Water

I get lost in awe and wonder gazing over water. Raging rivers and calming streams. Glassy lakes or choppy waters. Churning oceans and crystal clear seas. Lapping waves and pounding surf. Exquisite beauty in the smallest details. Majesty in limitless potential. Glory in raw, unbridled power. Recklessness in its unknown. Safety in rhythm and sequence. Consistency in changes.

I've sat for hours watching energetic waves engage the rocky shore where I grew up in the Caribbean, as I deeply engaged my own feelings. I cried salty tears as the salty spray chilled my barefoot feet and legs as it splashed. I found comfort in watching another entity, albeit water, expressing what my heart could not speak.

Walking, rollerblading and running miles upon miles beside Lake Michigan in downtown Chicago, the water kept me company. Sometimes it was a brilliant sapphire. Other times murky grey or glacial green-blue. Misty, hazy  hues were a favorite in early mornings or late evenings. When internally my world was chaotic and stressed, I found solace in or near the water.

Blustery, bitter-cold days, when no one seemed to care or see my pain, the freezing wind along the the beach allowed my voice to scream out in the emptiness to God, yearning for closeness, and finding warmth in his presence when all else was distant.

Days with icy stillness elicited passion in my heart as I listened to the crystal-clear clinking of ice shards, imperceptibly moving with the motion that evaded my eyes gaze. If such delicate beauty and clarity could develop in harsh conditions, then so my soul could take courage when nothing seemed to be moving. I could risk doing less. Simply be. Let God's unseen hand create the simple yet unrivaled-of-harmonies in my life that I, in that moment could not hear. 

On a recent morning run, I felt compelled to silence my podcast, stop my timer, and walk across the parking lot and pause on the sand along Lake Michigan. Grey-tan waves tossed themselves onto the sand, first with a rumble as it hit the receding wave. Then the whoosh as it overpowered it. Then an almost-silent hiss as it glided over the coarse sand towards me.

Oh, to be lost here forever gazing upon miles of water, cherishing the solitude.

Here beside this vast, power-laden waters, hung a few small, delicate ice-stalactites. The powerful waves did not reach them. But their mist did. Few would notice these tiny art displays hidden off the path, away from the water and any passerbys out near the shore on a chilly, windy, 30 degree day.

My awe grew. And as I took in the power and art around me, something broke inside and emotions began washing over me. Past, sad memories. Countless goodbyes. Cold shoulders. Embarrassing social and cultural faux pas. Pain pumped out as my heart beat slowed.

My hurt at first wanted a companion in the cold waves like many the times before today. Yet this time, I knew that watery companionship isn't what I needed. Unlike in previous times, I knew needed to feel my own pain, and not project and wash it off into the murky water.

The real pounding water was inside. Could I allow myself to simply feel the tears? To allow the hurts of bygone years surface? To let new connections have a chance, and not brush over them? Yes. Swoosh.

Could I let the external water take on new meaning and purpose? Instead of using water to be a mirror of my agonies, could I use it's fluidity to embrace and soothe these bruised parts of me? Yes. Swish.

Could I allow the churning, aching water inside of me to simply be, and eventually stand still and let others see into it? Could they listen to my orchestra of fears gently clinking in my heart, trusting that even the ice chips of fear inside will thaw and bring glory to God in His timing? Yes! Slosh.

I may not have felt like I could let the waves of pain come, yet it was comforting to allow them, to simply be and experience myself. And I felt stronger than I had before. I felt more like those crystal stalactites, that somehow God had gently, quietly, without pomp and circumstance, built me a bit stronger and longer with each wave. Not moving or breaking with the wind and waves. Just being added to, and grown. I've been complete -yet I still am growing.

There is a reason I am deeply drawn to water. I may not have the words to express my craving for water or people's comforting presence and I struggle to find words for the deepest of my hungers. Yet I don't need to find the words. Or do. I get to simply be.

Oh to be lost forever like this, gazing into acceptance, and basking in warm embraces.

Living water flows in and around

Though it feels safer to watch from dry ground.

I can't stand the power, there's far to much,

Yet He will not let go. I'm safe in his clutch.

Choice to Cherish

Relationships are a mystery. They grow. They wain. Some are a surprise. Some are built into our life. Some are seen as good.  And some are seen as odd, an anomaly, or down-right dangerous.

