Thanksgiving

It’s been a sobering couple of weeks. I'm learning that broken does not mean weak.

I’ve had a lot of thoughts about the attacks in Paris and all of the stuff that I’ve been seeing in the news in the last couple of weeks, but frankly I’ve kept silent because I've feared contributing to the social cacophony that I've been witnessing on the increasingly offensive social media front. These are the first written words I’ve really offered about the matter.

Say what you will, but those attacks affected me deeply. After a lot of thought, I think there are a few reasons why. And contrary to the seemingly naïve admonishments that I’ve been reading over the last couple of weeks, it’s not just because of “beautiful and iconic cafés and streets.”

I was shocked at some of the backlash, soapboxes and platforms that arose out of the situation. Granted, this happens often but I think this may be the first time that I found myself personally offended by social media in general. An odd statement to make, I realize, but I’m serious. But I won't go into detail regarding this for it is outside the scope of my purpose in writing today. I will not make this a platform because how and what I grieve is between God and me right now; He alone knows how much we've been talking about this.

But I will say this: my grief over what happened is not about just Paris itself.

The attacks hit very close to home for me. In short, besides having lived and loved there, my sister was about a block away and in between two of the restaurant shootings. She made it home safely to her flat in north Paris Central that night, thank God. But it was a very odd and terrible sensation texting her amid the terrible acts of terrorism and being able to picture so vividly exactly where she was. I realized a couple of things through my experience on my side of the ocean that night.

First, I wonder if sometimes you have more clarity about the gravity of what is going on—or what has gone on—in a situation once you have distance. My sister has been handling the whole affair better than I have—and though I’m not sure what to make of that at this point, and it’s probably irrelevant anyway, I do wonder about what difference my distance makes. I had a similar experience with “distance” from a situation earlier this year when I was involved in a should-have-been-fatal car accident in May. I was fine for a couple of weeks after the event, but when I had finally had enough temporal distance from what had happened I had a major come-to-Jesus about why I was still walking on this planet (and a part of me even wished I weren’t). Maybe I'm off course on "distance" notion, but it still made me think.

Second, I now have a much more personal understanding of the fear and tragedy that terrorism creates for those it reaches. Terror-ism, may I say, is aptly named. I was 16 when 9/11 happened and I regret the fact that I really did not, and could not, grasp the gravity and scope of the attack. I get it more now.

Third, because of this, I have found that my mental state and grief has expanded far beyond the US, Paris, even Europe in general to all of the places that are grieving and terrorized by all manner of evil all over the world.

…Burundi is on the verge of genocide…there was a shooting in Kenya…a Jewish man was stabbed to death in Milan the day before the Paris attacks...there were a couple of police shootings in Minneapolis…my neighborhood has been no stranger to shootings and death these last months….the list goes on…and Syria. Dear God, Syria….

I am having trouble wrapping both my mind and heart around all of the tragedy all over the literal map that I now have more personal emotional access to. It’s, well, “a lot to process” I find myself saying.

Since I believe in vulnerability and transparency, I’ll be honest: my wonderful walk-in closet has  lately become a regular home to a tearful me, on my face, asking God why. And asking him to heal. Over and over.

That’s my heart speaking.

Then, as a person of faith, my head is aware of all manner of doctrinally tight reasons “why,” but I firmly believe that living solely by the logic of my mind (even from a faith perspective)—regardless of how objective I endeavor to be—does not even remotely begin to tell or even address the whole story. The truest of logic, reason or objectivity is, in my view (YES, I am fully cognizant of the irony in that caveat), ultimately a healthy balance of head and heart that becomes a powerful synergy to be reckoned with. This my pursuit. (And yes, I do realize that many consider a faith perspective to be illogical per se. But I will not address this point of view here because I, personally, do not believe that and my desire to write is borne out of my own worldview right now, not that of others.)

That said, I will not cower from the internal tempest that grappling with the present pain in the world --or at least the degree of it that I can perceive/understand--may produce. I have the distinct conviction that it is more courageous to hurt, and work through the pain that one has the capacity to feel because it means you love. AND YES, IT HURTS. But it’s worth it. Because real is worth it.

Lastly, I am becoming increasingly secure in my pursuit of an eventual career in some International NGO capacity. I am becoming increasingly sure that this is the direction that I want to head and quite frankly, it’s no small thing to wrestle with the fact that the wake of terror and travesty left from acts like those in Paris is going to be the future of my career.

I’ve confessed some of this introspective battle to a few people in the last couple of weeks. A few of them have looked me in the eye and understood. A few of them understand far better than I ever could or maybe will. My Marine brother’s sobering nod to my tears spoke deeply of his resonance and his years so far ahead of me in this: "But you will come to understand that the good you do is more important than the pain you feel."

Sometimes people say things and I know the words will stick with me forever. That phrase is one of them.

So yeah, it’s been a sobering couple of weeks. This all made for an equally sober day of giving thanks yesterday for so much more than is easy to think about. It’s extremely uncomfortable to engage in the increasing realization of the privilege (white, American privilege) that I was born into while millions of souls all over the planet will never know what it even feels like to take anything for granted.

