The Stars.

Monday my friend Libby, Alesia and I embarked on a road trip to New Hampshire and Conneticut. We began the adventure with a trip to Manhatten, stayed at Libby's parents in Conneticut then made it to New Hampshire. Today, we expolored a little bit of nature. Libby and I found some beaver dams by this small marsh which was ABSOLUTLEY beautiful. The water was reflecting the sky in such detail you couldn't tell what was up and what was down. The green mountains in the landscape made it even more amazing. The feeling of travel, the feeling of GeoJourney came rushing back in. It all hit me tonight, though.

The stars in New Hampshire are incredible. I missed those stars SO much since GeoJourney. There's something about a Bowling Green sky that just doesn't cut it. It's just not there. But tonight, the stars. They just splattered the sky so beautifully and perfectly. They were abundant and the composition was spot on. It was a masterpiece.

When I was staring at them (which I could have done forever) I felt like I couldn't make reason of it. I am so small yet God cares about me so much that my very eyes get to see this beauty. It brought me great joy. My joy was as vast as the sky.

It's what I've been waiting for. The whole fucking shitty winter. My soul was tired and craving this so much it hurt. It pained me to the core. It made me crumple like napkin poetry that wasn't good enough. But, this time, what I've been waiting for came. Tonight. And it was so good.

I very much needed the reminder. I needed the reminder of vastness and freedom and beauty. I know because it is not so often that I get to see the stars like that, it makes it so much sweeter. I will mourn the loss of these stars for the next few months when I get back to Ohio. But, I'll be back to a place where you can see them. Where they are bright and vibrant and abuandant and scattered across the sky in such perfection that it almost hurts to look at because it's so beautiful. And you yell "THIS IS INSANE!" and your heart feels squeezed and your stomach turns like a crush and it is just so wonderful.

I loved tonight. I tried to soak it up the best I could. I need these nights of nature.

victorious failure.

Addiction is a funny thing.

Just when you think you've beaten it, just when you think you've distance yourself just enough it comes back at a barreling and untameable force. I mean, I guess I should have known quitting cold turkey is not exactly normal. But, it seems great doesn't it? To just one day decide you're not going to do it and never do it again? It's all very appealing.

But it doesn't really work like that. It never has, and probably never will.

But this morning, after a week of total relapse, I got this sense that I was going to be ok. That maybe it'll take a while, and take a few falls, but I'm gonna get through this. I'm slowly learning to accept grace. If there was no grace, what Jesus am I following anyway? If there was no grace why would I even quit drinking in the first place? An unforgiving God is not the God I came to know and love. So I'm going to try and trust His grace. For some reason, it's hard. A set of rules seems easier than to forgive myself when I feel like a total irresponsible, unworthy, failure.

But, I'm going to get through this.

I have to. Sure, right now the very thought of never having another drink again in my whole life sents me into immediate panic. But, the thought of not having a drink today ain't so bad. I just have to think that everyday. And I'll fall. And I'll give in.

But, sometimes I'll fight it. And have victory.

Regardless of what happens I'm doing this with God, in this beautiful community.

I'm going to get through this.

I don't have much to say other than I am very blessed to have the friends I do. Tonight, God met me where I was at. Like He always does. This time, though, I let Him.

Back to getting a hold of my life. It was a big night for me.

I am very much loved and cared about. Even though I'm an addict. And struggle. I'm loved. Cool.

Goodnight.

the past few days have felt a lot like watching a star die.

My night last night felt like a huge tragic plane crash that made the sound of a moth fluttering around a light bulb.

I settled for feeling content in my unwillingness to process life, when in reality I was attempting to tight rope the wire between keeping it all together and completely losing it. And when you're running you're bound to trip over the line. I tripped all over it. I took the entire line with me when I went down, too. I tore apart the entire mechanism.

A huge part of me wants to just stay curled up in the fetal position at the bottom and wait till it's all over. I sort of just want to dig a hole in the sand and lay in it and feel the ocean tide pull in and carry me away forever. I could kind of just close my eyes and wait till it's over.

