Choices?

We’re always making choices
Every moment is a choice
We choose to stay
We choose to leave
We choose to get angry
And we choose to let things go

So you can choose now to let this go
Even if you don’t know what it is
Slamming doors, passive aggression
Waking your perceived enemies from slumber
Trying to win a battle that no one else is fighting

You can choose to get out
Or act as if you’re being thrown out
As if you’re not wanted here
Although the only thing that isn’t wanted is your anger

Feeling lost in this
Your life’s a wreck because your heart is
Or maybe vice versa

Your choices are yours alone
The time is coming
Which will you choose?

White Carnations

I need to write.  I’ve been meaning to write.  I’ve been meaning to set time aside.  I’ve been meaning to.  I’ve been meaning to.  But there are so many things that have almost lost the words.  Or maybe just one thing.  Because I’ve felt a little numb.  Or maybe I’ve felt as though something was missing and it’s not a space I can fill.  And I haven’t even been trying to fill it.

I’ve missed my mother lately.  I always thought that we never learned to love each other right.  I thought we were too different to understand each other, but I have realized that we were almost too much alike.  She raised me to be strong and independent.  She raised me to value intelligence and adventure.  She raised me to never say no to the possibilities.  She raised me to value my own opinion, but to learn the opinions of others.  I am who I am because of who she raised me to be.

I find that I talk about her more now than I ever did before.  She was always a fixture in my life, even when I moved thousands of miles away from her.  She wasn’t everything that I thought a mother was supposed to be, but she was a thousand times better than her mother could have ever hoped to have been.  She was everything she knew how to be.

And maybe I’m just angry.  Maybe I’m angry that I never got to show her my new home.  I’m angry that I can’t ask her questions about living on my own that a daughter should get to ask her mom.  I’m angry that I’ll never get to introduce her to Bobby and ask her how she likes him.  I’m angry that I can’t travel with her anymore, even though she’s who put the love of travel in me.  I’m angry that life goes on, even when it doesn’t.

And I think I’m allowed to be angry.  And I’m allowed to not talk about it, because there’s nothing for anyone to say.

On Sunday, while I worked, Bobby spent mother’s day with his family.  He told me that his dad had gotten me a white carnation, because that’s a southern tradition.  You get someone a white carnation if they don’t have a mother on mother’s day.  It was my first mother’s day without her.  It was my first carnation.

In Conclusion

You may be unaware of this, but I have been unintentionally angry with God for quite some time now.  I’m not sure when it started.  It’s kind of like he’s that friend that you want to be mad at, and then he does something wonderful and you’re like, oh right, you’re actually great, I’m just being a beezy.  So I was mad for a lot of college, but after I graduated and moved to Mammoth and got to spend almost a year just listening to his voice, I fell back in love with him.  I remembered what it’s like to have a good relationship with a loving God.
After I came back from Ireland, which might possibly be the highlight of my entire life, I wanted to move right away.  I tend to try to rush God.  And really, it might not have been God at all that kept me from moving in October.  I stayed for the winter.  And really, it was a fantastic winter.  But I pulled away.  I pulled into myself.  I became someone else temporarily.

Being in Florence, I’m learning to find myself again.  I’m learning to listen again.  But all of this is just digression to the story I want to tell today.

Last Monday I flew back to Nashville from Reno via LAX.  I knew that when I landed in Nashville I would have to get an uber or a taxi to get back to my car, because my flight was delayed so much that the shuttle would no longer be running.  I also knew that I had barely any money left to do this.

On my second flight I sat next to this girl who kept catching my eye.  If you follow me at all, you know that I do my best not to talk to strangers unless they first address me, and even then I get awkward.  I’m not good with small talk.  So this girl caught my eye.  Our plane took forever to get clearance to take off, so we kept taxiing around the runway and I realized that she was editing photos on her phone using the same app that I use.  I always edit photos on planes too, because it gives me something to do.  This is not that strange of a thing to have in common though.
Then (I’m such a creeper) she started going through her music on her phone and picking songs to listen to on spotify.  We have the same taste in music.  Again, not that strange of thing to have in common, except that I listen to a lot of folky indie music.  She started working on editing a short film on her computer, mostly just the title sequence, and I was trying so hard not to watch her as she did this, but I couldn’t stop noticing this girl.
Finally, they came around and asked what we wanted to drink, and I almost always order coke on planes.  It kept running through my mind that this girl and I were cut from the same cord, and then she ordered a coke.  And we both got a second bag of pretzels.

