Cliched Language of Love

I come upon discoveries in the middle of the night.

Maybe it's the stillness of night, or the fact that talking with friends over IM just necessitates better word skills than I require of myself throughout a day of mindless work that brings out the clarity of thought that makes itself known. Or perhaps it's simply the fact that I still play silly little kid and hate to go to bed, so I come up with excuses. Whatever the case, I think better at night, and when I have the presence of mind to write down what I think, the results are often better than anything written during normal daylight hours when practicality reigns.

So it should come as no surprise when I find myself better able to express how this whole grief process feels at night. It happened tonight as I was talking with Natalie:

Nat: you've said before how it doesn't seem real still
me: yeah, I'm wondering when it's going to
Nat: does it when you're missing him?
me: sort of?
me: I don't know. it's all just so stinking weird
me: like, when I was telling people that my dad died back in May, I felt like I was lying
me: and that hasn't really gone away
me: it feels like a random plot twist in a book I'm reading
me: not really real, but shocking nonetheless
Nat: wow
me: and that's the first time I've expressed it right
me: cuz that's exactly how it feels
Nat: hmm
Nat: so maybe
Nat: instead of what everyone thinks or says about grief
Nat: maybe being able to express how it feels is a big deal.
me: for me, anyway :-P
me: I don't know
me: it's a mess
Nat: I don't know, that seems like it's fairly significant, especially with how much you express things through writing
me: mhmm

That conversation led to talking about how writing itself is overused and thus despecialized in the culture we've been dunked into (ie: homeschoolers turned leaders not so anonymous, or HSTLNSA) and the fact that making writing and words and the like so commonplace, it's almost as though a language - a love language - has been prostituted and turned to profanity. Unfortunately, there are limits on even late night thought, so that conversation didn't flesh out quite as much as I would have liked. I guess there's always tomorrow morning...er, night.

These are the sorts of things that I can express in the dead of night when I should be asleep. Just why I can't seem to get them out when I'm actually awake, I have no idea. Hopefully this will change, because, in all honesty, staying up late just so I can think is getting to be a bit old. I think all day long, just never get the chance to show anything for it.

And on that happy note, I am signing off and heading to bed.

Fairytaled Reality

When Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy was put on the big screen, fandom erupted across the world. The epic tale speaks to the hearts of millions upon millions of people, and the special effects aren't too shabby, either.

In the midst of the frenzied rush for capes and elven decor, fansites exploded across the internet. It's amazing what you can do with a little bit of time and photoshop; especially when the root material is good to begin with. People take this stuff seriously. There are stories and chatrooms and icons and all sorts of things that make me wonder if the person on the other side of the internet realizes that reality exists. But there is another part of me that wishes I had the ability to express my heart like that.....

Ever since I was first acquainted with Eowyn's character in LotR, I have felt a sort of...connected understanding, for lack of a better term...to/for her.

Eowyn literally means "horse joy." But before I knew that, I loved the fact that there was a female character in a movie that wasn't lambasted or stupidly glorified for her desire to fight beside her brother. The whole response to the "what do you fear" question gave me goosebumps the first time I heard it, and it does to this day.
"A cage. To live behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire."

My friends who have held a conversation of any length about what moves my heart in its deepest part probably see why that rings true to me. But it goes beyond that, to the fact that Eowyn loved a man she could not have. She was not meant to have him, and even when I watched the movies, I found myself wishing that she could. In some ways, I still think that she and Aragorn make a better pair than Aragorn and Arwen. When I did some research on the whole relationship, I found that Tolkien originally meant for Eowyn and Aragorn to be married. Unfortunately, that would have ruined the whole Arwen aspect. Tolkien thought of killing Eowyn in the great battle, but [fortunately] decided against it. The resulting "houses of healing" section is another part that gives a glimpse into Eowyn's character that I totally relate to:

Gandalf: Great gladness it is to see you wake again to health and hope, so valiant a lady!
Eowyn: To health? It may be so. At least while there is an empty saddle of some fallen Rider that I can fill, and there are deeds to do. But to hope? I do not know.

And there are things like the fact that her left arm was injured, and her horse was gray, and her hair is blonde....

And then there's Theoden. While he's not Eowyn's biological father, he plays the role of father in her life, and she sees him when the enemy has talons so deeply entrenched that Theoden is quite out of his mind. Yet, even when things are darkest for her, personally, she loves and is faithful. (the fact that Theoden is so weakened is one reason she is so strongly attracted to Aragorn...) When Theoden is released from the darkness, the love that he has for Eowyn is made very evident and he tells her that he "would see [her] smile again....no more despair" When he falls on the field of battle and dies in Eowyn's arms, he has no regrets.