One of these down-right dangerous, odd, anomalies is opposite-gender friendships. Many reading this may be uncomfortable with this topic, or have doubts as to if this is possible. Others of you may agree that its an anomaly, and not normal. And still others may breathe a sigh of relief. I have hesitated months to publish this, and I believe there is wisdom and wrestling yet to be done.

I grew up spending my free time usually with two brothers and many of their friends. I watched my older brother and his friends play basketball for hours. I chopped go-cart trails out of bush with my younger brother and his/our guy friends. I cut open coconuts, ran through trails, and killed snakes with those guy-friends. 

And then I moved during high school to a place where boys and girls interacted differently. In this new place, guys and girls hesitated, and often became part of groups that flirted with each other, or avoided each other. To simply talk seemed foreign.

Trying to fit in, I adopted and took on many of these cultural values and beliefs. For various reasons I chose to err on the side of the avoiding male interactions. It was safe.

There were walls I didn't see as I put myself in a self-labeled box "don't interact with me." I, nor others can be ourselves inside of a boxed category. Walls strangle emotions, pain and joy, fear and confidence, tenderness and anger inside. Maybe, if lucky, they seep out of a corner. The fullness of a person is stunted. Who they are ceases to exist when we play God and assign values and roles to people. 

Where there are roles (or zones), there is no relationship. In placing myself in a category, I could "be me" (aka the category) without being hurt or vulnerable -after all, I was being the "me" I chose to be, not who God created me to be.

This fear spurred by categories, impacted my idea of dating or being friend-zoned, which perpetuated itself.

There is a deep innate longing in each person to belong, to be loved, to be known. Being known is far more deep than being liked, flirted with, or simply informational. We desire to be known by both women and men. To be known goes down into the soul. But if our relationships with the opposite gender are portioned into two categories, what happens to this desire? It is squashed down, hidden, and creates fear. When friend-zoned, will others see me as valuable? What if they don't? Yet what if I don't want to be someone's special someone, but desire to still know them and be known? What happens to me? What are they thinking? What box are they putting me in? Can I be known without dating, but not be the second-class girl who hears about other girls all the time, or is "one of the guys?" So we as people acknowledge these zones, avoid these zones, long to be in the one we are not. We fear what others are thinking, what others will do, how others view us. We live in a state of anxiety and fear, giving the zones more and more strength and power to box us in, hide ourselves, and let our real selves slip through the cracks, as does our freedoms.

I never foresaw the damage this dichotomy would bring.

This dichotomy slowly ate away my security, spunk, and soul. And I imagine for many other people out there, men and women alike. If we were not the pretty one, the smart one, the one guys "went" for, then what were we? Many will say "it will be okay;" "God knows who will marry whom and when." How many times I have been told to "wait right here, and God will bring him when he/I/God is ready."?

Waiting is a needed skill. But waiting in the same place without seeking, is not the answer. God calls all to follow Him. No single-life-laziness or irresponsibility.

Fast forward eight years. Enter wise counsel from God, older (sometimes younger?!) women and men, and counseling. Prayers to learn to trust and to understand healthy relationships poured out year after year. And each year, ended with some changes, some unexpected growth slowly answering these prayers. 

This year is no different. This year I am surrounded by the most unique group of Godly men, who all live together. They started out as practically strangers. I began spending time with different ones for different reasons, and began being invited to events by others. Studying, thrifting, movies, bonfires, dancing, and talking.  I took the chance of being me...with (most) of my emotional self... and they accepted it without question. I am so fully loved and cherished by these men, and they are cherished in return. And the beautiful thing is, is that the love felt is not cheap. It is rich. And it cannot be measured.

Their love is shared with others too... :)

I know there are good, Godly men in the world, because I know some of them. I know there are men aware of themselves, because I've heard them share themselves and their ponderings. I know there are men who are aware of their affect, and their effect on others since I've seen these men sanding rough areas in their lives over time in order to live fully authentic, purpose-filled lives. Not only do I know of these types of men, but I've experienced them and cherish them.

Why has my heart healed?

Because these men, and their friends around them try to live out the gospel of true love. The word itself is so misused in our world today. Being cherished or loved does not have a scale. If God is love, and we have his love in us (1 John 4:7-8), then there is no dichotomy in our love. Yes, human love is not perfect, but there is no scale. Love flows from the heart. The choice to cherish someone is rooted in acceptance; there is no gradient. 

