theMeadow13's Revelife

A Prayer For Today

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 13:51:46 GMT

God.

Please inspire me, fill me and satisfy me for today. Give me peace in all things. Give me a smile for everyone. Help me to stay focused and direct in all I do. Cleanse me, O cleanse me, Father, from my fear and from my doubt. Give me wisdom and rest for today. Give me certainty, if only for a small degree. Open my eyes to see those who need You today so that I can be there. You are my Only, my Obsession. I love you so much. <3333

[~Meadow]

Dear Cammie,

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 14:59:11 GMT

I remember the first time I saw you. It was the first day at band camp. I trailed into the courtyard with other freshman flutes from a tour of the campus. At that time returning members had gathered also in the courtyard. Before we broke out the food for our band picnic, we sat down to hear a few words from the Doc. And that was when I saw you. You were reunited joyously with some friends, you had a radiant smile on your face. I don't remember whom you sat with, but I remember your hair: It was short and styled. I have no other words for this because I don't know how to describe it other than it was so cool. I didn't get a glimpse of your face, but I fathomed it was beautiful. You had a graceful, scultped figure. Slender, sleek like a cheetah. I guess I notice these things because I'm a writer, and because of it I like to notice people, people who catch my eye. This isn't awkward; it's just the way it is.

But this isn't the point. Back in high school there were a handfull of people whom I was acquainted with, only acquainted with. They were and still are Erin, Jared, Nathan and Michele. But I wish it was more. I wish it was deeper. I wish I was deeper. I wanted to be more than just what I had. I was blantantly aware of this in high school, but I was also numb. I could survive the days just staring at the board, not saying anything to Erin who sat on my left. Not saying the things I really wanted to say in painting class when they were all there. I tried to stand my ground. I wrote most of them notes the day before Christmas because, as you can see, paper is where I am not afriad. Paper is my superpower. But it was poorly thought out. I kept telling myself that it wouldn't matter: they already had their friends, their churches, they already had bonds elsewhere. I wouldn't matter. So why should I try? It was just be an awkward attempt for nothing.

I still tried, Cammie. When the bell rang, ending school for the 08 year and beginning Christmas break, I finally chocked up enough guts to say something.

"So... yeah we should totally do something over break together," I suggested to Nathan.

He laughed. "You don't know how many peopl have told me that, but I feel bad because I'm going to be away for break."

I laughed. Laughed it off. But it just crushed me. Just crushed me.

The rest of the year was hard. So full of regret and bitterness to my own complacency. I hated it. How many times I had spilled my guts out to my poor sister during many of our Friday night Starbucks runs. How many times had she seen my hot, living tears: real, gritty and unescapable. Too many.

And so now here I was in college with that blazing self knowledge, that burning urge to not fall to that again. I would not be numb. If college was the place to make life long friends, deep and blessed, then by all means I would embrace it, because I was sick of thinking I didn't need people, that I was independent, that I could make it on my own, that I didn't need them. When in reality... I did need them. I am such a human. I need people even though I'm a recluse. I need connection and fellowship. We all do. God made us that way.

So here I was, a little freshman. I had never recalled a more stronger sense towards a particular person to get to know her. Perhaps it was there in high school, I just didn't feel it. I didn't let myself feel it. I don't care how weird or lame this sounds, but I thought and still do think that you were and still are the coolest person ever. I didn't know your name for the longest time. I almost aspired to make up a name for you just so I could put a name on this impossible thing, but I couldn't. Even I, a writer, could not. Band camp passed me by...

Early September: I woke up one night from an intense, thirsty dream. It was 3am. I lurched out of bed and into the bathroom dizzly. All I remembered about it was its intensity and you were in it. So I breathed a prayer, God, if You want me to meet her, then open up an opprotunity for me to do so.

