

and Everyone is the Same.

No matter where on the planet,

mankind is one,

no matter their differences,

no matter their religion 

or race,

in airports they are all just waiting 

for the next plane to depart.

A New Free Bird

For months my profile picture was of me and Annie. For months it was a constant reminder for prayer. For months it made me feel just a bit closer to the piece of my heart that was so far away.

But a month after her death I knew it was time to change it, but I couldn't bear to look at my face without hers next to it. I couldn't fill the void that her immense blue eyes created once they were absent, and I don't know that I ever will. But I knew it was time to let that smallest bit of her go.

So I instead settled for a compromise. A picture of a small bird.

Lately there is a song that has reached me in more ways than one. A song by Annie Brooks called Elaina. 

To help understand why here are the lyrics:

Elaina is standing on the stairwell again,

Does she not know that she can fly away?

Elaina climbing higher step by step,

But she will never reach the sky, that way.

Elaina that looks so sad,

Should not someone remind her?

Elaina has no one told her of the span of wings

That stretch behind her.

Standing in the dust

She casts her eyes up to the Heavens

In disappointment

Her strength is laid to waste

Wondering why she never can quite make it

While tears of frustration paint her face.

Elaina, what are you still doing on the ground?

Why don’t you sail the wind?

Elaina, the sky is yours stop trying to obtain it,

Just to fail again.

Elaina, thinks that she’s a failure,

But even stars cannot compare to what she’s worth.

Elaina, she looks so familiar,

Don’t’ you think that we’re a bit like her?

With our wings folded neatly behind us

With glory in each step that we have climbed

But how is one mile different than one thousand?

If none of them will ever reach the sky?

Standing in the dust

We cast our eyes up to the Heavens

In disappointment

Our strength is laid to waste

Wondering why we never can quite make it

While tears of frustration paint our faces

But we have wings to fly away

We are loved, and we have grace

We are free and justified

Use your folded wings and take the sky (2x)

Unfold your wings and take your sky.

~Annie Brooks

I know that Annie finally spread her wings, in fact, I think she always knew she could, but she just waited until the perfect moment.

And right now I feel very similar to Elaina. I've felt stranded and have just longed to stretch my tired wings and just soar. 

So the picture is a reminder. A mental note of all that I am, no matter how caged I feel. 

A Moment of Bliss within the Busy

Sometimes I wish the busyness never stopped.

Not while I am in the midst of it, but after the wind eases up a bit and the waters begin to settle. It is after the first few breaths of relief that the empty feeling sinks in. The question of “What now” fills the air. The storm has left me disoriented and I no longer know which way is north, and I have forgotten where I am heading. In these moments I wish that another set of clouds would blow my way, so that I wouldn’t have to remember where I was going, where I am, and how to get there. If the storm would come back than those problems would be erased by the pure will to continue, to fight for my fleeting chances of survival.

Sometimes I wish the busyness never stopped.

That I could keep distracting myself with my long ‘To Do List’ and never have to worry about the direction my ship is sailing because all I need to care about is that it stays floating.

But if the busyness was infinite, if the storm continuously raged on then eventually my provisions would be gone and I would turn to dust, working myself into extinction. And that is no way to live, no matter how much simpler it may seem in the moment. I would fade away, never to complete more than the meticulous, never to have the opportunity to stop and watch the sun rise over the horizon.

This weekend I have to allow myself to rest, to pause in the middle of the chaos of my life, to take a deep breath and take it all in. Even if that means I have to try and regain my bearings. 

On Such a sea

The last two months I've felt like I've been falling.

Falling into a new surrounding.

Falling into University.

Falling into grief.

I've plummeted into murky waters, opaque and obscure, and am now trying to regain my bearings. I try to tread water and keep my head above the dark, vicious waves. Paddling without rest, I strive to stay afloat, always looking towards the horizon in search for the break of day. Gasping for air, a quote comes to mind:

"There is a tide in the affairs of men.

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,Or lose our ventures."

~William Shakespeare

I am here on this sea, combating the tempest that is trying to pull me down. But I must take the current when it serves, I must let it lead me into the unknown, because God never places us in deep waters to watch us sink, but instead places us there so we can survive and look for His aid, which will inevitably come. There is a tide in the affairs of men, and that tide is not meant to lead us to our doom, but instead lead us to our faith when taken by the flood. 

On such a sea all men must float, and knowing that, the water does not seem so hostile as before. 

