"Just call me Jennifer." or "Reflective Angles"

So, if you're wondering why July and August are bare of blog posts it's because I've been away at camp. I even chose to stay longer at camp.




This morning I went on a quick walk down to the lake. I sat not at its edge mostly because the gate was locked, but from where I sat I had a view well enough to appreciate. I don't know that I was conscious of what I was thinking- I was just thinking, praying my coughing wouldn't disturb the morning air...it did.

Like any mass of water it reflects what is around it,

from my journal today

I wondered what it would be like living in a reflection.

But then I wondered what the reflection must look like from the other side of the lake.

Then I thought, "The funny thing about reflections is that what is reflected depends entirely on the angle from which you view it."

Which would explain the innate desire to twist and manipulate images when I don't like what I see--I forget I'm viewing it at a different angle than yesterday, or a minute ago. It's still me- it's still the lake- I just happen to prefer one angle as opposed to the infinite number of other angles.




Self-reflection is key to who I am. I'm sure a lot of people can relate to that. I tend to be on the more obsessive end of self-reflection, but there it is- because of this I tend to forgo an observer's reflection of me. Not consciously though, I know I tend to seek out advice and criticism, and yet, I still funnel out all things I don't like to hear.

I accepted this job I have at camp without qualms, save one: "So, are you ready to join us, Jennifer?"

My prospective boss called me 'Jennifer' despite the rest of the conversation calling me 'Justine'. I considered telling him, "It's funny, my best friend's name is Jennifer," but I declined that little anecdote and replied instead, "So...my name is Justine? It is Justine."

"Oh! That- that was a test! Your name is Justine. I am ----. Justine, would you like to come work with us?"

Then I accepted and came without further qualms.

But I was told to have qualms, none of which I will list here because some worries should be kept private. Besides, most of these worries are FWP (First World Problems) which aren't generally problems in the long run anyway. But I wanted to come, needed to- I couldn't really tell you why, only that if I didn't go I would regret it.

I jumped both feet in and though I cringed on the drive down to the camp my experience since then has been, to say the least, encouraging, enlightening, and wonderful. I think all the more so because I came into it without any expectations or plans. I just kind of did it.

 

The above has been my mantra for a bit, given to me by one of my fellow counselors. I kinda, sorta (not really) apologize for the swear word.

Those words resonate with me mostly because I have been far too timid and judgmental. I have weighed balances I don't have; foreseen occurrences that never occurred.To a certain extent, I have pretended to know so many things without really knowing. Why do I do that? 

I don't want to pretend I know things. I don't want to assume I know exactly what you'll be like, or that I know exactly what will happen.

I have worked under the premise that I know nothing, but its twisted its head on me: I knew nothing and therefore knew everything. That's incredibly stupid.

I suppose before I took this job I saw only one thing: I got the job. What else is there to see? As much as I enjoy writing, I was tired of sitting around and doing nothing. One can only have so much time to oneself before one goes insane. Honestly, self-reflection can become psychotic without exterior perspective.

And thus came the newer angles from which I began to see my life.

I speak of taking risks without actually taking them.

I judge and hold onto my judgements more firmly and aggressively than I knew.

And yet, I also adapt to various situations incredibly well without coming across as high and mighty. ...knock on wood.

When did all this happen to me?

Why haven't I looked at myself from this angle yet? Where have I been hiding myself?

Who knew I could be capable of such elementary, childlike bravery?

Who knew I could laugh so loudly and well, and gain so many blessed new friends?

I ask all this and the answer couldn't be plainer, though it is very Sunday-schoolish: God.

Now, moving on! Time to see what's next!




Seriously, though, if the swear word bothers you... :P

Planted or Eaten

I haven't blogged the past four days. Because I keep hearing about people living life and I wanted to try it.

Actually, that wasn't my intention at all. I just wanted to escape reality with other people. Because reading and writing is naturally isolating. Every time I read and write I escape by myself. This time 'round, I really needed fellow escapees though I didn't know I needed them.

Just so you know, my life compared to (I'm sure) thousands, millions of lives is spoiled. I know. I know. But if I was mourning the death of someone in my family, it's hardly reassuring or comforting for someone to say to me, "Oh, but people die every day."

