Don't look in the mirror.

I am struggling--have been struggling--don't expect to stop struggling any time soon.

I think the Christian way to say this is that "God is refining me". But I do not often think in the Christian way and all I feel is disgust and dread and a little bit of fatalism. I am learning about myself...the trap doors and movable walls and booby traps. Here we go. They were made for someone else; but, once made aware of such things inside of me and how they affect those around me, I begin to fall into one after the other in rapid succession. I am not allowed out. The hallways are long. There are stairs missing. I have already made mention of the moving walls and alluded to the sharp things that find you in the dark.

But worst of all is the feeling that I am responsible for this even though I have no immediate knowledge or secrets that could ever help me to safety. It is, after all, the inner workings of my emotions and intellect and that damned tongue that keep this fun house dangerous and make a haunt out of what should be a home.

I think the Christian solution is to pray more. But I rather feel like hermitting in the woods. Besides, I am certain that improvement will be slow, dangerous, and always a little too late to save those whom I would spare the razors and mazes if I could.

My quest has never been for beauty. Beauty is something people have intrinsically because they are people. Male or female. It is something you let yourself not something you seek out or develop.

My search has always been for strength. Why? Because it is not enough to be beautiful. Pretty things break. Not all breaking is bad. Not all breaking is good. I want to be strong enough but not too strong. That is something I can seek and develop.

I have been told all of my life that this is a man's pursuit. Women should be beautiful and men should be strong. Women should want to be beautiful. Is it possible that so many women want to be beautiful because they were treated as slightly lesser humans than men? I could never prove that. I have known that I am beautiful and it has brought as many problems as it ever has blessings. I want to be strong. More than that, I need to be strong. I have places that I want to get to and a lot of people telling me it cannot be done. Good places. Peaceful places. Far away places that lie across the valley of the shadow of death. And I am going (and have been going) because that is where I have been led and I cannot wait for other people to be strong for me.

Also, I cannot help but think that the world needs more beautiful men and less men who are only trying to prove that they are strong.

What if we were all beautiful and strong?

I think we know this. I think this is why we write books and have Bible studies about "real strength" and "real beauty". In every women's Bible study that has ever tried to teach me to be feminine and beautiful, we talk about real beauty not being fleeting, not being on the surface, not being how we look but how we think and act and... it all sounds like 'strong beauty' after awhile. Real beauty has to be rooted and lasting and loving. Have you ever trusted weak love? But if I say that I have been searching out strength... well, apparently I have forgotten that I am female rather than male. So I will use other words. I will say "patience" or "discipline" or "self-control" because those are gender neutral words and I am allowed those even if I am denied strength.

blindness

Tonight, I watched a movie called Volviendo and I listened to a woman share about her life before, during, and after being trafficked. She now works to help other survivors reclaim their humanity, their self-worth, and especially their health. I had this question burnt into me as I watched and listened: how do you stare into the darkness for so long and still see?

Me? I am torn. I do not want to look away and neglect the darkness. But I am small. If I stare at it too long, I am sure it will creep inside of me, take up residence, flood me, spill out, and not even notice me struggling to breathe. The darkness is...dark. And I? I do not possess any light of my own. Most days, I forget about the light I have been given and I trade it. I let go of the joy of the Lord for busyness. I let go of my self-dignity for productivity and survival and getting to wherever someone else told me I should be going.

I am fragile. And the world is heavy and sharp and full of broken things that want to make me like them. It is hard to even figure out where to stand much less how to stick both of my hands into those dark places and keep trying to pull them that would come out. The dark is full and everywhere and deep.

I know God is big. I know He uses small things, weak things. But I am certain that I will break if tried.

But I cannot look away. I want to some days. I want to move to suburbia and construct a beautiful life that is so safe and so far away from all of these things. I want to reduce injustice to stories and brokenness to the part just before the fairy tale gets good. But I cannot. I love true things, even when they are ugly. Ugly truth is still more trustworthy than the most beautiful of lies. And healing, healing makes the broken places worthwhile. I have never met someone who has been down that very, very long road who has been disappointed with the result.

