On Plums

The other day I ate a plum for the first time in years.  I still hated it.  I can remember as a kid wanting so badly to love plums.  The obvious reason is the deep purple color, always my favorite.  But mostly it was because of my Grandma Penner.  Gram had a fantastic garden.  I wonder sometimes how big it really was compared to my memories.  I guess the actual dimensions don't matter, my memories there are big enough.  More than the hours spent on the swings, or 'helping' my dad pour cement for the sidewalk, or sneaking out to the vines with my cousins to eat grapes (and being appalled that they had seeds!), I cherish the talks I had with my Gram sitting under her plum tree. 

Sometimes we would sit there and she would tell me about all the different kinds of ants climbing its trunk.  Other times she would tell me stories about my dad and his siblings.  She loved to tell me about the time she (or someone) was trying to take my picture in front of the cactus and I fell into it.  Always, she made me feel like I was the most special person in her world at that moment, not just one of her...I don't even know how many...great-grandkids.  And always, she would pick two plums off the tree so we could each enjoy one while we talked.  Oh, how I hated plums, but I could never tell Gram. 

It's been five years since the world lost the fiery spark of joy that was my great-grandma.  I miss her more all the time.  It's funny, the more time that passes, the less prominent the memories are of her last years.  I'm thankful for that, and she would be too.  I remember instead the kind of grandma that let me swing too high on the swings, the kind of cook who made lasagna and peach cobbler that still makes my dad's mouth water, and the kind of friend that you could always trust to keep your secrets.  I wish more than anything that more people had the chance to know her.  I wish I could have known her better.  Even if I told all the stories I know about her, it would only be a glimpse into the life of an amazing woman you just had to experience.  I suppose it's better that way, otherwise telling the stories that are "just between us" would be too tempting.

I'm thankful today for every moment I had with my Gram.  Even for every plum.  I'm also thankful that I'll never have to eat another one, since there's nobody else on earth I'd do it for!

Joy is to Survive

I knew when I had this phrase tattooed that I was opening a door to uncomfortable questions about its meaning.  I probably should have nailed down a succinct explanation before having it permanently etched into my wrist, but I figure I'll have it forever so I have time to figure it out.  The first time I heard it was in a song called "It Must Be Wonderful" by some obscure Christian punk band named Outer Circle. 

Our walk's a narrow road
And there's a whole lot more to go
Hope yours is filled with sunshine
Right now that's not my world
It's not my place, and that's alright
Abundant life to many
Joy is to survive

The phrase really struck a chord with me even though I didn't understand it at the time.  I started writing it everywhere, planning what my tattoo would eventually look like.  As time went on I never could commit to a design I thought I'd be comfortable with permanently so I kind of pushed it to the back of my mind.  When I decided to embark on this 'healing journey' a year ago, I once again remembered the lyric.  Something about it still spoke to me and this time I explored it to figure out why.

Survival I know.  That's the world I'm comfortable in.  The New Oxford American Dictionary defines survival as "the state or fact of continuing to live or exist, typically in spite of an accident, ordeal, or difficult circumstances."  All survival requires is that you continue to exist.  Barring extraordinary physiological considerations, survival is easy.  But living life rather than merely surviving it requires joy.

Joy is trickier to define.  I don't think the "happiness" or "delight" that the dictionary describes is truly what joy is about.  Pure joy is deeper than that, it requires a foundation of peace and fulfillment that has nothing to do with outside circumstances.  You can be happy or feel delight without experiencing joy. Joy is a gift; a gift that I believe is not available in my life without Christ.  It begins with the assurance we have through our faith in Christ of eternal survival.  The contentment that the promise of salvation brings is what makes joy possible.  The promise of joy gives me hope.  Hope that I can endure, and that survival will be worthwhile.  Joy is to survive.  Succinct, no, but an explanation nonetheless.

There are times when the quest for joy is full of excited anticipation.  Right now it seems so distant that it may never be acheivable.  Sometimes we have to focus on survival for a season.  Absent survival, joy is not only impossible, it is meaningless.  Survival is unlike joy in that it is a choice we make, and it's not always an easy one.  Making the choice doesn't guarantee that we will survive in what we consider to be intact or whole.  And what nobody ever tells you about survival is that you don't get to choose the part of you that survives.

Musings of an Insomniac

Insomnia [in-som-nee-uh]:  chronic inability to fall asleep or to enjoy uninterrupted sleep. 

For myself it used to be one or the other; either I would lay in bed for hours not able to fall asleep before finally passing out, or I'd fall asleep easily only to be woken up by various things every 30 or so minutes.  This week...this month...it's both.  On those rare occasions I can fall asleep it's typically 15-20 minutes before the dreams start.  And although it's never been the case, I always convince myself at least twice that it's worth trying to fall back asleep.  I do, for another 15-20 minutes and then I dream again.  Eventually the fear of dreaming causes enough anxiety that the short spans of sleep cease being a possibility.

When I try to sleep and can't, or do and have these dreams, I am far more exhausted the following day than if I just stay up.  So every night (or more likely morning) I weigh the benefits of sleep against the risk of exhaustion and more often than not, decide it's not worth the risk.  Two weeks ago I slept twelve hours.  Last week, six.  I have never been one to require a lot of sleep, six hours a night is normally the most I can do.  But six hours a week has a tendency to impede function and rationality. 

On one of these sleepless nights a week or so ago I decided to finally transfer my files from my old desktop to my laptop.  The desktop is the computer I had in college and it hasn't even been turned on in years.  I began to randomly open documents and came across one I wrote for College Writing II back in spring of 2003 titled "Sleep".  Apparently eight years ago I was in the midst of a similar struggle and wrote an explanatory essay on how to train yourself to sleep less.  I like to think I'm much different than I was as a freshman in college, but I guess some things are reluctant to change.

