Sincerely Bent

I was just on Facebook a little bit ago, and came across an "event" called "Tell Her She's Beautiful." I was intrigued as two of my friends from opposite sides of the country were both attending. I clicked into the profile, and started reading.

Apparently, a guy started the event that February 11-14, people everywhere will "tell her she's beautiful," meaning any girl. He gave his background story for why he wanted to create such a movement on those designated days. He said he hates seeing how so many girls/women struggle with appearance and acceptance of their bodies and faces, and skin and everything that is a part of them. He mentioned how it breaks his heart to see how girls destroy themselves in attempt to recreate what they feel is not enough. He said the event was to grab people all over and to tell girls that their beautiful. And not in a creepy, "hey baby let's dance" kinda way, but in a heart to show girls they already ARE beautiful, and don't need to BECOME beautiful by changes and altering what already has reached the destination.

So, while I can say, "Heh, that's a cute idea, but kinda weird," I also can see the other side. I'm a girl. I'm usually surrounded by girls. I am well versed in the language of girl. I witness everyday, usually quite a few times, how desperately we try to be beautiful. Some of us get up an hour earlier than we really need to just so we can know we definitely put the effort into looking our very best. No bags under the eyes, no eyelashes awkwardly stuck together... we make sure those things are taken care of before any one of the opposite sex can see us. 

I admit I'm the kind of girl that will opt for more sleep than trying to conceal any blotches on my face. I supposed laziness could be a culprit here, because it's certainly not because I don't want to look nice. But what saddens me very much, is how our world has become. Our "beauty" in our country is fake. Ok, maybe not fake entirely... make up only enhances what is already there. I like make up. I'm not anti make up at all. But the extra color and stuff we use is synthetic. It looks so cool, and can be so much fun to use! But it makes me so mad when we're judged on account of how much powder we put over top our real faces. I loathe hearing one girl put down because she weighs more than another girl. I hate that so many girls opt for a salad instead of chicken because there are less calories. I hate the pain girls endure to be seen as beautiful. We just want to be beautiful. 

Now, I know a lot of guys would probably say, "If I just randomly handed out 'You're beautiful' to any girl, she'd be attached to me for the rest of her life." And in a lot of ways, that'd probably be true of many people. But I think the reason for this, is because affirmation like that is so diluted that we suffer the consequences of the famine. The media does not affirm. Even if a girl IS 98 pounds and six feet tall. She needs to change something else before she's really achieved beauty. And often in the Christian world, it's so easy to just say, "A girl needs to grasp that her beauty is not in outward appearance and in the Lord." I kind of think that is cliche though. I think we all know beauty is internal too, and that Jesus shows through us. But I'm not really commenting on inward beauty. I'm really talking about outward right now.

I also think that when girls actually do hear someone else, a girl, say, "You are SO beautiful!" they don't take the compliment seriously. They probably think to themselves, "Wow, that was a lie... I KNOW she doesn't really think I'm beautiful."

Why do we do this!? It's terrible! It's so sad, and is just so speechlessly upsetting that this is what has become of verbal affirmation sometimes. 

I think the world is not sincere. I think that's contributing to the issue. I think there in insincerity to the point that attempts to be sincere are heard as mockery. For example, when someone says "You're beautiful," it sounds so untrue. It sounds like it's just the thing to say. It does not sound like the truth. 

Then, I think girls get to a point where it's hard to even distinguish truth from lies. Anyone who says the word beautiful, truly or not, is better than someone who doesn't say it at all. Again, the famine of words like "beautiful" can be so blinding. Anyone who uses it, is gold, even if they're untrue. 

I know this issue is not limited to girls too. The same thing happens to guys just as often, but in different ways. One example, is  the world says "Guys only want one thing." So what about the guys who try so hard to live against the tide, and live above the traps grasping at their feet every step they take? What about the guys that struggle every moment, desperate to be stronger than a weakness? And then in the end, guys still somehow gain the titles girls love to award them-- jerk, douche, stupid, loser, creeper... even though some of those sound sorta silly... the list certainly does not end there. Why do we still use these names for our brothers in the Lord, and even those who are not Christians? Why do we have to tear them down, just because we feel torn down ourselves?