Because I am no longer adrift alone. 

Still Flapping

Everyone keeps asking how I am doing. How I am coping with my loss.

Well, here's a picture to show you how I feel:

Right now I am bound to grief and responsibilities and expectations. And all I am trying to do is continue on my way. No matter how hard I pull, or tug, or flap my wings, I can barely move my burden. And when I finally succeed in moving in two inches, there is a stair in the way. And another after that.

So how am I doing?


Frankly, 

I am exhausted. I have been carrying this load for so long and my fragile wings can no longer support my own weight. 

And yet I still have to make it to the top of the stairs.

No matter how tired I get,

No matter how much my wings ache,

No matter how appealing surrender sounds,

I have to keep flying.

Sure, my rests might be frequent, and there might be days where I feel like giving up, but I know that as I persevere a bit of the stone will chip off in the effort, and that my pain will lighten gradually.

I don't know how long it will take, but here is something I do know: Annie would want me to keep trying. 

Searching for Clarity

There are a lot of things that are uncertain in my right now. And that is not a comfortable feeling.

I miss the warmth of familiar, the embrace of the everyday. 

But right now I just feel like my world of the routine is gone altogether, ripped to shreds while I am still grasping at the air where it slipped through my fingers.

My brain is constantly trying to determine why everything has been flipped and shaken and shuffled. 

In fact I can't sleep because of it.

Barely at all.

I'm averaging about four hours a night.

And for someone with chronic migraines that is not a good thing. 

Actually it is rather bad.

I am always fighting to stay awake, always fighting to stay focused, and currently I feel like I am losing. Miserably.

I feel at times like I am hanging on a hair, thin and fragile, filled with breaks and split ends, awaiting the moment when I will plummet. 

But in this moment there is some clarity in the sleep-vision goggles. Here in this realm of  exhaustion there is some odd sense of perspective. 

It's like God is this chef, brewing a stew. He adds some ingredients to the mix and stirs the pot to make sure the flavors fuse. He has to make sure all of the vegetables are fully cooked and that the stew is it's very best. And we just have to trust that he knows the recipe. 

There are a lot of things that are uncertain in my right now. And that is not a comfortable feeling.

But there are certain moment in the midst of this chaos that are filled with clarity. And these moments, however brief, are what are keeping me going, because they remind me that there is a purpose for the heat and the spices and the grief. 

Thanksgiving

Today was Thanksgiving.

Well, kind of.

And honestly recently it has hard to find things to be thankful for. I have been feeling isolated from my friends and family, and from a little girl who means the world to me. And it is really hard to feel thankful when you feel alone.

But this weekend God has provided me with time with some family, and some time with some friends. The problem is I still don't feel as thankful as I should. I loved it and I love each and every one of them, but it wasn't where I wanted to be. Thanksgiving should be spent at home and as much as I know that I am so blessed to have had this opportunity, I still can't help that feeling of homesickness.

But I know that this was the choice that I made; to occasionally be homesick was to be expected. I guess I just didn't expect it to hit this hard. My mother will be thrilled to hear.

Today was Thanksgiving. At least above the Canadian border. And while I still feel like I should've been more thankful I've realized that is isn't about what you are missing at the moment, but what you currently have. And by the standards of the vast majority of the world I have more than I need. I have the ability to love and people that love me back and I think that is really all that you need.

Today was Thanksgiving. And in the last fleeting moments of it I'm beginning to feel grateful for it.
But luckily, Thanksgiving isn't the only day we can be thankful. It's just the only day that we force ourselves to be. So in between this Thanksgiving and the next, I'm going to make an effort to be grateful for everything God's given me, no matter how long of a day it was, or how bad of a day it was. Because there are so many opportunities to be grateful, but we just have to remember to look for them, just like we do every Thanksgiving.

A Meager attempt at an Apology

Vulnerability. 


No one likes it. Especially not me. For the last few months I've really had to deal with the fact that I will not let myself be vulnerable. Not just in front of other people, but when I'm in a dark room all alone. It is completely absurd because I am a human and so I have emotions and a right to cry or be angry and just to let myself be vulnerable. 


