Damn Lucky
Here’s the problem. I’ve got to be blown away. I mean, AMAZED. Then again, I have to be adored. The two don’t seem to mix. I mean, if I am truly amazed by a guy then what is the likelihood he will feel the same way about me? Whereas, if I am not amazed by the guy but he is amazed by me we will continue to play a charade where I keep going on date after date hoping that at some point I am amazed by him all the while knowing that even if I were to get into a relationship with this person I would not be happy because I would be constantly thinking about how they just do not blow me away.
Got it?
So maybe this is why I’ve been so utterly single for the past sixteen months unless you count the blip that was Kip, but I don’t (unless he does) -which I’m sure he doesn’t. So I am back to the beginning. I’ve got a bit of a problem and my friends are tired of hearing about it. One of my friends says I’m way too picky and I need to lower my standards and give someone a fucking chance.
“For Christsakes Clare, give him a fucking chance!”
And then my other friend, well she listens quite quietly and then responds “Well Clare you see it’s not really that big of a deal. It doesn’t really matter at all. Next week someone new will ask you out and you will replace this heartbreak with a new one. Don’t you see that you never have to be upset because there’s always a replacement? Well, at least for girls like you.”
You would think I didn’t have a heart. I can steal feel…whether it be for one or twenty.
(Whoa that sounds messed up)
Then my ex says “You’re damn lucky you’re pretty. You as annoying as hell and no one would put up with that sarcasm of yours if you weren’t so damn pretty.” And I think, shit he’s right. I am severely messed up and every day and date that goes by proves the point even further. I want to think it wasn’t always this way. Once, when asked how old I was the last time I was single, I responded…”I don’t know…12”. Yeah, it happened.
But through a dramatic course of events that involved one birthday, a chocolate pie, a Myspace page, and an extremely pissed-off Clare, I decided to take a break. I hung up my dancing shoes. I didn’t go on a single date for three months. Then there was New Years, some garbage-can punch, and one serious conversation in the bathroom. Again, I was left smarting.
Well, I made that birthday call again this year but left out the chocolate pie. As I sat down the phone, I looked at my best-friend (the one with the boyfriend) and we both said “What a difference a year makes”.
The point is that, I am still single and I’m OK. I’m moving to France in two months for a year abroad until I start law school. Honestly, I’m in love with my life right now. Do I wish there was someone to share it with? Sometimes, but more often than not, I am content.
At the end of the day, I’m still friends with all my exes (minus one), my friends ask for my advice on their relationships (so I must not be too messed-up), and my guy friends do wonderful things like tell me I’m the epitome of amazingness (I heart Pat).
You know, being the single friend isn’t so bad after all.
Monday, July 30
Thursday, July 26
Remember it well
Conversations #1
She breathed in a sigh of relief and listened to the wood creak in response. Old wooden benches, laid down with piety, rubbed worn from trembling hands. “Remember us?” she spoke softly to him. “Remember us in this place, when I was young and you were so wise. Remember when you held me here and made me believe? I remember it well, my skin on fire with the warmth of your embrace; I can feel it now.
“Remember us?”
The sweat of her palm left a print on the antique wood, an unseen mark to her tightly closed eyes. Her memories plagued the moments that surrounded her, causing her fear of what she might see if her eyes were to open. The air around her was thick, warming her through her thin blouse.
“I know we can be together again if we just…”
She reached her hands out to touch him but only grasped the air. Her eyes opened in a flourish of despair and she was alone again. There were no accompanying palm prints to remind her of the presence she had felt so clearly next to her. There was no sound that could fill the void that permeated the dark wooden walls. Her eyes quickly pressed tightly together again but the words were gone. Her throat choked back a cry, the air whitened by the condensation in her warm breath. She placed her palms squarely on the altar, and lifted herself up from her knees. With her eyes squarely on the cross she turned and walked slowly out of the sanctuary.
Conversations #1
She breathed in a sigh of relief and listened to the wood creak in response. Old wooden benches, laid down with piety, rubbed worn from trembling hands. “Remember us?” she spoke softly to him. “Remember us in this place, when I was young and you were so wise. Remember when you held me here and made me believe? I remember it well, my skin on fire with the warmth of your embrace; I can feel it now.
“Remember us?”
The sweat of her palm left a print on the antique wood, an unseen mark to her tightly closed eyes. Her memories plagued the moments that surrounded her, causing her fear of what she might see if her eyes were to open. The air around her was thick, warming her through her thin blouse.