There's a horrible tug-of-war here... for example, how desperate girls are to be found beautiful... so the world says guys just want the bodies... so girls try that. But that doesn't always end very well. So the girls feel like they destroyed themselves all in attempt to be accepted and beheld as lovely. And then the guys think of the girls as sluts, and insulted that girls would treat themselves like their meat, and treat them (the guys) as animals on the prowl. 

I think we all are feeling legitimately what we are created to desire. Girls want to be beautiful. Guys want to be heros. But the world is corrupt... it's "bent" as a book I just read would say. And all of our attempts to accomplish these things we desire is a little bent too sometimes.

I actually really don't have a conclusion to this. It's kinda of just my thoughts. As a girl, it burdens me. It burdens me that so much pressure is awarded to every girl who is born a girl. And that so much untruth is branded on guys as well. I don't have any profound ending. I just can't stand to see so much pain sometimes for what has been lost in the fallen world. 

In my mind, I think we desire sincerity. And the only place we will always have it without fail is in the Lord. 

Password Please?

Today has been so nice. I was so happy to get some sleep this morning, having my first class start at a comfortable 11:30 a.m. This is my only class of the day too, which is absolutely excellent. So as I went to COR 302 today, I was expecting a relatively restful class, because Zahniser (the prof) had already told us today would be more of his personal introduction of himself. He had several slides, and read to us his personal story of how he came to study science, as the COR 302 theme is Science and Religion/Christianity. 

I admit I tried not to space out too much. It's not that what he was talking about wasn't interesting. I was just trying to go over in my head a million things... which books I needed to buy today, which ones I could get away with just getting from the library... my head never stops moving. However, I managed to focus. Coming out of that class today left me not only going over all of the purchases I'd be making in the coming days, but also how awesome it is to be at a school that even the teachers can express their awe for the Lord. Towards the end of Zahniser's story, he began to weep as he shared his own experience and study of science and how that has led him only back to God. His being moved, moved the rest of us in the class I'm sure. His stories were very personal, and instead of relaying them, I'll just say they were very moving. And as an apparently "emotional person" as some of my friends plead to believe me to be, I appreciated his openness to our class. And not only that, I appreciated the fact that we can be open here. 

So I am not saying here I would be against going to a nonchristian school. I wouldn't mind that honestly. All I'm saying is today I noticed the privilege we have here at GC to be real and vulnerable in ways I did not experience at all at my previous school. It's very refreshing. The mindset here is definitely not "every man for himself" or "tough luck buddy."It's kind of more "let's do this. Right here. Right now." Community is kinda the password to even set foot on Greenville property, or so it seems. At first, it's kind of confusing. It seems to be a really nice thought, and something we could promote on postcards sent out to prospective students, but what's startling is that it's sincerely enforced by almost everyone on staff and on faculty. I have only been here one semester before now, and it's interesting to note that it's not my first semester, but the "first semester treatment" is still kinda here. And then it all makes sense. It's not "first semester treatment" at all... it's just how it goes at GC-- If you're here, you're gonna live in community with everyone, and if not, you're gonna be very sore by the end of each day attempting to repel the efforts. 

I've experienced the oddest class experiences I've ever had while at GC. It's shocking that the things advertised on those postcards I received for months are actually pretty accurate. Last semester my head was probably cocked to the side several times a day in lack of comprehension of what the deal was. And even though I've only had three days of classes so far this semester, I'm thinking my head will probably be standing a little straighter, and maybe (metaphorically) nodding in the spark of understanding. 

So while most places that have (theoretical) passwords require the understanding OF the password, GC kinda gives it to you so you have something to ponder as it begins to understand YOU before you even understand IT.  So that's my thought for today... it's a weird place over here....but I like it:) 

Back to Greenville!