So why do I care so much about being vulnerable? Why can I not let myself open up?
Let's dissect this concept:

The definition of vulnerability is

to be susceptible to physical or emotional attack or harm

I guess I have just been unwilling to let myself be susceptible and so I distance myself from everyone I possibly can, including myself. I refuse to face the fact that I am upset and thus I shut down. It isn't easy for me to cry, I mean I can call tears to my command, demand them to show themselves in a scene or for a dramatic effect, but when I am sad and have every reason to open the dam, nothing more then a few big, wet, silent tears are allowed to escape. Something stops them. I think it is because for me tears have always meant weakness and I won't admit to myself that I am a human and that it is okay to be broken. Because it is. I need to start believing in that concept again.

I need to believe that tears do not de-value me as strong, but they enable me to refresh my strength. They will give me the energy to keep going on.

"Tears are God’s gift to us.  Our holy water.  They heal us as they flow."  ~Rita Schiano

And yet I still cannot cry. No matter how much I want to.

I go to outrageous lengths to make myself feel strong, impenetrable. I distance myself and build walls to feel protected and safe, blocking out all of the possible threats, when the real threat lies behind the walls I so meticulously assembled. I cake on facade after facade, trying to make myself appear perfect, yet allowing myself a sliver honesty to still seem human. I try to counsel the people I love, trying to convince myself that I am stronger than I am, and try to produce all of their answers for them, because I have none of my own.

I have no idea why I do these things. But these forms have hurt so many, all because of my need for self-preservation. To those who know who they are, I'm sorry. There is nothing more that I can say except that this entry is for you. This is me placing my cards on the table, bad as my hand may be and just taking whatever play comes next. Here is my attempt at being vulnerable, not just to you, but to my world.

Vulnerability. No one likes it. Especially not me.

But I am no longer afraid of it. 

I've decided that I'm not going to try and pry the tears from my eyes, but that when they do come I am going to welcome them with open arms, like old friends I haven't seen in a long time, because they never really were my enemies. 

A Question

Who do you love enough to die for?

For me, the answer would be fairly simple: my family, my friends, all of the people I cared about. I'd like to think I'd take a bullet for them or push them out of the way of a moving bus. For the people I love I don't think I'd hesitate to step in front of the gun as the fingers embrace the trigger. But that isn't a hard question. That is something most people would probably be able to list at least one name. In fact, the harder question isn't a split second decision to sacrifice yourself for someone you love, but to love them enough to keep living even if you weren't there to stop the bullet, or the bus, or the cancer. 

The real question should be this:

Who do you love enough to live for?

It also might seem like an easy answer, that is until grief takes grasp of you and drags you down until you are left drowning in despair. But if you love someone enough you have to claw your way out of that chasm, bottomless as it may seem and you must fight to keep living, breathing, even though your heart is so broken the act seems without result.  But you can battle through the fear of what life will be without them and forge onto new territory, yet to be discovered. The road will by no means be easy, and there will be days when you don't want to get of bed, but if the lost loved you, then they will be cheering you on.

I know it is more appealing to just take the few seconds of pain, and i know you want to prevent those you love from any pain, but we rarely get that chance. I wish I could take the tumor from Annie's body and place it in my own, but God hasn't given me that opportunity. And he probably never will. But that doesn't mean I can't make the most of the opportunity he has given me, in a life, filled and blessed by him.

I know it may seem more courageous to die for someone you love, "but courage doesn't always roar, sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying I will try again tomorrow".

So... Who do you love enough to LIVE for?

A Start

Well 1:00am and I am lying awake.
Again.
Things drift in and out my mind like debris on the ocean. Some pass by quickly, thoughts that are soon to be forgotten, but others slam into the surface, only to slide back and strike once more, pulled by the constant and occasionally cruel tide of my mind.

So where do I find refuge?

That's right all you intuitive readers (assuming that anyone would read anything written by me). I find refuge in the simplistic warmth of a mug a tea, a pen in my hand and a notebook on my lap. I know in these times it may seem trivial and barbaric to write things by hand, but there is comfort to be found in the gliding over the paper of a nice black pen, as the smell of the ink wafts up to my nose.

The only problem: What to write?

I figured I might as well start with this: Life is too short to not take any notice to it. We all have the moments, both good and bad that deserve to be remembered. Because our lives often pass us like towns on a highway: we barely even notice them until they've faded into the world of the rear-view-mirror. And not soon after do we ever remember that they were even there. But I say: Slow down, take a detour, because life is just too short to disregard all of the beautiful scenery God's placed on the way. So I'm going to take the time to record all I see, first in my little blue notebook, then here, so there is some sense of accountability.

The start. A mug, A pen, and A notebook. That's really all I need.