I’ve avoided it as long as I can, but I can’t do it anymore. I’m about to write on most things relationshipish…
I’m mostly going to be passive aggressive towards guys who refuse to be pursers, and girls who give guys reason to fear rejection due to their rude replies and icy shoulders…and maybe some other stuff thrown about.
In other words, this is going to be long.
Where do I start? Once upon a time I carved “I love *****” on my sugar gum tree. That’s where it started. I was in the fourth grade, and he was cute, he could run fast, he liked “the three ninjas”, he liked dipping his pizza in ranch AND climbing trees too. And he lived down the street. It was love. The only problem was that he didn’t like me. End. Sorry that might not have gone where you (or I) was hoping it would.
I had more crushes, and some of them liked me in return. And we wrote letters, and exchanged waves and butterflies, and held hands at break. Things were simple. “I like you,” meant “I like you.” And when a boy said, “will you go out with me?” he was saying, “will you be my girlfriend.” And “talking” was “liking,” and boys had yet entered the world of rejection and were still brave enough to ask the girl out.
Then it happened. That really horrible thing happened. The sweet boys I used to have crushes on, the ones who would smile at me, and find me on the play ground to play, or sit next to me on the bus, or write me letters, or tell me how they liked me…they were replaced by guys with shady glances, and unknown and highly questionable intentions, completely unreadable minds…
The boys were replaced by “men”. But the “men” were more like “cough” boys. Burrrrn.
There, I said it. I said it. I don’t mean to openly offend you guys, but I think it’s important you know what I think, and quite frankly, I feel like there is a lack of bravery, integrity, and honesty (those qualities that separate the men from the boys).
I don’t expect guys to really be knights in shining armor (unless the armor has some bangs and dents in it). I know you have flaws, you have mistakes, you have your closets, but so do we. I know you have rough edges just like us ladies, but to be honest, most of your edges actually compliment or sharpen ours. But to give you some perspective, no matter your quarks or flaws or bad tendencies, when you pursue a girl, and give her flowers, and treat her like she deserves to be treated, you become her knight, imperfections and all….she can’t help but adore you.So the lack of white horses, and swords, and red capes don’t bother me, but the lack of integrity and honesty and bravery do.
What is this integrity that I speak of? It is the ability to treat girls (all girls) with respect. It is remembering that we are daughters, and sisters, and we have delicate hearts that are easily broken by your words and actions. It is avoiding the temptation to fill your heart with her looks, and words, and attention, without any thought that in the process of making your heart fat and juicy, you’re leaving her’s dry.
And when I say bravery, I don’t mean driving your dirt bike over the railroad track, or long boarding down the steepest hill in Auburn, or playing your guitar in front of a crowd, or seeing who can get more cheese puffs in their mouth…I mean- are your ready for this- getting over the fear of rejection and pursuing the girl you are interested in.
Guys are always talking about how confusing we are, and they can’t read our minds, and so on and so forth. Well here’s something that might make things a little less hazy…we also don’t have mind reading abilities, and we don’t know what you’re thinking either.
So why are guys always complaining about girls over analyzing their actions? BECAUSE too often guys don’t explain, and we’re left in limbo by your mixed messages, and we have no idea what you want or what your intentions are, and we’re left trying to figure out the mystery that you are. And unfortunately, our analyzing is usually 90% wrong. And because the majority of guys DON’T pursue, then how in the world are we supposed to know what to do; you aren’t going to pursue us, but you like us, but you won’t tell us, and we don’t know what you’re thinking, and thus our analyzing the situation begins.
We thought you liked us, you just liked hanging out. We didn’t know you liked us because we thought we were just hanging out, but you do like us, and you just left off that part when we were hanging out. We are interested in you, but you seem uninterested, but really, you are interested in us, but think we are uninterested.
Do you see what an absolute disaster this is?
Pursuing isn’t torture. We’re not plotting against you to make you uncomfortable and embarrassed, we’re not making you do “all of the work” so that we can sit back and not worry about it at all. Pursuing is as simple as it gets. If guys would attempt to act in an honest and straightforward manner, there would be no guessing. We girls wouldn’t sit around wondering if you liked us or not, because we’d know, “he isn’t pursuing me, thus he doesn’t like me. We hang out because we’re friends. He really did just call to get last week’s notes.” End. And if you do pursue us, we will know the alternative.
My favorite remark I hear from guys is, “when I like a girl, I just meet her in the middle..” It sounds smart. It seems like a good idea, except the problem is; what is the middle? There is no middle in real life. That is a vague, abstract place that does not really exist. If there were literally a place called middle where I could meet you, I would, but this place does not exist. It was created by guys who were too lazy, scared, or uncomfortable to just make the walk to “girl.” But in hopes of somewhat pursuing, they decided they’d create this place where they could kind of pursue a girl, but in false confidence that the girl would recognize this and then meet him in “the middle”. Um…did you forget about us being wrong 90% of the time when analyzing your actions? Why in the world would you expect us to know that you were waiting in the “middle” for us to meet you…we didn’t even know you liked us. And on another note, if there were a real “middle” imagine how many girls would run out there, waiting for you, only to find out, that she isn’t the girl you wanted to meet in the middle. Thus a new complication is created. The middle idea is a lousy one; throw it out.
