sleet.

I'm really confused by the sleet.  It bounces around, ricocheting off rooftops and roads and windshields, before finding its final resting spot with is predecessors in a puddle on the asphalt.

I can't tell where it comes from sometimes.  Sometimes it appears to be falling up, or being thrown sideways.  It's like having eyes on the inside of a popcorn bag; no rhyme or reason to the direction they explode and collide.

***

I admit it.  I don't know how else to write right now.   I'm constipated with words.  I've put off writing like a dam.  The source waters are backed up and up and up, and there's a raging flood being held back by this simple dam, constructed to keep the words at bay.  I don't know what trickle to let over first.  I'm afraid I'll compromise the integrity of the whole convention to just bleed the waters a bit; that the whole structure I've built up to house too many things in the first place.

Some call it denial, I call it a dam.

There is a man made lake-full of emotion and words and thoughts I want to get out, but I don't know where to start. And I know that once I do begin, there's no way to shut it off.

Recognizing the problem is the first step, right?

***

My heart is crying.  My tears would fall outwardly if I wasn't in public.  I drove home at first, knowing I needed to write in a place I felt comfortable enough to write, honestly.  I drove straight instead of turning on my road, opting for a place I wanted to be, giving The Well an edge up on priority.  I'm sitting on a bench covered in burlap, next to a cold, dreary windowscape, but it feels warm and inviting in spite of the icicles forming from the gutters and freezing rain collecting on the curbside.  Nightfall just turns down the contrast of the gray day as it fades to dusk.

I guess to begin, well.  I guess I'm sort of back in a lull.  It's a hard place to be, and its a hard place to realize you're at.  I had the flu this week, and that meant I spent 97% of my time alone, and in my house.  I've slept for days, but my body is still extremely fatigued.  Going up stairs, carrying my purse, simple things are difficult, and it makes me feel like a failure.

I know, I'm hard on myself.  This weather doesn't help either.  But, I see my incomplete laundry, and I see how I've failed.  I go upstairs to bed and remember my sheets are still in the wash, and again, I've failed on the only thing I set out to do.  I go to get in my car, and before my feet even touch the floor mats, I'm reminded of how I've failed to vacuum it, again.  That I've failed to carry in my mixer,  that the kinders' nametags are still wrapped in laminate and waiting to be cut out.  I can't find a thing in my purse,  there are things in my trunk I've intended on putting away when I got back from Christmas, my lesson plans for this week remain unfinished (and its already Monday evening).  Every time hives involuntarily take over my body, I feel like I've failed to find a solution to keep me healthy.  When my kiddos disregard my eleventy-billionth request to keep it at a level 1 whisper.  When i look at my bank account and have to worry about the two weeks before I get my monthly paycheck; or see the balance of my student loans; or how much money I still have left until my credit card is paid off (even after paying $700 this month, leaving me approximately $350 for food, gas, and  any other "luxuries" for the month); and I feel, again, like I've failed.   When I lay down at night and realize I've gone all day without taking to the Lord, I feel the weight of the forty-seven-thousand tally marks beneath the "failures" label.

i know my feelings do not dictate my identity.  where I see myself as a failure,  God sees a daughter.  where I see myself as a sum of all I lack, God sees every victory He has walked me in.  Where I see the failures of my past surmounting, God sees the promises of a hope and a future.  When I sulk in darkness, God illuminates with the Light of Christ.

to live a life recounting our brokenness alone, we rob ourselves of God's satisfaction in the work of the Cross.  When we carry our shame, we forget that God's promise of redemption and our creation in His image is the cloak of grace we ought to wear in the winter storms.  He is not grieved by the vastness of our depravity.  He has already overcome that on Calvary.

elipses

on a day that evokes reflection from even the hardest of hearts and stubbornest personalities, my mind has been plagued with thoughts of the past year.  how to categorize them, how to process some of them even.  in light of others joys and sorrows, i feel like they are trivial.  but that, that is just the nature of comparison.

so how then to evaluate?  juxtapose them to the Christ.  every joy, an illustration of His provision; every trial, an opportunity for the same.