“I know we can be together again if we just…”
She reached her hands out to touch him but only grasped the air. Her eyes opened in a flourish of despair and she was alone again. There were no accompanying palm prints to remind her of the presence she had felt so clearly next to her. There was no sound that could fill the void that permeated the dark wooden walls. Her eyes quickly pressed tightly together again but the words were gone. Her throat choked back a cry, the air whitened by the condensation in her warm breath. She placed her palms squarely on the altar, and lifted herself up from her knees. With her eyes squarely on the cross she turned and walked slowly out of the sanctuary.
Monday, July 23
Chapter 7
This Life
“The words of the American Declaration of Independence ring: right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This is what America is about: the pursuit. Notice that the framers did not write that people had the outright right to happiness. No, that would have been far too easy. You see, America has become to be defined by this statement, this turn of phrase, which will promise you the chance to pursue all your wildest dreams, lest you achieve some, that you can began your pursuit over again. Europe is a continent defined by its history; America is defined by the lack of history. America is an idea. It was born out of an idea and has thrived upon many more. Philosophers believed the skies were higher in the United States. What was this open space used for? It was space for the mind, space for thought. When you begin to grasp the concept of the America, then you will begin to understand her and the literature that has been written about her.” Mr. Johnson’s emphasis has ended sharply on the word ‘her’. His hand poised in the air with the pointer and thumb pursed together as if to place the importance directly into our minds.
“Can you see it?” A voice from behind startles me as it whispers delicately in my ear. I turn around so quick that Christopher is forced to jerk back.
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds more accusatory than I had imagined it in my head but he had caught me off guard. I notice the strange feeling that is left in me at the surprise site of him, a mixture of anger, annoyance, and… love.
“I teach this class. Remember?” His voice is haughty but doesn’t explain why he chose to sit in the BACK of a class that he normally instructs but today has let a visiting American professor lead. “Oh, come on Maria, how long are you going to leave me in this state or purgatory?”
“What the bloody ‘ell are you on about?”
“This state of unknown, either we’re friends or we’re not. We’re together or we’re not…. I’ve missed you.” The fact that he is still behind me has prevented me from fully seeing his face on this last statement.
“Thank you class, I will be here all week helping Professor Woolsey.” All the students immediately began to pack their things and talk amongst themselves. That was one thing I always enjoyed about English classrooms, nobody started packing before the professor was finished.
“Christopher”, I say as I stand up to face him and put away my things, “I would prefer you not say those things unless you are in the position to do something about it. I have never said that we can’t be friends but it’s going to take some time for me.”
“Right, of course love, He leans in to wrap his arms around me and give me a kiss on my cheek, whispering into my ear, “I’m sorry.”
I want to melt and scream at the same time. Once, after we had broken up, Sarah saw him do this very same routine- a strong hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her response had been, “I’d still be in love with him too if he gave me hugs like that.”
I didn’t have a response at the time, and there was none for me right now. I nodded and walked quickly out of the room…
“He’s an arrogant prick and you shouldn’t be talking to him.” Sarah’s statement is punctuated by her slamming beer. Ah beer and girlfriends, it’s what makes the world go round.
‘I just…”
“No, listen to me. Maria, I’m going to be honest with you. You might not want to hear this but it is the truth. You like a lot of people and a lot of people like you. It happens. You can find someone else. You know that. I know when you met Christopher, it was amazing but he’s not the end of your life. He’s not John.”
“Thanks” I mutter and turn to gaze out the window. The campus was beginning to weigh down on me.
“Besides, what the hell was that purgatory comment about? I told you not to date someone in the English department, they are entirely too melodramatic. Remember the time he thought you were dating Stephen and he text-messaged you: I want to expose your tangled web of lies. Give me a fucking break. Maria, you know what your problem is?”
“No, please tell me.” I smile at her but she doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm.
“You want excitement and depth. You want someone that is passionate yet analytical. You want this crazy mix of person that, well, just ends up being crazy. If you would settle down with a nice normal guy maybe you wouldn’t have all this drama. I mean, seriously, you should write a book about all these experiences. Are you listening to me?”
I was still gazing outside of our college pub, considering where else I could go to get away from here.
“Do you want to go to Spain?” I’m still looking at the passing college kids when I say this, asking myself and Sarah at the same time.
“What? I mean, Ok, but why?”
“I don’t really want this life”
My statement has caught us both off-guard. It was one of those moments when you speak the real truth and it scares the shit out of people. One of those moments that if you don’t change something immediately then you will know you lost your chance.
“Yeah… well right now it’s the only one you got.” We gaze at each other for a few moments to let the sentence sink in.
Slowly Sarah lifts her drink, “Finish your beer; we have a plane ticket to buy.”