Another thought that comes to mind is “guard your heart.” It’s kind of hard for girls to do this when we feel like we need to pursue the guys we like. Girl’s can’t guard their hearts and throw them out at the same time. We can’t be open books and locked. It’s a contradiction. Girls guard their hearts by waiting to be pursued, so if you don’t feel like you’re getting “hints” or “signals” that she likes you, it might be because she’s guarding her heart, and in an effort to do that, she’s trying not to flirt, or to like you without the knowledge that you are interested in her. She isn’t complicated, she’s smart. She isn’t trying to confuse you, she’s just oblivious of what you’re thinking because you haven’t told her yet.
As for signals, they make as much sense as having a “middle” land. What is a signal? A smile, witty banter, sitting next to you, flirting?? A girl can do these things completely unintentionally and without the slightest idea that you think they are “signals.” You could be overanalyzing too. “she smiled at me yesterday, she likes me.” But maybe she smiled at you because you’re funny and that’s all. I think signal reading needs to be thrown out, because it’s stupid. They can be misinterpreted.
The point is, don’t rely on signals when you’re interested in a girl. They are misleading nonsense. If you have really thought about it, and you know the girl you’re interested in, and you’ve prayed about it, and you’ve talked about it with your friends, and you know for a fact that you like her…don’t rely on signals, and don’t try to analyze what she does to decide if she likes you before you pursue her. Pursue her, and if she isn’t right for you, she’ll let you know, and it won’t be as bad as you think. (on a side note..do not use dating as way to decide if you like her or not…that’s going to leave a wake of destruction in heart if you decide you don’t: summarized from matt chapman).
I guess all I’m trying to say is, if you are genuinely interested in a girl, at some point make your honest intentions known to her. I don’t know how you want to do that, but the “yes” or the “no” box can’t be checked without notice. And though “no” may seem scary, and hard, it really isn’t. And yes, I’m speaking from experience. I am not assuming that it is easy, but from what I know, it is nice to know one way or the other, it isn’t as bad as you think it is, and “no” isn’t a slap in the face, it’s just an opportunity to look in another, and probably, right direction. And if there is a girl who obviously likes you, who has told you so, and you continue to mislead her by your shady and mixed messages, you’re not doing anyone a favor. So, sometimes, instead of pursuing a girl, you might need to un-pursue a girl: inform her you are not interested, nicely.
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Now, to my lady friends, If a guy is pursuing you, and you have no interest in him, please, for the sake of his heart, and his already fear of rejection, don’t make up any lame excuses like, “I don’t feel like in the right place spiritually to be dating” (unless you really aren’t) and then turn around and date someone else two weeks later. Just be honest, and let him know, kindly, that you aren’t interested. Don’t lead him on for the attention, and don’t laugh in his face. And please, for the sake of every man who is brave enough to pursue you, DO NOT give him the icy shoulder. I hate the icy shoulder. It is wrong. WRONG. If you’re willing to ignore him, stop talking to him, and be rude to him, then saying, “I’m not interested in you” nicely to his face can’t take any more effort or be any more awkward that the previous option.
Girls, I know it’s hard. I know we all want the manly man who is going to walk up, say “I’m interested in you, can I take you out on a date,” and save us from nights of overanalyzing his words and his actions. I know that they are rare, just like you have already figured out, and in an attempt to “get things going,” you might be tempted to “randomly” show up at his apartment, or make yourself very available. I say, don’t do it. Because though you may think your plotting are innocent, if he really isn’t interested in you, then you’re setting yourself up for a serious heart break. You’re going to end up investing these emotions, and feelings, and what not into a “relationship” that you’re trying to make happen, when in reality, the guy has no idea that this “relationship” even exist. In fact, he doesn’t even like you.
Stop imagining this guy into what you think he is before you go to bed, because he clearly isn’t. Stop going out of your way to do him favors only in hopes that he will like you because of it. Wait for the guy who is going to pursue you. He’s out here. Guard your heart, stop over analyzing, and let men be men and pursue. Put down the desire to be in control and to wear the pants in the relationship.
On that note, when you are being pursued, seriously, let the guy be the guy. The guy you like is not your BFF. He doesn’t bake, he probably won’t cry watching “The Notebook,” he doesn’t have “girl talk.” He’s a guy: interpreted: he likes meat, he likes action movies and guns, he likes not asking for directions, he likes eating cookies (not baking them), he laughs at things that we sometimes think are stupid, he doesn’t sprinkle his sentences with underlying messages like we do. Guys are not girls. So don’t expect him to be one, or talk like one, or think like one. Let the guy be a guy.
As an encouragement to those who are single and are not being pursues right now; you are not single because you’re: unattractive, unworthy, unintelligent, not assertive enough, not wearing short enough skirts, not using the right shampoo, too innocent, too short, too tall, not tan, not making yourself “available” or whatever else you’re thinking. You’re single because the person you’re hoping for hasn’t arrived yet…and believe me, you’d rather be single than settle for someone less than what God has for you.
I once asked my mom to describe the kind of guy she wanted me to be with. You should have heard the kind of guy she described. He sounded amazing. He sounded like all of the things on this list I have, and all of the things that I really want. Do you know why I asked her? Because I remembered this verse in Mathews that says, “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” And I thought to myself…if this is the kind of man my mom wants me to end up with, imagine what God wants to give me.