But this is what I realize every time I actually reach the bottom of the well within me: I have a place to take all of this. I go into my closet and I consistently go as deep and as ugly as I need to and my Father never tells me that I feel too much or need to lighten up. Rather, He calms me and amazes me with the gentle, always non-judgmental reminder that He gets it. This reminds me, EVERY SINGLE TIME that I could never hurt for the world the way He does because of a) my humanity and b) my resulting limited scope of experience—however “clued-in” I may continue to get.

This place I have, this relationship that will never not “get” me is what I’m most thankful for this year.

Ugh. I hate how trite and “Christian” that sounds because I feel that as soon as I commit those words to paper (or computer screen, as it were) they lose their profoundness. I find myself more disappointed in the effort than well-expressed, frankly. But I guess that’s not the point. The limits of language. Again: ugh.

But thank God He’s beyond the limits of my language and soul.

Thank God.

And thank God that for some reason He still thought that we were worth it. I don't get it, but I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for that fact. And thank You, dear God, that broken does not mean weak.

This Is Worship Too.

I’m in the throes of 2L year and I’m feeling as if I’m lost in everything and all the work that means.

I hate that, I feel as if I’m functioning and fine, but not necessarily “alive” the way I am when I’m in closer connection with God and the people I love around me.

On one hand, it's so true that I struggle with the mundane. God knows that. I mean, He created the big picture mentality that I live in. But I also want to learn to do the mundane and do it well. More than that, I want to get really good at not losing my relationship with Him meanwhile. I hate feeling disconnected. I hate it. Even when I can feel His presence all of the time, it's not the same as spending quality time and connecting with Him. It seriously like any other relationship. It's like the difference between knowing the fact that someone is in your presence all of the time in whatever you do and actually doing all of those things with them. There is a bridge to this in the midst of busy that I haven’t yet learned how to effectively construct. God help me.

And then there's the fact that it's so hard to invest in people with the lack of TIME that law school presents. I have to be so intentional about where and with whom I spend my time in order to stay sane and physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually--all those different brands of...healthy. 

There are these girls I'd love to invest in at church. I'd love to teach them to read better, introduce them to some of the stories of the world, of faith. But I am praying about it, I need to be sure it's right and that the time will be provided. And then there's the people at school. I think I finally realized this morning that that's not where I'm called relationally and that's okay. But still, I wish there was all the time in the world to get involved. 

There are other profound needs at church too. This community on the Eastside of St. Paul is literally shooting each other up. And I'm sitting in class. I hate that.

But one the other hand, these thoughts run through my heart and mind, but then it strikes me: this has to be worship too. God asked me to do this. It is worship too, even if it’s not the kind I prefer.

It’s worship to get up every morning and do assignment after assignment and fill my mind with the law I’ve been given to study—that He's tasked me to study. And I have to remember this: it's worship because God has asked me to do it. I don't get to decide how and where I most effectively worship my Maker and where He needs me most. He does. Even if it doesn't feel like I'm working for the Kingdom as I'm reading word after word, sentence after sentence and then page after page of legalese it is worship because He asked me to do it. And obedience is always worship. 

I'm tearful as I write that because it so conflicts with my desire and sensibilities of what it looks like to deeply love the community I live in. That I've been placed in. It's so counterintuitive to think that this is how God has called me to love right now. He's called me to cultivate my mind in legal framework because, somehow, in the long term I will love better having gained this knowledge and experience. And He knows that my short-term community involvement will be curtailed in the meantime so that I will be able to love more powerfully and uniquely in the long-term. For the greater Kingdom good. God willing. I have to believe this and come back to it because right now I feel like a crappy friend, a crappy sister, daughter...whatever. 

That said, on the bright side in the last week or so I’ve begun to notice that I really have learned some stuff. Like, I can see how some of the stuff I’ve been studying has sunk in and I am seeing how it fits into the world around me. That means the synthesis of knowledge has begun—only begun—but nonetheless it feels good. It feels as if, finally, maybe this is all not for naught. I can't even begin to imagine where this is going, but I can begin and continue to trust. To be intentional, and to keep...reading.

And I will.

Healing: Reprise

I wrote this at the end of last year right around the time that I felt the Lord speaking healing over the next year. I now know who it's for, and my heart is behind his journey. My cousin, who born two weeks apart from me, grew up side by side and who knows where I came from better than nearly anyone else can. He has a spot in my heart and life that none other can possess. As he hurts I ache, and ache for life, the abundant life that waits on the other side of this road he's on. This is for him.

K.L.C.

A difficult day’s made of difficult hours

Of a minute to minute fight not to cower.

The difficult knows its place in time

The difficult knows when it’s meant to chime.

“Count it all joy” is easily spoken

But harder to know in the midst of broken.

Healing can come, it does occasion

But inflicts itself not without pervasion.

Healing is often as painful as pain--

But worth the journey of eventual gain.

So healing is truer for the hurt and harrow

Of suffering its slings and terrible arrows,

Never fully grasped the joy of dawn’s break

If we know not black night’s gaping ache.

-T. Emerson

Love.

I've been trying to concentrate on my dry homework reading for a few hours now and I can't. I must have something on my mind.

Of course I do. I always do. I was thinking that today was my last day in my "writing every day for a month" thing, but actually yesterday was. I counted wrong, but whatever. It seems I have more to say anyway even if I've already fulfilled my last obligation to myself.