This Life
“The words of the American Declaration of Independence ring: right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This is what America is about: the pursuit. Notice that the framers did not write that people had the outright right to happiness. No, that would have been far too easy. You see, America has become to be defined by this statement, this turn of phrase, which will promise you the chance to pursue all your wildest dreams, lest you achieve some, that you can began your pursuit over again. Europe is a continent defined by its history; America is defined by the lack of history. America is an idea. It was born out of an idea and has thrived upon many more. Philosophers believed the skies were higher in the United States. What was this open space used for? It was space for the mind, space for thought. When you begin to grasp the concept of the America, then you will begin to understand her and the literature that has been written about her.” Mr. Johnson’s emphasis has ended sharply on the word ‘her’. His hand poised in the air with the pointer and thumb pursed together as if to place the importance directly into our minds.
“Can you see it?” A voice from behind startles me as it whispers delicately in my ear. I turn around so quick that Christopher is forced to jerk back.
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds more accusatory than I had imagined it in my head but he had caught me off guard. I notice the strange feeling that is left in me at the surprise site of him, a mixture of anger, annoyance, and… love.
“I teach this class. Remember?” His voice is haughty but doesn’t explain why he chose to sit in the BACK of a class that he normally instructs but today has let a visiting American professor lead. “Oh, come on Maria, how long are you going to leave me in this state or purgatory?”
“What the bloody ‘ell are you on about?”
“This state of unknown, either we’re friends or we’re not. We’re together or we’re not…. I’ve missed you.” The fact that he is still behind me has prevented me from fully seeing his face on this last statement.
“Thank you class, I will be here all week helping Professor Woolsey.” All the students immediately began to pack their things and talk amongst themselves. That was one thing I always enjoyed about English classrooms, nobody started packing before the professor was finished.
“Christopher”, I say as I stand up to face him and put away my things, “I would prefer you not say those things unless you are in the position to do something about it. I have never said that we can’t be friends but it’s going to take some time for me.”
“Right, of course love, He leans in to wrap his arms around me and give me a kiss on my cheek, whispering into my ear, “I’m sorry.”
I want to melt and scream at the same time. Once, after we had broken up, Sarah saw him do this very same routine- a strong hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her response had been, “I’d still be in love with him too if he gave me hugs like that.”
I didn’t have a response at the time, and there was none for me right now. I nodded and walked quickly out of the room…
“He’s an arrogant prick and you shouldn’t be talking to him.” Sarah’s statement is punctuated by her slamming beer. Ah beer and girlfriends, it’s what makes the world go round.
‘I just…”
“No, listen to me. Maria, I’m going to be honest with you. You might not want to hear this but it is the truth. You like a lot of people and a lot of people like you. It happens. You can find someone else. You know that. I know when you met Christopher, it was amazing but he’s not the end of your life. He’s not John.”
“Thanks” I mutter and turn to gaze out the window. The campus was beginning to weigh down on me.
“Besides, what the hell was that purgatory comment about? I told you not to date someone in the English department, they are entirely too melodramatic. Remember the time he thought you were dating Stephen and he text-messaged you: I want to expose your tangled web of lies. Give me a fucking break. Maria, you know what your problem is?”
“No, please tell me.” I smile at her but she doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm.
“You want excitement and depth. You want someone that is passionate yet analytical. You want this crazy mix of person that, well, just ends up being crazy. If you would settle down with a nice normal guy maybe you wouldn’t have all this drama. I mean, seriously, you should write a book about all these experiences. Are you listening to me?”
I was still gazing outside of our college pub, considering where else I could go to get away from here.
“Do you want to go to Spain?” I’m still looking at the passing college kids when I say this, asking myself and Sarah at the same time.
“What? I mean, Ok, but why?”
“I don’t really want this life”
My statement has caught us both off-guard. It was one of those moments when you speak the real truth and it scares the shit out of people. One of those moments that if you don’t change something immediately then you will know you lost your chance.
“Yeah… well right now it’s the only one you got.” We gaze at each other for a few moments to let the sentence sink in.
Slowly Sarah lifts her drink, “Finish your beer; we have a plane ticket to buy.”
Sunday, July 22
Friday, July 20
This one is for the Ladies
Here something that’s been a long time coming. If it sounds like a rant, well, that’s because it is. If it sounds angry…hmm…it’s not. I’m not angry about myself. I have no one to be angry at. But I am angry for my friends and that’s who I am writing this note for: the lovely ladies.
Men, there’s a couple of things we need to get straight. First of all, men always complain about not understanding women. I concede this point. We are difficult creatures at times and many days don’t understand ourselves but let me be clear that difficult does not swing both ways. Guys are not hard to understand. Sorry guys, but your simple creatures. Now, does this make us any less frustrated with you? NO. Why? Because we do understand you. We know why you are annoying the hell out of us, we know it full well. We knew it was going to happen before it did and let me tell you- that is the most frustrating part of all.
Basically, there are three reasons why a guy does something. THREE. Nice and simple.