God is not cheating you. He is not holding out on you. His timing may not be yours, His plans for you may not be the same that you have for yourself, but if He has someone for you, then stop worrying, stop plotting to win over guys who aren’t the least bit interested in you, and have some faith and some patience. Be reassured, you are worth the fight. You are worth the effort. You are worth the flowers. You are worth the kind of man who will pursue you. Though he won’t be a knight, he will have flaws, he will- at times- say the wrong things, and do the wrong things, and he’ll be late, and he’ll forget, and he’ll have his bad days…but you should expect these things because you do the same. So, when he does come along, don’tmistake Disney movie man with a real one…you wouldn’t want him to mistake you for the Disney princess, unless you don’t mind being compared to perfection.
Here’s the thing. We don’t need the games, the lies, the tricks, the “strategies,” signals, or a middle land. If we girls would just guard and prepare our hearts, sit tight, and wait in patience, we wouldn’t find ourselves broken hearted when our analysis of the guys we thought liked us fails, epically. If we would remove the temptation to place ourselves in their way in hopes that we’ll get attention or notice or maybe a boyfriend, we could, again, seriously reduce the chances of a heart break. And if guys would find somewhere in their hearts just enough courage to tell the girl they like, and know they like, his intentions, then he would know, absolutely, whether or not she feels the same.
If guys would pursue, and girls would wait, there would be no need to analyze, to guess, to assume, to figure out, to unveil, to uncover...there would only be the acknowledged and then proclaimed intention, and the straightforward, and simple answer in return. Voila.
So go men, go pursue. And ladies, sit tight until they do.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
What if?
For the past several nights I have had to force myself to study. Studying can wait.
Yesterday I rode with a group of friends to Atlanta to watch the Braves. I ended up watching a kid do the worm to a drum line, strategies to catch a baseball, and a whole bunch of rain clouds and puddles and rain. It was so great though; the ride, and the dancing kid, and the overly expensive sandwich and fries, the random organ tunes, and even sitting in a wet seat in the rain for 2 hours just to have the game canceled. I liked it. I liked just laughing with my friends, and making random jokes, and drinking bottled water, and running in the rain, and being stuck in traffic for hours, and almost running out of gas, and laughing, and laughing, and laughing. That’s a good day if you ask me.
The only bad thing about Atlanta was the ridiculous people: the rude ones who honked their horns, and refused to let us move over, and did other ridiculous things. I don’t like ridiculous people.
Then, today, I went with a friend to Montgomery for an eye exam. We ended up walking around in circles downtown, but I liked that too. I like getting lost when someone else is with me. I should make it a point to lose myself more often, I seem happy enough when it happens.
Later, we were working on a project and she said out of the blue, “Have you ever thought this is all just a dream and you’re not even living in it?”
I’m not sure if I have. Sometimes I wish in the morning that what I just dreamed was true, but sometimes, I’m exceedingly happy to wake up to find that it’s not.
For example: when I dream that my hair falls out or is chopped off, I could kiss my long hair in the morning when it’s still there.
In one of the best dreams I ever had I was sitting on a little desk, and a red balloon was tied to the leg, and I was just sitting on this desk, my legs hanging over the edge, and I just floated around. I bobbed up and down in the air, and through the trees, and through the neighborhoods. Just me and my red balloon. That was a good dream.
I once dreamed that I died and went to heaven, and Jesus was in a yellow mustang; and we sat on purple bean bags that floated in black, and I saw my Bigdaddy there. And then I went to hell and it was all green, and gray, and there was no ground, and there was no sky, and people just walked without looking side to side, and they didn’t talk, and they didn’t wave..they just walked. And everything looked like old, rotten peers, and houses.
I also once dreamed that a nameless man, with a face I don’t know loved me, asked me to marry him, and I did.
I know my friend was talking about dreams, really, but those are some of my favorites. But I guess I do know what she was talking about, about life feeling like a dream, like it’s not real. If life were like a dream, I would do the whole, “I know I’m just dreaming and I’ll make whatever I want to happen, happen.” That’s my favorite.
I wonder more often what my life would look like had I done something else. What if I had never become friends with that person, what would have happened, changed? I wonder, sometimes, what I would have done if I had only an English degree. What would my life look like if I had made one less mistake, just one, or if I had made just one more? What if he had liked me, or I had liked him? What if that time I caught myself I had fallen? What if I hadn’t walked away? What if, what if, what if.
I think at the end of the day, I just have to stop wondering over the other scenarios and accept that what has happened has happened for a reason. That by some force of God’s hand I’ve been pushed into the right direction, even when I’m attempting to go the other way. I don’t know what could have been or would have been, and I don’t know, really, if there is anything I could have done to make things any better or worse than they are now.
I may not like the way thing are tomorrow or today, but they are. And I don’t really think there is much I can do to change them. I highly doubt that a few words from me will change anyone’s mind, and I doubt there’s a mistake that can’t be forgiven, and I think there is always time to change, there is always time to forgive, there is always time to turn around, there is always time to say what you’ve wanted to say, and there’s always time for a second chance. I believe very much in second chances; I wonder if they believe in me.
But, to leave some wise words that very much influence the things I do now, here’s a poem that has lead me to do a many scary, spontaneous, and courageous things, even when in my heart, I was a coward. It’s really long, so I’ll bold my favorite part in an attempt to “get to the point.”
MAUD MULLER
by: John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)
MAUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadows sweet with hay.
Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.
Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.
But, when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,
The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast--
A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.
The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.
He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,
And ask a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow across the road.