...thank you. Not really. But thank you.

It's the same thing with hard days- hard weeks. I'm not trying to compare my pain to others. I already shouldn't compare my happiness to others. How much unhealthier if I compare my pain?

If pain and happiness were meant to be compared I don't think we as humans would feel anything at all. We'd become this numb mass of nerves and fat, however ripped you are. Because pain and happiness is meant to be shared- empathy. It's how pity transforms into compassion: all you need is a little action.

All these feelings are seedlings. I can hold that seedlings in my hand all I want and show people what I'm holding, but it'll just be a seedling full of unused potential. What good is a seed if it's not planted? If it's not eaten for nourishment, even? I don't want to be just a seedling. I don't want to hide behind the excuse of escaping- LET ME ACTUALLY ESCAPE.

I should like to run away from all this free trade and chaffing thighs and blistering feet and smoking tongues and ill-timed humor and burned books and burned people and people who burn, debilitating debt and broken pencils and confusing art and meaningless lyrics and tea without honey and coffee substitute and arrogance and ignorance and-.

I just want to escape. Whether its right or wrong is beyond me. And always will be. Methods of escape are as gray as the way people live their lives: too many ways. Too many ways. Forgoing the fact that I am eternally grateful for all that the Trinity has done for me, I also think I stay with Christianity/Catholicism/religion/whateveritiscalled because what an unnecessary fear not to know which life it is that I need to live. There are too many ways; too many options.

A new way of 'You live your life and I live mine': WHO ELSE'S LIFE AM I SUPPOSED TO LIVE?

It's enough to have many lives in my mind- these many lives in my head that often blur the line between reality and fantasy anyway. I don't need anymore confusion. My one life already does too much of that- I don't need to help it.

I didn't offer blog posts the past four days because I didn't want to. I wanted to attend a church I've never before attended. I wanted to walk down sidewalks I vaguely remembered. Eat a better cheeseburger. Make new friends (ish). Forget I'm dehydrated. People watch. I just wanted to...

That's it, I just wanted to.

"Wanted to what?"

"I just wanted to."

Perhaps this is a generation of incomplete sentences because completing them is overrated. (LOLJK, complete your sentences. You can't-eveners. Don't be the seedling full of unused potential. Be planted! Be eaten!)

I should be planted. I should be eaten.

Then consume me, God.

----

You probably still want my Zentangle, huh? Okay [:

My grandpa drew in one of these squares. Can you guess which?

Bad Blogger

I didn't blog yesterday or Saturday. I'm so sorry. I wasn't busier than usual I just... How dare I?! On Saturday, I was four days away from an entire month of blog posts. Next month will have to be an entire month of blog posts straight. I'm sorry. So, I guess today will be a threefer. Yesterday was supposed to be a twofer. Ah, c'est la vie.

what was supposed to be Saturday:
I read all of Galatians that morning because I realized that I'd hardly touched the Bible all week. I've already gone through James 15 times this past month, I wanted to read another letter: Galatians seemed most appropriate. A lot of people read Galatians and are amazed at Paul's explanation of his transition from persecutor to humble servant. It's difficult not to notice that. Really, it's a running theme in all of Paul's works.

Now that I look at it, Galatians is like Paul's version of James'...James, but it has a different twist. Instead of Paul writing that faith without deeds is dead, Paul writes that works of the Law is like old skin, and faith is new. Way back when he was Saul, he worked the Law perfectly, but "For all who rely on works of the law are under a curse: for it is written, 'Cursed be everyone who does not abide by all things written in the Book of the Law, and go them.' Now it is evident that no one is justified before God by the law, for 'The righteous shall live by faith.' But the law is not faith, rather, 'The one who does them shall live by them.' Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us [what we commemorate every Good Friday]...'"

Like James, Paul doesn't suggest that one can be done or had without the other, but he emphasizes faith because all he had before was works. I guess after 'coming to faith' he had a greater reason to work.

what was supposed to be Sunday:
I didn't sing any hymns that I recognized in church. I also attended a new church and stepped out of my social boundary skills so that I could meet A LOT of new people. What?! But!- here's a song from Tenth Avenue North called Beloved. If you want to know what inspired Mike Donehey to write this song (on the first album) click here.


and today:
The following isn't the result of a writing challenge. I think I wrote this two years ago. (Two years?!)

