Unmasked

Unmasked

I’ve always loved the film Phantom of the Opera. Yes, I know it’s cheesy and the phantom is the ultimate creeper, but you have to admit it’s also pretty epic, right? Swordfights, romance, fancy costumes, Gerard Butler. Need I say more? Such masquerades always seem to last until midnight when disguises are removed and identities magically revealed. There’s something incredibly fascinating about mysterious ball-goers dressed to perfection and hiding their true selves from the rest of the world. Carnivale in Venice (which I got to experience last year—talk about magical!) traditionally revolves around costumes and masks and being someone else. Masquerades and mystery and...misery? Place those masks in everyday society and they’re still expected yet horribly misleading. Convenient in hiding feelings but inconvenient in true relationships. Crucial in masking pain. 

Recently I’ve been thinking through the pain we all inevitably feel. We all experience pain. I guess I’ve always known that, but I guess I still hold onto the fantastic hope that someone, somewhere remains untouched by any hurt, escaping the consequences of life among sinners. Wishful thinking, I know—that someone’s perfect appearance isn’t just a mask and actually belongs to them. I suppose that wishful thinking has been spurred on by the way we’ve all learned to handle pain and, ultimately, to mask it.

Of course I’m not advocating the idea that we all simply complain more—of course not. But in a society which promotes such a heavy and relentless amount of communication, there’s much less honest talking going on, isn’t there? Now I won’t bore you with a monologue of my opinion on the dangers and distractions of many modern, pointless, just-to-talk conversations, but I think we could all agree that quantity doesn’t always override quality.

With all of this communication occurring, you’d think we’d find a way to convey our true feeling, to convey our real pain; instead, I find myself brushing over honesty to choose responses which fit more appropriately into the stereotype of modern, everyday conversations. Just this week, I paused in a couple dozen of those typical “Hey! How’re you doing?” remarks between acquaintances, between real friends even. We’re basically faced with two options with those greetings in question, and we have approximately 3.2 seconds before we’re too far away down our respective paths to hear the reply: option a) try to squeeze a summary of our entire mental, spiritual, emotional, and physical well-being into that brief moment or b) respond with the predictable “I’m good, and you?” Frankly, I usually choose the easier one, option b. Masking the emotions, the hurt, the experiences—even the joy. With such limited space for a response that differs from the expected, we can’t share our happiness either.

As I consider all this, I realize how guilty I am, how misguided I am about the whole point of communicating. I ask how you’re doing, but, while I may want a vivid, honest reply, I’m not really expecting one. I’m not expecting truth in the short phrases my ears have already absorbed before those words have even left your lips. I say I care, but how am I showing that if I’ve already turned away, already mentally moved on?

Pain comes in so many forms—it aches and throbs and stabs and smarts and sits there dully all the freaking day. It’s in your heart and your head and your body and your mind and feelings you can’t even begin to define. It’s there, hidden, masked. It increases as it goes unnoticed, forgotten, ignored. I know you’re missing some of my pain, and I can only imagine how much I’m missing of yours. When are we going to remove those masks? Has the clock struck midnight yet? 

Letting Go

“I'm letting go, Of the life I planned for me, And my dreams, I'm losing control...It feels like I'm falling and that's what it's like to believe. So I'm letting go…”

I started to think about this as Fracesca Battistelli’s song came on the radio the other night. Then the song “Let it Go” played on spotify:

“You say let it go You say life is waiting for the one's who lose control You say You will be everything I need You say if I lose my life it's then I'll find my soul You say let it go…” (Tenth Avenue North). Ok, I can take a hint. 

 And then I realized that that’s one of the reasons I’ve been struggling this year. It’s one of the reasons that it feels like things are falling apart. It’s one of the reasons that I’ve felt like things in life aren’t happening correctly. And you know what? It’s supposed to be like that. I should be able to release my plans and dreams—however amazing or well-thought or precious they are to me—to God, all the time, every day, and often. It should feel like I’m falling, completely out of control. It is out of my control. Really, I can no more control my own steps than I can control what your second cousin’s neighbor’s calico cat thinks of the fish that was just brought into the house. OK, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but it’s still obvious. In the big picture of life, it’s out of my control, entirely.

Letting go—such an ordinary thing. Letting go, though, is always harder than I think it’s going to be. I can easily tell people that I’m over something, that I’ve moved on, but to actually believe that is a completely different story. Despite what I say, despite my implications that everything’s “alright” (as if that term even has any meaning now), I’m really having a hard time letting go. First impressions, desires, schedules, intentions, people, life—why can’t they all turn out how I think they will?