I'm glad it's over, because time is growing more and more scarce while school is in session. I'll be laying low until mid-December. I've learned, I think, what I was meant to. And I've noticed a few things:

--Writing every day means poorer quality in general, with a few exceptions every once in a while;
--It's a lot harder to edit when you're just trying to crank thoughts out;
--Because of these two things, it's more vulnerable to put something out every day because it's not your best.

Valuable lessons/observations, I think. I'm glad I did this, it was right.

So, there's that on my mind and then there's one more thing....

I had a FaceTime visit with a friend in Alaska. I can hardly call her just a "friend" she's essentially my sister as we've been through a lot more together that I care to elaborate, but all that to say she knows me well.

I was apologizing to her for being so unresponsive and hard to get a hold of lately. I told her I felt like I've "dropped off the face of the planet" since law school started. Most of the time it's just easier to keep in touch with people on the surface, resorting to little texts or pictures or Facebook and such rather than really keeping in touch with those who know you deeply. Those conversations are longer, and more profound, naturally.

She laughed and told me not to worry.

"You've done a good job loving us, Traci, no one doubts that they're important to you. It's okay if you can't respond, we get it."

I actually could not have known until I heard this that I kind of needed to hear that. For two reasons, in fact. First, I have been feeling guilty. I feel as if I am a world and a half from where my head and heart were when I left Alaska and I've been having trouble reconciling that. Second, I needed to hear someone tell me I'd loved well.

This is why:

Frankly, for all the crazy places I go and stuff I do--academic or not--I want to be known for one thing above all: that I loved well. Sure, I'm getting my law degree and who knows where God's taking me and where I'll end up living eventually, but someday when I'm gone I want to be remembered by how well I loved, not by my accomplishments. Really, even now I want that to be the first thing that comes to mind when someone thinks of me. Because that's "to live is Christ, to die is gain."* Who cares what school I go to and for what.

Make no mistake, the kind of love I'm talking about is not the kind that always gives "warm fuzzies." I'm talking about the just kind of love that points love's object in the right direction. The kind of love that will do what it takes to see people come to the life they are meant to have. The kind of love that desperately and sacrificially wants to see His Kingdom come and His Will be done.** The kind of love that will do whatever it takes to see that happen.

The kind of love that leaves a taste for Eternity in your mouth...so that you'll never be satisfied until you taste that whole, beautiful banquet of the Ever After that awaits every one that dares to open, read, and accept the invitation. The kind of love that's not really about me. The kind of love that's real.

I think it's safe to say that Emily had not contemplated all of this when she so generously validated me this afternoon. And it's safe to say I've not entirely lived up to my aspirations by any means. But the encouragement made me think again about that which I want my life to be most deeply marked. My soul echoes:

"If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing...."***

If I study the laws of men and of nations, if I read the words of minds great and greater, if I have knowledge, if I have resource, if I have possessions...but know not how to love well with, it's all for naught.

Wow...yeah I guess I had some stuff on my mind. With that, I'm signing off for a while, probably. My personal journal needs some attention now. And so do my studies.

*Philippians 1:21
**Matthew 6:10
*** I Corinthians 13:1-3

Great Minds

Tomorrow this commitment to write every day for a month will be done. I'll be glad.

I've learned from this. I've learned I don't always have something to say. And when I don't have much to say, I start talking about the events of my every day life instead of ideas.

"Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people."

This is attributed to First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. I think there's a great level of truth to this.

But I don't know if I'll ever be great. One cannot force themselves to not talk about events or people simply because they want to be great. This defeats the meaning of the statement above.

What it means is that idea is level on which a great mind resides and functions, and so forth.

Like I said, I don't know that I'll ever be great. And I'm okay with that. But anyway, I've learned from this experience. :)

(Day 31)*

*It seems I miscounted...I'm not surprised due to my frazzled state.

Some Moments

I suppose that we are changing every moment we live. Our experiences blend the the science of our very construction and we change from moment to moment.

But then there are those times when that change is made more swift by a more peculiar moment: a situation, a word, a gesture.

It's in those moments, sometimes, when you know you're changing. Sometimes you don't, but sometimes you do.

Something happens and all of the sudden words, or actions, or a scene begins to meet your consciousness and begins to register. And sometimes in those moments you know you'll never be the same. That something just changed.

Like, when you're hanging upside down in a vehicle, wondering if you're alive. Like, when you just found out what your LSAT score is. Like, when you find out Grandpa passed away--and you hear your dad sobbing, asking if you can come home.

Yes, of course.

Or, someone writes you a letter.

These moments mark you and change you and shape you--and the common denominator between these moments is that they are most often entirely out of your control. They just happen to you, and you can do nothing to stop them.

And you realize this, sometimes, when you're in the middle of them. You're in the situation, stunned or not, for better or for worse, and trying to dig down deep and know how to respond--

That's when your true character shows. That's when true integrity is put to the test.

And then the test endures: how do you face this change every day, for the long term?

Well, usually the event, the word, the conversation, the scene gets played over and over in your imagination. Or you read the letter over and over. Wondering if it's real, and remember at the same time that it's truer than true. For better or for worse.

And you can't change it. So you keep thinking about it, remembering, reading.

And it comes back, I think, after longer intervals. But by the time one thing begins to heal another wound is inflicted.

And maybe someone's walking around with a wound you inflicted and you have no idea. And therefore can't fix it.