And that was what He did. Multiple times. After practice, we'd all be streaming into the band room and I was close enough to say something to you but I didn't. During the away game to Carnegie Mellon, we trickled into the visitors' bleachers and I somehow found myself walking behind you. You looked back at me and I smiled. That was all I could do. I wanted to say something to you but I didn't. Even before the dream, at band camp we were practicing on the stadium football field. I was sitting down and you walked by. I smiled at you and you me. I wanted to say something but I didn't. There was an empty chair next to you, once when we were in the auditorium to watch recordings of our performances. It was so empty, so waiting, so calling. I started at it, petrified, but I walked away and sat in another section down a few rows.

Sarah, why did you do that? A voice asked me, sorrowful and passionate, full of conviction.

I couldn't answer. It was obvious: Fear.

Aren't you tired of this battle? Why do you live like this? When will you get sick of it? When will it break inside? How can you live numbly like this?

I am numbed. I'm numbing myself, I can feel it.

Early October. The 9th. Friday. Another chance. I took it. You perhaps remember an awkward, somewhat familiar person asking you if the seat adjacent to yours was taken, and then sitting uncomfortably for a while before I finally introduced myself. But I remember seeing you, and feeling something push me. Perhaps it was the self who was exhausted of the fight and the battle. The self who was utterly thirsty for friendship. I asked you if it was okay, and then when I sat down, I couldn't help but beam through the whole concert, trying to concentrate on the orchestra, the music recital, but getting distracted with the fact that you, the coolest person ever, the girl who already made my Favorite Persons Lists just because she existed, because she breathed. You breathed. I finally gathered my tattered, scattered courage and introducing myself, finally learning your name. The next song began, and I kept beaming like a star. You were the sweetest person, not just the coolest. And so beautiful, once I finally got to see the whole of your face. I melted. I wanted to hug you the way an overjoyed little kid would at Christmastime, but refrained. We talked more...

It was amazing. I felt like such a little girl: freckles and pig tails with missing teeth, rocking back on her heels and smiling with an ice cream cone asking so excitedly and sincerely, Will you be my friend, my sister?

But that was how I felt. The rest of the night was just cloud 9. I imagined going to the Flyleaf concert in November, the one I wanted to go to so bad, with you and having the best time.

I wish I could say it was all good from there, but it wasn't. I still greet you when I can -- like when we passed each other in the courtyard once upon a nightwalk, or the evening I came back from working out. But last practice I remember seeing you talking to a few other friends and I wanted to chat with you too, but I didn't. I was just a Passerby. How well I had known that name. I just passed by.

Fear.

A while ago I sent a facebook request after much cheering and convincing from an intimate friend of mine. But no response. Did you get it?

Those ideas, those thoughts, those demons all come flying back: She already has her friends. We're in different majors too. She's in Music Ed and I'm English. We're naturally going to be in different buildings, have different loads to worry about, different spheres to live in. She's a sophomore, I'm a freshman. She already has figured it out and made her way. She already has friends.

My sister told me, "But, you don't know that, Sarah. You just don't know. You don't know if she needs a friend just as much as you. You don't know."

"Yes. I don't. I don't know if she even has all the friends in the world. I don't know."

I wish I could end this lengthy letter in a more desirable way, but I have not the intelligence and insight to do so. Thus I'm afriad this end will be fragmented and directionless, but I'll try. I don't know what you think of me now, but my pen is fearless when I am not.

I don't know what to say anymore. I've asked God about this so many times. I've realized how much I do thirst for friendship, and painfully at the same time how afriad I am to find it. I am such a paradox! Or I just lie. How can I claim to be so thirsty when I don't do anything about it? Will a ravenous man turn away from groping around in the trash for a stale crust of bread just because he is afriad of people seeing him? He cannot.

I don't know any more. I am so impatient, so waiting, so wanting, so hurting, but I don't say anything. I keep quiet. I pass by until I become desperate and even that may never happen because a part of myself will think that just knowing your name and being acquainted with you is enough. Another self begs to disagree. This self is the thirsty, the ravenous. So what can I do? Where do I go? Where can I run? Time is precious. Why do I waste it?

But I still pray, I still hope in my hopelessness. This isn't over. I have to try. I still have to pray. I hope someday you will see me fearless. I hope someday you will hear from me, and all about this. I hope someday you will see this and still smile for me.

