Jenni

Today’s a throw my hair up and wear pajamas and laze around my college dorm room kind of day. How fabulous.

I have spent the past few days in (not so sunny) Florida. For the past three years, I have attended Prayer Conference there. A bunch of academies get together to spend a little under a week at a summer camp meeting each other and sharing struggles. It's a camp meeting directed specifically to youth.

When I moved to Asheville and went to MPA, I decided I wanted to go to all of these events. I love them: walking into a room filled with tons of people I don’t know. Then a few days later walking into the same room with the same people and getting to call a majority of them my friends. There is something special about these kinds of gatherings, and I’m so thankful for the opportunities I’ve had to attend them.

Anyways, now that I’m in college, I assumed these opportunities were over. Classes are harder and missing them isn’t the smartest thing to do. However, I happen to be friends with the guy in charge of recruiting leaders to go from Southern, and so sure enough last week I found myself on the shuttle on my way once again. I must admit I felt a little ridiculous. I’m in college now. Why am I going to a high school gathering? I’m not going to fit in anymore. But the second I stepped foot onto camp, I was glad I went. And besides, I hung out so much with my old school that people probably still think I’m in high school anyways.

Because I was a group leader, I was put with a coleader and we worked together to plan four meetings in which we would meet with seven students and lead them in group discussion and games. I have been a leader before, so when my coleader expressed to me how nervous he was I tried to explain to him that he didn’t need to be. Trust me. If it’s anything like what I’ve experienced the past three years, conversation just flows. It’s nothing to worry about.

Thankfully I was right. Our group didn’t know each other from Adam, but after four short meetings we were incredibly close. We exchanged numbers and multiple hugs and notes expressing to each other the impact we had on each other's lives in that incredibly small amount of time. It’s amazing what four hours of honesty can do.

All to say…..there was a girl in my group named Jenni. She’s a senior at the high school near my college. When she walked over to our group on the first day, I noticed that she walked a little funny. Her feet pointed out in opposite directions, and every step seemed to take great effort. But I didn’t give it much thought, as I only watched her walk a few feet. I assumed I wasn’t seeing things right.

We started playing the icebreakers we had planned, things that involved quick movement and switching places. “Is it okay if I don’t participate?” she asked me. I looked at her sadly. The purpose of icebreakers is to get everyone involved. I found it frustrating she refused to be part. “If you don’t want to,” I replied.

We finished up the meeting, talking about views on God and how that changes every aspect of our lives and all sorts of different things. And then we all separated. I watched as Jenny slowly walked away. That’s when I realized I hadn’t made it up. She had trouble with her legs.

The next meeting my coleader and I decided to take everyone to the spring. We were going to have them pick up rocks to represent things holding them back and then throw them into the water…a symbol of letting go. Well, first we had to take a walk over to the woods to find the rocks. The group was walking quickly, and Jenni was falling behind. I slowed down, asking her a question about her school, trying to make it look like I had a reason for slowing down, not that I just felt bad because she was behind everyone else.

We picked up the rocks and made our way over to the spring. It was a long walk. I purposefully stayed behind with Jenni, and when we were getting close she looked at me and said, “Are we almost there? I don’t think I can make it.” My heart sank. The whole purpose of this was to be a freeing experience, and Jenni was hurting. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hold her up and make her feel like a cripple. I didn’t want to run over and tell my coleader to carry her and embarrass her. So I just walked beside her. Ya Jenni. We are almost there. I’m so sorry. I could see the tears in her eyes.

Later that day we played Green Socks with another group. It involved running around and switching places. Idiot. I thought to myself. Why didn’t I think of this before? Why didn’t I specify to the other leaders we needed to play games that involved standing still? "I need to go to the bathroom," Jenni told me when we announced the game. She stayed in there until it was over.

I was so angry at myself. I kept forgetting about Jenni. I kept forgetting she wasn’t like the rest of us. I kept forgetting it was a struggle for her to walk. I couldn’t find the balance between helping her and not making her feel inferior.

Friday night we always have a special program. We do a foot washing and communion. Beforehand, they announced that they wanted us to pair up with someone from our group of the same gender. I walked into the gym  and couldn’t see anyone from mine. A couple minutes later I turned around and saw Jenni walk in. As soon as she saw me, she came straight over to where I was standing. “Oh!” she said, “Thank goodness I found you! I was so worried I wouldn’t find you."

My heart stopped. There were five other girls in our group she could have paired up with. But she wanted me. She had been looking for me, the one who kept forgetting about her. The one who kept leaving her behind.

I have never felt so honored to wash someone’s feet. I watched her struggle to take off her shoes and socks. We laughed at the fact the water was cold. We held hands as we prayed together. And when we hugged good-bye afterward, I told her we should catch lunch together sometime since we go to school near each other. “Oh my goodness! Yes!” she said, “In fact, I wrote that in your note!” She was so excited.

So often in life I fail others. And so often in life others fail me. But I wouldn’t say it’s often that I hurt someone, only to see him or her walk into a room desperately looking for me. Life is fragile, and it is best lived with open arms and forgiveness. Everyone's a little handicapped. And it's best to live seeking to understand more than to be understood. 