Time does heal. They say this and it's true. But they forget to mention that time is not always kind.

(Day 30)

Authors.

I found out today that Harper Lee is a descendant of Robert E. Lee. I'm related to him as well.

This means that I'm related to: Mary Barrett Browning, Charles Dickens (by marriage), Ralph Waldo Emerson (if I did my research correctly) and now Harper Lee.

I apparently it's in my blood to write.

I should do that instead of law school...

Just kidding.

It's hard to write anything on the days when I'm at school from 8 in the morning till 9 and night.

That's all.

(Day 29)

The Library and Chile

I love my job at the library. I love being around books, I love the research, I love watching everyone come in and out of the library. I love the vantage point and the work.

But today I was talking to one of the international LLM students who is a regular at the library. He had an accent so I asked where he was from. Chile. I said I'd always wanted to go there. He said I should come. He and his wife would show me around. I asked him what the best part about Chile was...he answered with this and my jaw dropped:

Torres del Paine National Park. I want to go there someday.

Just wow.

(Day 28)

I've been thinking today about the word "ignorance." I guess maybe because I just finished To Kill a Mockingbird.

ignorance

noun ig·no·rance \ˈig-n(ə-)rən(t)s\

: a lack of knowledge, understanding, or education : the state of being ignorant

Embedded in the word is the smaller locution "ignore." In fact, the construction of the word "ignorance" taken at face value would suggest, rather than the above definition, an actual species of refusal to pay attention to something.

When you ignore someone, you intentionally to do not attend to them. There is intention involved:

ignore

verb ig·nore \ig-ˈnȯr\

: to refuse to show that you hear or see (something or someone)
: to do nothing about or in response to (something or someone)

Obviously, the word "ignorance" has taken on the meaning that it has now. The Online Etymology Dictionary has little to add about how this happened.

ignorance (n.) 

c. 1200, from Old French ignorance (12c.), from Latin ignorantia "want of knowledge" (see ignorant).

But I guess my point is less about the origins of the word and rather what it has to teach us now. In an age when technology gives us knowledge and information at our fingertips to the vast (and admittedly overwhelming) extent that it does, we have a responsibility to not ignore knowledge and ignore others. I'm no saint in this aspect. There's so much I've chosen not to know--whether it is an active or passive choice. And of course I'm not saying that we cannot be responsible to know all there is to know.

What I am saying is that I think that the technologically progressive nature of the society in which we lives places on us, as partakers in and citizens of it, a greater responsibility than past generations to be informed and to not be "ignor-ant" of what is going on in the lives, communities, countries and globe around us.

Today, I think ignorance is a choice. Perhaps it has always been to some degree, but I think it's even more of a choice now that it has ever been.

Let us not ignore. Let us be reasonable about the knowledge and the extent to which we pursue it, but let us not ignore.

(Day 27)

To Kill a Mockingbird

I don't know how this novel ended up being omitted entirely from my education till now, but this was assigned reading for a class in law school and I'm so glad. The story is amazing and I found that I resonated with this story and the way it was told on so many levels (including but not limited to):

-As an American that still witnesses grievous vestiges of racism today;
-As a woman who lives in the blessed (thought still imperfect) aftermath of a feminist revolution;
-As a person who still remembers what it was like to be a child, and learn both beautiful and ugly things about the world around her;
-As a student of the law;
-As a sister;
-As a daughter;
-As a human.

Atticus' love for his children, household (Calpurnia included), community and his respect for human dignity is consistent throughout all areas of his life in this story, whether or not this love and respect was consistent with societal--even legal--norms. I think it was this consistency that I found the most admirable. There are some people that just seem to "get it." Atticus' character is of that breed. But he's not perfect, we see some of his weaknesses too.

But apart from the beautiful treatment of the main social issue that the book aims to address, the other thing I think I resonated with the most was the way Atticus interacts with his daughter: he lets her be her. And she begins to grow up able to think for herself as a result.

That said, I love the voice of his daughter telling the story, it deepens the narrative in so many ways, though one of the most poignant may be that we never know the change we are affecting and who is watching us and being molded by what they see in us. Our actions shape future generations more than we know--even if change comes far slower than we hoped.

I could say so much more, but I'll save it for class on Wednesday. Suffice it to say this is a must read and I'm sorry I hadn't experienced this amazing piece till now.

(Day 26)

Shakespeare

As I stated yesterday, Shakespeare inspires me. He inspires me to command my language better and expands my paradigms on the meaning of individual words and sometimes phrases.

This is my favorite of his sonnets. It's talks about true beauty. It talks about how "beauty" is made truly beautiful for the truth, integrity, and for me I read transparency into it as well.

This the kind of beauty I strive and desire to possess...that sweet ornament which truth doth give.


SONNET 54

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
   And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
   When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

--William Shakespeare

(Day 25)

Inspired

I hate how our society tends to laugh off inspiring moments after they pass. Obviously, not everyone does this and no one does it always, but in my experience the general trend is that when we hear or see something amazing, we agree with it, we resonate, we move on with life. Little seems to change and then later we sort of chuckle at the experience.

I hate that. Are we scared to take those moments seriously and actually live up to them--actually live for more? Obviously those inspiring quotes, pictures, moments or whatever resonate for a reason. Are we scared to let them actually change our lives?

