responding

Sometimes, stepping outside overwhelms me. When I tell people that, they'll nod and be like "yeah, ok cool." No. You don't understand. I'm not even talking about stepping outside and viewing a mountain vista or a waterfall. Sometimes when I just step outside after class, the weight of nature almost crushes me. I'm a very sensory oriented person, and sometimes nature overloads all five of them. At moments like this, I have to pause and collect myself. It's not enough to shrug it off and keep walking. I actually have to stop and take a deep breath and be in awe, once again, of God's creativity and bigness. I have to respond in some way to His creation. If I had my way, I would put my stuff down and start jumping and spinning around and singing nonsense words in adoration and praise, but the goal here is not really to make people think Christians are lunatics. But something has to be done. He deserves it-with creation, He demands it! How creative is He? He thought up matter and dimensions and time and space first of all, which is a pretty big deal, but on top of that, He created taste buds and soundwaves and texture and every shade of the color red. We don't strictly need any of those things, He's just super artistic and wants to bring pleasure to the crown of His creation. We are for Him, and nature is for us. Isn't that overwhelming?

nonsense

smile nod and laugh
embarrassed at our mutual unspoken attraction
sit and stay
spend the day
finding out who I am
and why I like you.
Learning my likes and loves
and telling me yours.
hold my hand and let me
know you through lingering meeting
of your new eyes
through the gray passing of voices and faces
buzzing around us
pushing time onward
but we agree it should stay
for a little
at least.

smile wishingly and let us
learn each other well
and quickly
unknowing history and why
and money and
laundry and garbage
and empty coffee cups and
gas tanks.

staying in today longer than we should be allowed.
putting away your last loves and my
unrealized romances.
because we are we and new
and you’re with me
and I
like you.

---------------------------------

that melody.
it won't leave me alone
soaring and catching my thoughts mid-stride

so brown and green and ancient
lilting my longings out for
everyone to hear and misunderstand.
high and tall
a cry a call
begging my surrender
asking me to fall.

blood and honor far away
years and kings and dark and day
love and touch and hate and cry
live a little want to die

chase a banner just to chase
give it all for just a taste
on the wind beneath the grey
cold and close and on the way

catch the song and call it mine
travel past the edge of time
sell my soul
in winning lose.
all I have to do is choose.

So lately I've felt like I'm in 7th grade.

melodramatic poetry, stupid mistakes, immaturity, all the sure signs...

------------------------------

red release of emotion
gushing bittersweetness
taking shape in my open mouth
and winging outward on the wide sounds from my throat
biting gritting grinding words
forcing through clenched teeth
hoarsely scraping upward and out

angry water squeezes through my black lashes
and traces muddy paths to my chin
overlooked mistake after underestimated sin
rearing their heads one by one
demanding to finally be acknowledged and cried for
again again again.

until my worthlessness is beyond doubt.

forearm muscles taut
cheeks and fingers hot
hating what I'm not
I try to steer the car.

------------------------------

sweet nearness
I'm shaking
it's been so long so long
foolish child
forgetful
absent mindedly wrong
helpless
sitting blankly
not knowing but crushed by the weight of
knowing
I miss you
I'm floundering
affirmation
a sweet toxin to hold my sadness
at bay
smooth a hair at my cheek
straighten my shirt
my body
the scale of my shallow self-worth
choking sensation
I not at my desk
politely agreeing
as controlled I careen
without seeing am seen
I don't know what I mean
or like what I think.

A collection of mildly hilarious quotes from the epic fall break road trip.

“Ashlea can’t hold her liquor.” – Saron in reference to Ashlea’s inability to hold her fuze

“If by liquor you mean fuze then I agree with you.” –Colleen in reference to above quote

“It’s a freakin roadtrip—you’re allowed to be snacky.” –Ashlea

“Connecticut, is Colleen hilly?” –Saron being stupid

“I wish I loved biology majors enough to marry them.” –Saron

“There’s nothing like being chased by a boy to wake a girl up.” --Colleen in ref to being chased by carload of boys

“Bambi must have been an engineering major.” –Colleen

“I’m gonna love your family and you’re gonna love mine recipricatively.” –Saron

“Spit is always saliva but saliva is not always spit.” –Saron in reference to making out

“Ashlea you sound like Johnny Cash.” --Saron

“I learned how to roll my ‘rs’ last semester. It revolutionized my prayer language.” –Saron

“Darlin I ain’t never done you wrong.” Colleen talking about being a lounge singer singing about how no baby ever done me wrong.