Always,

Sarah

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Sat, 10 Oct 2009 16:58:00 GMT

Holy Sonnet 14

Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you

As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend

Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

I, like an usurped town, to another due,

Labor to admit you, but O, to no end;

Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,

but is captívèd, and proves weak or untrue.

yet dearly I love you, and would be lovèd fain,

But am betrothed unto your enemy.

Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor even chaste, except you ravish me.

--John Donne

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 01:11:07 GMT

God is my REFUGE. In Him and only Him do I find rest in the storm. GOD is my REFUGE. Let me rest in Your arms, God. Embrace me and never let go.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 13:02:08 GMT

I prayed to God

And tears came to my eyes

Because I knew He was listening.

Eight years later...

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 14:18:24 GMT

Wow. September 11th today. I was in fifth grade on the day it happened.

A few spaces of silence:

Time goes by so quickly. Sometimes I wonder -- did this change really anything in the hearts of the American people? Anything postitive? I dont' even know.

Until Tomorrow

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 14:35:17 GMT

Dear God,

When I woke up today, I saw a faint glow of light coming from beneath the window curtains, light You spoke into existence. I felt myself breathe, a simple yet complex testimony of the miracle of the life You created. I felt the mellow, beautiful silence of the morning. And You were there.

But I did not think of you. Instead, of somesort of message I recieved on Facebook. How does that happen? I don't even like it. But still my thoughts were there.

When I arose out of bed today, I prepared some breakfast and then opened my laptop to check my email. I reveled in my favorite music, but I forgot to say thank-you for this gift. I didn't think about how blessed I was to have my own laptop, in a college dorm room, on this day off for Labor Day, to have a solid, everything-I've-wanted-and-more education. I didn't think about You.

Yesterday, I went to a Bible study, I heard a few amazing testimonies of Your awesomeness. I was challenged. Yesterday, I thought to myself how much I don't center in You. How much You're always there, but how much I am so blind. Yesterday, I aspired to center in You for today. I put it off until tomorrow.

But tomorrow isn't good enough. It's not good enough for You. You want it all. You want all of me. Whenever I give any of myself to You, I take it back. I steal it back. But You let me have it, don't You?

And I can't keep putting You off until tomorrow. Because tomorrow is already too late. And I have to meet You today.

Here I am down on my knees again, asking You to be my obsession, invade my thoughts. Be my favorite disease, my only infatuation. I don't want to live like this again, anymore. I can't live like this. I drown so easily, slip so easily in my own puddle of mud, of stick, self pity. I'm so naked, so vulernable to me, my own worst enemy, and my demons that snarl in my face and cut through the skin of my heart and break the bones of my mind.

Here I am down on my knees again. I am not leaving.

Stay On

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 18:49:07 GMT

Rewind a few Tuesdays back:

I was at an amusement park with a group of marching band people from my college (we were there for some sort of parade in the evening but came at noon so we could have some time in the park). We decided to go on a ride called The Phantom's Revenge... Oohhh, chilling! Well, actually, I had never been on a legit roller coaster like the legendary Millenium Force at Cedar Point. I had been on the Screaming Hulk when I went to Universal Studios, also on a marching band trip, but it was of the smaller scale. And even during that I randomly got a foot cramp on the Hulk, so I didn't enjoy the ride much on account of the cramping pain in my foot. -_- Anyways, so yeah, never have I been on a hardcore rollercoaster, until now. It was intense, too. You know how before going on the ride, you observe the screaming people experiencing it, the twists, turns and tumbles, the falls and the rises the coasting and the rolling, everything. Well, The Phantom was pretty legit. The first drop right out of the chute was quite huge, too. And it's always the unnerving wait as the coaster clatters to the climax... up, up, up... up... just a little closer... Oh, snap...!

It was during this time that I turned to my friend, thinking I suddenly didn't want to be on the side anymore.

"I am terrified," I said, half whispering, kind of smiling at the same time and knowing that it was too late to get off the ride anyway. Besides, I had waited all that time in line, and then this little chunk of time on the ride, of waiting for the fun to hit. I was trapped.