I think so.

I love to get inspired. But I have a faith that inspires me, too. I have a faith that reminds me that, yes, in fact there is so much more to live for. And yes, thank God, I can start doing that now.

I think it takes courage to allow yourself to be inspired by someone, something and let it actually change you--even if the change is initially imperceptible. And then the more that you choose this the more you change, and the more you become who you want to be.

I think it takes courage to rethink our priorities and actually rearrange our life. And I think it takes a constant willingness to be reminded of what's important, what we really want and a constant humility to decide to stay on a trajectory toward health and wholeness and change--not just for ourselves but for the world. And that means that it takes courage to be inspired.

I love to be inspired.

Shakespeare inspires me.
Moses inspires me.
Samuel inspires me.
Bob Goff inspires me.
International justice inspires me.
Hearing a foreign language on the street inspires me.
A well elocuted lecture inspires me.
The future me, what I can become inspires me.
Jesus inspires me.

I never want to quit being inspired. Nor do I want to treat inspiration as a fleeting phenomenon. I find that to be cynical and cowardly.

(Day 24)

Because Day 23

I'm only writing this because I made a commitment to write every day for a month and I will follow through with it.

It's hard because I don't always have something of substance to say, so I find that I end up writing more benign and banal thoughts and while I do so I rue the words I string together.

I don't want to do that tonight, so I'd rather just explain why I'm not saying much of anything at all.

There it is.

Bonne nuit.

(Day 23)

IDLO Rome

Well, I finally did it today. I emailed IDLO.

International Development Law Organization (IDLO) has been on my mind since we went there on a "class field trip" in Rome. I was entirely impressed with all I learned about the organization and what it stands for. Of course, I told myself that day that I wanted to work--or at least intern--there. But then of course, I also told myself that it would wear off and that I always say that when I get inspired by something.

But this one hasn't worn off, I just keep thinking about it so today I finally wrote them.

I don't know why I'm so nervous about it because it was just an email, it wasn't even an application of any sort.

But then, maybe I do know why. It's because there's this pattern in my life of whatever I really want to do I don't get to do it the first time I try: Alaska, France, working for the State of Alaska, the LSAT, I even put of law school applications a year...all of these were essentially career moves too.

I really, really want to be a part of this organization and learn all it has to offer me. What's more is they seem to essentially be a Compliance & Ethics-centered NGO and I am all about their mission.

But all sorts of feelings of inadequacy rise up in me. My French isn't native, my Italian needs work. (Yes, I know, I'm a perfectionist...) I'm just a small-town American girl, I lack the culture of so many others that are so much more "international" than I and so much more qualified. All those terrible internal voices of insecurity. My head knows their not true but then the same head seems to be feeding me the filthy lines, too. Regardless of the caliber of skill I possess I unequivocally have this going for me: an unquenchable drive to learn whatever it is I need to do what I'm passionate about. I will work and not tire. I know what I love and I know what I'm passionate about. I'll be interested to hear what they have to say.

I want this. I kind of wish I didn't want it so bad--I know the process of disappointment all too well. But I have to know now if I even have a chance, otherwise I need to start thinking about other opportunities for next summer. Probably here, too.

So many questions. But I keep coming back to that thing I heard this summer: "Don't give up on the international side of you, Darling. I haven't." I'll live and act on that. I know He hasn't forgotten--even if it totally feels like it sometimes.

(Day 22)

Dad

My father is the best man I know.

I’ve been thinking about a phone call from him the other day and I don’t know if he’ll ever know what it means to me.

“I’ve just been missing you, Trace. It just keeps crossing my mind that I’d just give about anything to hop on a plane and just be with you. I would love to just show up, just for the weekend and just…just take you to dinner.”

I smiled. He always calls on FaceTime because he wants to see me, not just hear me.

“And then we could just, I don’t know, hang out. I’ve just really been missing you.”

Healing words for his daughter’s soul. It’s amazing how my dad never gets tired of “pursuing” his daughter. All my life he’s taken the time to be with me and do life with me.

I remember when I was little I was "acting out" one day. I couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old. And my dad called me out on what I was doing (something that I was to get used to...).

“Traci, if you need attention you do not do that. You tell me. That is not the way to get attention.”

I remember wondering how he knew that’s why I was doing what I was doing when I didn’t even realize it. But I remember knowing he was right, too. Dad knew everything.

And then I remember putting him to my 6-year-old-little-girl test shortly thereafter. I remember (again, subconsciously) waiting until he was reading or clearly doing something else and crawling up into his lap and taking his face in my two little hands and saying, “Daddy, I need some attention.”

My daddy passed my little girl test with flying colors. He laughed, put everything aside, and played with me. I remember this happening more than once. He never disappointed.

My sisters and I would take turns with my tea set having tea party dates with our dad. That man had 5 children, and somehow managed to have time for all his daughters individually. All of us remember those dates: the dresses, the preparation—Mom helping us with the stressful “menu.” It had to be perfect, of course. As perfect as peanut butter and jelly sandwiches could possibly be.

My father is the one that taught me so many things, but there’s not a day that goes by that the core of me doesn’t recognize that I would not be the woman I am today if not for his willingness to love this strong personality so interminably and sacrificially.