She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,
And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.
"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught
From a fairer hand was never quaffed."
He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;
Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.
And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles bare and brown;
And listened, while a pleasant surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.
At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away,
Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah, me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!
"He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine.
"My father should wear a broadcloth coat;
My brother should sail a painted boat.
"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
And the baby should have a new toy each day.
"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
And all should bless me who left our door."
The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still.
"A form more fair, a face more sweet,
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.
"And her modest answer and graceful air
Show her wise and good as she is fair.
"Would she were mine, and I to-day,
Like her, a harvester of hay:
"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,
"But low of cattle, and song of birds,
And health, and quiet, and loving words."
But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold,
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.
So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.
But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune;
And the young girl mused beside the well,
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.
He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.
Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
He watched a picture come and go:
And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.
Oft when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead;
And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms.
And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain,
"Ah, that I were free again!
"Free as when I rode that day,
Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay."
She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
And many children played round her door.
But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain,
Left their traces on heart and brain.
And oft, when the summer sun shone hot
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,
And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside, through the wall,
In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein,
And, gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.
Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls;
The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned;
And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,
A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.
Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, "It might have been."
Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,
For rich repiner and household drudge!
God pity them both! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;
For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"
Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes;
And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away!
I guess, in summary, the only thing that I can say is, life is sometimes like the rainy day on the day of your Braves game. You can either let the fear of the rain and the wind keep you from going, or you can run in the rain, kick at the wind, and enjoy the time spent living, even if it isn’t exactly how to imagined it or hoped it to be, because sometimes the alternative is what you really needed. And there’s no point in asking “what if” unless you’re really brave enough to find out…
Yesterday I rode with a group of friends to Atlanta to watch the Braves. I ended up watching a kid do the worm to a drum line, strategies to catch a baseball, and a whole bunch of rain clouds and puddles and rain. It was so great though; the ride, and the dancing kid, and the overly expensive sandwich and fries, the random organ tunes, and even sitting in a wet seat in the rain for 2 hours just to have the game canceled. I liked it. I liked just laughing with my friends, and making random jokes, and drinking bottled water, and running in the rain, and being stuck in traffic for hours, and almost running out of gas, and laughing, and laughing, and laughing. That’s a good day if you ask me.
The only bad thing about Atlanta was the ridiculous people: the rude ones who honked their horns, and refused to let us move over, and did other ridiculous things. I don’t like ridiculous people.
Then, today, I went with a friend to Montgomery for an eye exam. We ended up walking around in circles downtown, but I liked that too. I like getting lost when someone else is with me. I should make it a point to lose myself more often, I seem happy enough when it happens.
Later, we were working on a project and she said out of the blue, “Have you ever thought this is all just a dream and you’re not even living in it?”
I’m not sure if I have. Sometimes I wish in the morning that what I just dreamed was true, but sometimes, I’m exceedingly happy to wake up to find that it’s not.
For example: when I dream that my hair falls out or is chopped off, I could kiss my long hair in the morning when it’s still there.
In one of the best dreams I ever had I was sitting on a little desk, and a red balloon was tied to the leg, and I was just sitting on this desk, my legs hanging over the edge, and I just floated around. I bobbed up and down in the air, and through the trees, and through the neighborhoods. Just me and my red balloon. That was a good dream.
I once dreamed that I died and went to heaven, and Jesus was in a yellow mustang; and we sat on purple bean bags that floated in black, and I saw my Bigdaddy there. And then I went to hell and it was all green, and gray, and there was no ground, and there was no sky, and people just walked without looking side to side, and they didn’t talk, and they didn’t wave..they just walked. And everything looked like old, rotten peers, and houses.
I also once dreamed that a nameless man, with a face I don’t know loved me, asked me to marry him, and I did.
I know my friend was talking about dreams, really, but those are some of my favorites. But I guess I do know what she was talking about, about life feeling like a dream, like it’s not real. If life were like a dream, I would do the whole, “I know I’m just dreaming and I’ll make whatever I want to happen, happen.” That’s my favorite.
I wonder more often what my life would look like had I done something else. What if I had never become friends with that person, what would have happened, changed? I wonder, sometimes, what I would have done if I had only an English degree. What would my life look like if I had made one less mistake, just one, or if I had made just one more? What if he had liked me, or I had liked him? What if that time I caught myself I had fallen? What if I hadn’t walked away? What if, what if, what if.
I think at the end of the day, I just have to stop wondering over the other scenarios and accept that what has happened has happened for a reason. That by some force of God’s hand I’ve been pushed into the right direction, even when I’m attempting to go the other way. I don’t know what could have been or would have been, and I don’t know, really, if there is anything I could have done to make things any better or worse than they are now.
I may not like the way thing are tomorrow or today, but they are. And I don’t really think there is much I can do to change them. I highly doubt that a few words from me will change anyone’s mind, and I doubt there’s a mistake that can’t be forgiven, and I think there is always time to change, there is always time to forgive, there is always time to turn around, there is always time to say what you’ve wanted to say, and there’s always time for a second chance. I believe very much in second chances; I wonder if they believe in me.
But, to leave some wise words that very much influence the things I do now, here’s a poem that has lead me to do a many scary, spontaneous, and courageous things, even when in my heart, I was a coward. It’s really long, so I’ll bold my favorite part in an attempt to “get to the point.”