Jenni taught me that.

Who's This Lucky?

I decided that for the new semester I should try to spend some more weekends at school so I can branch out and get to know more people. But my sister was coming home this weekend for four long, blissful days and I thought "Eh? Why not." 

Sometimes I make really good decisions.

So here I am, sitting in my room. I have my heater on because my curtains are open and that seems to let winter creep in through the cracks of my windows. Of course, I could close the curtains but it's rather hard to when my backyard is a mountain. It's good to be home.

Friday night I had quite a few friends over: Austin, DJ, Sarah, Miranda. Good old high school buddies. I told them to all come over after vespers and sure enough around 9 o'clock DJ and the girls showed up. It was freezing outside so I told Austin I'd pick him up at the dorm. I asked if they wanted to go with me and the girls said yes but DJ adamantly said no. "I'm gonna go hang with your parents." And sure enough he walked straight up to the man's cave where my mom was knitting and my dad was snuggled on his chair in a blanket.

We went and got Austin and somehow, despite the fact he tried to throw himself out of the car when he realized I was driving, we made it safely back home. We walked into the house and Austin marched straight over to the stairs. "I'm gonna go see your parents," he declared. And soon enough us girls were up there too, five of us on a three-person couch, DJ messing around with an exercise ball, my dad on his recliner. Phone games, story telling, laughter.

I kept thinking to myself, "Man. Who's this lucky?"

I always hear stories or read articles or listen to songs about how embarrassing people's parents are. They do things that make you never want to show your face at school again. There's a Taylor Swift song begging a little girl not to make her mom drop her off around the block. Most of her songs I can relate to but this one I just can't.

My parents walked with me to school. My parents taught me.

We were all up in the man's cave for at least an hour. My dad shared his infamous stories, ones which we have all probably heard a few times, but somehow still find funny. (I think I got his genes when it comes to telling the same story twice…or ten times. Sadly I didn't get his humor.) My mom showed off the scarf she was faithfully working on. I laughed when I realized the holes weren't purposeful. She's so cute.

Anyways, eventually we all moved downstairs. There was food down there and hot chocolate, too. And pretty soon we were all sitting around the table making clay and eating soup out of bread bowls. But I must say the best part of that night was spent upstairs with my dear high school friends and my parents.

I don't know most of my friends' parents. And of the few I do, I wouldn't say it's often that I get to hang out in their living rooms. But my friends? They get to know my parents. They get to hang out with them in the man's cave. And when they walk into the house that's the first place they want to go. I don't  blame them, though. Sometimes I walk up those stairs merely because I like my mom and dad. And I like sitting up there with them. I remember toward the end of my senior year leaning against the little brown chair, my mom on the couch and my dad on the recliner, thinking "Goodness. I'm going to miss this." 

And I was right. I do miss it. But thankfully I'm still able to come home quite a bit. And when I do I get to spend time with my parents, and I get to watch my friends run up the stairs to see them, excited just like I am. 

Man. Who's this lucky?

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival." -C.S. Lewis





                                                             

Let It Be Beautiful

I have never been into cars. I judge how much I like them by their color.

My dad, however, could probably tell you about every single car, how it works, why it works, and when it was invented. Weird.

All to say, my dad owns a 1981 Trans Am and I think it’s pretty neat. And that’s saying something.

So I was lying on the couch the other day, honestly not in the best of moods, when my dad came downstairs and asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. I agreed to go. Best decision of the day.

He got the keys and backed the car out of the garage. I got in it in awe. The interior is all red and there is an awesome stereo and the seats lean back just enough to make you perfectly comfortable. I was admiring it all when I looked up to see my dad dusting the top of the car. “It is so dusty. This is so embarrassing,” he said. I laughed. Who dusts their car?

And soon enough we were off, curving through the road and mountains, talking about who knows what: engines and childhoods and how my dad can understand what a wire does. There was a break of silence and I decided to ask him a question I have been wanting his opinion on. "Dad, where do you think I should work this summer?" Oh my goodness. If I could combine all the thoughts and worry I have had trying to decide where to work these past couple years, I would have lived a lifetime of anxiety within that one question.

He began to tell me what he thought; it was quite insightful I must say. But somewhere in there, in that one little question and my dad’s thought-out answer, we got on the topic of religion.

And somewhere in there he shared with me a quote he claims has stuck with him ever since he heard it.

“Religion is like a motor. You can take it apart piece by piece, and, if lucky, put it back together. God, however, is like a rose. You can’t take Him apart without ruining His beauty.”

My dad could take apart an engine and put it back together when he was eight years old. I know he’s my dad and I’m biased and blah blah blah but I swear he can do anything. So to hear him, someone whos mind is so smart and careful and detailed, talk about how simple God is, it was a wake up call for me.