“I’m letting go, of the life I planned for me, and my dreams…”

Gosh, but I like my dreams. I’m actually really, really partial to the plans I’ve made. Last week, as I was thinking about all this letting go, I had plans to go to class and eat food and hang out and do homework. This weekend, I made plans to venture on a ROAD TRIP (sorry, whenever I think those words, they’re in bold font) with friends. Those plans seemed pretty sound to me. Even abstract plans—jobs after college, marriage, children, etc., all eventually but perhaps not yet specific—are significant, ingrained somehow in my mind as definites.

This isn’t to say that I shouldn’t make any plans. Of course not. But I shouldn’t count on tomorrow going according to my desires, I shouldn’t expect people to act and think they way I’ve planned for them to, I shouldn’t take hours and weeks and years for granted.

I guess I didn’t realize how hard I’ve been holding onto things until I’ve been forced to let go. That pull I’ve kept constant on people and dreams cause disappointment and heartache and frustration. I have no right to have a pull, a say, a wish, on anything. Anything. While we think we’re free to follow our own path, doesn’t the real freedom come from letting go and handing over control, completely, to God?

And, naturally, the things in this life we hold most dear will be the hardest to release, to let go. But maybe they’re the most important to release, too? Shouldn’t our biggest dreams belong especially to God? If they’re good dreams, if they’re part of God’s will for us, we’ll get them back. And dreams endorsed by God will be that much more incredible.

Let it go—impressions, expectations, dreams, goals. In some ways, I even have to let go of incredibly specific things, like personality. Of course I think of myself a certain way, I picture myself a particular person created from a combination of the intricacies of my thoughts, emotions, and dreams. But isn’t God very capable of changing my person, my personality, towards His original intention for me?  2 Corinthians 4:16-18 says, “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” God’s plans for us, for me, are bigger, they are better, they are and have been since the beginning of time while my own have no right to exist at all. And God’s plan are eternal, not the petty, temporary ones I had in mind.

Hindsight shows me how insignificant my “plans” are in the grand scheme of things. Hasn’t God already shown that His will is so, so much better than mine? History, current events, and personal experience all scream of the stupidity of clinging to personal plans in place of God’s magnificent plans.

While “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8), we’remeant to change. I mean, when I became a believer, I for sure changed. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). As a believer still, I do want to continue to change. So I have to let go of things—mistakes and regrets and first impressions and “what if”s. Yesterday didn’t go precisely as I had planned, so I’m letting go of the expectations I had. Tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll have to do the same.

So I’ve got to let go.  

It’s a process—a necessary, not-often-fun-times process. But I’m working on it.

Loving Like God

“Your love never fails, never gives up, never runs out on me…”

There’s this song by Jesus Culture called “One Thing Remains.” That line above is from the song, and it’s been on a constant replay in my mind for weeks now.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love lately—not the cheesy-romantic-comedy-type love (you know, where two gorgeous people meet at a bar or a highschool reunion, somehow have this magical collection, and go on to save the world one witty remark at a time). Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been known to read/watch my share of these. But I’m referring more to that deeper sort of love. The little kid you babysit drives you nuts with her antics but you still put her needs above your own, regardless of the paycheck. Your best friend ditches you repeatedly; repeatedly, you still wish her the best. Your brother knowingly rips your heart out and drags it through the mud, but you still give him a second chance.

Real love. Like God’s love. Unconditional love.

And, thinking about that, I realize my love is so conditional. Yeah, if you asked, of course I’d say I still love that kid or friend or brother. Of course I do. But how am I showing that? I get hurt by people, and I stew and vent and hold grudges. Grudges are so much fun, aren’t they? For a little while, at least, it’s fun, it’s easy, to stay mad, to get really angry, to play the victim, to act like I have every right to want vengeance.  Sometimes I wonder why it matters. Sometimes I’d much rather just stew on any offences, let them simmer and grow and fester until I have a full-fledged grudge.

Because it’s easy to blame it all on the other person.

Loving like God isn’t about blaming others, though. In fact, it doesn’t have anything to do with blame or whose fault what is. Loving like God is about forgiveness and selflessness and banishing the fear of trusting others again. There is no end to selflessness, best wishes, and second chances with a love like God’s. And second chances means letting go—forgetting—past offences. Forgiveness, well, sometimes sucks. It means I can’t play the victim to achieve some distorted sense of satisfaction. Darn.