As the flight went on I tried to fall asleep, but God kept speaking to me about this girl.  I felt that if I didn’t write her a note that I would regret it.  So I grabbed my notebook and wrote to her, telling her that God was speaking to me, possibly, and that she didn’t have to believe me and I told her how I never do this and that I would understand if she thought I was crazy.  I told her how I had been angry at God, but I needed to write to her anyway.  I told her what God was saying to me.  I said if she ever needed help from a stranger that she could email me, and I gave her my email.  Then I folded it up and put it on her tray, while she had her head in her hands during the turbulence.  I went back to my music, stared out the window, and tried to fall asleep.

About ten minutes later, maybe twenty minutes before the flight landed, she tapped me on the leg.  She said that the note was exactly what she needed to read, and that I had no idea.  She asked me my name and told me her’s was Molly.  We talked about her school, how she’s in her last semester.  We talked about how she grew up in the south, but she wanted to break free from it, and talked about how I was trying to embrace it.  We didn’t really talk about God.
Molly asked me how I was getting back to my car and I told her that I honestly didn’t know.  She said her mom was picking her up and then they offered to give me a ride.  These strangers drove me the 8 minute ride to my car all because God made me a creeper on the plane.

God is all about connection.  Connection to him.  Connection to the people around us.  I think I’ve been so angry because I’ve forgotten that.  I was so stuck in my own reality, in my own social anxiety, that this connection terrified me.  Really, he just wants us to be able to enjoy the life he gave us, and he gives us the tools to do this.  We just like to do it on our own so often.

In conclusion, once again God has taken care of me.  And once again, I will do my best not to forget it.  He’s great.  You’re great.  I’m great.  We’re all great.  Also, I’m tired and losing my train of thought.

Dig a Little Deeper

I should probably choose where I find my identity
Because it’s possible that I’ve found it more in the words that spill from my pen
Than in him who put them there in the first place

And maybe I’m just angry
Angry with him because of his people
Even though I’m one too

So even if the largest part of who I am is rooted in who he is
I deny it within myself
Because those who claim it break me more than anyone else

I found myself in the darkness
And I found him there with me
But he never meant for me to stay there

It’s in the light that this is all revealed
It’s the light that makes me want to run away

Because although it is in his light that I am made whole
It’s also in his light that I am exposed
And anytime I am seen it is distorted so that no one knows who I really am

Do I even know who I really am?
I think that I’m this broken mess
I think I need to pour everything out in ink, because I don’t have anything left to give

But who am I really?
Wasn’t I made whole?
Am I not something more than a beautiful disaster?

There must be more
So maybe I should dig a little deeper
I feel that I’ve been on this journey for so long
But maybe it’s just begun

Inspiration

I keep looking for inspiration, but all I can think about is how I’m believing I’m mad at you, because I wish I felt nothing for you at all
You snuck up on me, with your best friend jokes and agreeing that I’m cute and that you’re glad I’m not a twig
Your definition of beauty is better than mine, I find, even though I still can’t quite trust it
I’m believing that I’m broken because I’d rather be that than nothing at all
But that is what I am to you, isn’t it? Nothing at all?
I don’t give out chances easily, and you used up your only one when you didn’t show up after you said that you would
But I’m wondering, did you even say you would?
I swear we had plans that you had forgotten, but your words must not be set in stone like mine are
I’ll stay away now, and soon I’ll be far gone, 3 weeks, forgotten
I don’t fall too easily, but definitely too quickly and I’m so used to picking myself up that I’ve forgotten what really falling feels like
I’ve forgotten what being caught feels like
I’ve forgotten what safety feels like, because I always wriggle my way out of any arms that hold me
I don’t expect your arms to hold me
And maybe I don’t even expect you to notice me, though I believed you already had
So maybe that’s where our problem is, that there isn’t any problem at all because there wasn’t any us to begin with
I could only hope
Because you had it all but one, with your fast car and fast music and fast jokes followed by a fast smile and a fast compliment, calling me an angel
If I’m an angel, than what are you?
My wings have been clipped and I can’t fly on my own, but I refuse to let you hold me down
Throwing my bag over my shoulder, my airplane gate is calling
I’m in the sky with this goodbye