achy-breaky heart.

My heart aches. It's a dull, simmering longing. It's an ache that knows precisely why it aches. It's familiar; an echo of a past ripple. I think that's why it hurts so badly. I've had the solution at the tip of my fingers, but never yet have I been able to fully grasp it. One hand reaches out, straining and stretching. But the other remains behind me, chained to some heavy, binding tombstone. It wouldn't be a problem if only I were chained. This issue lies in the fact that the other is also imprisoned. The double imprisonment to separate tombstones prevents either party from reaching out completely and rescuing the wounded heart nearby. If one were unbound, free to stretch and soar and fly, he could land and bury roots wherever he chose; ideally beneath the tombstone of the one still in bondage. Clearly, such a mission remains impossible though, seeing as how both maintain equally strong chains bound to equally weak wrists.

So what is the answer? How does one escape from bondage? Or is escaping even the answer? Surely the answer isn't to lose the aches and longings. If erasing proves the answer, then how is such a task accomplished? How do memories fade? How do echoes die within the vast and endless cavern that stretches between two souls?

This is all a mystery to me, and to others too, no doubt. One colossal, frustrating, and brilliant mystery, woven through the threads of time.

Slow dance.

I am overwhelmed. So many voices scream and yell and cry, that the one faithful, supportive cheer falls upon deaf ears. Everywhere I turn is another megaphone, another foghorn, another speaker blasting nothing but noise into my ears. Noise. All of it. Useless jibber-jabber; idle, incomprehensible chatter that does nothing but fill my ears and cement out the good, fruitful encouragement and assurance.

So many up-beat, easily choreographed songs play with mesmerizing rhythms and enticingly catchy lyrics, but all I really want is a slow dance. I just want to be held, cradled, enveloped as a beloved. I want to trust my partner enough to follow His lead without even focusing on it. I just want to follow the rhythm that I sense in His pulse and in His step. I want to be held so close that all I can hear is His gentle whisper; that still, small voice. I just want to slow dance.

Sometimes I feel like my feelings are like a roll of toilet paper. . . They're necessary, but not comfortable; useful at specified times of need; expensive; helpful in some situations, but in others, make more of a smeared mess out of things. And it seems like when I DON'T need the toilet paper, it always comes bounding my direction, unraveling and leaving a mess to clean up. But then, when I am in the most dire of circumstances, when I most NEED the toilet paper/emotion, all I have is a dry tube of cardboard. Awesome. Just what I always wanted. Hah. I know, I'm dripping with sarcasm. I'm just so frustrated right now. Some days are just so overwhelming. I try to find the balance between my feelings and reality, but sometimes there's not even a scale that I can use to weigh everything. And even if there were a scale, I'd max it out for sure. Feelings are so contradictory and so exhausting. Yet, I honestly can't imagine life without them. Strange. Such a paradox.

soaking.

Many times in life I feel like it's my job to be a wet sponge. I feel compelled to wring myself inside out so that I can drip every last possible molecule of liquid onto those around me, lathering them up with much needed nourishment and moisture. And this is all done with good intentions, and to satisfy appropriate needs and longings. But what happens when the sponge is dry? How effective is a dry sponge? The answer seems pretty obvious to me at this point: a dry sponge is useful for little--if anything--more than retaining moldy particles and mildewy odors from once desirable and satisfying sustenance.

For quite some time now, I've felt like a dry sponge. I see remnants of fruit in my life, but overall I've felt shriveled and dry. Ineffective to say the least. What is the solution? While a sponge might be pitched when it reaches such a state, I as a human, as a minister, can not so easily excuse myself. I have been given the responsibility and privelege of serving others, of being the embodiment of Christ. Tossing myself into the nearest trash can is no option at all.

The way I see it, I am left with one positive alternative: soak. Refill. Expand. Moisturize. The only way that can be done is by diving in to the Living Water that Christ alone offers. That means digging in, drinking deeply. It's not always easy and I definitely don't always like the bi-products of conviction and change that ensue, but it definitely beats the alternative. Rotting does not appeal to me in any way. I desire to be fruitful. I long to pour into others. In order to do so effectively, I've got to keep tabs on my fluid levels. I've got to be completely saturated, drenched.

So right now, I'm soaking.

confession numero uno.

I ate five Dove Rich Dark Chocolate Promises today. Make that six. I bought them to share with the girls in my DNow group this weekend. Oops.

But that's not the real confession. The true confession is that I spent the last two hours trying to come up with a name for this blog. Pathetic? Completely. Especially considering I probably won't stick with the one I chose. Aye-yai-yai. What's one more thing in my life to waver on?

Up to seven now...
Going straight to my hips, I know.
[Insert appropriate eye-roll here.]

Speaking of wavering...
Another real confession: I'm seriously considering switching my major. Yes, I'm serious. I know. I'm 3 and 1/2 years into it and I'm hitting the brakes. Untimely? Not really. I've been approaching a crossroads for quite some time now. And I think within the past two months, I've finally arrived. Really, I couldn't have coasted in at a better time. Not that I think that I'm in control of the timeline; I know I'm not. And I'm glad I'm not. I could not have worked out the timing better. Although I'm feeling rather strongly about the direction in which I'm being pulled, I don't know that I'm quite ready to verbalize/write it yet. I want to be certain. That comes with more time and more prayer. I already know one thing though, whatever the final verdict, I will go boldly. My God is not a God of confusion or fear. Fear and faith cannot occupy the same. So I am brave. I sparkle confidently.

And I will follow the advice of my last Dove Promise:
"Be fearless."

Final count: Eight.