MAUD MULLER
by: John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)
MAUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadows sweet with hay.
Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.
Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.
But, when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,
The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast--
A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.
The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.
He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,
And ask a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow across the road.
She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,
And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.
"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught
From a fairer hand was never quaffed."
He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;
Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.
And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles bare and brown;
And listened, while a pleasant surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.
At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away,
Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah, me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!
"He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine.
"My father should wear a broadcloth coat;
My brother should sail a painted boat.
"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
And the baby should have a new toy each day.
"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
And all should bless me who left our door."
The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still.
"A form more fair, a face more sweet,
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.
"And her modest answer and graceful air
Show her wise and good as she is fair.
"Would she were mine, and I to-day,
Like her, a harvester of hay:
"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,
"But low of cattle, and song of birds,
And health, and quiet, and loving words."
But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold,
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.
So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.
But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune;
And the young girl mused beside the well,
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.
He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.
Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
He watched a picture come and go:
And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.
Oft when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead;
And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms.
And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain,
"Ah, that I were free again!
"Free as when I rode that day,
Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay."
She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
And many children played round her door.
But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain,
Left their traces on heart and brain.
And oft, when the summer sun shone hot
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,
And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside, through the wall,
In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein,
And, gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.
Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls;
The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned;
And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,
A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.
Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, "It might have been."
Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,
For rich repiner and household drudge!
God pity them both! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;
For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"
Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes;
And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away!
I guess, in summary, the only thing that I can say is, life is sometimes like the rainy day on the day of your Braves game. You can either let the fear of the rain and the wind keep you from going, or you can run in the rain, kick at the wind, and enjoy the time spent living, even if it isn’t exactly how to imagined it or hoped it to be, because sometimes the alternative is what you really needed. And there’s no point in asking “what if” unless you’re really brave enough to find out…
Thursday, April 14, 2011
In the Empty
You know that feeling when you haven’t eaten all day, mostly because you’ve been so busy that food didn’t cross your mind? And at 12:00 at night or 1:00 you’re finally sitting down on the couch and all of a sudden you realize that you could eat an entire cow. So you go to the kitchen and put together the most random meal ever, but it’s the most satisfying because you needed it more than the normal turkey sandwich you had yesterday.
I say all of that to say; yesterday night at church was the most satisfied I’ve been in a while. I hadn’t had a spiritual meal in so long because I’ve been so, so , so busy, but once I just sat down, and the piano started playing, and we started singing, nay, praising, and I could just sit and listen to the word of the Lord, I felt that pang in my heart where I was spiritually starving, and I was so hungry that I could have stayed there for hours to read the bible, or sing old hymns, or just sit and listen to someone else read the bible aloud, or sing old hymns…
You’d think that if I were that hungry, I would have gone to Wednesday night service a lot sooner, but I have to admit I was a little nervous because I hadn’t been in so long. It’s like having a friend that you love, but you just don’t get to talk to very often, and that gap of time just gets wider and wider until you’re just embarrassed you haven’t talked to them in so long, so you keep avoiding the awkward reuniting…that’s kind of what I was doing, I suppose.
What’s weird is that I’m thankful for the obvious hunger I had. I hate it when I don’t know if I’m hungry or not because I eat so much out of habit that I can’t tell the difference. I don’t like that. Maybe you don’t mind it, but when I eat, I like to know that I’m eating because I really need it, not because I’m bored and it gives me something to do. There’s something very satisfying about recognizing a real need and then having that need completely and utterly filled.
It seems to me that the filling means something. If I feel a physical hunger somewhere, and then I can also feel a physical fullness, then that means that the emptiness and then the fulfillment mean something: there’s something to be said about the thing that is doing the filling. Food satisfied physical hunger, not a little, or half-way, but completely, and that says a lot about food. What it is and what it means: It’s nourishment that is capable of satisfying a real need.
The same goes spiritually. I like that we can literally feel that heavy, weak, spiritual ache that follows God fasting. And I think it means something that that ache- hunger- can only be satisfied by the word, and prayer, and worship. Try filling it with anything else, and it’s only partial…like trying to eat dirt when you’re hungry- it might fill your stomach, but there is no real satisfaction, its false fulfillment.
The fact that I can feel that spiritual hunger like I did last night, and then have it so fulfilled reassures me. I’m hungry because God made a place for Himself in my heart, and it’s satisfied when I spend time with Him (literally satisfied) because I’m filling the place in my heart made for Him with Him, and with nothing else.
Hunger is a simple feeling. We all know what it feels like to be hungry, it’s universal. And I don’t think it’s an accident that every day we experience a physical need that can only be fulfilled by one source (food, not dirt, or just water, or paper). I think when we recognize hunger and then eat, we know what it means, really, to want, and then to be satisfied. I think God gave us something we know every day and do every day to teach us about Himself more, and about ourselves more. We have a spiritual hunger every day, and if we fast too long, we’ll end up starving, which can make different people go to different things to fill up the empty space (money,relationships,facebook...). But once you’ve had a taste of the word, and of the contentment and peace that comes when you find yourself in the presence of the Lord, you realize that that was the real “food” and everything else you tried to fit into the cross shaped space in your heart was counterfeit, and wasn’t going to fit even if- like the kids in the nurseries- you managed to force it into place.