As people accept each other, each person is freed if they take and own the acceptance. Gifts do nothing, until they are received, opened, and owned by the receiver. They no longer need to fit someone else's box in order to "earn" love and acceptance. They are not forced into a behavior box of being flirty, or friend-zoned. Instead, there is freedom to allow nuances out, joys out, fears out, and their true self out without being judged, rejected, or losing "love/cherish-points" on a scale.

Oh the ridiculousness we have together!

Relationships are dynamic. These men around me are changing. I've let the days go by writing this and they have deepened, grown, and become more of their true selves. I have changed. Therefore our relationships are innately changed, because we are changed. We will continue to change. We grow. I must allow them to move farther away or closer in their own freedom. They allow me to spend lots of time with them or little. I do not have to fit a box of friend-zoned or date-able. Neither do they. People are like flowers. If we ever try to pick them and put them in a box, they look great at first, but slowly fade, losing their vibrancy, life-source, and impact, though their shell will remain identifiable. But if instead we stop and get to know them as they are, give care as we have to offer, and in like manner receive from them, a glorious garden of memories and aromas, pictures and colors, and depths and strong roots will flood the world around us all.

We are each _____ (insert our first names), cherished and valued by each other. I am not the sister. I am not the friend. I am not the cook. I am Laura, cherished. He is not the gardener. He is not the artist. He is not the prankster. He is _____, cherished. Are not we all this way? Can you insert your name in there? God loves each of us deeply, compassionately. When people may not see and cherish us, He does. And truly, I wonder, if we reached out and asked others, we might be surprised to find who around us cares.

It is a choice to cherish someone. It is also a choice to let someone cherish us. Either one is a vulnerable choice. And vulnerability, when safe, brings healing. The two genders do typically express their care for others differently. Those I cherish know it through my "Laura-means," and these men show their back in different ways that fit who each of them is. The important truth, is that each communicates in their way, the genuine truth of what they feel.

Christians have a gift of love and cherishing they can give to each other, with no gender disparity. Christian men and women have the opportunity to cherish not only those of their same sex, but just as importantly their gender counterparts. 

Let us not limit our God-given friends, relationships, and love because of gender. Let us cherish each person for who God has made them, and the journey He is leading them on. Let us run the race before us that God has set, allowing us to enjoy and know the people, both male and female, He placed in the lanes beside us at this point in time. People themselves do change, and their "running" positions next to us in life may change. Their race may end or take a turn, while God leads ours to another route. We have a choice to cherish them during such a time as this. 

Will you choose to cherish and be cherished? What would keep you from it? What helps you give it? accept it? Who could you talk to about this? 

Oh my Father, who loves us all,

I hear your whisper, "Cherished," you call.

Help me to trust Your still small voice,

And spread this to others;

This is my choice.

Searching

Questions surround.

Where to go, What to do.

Who to leave, and who to cleave.

Rubbed raw, the ache is real.

Thoughts surround.

Here a swirl; There a pool.

Mixing, Meshing, Blending.

Stretched and pulled, the quest sees no end.

Friends surround.

Where to open up, What to share.

Who to cry with,Who to hug.

Touched with love, life lives on.

All I Can See

This July I went to Italy for 2.5 weeks. Now, I've been back for months. I came back, and didn't want to go to work. I didn't want to start the mundane tasks of cleaning, unpacking, laundry, or even cooking. I had changed, but I was back in a world that didn't seem to accommodate my change. But I had started a new ellipse around my old life, similar patterns, but different interactions.


I just wanted to keep traveling, to keep seeing new things, understand more, ask more questions. I want adventure. Coming home feels like the adventure for summer is over. The excitement is over, and nothing new will happen and rock my world, but the world of the present may smother me. Each place, each face, each set of steps to a dome, each painting, fresco, or sculpture of the trip brought more wonder. More questions. More desires to see and understand. Everything in life seems all wrapped up in one big blob of questions, desires, and goals. It's like my universe is trying to strangle me.

• I was sad to come home. But coming home also brought solidarity and safety.
• I was reluctant to start daily functions, for fear I'll forget "the other way" we did things away from home. Will I forget the packed buses of Rome? Or the smell of markets or bakeries? Will I remember the delicate but clear aroma of fresh baked bread with cheese and prosciutto as lunch sandwiches from 2 Brother's?
• I was excited to bring new ways of doing things into my daily life here. How to make a cappuccino in a french press. Enjoying amaretti or biscotti with my coffee. 
• I was bummed that I did not see everything. But then, could I really see everything or even if I could, could I take it in?
• I was and still am enticed by future options, future travels, future explorations.