“It’s a blonde, it’s a blonde, it’s a blonde, blonde, blonde, it’s a blonde, it’s a blonde blonde blonde” Colleen in ref to the guys she has had crushes on before college

“You have carpet in your kitchen, which just blows my mind!” Jen in ref to Colleen’s kitchen

“Isn’t it funny how someone suggests that you look good together and before you know it you are already married and have kids and a house together!!” Krista in ref to Victoria’s kids having strange eyes

“I’m not worried because I have recessive blue jeans” Colleen in ref to her children’s eye color

“I would line you” Colleen in ref to mozelle wishing she had defined lines of a dancer


“If I were gonna stake my reputation on something I wouldn’t put it on a billboard.” –Kevin

“Pretend you’re a Wii!” –Colleen, in reference to saron’s showcase

“Jesus has been finding His way into a lot of our meals lately.” –Ashlea
“Yeah you just ate like four of the apostles.” – Colleen

“My dream makes more sense than your reality.” –Colleen

“Even if the hair was on a girl’s head and in my mouth it would still gross me out.” –Kevin

irritatingly helpful college life

Brassy voices, biting into the air all at once
Find yourself.

When surely there is nothing to know
I am simple.
My wants and needs are few and categorically classified long ago.
My life is together because now it is
time for me to help everyone else.

And suddenly
Poking peeling prodding prying
Pricks at my most secret little places
Hurting me surprisingly and unpleasantly
a smooth happy baby
unsuspecting
of the impending syringe
Layers of me come undone and unveiled and unhinged
Break
Snap
Garbage
Guilt

Things fall off of me.
I shed
like a preemptive and overzealous tree in late august.

Funny
The truth looks much worse than the lie
But the truth and I
We will be better friends.

some fragmented thoughts about fall break in New England.

Every now and then obscure moments will make the cut into my arsenal of memories. Passing remarks, powerfully emotional experiences, something transcendentally lovely will etch itself firmly and quietly into remembrance.
But this is rare. Usually I collect memories like disorganized moms collect coupons—sporadically and at high concentration. There are certain words that I remember with detailed first person clarity. It’s as though my brain’s memory-gathering setting will switch on at random intervals and begin to make careful note of every minute--remembrance worthy or not.
This week will be one of those weeks. I can tell already. The first indicator of this is that I will be spending these days in October in New England—a place I’ve never been before. Newness of any kind always—without fail—causes me to revert helplessly to my eight-year-old self. I am obnoxious with poorly suppressed excitement, breathless with hopefulness, and altogether untimely in my chosen moments of laughter.
The week will be passed at my friend Colleen’s house in Bloomfield, Connecticut. I am with eight friends: Colleen, Ashlea, Susan, Victoria, Kevin, Christa, Moselle, and Jen. We will be leaving Kevin in Boston, as much as we like him. Christa, Jen, Victoria, and Moselle are girls I don’t know so well. I have therefore made the decision to really get to know them. If dorm life has taught me anything it’s that living with someone for a long time doesn’t make you friends, and conversely that it doesn’t take long at all to know someone well if you only try.
In the great process that has been my college-experience so far I really hope that this is the week God and I work out my struggle with insecurity. It’s been startling how much insecurity has gnawed at me this semester. I’m sure it has something to do with being single and imperfect and maybe a little to do with the devil’s mysterious dislike for me. Regardless, it’s high time I move on. I am no longer 15, despite what occasional acne breakouts and well meaning age-guessers tell me.
Earlier I saw a sign on the highway for New York City. It was so strange. It felt kind of like having a frequent but improbable dream suddenly materialize in a surreal way that must surely break some natural law. In my mind I have just made a large musical crescendo sign that starts in Birmingham, comes to a point in Tulsa, and finishes under New York. I enjoy the feeling of gradually tucking away little parts of the world to keep and remember and talk knowledgeably about.
Just now we are crossing a bridge that overlooks nothing but crest after crest of brilliant leaves in all the colors of a faded 70s loveseat, like the one we used to have in my living room at home. We’re listening to Sting’s “Fragile,” and Christa and I just exhaled at the same time, then shared exuberant smiles in response to Sting or the landscape. Maybe both. But probably the landscape.
I’m particularly happy right now, because I have complete control of the playlist for the moment. Putting modesty aside, I would just like to say that I am quite good at creating playlists. This morning we experienced sunrise to U2’s “Beautiful Day” and Mutemath’s “Peculiar People.” We drank coffee and watched condensation evaporate to perhaps premature but very welcome Christmas music—consisting mainly of the Carpenters, Bing Crosby, and TSO. We entered Pennsylvania with one of my favorite instrumental albums, which happens to be very fitting: “Autumn in New England.” At our first rest stop, we opened the doors to Susan’s car and all nine of us listened to a recording of “O Come O Come Emmanuel” that Kevin and I, along with two friends from school, recorded last fall. And now, we are listening to my love song playlist—hence the Sting, and now, Ben Harper. Funny that I just devoted a long paragraph to our trip’s soundtrack. My priorities are quite plain. Well, as I am looking very sleepy and makeupless, and as I haven’t quite conquered insecurity (this being only the first day of the trip), I will take a break to apply mascara and chapstick. And to pester Susan for a bathroom break.