Selfishness- yeah I said it. You see, men, you don’t seem to have the ability to think beyond yourselves. You don’t realize that there are other people in the world, namely women, who are most likely pouring themselves out daily for you while you just walk along whistling Dixie and not giving a shit. Also, if a girl does do something for you, don’t reward her with “you’re the best girlfriend ever” and ‘you’re such a sweet girl”. We don’t like to be patronized. If you think we’re so sweet then return the favor instead of sitting back with the beer we brought you and thinking how in the world you wound up with someone as awesome as us.
Btw, yes she wants you to call. So just do it.
Stubbornness- Oh this is my personal favorite. The guy that says he never knows what you want and then when you tell them what you want they say they don’t want to be forced to do anything…. WHAT?!?!?! Here’s a clue: If a girl says she likes flowers, she WANTS flowers. If a girl says she wants to go to the movie, she WANTS to go to the movie. If a girl likes a particular chicken salad from a particular store, she WANTS you to pick up that particular chicken salad when you are there (and if she picks it up she doesn’t want you to eat it all- you know who I’m talking to). Which this last point supports my previous point about selfishness, its not that you guys are trying to be mean, you just don’t think about us.
Amendment: sometimes guys are mean but I think it usually can still be chalked up to a slow-witted, “I didn’t really think before I acted” attitude that most men have. But even if this is the case, ladies, please don’t take him back. You can fix a lot of things but you can’t fix stupid.
Two heads?!?! Here’s the old standby and maybe it is overused but I’ve met too many guys for which it is true. Just don’t. Don’t. And if you do, don’t think we can’t do the same thing. There are Samantha Jones’ out there and they do only want you for your sex. This is not most women. I have had friends ask me if it was ok for them to just want to sleep with a guy. I generally tell them yes, under the following conditions: That more is not expected (this is the part that most guys fail at, Just assume the girl wants more unless she tells you otherwise). And it’s what they truly want, if two people go into it knowing nothing is coming out then…well that’s their own business.
If there’s something I’m missing, then please comment back. But there is another point I would like to make.
Breasts
Say it
They aren’t that amazing
They sit on our chest and mostly impede the proper buttoning of our shirts.
And they are NOT….NOT…for you to stare at.
There are few things less annoying then when a girl is out on a date, looking cute for her BOYFRIEND and some dumbass waiter decides to stare at her boobs. They aren’t for you buddy and do you really not see the 6’4” guy next to us?
Don’t catch quick glances when we aren’t looking – we saw you do it anyways.
Don’t catch yourself drifting during an intense conversation- it makes you think you don’t care what we think about global politics.
And DON’T talk to them--- THEY DON’T TALK BACK.
There it is- my rant. Alas men, if all of this is to no avail and you decide to continue being a jackass just go do it somewhere where I don’t have to hear about it.
*Note: not all men are jackasses. I have some really great guy friends but I will stand by my old saying “You never know a guy until you date them”. A guy can be a perfectly wonderful creature into you place them a situation that requires forethought, commitment, and communication.
Here something that’s been a long time coming. If it sounds like a rant, well, that’s because it is. If it sounds angry…hmm…it’s not. I’m not angry about myself. I have no one to be angry at. But I am angry for my friends and that’s who I am writing this note for: the lovely ladies.
Men, there’s a couple of things we need to get straight. First of all, men always complain about not understanding women. I concede this point. We are difficult creatures at times and many days don’t understand ourselves but let me be clear that difficult does not swing both ways. Guys are not hard to understand. Sorry guys, but your simple creatures. Now, does this make us any less frustrated with you? NO. Why? Because we do understand you. We know why you are annoying the hell out of us, we know it full well. We knew it was going to happen before it did and let me tell you- that is the most frustrating part of all.
Basically, there are three reasons why a guy does something. THREE. Nice and simple.
Selfishness- yeah I said it. You see, men, you don’t seem to have the ability to think beyond yourselves. You don’t realize that there are other people in the world, namely women, who are most likely pouring themselves out daily for you while you just walk along whistling Dixie and not giving a shit. Also, if a girl does do something for you, don’t reward her with “you’re the best girlfriend ever” and ‘you’re such a sweet girl”. We don’t like to be patronized. If you think we’re so sweet then return the favor instead of sitting back with the beer we brought you and thinking how in the world you wound up with someone as awesome as us.
Btw, yes she wants you to call. So just do it.
Stubbornness- Oh this is my personal favorite. The guy that says he never knows what you want and then when you tell them what you want they say they don’t want to be forced to do anything…. WHAT?!?!?! Here’s a clue: If a girl says she likes flowers, she WANTS flowers. If a girl says she wants to go to the movie, she WANTS to go to the movie. If a girl likes a particular chicken salad from a particular store, she WANTS you to pick up that particular chicken salad when you are there (and if she picks it up she doesn’t want you to eat it all- you know who I’m talking to). Which this last point supports my previous point about selfishness, its not that you guys are trying to be mean, you just don’t think about us.