I think that the empty is proof of the fulfiller. The fact that my physical hunger is only satisfied by food, means that food is the only thing that can satisfy my hunger, and I will return to food each and every time I feel hunger, because I know it is the true way to fill an empty stomach. I think that the emptiness people feel somewhere deep in their person validates that something is missing, and I think that having it satisfied, completely, In God validates that He is the true way to fill an empty heart.
The empty is proof of the filler. If I have a need, but it can be completely fulfilled, the thing which is fulfilling must be true, it must be real, and it must be the only source that can fill that need. Hunger is real, and food is real, and they depend upon one another. Empty hearts are real, and discontentment is real, and peace is real, and satisfaction is real, and they, likewise depend upon each other. But what is the food that carries the contentment and the satisfaction to an empty and dissatisfied heart? God. And if God is the filler, then God is real too.
I say all of that to say; yesterday night at church was the most satisfied I’ve been in a while. I hadn’t had a spiritual meal in so long because I’ve been so, so , so busy, but once I just sat down, and the piano started playing, and we started singing, nay, praising, and I could just sit and listen to the word of the Lord, I felt that pang in my heart where I was spiritually starving, and I was so hungry that I could have stayed there for hours to read the bible, or sing old hymns, or just sit and listen to someone else read the bible aloud, or sing old hymns…
You’d think that if I were that hungry, I would have gone to Wednesday night service a lot sooner, but I have to admit I was a little nervous because I hadn’t been in so long. It’s like having a friend that you love, but you just don’t get to talk to very often, and that gap of time just gets wider and wider until you’re just embarrassed you haven’t talked to them in so long, so you keep avoiding the awkward reuniting…that’s kind of what I was doing, I suppose.
What’s weird is that I’m thankful for the obvious hunger I had. I hate it when I don’t know if I’m hungry or not because I eat so much out of habit that I can’t tell the difference. I don’t like that. Maybe you don’t mind it, but when I eat, I like to know that I’m eating because I really need it, not because I’m bored and it gives me something to do. There’s something very satisfying about recognizing a real need and then having that need completely and utterly filled.
It seems to me that the filling means something. If I feel a physical hunger somewhere, and then I can also feel a physical fullness, then that means that the emptiness and then the fulfillment mean something: there’s something to be said about the thing that is doing the filling. Food satisfied physical hunger, not a little, or half-way, but completely, and that says a lot about food. What it is and what it means: It’s nourishment that is capable of satisfying a real need.
The same goes spiritually. I like that we can literally feel that heavy, weak, spiritual ache that follows God fasting. And I think it means something that that ache- hunger- can only be satisfied by the word, and prayer, and worship. Try filling it with anything else, and it’s only partial…like trying to eat dirt when you’re hungry- it might fill your stomach, but there is no real satisfaction, its false fulfillment.
The fact that I can feel that spiritual hunger like I did last night, and then have it so fulfilled reassures me. I’m hungry because God made a place for Himself in my heart, and it’s satisfied when I spend time with Him (literally satisfied) because I’m filling the place in my heart made for Him with Him, and with nothing else.
Hunger is a simple feeling. We all know what it feels like to be hungry, it’s universal. And I don’t think it’s an accident that every day we experience a physical need that can only be fulfilled by one source (food, not dirt, or just water, or paper). I think when we recognize hunger and then eat, we know what it means, really, to want, and then to be satisfied. I think God gave us something we know every day and do every day to teach us about Himself more, and about ourselves more. We have a spiritual hunger every day, and if we fast too long, we’ll end up starving, which can make different people go to different things to fill up the empty space (money,relationships,facebook...). But once you’ve had a taste of the word, and of the contentment and peace that comes when you find yourself in the presence of the Lord, you realize that that was the real “food” and everything else you tried to fit into the cross shaped space in your heart was counterfeit, and wasn’t going to fit even if- like the kids in the nurseries- you managed to force it into place.
I think that the empty is proof of the fulfiller. The fact that my physical hunger is only satisfied by food, means that food is the only thing that can satisfy my hunger, and I will return to food each and every time I feel hunger, because I know it is the true way to fill an empty stomach. I think that the emptiness people feel somewhere deep in their person validates that something is missing, and I think that having it satisfied, completely, In God validates that He is the true way to fill an empty heart.
The empty is proof of the filler. If I have a need, but it can be completely fulfilled, the thing which is fulfilling must be true, it must be real, and it must be the only source that can fill that need. Hunger is real, and food is real, and they depend upon one another. Empty hearts are real, and discontentment is real, and peace is real, and satisfaction is real, and they, likewise depend upon each other. But what is the food that carries the contentment and the satisfaction to an empty and dissatisfied heart? God. And if God is the filler, then God is real too.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Coeur de Pirate
Comme Des Infants
Alors tu vois, comme tout se mêle
Et du cœur à tes lèvres, je deviens un casse-tête
Ton rire me crie, de te lâcher
Avant de perdre prise, et d’abandonner
Car je ne t’en demanderai jamais autant
Déjà que tu me traites, comme un grand enfant
Nous n’avons plus rien à risquer
À part nos vies qu’on laisse de coté
Et il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
C’en est assez de ces dédoublements
C’est plus dure à faire, qu’autrement
Car sans rire c’est plus facile de rêver
À ce qu’on ne pourra, jamais plus toucher
On se prend la main, comme des enfants
Le bonheur aux lèvres, un peu naïvement
Et on marche ensemble, d’un pas décidé
Alors que nos têtes nous crient de tout arrêter
Il m’aime encore, et toi tu m’aimes un peu plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Et malgré ça, il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
MUSICAL INTERLUDE
Encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime pas plus fort
Malgré ça il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Translated:
So you see as everything gets mixed up
From your heart to your lips, I become a headache (problem)
Your laugh defies me to let you go
Before losing hold and abandoning
Because I would never ask you for that much
You already treat me like a big child
And we have nothing left to lose
Except our lives, which we have set aside
I knew I would like what she was saying...