I tend to complicate things. And I just feel like life should be so much more simple. I can’t even begin to say how often the thought crosses my mind, “The sunrise is so beautiful, but I’m never awake to see it.” Or what about all the underwater life? There is so much of it but I have never even opened my eyes in an ocean. I have not seen an inch of what takes up the majority of the earth.

Sometimes I just want to stop and breathe. The most beautiful things in life are the simple things: the uncomplicated and easy things. The things that just happen, or just are. Like flowers and constellations and waterfalls and fruit trees. And I try to fit life into a list of do's and don'ts and a schedule of do this and do that when life is meant to be lived, not complicated.

And it is the same with God. I try to fit God into this fathomable picture: one that makes perfect sense. But in all reality, He is best left as He is: perfect. Someone I literally cannot understand.

And I'd say that makes a whole lot more sense anyway.

"One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple." -Jack Kerouac

Let Me Cheat

Jace has been begging and begging me to play soccer with him. “You are never home!” he proclaims, “And now that you’re here don’t you want to play with your adorable, sweet, precious little brother?” And so today I finally gave in. He grabbed the little plastic soccer ball and informed me of the goals.

I wanted to play where the doorways were goals. My brother, however, insisted that the big glass window and couch opposite it would do much better. So after a brief argument I, naturally, gave in.

And then we played. The ball went flying; goals were reached and others not. And, to continue my tradition in playing with Jace, I cheated.

I usually play by the rules. I stick within the guidelines and I’m happy there. But for some reason, whenever I play with my little brother, a different side comes out in me and I find so much pleasure in taking hold of the ball and running across the room and throwing it against the window, or tackling him when he finally gets close enough to score. He likes to throw a fit at me, tell me I’m not being fair. But soon enough we are both cheating, breaking all rules and abandoning all reason. “Relax Jace. The point of this is to have fun. Just enjoy it.”

I take life too seriously. I overanalyze and stress out and worry and replay my mistakes over and over and over again. What if I would have said this? What if I would have done that? Oh, why didn’t I think of that then?

But life is so short. Days can seem to drag on forever but my goodness life is short. And yet look at us. People walking around doing the same things day after day. All to make a living, but often not living at all.

I believe God created life to be beautiful. He created good things so that we can enjoy them. Life is for us. And too often I feel as though I am for life and am just floating down a river of do's and don'ts and destiny. 

But I want to learn to live. I want to create my life- a wonderful life full of joy and laughter and doing good to others.

I want to relax. I want to not be so uptight and anxious. I want to embrace life- every moment. I want to sleep in and not be mad at myself for doing so. I want to have lazy days and be thankful I have accomplished what I need to for the time being- not beat myself up for doing nothing. I want to stop and breathe more often. Fresh air and food and perfumes and flowers.

I want to tackle my insecurities and take hold of my opportunities and run for my goals.

Relax Darian. The point of this is to have fun. Just enjoy it.

Footprints

I have spent all too much of my break watching Downton Abbey. This show takes place in the early 1900s. About a family that owns a large estate, there is a constant battle over how to keep everything running amidst disease, war, and unexpected loss. But it doesn't only follow the royal line. There are stories among the servants, among the quiet people who sweep and dust and cook and serve to earn a living. And though I know it's just a story, I am constantly amazed by the thought that people actually lived like this.

Today Mom and I were eating lunch and I asked her if she could live in any time period, which one it would be. "Oh! This one. For sure," she readily replied. She proceeded to tell of all the advantages we have: internet, the ability to contact others, longer lifespans. It all made sense to me, but I have somehow always loved the idea of living in the days of carriages and home gardens and log cabins. I want to wake up to the rooster crowing and wear long dresses and know all my neighbors.

I don't usually feel like people get me. In fact, in all my life, I have had one friend who I would say I truly felt understood by. I'm not complaining. We can't get into each other's minds. And I'm by no means the world's greatest communicator. But it has always blown my mind that there can be so many people and yet we are all so different.

And then I think to myself….There are so many people in the world today. But what about the people who didn't make it last night? And what about those who lived one hundred years ago? Or a thousand years ago? And my goodness, by the time I get to the beginning of time I cannot even begin to fathom the footprints of people who walked this earth.

And I feel all too well understood.

I find it crazy- watching my childhood end, going to college, growing up. There are so many things I want to stay the same, and I feel so helpless and confused as I watch them change. But I suppose it's the way things go. Changes that are bound to happen at some point. It's the cycle of life and it dare not be interrupted.

But what I find so intriguing- so unreal and so comforting- is that I am one of billions and billions and billions to experience this. Here I sit, all raveled up and consumed and overwhelmed at times by my circumstances when, across the street, across the country, across the world, others feel the same. And then reach back with the hand of time and there are more.

How small I am.

I suppose I am not the first to think of this: the mind-boggling fact of the number of people who have lived. But I am glad I have because it makes me realize that I am well understood. There are many people who have seen what I see: pain and heartache and joy and laughter. There are so many who have walked this earth. I"ll walk it longer than some and shorter than others. But the chance alone, I believe, to live, is a cause for celebration. For what wonderful things there are to do and discover.

"In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years." -Abraham Lincoln