Amendment: sometimes guys are mean but I think it usually can still be chalked up to a slow-witted, “I didn’t really think before I acted” attitude that most men have. But even if this is the case, ladies, please don’t take him back. You can fix a lot of things but you can’t fix stupid.
Two heads?!?! Here’s the old standby and maybe it is overused but I’ve met too many guys for which it is true. Just don’t. Don’t. And if you do, don’t think we can’t do the same thing. There are Samantha Jones’ out there and they do only want you for your sex. This is not most women. I have had friends ask me if it was ok for them to just want to sleep with a guy. I generally tell them yes, under the following conditions: That more is not expected (this is the part that most guys fail at, Just assume the girl wants more unless she tells you otherwise). And it’s what they truly want, if two people go into it knowing nothing is coming out then…well that’s their own business.
If there’s something I’m missing, then please comment back. But there is another point I would like to make.
Breasts
Say it
They aren’t that amazing
They sit on our chest and mostly impede the proper buttoning of our shirts.
And they are NOT….NOT…for you to stare at.
There are few things less annoying then when a girl is out on a date, looking cute for her BOYFRIEND and some dumbass waiter decides to stare at her boobs. They aren’t for you buddy and do you really not see the 6’4” guy next to us?
Don’t catch quick glances when we aren’t looking – we saw you do it anyways.
Don’t catch yourself drifting during an intense conversation- it makes you think you don’t care what we think about global politics.
And DON’T talk to them--- THEY DON’T TALK BACK.
There it is- my rant. Alas men, if all of this is to no avail and you decide to continue being a jackass just go do it somewhere where I don’t have to hear about it.
*Note: not all men are jackasses. I have some really great guy friends but I will stand by my old saying “You never know a guy until you date them”. A guy can be a perfectly wonderful creature into you place them a situation that requires forethought, commitment, and communication.
Thursday, July 19
Monday, July 16
Friday, July 13
A Song for a Heart
July 11, 2002
10 months after the terrorist attack on our country.
While I was playing on a beach in Galveston
Hours before Josh looked up at the stars and asked me to marry him.
My friend Lindsey turned a corner too fast and flipped her car. She was seventeen years old.
For the past two days, I’ve been trying to find the words to say on the 5th anniversary of her death. I still haven’t.
Lindsey and I weren’t best friends. We were running buddies in High School. Lindsey and I had both joined the Cross-Country team before it had been popular.
Before the guys had made a perfect score at District.
Before they had won second at State.
Before Cross –Country surpassed Basketball as ‘The Sport’ at our small East Texas High School.
Before all of that, Lindsey and I ran together.
She had asthma and could easily persuade me to stop for a break on our long runs down the country roads that surrounded our school. We would talk about stuff at school- classes and teachers. I also had the reputation of singing when I ran. It would keep our minds off of the long miles in front of and behind us. Lindsey would make requests and I would quickly try to remember whatever lines I could. A lot of times our conversations would drift to Christianity. Lindsey was extremely interested in the book of Revelations. She was a recent edition to the faith, so she was still perplexed by all the ‘cool Christian’ things that most young believers find incredibly interesting. Was the world really going to end? How was it all going to happen?
As I mentioned before, I wasn’t always a Christian. I wasn’t raised in the church, but as soon as I was saved, I became extremely involved. I was President of FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) in high school and everything that came with the title: I was pious yet approachable, I was Super Christian Girl.
This is the part where if my life were a movie, I would have found out how big of an impact I had on Lindsey’s life. I didn’t. I don’t know if she talked to me about these things because of who I was or if it was because she was truly interested. Either way, I was convinced that Lindsey was a member of the faith and bound for heaven one day.
But I wasn’t expecting that day.
July 13, 2002 was a blur. I had been on a family vacation with my father when Lindsey had taken the curve too fast. I arrived back to Livingston on the day of her funeral. My mother greeted me at the door, sat me down, and said that Lindsey’s funeral was in two hours. My clearest memory is of her mother. She was taking condolences, her head bent slightly as she mumbled a “thank you” to every passer-by. As I came to her, she grabbed on to my hand, lifted her eyes, and said ‘Thank you Clare, Thank you for coming. It would have meant a lot to her”.
Again, if life were a movie.
I don’t know why she chose me to say that to. I don’t know why she stopped and looked at me so intently, as if I had truly done something remarkable by coming to the funeral. Like I said, Lindsey and I were never extremely close. Sure, I had been the only white kid to go to her birthday party freshman year (Lindsey was Alabama-Coushatta) but that was more because I was excited to be invited to ANY birthday party.