So, maybe relationships are screwed up, and maybe they will be for a long time. But I don’t have to sit back, pouting, playing the victim. I can love like God, unconditionally—at least I can try to.

I can remove the plank from my own eye. I can stop blindly and conditionally blaming someone else for my messed up emotions and feelings. I am no better than anyone, so I can stop the judging. I can drop the grudges. I can forgive. I can hold out second chances like leaves in the fall, letting them blow wherever, no selectivity. Unconditionally.

I can love like God. I’ll fail, naturally, but I don’t have to give up. I don’t have to hold back.

Because God’s love never runs out on me. 

Happy Easter!!!

Dearest You,
Happy Easter! Aren't you thankful that He rose again, saving us sinners? I've always wondered why the disciples completely forgot that Jesus told them He'd be condemned and killed, but that He would rise up from the dead three days later. All of His friends were deep in grief and disbelief when Mary told them that Jesus was alive again. Even when they doubted His "realness" if you will, Jesus humored them and gave them proof. Jesus, perfect and blameless, after DYING ON A CROSS, FOR US, could have looked at His disciples incredulously for disbelieving. He could have zapped some sense into them. He could have left that upper room WHERE THEY HID and found others who would believe through faith, without seeing. But, instead, He offered proof, showing them His hands, feet, and side, where He was scarred for us. Aren't you glad to belong to a God who is SO loving, SO merciful, SO powerful that He sent His Son to take our sins and repercussions of them away from us forever?

My Easter Sunday began early. So early, in fact, that by noon I'd already gone to two church services, hunted colorful plastic eggs in wet grass, eaten a huge fattening brunch, and taken two separate naps. Now I've painted some hard-boiled eggs (painted-not dyed), consequently-yet-accidentally painting the fingernails I carefully manicured at eleven o'clock last night. 6am sunrise service this morning was good--we actually got there early, which, if you know anything about my family, is very unusual :P After that half-hour service, armed with our annual orange juice and ham biscuit snack, we rushed to the second service, at 7. I think most of us were still in a daze by the time we got home :D

I hope you're enjoying this blessed day with your family! Or friends. Or pet chick. Or chocolate candy and jellybeans.

Praise God for sending His Son, who does not get angry when our faith and trust are weak, but waits with patience and with proof.

Con amore,

Sophie

Cheesy puns, bear with me...

Dearest You,
Since this is how I started my day, I thought it'd be appropriate to begin my blog with the Do's and Don't's (do you put apostrophes there?) of allergy-season.
Do:
*Inhale.
*Take benadryl. YOU DON'T HAVE TO SUFFER! Actually, you do. At least you can convince yourself you're doing something about it.
*Let people know that you have allergies so they don't think you're rudely blowing your nose and exposing your germs to the general public. (Bonus: gain sympathy). (Double bonus: If you talk about it, people are guaranteed to get itchy skin within seconds. THEN they'll feel sorry for you.)


Don't:
*Inhale pollen.
*Take too much benadryl. People might not believe your excuses for being drowsy and completely out of it.
*Scratch your eyes. Especially wearing makeup.
*Sneeze.
*Put cucumber slices on your eyes if at all avoidable. There's a possibility that one of your eyes is allergic to something on the cucumbers. This eye might decide to swell, turn yellow, and freak your parents out so much that they take you to the ER. I'm not suggesting that this happened to me, but--OK, yes, it happened to me.
*Sit out in the grass. That's basically daring the enemy (a.k.a pollen) to open fire.
*Put fresh flowers in your room--ummm, I think this is self-explanatory.


Cheesy pun of the day: While we were in the grocery store, a bag of carrots was uncarroteristically yellow (intentionally). Get it? Hehe. I told my little sisters I would post that on Facebook, but I chickened out at the last minute. I figured anybody who knows me enough to care to read my blog will forgive the dorky jokes :P.
"of the day" may have led you to believe that this will be a daily occurrence, this reciting of puns. Not to worry, I have no intention to--But now that you mention it... :D


I'm totally making a dress out of old curtain for my little sister. She wants it for Easter, but I made no promises. My impromptu/improvised sewing doesn't always turn out beautifully...

Gen's making me listen to Disney music. No, not the "Someday My Prince Will Come", "When You Wish Upon a Star" awesomeness. We're talking about the Disney actors-suddenly-turned-singers stuff. Haha. Some of it's not so bad :P

Decisions, decisions. That free-will is great and all, but it sure is complicated.

