Building with Legos

    In his book tremendous trifles G. K. Chesterton writes two essays on the believability--or rather, the necessity of believing in fairy tales. He was quite convincing as well as funny and concisely eloquent, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Then I read "A Toy Theatre" and saw this thought in connection with the reason adults do not play with toys: "The reason is that playing with toys takes so very much more time and trouble than anything else. Playing as children mean playing is the most serious thing in the world [...] We have enough strength for politics and commerce and art and philosophy; we have not enough strength for play." Farther in the page he writes, "Take the case of bricks. If you publish a book tomorrow in twelve volumes (it would be just like you) on 'The Theory and Practice of European Architecture', your work may be laborious, but it is fundamentally frivolous. It is not serious as the work of a child piling one brick on the other is serious; for the simple reason that if your book is a bad book no one will ever be able to ultimately and entirely to prove to you that it is a bad book. Whereas if his balance of bricks is a bad balance of bricks, it will simply tumble down."
    I confess I was filled with a burning desire to write something brilliant or make something childish or do something  that proved I was either wise or a child still (instead of a adult twenty-two year old). I didn't; I did what a mature adult would do and went and weeded the back patio/basketball court. I cleared one entire square (there are four or five that need attention), then set my work down, said "this is ridiculous!" inside, and went and got out the (extensive) family collection of legos. I then spent about an hour seriously building a small, tall, spacious (as in, containing more air than support) structure with an empty ground floor, a second "floor" (double row blue platform and a pillar two dots behind it) with two men on it, a third gold, black, blue, and white "floor" with a black horse on it, and to pillars reaching up from that with a lion's flag on it. It was even from all sides, the walls each had their own color on both sides with no interruptions, and each block was carefully placed. It was so much fun, and I now have a strong desire to build a tall, unevenly-floored, perfectly semetrical, color-coordinated large maze of legos. I think I shall, soon, or not so very soon...it does not matter so long as I do it. And I would upload a picture of my highly non-impressive structure if I could; but I cannot, because I don't know how. And that doesn't matter so much, does it? :) But I played as a child.
    Do you remember the blog post I recently wrote, about "Release"? I think I found something that will help--building things, for no other reason than that I can (doesn't it feel amazing to build something--and even more amazing to build something where it doesn't matter if it lasts, or if it's destroyed? For it was fun to build, and that is enough).  Playing, doing something that requires concentration for no other reason than that it's fun...playing with the seriousness of a child. Creating something unimportant in the long run, all important now.
    Building with legos.

Made Beautiful

   I wish you could have seen what I saw. I wish I could have shown it to you through my eyes. I wish I could describe it--I wish you could see. It was nothing more than a moving cloud, nothing more than that--and it was breathtakingly, stunningly beautiful. And it came at the perfect moment--I had been standing there telling God a list of thing I didn't like about myself, why I found it so hard to be myself, or even attempt to be the person He made me to be, because I didn't like that person very much. And then this--it glorifyingly awe-inspiring, something that took my thoughts and my breath away. And yes, God made that.

And God made me.

Release

    I'm not posting this because I've found release; I'm posting because I'm seeking it. This seems to be a weird place to be looking for it--watching my mother and two sisters in our slightly rearranged living room dancing to the newer cupid shuffle--loud music (LOUD!!), Mom counting to teach L the right timing, but all of them are having so much fun! I already joined them, but I'm very tired.
    And stressed. I've worked in a new situation for the past week and two days, and I'm so frustrated. I'm used to stepping in and doing the things that make the job easier, and smoothing the way by solving problems and offering my experience quietly when needed (well, hopefully--I don't do it as well as that over half the time!) Here, at this job, I'm not allowed (by law) to help with most of the major jobs; despite intensive searching, there are still times when I am wandering around a very small space with nothing to do while everyone around me is trying desperately to catch up so the customers waiting for twenty minutes can be waited on. It's been incredibly frustrating--and humbling. I acknowledge that I need that very, very much. But I am wondering what to do--
    Because I am stressed. I have been to college, taken twenty credit hours, strengthened relationships, led a ministry, worked as a student assistant and found a job for the summer all in one semester. I was highly stressed and left that semester exhausted and a bit of a workaholic--it became a habit to work every moment I was awake unless I deliberately set aside time to play. But I haven't been stressed like this--not stressed with what is left to do, but with all that I cannot do. And I don't know how to lose it. I've tried sitting still, reading and watching TV (escapism, not a cure), and exercising--but nothing works for long, or more than once so far. So I'm wondering what to do. It's something I'm likely supposed to surrender, to give up, especially since helping people is a near-compulsion for me. Ugh. "Saying it out loud," or its equivalent, makes it worse.
   So what now? How do I surrender something when I'm not sure how to? God, please help me with this. Amen.

