for Christ’s sake
I’m tired.
And I don’t really have anything to say. Or anything worth saying is maybe more like it.
I want to steward well the time you choose to spend with me at the Grit. I feel the weight of my influence, however small it may be. I don’t want to ramble for rambling’s sake. I want to say something worthwhile. For your sake.
For Christ’s sake.
Maybe that means I put too much pressure on myself, I don’t know. I do know that right now my heart feels both full and empty at the same time, and words seem scarce.
Writing has always been therapeutic for me, and I am sorely missing its healing therapy these days. I need to more intentionally set aside time specifically to write. And read. And camp out at His feet.
Until my cup runs over again.
vacation
Some people think I’m living it up these days like I’m on an extended vacation. They think that if things are “so bad” in my life right now, I shouldn’t be laughing, drinking Starbucks, or having fun. I definitely shouldn’t be going to concerts. Or visiting friends.
Well, if this is vacation, I want my money back.
Because for every moment of joy, there are ten more of sorrow.
They don’t see me in my lowest moments, curled on a bathroom floor sobbing with a friend. They don’t know about my sleepless nights, or the times I’ve stopped mid-aisle in Target because the shaving cream or DVD or t-shirt I saw brought everything flooding back.
They don’t see the tears that catch me by surprise at unexpected moments, or the hours spent looking inward in counseling. They don’t know about the small group I joined for “people like me”, or about how difficult it actually is to face and feel and process all of this.
Life is just hard right now.
So I’m grateful for the brain-breaks and heart-reprieves God blesses me with. Because my mind stops spinning, my heart stops hurting, in those moments when I’m singing along with a band I love or laughing with a friend. And I’m thankful for that exhale.
This is no vacation.
And I’m not living like I’m on one.
Although I am still holding out for an exotic beach to spend Christmas week on… And that I would call a much-needed vacation.
four-minute friday: the late edition
Go.
I’m in Nashville with an old friend. Kimberly and I met the year we graduated high school—we worked together at a missions organization in Texas. We’ve stayed in touch mostly through email, and saw each other for the first time in 12 years just a couple months ago.
It felt incredibly comfortable, like no time had passed at all. And at the same time, it felt incredibly new, because we’re both very different than we were at 18.
And this much I know is true: Our friendship is more wonderful now than it ever was.
Our past few days together have been a blast. We’ve enjoyed lots of random conversation, late nights, dancing on a party bus, and fun dialogue with her almost-three-year-old. Tonight was icing on the cake. We spent three hours singing along at a dueling piano bar. So. Much. Fun.
The people-watching was just as entertaining as the live music. From the girl who kept doing the splits to the guy who carried around a spit-cup for his chewing tobacco… Yeah, we laughed a lot.
Kimberly’s from the northeast like I am. So when out of her mouth came “Don’t be hatin’ the banjo!”, I couldn’t help but think she’s been in Tennessee too long!
But I’m glad she’s here. Because she’s only a short drive away from me in Atlanta, and we can make up for lost time with frequent visits.
I am loving my new friendship with my old friend.
Done.
skim/whole
Skim Milk
I figured I’d check out Nashville’s weather before I started packing this morning. So I pulled it up on my phone. You remember my post from yesterday, right? Yeah, me too. So I’m sure you can imagine my facial expression when I saw this:
Whole Milk
So much of my life is driven by a deep, underlying fear of rejection and abandonment. I see this more clearly now than I ever have before.
And I’m discovering that doing the hard work of changing a lifetime of thought patterns and reactions is just plain hard. But I’m doing it.
And it’s leaving me bone-weary.
Some days I simply feel tired of the fight. Today is a “some days” kinda day.
::
Your turn. Share something skim and something whole milk…
(Thanks, Jessica, for this idea.)
love, noah
Last year I spent a month in Iowa City visiting my Kitty. (No, not my cat. My friend. Sorry for the confusion.) Well, it was supposed to be a month in Iowa, but we ended up having to evacuate because of a flood.
So we ended up in Missouri. And then Ohio. It’s a long story.
Fast forward.