The relentless rebel in me wants to run the fuck away. Far, far, far away. Run where mountains dominate the landscape and you can actually see stars (dying or not). I often fantasize about becoming a true vagabond. All the freedom, none of the responsibility. Just me and my dirty bag pack. And a knife in my boots.

The alcoholic in me...well...you know what the alcoholic in me wants to do.

And I have to wonder- again? Why is this happening again? I had almost three solid tearless weeks. The sun was putting freckles on my face, people were outside making music, I didn't really have to wear shoes.

I should be happy, dammit.

I didn't mean to trip. It just sort of happened. I need to pull myself together. Seriously.

The saddest part in all of this is that God provided me this perfectly comfortable landing space among uneven concrete with rusty nails sticking up from it. I chose the concrete. I chose the freaking concrete. Almost every time I choose the concrete.

Why did I choose the concrete?

Again.

And it seems like every time I land hard on the concrete, I wake up the next morning to rain.

For some reason, it's a whole hell of a lot harder to accept grace to a grey sky.


I just pray that God keeps the safe landing there for me even when I refuse to fix my eyes on it. So at least when I trip and fall, I'm not landing on concrete. I just want to be ok. I'm tired of throwing darts at the map and always having it land in the middle of the ocean.

So, I'm not giving into any of the aforementioned options. I'm back to losing my life to Him again. All over again. It's a difficult thing, you know. Sometimes it feels like walking uphill through sand. And thankfully, God is making it impossible for me to keep ignoring Him. He's all up in my grill. Telling me once again to quit walking the line and to quit choosing broken bones over a soft heart.

Lord, stay close to me. Stay obvious to me. And bring me out of the desert...again.

Beautiful Joy, Brutal Pain. Beautiful Pain, Brutal Joy.

I got to spend my Easter weekend with a dear friend, Katie. It was a beautiful, full yet relaxing weekend. Nice to get out of flat Bowling Green. Did you guys know Cincinatti has HILLS? Hills, you guys.

Katie and I got to play outside lots, going to the parks with the puppies and to play on the swingsets. We had a picnick, and watched the sunset at her secret sunset spot. We went to a cute little vintage shop. We got Graeter's....twice. We also had a campfire with her brother and made hotdogs. (I ate three. and about a million marshmellows.) I ate dinner with her family and had my toes painted by a five year old. All around it was pretty great.

But, now that I am home and writing I'm finding it difficult to figure out what my first Easter meant for me. I guess when I really think about it, the whole ressurection thing sort of got lost. For some reason the fact that he died on the cross for us, completley consumes my mind and I forget the He rose from the grave. Just has He said he would.

Lately, I'm having a difficult time deciphering weather or not I've been really dead to Christ since I've come back from India or if I'm just content. If my severe winter blues and borderline psychotic emotions have leveled out as the sun comes out. It's sort of confusing that I haven't cried in three weeks. (With the exception of the time I watched Steel Magnolias. Sally Fields after the funeral....holy shit.) I sort of feel as if I need a really good cry but, it just wont come out. Or I've been too busy. Or I'm deadened. Or If I'm really just content with my God these days.

Who knows. But I'm going to chose content with this one and run with it. This weekend I couldn't stop thinking....how great is it that I get to spend my first easter with my beautiful, sweet sister in Christ?

This. This crazy realm of beautiful joy, brutal pain, beautiful pain, and brutal joy. This life. This living God that you can see in my eyes would not even be existant without the ressurection. I know my thoughts seem a bit scatterbrained right now but, I'm having a really hard time wrapping my head around this. I try to imagine our beautiful amazing God coming to life. I can't because it starts to get really zombie like and sort of ridiculous. Instead, I'm trying to focus on the early morning of August 10th. When I became alive. When Jesus came to life inside of my heart. And people saw it in my eyes. and I felt it in my soul.

I think of my brothers and sisters. How Christ not only lives in me but, my whole family, too. The whole thing. The whole body. Just living in us. Breathing air into our lungs. Quenching our thirst. Feeding our hunger. Loving us.