Wishes and Demands

    I want a thousand things; I do not want them very much. I want to not want anything, because then you're never disappointed, and you never hurt from not having anything. This, though I know it is wrong, still holds me tightly, telling me not to want things.
   I want the job that I applied for, with the large salary, where it's quite possible I would love going to work every day. I want to buy my sisters Christmas presents, and I want them to be lovely (McGyver for one, tickets to The Nutcracker for another, who knows what else for the others). I want to visit South Korea for two years to teach there, and to change things and be changed by those two years. I want to spend a year if Africa, or two, or three, or more. I want to speak Japanese fluently. I want to be out of debt from college; I want three master's degrees, in poetry, literature, and grammar--and possibly one in writing. I want a Ph.D.--or two. I want to never stop studying.
   Dreaming about them, I start to want them more. Romanticizing them, making them ideal in my mind, making them perfect--and we are always drawn to perfection (though my idea of perfection may be different than yours, or your friend's, or my friend's).
   But I look back on them and realize that they could be labeled "My Demands From Life"--which is absolutely ridiculous. You don't demand things from life; you live it to the best of your ability and watch it frustrate, surprise, strengthen, and break you. Life itself is a gift, something not to be taken for granted. But what's the difference between wanting something very strongly and demanding it? Where is the healthy medium between the two? Because to live life without dreams, hope, or wishes is wrong--but so is living it with a list of demands.
   God, help me to find the medium, the place where I want things and work for them, but am still able to let them go if you decide I should not have them. Let me long for the wise, noble, good, pure, perfect things, and live a life where they could belong. Let me want the things that you have in store for me; let me rejoice in what you give me, daily, and may my eyes be open to all the blessings you are already bestowing. Thank you, for the flowers outside my window, for the rose in my room, for the comfortable clothes I own to wear to work, for the good breakfast, for the quiet this morning, for our dry basement, for the sleep last night. Thank you for my family, my friends, and your children--and may I love you with all my strength, my mind, and my heart. In Christ's perfect name I ask, amen.

Untouchable

     There's a song that I am not sure if I love or hate--not because it get stuck in my head that often, but because I'm not sure if I want to relate to it or not. It's "Sober" by Pink--not because I have any temptation towards alcohol (I fall asleep after one glass of wine), but because of some of the lines in the song. "I'm safe, up high, / nothing can touch me," "the quiet scares me 'cause it screams the truth," "broken down in agony and just trying to find a friend."
    I recently shut my emotions down, completely. Partly because of a lot of grief that has been left over from leaving friends behind, partly frustration at the lack of joyful expectations of my future, and partly because of stress about loans, job, and partly because of tiredness. It made me untouchable, in some ways. No matter what went wrong, it didn't bother me; no matter how bad the depression was, I didn't feel it.
   But that wasn't living, not really. Oh, I did things, and even accomplished things, but it all took place on the surface--and for an introspective person, that's the lesser half of life for a good third of the time they're alive (the other third is spent doing things intense but not introspective, at least in my life).
   Now emotions are back--and oh, God, please help me, they hurt. But at least I'm alive again, and at least I can tell God is working in my life.
    But somehow the state of "untouchable" is still so appealing--no hurt, no bother, no real pain, no mistakes from anger or frustration, no hurting other people (though no in-depth conversation, either, unless it is entirely intellectual and at least slightly disconnected with life). But it's not right, and I think that's the main problem--I have followed my God and given Him my life for far too long to give up now.  I love Him, too, and I can't love Him or act on that with my emotions completely shut down--not just the "fuzzy feelings" but everything. And I'm not willing to live that way, nor is He willing to let me. God, help me serve you every day, all the time, in every stage. Amen.