And he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
That’s enough of this splitting in halves
It’s harder to do, otherwise
Because without laughter it’s easier to dream
Of what we can never again touch
We take each others hands, like children
The happiness on our lips, a bit naively
And we walk together with a determined step
While our heads yell at us to stop everything
He still loves me, and you love me a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
And despite this, he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
INTERLUDE MUSICALE
Again, me I love you a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
Despite this, he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
I knew I would like what she was saying.....
Alors tu vois, comme tout se mêle
Et du cœur à tes lèvres, je deviens un casse-tête
Ton rire me crie, de te lâcher
Avant de perdre prise, et d’abandonner
Car je ne t’en demanderai jamais autant
Déjà que tu me traites, comme un grand enfant
Nous n’avons plus rien à risquer
À part nos vies qu’on laisse de coté
Et il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
C’en est assez de ces dédoublements
C’est plus dure à faire, qu’autrement
Car sans rire c’est plus facile de rêver
À ce qu’on ne pourra, jamais plus toucher
On se prend la main, comme des enfants
Le bonheur aux lèvres, un peu naïvement
Et on marche ensemble, d’un pas décidé
Alors que nos têtes nous crient de tout arrêter
Il m’aime encore, et toi tu m’aimes un peu plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Et malgré ça, il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
MUSICAL INTERLUDE
Encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime pas plus fort
Malgré ça il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Translated:
So you see as everything gets mixed up
From your heart to your lips, I become a headache (problem)
Your laugh defies me to let you go
Before losing hold and abandoning
Because I would never ask you for that much
You already treat me like a big child
And we have nothing left to lose
Except our lives, which we have set aside
I knew I would like what she was saying...
And he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
That’s enough of this splitting in halves
It’s harder to do, otherwise
Because without laughter it’s easier to dream
Of what we can never again touch
We take each others hands, like children
The happiness on our lips, a bit naively
And we walk together with a determined step
While our heads yell at us to stop everything
He still loves me, and you love me a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
And despite this, he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
INTERLUDE MUSICALE
Again, me I love you a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
Despite this, he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
But he still loves me, and me I love you a little more
I knew I would like what she was saying.....
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Simple Things
Last night there was a thunderstorm. It started off as the kind that I really love; the ones where the wind blows just a little, and the rain falls just a little, and it’s mostly the low roll of thunder, that kind of thunderstorm. But then it became the kind of thunderstorm that leads to tornado watches, and power going out, and trees in the back yard falling, and me and my roommate sitting on the couch downstairs in the dark talking about boys.
It’s kind of funny. I mean, giant limbs were falling on the back porch, we could hear trees falling in the yard and across the street, but at some point, we just sat, each on our own end, our legs stretched out…talking in the dark as if nothing was happening outside. That’s when it became the kind of storm I like again.
It was nice. I don’t normally prefer sitting on couches in the dark, especially when out of the windows it looks like God is using some sort of super flashlight to light up the backyard…but I guess when I forgot about studying for my vitamins and minerals exam, and working on lab reports, and I could just sit, and talk, and forget…then I welcomed the dark, and the scary lightening, and the “bad” sort of thunderstorm. The only regret I had was that I couldn’t make a cup of tea. I really like hot tea these days, this is mostly because I recently figured out how I like my tea…and tea is only good when you know how you like it. This can be said for many things in life.
At twelve something, my roommate wanted to sleep, so she lied down, and I studied a bit more for my exam on Friday, by flashlight. At one something, I decided I’d go upstairs, so I woke her up and we went to our own dark rooms.
I’m the person who has tons of candles, but I don’t use them often because I want to save them. I love lighting them, I just hate how quickly they melt away, and I don’t really want to buy more, I just want the ones I already have, so though I prefer them over lamps, I don’t use them as often as I’d like to. Anyway, the best thing about the power going out is that I end up lighting my candles: the really tall ones, the short fat ones, the vanilla scented ones, and the purple ones, and the one that smell like hazelnut coffee.
I can’t sleep when the power goes out. I guess because I know that if I wake up and want to turn on a light, I won’t be able to, so I just stay up until the lights come back on just so that I can turn them off and go to bed (I know this is ridiculous). So my room had that warm glow that only exists when you light candles, and I remembered the love letters under my bed from the 1800’s in a shoebox, and I read a few. At two something, I wrote four pages in my journal about all of the things I forget to write about from day to day. And then I decided I’d write a letter. I’ve always wanted to write a letter, I just never really ever had a reason to write a letter…but with reason or not, I decided I’d write one; between the candle light, and the thunder outside, and the shoebox of letters, and the black ink of my pen, I just had to write a letter.