Jesus came back to life so I could come to life and I think that's such an exciting part of things. I'm so content in the Lord right now. Sure, I'm not used to the lack of winter blues. The extreame crying fits. The screaming. The anger. The plate breaking. But, the Lord is just chillin' with me in the sunshine and that makes my heart jump.



"He has risen, just as He said"




p.s.....even with all that said, I sort of, just a little bit, wish I got an easter basket this morning.

Nothing could prepare me.

I would like to talk about a specific moment during my trip to India that I think hit me the hardest.

It's strange, and feels wrong because I'm struggling to find the words to describe the moment. It feels like I'm pulling word after word off the racks and it just doesn't look right or doesn't quite fit. And it certainly doesn't do anything justice. The problem is endless, and I'll never figure out the words. Because they're aren't any. They don't exsist. The only possible way for you to know is if you were there.

I've been through 2 years of pursuing my women's studies degree. Reading about forced prostiution and sex trafficking. Seeing documentaries. Looking at women in pictures. I thought I knew. My heart broke for the women. I cared about them. I wanted to do something about it.

But, then, I was actually there. I was with the women. She put her hand on my leg as she painted flowers. Modeled after mine. She held my hand. She smiled, laughed. Sipped chai tea. Enjoyed life with me. Her eyes connected to mine like oceans to rivers. The women were so beautiful.

My heart didn't just break, it landed on the floor with a loud crash into millions of pieces when I remembered. When I realized, after they were done enjoying life with us, after they were done sipping chai, painting flowers, eating chocolate and laughing -they had to go work.

When we left the building, and quietly grabbed cabs to go back to the YMCA, I lost it. Tears were abundant and words were gone.

The words were gone. Because there were none anymore. They didn't exist.

I remember the cab ride back was extreamly quiet. Which is a strange occurence in Mumbai, India. Where people are abundant and cars are honking and noise levels are always on high. But, it's like all sound just dropped off the face of the earth. It was just my breaking heart and God. Even my crying wasn't making much noise. Their lives, were unimaginable to me, I thought. But, they've endured it all their lives. It's sort of all they know. The robbery of their very being is all they know. Knowing that made it worse. Made the tears flow more heavily.

I'll never forget these women. Ever. I constantly wonder what they are doing throughout the day. Are they working? Or are they getting the opprotunity to live today? To paint? To laugh? To sing? To pray? And I have never been so urgant and yearning to continue loving these women. Even with the language barrier, the love was universal. I know it sounds cliche and like a badly written song. But seriously, the love language was understood by all that day.

For a while, it seemed to helpless. I was so angry at God for letting this happen. How could he allow millions of women get raped everyday for their jobs? How could he.

and I realized, even among this horrible puzzle of an issue God was there. These women aren't completely enslaved or depressed or trapped or helpless. God is still with them. And God is calling me. Little, nearly useless me to finish my degree so I can keep loving them. How blessed am I? And I have to do this. It's so important. I'm not living for me anymore. I want my life to be about serving them. I absolutley love these women. With all of my shattered heart.

There are no words. Because God is the word. And words for something like that don't exist.

He's too big.




I asked the Lord to break my heart over this. Thankfully, He did.

Holding it together

After I came back from India, I made a pack with myself that I would not let it get to me when I came home. I wept for the things I saw there, but that was over with in Bowling Green. Which meant for a week straight, I barely processed anything that happened to me and kept most things with people in the surface.

I was afraid, that if I had my heart broken and had a hard time with it, I and my supporters would think, "maybe she shouldn't have gone."

Well, I am beginning the processing. Which means, I am allowing my heart to finish breaking. I want to be messed up over this. I am messed up over this.

It's not easy, and it shouldn't be. The lives of some of the people I have encountered are not easy. The very least I could do is break my heart for them. To let it seep into the cracks of my soul so I never stop thinking about them and never stop praying for them.

I feel it's important.

and I wanna talk about it. I wanna talk about it endlessly. Because stories are important, too.

and it's the morning so I'm rambling and somewhat confused but, I want you all to know this.