Name: Rachel
Posts by Rachie:
Like May Rain
May 8th, 2012
Nobody ever tells you that you’re going to experience loneliness. It’s just a given.
Today I awoke to a gray May sky and rain. I groaned and rolled over, pulling my comforter over my head. I spent the rest of the day lazing about, broken only by picking up my sister and niece. I hugged Sophia, told her I loved her. I watched countless episodes of my latest TV show, ending when one of the main characters died. I felt like crying; I felt foolish.
Later, I drove to work, frowning at the impassive clouds. I wiped desks, emptied trashes and set them back down as hollow shells. Everything felt a little hollow, a little empty. I wondered what the point was.
On the way home, my heart raced for a few seconds as my car sputtered out: the engine chortling and whirring as the battery gave a few more precious breaths to get me up the driveway.
Now, I’m snuggled back under my comforter after another day, same old as always. And I sigh, feeling the loneliness creep back up, feeling that sense of, “What now? Is this it?” lean its weight against me.
It’ll pass. Slowly, but it will. Nothing to do but let it wash over and away, back out to sea. Just let it pour for awhile, just let it be, like rain in May.
The Big Blue House
May 6th, 2012“Our house is a hotel,” I’ve so often muttered, cursed, thought or blissfully acknowledged, all depending on my mood.
My home is a remodeled farm house on six acres of rambling wood, field and pond. There’s a wraparound porch, a funky hole which used to hold a silo and a squat little building called a smokehouse. Sometimes, the two story house is full of empty, echoing rooms but other times, it’s been brimming with relatives and friends.
Our house has almost always been open to people in need of a place to stay. Growing up, I often regarded this as a mixture of a curse and a blessing. It meant some cool experiences, but it also meant a lot of sacrifices: lack of privacy, lack of quiet, less family time. But I wouldn’t trade those experiences for a simpler, more average life. I got to live with missionaries, my grandma, aunts, an uncle, my sister’s growing family, cousins and anyone else I forgot to mention. It was loud and obnoxious at times, but unbelievably great.
Opening up your home, is a lot like opening up your heart. It’s exciting, but horribly scary. You know that your comfort and wants are liable to be trampled upon, that you’ll have to make adjustments and sacrifices, that people will have to learn how to share a space or share a relationship. You’re going to get hurt and it will hurt that much more for coming. from someone you care about. But you’re also going to get to love and be loved.
I always thought the Big Blue House was a neat place to grow up. Now, I realize that it’s more than that. It’s a place that taught me a lot of things, a place that taught me about my own heart.
When this house is empty, it’s a lonely place. When it’s full, it’s not any easier but, somehow, it’s just better.
(Me getting smooooshed on the Big Blue Porch)
Beat Up and Battered
May 6th, 2012A lot of things seem to be beat up and battered lately: my blue Cavalier with the rust creeping up its doors like acid, our TV which likes to collapse the screen into a thin line, remedied only by a good slapping, and my dog who has too many issues to mention from an unknown past.
Today, I sat on our porch with the latest project in front of me: a beat up desk from the Salvation Army. Water stains, flaking paint, and numerous scars are the hallmarks of this beauty. Thankfully, both of my parents have the ability to see what lies underneath, so they were more than optimistic when we brought the desk home for some re-vamping.
My dad has been patiently repairing the mess that was supposedly once a desk: sanding, painting, gluing and healing this jumble of wood. I added some minor efforts today by doing a little painting. As my hands ran over the pockmarked surfaces and as I swished a glossy layer over the sides, I couldn’t help but think how so much of life is like this.
There are so many battered and abused beings and things out there. Unwanted animals, marked with behavioral issues from sketchy pasts. Kids, similarly unwanted and unloved, walking around hating the world. Elderly people, languishing in lonely corners after being chewed up and spit out by the world. And battered desks, that nobody wants because few can see the beauty peeking through underneath.
But that’s the story of this world: happiness and perfection, a horrifying mistake, and then utter brokenness. Now, it’s all about healing, about scratching away the outer layers to bring out the beauty once again.
My dad sanded the creamy flecks of paint and scratches from the outer surface of the desk. Inside, he found wood; beautiful, rich grain, flowing underneath those outer scars all along.
Being on Call for Life
May 6th, 2012
So, the idea for this post began with my cell phone. Usually it’s switched off at night, conveniently giving me a few hours break from the world. But lately, due to my sister’s upcoming due date, it’s been sending its little rays out into the sleepy night sky from my headboard. Basically, I’m on call for life…quite literally.
But as I came up with the title of this post, it took me in a different direction. I’ve been pondering a lot about people lately, about friendships and belonging. And I thought, “Maybe we need to be on call for life all the time.”
Confused? Trust me, it’s been one of those weeks. What I’m getting at, is that so often I wish life were different. I wish it were more adventurous or that I had a better sense of “belonging” in it. But wishing is really kind of wasteful. Praying is great, but even then God still expects us to be doing. He created us to live. Not to watch life pass by.
What would happen if every second of every day, we were on call for that moment when God could use us? What if we were on call for life, for living? What if we said what needed to be said to a friend, instead of taking the easy way out? What if we took a daring risk, that could cost much but potentially bring about happiness and glory to God? What if we set out every day with cloak and boots on an epic adventure through Mirkwood and over the Misty Mountains?
Life would be different. Maybe we’d actually be living rather than blundering about through the fogginess of every day.
And maybe we’d begin to find our own places in the world, at least for the short time we’re granted to be here. I claim I want to find new friendships and a new place, but I make no effort at it. I don’t live that out. Maybe if I tried harder, dug deeper into people’s lives to form those friendships, sought out opportunities to live the life I desire, it would actually happen.