I like to think it had something to do with our daily runs. Maybe, some of our conversations had changed Lindsey and she had commented to her mother. Maybe not. It scares me a little now to think about what Lindsey would think of me five years later. When I see Lindsey’s mom, I think of the responsibility my classmates and I were given that day, that we should achieve all the things that Lindsey could not. I would like to tell her that I still go on daily runs but have yet to find a better partner. I would tell her that I don’t have all the answers anymore but I am trying.
If only
“If you were with me tonight, I would sing to you just one more time. A song for a heart so big, God wouldn’t let it live”
July 11, 2002
10 months after the terrorist attack on our country.
While I was playing on a beach in Galveston
Hours before Josh looked up at the stars and asked me to marry him.
My friend Lindsey turned a corner too fast and flipped her car. She was seventeen years old.
For the past two days, I’ve been trying to find the words to say on the 5th anniversary of her death. I still haven’t.
Lindsey and I weren’t best friends. We were running buddies in High School. Lindsey and I had both joined the Cross-Country team before it had been popular.
Before the guys had made a perfect score at District.
Before they had won second at State.
Before Cross –Country surpassed Basketball as ‘The Sport’ at our small East Texas High School.
Before all of that, Lindsey and I ran together.
She had asthma and could easily persuade me to stop for a break on our long runs down the country roads that surrounded our school. We would talk about stuff at school- classes and teachers. I also had the reputation of singing when I ran. It would keep our minds off of the long miles in front of and behind us. Lindsey would make requests and I would quickly try to remember whatever lines I could. A lot of times our conversations would drift to Christianity. Lindsey was extremely interested in the book of Revelations. She was a recent edition to the faith, so she was still perplexed by all the ‘cool Christian’ things that most young believers find incredibly interesting. Was the world really going to end? How was it all going to happen?
As I mentioned before, I wasn’t always a Christian. I wasn’t raised in the church, but as soon as I was saved, I became extremely involved. I was President of FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) in high school and everything that came with the title: I was pious yet approachable, I was Super Christian Girl.
This is the part where if my life were a movie, I would have found out how big of an impact I had on Lindsey’s life. I didn’t. I don’t know if she talked to me about these things because of who I was or if it was because she was truly interested. Either way, I was convinced that Lindsey was a member of the faith and bound for heaven one day.
But I wasn’t expecting that day.
July 13, 2002 was a blur. I had been on a family vacation with my father when Lindsey had taken the curve too fast. I arrived back to Livingston on the day of her funeral. My mother greeted me at the door, sat me down, and said that Lindsey’s funeral was in two hours. My clearest memory is of her mother. She was taking condolences, her head bent slightly as she mumbled a “thank you” to every passer-by. As I came to her, she grabbed on to my hand, lifted her eyes, and said ‘Thank you Clare, Thank you for coming. It would have meant a lot to her”.
Again, if life were a movie.
I don’t know why she chose me to say that to. I don’t know why she stopped and looked at me so intently, as if I had truly done something remarkable by coming to the funeral. Like I said, Lindsey and I were never extremely close. Sure, I had been the only white kid to go to her birthday party freshman year (Lindsey was Alabama-Coushatta) but that was more because I was excited to be invited to ANY birthday party.
I like to think it had something to do with our daily runs. Maybe, some of our conversations had changed Lindsey and she had commented to her mother. Maybe not. It scares me a little now to think about what Lindsey would think of me five years later. When I see Lindsey’s mom, I think of the responsibility my classmates and I were given that day, that we should achieve all the things that Lindsey could not. I would like to tell her that I still go on daily runs but have yet to find a better partner. I would tell her that I don’t have all the answers anymore but I am trying.
If only
“If you were with me tonight, I would sing to you just one more time. A song for a heart so big, God wouldn’t let it live”
Wednesday, July 11
Chapter 6
To love unconditionally
There is a world outside my window. The leaves are almost completely gone now affording me a clear view of the campus. There is a particularly beautiful building that sits across from my window, partially blocking my view of the hillside. It is the church. There are days when I catch myself watching it unconsciously, my eyes gazing over the tall spires that seem to burst from the building’s foundation. On this particular day, I am absorbed in the view of the old priest who had greeted me weeks ago. His presence had been much easier to dismiss that night. I have since seen him with many members of the church and am beginning to respect him, though I am quick to remind myself that it’s easier to create perspectives of people when we have yet to really know them. I have studied his quiet manner, his hearty handshakes and private chats. Today he is outside with a small group of college students. Church is far from a popular pastime in England and his congregation is even smaller than most. One of the students appears to be asking a question of grave importance and the Father is leaned towards him listening intently to every word, his face marked with the same concern he showed me that night.
