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)