Aaaand... I could see the front end of the train begin to dip down over the arch of the drop... Ohhh crap.

Fast forward a few Wednesdays after:

I was in my Foundations of Education class, it was the second day of class, only the second. As of now and during that time, I knew I had not pre-declared the secondary ed part of my major, English. I had just dubbed English as my major, because I knew I loved it. Now, of course, my mother had asked me, "So... what are you going to do with that, [Meadow]? Teach?" Mmm, maybe, but I want to make sure I keep my opitions open so I don't miss any opprotunity out there. Besides, teaching was obvious. When I told people that I was majoring in English, they asked, "Ohhh are you going to be a teacher?" Wow, did I say I was majoring in English secondary ed!?!? No. But that's what they think.

Despite my caution to just declare the secondary-ed part with my intended major, I still took an education class. I didn't know what to expect...

The professor is an amazing, strong Christian man. He's taught in pretty much every teaching situation, and with a huge variety of students and kids from all backgrounds. He said while he was teaching at this innercity school, he felt like God called him back to train future teachers who would build and raise up kids, inspire rather than tear down. Pretty huge. But he was serious about it. He's also a funny guy and knows how to be lighthearted, but when it comes to laying down the teaching profession, he knows what he's talking about. For participation points, he requires us to get involved in minitries, dealing with people who aren't as intelligent or gifted as us, the undesireables, the unlovables, because Jesus, the Master Teacher, as he pointed out, did just that. Jesus did not hold back. He touched the lepor, felt no fear of the demon-possessed, no regungance towards the adulterous woman, no disdain towards the tax collector. He invited and taught them all.

Anyways, there were other things here and there, but all in all I was overwhelmed. I was terrified. I was coming into this class not even sure I wanted to be a teacher, despite that many had told me they could definitely see that potential. The other thing was...being a English secondary ed major, one's college academic schedule would be full with little electives to chose, little room for flexibility. So it's nothing that one could just... randomly do. One would have to be serious and certain of teaching.

But it's not only this. I was talking with a friend who said she could never be a emergency doctor or surgeon because she couldn't deal with the knowledge that people's lives would be in her hands. And that was the same way with teaching in a way. Teachers can make and break. They have large influences -- negative or positive. They can destroy and tear down. They effect lives all the time. One comment from a teacher could be the difference between feeling horrible or amazing, between trying this or doing that. Plus, parents are essentially entrusting their childrens' lives into your hands, as a teacher.

Yeah, no pressure.

So as for me being a teacher: I am terrified. Overwhelmed. I hope this class will be a good indicator of whether or not I should be one. But it's not a matter if I should, but if God's calling me to do that. And feeling unworthy or having no confidence isn't an excuse either. God has a knack for picking out the unworthy to do His work -- Moses and his speech impediment and identity, David, a shepard boy to be a king, Rahab, a prostitute to hide the Israelite spies, a bunch of fisherman for disciples... the list goes on.

So ... if this is God's calling on my life: Ohh, snap...! O_O

In terms of school it'll be a lot of work, and after that a lot of work to get a good follow up, lesson plans, etc to know what you're doing. Even then, it's a challenge everyday. That is what one of my former teachers told me when I met with her for coffee once, you know just to see how it was on the other side of the desk... there's always a lot more than you see, even with an inside scoop interview.

But I do know something else, despite all this overwhelming mess:

When the rollercoaster dropped down in the first spiraling fall, zooming, plunging, twisting turning, feeling the pure adrenaline rush of hardcore centrifugal forces... it was thrilling, scary and fun all at the same time. But mostly fun. And when I got off the coaster, I had a smile on my face, and though a bit dizzy, was glad I got passed my ephemeral fear and stayed on for the ride. So if this is the ride God has me on, I won't get off. Because whatever it is, teaching or not, it'll be scary, amazing, thrilling... and so much more.