i've been faithful.  i've trusted Him blindly.  i relied solely on the promises He whispered to me, the hopes that He spoke to my heart.  i walked in obedience without even asking to see where i was going. i have jumped, literally, jumped up and down with the joy He had placed in my heart while worshiping so much that I had to take off jewelry to be less of a distraction.  i've seen breakthrough in areas of anxiety that i never thought would cease.  i've received divine revelations, casting the Creator's mark on my dreams, and been given boldness and courage to stare the big, scary monsters in the face, and say move.

and, i've been faithless.  more often than not.  i've chosen to fulfill flesh rather than faith.  i've doubted, so many times have i doubted.  i've wondered if it's too good to be true.  i've given up hope.  i've ignored Him.  i've silenced Him.  i've all but abandoned Him, and then, i ran from Him anyways.  i've chosen noise over praise.  i've gone mute just because it can be easier than just trying.  i've questioned Him, and blamed Him, and yelled at Him.  i've fallen short, so short.  and i've disappointed myself.

but, I believe, He is anything but disappointed by me.

i weep; big, ugly, tears drench my face and snot pours from my noise like a faucet.  because, even in my shortcomings, He pursues.  He loves.  He forgives.  He forgets.

He has the ability to wipe our slate clean and to truly not see our lives the way in which we see them, as a list of demerits and brownie points.  systems of comparison created to justify a sense that we've earned our right to something, or another has racked up too many negatives to ever be trusted again.  when He said, it is finished, He meant it.

and the weep turns into a sob, as His words soothe my hypocrite heart that still doubts even behind the facade of these words.  He hears us.  and, He doesn't just hear us, He responds.

****

2012, if I were to evaluate the ups-verses-downs, would probably show a net-gain.  it doesn't feel like it tonight; but i'm thankful faith is not reliant on feelings.

j:  i rang in the new year at a fancy party.  new dress, tall shoes, champagne toast, and dancing til 2 a.m.  i spent 4 hours on a couch with new friends hearing and sharing testimony, praying over the year.  i learned self-control and discipline and did the Daniel Fast.  i said goodbye to a friendship for a good while, knowing it had to be done.

f:  i found out my summer intentions were not approved.  so i laid them down at His feet in surrender, and never turned back.  i truly, for the first time, walked in faith and blind trust that He had this.  i received flowers for Valentines from a Godly man that has never ceased to encourage me and build me up in Him.  and i may have jumped up and down outside at midnight in my rainboots.

m:  i went through DMS 2, learning more about leadership and relationship, while cultivating closer ones.  i visited Lancaster and got to spend some time away from the hustle and bustle.  our fellowship became a church. God told me not to choose, i tried anyways.  i had anxiety, and decided not to make a choice yet. hmm, funny that it always goes full circle.

a:  i sat on my hands instead of fixing things.  when He said, this, i pursued it.  and waited.  i learned to wait a lot in April.

m:  i saw His hand move in ways only He can.  i saw Him piece together my summer plans in just weeks.  from subleasers, to internships, to flights, to vacation with my dad, and the timing of everything.  i was amazed at all He did.  and i preached my first sermon.  and i'm still amazed that He gave me courage to do that.

j & j:  i left nashville for two months.  i went to costa rica.  then spent a month loving on the sweetest orphans in Cap-Haitien.  i lived with two of the most incredible women i know.  i learned to rely on my strength from Him, and not just to draw it from my community. and i prayed, a ton, for clarity.  i fell in love with two little girls that broke my heart to leave.  i prayed over them and sobbed at their bedside.  i was given vision in Milot, and divine appointment at the PaP domestic airport.  i returned to st. marc.  i had a crepe sale.  i had a first date.  i had hard conversations.  i spoke truth unabashedly.  i walked through awkward situations instead of running from them.  and i learned gentleness and honesty even without having clarity.  i saw a culture of prayer be ushered in.  i found beauty in Jacmel.  i watched others fall in love with haiti for the first time.  i taught precious ones about jesus and the fruits of the spirit.  i learned creole well enough to teach in it.  i was one of the last teams to see precious Junette.  i saw the Lord fulfill a list of secret desires from my heart I had written a year prior.

a:  and then, i came back to nashville.  and something had changed.  it wasn't the same.  i wasn't the same. i found myself facing anxiety and depression.  i was overwhelmed with decisions between one Godly thing and the next.  i became obsessed with not making the wrong choice.  i began to learn it would be a season of laying down things, good things, God things even.  i began by laying down the pursuit of a relationship i had anticipated with a different ending.  and the thread began to fray.  i chose Nashville Life over TVC.  i had anxiety everytime i walked into the building.  i cried and prayed and fought through it everytime.  others warred over it with me.