It was my father that took me to task on all of my mouth-running, disrespectful speech all throughout growing up. It was dad that taught me that that my strong personality, really the depth that I was talking about yesterday, is a gift, but a gift to be wielded wisely and to be channeled the right direction by the right Person. I can’t imagine the bulldozing person I’d be today if he hadn't done right by me in teaching where to take my personhood to be molded and shaped (and if he didn’t do some of it himself).

“Traci, do you want to try saying that again?”

“No.” My adolescent attitude would spit out. I mean, he asked the question--to my teenage mind he should have been prepared for the honest answer. “But I will.” (Eye-roll, head cocked, probably arms folded.)

Oh man. I would not have wanted to raise me.

He taught me so many other things too. Everything practical, be it emotionally practical or just logistically practical. Dad made sure I knew how to change the oil in my car. He made me do my own legwork on everything. He taught me how to make the phone call myself, and not expect people to do things for me. He gave the skills I needed to know what it meant to work hard--and that being a girl wasn't an excuse to not learn how to roof, lay carpet, etc. He also didn’t slack on teaching us how to play hard, and remember to live in the moment--when it's right. (Adventure, adventure, adventure.)

But even as a little girl through his constant patient answers to my favorite little supplication: “why, Daddy?” he was teaching me that to always ask the question "why?" is not a bad thing: it is paramount to be well reasoned. Beyond that though, I also began to understand from a young age that the question "why?" doesn't always have a satisfactory answer. And it's a matter of integrity how you handle that reality. More than through just his words my dad showed me that loving God is a lifestyle, not just a choice you make once. And watching my dad read about any and everything (including an entire book on salt--that now I actually kind of want to read) inspired me to NEVER STOP LEARNING.

But eventually, through all of this and more he taught be how to be unselfish, though I still fail so often. It was my father that taught me how to love people: how to pursue them, not just to learn from them, but to invest in them too.

And that is still what he does for me, his daughter. He pursues and loves me so effectively that I can never, never forget. And I thank God I’ll never, never know what kind of woman I’d be without all that he’s put into me all my life.

I really hope he can find a cheap flight one of these days. :)

(Day 21)

Depth

I think it's only been in the last couple months that I've realized that there's a difference between depth and intelligence.

There really is.

Somebody, well, a lot of people this summer asked why I was still single.

What do you say to that? I mean, gracefully?

There was only one person with whom I think I was totally honest. I ended up sounding like an arrogant ass. "I'm always too something. Too old, too spiritual, too deep. But mostly too intelligent."

"You're not modest." They said.

They were right. I was also not correct. I've been thinking about this a lot because it's become so clear to me in the last being around the intellectual caliber that law attracts that depth and intellect are two different things.

I have the depth thing to contend with, not as much the intelligence. I am surrounded by people around me that far surpass me in intelligence. All day, every day.

But that depth. That depth that only gets more and more profound the more I know God. That depth that seems to get more and more difficult but more and more everything I've ever wanted.

Yeah, it's depth.

What is depth? What am I talking about? What does that even mean?

I don't know if I can describe it. But I won't try right now. This one's still brewing.

I just hate that some conversations I can't fix.

(Day 20)

L'Engle

I'm speechless and humbled at having finished Madeleine L'Engle's "Walking on Water." Well, apparently not entirely speechless because here I sit writing...anyway.

Law school has begun again and so I have taken advantage of Labor Day weekend to finish the books that I'd started this summer (and to get a head start on the many readings for my Law in Lit class). Walking on Water has been waiting for me for a couple of weeks.

Madeleine L'Engle is a renowned, prize-winning author that I remember reading and adoring as a child. I read all her A Wrinkle in Time series for they enraptured me when I was young...and now I could not for the life of me tell anyone what the stories were about. Although I do know the word "mitochondria" because of her. I had no idea about her faith.

I was shocked to find that this volume had been written before I was born. I felt as if Madeleine was inside my head, especially when she was talking about service to art. And then when she talked about the relationship that prayer shares with the creative process...I wish I could have had coffee with this woman:

"In prayer, in the creative process, these two parts of ourselves, the mind and the heart, the intellect and the intuition, the conscious and the subconscious mind, stop fighting and collaborate. Theophan the Recluse advised those who came to him for counsel to "pray with the mind in the heart," and surely this is how the artist works. When the mind and the heart work together they know each other as two people woth love each other know' and as the love to the two people is a gift, a totally unmerited, incomprehensible gift. so is the union of the mind and heart."

True art is a prayer, a form of communication with God. I have felt and lived this. I love this soul put on paper and I can only hope that my art and pursuit of it will lead my soul to become as beautifully humble as hers.

Thank you, Madeleine, for your example. Someday, let's talk.

(Day 19)

Anna

I started to finally write a bit about Anna Karenina, and I think I've finally begun to articulate what moved me most about her story. I mean, the novel has essentially two protagonists and Anna is only on of them (the other being Levin), but I was definitely far more captivated by the book's namesake. I listened to Anna on audiobook, and I actually found the experience far more rewarding than any past audiobook (the reader was exceptional, I think).

First of all, the fact that Tolstoy so effectively got inside the mind of a woman is both laudable and, as a woman, almost uncomfortable. I was shocked at how much I identified and understood Anna's thought processes and was all but blushing at moments to hear some emotions that I know I've experienced so adequately described and articulated. There were times that I was squirming. Admittedly, there's much that Anna did that I have not done, but I was unprepared to identify with her so much.