Coming back took away the new frontier I was exploring. My heart wants to be open to understanding languages and cultures, fields and mountains, paths and roads, maps and globes. It still yearns for another place, to understand people more. This yearning reminds me of the cyclical, funnel-shaped nature of life.

I am back into a similar pattern as before, but in a new orbit. Each cycle of a day is a new point on the map. Each interaction a chance for understanding. Seasons of life come and go as the rotation of life comes and goes. But it does not stay on the same orbit. Each plot-point of each day shapes the direction and speed in which our lives turn -life never comes back to the same spot, making each moment a one-time gift. As water swirling in funnel moves in a direction without touching the same place twice, the swirl of life happenings may go around in the same funnel, and have the similar shape, but be in a different situation, a tighter pull toward the center.

Some things are the same, anchoring life and me in new situations. I still love traveling different country-sides. Instead of traveling France on bike like 2 years ago, we traveled Italy by train. I still like solitude. Instead of shade trees, we made use of piazza's for rest breaks. I enjoy simplicity. Instead of cooking each meal, we frequented food stands many times. I still am learning to trust. Instead of staying glued to the maps, I trusted friends to lead.

Around and around.

Same, but different.

Similar, but changed.

What is my center of daily life? What am I being pulled towards each day? When I look at my daily choices and habits, what is the same as the past and what has changed? Do I want to continue in that direction? with that force? with that pattern? How will this translate back into life here in Chicago or wherever I am in the world? How have I let myself be changed and how can I let that out and draw nearer to God and His world?

I can't see everything. And when I can't see everything, I can make small goals, small dreams come true. All I can see is what is before me. But what I can do, is as Brendan James sings, "ask the Creator of all good things ... what it means to live" and then listen for His response.

May I keep moving in the direction God leads. Though the funnel might narrow, His grace and truth holds me, and the world in place, providing what we need for that moment in life, that point in time.

Weary Rest

Why is my soul so chipped inside? So sad, hurt, and tired?

How come my heart is worn to the core, ready to lash out or cry?

Lord, I work for you, live for you, and try to share your compassion with the world around me.

I look around, and it is they, the world of selfishness, anger, and lust that are full of life.

What I say and do is held in disdain, questioned, and pushed away.

Yet together they drink, laugh, and carouse, enjoying the bonds of friendship.

Like a cliff by the sea, I am being eaten away at the core, not able to hold the waves back.

Little by little consumed by the tide, it weakens, bends, and crumbles.

Oh Lord, How can Your character be built in me when all lifestyles around daily surround and hide your face from my view?

Instead of your face, I see only pain, confusion, and contortions of Your fallen creatures, and know not what to do.

Where can we go for healing? Where can I hide to find care?

In silence, my mind roars.

In community, my soul is alone.

In searching, my heart hides.

In peace, my psyche goes mad.

But I still will praise You. Your honor I will sing.

Community you brought together.

Friends you have provided to be with, to listen.

Family you have given back.

Yourself, you died for all.

Your Spirit lives within me. His touch and presences heals.

Build a guard against the waves, give me strength to keep on standing.

Carve the contour of your heart on my soul though I may not see you inside.

Friendships for eternity you are building, bringing joy, hope and purpose.

Those around me will falter and fall down, longing for what you offer.

You lead my steps when I follow, You take me deep into your heart.

Tenderly you wait for me to come, Gently you open Your embrace.

My soul will rest in God my Saviour, being healed from hurts now raw.

Inward fatigue now bathed in hope,

Displays your unfailing love.

My heart now shaped more like Yours, each dent and bruise and hole,
Ready to offer shelter; Thank You for making me whole.

Hidden Memories

As I packed my goal of one to three boxes a day, I've come across things I knew I had, but forgotten about. Memories flooded back from the last few years, hidden or missed over this time.

I remember buying these 100 Chinese bike-tube patches for less than $2. I've only used 3 so far. I've biked many-a miles from my old apartment (>3000). My bike could tell stories, some of the ending with him getting extra care in our front little grass-patch, as I bandaged him up. But sure as a marine, he leaves no man (or woman) left behind: He's still my trusty transportation! 

I remember when I brought home the first orphan-flowers. Being thrown out at work, I brought them home 2.5 years ago amid snickers from coworkers. Their new home gave them soup-can or plastic-cup pots to stretch their roots into. Later they acquired real "clothes" of terra-cotta pots. Now, they bask in my new window, among other orphan plants, waiting for summer to blossom.

