i feel

I've got a tattoo on my foot that reads "sento"

It came from the hands of an italian woman in an irish parlor

we laughed as I cried at the pain

after all, sento means "I feel"

she wrapped my foot in plastic and we smoked a joint and went dancing

just before I caught my flight back to the states

I came across the word in a small workshop in Florence

the artist had it printed on her jewelry

I asked her what it meant

'I feel' she said,

as she explained how that word embodied so many things-

a sense of freedom and fullness

anyone who knows me well, will tell you I need no help with this

'She came out of the womb with that word on her foot', they'd say

feeling is something I have always done fully

concealing has never been my specialty

'let it be' is not the course of action i usually take

I'm a mover, I'm a shaker

I like to feel all the feelings 

and leave no stone unturned

I'm not one to back down 

and it's fine until the tough things start to kick in

the confusion, the doubt, the loneliness, the vulnerability

because then I want to immediately resolve it

then I do something rash

I start acting out of self preservation

I have the conversation prematurely

Tears fall as I revert to worst case scenario-

the world is closing in on me

doubt is the only sound I can hear

and then I regret it all

this is when my feelings don't give me freedom and they don't make me full

they steal happiness 

and they make me heavy

repelling all of my self that i love so much

my laughter, my freeness, my lightness

they make me easy during the good times

and more than challenging during the bad

can someone else see past that much

could they love me that fully

i tell myself yes, then I wonder if the answer is really no

sento.

I must make sure that I am in a good state. So often I feel rushed- 

on the scout for my next binge, the next thing to stimulate my senses- 

that I cannot simply live... 

To go slowly through life, living in the present,

leaning into the idea that the only thing I control is the way I respond-
that is what I would like for myself. 

How much of my reality is shaped by perceptions and expectations? 

As Bernd put it- "If you miss the train because you were reading a book- 

well it must have been a really good book"

-excerpt from my backpacking journal on 9.2.16

As old as Woe

How old is that?

Some Eighteen thousand years

As old as Bliss, Joy

How old is that?

They are of equal years

Together chiefly they are found

But tho seldom side by side

From neither of them tho' he try

May Human Nature hide

-Emily Dickinson

I turned 23 yesterday- and as with most birthdays, the only noticeably different aspect of the day was being able to eat all the cake I wanted with #noragrets and get away with bossily informing my friends that they must laugh at my jokes and let me ride shotgun in honor of the special occasion. And aside from mourning the loss of no longer being able to relate to Taylor Swift’s hit song- 22 was a pretty good year for me.

I traveled to 2 continents and visited 9 countries- 7 of which I backpacked through all by myself (*puffs up chest with an unwarranted sense of girl power*). I passed all four sections of the CPA. I got an article that I wrote published. I shot more weddings than I expected. I completed my master’s degree in Accounting (feel free to refer to me as master parsons from now on). I got the camera I had been dreaming of for years. I made the big move to Portland and finally got out of the southeast. I landed a seasonal position at my fave shop (okay yes I know this sounds incredibly stupid but I have always wanted to work there and the employee discount is the bomb.com). And this may not seem like a particularly impressive list, but for me in those moments, it was.

In a lot of ways, I crossed a lot of things off of my bucket list and did a lot of things that I did not think that I could do. And if you had told me last December that this was what my 22^nd year was going to entail, I would have jumped up and down with excitement and cried tears of joy. But these things have happened, and my 22^nd year has come and gone and I don’t feel like jumping up and down and if I’m crying, it’s not tears of joy.

And while I have my moments of pride and unreasonable amounts of self confidence, on an everyday basis I don’t feel any braver, any smarter, any more accomplished. I sit down to write things and quickly stop, feeling defeated before I even begin. I am more critical of my photography than ever before. I walk into my seasonal job, convinced that they’re going to fire me because I am not near as fashionable as the rest of them. And as excited as I am to be in a new city, I still feel like a stranger there in a lot of ways.

And there’s a certain aspect of this that is due to comparison- and like all of our grandmothers have always told us- comparison truly is the thief of joy. Because no matter how many accolades I accumulate or things I accomplish, there will always be someone doing something more and the grass will always seem a bit greener on the other side. We all compare ourselves to others, and while this tendency can be managed, I’m not sure that it ever goes away entirely.

But I think there’s something a little more than comparison behind the things that I have been feeling. And in talking to my friends, I’ve gathered that maybe this is a common theme among the twenties crowd. We all have arrived at adulthood and some of us are less than impressed at what we’ve found. For myself, I expected to find a little more of a sense of importance. I want to make a difference and I want the things I do to matter. And you can study a lot of things in school- but they can’t really teach how to make a difference in the world or how to matter in a classroom. And when your daily routine consists of editing pictures so that people will feel pretty and arranging clothes in size order and ringing up people that literally are spending your whole month’s rent in one shopping trip, it’s really easy to laugh at how shallow everything around you seems.