And of course, you’re never alone in the adventure.
My cousin and fellow blogger, Lauren, wrote a post recently that really stuck with me. Basically, about how people always say, “Don’t worry, you’ve got time.”
Here’s how she put it:
“…take your time…
…..…take your time…
…………take your time.
His time.”
Seriously, what are we waiting for?
(Photography by Shelley Conley http://photographybyshelley.com/)
Nothingness
May 3rd, 2012People tell me that I am a collection of atoms all jostling about to form a 5 foot 7, brown haired, hazel eyed girl. They tell me that I come from centuries and millennia of evolution beginning with a tiny, unintelligent organism and culminating in a being that has opinions, beliefs, artistry and a desire for meaning. They tell me that when I lay awake at night and sigh into the darkness, that the answer I receive is the same as what I originated from: nothing. My beginning and ending, a pointless nothing. My purpose: nothing. And as I hear my sigh echo out against my bedroom walls, I think “This is something, I am something. There has to be something to this something.” Somehow, I just can’t quite believe that this is all a meaningless nothing.
Fairy Tales: Preparing the Heart
April 13th, 2012
The other night I was sifting through my book shelves, trying to find something short and interesting to read, when I came across a pamphlet titled, “Amy Writing Awards.” I decided to give a few of the winning essays a try and began by flipping open to the top prize winner.
“Okay, Virginia, there’s no Santa Claus. But there is God.” Provoking title, right? I continued reading and what I found surprised me:
“I suspect that fairy tales and Santa Claus do prepare us to embrace the ultimate Fairy Tale, the one Lewis believed was ingrained in our being.”
That statement is totally contradictory to what I’ve grown up thinking and seeing.
To give you some background, my parents are big advocates of reading. When I was little (and even when I was older) my dad would read L. Frank Baum’s Oz series with me, while my mother and I explored The Series of Unfortunate Events. When my love of reading took off, they encouraged my interest with trips to the library or Borders (R.I.P) and lots of books for birthday presents. My favorite genre back then? Fantasy.
And while I was given pretty much free reign of what I read (I was a fairly conscientious child), there was always a little concern when it came to fantasy. The Harry Potter series was off limits and, though fairly rarely, my mom would occasionally advise against a certain fantasy novel.
As I grew older, I began to wonder where the line lay. When was fantasy acceptable and when did it overstep the boundary? It’s not that I felt there was a negative stigma toward fantasy, more that it had to be approached cautiously.
But I’d never heard the perspective that Tony Woodlief shared in his essay. Throughout, Woodlief illustrated how childhood beliefs in things like Santa Claus, as well as fairy tales, prepare children for belief in God. It’s a “small, inviolate space in the heart of a child, a space where he is free to believe impossibilities.” A place that mathematical, rationalistic thought can’t quite create, but only imagination and creativity.
I’m not saying I agree with everything in Woodlief’s essays and, often, fantasy does need to be approached with a measure of caution. But so does almost every other genre, if for different reasons. And for the record, I don’t regret missing out on the Harry Potter books.
Still, I like Woodlief’s view and even recognize it in my own life. Stories like Lord of the Rings, Ella Enchanted, Narnia, The Chronicles of Prydain and so many others have inspired in me a spirit of wonder and adventure. Whenever I re-read those books, it reminds me of childhood and innocence. These books even make me long for something more, but, since I’m more than old enough to recognize these fantasy worlds as fake, this longing points me toward a real story, with an amazing author: God.
The truth is, we all eventually stop believing in Santa and the Easter Bunny. We come to terms with the fact that we can’t fly, own a unicorn or wear glass slippers. But the belief in God lives on, maybe nourished by that spirit, but solidified by the fact that it’s real. In this, I agree with Woodlief.
I don’t know a better way to end than by sharing Woodlief’s ending quote of Chesterton: “I left the fairy tales lying on the floor of the nursery. and I have not found any books so sensible since.”
In which my alarm clock teaches me a lesson…
April 10th, 2012
Last night I stumbled home from work around 1 AM. I’d spent the night scrubbing toilets, washing windows, and dusting amidst coworker banter on jelly beans and khakis.
I slumped into the house, loaded up a plate of food, watched half of an episode of Father Knows Best (before deciding I was too tired for even light comedy) then showered and collapsed into bed. Throughout the whole process I’d been grumbling, sometimes incoherently and sometimes forming syllables that sounded something like, “Toooooo tired!”
Before slipping off into a nice slumber I reached up to set my alarm clock for class the next morning.
Gotta set this thing right, I remember thinking as I tried to mentally calculate when I’d need to be up by. 20 minutes…maybe ten should do.
Fast forward through my lollipop dreams to the next morning. I finally got up with ten minutes to spare, rushed to get ready and hopped out the door while debating how to stop for gas, coffee and food while still making it relatively on time.
Drive down the driveway, turn left, then another left, glance at my car clock, heart sinks, lips form, “Oh crap!” Class starts at 9 but the digital numbers were searing into my eyeballs 9:30.
Daylight savings? I pondered every option but finally realized there was no way around it: I’d definitely set my alarm an hour later than I should have.
I pulled over and flipped through my syllabus, trying to determine my best options.
What did I do? Laughed at myself, went into Blazing Bagels, bought a hot chocolate and a delicious cinnamon sugar bagel before driving back home and writing this.
I must say, it’s been a lovely morning.
(Moshi clock picture gotten from http://www.robaid.com/gadgets/a-great-and-affordable-alarm-clock-moshi-speaks-and-listens.htm)