s:  i didn't unpack for 6 weeks.  i had a garage sale the next day.  i bought a car.  i freaked out.  i cut my hair.  i was asked to lead missions for Nashville Life.  i went straight to the Gospels.

o: i finally found myself at fall break. and i could not be more thrilled, relieved. i visited leah in nola.  we talked for hours, and i poured my heart of discontent onto her living room floor.  the stirring began.  it began to rise.  something was burning, was building.  we talked to no less than 4 friends from haiti.  someone from years ago was praying for me, because God had put me on her heart about a mission she was doing this coming spring.  i knew it wasn't what God had for me, but it showed me He was active, even though I didn't see it.  i felt alive again.  i felt myself again.  i felt like i could breathe.  God spoke to me in a coffee shop with a picture of New Orleans.  i cried in public.  this was becoming a trend.  and it was just the first week of october.

o.2:  i went to a cultural fest. i felt at home.  i cried there too.  i picked up PC info, non-chalantly.  i found The Well.  i all but moved into The Well.  I read through Matthew.  almost.  the stirring kept ... stirring.  i stopped being busy.  i started allowing myself to dream.  i skipped church and wound up at church, at the Well.  i stopped reading, and started writing.  i found myself scared: not of doing something, but of what life looked like if i didn't.  i started filling out my PC app.  i told christina. and lauren. then shelley.  then jacq.  not one person was surprised.  God continued to speak.  anxiety continued to rise.  i was to lay down church.  to agonizing to even rehash right now, but i walked in boldness and courage that He supplied.  and i walked out in peace and joy and freedom, for the first time in MONTHS.  i worshiped freely, openly.  i walked in the center of His will.  He showed me that the good things in my life, the God things, the thought of that relationship, the church, my career; all these things, i had to surrender.  they were good things, great things, even God things.  But they didn't fit.  and they didn't fit, because they weren't created to.  they are good things, but He has better things.  and in one fell swoop, my fall had been redeemed.  i had been blaming myself that they did not fit.  but they weren't meant to, and it was okay!  hallelujah!  oh thank you Jesus!  i started a bible study with girls from my church/neighborhood.

n: i told my principal of the PC plans.  i had his blessing.  i told my family.  it was mixed reviews.  i finally finished my PC app.  i began working with The Bridge ministry.  i submitted my medical history, and all my references returned their work.  i met up with Anna.  and with Tabitha.  and my heart was so, so beyond blessed by that.  i said goodbye to a brother that headed to Kuwait.  i moved into my attic.  i gained a roommate.

d: i can hardly remember the first two weeks.  i had strep.  i've been sick.  i've had severe hives, worse than they've been since 6 years ago when they started.  i've had a hard time at school.  i had the Lord show me His vision for the present+future with a better story.  i was blown away by how He breathed it into existence, and then somehow sees me responsible or worthy enough to steward the idea.  i spent much time with my family over christmas.  i flew my mom up to surprise her dad for his 79th birthday. i visited with my grandparents in atlanta, and had the pleasure of seeing my granddaddy light up over Les Mis and being thanked in public for his service in the marines.  i know that realistically, especially with me not being here for 2+ years, theres a big chance i won't have many more moments to savor with him.  so i'm choosing to remember the sweet, little things.  i hugged my niece like crazy.  i said 'i love you' a few more times to my kiddos at school and my family at home than i usually do.  i had my PC interview.  i was officially extended a nomination.  i decided to go corn-free, with the potential of ditching gluten, too.  i have embraced all-natural, herbal remedies.  i'm getting in touch with my hippie side, pre-PC, just in case.

and tonight, tonight i babysat.  then i came home in the rain, and amidst the popping of fireworks and the burn of my tears, i typed out this reflection.  it's lacking the poetic, but it's authentic.  it's where i'm at tonight.  a lot happened in 2012, pretty much everything unexpected.  so if you would've told me I would spend NYE in my attic after babysitting, i would've laughed.  but the tears were good, and the reflection, a reminder of His ever-intervening hand in my life.   more of that to come.

2013, i'm not there yet.  i'll deal with you in the morning.