But I am so unqualified to help the people around me to find healing. I have tried in good ways and bad. And both of failed much more often than they have succeeded to any degree. Of this I am certain, I am no good at healing. I am afraid that I am very bad at loving people, especially the closer they are to me. I have some very good intentions sometimes, but I am a clumsy healer in the least poetic sense. But this is not really about me. This is about that overwhelming darkness and how much respect I have for people who have the strength to stare into it without going blind.

I met a woman a few days ago. She asked for a cigarette and money to feed her children. My boyfriend gave her $5 and I asked her name. Charlotte. Whatever her life had brought her, it wasn't what she dreamed of when she was 6 years old. Whether she told us the truth or not is not really important. I see her and so many other people walking about under a weight that has left them feeling less than human. And I want to teach them their worth. I want to heal them. But I cannot. The darkness is there. And I do not yet know how to penetrate it. I can only peek into it for now and hope to learn something which may yet equip me to be one who stares into it making the most of every opportunity and never goes blind. I want to see what is there as it truly is, but I do not yet know how.

jumble

I find in myself the shards of other people who have long since left. To my friend Rachel belongs Psalm 1. Hilary has left many shards, but today it is "wade in the water" that I am aware of. Nicole somehow has The Shining, though I have never seen the whole movie. To many other friends books and music and ideas belong. It is funny how these pieces remain long after the people have left, changed, and indeed become different people. It is both happy and sad. And I think it is ok for it to be both of those things. I am not afraid of sad things anymore.

I used to think that sadness was a thing that, if paid attention and fed too often, would grow and consume me. There are days where I still think that may be true, but I am not afraid today. I think it's because of the sunshine today. Sunshine makes me a better person. Seriously. It also helps that I made it through a crazy week. These days I feel a little like a bobber on a fishing line. Under water for the beginning of the week, above water by Friday. Today is a sunny Friday. That is now the definition of rest. It gives good perspective.

is this then reality twice removed?

Today in my tai chi class we practiced self-visualization. That is to say, the mental manipulation of our present realities, at least, in its simplest form. I was raised in this thought. I grew up with the foundation that if I wanted something to be true, I needed to act like it was already true.
This is a double edged sword I have struggled to balance all of my life.
I know this idea has truth because of my own experience with psychosomatic pain and illness. There is a point, where you are your own self-fulfilling prophecy. You cannot be healthy if you do not actually want to be healthy, actively and truly. If you would rather get out of this or that engagement or responsibility, your mind will sacrifice your health because you would rather be free of that responsibility than you want to be healthy.
However, I have also run headlong into the limits of any self-visualization (which is, essentially, the discipline of will power) and found myself struggling against the arm of God. All of my imaginative will and determination cannot conquer Him, but how I have tried!
And so I am left trying to figure out the confines of reality and the flexibility thereof. Mostly because, if I could, I would will myself out of sickness today. I do not seem to be able to do that today. Maybe my will power is broken... and maybe I should just take a nap.

good boy...stay, stay

Today is bigger than me ...and it has teeth.

Actually, I have encountered a good many toothed days of larger stature than myself. I am not sure what to do with them. I have been told all of the true-but-not-perfectly-helpful-things. I am fully convince that God is bigger and stronger than today or tomorrow or any amount of my life. But that does not change very much. Today is still giant and fanged...and here.

I am waiting for something to give. I am waiting for God to act, today to leave, or to be strong myself. I am feeling the fragility of weakness in real time. And that is ok. It is scary and humbling and just a little bit painful but it is honest and true too. Today is bigger than me and it has teeth.

I do not have such large teeth. I am not afforded such shining defenses. I am not really safe. I am definitely not comfortable. But I am here and here is where I am supposed to be. There is purpose in this and I am waiting to see it.