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The Drawer

The neighbor’s baby is crying. It’s Thursday night, I’ve just had dinner, and now it’s time to do some sharing.

I keep a drawer in my room filled with special things. Some things stay in the drawer and some things leave the drawer, like a rotation. There’s an alligator chew toy I’m saving for my dog Bailey I’m receiving from my Aunt Shelly next month. There’s birthday presents for Justin. A heart-shaped box I got for our first Valentine’s Day together–of course it was full of candy, then. A slip I plan to wear on our wedding night. A post it note from my dad that says “I love you-Dad”.

A not-so-physical drawer known as the drawer in my heart is filled with icky things. Fear that no one could ever love me. Fear of never knowing what it is that I want. Fear of speaking and being spoken over. Breaking up and getting back together again, for the rest of our lives until our heads spin off and we jump off mental cliffs that no one ever knows we jumped off of. But we know.

Which drawer contains more in it?

My sister posted this article on Facebook the other night and it was about the things women do when no one is around to judge them. You care what people think when you sleep with no shirt on. Or eat with no shirt on. Or eat where you sleep, with no shirt on. You care about who knows they make you feel insignificant. You care about saying I love you and then stuffing the cat back in the bag later, because saying it, somehow makes it untrue. You care who sees you watch Girls on HBO and you care who sees you ugly.

It can be so hard to just be.

I build up walls to protect myself from being hurt by others. But I think I hurt myself more than anyone else ever could. I build up walls so I don’t have to face the truth. That knowing what I want scares me, and walking down a path I don’t know I’ll succeed on scares me even more.

I’m afraid of change.

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Unabashed and Unashamed

When did I become such a dick? When was the transition from not-so-much-a-dick to actual dick?

I dreamed this morning that I was trying to get to my dad. I was on a road trip with some other people, I don’t know who they were. Driving in the middle of the night, nothing but dark roads ahead of me, no lights, trying to get to my dad. I stopped somewhere for fast food to which other people in their cars were trying to call out to me and get my attention and I knew I was being slowed down. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to my dad in time. I had this short window to see him and I knew, I wasn’t going to make the cut off.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love and what that is to me. I’ve been feeling so confused. It’s easy for me to judge and accuse and complain about what I don’t have without taking a tally of what I do have. Here’s a few things I know that love is, and well, I think respect goes into some of these as well.

  • Leaving half the Asian salad in the fridge for your mom because she wants half and you know if you ate the whole thing, she’d be devastated.
  • Going to church, with a hard heart like my own, and feeling it soften.
  • When your boyfriend brings you a canteen of chicken noodle because you’ve been hacking the night away.
  • Farting in the other room.
  • Telling your daughter you’re getting remarried and not letting her find out about it via social media (wait…)
  • Blood shed on the cross for me.

What are some of the ways you feel loved? Display it? Own it?

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Holyish

I believe some people, even though they claim to be God lovers, only really want to be with other people just like them. Just as they are. No differences between them.

Then you have other people who want to love the broken and the lost, even though they don’t have a lot in common with each other.

Both sets of people love God. It’s not a question of that. But the love gets lived out differently.

I really hope I can be the latter. I hope I can be like my mommy.

So in around 100 days-ish I will be married. It’s starting to sink in more and to be honest, I am getting more excited for Disneyland. I hope Jessica Rabbit is there. After all, she is my counterpart.

I was reading about the Passover last night before bed. In II Chronicles it says that the Jews had given up celebrating Passover for awhile, so when they started doing it again, there was a whole lot of cleansing that needed to be done. People were showing up for Passover dinner in an unholy state, and that needed to be fixed stat. For the folks attending who were considered to be unholyish, a special prayer was said for them. Essentially they were being petitioned for.

The people loved doing Passover so much that they decided, never again would they go so long without celebrating it, and instead, they extended their celebration. If only to be closer to God.

When I read things like this I can’t help but wonder if God was more happy that his people were setting themselves apart for his sake, or just happy that they were all showing up for Him period? Dirty and clean and pseudo clean and kind of just touched the hand sanitizer clean and so on and so on.

Some times I wonder if we’ve really lost sight of it. I’m not saying God doesn’t want us clean and purified before him. But I think we’ve lost sight of what really matters. Coming to him in the first place. Not putting him off. Making excuses as to why we can’t.

Well, I haven’t showered yet God. Sorry. You know, gotta handle that first.

Just food for thought.

Annie