Susan’s lying in the floor, tuning her guitar. Christa’s reading on the couch, Ashlea’s asleep still, Colleen went across the street to make lunch for her uncle, Moselle just got back from a run, Jen’s washing dishes, and Victoria is getting ready to go to the store. I got up at 10:30 today—I sleepily climbed the basement stairs and found everyone quietly reading in the sun-filled living room. Colleen had cooked apple pancakes, so I helped myself to pancakes and maple syrup while I listened to Colleen read out loud from The Fairy Queen.
Last night, after gathering around the baby grand piano and making music with the family in the McMahon livingroom, the eight of us took a walk to the park. It was cold! I borrowed Ashlea’s scarf. We had secret telling time when we got there, and therefore stayed for nearly an hour. We danced our way back, and Susan and I almost got ploughed over by a car coming over the hill. Thankfully, we scampered up the steep curb just in time. It was a definite adrenaline moment.
We’re keeping a list of quotes from the trip. Some of them are truly funny—others are just funny to us. Regardless, it was a stroke of genius. A couple of my favorites: “It’s like they’re working on my teeth from under my back.” – Jen, in reference to the massive drilling work being done in the basement as we woke up this morning. “Bambi must have been an engineering major.” - Colleen, regarding Bambi’s shyness towards Faline. “Connecticut, is Colleen hilly?” - Me just being disoriented.
One kink in my personality is that I get easily irritated during periods of leisure. When I’m not being productive, I get exponentially persnickety and choleric. I want to go run, but I don’t want to have to take another shower. I want to do homework, but I feel gross and therefore want to run first. But I don’t want to take a shower. I don’t want to eat because I haven’t run, but it’s almost lunch time. I want to clean up, but I want to get dressed first, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to go run, so I don’t change yet because I know I’ll have to shower. So there is the dilemma. And that pretty much explains why I’m typing right now. I’m stalling. Chances are, any second now I’ll get up, put tennis shoes on, and go run. But in a minute.
I’m making cookies tonight. It’s been fun having so many domestic girls in the house: everyone loves to cook (except Jen but I don’t think she hates it as much as she pretends), Christa anonymously folds random loads of laundry, we all wash dishes when we happen to be in the vicinity of a full sink, and we vacuum and clean to de-stress and feel useful. I keep thinking to myself that I am surrounded by dynamite wife material. There are eight awfully lucky boys out there who have no idea the tremendous domesticity and sweetness that will overpower them sooner than later.
Last night, Colleen’s dad played and worshipped on the piano while some of us talked to Mrs. McMahon in the kitchen. The sensation of Dad in the living room at the piano was so familiar that I got ridiculously homesick. I have so many memories of doing the dishes or folding laundry at home to the soundtrack of my dad making heartbreakingly beautiful music on our old upright. I really took it for granted. It was so normal—he would just sit down for hours and play his heart out. To me it was always kind of sad to see him there, because he has so much talent, so much inspiration, so much magical music bottled up inside of him…and now he’s an associate pastor and a school teacher, faithfully providing for his family and playing the old piano at home when he has time. There is something quite bittersweet and sacrificial about that. He says he’s content and fulfilled, but I want my daddy to be happy.
Well, a sleepy Ashlea and I just decided to go running. So I’m off to put on my literally destroyed All-Stars (poor planning) and turn my iPod to the 80s playlist.