And I haven’t made much sense of those feelings yet, and I haven’t developed a very good defense strategy against them- other than finding comfort in the fact that maybe this is something I should just lean in to. And I wonder if people like Mother Teresa (sp?) or Martin Luther King or Ghandi had the same critiques about their lives. I wonder if they often felt like there was so much more that they could be doing. I wonder if they even realized how much change they made. And not that I would ever impact the world on that kind of degree, but I have always been a big believer that we impact people more than we think. You know, that quote that someone smart said- “you may not be able to change the world, but you can change the world for one person.”

Sooooooo if any of my fellow millennials are feeling similar things- know that you’re not alone. We matter, the seemingly meaningless jobs matter, and I think that regardless of how much change we bring to the world- we will always feel that there is more to be done. So that’s where I’m at. Holla if you feel the same.

"It is not that we have lost faith in God, it is that we have lost faith in the church"

What are you to do when you find yourself in a place where you hate the church, but you know in the deepest of ways that you love God? And how do you reconcile the God that you know with the hurt that you see the church bring? It's no new concept after all- the church has been a source of hurt and wrong doing since the very beginning. That is a concept that transcends religion. No matter what God you believe in or what denomination you identify with, where there is a church, there will also be people- perverting God's words and distorting God's will. History repeats itself and it may have been thousands of years ago, but not much has changed since the time that Jesus stood outside of the temple, flipping tables and declaring it to be a den of robbers. The very institution that proclaims to love God and represent Him on earth, has become the same institution that is the pinnacle of earthly wealth and shallow intentions. I am speaking of course of the church in America, I am not familiar with anything else. The churches where the pastor takes an offering and it is not used to feed the hungry or clothe the poor or provide shelter for the homeless or even further "the gospel". No, it is used to pay the mortgage of the house that is too big, to buy the new playground for the children to use once a week, to buy a new drumset so that worship will feel more "alive", to buy more cushioned seats because we couldn't stand to be uncomfortable for an hour and a half, to send the rich american high schoolers to another country so they can see what it is like to not have any material possesions- as if they were going on a vacation to see some far away zoo, except instead of being filled with animals it is filled with people, living real lives and doing real things. 

The word "christian" has been turned into a description of someones character, rather than a statement of their beliefs. To say someone is a Christian is no longer to say that they believe in Christ, it is to say that they are a good person. And in doing so, we have taken something so deep and personal and mysterious and turned it into a shallow, black and white way of living. And I'm sure we all know- not all good people are christians and not all christians are good people. In fact, most of the best people that I have met have not been christians. 

In many ways, it seems that the church has reduced a relationship with God down to a set of rules, of which they are the author and in doing so, have made themselves one of the most trivial, laughable institutions. The church has been so busy criticizing and judging that it has failed to notice the foundation that is crumbling under it's feet. Because when you remove the grey area that is a fundamental part of Christianity, what you are left with is a breeding ground of insecurity and judgement- where  imperfect people are trying their damndest to be perfect and in doing so, have sucked every bit of grace out of the room. 

We judge because we want absolute truths from a religion that doesn't have many absolutes to offer. We point fingers because we can't accept that what tempts you and causes sin may not tempt me. We are no longer looking to God for how to live, instead we are looking to friends, to pastors, to the seemingly "good" christian people around us. And in this, I have found that there is nothing more than sore disappointment. 

So that is where I am left- with my hands in the air wondering what the hell to make of all of it. I have started from the most fundamental levels and so far the truth I have found for myself is this- I know there is a God and I know that I have felt him. I know that things are not as they should be and I know that I am not the only person asking these questions. And of the rest- of my opinions on the church- I do not know if I am right, I do not know if I am wrong- I only know what my experience has been. 

There Is No Safe Investment

"There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. 

Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. 

If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. 

Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; 

avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.

But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. 

It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."

I think of these words and I think of how easy they are to say and how much harder they are to live. I think of the false security we feel when we hold ourselves back from uncertain investments, and the false realities we create when we take on too many of them. I tend to be guilty of the latter. But whatever end of the spectrum you fall on, the real truth lies C.S. Lewis' first sentence- there are no safe investments. No matter how safe you feel, no matter how vulnerable you are, nothing is safe and nothing is certain. 

As a person who does not shy away at most uncertainties, I feel fine about this. But it's that same appetite for uncertainty that makes me feel less than fine when others play it more safe than myself. To me, I see that and I want to kick and scream and say "see above! It's not safe, it's never been safe, and the safer you try to make your life, the less of it there is to live." And that is where, while I feel like I am right, I am wrong. 

Because I can't tell you how to love and I can't tell you how to feel  and I can't tell you what to do in the face of uncertainty and it's not my job to make those calls for anyone but myself. But I can love, and I can continue to love, knowing that there is no safe investment and that nothing is certain, but that its worth it in the end because to feel that much means that I'm alive. And while it may not change anything, when has the world ever been worse off because there's a little more love in it than there was before?  