Be Still

    I labeled this blog "Struggles and Thoughts" because I wanted somewhere to write things buzzing inside my head, or things I don't feel I can tell to people (yes, I know it seems like an oxymoron to then put it on the internet, where anyone can read it--but I'm not really expecting people to read this, and even if they do, they'll have no idea who I am, which makes this rather safer than not). This morning...
   This morning I made myself get up at six forty-five (or -six), instead of staying in bed for a while (which is getting easier to do as I'm becoming more tired). I went out and sat on the couch, and was given an assignment--either by God, or by my imagination; it could be either. I was told to "Be Still."
   Have you ever tried doing that before? Because it's hard--not meditation, just a time of listening, of quieting your thoughts and disciplining them enough that they're focused on feeling, listening, breathing, and waiting--waiting on what, I'm not certain. It could be waiting until someone interrupts you, till your sister's alarm goes off and scares you to death, or till you're relaxed and rested. Or till you can hear things you couldn't before. The last one scares me, because, in that realm, I have no way to measure what is right, what is wrong, what is silly, and what is true--which means I'm living on faith that, if something happens, God will also show me whether it's right or not. Not something I'm exactly comfortable with, but not something I can rule out, either.
    Anyway, this morning was a failure, in some ways. I tried--and failed. And tried--and failed. And tried--etc. Partly because I'm tired, and mostly because I'm bad at it. I got up, mentally apologizing in my mind to God, telling Him I'm bad at it and I'm sorry.
   I almost got the impression that He smiled, and said "Don't worry--you'll practice."

Which, if He really wants me to be still, makes all the sense in the world--but it also means work. And more failure. I don't. Like. Failure.
Which probably means this is good for me, at least in the area where my pride rules. And it is probably a good discipline exercise.
Blah.
All right, God. Here we come--help me, please?

A Red Cap

      It's before eight on a Saturday morning, and I woke up over an hour ago. I walked into our messy kitchen and inwardly sighed. My sister has dishes today and tomorrow, and I'd complained on Monday because she'd left dishes overnight for me or Kay to do. I couldn't leave this for her; it wasn't fair. I stuck my purity ring in my pocket and got to work. But I hadn't had a chance to eat last night because of work, so I wanted breakfast, too--but we were out of milk. I wanted to get some before anyone else got up (not being quite as much of a morning person as I am [I love mornings, more than anytime of the day except sunset], I knew not having milk would make it worse), so I left the dishes and went to the grocery store nearby. Milk is getting expensive here ($4.00), so I looked for the cheapest Fat Free Skim Milk there was. And lo and behold, in the midst of blue and white, there was one milk with a red cap.
    All the others had blue; even the one with the red cap had the customary blue stickers. I picked up the one next to it and started to walk back the checkout; but inside I wondered why I hadn't picked up the one with the red cap. It stood out, didn't it? But why hadn't I? (To warn you, if anyone ever reads this--I'm a symbolic person, which means I can catch meaning in some things that others might miss, but it also means I often put far too much meaning in small things!) Because it stood out? I wondered how long it would be before that gallon of milk was sold; how many people would not pick it, subconsciously or consciously, because it was different than the uniform gallons around it? Now, being (perhaps) a future teacher, I linked it in my mind to a school yard; how different kids are often left out, just because they might have a red cap. It made no difference to how the milk stayed in the fridge, poured into a glass, or mixed with cereal; it made no difference to what was under the red cap, yet the very fact that it had a red cap made it set apart. And, because it had a red cap, it might be left till last...which (stretching rather far, I must admit), if it was a human, would make it different on the inside, under the red cap...and so I had a silly wish to go back and pick up that gallon of milk, just so it wouldn't be left till last. I didn't--by then I was halfway through the store, and who knew when people might get up at home? But I hope, next time--in fact, I'm resolved, next time, to take the milk with the red lid. And then take it home and drink it; I know, it makes no sense. But who really knows how silly little actions like this might influence the bigger ones I am given the chance to do in the long run?