I remember when a Starbucks customer gave me a bag over the counter, saying the scarf was just perfect for me. What that meant, I had no idea until I opened it up on my break. Lo and behold! I pulled it out. And kept pulling it out. And Kept pulling it out! 11 feet later... yes eleven feet later, I found the other end with matching gloves and a hat!



And this scarf has come in hand this winter., I've been toasty warm in these winter years -okay months- of below freezing and negative temperatures with its long, long, long arms encircling me up to 4 times!

I remember when I rolled and stuffed posters into this tube before going on the bike trip to France. I was so certain that after I returned from France, I would be starting a new life teaching in Haiti. I wanted at least a few wall-memories to take with me along with some of my art. And here they are, I never did unroll them after that plan fell through, which turned out for the betterment of all. The pain has softened.



I remember countless nights in the dorm room with Heidi, Andrea, Kara, Allie, and so many others, drinking hot chocolate, tea, or just hot water from this little hot-pot. We learned and gained friends and sisters, character polishing and refining, tears and hugs: precious moments that are graven into my heart and life. And of course, keeping with tradition, our mood or need in that moment decided for which mug of meaning was used (or was offered by the others!). Life is fun and joy-filled, even with broken areas of us. Beauty and encouragement from multiple avenues. Chaos and simplicity, contrasts and strengths, and character amidst stress.




Beautiful blessings pop out everywhere when I take a moment look around. What blessings and memories has he brought to you?

Moving Musings

The Abbey. The Downtown Abbey of Chicago. Close to work, friends, and Lake Michigan. L tracks right next to us, ambulances at all hours of the night, and people everywhere. Flower baskets, Christmas lights, and anticipation in the air. The Abbey. A place of refuge for a college graduate. A haven for Child Care Worker turned barista. Rest for a tired soul. Home.

About three weeks ago, the situation became clear. I wasn't planning on it. I did not want to do it. But it was needed. I chose to move.

That last word slowed life to a halt. I was choosing to leave the home I knew, the location I loved. Reasons for moving were real and pressing.

But I don't like moving, even though I can pack a box with items to be moved so that there is no packing material needed, no corner left unused, and therefore using as few boxes as possible. Even though I know the boxes, how to label each and write it down to eliminate digging through 10 boxes for the 1 item I need. Even though I can stack odd-shaped boxes without wasting an inch of floor/car/moving space.

I have moved 11 times. This is #12. Moving is "old-hat." Outwardly excited, this time I get to set up my own apartment as I want. I get to be closer to my Chicago family. I get to establish new routines, find new grocery stores, and new favorite haunts.

Inwardly I dread moving and transitions. Apartment hunting and signing. Packing, actual moving, and the unpacking. Energy to begin new relationships. Strength to say goodbye well. Changing close relationships. Losing others. Being uncomfortable in new situations. Learning new social and neighborhood norms. I should think I'd have these skills down by now! I may have them honed, but I don't want to use them. Can I be normal for once and not have change in my life?

Or is change normal?

God never said life would have no changes. As He redeemed Israel from Egypt, He changed almost every aspect of life to reflect Himself in every-day activities. When Jesus came, He changed the world completely. Instead of just activities, He changed hearts and He created a new lifestyle. To be an ambassador of Him is to be changed continuously: being molded into a being more reflective of Him than before.

Change in inevitable.

And so is His Presence.

He is present in every change. Nothing happens without Him being there, allowing it, since He is "with [us], even to the end of the age." And if He is there, He is my strength to stand under the stressors. He is the comfort when my pain emerges. He is wisdom when my relationships change. He is understanding when new norms are confusing for me.

He shows His power if and when we look to Him for the strength. He shows His love when we ask for comfort. He shows His omniscience when we trust His wisdom.

"Sing joyfully to the LORD, you righteous; 

it is fitting for the upright to praise him.

For the word of the LORD is right and true;

He is faithful in all He does.

The LORD loves righteousness and justice;

the earth is full of His unfailing love.

"The plans of the LORD stand firm forever,

The purposes of his heart through all generations.

"We wait in hope for the LORD;

He is our help and our shield.

In Him our heartrs rejoice,

for we trust in His holy name.

"May your unfailing love rest upon us, O LORD

Even as we put our hope in You."

(Excerpts of Psalm 33)