I say all of this to say, I wish there were more nights when the power would go out. In my marriage and family class, we learned that there is no such thing as “the golden years,” but I think there was. I’m not saying economically they were better, or people were better, but I think there was a time where materialistic things weren’t so important, when things were simple, when people wrote each other letters by candle light, and when people traded TV, and facebook, and useless things for novels, and poetry, and pianos, and long walks outside. They sat in large chairs, or small chairs, or on floors by candlelight or fire places and talked in the dark, and they had moments of forgetfulness like I had last night. I could trade convenience for that.
I’m sure I’m being quixotic about this, but it just seems they had more time to really enjoy life, to enjoy breathing, and exhaling, and just being in a moment. You know? That had real conversations constantly, and had deep thoughts because their thoughts weren’t being snuffed out by crappy tv shows and music.
I remember hearing in one my classes growing up, I’m not sure which one, but I heard that Abraham Lincoln used to just sit in a sitting room and think. He’d just sit and think. For hours. And I remember wondering how anyone could just sit quiet like that and think for so long; but I catch myself doing the same thing sometimes. In class, I sometimes catch myself daydreaming, thinking about the most random things ever, and in the morning, I’ll hit the snooze button five times or more so that I can just lay there and think, and at night, I think a little more. What do I think about? Who knows? But it’s nice to have time to just think to myself, and not having to think about what a teacher is saying, or about whether or not a tv show is worth watching.
The power going out was just a reminder of the small things I forget to appreciate, and by small things I appreciate I don’t mean electrical things, I mean the quiet things. I mean sitting and talking in the dark, and having time to think about anything you want for however long you want, and reading old books, and writing letters, or reading letters, and finding yourself satisfied in the best sort of way by what seems like nothing at all when the lights come back on.
It’s kind of funny. I mean, giant limbs were falling on the back porch, we could hear trees falling in the yard and across the street, but at some point, we just sat, each on our own end, our legs stretched out…talking in the dark as if nothing was happening outside. That’s when it became the kind of storm I like again.
It was nice. I don’t normally prefer sitting on couches in the dark, especially when out of the windows it looks like God is using some sort of super flashlight to light up the backyard…but I guess when I forgot about studying for my vitamins and minerals exam, and working on lab reports, and I could just sit, and talk, and forget…then I welcomed the dark, and the scary lightening, and the “bad” sort of thunderstorm. The only regret I had was that I couldn’t make a cup of tea. I really like hot tea these days, this is mostly because I recently figured out how I like my tea…and tea is only good when you know how you like it. This can be said for many things in life.
At twelve something, my roommate wanted to sleep, so she lied down, and I studied a bit more for my exam on Friday, by flashlight. At one something, I decided I’d go upstairs, so I woke her up and we went to our own dark rooms.
I’m the person who has tons of candles, but I don’t use them often because I want to save them. I love lighting them, I just hate how quickly they melt away, and I don’t really want to buy more, I just want the ones I already have, so though I prefer them over lamps, I don’t use them as often as I’d like to. Anyway, the best thing about the power going out is that I end up lighting my candles: the really tall ones, the short fat ones, the vanilla scented ones, and the purple ones, and the one that smell like hazelnut coffee.
I can’t sleep when the power goes out. I guess because I know that if I wake up and want to turn on a light, I won’t be able to, so I just stay up until the lights come back on just so that I can turn them off and go to bed (I know this is ridiculous). So my room had that warm glow that only exists when you light candles, and I remembered the love letters under my bed from the 1800’s in a shoebox, and I read a few. At two something, I wrote four pages in my journal about all of the things I forget to write about from day to day. And then I decided I’d write a letter. I’ve always wanted to write a letter, I just never really ever had a reason to write a letter…but with reason or not, I decided I’d write one; between the candle light, and the thunder outside, and the shoebox of letters, and the black ink of my pen, I just had to write a letter.
I say all of this to say, I wish there were more nights when the power would go out. In my marriage and family class, we learned that there is no such thing as “the golden years,” but I think there was. I’m not saying economically they were better, or people were better, but I think there was a time where materialistic things weren’t so important, when things were simple, when people wrote each other letters by candle light, and when people traded TV, and facebook, and useless things for novels, and poetry, and pianos, and long walks outside. They sat in large chairs, or small chairs, or on floors by candlelight or fire places and talked in the dark, and they had moments of forgetfulness like I had last night. I could trade convenience for that.
I’m sure I’m being quixotic about this, but it just seems they had more time to really enjoy life, to enjoy breathing, and exhaling, and just being in a moment. You know? That had real conversations constantly, and had deep thoughts because their thoughts weren’t being snuffed out by crappy tv shows and music.
I remember hearing in one my classes growing up, I’m not sure which one, but I heard that Abraham Lincoln used to just sit in a sitting room and think. He’d just sit and think. For hours. And I remember wondering how anyone could just sit quiet like that and think for so long; but I catch myself doing the same thing sometimes. In class, I sometimes catch myself daydreaming, thinking about the most random things ever, and in the morning, I’ll hit the snooze button five times or more so that I can just lay there and think, and at night, I think a little more. What do I think about? Who knows? But it’s nice to have time to just think to myself, and not having to think about what a teacher is saying, or about whether or not a tv show is worth watching.
The power going out was just a reminder of the small things I forget to appreciate, and by small things I appreciate I don’t mean electrical things, I mean the quiet things. I mean sitting and talking in the dark, and having time to think about anything you want for however long you want, and reading old books, and writing letters, or reading letters, and finding yourself satisfied in the best sort of way by what seems like nothing at all when the lights come back on.
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