Today is my first full day back at Greenville! Zach and I got in last night around midnight. We traveled 17 terribly long hours in his little white car... it never felt so good to arise from a sitting position... in fact, it's still a little uncomfortable to sit, and this is 12 hours later. 

Anyway, it feels so good to be back at Gville. It was so nice to be with my family for almost 6 weeks for break of course, and I miss them already. I miss my friends I have at home too, and all the places I love to go with them... but it feels so right to be back here. 

At the beginning of the school year, our Senior student body president spoke about how it took a long time to figure out where home is. When he went "home" for break, that felt like home. But at the same time, when he came back to Gville, that felt like home too. When he traveled and counseled at camps and things like that.... it all felt homey. So where was home? He concluded that wherever you are is home. And I think I agree with that more now than I did my first week at Greenville. It's funny how familiar this place still is. The spots on the wall that I left in December are still here as if I never left. My pictures and posters are still on the wall. The carpets are the same. It feels comfortable. 

I'm excited to be back at this home. I miss my home in NJ, but I missed this home too. 

My Throat Hurts

Yesterday afternoon, I drove one of my little sisters, Olivia, to a friend’s house. We had stopped for Starbucks on the way, having our Sister Time. Olivia is 8 years old-- an age that, for many little girls, welcomes newness of thought, and unexpected depth. The questions this little lady comes up with boggle me. And the sweetness and innocence of her thoughts are so precious.

As she sipped her shimmering Starbucks Izzie soda, I turned on the radio. Now, I love the radio, as I covered in my last blog. But, when I have the younger kids in the car, I try to settle my wracking desire to rock out with Akon and Jay Sean, to turn on KLOVE, the Christian station in my area. I wouldn’t exactly be proud of myself for helping my 3 year old baby sister sing, “doncha wish yo girlfriend was hot like me,” or my 10 year old brother screaming, “good girls go bad!” So KLOVE it was.

As I turned on the radio, Olivia asked me to turn it up. A song I wasn’t too familiar with went from whispers hushed beneath the lull of the arrogant engine inside Clifford, to a song loud enough for Olivia to sing with. I asked her if she knew the song, to which she replied she did. I loved just listening to her pretty little voice sing. We were passing a grocery store as Liv began talking to me again. Clifford selfishly did not cooperate and hush himself, so I had to turn down the music to hear her better.

“I like when the music is a little louder and I can hear it, because I really like to sing with it.” She told me. I voiced my approving agreement, and asked her,

“So you really like to sing, huh?” Even though she had told me countless times she loves to sing.

“Yes. I keep liking it more and more,” She told me from the first of four rows in that big van. I told her how much I love to sing too, and after a moment turned the music up again.

As we continued on, I could her voice faintly match the words, “Oh no, You never let go, through the calm and through the storm.” I added my own voice to the mix as well. Every few minutes I asked Liv another question or two. It was my last little outing with her before I went back to school, and she loves it when we get to do things together. I twisted the volume knob again as she began to talk to me again, Clifford relentless in his desire to be heard.

“Sometimes,” the meek little voice started, “when I sing low, my throat hurts.” She told me. I was curious where she might be getting to with her declaration, so I turned the music even lower, and asked her to repeat herself. “Sometimes, if I don’t sing loud, my throat hurts because I want to sing.” She continued. This struck me as oddly profound, and shockingly precious, regardless of her blissfully adolescent thoughts. I pressed her to tell me more. I asked her a few questions of clarification of what she was trying to tell me. “If I sing soft, or low,” she paused as she took a breath. “I can’t hear myself sing, and it hurts until I sing loud enough.” I listened intently, hearing the legitimacy and pure truth to what she was describing.