Something is stirring within me and I can’t pinpoint its origin or meaning. My confession at the coffee shop was unexpected and has since had even wider results. I had never told anyone my entire story and the confession had freed me from the torment of guilt that had been living inside of me. I knew that another step of my forgiveness was sure to come. I had always believed that forgiveness was about oneself, that it was about regaining ownership over your own life and not letting another’s actions rule it. I had already completed this step of forgiveness. I couldn’t let the things that had happened between John, the Church, and I keep my life from moving forward.
But the second step still lingered.
I could move forward and live my own life but I was still bitter. I hated the subject of family or religion. I laughed scornfully at those who expressed a blind devotion to their supposed future and beliefs. I had been a witness to conversations with those who proclaimed a deep faith and yet couldn’t quote a single scripture. These people were the unaware targets of my attacks. I could quote scripture up and down, informing them on what their own denominations really believed. They were left helpless. I knew that I wasn’t helping anyone. These tirades only fueled my bitterness and mostly likely only fueled their blind belief.
Nothing benefits religion more than adversity.
All these thoughts didn’t answer the question as to why I was still sitting watching this church. I couldn’t get its steeple or its minister out of my mind. His words were stilling ringing and since then I had thought of asking God for guidance many times. I was nostalgic for the peace I had once found in his presence, but like the child that finds their parent’s deepest secrets: I couldn’t look him in the eye.
I could forgive everyone but I couldn’t forgive God.
I glanced to the church again but the priest was gone. When he had talked to me that night, I had wanted a great answer. I had been pondering my questions for months and his adage had seemed too quick and simple to be true.
I had coined a phrase when I was in the youth group that was used popularly within our church: There’s no gray in this Black & White. I had been professing my belief that there was no in-between when it came to God’s word. It is written in Revelations 3:16 that God will not tolerate the lukewarm. All these thoughts consumed my mind as I placed it down on my desk and admitted I didn’t know.
I didn’t know what to believe or what to think. I could walk back to the faith but that would mean a blind acceptance again; there was little room for intellectual thought within the church these days. I could forsake it all, but to believe nothing seemed a greater peril and sadness than to believe that the world was controlled by an entity I simply could not understand.
There had been something stirring within me since that night, and I now stood on a great precipice, contemplating a leap of faith.
To love unconditionally
There is a world outside my window. The leaves are almost completely gone now affording me a clear view of the campus. There is a particularly beautiful building that sits across from my window, partially blocking my view of the hillside. It is the church. There are days when I catch myself watching it unconsciously, my eyes gazing over the tall spires that seem to burst from the building’s foundation. On this particular day, I am absorbed in the view of the old priest who had greeted me weeks ago. His presence had been much easier to dismiss that night. I have since seen him with many members of the church and am beginning to respect him, though I am quick to remind myself that it’s easier to create perspectives of people when we have yet to really know them. I have studied his quiet manner, his hearty handshakes and private chats. Today he is outside with a small group of college students. Church is far from a popular pastime in England and his congregation is even smaller than most. One of the students appears to be asking a question of grave importance and the Father is leaned towards him listening intently to every word, his face marked with the same concern he showed me that night.
Something is stirring within me and I can’t pinpoint its origin or meaning. My confession at the coffee shop was unexpected and has since had even wider results. I had never told anyone my entire story and the confession had freed me from the torment of guilt that had been living inside of me. I knew that another step of my forgiveness was sure to come. I had always believed that forgiveness was about oneself, that it was about regaining ownership over your own life and not letting another’s actions rule it. I had already completed this step of forgiveness. I couldn’t let the things that had happened between John, the Church, and I keep my life from moving forward.
But the second step still lingered.
I could move forward and live my own life but I was still bitter. I hated the subject of family or religion. I laughed scornfully at those who expressed a blind devotion to their supposed future and beliefs. I had been a witness to conversations with those who proclaimed a deep faith and yet couldn’t quote a single scripture. These people were the unaware targets of my attacks. I could quote scripture up and down, informing them on what their own denominations really believed. They were left helpless. I knew that I wasn’t helping anyone. These tirades only fueled my bitterness and mostly likely only fueled their blind belief.
Nothing benefits religion more than adversity.
All these thoughts didn’t answer the question as to why I was still sitting watching this church. I couldn’t get its steeple or its minister out of my mind. His words were stilling ringing and since then I had thought of asking God for guidance many times. I was nostalgic for the peace I had once found in his presence, but like the child that finds their parent’s deepest secrets: I couldn’t look him in the eye.
I could forgive everyone but I couldn’t forgive God.
I glanced to the church again but the priest was gone. When he had talked to me that night, I had wanted a great answer. I had been pondering my questions for months and his adage had seemed too quick and simple to be true.