A Verse For The Day

Thu, 20 Aug 2009 17:10:52 GMT

"Don't worry over anything whatever; whenever you pray tell God every detail of your needs in thankful prayer, and the peace of God, which surpasses human understanding, will keep constant guard over your hearts and minds as they rest in Christ Jesus. [Philippians 4:6-7]

A Letter To A Friend

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 18:55:37 GMT

Dear you.
Here now you are reading what I really want to say. What really pulses beneath the rapids of my mind, what is really deep inside. I have no idea how much of it you will actually know, or how much of it I will tell, if any at all. But here it is. Putting it here -- somewhere -- will and always has given me strength.

Oops. Sorry. I'm too honest for my own good. Truth is, I'm really holding myself back. Every once in a while I slip.

When I read your words I could feel your bitterness, mingled with sorrow. But primarily the former. It's so jolting to me, you have no idea. I yearn to tell you everything behind this facade I put up with for so long, behind everything I've wrestled with, everything I've thought in regards to you and me. But I know I cannot. I cannot go down that path. If I consented to having a live one-on-one chat, I know I'd dry up. I'd not know what to say and if I said anything you'd probably take it wrongly -- not because of you, but me.

Maybe if I had understood just a little bit better...I mean, I totally support you in whatever direction you wish to take. But I feel like you did me a huge injustice in not allowing me to speak to you about this, as well. I feel that our friendship deserved better.

There you are again. So supportive and understanding... and yet not so understanding, you say. I could never keep up with you in that. Always loving and accepting, more than just tolerating. But truthfully, it was just those qualities which jolted me into thinking other things about you. I suppose it is an injustice that I never asked you about my thoughts, was never completely honest, but I don't think it was really honesty. I just couldn't bear it any longer. You were submersing yourself into something that made me recoil back into myself, not just as myself but what I am, what I stand for, what my faith says. I cannot deny that. I could not. And for a time I felt that I almost did, but not anymore. I still talk to you, still want to talk to you, wish that it was not so bitter, wish that you could know how much I really cared, how much I still do. But I had to do what I did. I could not put myself into a place where words would tangle me once again, where I could be thrown into a corner from misunderstanding and anger... bitterness. But I am not bitter. Not angry. Instead... tensed when I think of you. Because I watch you and I see you touching something that may pull you in. I am afraid for you too. I wish so much for you, so much for your life. Perhaps such wishes and feelings are a small part of Who really cares, really Loves. But there I am again, implying, too afraid to say what I really mean because I know that my words, the truth on my lips is nothing but useless. It is only invitation, though. And that's how it should stay.

Perhaps, though... what you said was right. I am a coward, I do not know myself. I am afraid.

Afraid of the right thing.

I am not one who forgets easily. Our casual friendship will take years to establish, if it can ever be as such. Preferably, I'd leave the Draft and never look back.

I am not either. Which is why I still think of you ... and everything else. This is why I'm writing this letter, these words which will probably never reach your eyes. Perhaps the friendship will take years to establish. I think I could have left and never looked back on our friendship had it not been for the one untied end on the tapestry, for the one little hole in the plot. Perhaps that thread, the hole... those are the things that still strive me on, that still make me think of you.

But even as I am about to close this silenced letter, I question myself. I think about all of what I did and why I did. I remember all that I thought about you, my rationale. And I wonder how I can even want to bring it all back, how can I even wish to talk with you again. I was under such a burden, and yet so silent. If you were to ask me about any of this, I fear I could not answer well, or even answer for that matter. Such memories and thoughts have become eroded with time and hazy with distraction and life, other things. Memory fades, but never quite. For even if it fades completely, you still have a scar, a mark. It will always be with you, always a part of you. For this reason, neither of us can escape from this memory. These memories. Our memories. My memories.

Here I end. I have everything else to say, and yet nothing else. Forgive me.

Always,

me.

:: Epilogue ::

And so I ask the Living God, What shall I do? What have I done? Have I erred in wanting to talk and then in actually doing it? Am I walking down a path I shouldn't? What should I do? How should I really respond to this? Have I backed myself in a corner? Do I fight emotion or rationale? My mind or my heart? Will she understand? If I try will it only end it more bitterness or tears?