"oh, shit!" she yelled. "oh, shit!" she yelled. "...oh, shit!" she yelled and that's all she would keep yelling if he wouldn't leave the room, and she wants him to leave the room. 'poisonous apparition', she thinks, 'hasn't he poisoned me enough?'
   "you are being dramatic."
   "oh, shit!"
   he clamped her mouth closed with his sweaty hand. "cease." he said. "desist."
   'oh, shit.' she thought.
   "whatever is the matter?"
   "i'd thought i'd lost you!" she mumbled into his hand. he didn't ask her to repeat herself; he'd felt every word and was sorry she was suddenly so afraid of him.
   "why did you think you lost me?"
   "well, i don't know, let's see. oh, now i know: because you left!" she punched his arm to no avail. "you left without saying goodbye! here you are without saying 'hello!' you left! no reason! no explanation! no note! no phone call every now and then! no facebook message! you left! at many points in your lostness i thought you'd died! you- you left! where's my goodbye? you owe me a goodbye."
   "goodbye."
   "i won't accept it."
   "why?"
   "because you didn't mean it! say it like you mean it!"
   he paused. he took in a deep breath. "goodbye."
   "goodbye to you too!" she crossed her arms and turned away from him.
   he stepped outside of the room, left through the front door closing it behind him. he then knocked three times and she answered.
   "hello," he said.
   "hello! where the hell did you go?"
   "i left."
   "to where, damnit?!" she threw a pillow at him, but the pillow left her hand too late and landed at his feet instead of hitting his face at the earlier projection she'd intended.
   "you won't believe me."
   she looked at him and stormed back into the room. he followed swiftly behind her. "i won’t believe you?" she picked up another pillow. "i won't believe you?" she sat down. "i won't believe him!" she yelled at the ceiling.
   "i've already established that."
   "me? the girl who lets you do whatever you want. me? the girl who's patched up your ripped pants and bleeding scabs every time without interrogation. me? the girl who's cried at least once a week, hoping you were all right. me? this girl won't understand?"
   he bit his lip. "only once a week?"
   she threw the other pillow at him and this time did not miss his face. "oh, shit," she murmured. "i can't believe you're alive." she fell onto her chair and pulled her knees up close to her chest. "you're alive."
   the man got off his own seat and knelt at the young woman's trembling side. "i am alive. i'm sorry you thought i was dead."
   "yes. yes, i did. i thought you were more than dead. i thought you were having fun without me!"
   the man smirked and laughed. "while my adventures away from you were exciting beyond comparison," she shot him a look. "although i'm sure yours are just as exciting—all my adventures have proven one thing."
   "what's that?"
   "that i miss you."
   the young woman perked up and smiled. "you had to go on stupid, crazy adventures to figure out that you'd miss me? you couldn't take a personal holiday like a normal person and miss me? communication included?"
   "me? a normal person? me? the boy who's manipulated kings into believing me their lost prince. me? the boy who's planted dandelions in the amazon and fed poisonous scones to british intelligence? me? a normal person taking a normal holiday to figure out the most natural and inspiring thing is that i miss you?"
she bit her lip. "you only missed me?"
   he kissed her gently and quickly on her mouth and loved the feel of her shy smile. "no," he said. "i more than missed you." he took her hand. "now, it's time to go to confession."
   "excuse me?"
   "yes! you've just kissed an apparently dead man and said 'shit' at least ten times!"
   "don't forget 'hell' and 'damnit'." she mumbled.
   "off to confessional! christians are not supposed to touch, let alone kiss, dead bodies; nor are christians supposed to curse."
   "yeah, well," she said pulling on her sweater. "you make me feel human."
   "and that is why i have missed you."
   "dante says there’s a special circle in hell for you."
   "and which circle is that?"
   the woman paused and laughed. "my heart."
   "you cliché little she-devil."
   "ah, apparently you missed the clichés, you brazen bard!"
   "i thought you were almost going to call me a bastard."
   "i've filled my daily curse quotient."