I had coined a phrase when I was in the youth group that was used popularly within our church: There’s no gray in this Black & White. I had been professing my belief that there was no in-between when it came to God’s word. It is written in Revelations 3:16 that God will not tolerate the lukewarm. All these thoughts consumed my mind as I placed it down on my desk and admitted I didn’t know.
I didn’t know what to believe or what to think. I could walk back to the faith but that would mean a blind acceptance again; there was little room for intellectual thought within the church these days. I could forsake it all, but to believe nothing seemed a greater peril and sadness than to believe that the world was controlled by an entity I simply could not understand.
There had been something stirring within me since that night, and I now stood on a great precipice, contemplating a leap of faith.
Debate Exposes Doubt
"[If Christ] burst out from the cross, `My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' then surely we are also permitted doubt. But we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation." --Life of Pi
An awesome review of an even better book-
http://www.amazon.com/Life-Pi-Yann-Martel/dp/B000KYAV7I
'If you have no doubt, you have knowledge- not faith'
"[If Christ] burst out from the cross, `My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' then surely we are also permitted doubt. But we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation." --Life of Pi
An awesome review of an even better book-
http://www.amazon.com/Life-Pi-Yann-Martel/dp/B000KYAV7I
'If you have no doubt, you have knowledge- not faith'
Monday, July 2
Wonderfully Made
Throughout the writing of my blog, I have made it no secret of my fumbling within religion- specifically Christianity. I chose to become a Christian when I was 13 years old. I wasn’t raised in the church, unlike many of my friends. I am unsure if this has hindered or helped my beliefs, even though I know what I did was a conscious decision and I continue to stand behind it. With all of this in mind I've been thinking about something: someone made a comment on one of my earlier postings, and they wrote that I shouldn't look to others for my belief in God.
I understand this.
People break each other’s hearts everyday. The pain I have seen working in this family law office in the past two weeks has made me reconsider my choices for a family. I have seen people use children as instruments of revenge and these actions sicken me. Yet, I am reminded of something I told a friend once. My friend asked me how I was able to forgive a certain person in my life. I told my friend that I believed that there was a quality, a dignity, to people that existed and that I must respect whether they respect me or not. Forgiveness is about yourself, it’s about letting go of the other person’s control over your life. This is my way of forgiving. I believed, even before he told me, that he was sorry and didn’t know what damage his actions had caused. I had to believe that his actions were not the sum of his being and that there was a part of him that God loved and I must too. This is why I can’t be an atheist. I can’t believe there is nothing. I know that there is a soul in man that makes us higher than the animals.
This is also why I disagree with the comment on my blog.
I look to people to find God, because if we are made in his image then we are the only traces of his divinity on earth. When I am overwhelmed, I am reminded of the beautiful souls that reside in us all. People act in fear everyday because they do not understand the world they live in. When people act in fear they produce hate and evil; therefore, we must realize that we are the instruments of change in the world.
We can give love or we can give hate.
It is your choice.
Love is the truest thing we have on this earth; it is the closest to God we can be.
Throughout the writing of my blog, I have made it no secret of my fumbling within religion- specifically Christianity. I chose to become a Christian when I was 13 years old. I wasn’t raised in the church, unlike many of my friends. I am unsure if this has hindered or helped my beliefs, even though I know what I did was a conscious decision and I continue to stand behind it. With all of this in mind I've been thinking about something: someone made a comment on one of my earlier postings, and they wrote that I shouldn't look to others for my belief in God.
I understand this.
People break each other’s hearts everyday. The pain I have seen working in this family law office in the past two weeks has made me reconsider my choices for a family. I have seen people use children as instruments of revenge and these actions sicken me. Yet, I am reminded of something I told a friend once. My friend asked me how I was able to forgive a certain person in my life. I told my friend that I believed that there was a quality, a dignity, to people that existed and that I must respect whether they respect me or not. Forgiveness is about yourself, it’s about letting go of the other person’s control over your life. This is my way of forgiving. I believed, even before he told me, that he was sorry and didn’t know what damage his actions had caused. I had to believe that his actions were not the sum of his being and that there was a part of him that God loved and I must too. This is why I can’t be an atheist. I can’t believe there is nothing. I know that there is a soul in man that makes us higher than the animals.
This is also why I disagree with the comment on my blog.
I look to people to find God, because if we are made in his image then we are the only traces of his divinity on earth. When I am overwhelmed, I am reminded of the beautiful souls that reside in us all. People act in fear everyday because they do not understand the world they live in. When people act in fear they produce hate and evil; therefore, we must realize that we are the instruments of change in the world.
We can give love or we can give hate.
It is your choice.
Love is the truest thing we have on this earth; it is the closest to God we can be.
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