But the fact that, as a man, Tolstoy was able to so poignantly portray the vast complexities of a female character such as Anna left me wondering if maybe most of Anna's internal struggle was actually universally human and not merely feminine--though the way her struggle manifests itself in jealousy, etc, in many ways (unfortunately) defines the feminine stereotype. I think there may be some truth to this because I think that we as society often chalk up some women's struggles as peculiar to the female gender when perhaps the struggle is more common to all mankind than all mankind cares to admit. Maybe, I'm just speculating.

Anyway, the other thing that surprised me is that the end that Anna made for herself (depending on your theology/philosophy) made me unexpectedly thankful for feminism. I didn't expect that reaction but I felt my heart "going out" to Anna who, Tolstoy makes clear, is a very intelligent, broad minded, passionate, principled and--for all (original) intents and purposes--moral woman. Anna was amazing, she was the pinnacle of what a Russian woman in society was to be, for the novel paints that picture well in the first parts of the story. She was the envy of the Russian elite--and the elite ended up (ah, human nature) delighting in her downfall when it came.

But this same society however required her first to marry to live. Then such a marriage had its proper duties and appearances to keep up. But what affected me the most was that the eventuality for Anna was that the intellectual and spiritual confines of the life and existence into which she seemed even willingly fall (at first) ended up being far, far less than the depth that her beautiful soul needed for her true satisfaction.

And this is why she ended up turning to Vronsky. In my opinion, of course, this was not the correct venue to channel her dissatisfaction nor to find its fulfillment. I believe that our true fulfillment and satisfaction can never be found outside of a relationship with God--though certainly and even designedly relationships with people and especially marriage play a role in that as well. However, the deep yearning that Anna felt was an echo in her soul crying out for spiritual fulfillment that she would never be able to find in Count Vronsky.

For this, I felt an immense level of compassion for Anna, an amazing woman who was not socially or even religiously allowed live up to her true, God given potential. I think it's fair to say that the way the church and religion was put out to the Russian world in that day did no favors to Anna to find her path to what she truly needed. Indeed, there seems to have been an unhealthy marriage between the church and the social norms of the day that worked against her--and really against themselves.

In her deep and abiding dissatisfaction she turned to a man and it was her ruin. But I could even understand this part to a degree. There have been times in my life (albeit very few) when I have met someone, even if it was extremely briefly, that seemed to understand me to such a jarringly deep degree that I was left so completely fascinated and, well, transfixed on the connection that seemed to be between us--almost powerless. Obviously, it's never ended or even proceeded for me the way it did for Anna, but still, if I'm really honest the connection between her and Vronsky that utterly bewitched her isn't completely foreign to me. I can relate, poor thing.

But anyway, the whole story made me wonder if things would have been different for such a remarkable woman had she had more opportunity in her day (yes, I realize it's fiction). I have avenues to be healthier than she in my pursuit for wholeness, for fulfillment. This, I guess for me, was the true tragedy in the story.

And I found myself uttering thanks to God that I now live in a world where I don't have to marry to live, that I can explore the world, both geographically and intellectually, as much as I want and I have the resources at my tips to know GOD as much as my heart so desires. And if I ever marry, it will be because it's right, not because I have to. These things Anna never knew nor could she, arguably, in her day.

That said, I am not blaming Anna's adultery on society. I would be the last to absolve her of her behavior. Reasons for one's behavior do not automatically make excuses. I can see in the story where she would have been wiser to run...and she didn't. No, what I am saying is:

While she had a responsibility to navigate it better, and she tragically failed, Anna's world also tragically limited her in her time, and I'm grateful that my world is different than hers.

(Day 18)

Thorn in the Flesh (Weaknesses Continued)

So, after my short reflection on weaknesses yesterday, I’ve been thinking about another thing that happened this year that kind of plays off that principle. I think I’m ready to write about this. Until now I haven’t because, well, I just had a lot of processing to do about it. But here goes.

Mid-May this year, one week before my second round of law school finals, I got diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), at 31 years old.

I kind of have to stare at that for a second. I realize that there is a host of individuals that have lived with this for a long time, and so it’s not a big deal for them, but it was for me. 

When I was younger I always dreamed of going to Harvard. In any capacity, really. I had dreams of learning so many languages I’d lose count and I was going to be living all over the world. I wanted to get my doctorate in Shakespeare at Oxford and maybe in French somewhere too.

I was going to be amazing. And I was riding on pride. (Enough said.)

Anyway, I was homeschooled, and this is the biggest reason that my issue never got caught. I do not have the “hyperactive” version of ADD (turns out it’s rare in females). I remember having some difficulty in school growing up but I always wanted to finish my school work so my mom never really worried about me. But I remember spending an inordinate time on math, and my grades never seemed up to snuff in my Literary Circle courses. I was never good enough—or that’s how I felt anyway. But I thought that was just the prideful perfectionist in me that wanted to be the smartest person I knew. 

There was definitely a lot of that pride, but my mom was wonderful through all of my schooling years in that she never fed my perfectionism. She instead made every effort to reign it in:

“Your best is good enough, Traci. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“You’re not going to be good at everything, honey, and that’s okay.”