Olivia was telling me about something I have tried to figure out myself. This inescapable need, this inexpressible desire that cannot be lulled back to sleep unless it is uncaged. A burden even more relentless than Clifford, who was now mimicking the sound of my own inner musing at these thoughts it took an 8 year old girl to bring to the surface of my own thoughts. There is something unhushable within us. There is a burden unable to be taken off the way we can shed a heavy backpack or pass around a heavy youngster unwilling to be put down. It’s such a desperate desire. It’s something that feels like pain if we imprison it. So, what is it? And why do we feel it? And how come my little 8-year-old sister can meet me on this same terrain? Is it just something we “older people” can understand and relate to? I’m in college… I’m certifiably “older” now. But, I’m thinking that is not so—this “something” is not designated to an age. Although, I must say, the older we get, the more this realization feels like a brick slug at us, hitting us square in the jaw, saliva spewed out, chin knocked the wrong way, head flying backwards like someone yanked our hair from behind, and all in slow motion, hammering in the affect. It hits hard! Because it’s so simple.

I know we’re on a somewhat drawn out ride to get to the bottom of this seemingly simple concept, which all started from driving my littler sister to her friend’s house. But don’t give up on me. We’re about to get to the light bulb.

In Luke chapter 19, Jesus told the Pharisees that even the rocks would cry out in praise if we don’t. Crap… even the inanimate objects will act more alive than we are if we don’t do what we’re wired to do. All of the earth is quaking at what is inexpressible, and entirely untouchable… the praise that is due our Creator. The desire that Olivia expressed as her throat hurting if she didn’t sing loudly, I don’t think is left over from the cold she may have had a few weeks ago. In fact, if that were so, I hardly think singing louder would cause any more comfort in the situation. My gut would plead just the opposite actually.

I think Olivia loves to sing. Eye-roller… Yes, I know this thought has been collected over and over. I also think I love to sing. Ahh, you’re all convinced I’m smart and everything now, huh? So, Olivia and I are two of the same. We have a similar passion. But here’s what I’m getting at. We both have a similar unyielding fury to unleash the passion. We cannot keep quiet. We must sing! She is 8 years old. She must sing. I am 19 years old. No matter, I must sing. We love to sing.

Now, what about the kids that love to paint? There is no substance that can dilute the need—they must paint. And how about those who need to get that ball in the goal. They crave it. It is unquenchable. They must play. They must run. They must sing. They must paint. They must speak. They must write. They must work. They must… praise.

We are fearfully and wonderfully made. And all that we are is a reflection. All the good in us, is only reflected from the one who IS good. The one who made the concept of “good” existent. And we are made to display His glory. We cannot escape it. If we were to creep under the radar and refuse to show the glory of the Lord in our own existence, we’d need to cease to exist. But we were not made to stop at just breathing, and pulsing, and possibly blinking. We are made with a desire to praise, a desire to worship—to worship our King.

So what I think, is, we all have different passions. Some of us have drives so solid they could literally petrify water, maybe even silence my van, as if he were a real dog. But, I think we all literally quake to glorify the Lord. The rocks would take over if we refused. The whole earth already screams His majesty. But how much more should we, as the crowns of His creation, quake to display His glory and His majesty? How much more does this desire hurt if we don’t do it? How much more do we deflate as if we’re hollow within, requiring air to fill us, if we lock it up? How much more do we suffer when we can’t do what we feel lines every nerve, over every muscle, around every organ, within every speck of skin. But, isn’t this right? Shouldn’t it hurt? God is so incredible… we all have such different, unique ways we desire to praise Him. And I know for myself, if I cease to sing, I hope it hurts. I hope it hurts really badly. I hope it hurts so badly, I cannot take the pain.

So I’m gonna conclude by saying… my throat hurts. And I hope it always does.

 

 

Straining Sands

So, I’m starting a blog. The word blog is short for weblog, but I see as it kind of appropriate to be just blog. I need to come clean that I mistyped the word “blog” as “blah” in the past, which I also feel is somewhat appropriate. The things I say may come across as “blah blah blah” in a somewhat more forgetful way than Ke$ha’s manor of saying the same thing. But, I guess that’s all good and well.