"It is not the critic who counts; not the

man who points out how the strong man

stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could

have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually

in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and

sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who

errs, who comes short again and again,

because there is no effort without error and

shortcoming; but who does actually strive to

do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms,

the great devotions; who spends himself in a

worthy cause;

who at the best knows in the end the triumph

of high achievement, and who at the worst, if

he fails, at least fails while daring greatly..."

Theodore Roosevelt

The Disruptive Reality

She asked me if he had beaten me, and without blinking, 

the word "Yes" came out of my mouth. 

I had never lied about that night before, and I don't know why, after two years, I lied. I don't think that I meant to. I don't even think I knew what was coming out of my mouth when I opened it to speak. I had lied to myself about that night plenty of times, but never to another person. But there was a certain tone to her voice that I had picked up on, and my instincts took over; convinced that in order for her to believe I had been raped, she needed to believe that I had been beaten too. 

And to be honest, there was a sick part of me in that moment that wished he had hit me*. There was a part that wished I had been knocked unconscious, because then I would have been taken to the hospital and I would have the proof. I would have earned the scars that society needed for me to earn in order to believe that I had been raped.

What does it take after all? A black eye, a bloody nose, bruised hips? What does it take for society to give it’s approving nod that legitimizes what happened to me? How many disgusting details do I have to share to convince you that night changed my life?

And here in lies the problem with rape, with abuse, with sexual assault. People don’t want to believe what is right in front of them. They don’t want to entertain the idea that their brother, their father, the funny guy in the friend group, the respected church member would ever be capable of something so terrible. It's too inconvenient, too disruptive to believe the facts. But as a victim, I didn't have the choice to prevent the facts from inconveniencing and disrupting my reality.

Because the man that raped me became very un-funny, very un-nice, and very un-good after that night. And to be honest, so did a lot of the people around me. It was very un-good of my friends to continue to hang out with him. It was very un-nice of a family member to tell me that it was my fault. It was very un-funny when his pastor did nothing after being given all the facts. 

It’s time to wake up.   

I stand by the words “Until it happens to you, you don't know how it feels”, and I hope you never know how it feels. But just because you don't know how it feels doesn't mean that you don't know how to see what is right in front of you, on the silver platter of misfortune that is ungrudgingly assembled, and do something about it.

(*I by no means want anyone to think that those words are meant to be derogatory towards other victims, and it is not my intent to discount anyone's experience. It was my intent however to be honest and raw in what my experience was. I do have a support system, and the worst of my experience is behind me, but the shock of how this issue is dealt with still stings as much as it did two years ago. I was blessed to be spared what many victims are not, and for that I am very thankful.)

Circumcision is a matter of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the Law. 
His praise is not from man, but from God.

| Romans 2:29-30 |

I read these verses and I think of myself and I think of my friends, and I cringe because I see the lies that we've all been told and how far from the light they have led us, all the while we thought we were doing exactly what was asked of us by God. I think of myself growing up and all the of the praise I received and all of the praise that I sought and all of the confusion I felt because I was doing all the right things but I felt so empty. I think of myself the past couple of years and I think of all the praise I did not receive and all the praise I did not seek and all the shame I put on myself because I was doing the opposite of what I thought was right. And I think of myself now and I think of all the thanks I feel  because I can see that God is there and He loves me and He is listening and I can see that He has always been there loving and listening, I just wasn't looking for Him. 

 We are told to attain to high standards, to behave in a way that makes society smile, to have regular church attendance, to do a daily devotion, to pray about big life decisions before we make them. We are told that these things make us good people and they make us Christians and they give us a good life. But if you've lived for a minute, you know that they don't.

Because Christ did not ask us to do any of that and He did not die for that. He did not die so that we could pretend like we have it all together; He did not ask us to have it all together. He does ask us to leave everything behind and follow him and in exchange He doesn't make us feel like good people, He makes us complete. He looks at us and knowing that we are far from perfect, loves us anyways. He realigns our thoughts from thinking about here to thinking about Home. He opens our eyes to see the bigger picture, to feel our purpose, to experience and to share love and grace and redemption in an undeniable and infectious way. He prepares us for Home, and He invites us to help prepare others. And when we see that, when we see what Christ has for us and we see that He is not looking for our checklist, but for our love, the opinions of men become laughably insignificant. When we can stand in confidence in what He has for us, the expectations of our peers, of the Christian culture, of society, they all shatter, 
because in the face of God they have no voice. 

I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks 

for early light dappled through leaves and the heavy perfume of wild roses 

in early July and the song of crickets on humid nights and the rivers 

that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and 

all the good things that a good God gives.

| Ann Voskamp |

This season has been one of thanks. There's been lots of good and there's been lots of learning, and I am filled with thankfulness for it all. Thankful for all that God has been doing, thankful for seeing His hands in everything. Thankful for being given open eyes and an open heart that wants to seek Him. Thankful for wanting to be present in life. Thankful that even though it's been a long past couple of years and in spite of everything that has happened, God has brought me here, to this place, in this moment, where I can see that it wasn't for nothing and that there is a purpose behind it all.