But I always felt I could do better and I wasn’t living up to what I could do. Looking back, I think that it’s partially true, but I’m also really glad my mom chose to tame my perfectionism instead of encourage it.

I started at the local community college at 15 years old. So, naturally, me working harder that the people around me didn’t phase me, I figured it was normal because I was younger. Also, I found my niche at Clackamas Community College: languages. I excelled in my French immersion courses there and loved every minute of them.

I was always a very driven student and I was determined to graduate high school with my associate’s degree and so my mom let me handle figuring that out. I did it, and then I wanted desperately to continue on to a 4-year university. I finally did 2 years later and ended up majoring in French--I just couldn’t give it up.

I did fine in college, with the exception of a couple of courses, and my grades were never any red flags because I love to learn and school has always been very, very important to me. I studied mostly on my own and was very autonomous throughout college. Language studies came pretty easily to me but I never thought twice about the fact that the literature classes were more difficult for me than the grammar classes. I guess I just figured it was because I had never spent time in France and didn’t have the feel for the language that my classmates did. I ended up graduating college cum laude, though, never suspecting any issue whatsoever.

But then I thought it kind of strange that I had so much trouble studying for the LSAT. I had to take extra time than I planned (3-4 months more) and it was so, so hard to concentrate--and it wasn’t for lack of will. I worked long and hard and I ended up scoring significantly lower on my test than my consistent practice test scores and I was frustrated. I chalked it up to some other circumstances in my life at the time. (Sidenote: God provided an amazing scholarship anyway. I see now that it was partially my LSAT score that helped me end up exactly where I needed to be. If I had scored higher I may have not come to UST. Interesting to think about now.)

Then I got to law school: one of the biggest and healthiest blows that my pride has ever suffered, and I’m actually glad for that.  I think I’ve mentioned before that my big ego thought I’d rock law school, that I’d be top of my class, maybe transfer, etc. and none of that happened.

Actually what ended up happening was I started to notice that the people around me didn’t have as much trouble concentrating. I started noticing the extreme difficulty I had when trying to read with anyone else around. I would literally get angry when someone started talking because I couldn’t tune them out and continue reading. Sometimes I would have to leave my study group to study because I couldn’t pay attention.... I knew it wasn't normal that I couldn't functionally study in a group, because I could see my classmates didn't have any problem with it.

Then there were afternoons when I would literally find myself in tears because I was only 10 pages into a 30 page reading assignment that I'd already spent 2 hours on and I couldn’t for the life of me absorb what I was reading--and it wasn't for lack of desire to understand. I was shocked and could not understand why all of the sudden I felt so dumb.

Then one day the subject of ADD came up in conversation and I began to look up symptoms. I was shocked with what I found—I seemed to pretty much fit the profile.

To make a long story short,  that conversation spurred me getting “screened.” Every one I talked to seemed skeptical at first. After all, I was 31 years old and the first year of law school is grueling. I felt the skepticism, too, but I didn’t care if I had ADD or didn’t I just needed to know what was wrong…or if I was just lazy like I’d thought for all these years.

But, the psychologist came back with this: I had pretty much textbook ADD. What’s more is I scored very, very high in language skills and so it was little wonder that my issue didn’t get caught in college because I chose a major that played to my strengths. Additionally, my unique early education circumstances allowed for me to pretty much take all the time I needed to get anything done. And since I was the oldest, mom had no one to compare my habits to.

Amazingly, the “Red Sea parted” right before my last 1L exams and I got the help I needed. In all honesty, it’s still hard to admit that I need this help, but it is what it is. The diagnosis was hard to receive, but for reasons I didn’t foresee. It has made me look back on my life and wonder where I would be if I had known about it and had the help I needed before now. Would I be smart enough to be at Harvard like I always dreamed? Would I have actually been Oxford caliber? I’ll never know, but that’s not the point. 

The point is rather that God promises us that He’ll give us what we need to accomplish our path and I have to trust that I didn’t need to know about this till now, otherwise I would have. And I'm right where I am supposed to be ADD or not--that I don't doubt. But here’s the clincher: I was talking to my dad about this shortly after the diagnosis and he said something that I’ve since thought a lot about:

“I’m thinking about this, Trace, and looking back on your life. You’ve often chosen the hard thing in many situations and we’ve often wondered why. You’ve chosen to be disciplined about things you didn’t need to be or chosen just a harder path. But now it makes sense. Harder was normal for you….”

Wow. I guess maybe there's some truth to that. I’ve often been slightly mocked or chuckled at for choosing “hard things.” "Whatever that means," I would think. I think my dad might be on to something that the ADD was a factor: I probably had to work harder to get where I wanted. But now I'm glad because I learned so much discipline along the way that is so incredibly valuable. 

So here’s the nexus with what I wrote about yesterday: I had to learn this discipline to compensate for a bona fide “disability” that I didn’t know I had. And now that I know about it and have the help that I now know I need (and I’m not using that word lightly) the discipline that I have already learned will likely enable to me to become a far, far more productive individual than if I had never had this disability in the first place.

And if that is so—only time will tell—I’m grateful for it. But what’s cool is I now have a completely different perspective on my future and what I can do and handle. Thank GOD.

Even Paul had a thorn in the flesh. I think this is one of mine. So be it.

(Day 17)