Wind-blown hair. Hmmphm. Guess I should be thankful for it--Without it, people might think I actually looked in a mirror before leaving the house. Couldn't have that.

I wonder if one of my blog posts will ever NOT be random? 'Cause I know y'all are SO interested in all those spaghetti thoughts of mine. At least I'm blogging, right? :D

Praise God for choices! I am seriously glad we're not robots.

Con amore,
Sophie

Place Title Here

Dearest You,
I'm such a slacker. But I promise I've been busy :P Today has been lovely. It's pretty nice outside. I spent a few hours in our backyard creek this afternoon. I thought it'd be considerate of me to compose a to-do list for you in case you feel like following suit:
1. Wear a t-shirt. Rip off the bottom half of a floor-length skirt to get a nice rugged effect, and pair it with some leggings. Keep leftover fabric to make a vest at a later date.
2. Stuff a grungy-looking bag with special items. Included but not limited to a book, some cookies, a cell phone, an mp3 player, a notebook, and a pencil. Mechanical, of course.
3. Sling said bag over shoulder.
4. Pick out rain/mud boots. It is preferable that at least one of the boots has a hole in it.
5. Go outside.
6. Find a study walking stick.
7. Take a few moments to decide which is the most challenging way to enter the creek. Options can include climbing over rocks, jumping over poison ivy, maneuvering past bushes, et cetera.
8. Procede into the water.
9. Keep vocal chords healthy by shrieking once or twice once cold water seeps through said hole in said boot. This is easily accomplished if one forgets which boot contains the hole. Suprise is key.
10. Explore, careful to only tread on green algae-covered rocks, thereby increasing one's chances of slipping and falling.
11. Point out scientific findings to your companions.
12. Ignore mocking of your nerdiness.
13. Spread old towel on dry-ish rock and sit.
14. Enjoy cookies while not thinking about the germs that are on your un-sanatized hands.
15. Read book.
16. Swat away a few wasps and bees.
17. Make mini sailboats and rafts out of leaves and twigs and moss.
18. Watch said mini sailboats and rafts drown.
19. Save a catipillar from death by drowning. This occurance is of course unrelated to mini sailboats and rafts.
20. Bask in childhood memories of the days you basically lived in said creek. Then journey back to reality.

On another note...what was my other note? I can't remember. But since I've gotten you all excited, I'd better come up with something. I went to Greek class tonight. Is that interesting? It's interesting that it's all going over my head. I didn't get eaten by a tornado the other day. That's good news, isn't it? And yes, I'm pretty sure tornados can eat you. College financial aid advisors are unique. Especially when they're doing a presentation at said college's preview day in the most monotone voice possible. It really gets the kids excited about said college. Don't mind the sarcasm there.

Happy Palm Sunday!
Praise God for sending His Son, humbly riding on a donkey, ready to save the world.
Con amore,
Sophie

Crazy Novel Job

Dearest you,
Wow I haven't written in forever. Oh well, there's no time like the present to start back. I got a job this past week at Christie Cookies. It's at the Opryland hotel, which is pretty cool. Christie is a man, just in case you were assuming it was a Ms. I went through a seven-hour orientation today with Gaylord...got to learn all about the hotel, eat a nice lunch, and tour the newly-refurbished building. It's pretty spiffy. You should come see it (and me :) when the hotel opens back up on Monday (the 15th). Guess what color our uniform polo shirts are? Lime. Green. What? You couldn't come up with a color that looks worse on people? Haha, at least I like green :P
Other noteworthy point of the month: November is National Novel Writing Month. That being said, I'm challenging myself to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. I'm on day eleven and only a few thousand words behind schedule :D I initially thought to post my story each day, piece by piece. But after realizing how rough, rough draft-ish it is, I've reconsidered. Maybe you'll see some of it in December, once I've had a little time to revise. :P
So now I'm going to be busy with a new job, a 100+ page novel coming straight from my imagination with no pre-planning, and my senior year in high school (which equals college applications, essays, scholarship apps, etc, as well as a pretty heavy load of school :[). Crazy.
And with all that, I must bid farewell for now, as short as this post is. Not sure if I'll blog again soon or not--as mentioned above, I do have a novel to write. Wish me luck!
Praise God for imaginations. Without them, all I'd have is a blank page.

Con amore,
Sophie