I am failing miserably at expressing everything right now, but I thought it would be worth getting out of my head so I can possibly refine it later. . . . . .

God with Skin On

When I was growing up, our pastor would use the phrase "God with skin on" on a fairly frequent basis. It stemmed from an anecdote he told about a little kid who was scared of something (I don't remember if it was monsters or a storm or what). The child's father would come in and say "Oh, it's ok, God is with us all the time, He's protecting us," and the kid honestly shot back with, "I know! But I want God with skin on!!" The congregation would chuckle appropriately whenever this story was told, but recently, I've been thinking about it a bit more.

I'm not sure when I really figured out that I wanted God with skin on. I guess part of me has always known that, but there have been times when I really really wanted someone, anyone, to just hold me and tell me that everything is going to be ok. The first time that I consciously realized that there was not anyone to actually hold me was under a pine tree in mid-December. Some friends and I went for a moonlit walk in the snow, and after they went inside, I stayed out to look at the crisp winter sky. I was acutely aware of how much I missed: home, my exboyfriend, attending classes full time...the list went on. And all I wanted was a pair of strong arms and a soft voice. Just hold me and tell me it will be ok. Wrap your arms around me until I drift into that blissful netherworld of sleep. But there were no arms, and there was no voice. The yearning in me heart had to be silenced...or at least ignored.

The practical side of me settled for "ignore" and I got busy with Stuff again. Besides, I was going home for Christmas in a few weeks, and Daddy was always willing to oblige with hugs. I could cuddle up next to him while watching TV at night, or go into his office in the middle of the day just to say "I love you" and I didn't have to worry about him thinking I was pretty enough or anything. He just loved me. Anytime I needed a pair of strong arms, he was there.

But now, two years later, Daddy's dead. And the old yearning is tugging in me again. It's harder to quash some nights. The air is cold and loneliness seeps into even group activity. I feel distanced from those around me. I don't want to. I don't try to stand apart. I just feel . . . part of another life. I've always felt this way. It's as if everyone around me is living life, and I'm watching. Why?

Why can I not find the total completeness that I know exists in Christ? Why can I not content myself with Him fully? What am I doing so wrong that causes this ache within my very core? I despise my physicality and the fact that I want to worship something tangible. I am bereaved at my foolishness, and long for simple fellowship.

On some level, I know that I hope for and believe that completeness is possible and indeed forthcoming. Yet, on a more shallow plane, I feel utterly lost. These are the thoughts that really keep me awake. Not the lists of things that I should do or want to do or might do someday; just what is it that God has planned for me, and why can't I seem to be content with that the way I know I should be?

Happiness

I hate happiness. It is nothing more than a shadow shield for idiotic giddiness that does not last.

Perhaps I'm being a bit too strong in my wording, but I am exceedingly aggravated with certain person right now who can seem to declare nothing more than "I AM SO HAPPY" while those around said person are struggling in major ways that are, apparently, ununderstandable.

Grrr.

It's not that I don't like being happy. It's not even that I don't like other people being happy. Quite the contrary, I find happiness quite enjoyable, and follow the biblical mandate of "rejoice with those who rejoice" whenever I can. But when happiness is being claimed at the cost of general welfare and Right, I cannot and will not join in the goofy grins and sproingy silliness.

I cut that paragraph short because it doesn't really have to say much more of anything, and it got me thinking on a commonly stated fact: joy and happiness are different things. Rejoice with those who rejoice is more of a direction to share in joy, not happiness. Joy is a fruit of the spirit, and altogether good. It is found in any circumstance, because it's part of faith. Happiness is fleeting. It comes, and then it goes.

It is because of this, and the fact that I am SICK SICK SICK of hearing "I'm so happy" when it is quite apparent that the rest of us are miserable and sick to our stomachs, that I am outlawing happiness.

Thank you, you may return to your previously scheduled existence.

Phenomena

I have stumbled across a strange phenomena in the realm of relationships.

Men are looking for friendship. Faithful friendship that demands nothing else and is there no matter what. And they want it from women. They aren't looking for a mother; they have a mother already. They aren't looking for a girlfriend; even though they maybe perhaps are. They want a female friend who will talk with them, listen to them, not say a blasted thing....but just be there.

SO WHY DO THEY HAVE TO PICK ME AS THE WOMAN TO BE THEIR FRIEND AND NOTHING MORE?!!?!

Ugh.