Recently I had a conversation with my mom about starting a blog. We discussed possibilities of what to even blog about. I confess I could probably babble off about just about anything, so deciding to blog really wasn’t out of a desire to talk about one individual thing, but more the love to write. I love to write. I love to describe. It’s mind blowing and ridiculously exciting to me to learn something new, and to figure out some way to describe it to the people around me.

So… the question remained unanswered. What should I write about? My mom had several ideas. The list began with,“ Write about being in a large family!” Well… hmmm… that could be terribly disappointing as I live over 800 miles away from 8 members of the full 10 for 8 months out of the year. I could see it now. Sitting in my dorm room at Greenville College, beginning a new, fresh blog to start the week.

“Well hello! I’m sitting here, looking at the pictures on my wall, some of which include a sister. I’ll see her in 3 months. Maybe.”

Fail. That wouldn’t work. The second idea came. “What about going to a Christian school!” Hmmm… another thought to consider. I imagined how that could progress. It could be interesting. A lot of people from my school might even read it. I had to visualize the task though. I needed something to imagine to set me in the right tone of mood to decide if this was a winner.

“Today was an average day in the life of a Christian College student. Three people got engaged. This makes seven weddings this summer! Whew… but I guess we gotta keep the percentages up for who meets their spouse at this college. It was a fun evening, and I have a secret. A few of us watched Braveheart. With the door closed. Our RA didn’t catch us though, so we’re still allowed into chapel tomorrow morning.”

Yeah… couldn’t see that one being the best either. But also, for all those who aren’t familiar with the world of Christian Colleges, the above is basically all the stereotypes, some of which are laughably true, other laughably false. I watch movies with the door closed quite often actually :)

Several more ideas flew through the air between my mom and I as we drove Clifford, our Big Red Van, which seats 15. Some may choose to believe I drive this vehicle because it, rightfully so, causes me to look extremely attractive in it. I humbly understand the belief. I understand the jealous looks I get from passers-by.  I don’t know why they all feel the need to beep about it… as if they were trying to disguise their green monsters by pretending to criticize my driving skills…   But the end result of that conversation was that I hadn’t come to any conclusion.

In the next few days, I thought only a little bit about other blog ideas. But mostly just went about my business. This included frequent visits to the sunroom, also known as my favorite room in the house. The piano is in there. No more questions now, I’m sure. I listened to lots of music. Probably danced to the radio more than one might consider necessary. I love the radio. Keeps me young.

Anyway… as I’ve reviewed the standard exploits of a common day, one thing is quite certain. Music is in every day; in my mind, seemingly every moment. To some, music is the sound from a cd, or an ipod, or yes, from my love the radio. And yes! You’d be right. But music isn’t limited to a sound. Not to me. God gave us life. And inside each of us is a heart. And it beats. Just like music! And as long as we live, it will beat. It’s the beat that is sought for in a near death experience. It’s the beat that we can feel when we run out of breath. It’s a beat that washes over us when our faces get warm. We can hear it in our ears in the silence of near slumber.  You can touch it in another’s hand. As long as life endures, it will not stop. Music is in all of us. In some way.

So, am I going to write about music? Maybe. But not necessarily. I love music. But really, what my love for music shows, is I’m just an artist, and all the elements that encompass music are my paints. I’m a songwriter. I’m a writer. I’m a singer. I’m a musician. But I’m an artist. The way I strain through events of the day in my head reveals artistry. And the same is true of seemingly every human being to live a moment or more. How brilliant! A world full of artists! I decided, I, as one of many artists to live and breathe in this world, will write about the things I see worthy of paints. The things I find left in my daily straining. Like the cute little girls on the beach strain through the sand to find the prettiest seashells, will I strain through my own daily sand to turn my pretty shells into my writing.

So, let the straining begin!