I’m living in Atlanta at the moment. (Talk about a long story!) And we’re experiencing the worst flood the city’s ever seen. Ummm… Hello!!!
Are you trackin’ me on the theme here???
Hmph.
I have no idea what it means, but—DANGIT! Someone just stole the Gritty mic…
see you in the ATL
When I went to Catalyst three years ago, I never expected to be living in Atlanta for the 10-year anniversary conference. But here I am, and I’m really excited to be able to attend again. Why? Because I love leadership development. I love big vision. And I love being totally surprised by creativity and ingenuity.
Are you coming?
There’s also a Bloggers Meetup happening the night before. If you’re anywhere near the ATL area, I hope you’ll make it to this thing! (You have to sign up in advance, so be sure you link on over to RSVP.)
I’ve got lots of wonderful to look forward to in the first week of October.
And I hope hugging you is one of them.
stormy thoughts
It’s been raining for days. So tonight’s storm is nothing new. But for some reason it totally made me homesick for Africa.
It started with me thinking about how extremely different this exact same storm would sound if I were in my house. My home has a tin roof and no insulation. That makes for some ridiculously loud rain. So between that and the claps of thunder and the wild lightning, this would’ve been one helluva storm in Africa. (Can I say helluva?! Hmmm… I’m leavin’ it…)
I miss the sound of rain on my roof.
I miss my kitchen with all her wonderful gadgets.
I miss my Big Easy, the most comfortable corner of my house.
I miss my African Grey parrot, Starbucks, and his comforting way of making everything right in my world with his “Hello, beautiful.”
I miss my mountains. And zebras. And star-filled skies.
I miss my staff family.
I miss my Hope House kids.
I miss watching my vision and passion become reality every single day.
I miss my Africa…
And I’m grateful for this rain.
four-minute friday: spider-webbing
Go.
This is how my brain works. I call it spider-webbing:
I bought a pumpkin spice candle today for my room. Because it smells like autumn, my favorite season.
I’ve always said my beloved chai tastes like autumn in a cup. Mmmm…
While fall is my favorite official season, my favorite unofficial one is from the launch of Starbucks’ red cups of happiness until Christmas. Mmhmmm. I just mentioned Christmas on my blog. And it’s only September.
I used to love buying school supplies. I’ve been fighting the urge to buy a pack of really good pens, but maybe I should since I lost one of my favorites this week. It rolled out of reach under a couch occupied by people talking about country music.
I’m heading to Nashville next week. For the first time ever. (‘Cause layovers don’t count.) And I’m all chuckles because it was my childhood dream to live there. Why? I wanted to live near Amy Grant.
I haven’t listened to Amy Grant in years.
I just removed Michael W. Smith from my iPod. Sorry all you still-adoring fans. I just couldn’t do it anymore.
A friend video’d herself singing a worship song she wrote, and sent it to me. A few others sent me video messages this week as well. Did you know you could do that with that handy talk to me link up there? You can. I think you should.
I’m actually thinking of maybe making a video for an upcoming Four-Minute Friday. Waddayathink? What would you want me to ramble about for four whole minutes here on the Grit?!
Anyone out there know someone who might want to build a customized blog for this missionary? I figure it doesn’t hurt to ask.
Speaking of dustbunnies… Oh dangit! Out of time.
Done.
God’s heavy hand
I can’t get Psalm 32 out of my head. Or maybe it’s my heart that it’s stuck in.
It speaks of the overwhelming relief I experience when I finally throw myself at the foot of the cross and seek God’s forgiveness. It describes so well God’s heavy hand that weighs on me until I reach that breaking point of surrender, and the freedom that awaits me on the other side.
It describes a place I want to always be quick to come to. Always.
And it’s a place someone I love needs to get to.
I’ve been praying, begging, for God’s hand to be so heavy that he breaks under the weight of it. For God’s kindness to be so overwhelming, he can’t help but run to it. For the Lord’s unfailing love to take him captive. Until all he can do is fall on his knees in repentance, and let God’s forgiveness roll over him like a sweet summer rain.
Because I know the freedom that awaits him on the other side…
other than you’re in an accident
Finish this line:
Always wear clean underwear in case…