Absolutely everyone - doctors, friends, family - seems to have an opinion on resolving this issue for me.  But what if I'm afraid of the resolution?  Inside my head there are so many different brands of crazy.  At this point I'm unable to differentiate the crazy caused by sleep deprivation from the rest.  What if I begin to sleep regularly and become a normal well-rested person but all the crazy is still there?  At what point do I have to accept that I'm just not well?  Some things are hard to think about, so I'll choose to be sleep-deprived for one more day.

The Order of Chaos

The image here is something a fellow math geek would be familiar with, but likely not many others.  It’s a fractal.  This one is specifically an image of a ‘Julia set’.  I find the Julia set to be beautiful in such a profound way that it’s difficult to describe, but I’ll try anyway.  I won’t get into too technical a description of fractals, but they fascinate me so bear with me for a moment.  While mathematically fractals are a type of equation, it’s the visual they create that’s most impressive.  They portray a concept known as self-similarity, meaning that the image can be broken down into smaller images with the same shape.  So basically the entire likeness is the same shape repeated in varied scales (Koch curve is a really good example).

The Julia set is a type of fractal based on a function.  When values are assigned, the function will behave in a way considered either ‘regular’ or ‘chaotic’.  If the behavior is chaotic it is considered the Julia set, and its image will be similar to the one at the beginning of this post.  Beautiful even if you know nothing about it, but mesmerizing when you see the details.

There is practical application for today’s math lesson.  The study of fractals and chaos theory is intensely interesting.  The fact that chaos – “a state of disorder” – can be studied at all is fascinating to me.  I see it as an example of God’s perfect order.  In everything there is system, organization.  It’s there even (maybe especially) when we can’t see it. 

I consider chaos theory to be applicable to so many more abstract things than topographical maps, shorelines, or whichever mathematical uses we’ve found so far.  In the chaos of my life, there is order even when I cannot fathom it.  To see order in the chaos of anything – weather systems, for instance – you have to change your perspective.  You can’t look only at the data in front of you but must analyze patterns that only a trained eye would be able to discern.  Similarly, the only way to find order in our lives at times is with an eternal perspective.  The problem is our minds are finite and not capable of a true eternal perspective.  So in the midst of chaos we’re told to trust that our God is faithful.  Jeremiah 29:11 says, “for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”  This is what I cling to, and I look forward to one day being able to see the beauty in my chaos.

The Paradox of Progress

Around eleven months ago, I was sitting alone at a worship service for young adults at my church, listening to my pastor continue his series on Romans.  I was present at this service somewhat regularly and truly looked forward to the teaching each week and the time spent worshiping through music.  I also very much enjoyed that I could attend alone and keep to myself apart from distant pleasantries and polite surface conversations when they were forced on me. 

So there I was in that chair, one row from the back, on the aisle ready for a quick exit.  We were supposed to be finishing Romans chapter 8 but once the pastor read verse 28 he paused.  He decided then to focus on only that verse.  What immediately caught my attention was my pastor’s willingness to change his plan based on the prompting of the Holy Spirit.  I’ve never been good at going “off-plan” even when I feel strongly that I should.  I developed a plan for a reason, and how on earth would anything get accomplished if we all just scrapped our plans all the time?  But my pastor yielded to God’s plan over his own, and as dramatic as it sounds, my life has not been the same since.

Romans 8:28 says “and we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”  My pastor broke this verse down piece by piece, and I’ll never forget him looking directly at me while saying “in all things”.  Granted, he repeated it many times and probably made eye contact with half the people in the room, but it resonated deeply within me.  Feelings that I had numbed for over 15 years began to stir.  The rest of the night I tried to pay attention but couldn’t focus on anything but “in all things”.  For the next week, it was all I could focus on.  I read that verse over and over and became angrier and angrier.  There are some things that are not good; that cannot be good.  But then it doesn’t say “in all things there is good”, it says “God works for the good”.  And if God is willing to work for the good in my life, why aren’t I?  Who am I to tell the God of the universe that His work isn’t worth the effort?

So began the nearly year-long journey of healing I’m progressing through now.  It’s a funny thing, progress.  Because when I started this, I was a 25-year-old strong, independent woman who had life pretty well figured out.  True, I didn’t have close friendships, but I didn’t need them.  True, I didn’t emote or relate in any way that wasn’t purely logical, but emotions denote weakness, so who needs them?  I was a survivor.  I was comfortable.  I was fine.  Now I’m 26 and don’t have a thing in the world figured out.  I’m learning to process emotions I haven’t felt since age 10.  Every second of every day I feel something:  anger, contempt, guilt, sadness, hopelessness, fear…Having spent 60% of my life in relative numbness, I don’t know how to manage these feelings.  I’m 10 years old again but living in a world where I’m expected to relate and react as a 26-year-old.  And yet this is progress. 

Eleven months ago I had a plan.  I would work through the issues that I have, giving myself plenty of time to process things, and be done and on to a newer, better me in 6 months.  Rather than being 5 months into this newer, better me, I feel like I’m still at square 1.  There have been changes.  I realize that independence is not something to strive for, but instead complete dependence on the grace of Christ.  I know that in order to actually be strong I have to be weak and allow Christ’s strength to be perfected in my weakness.  I understand that relating emotionally to others is a reflection of God’s love and compassion toward me and is the key to fulfilling relationships. 

All these things I know, but still haven’t a clue how to make them reality in my life.  I still don’t know how to trust God.  It still makes me feel judged and vulnerable when I open up to other people.  Most of the time I just want to go back to feeling numb again so I can stop hurting.  Moving toward pain is completely contrary to intuition.  I know reason, logic.  I don’t know how to be a person who feels things.  I’m walking headlong into the pain, praying to be broken down so that I may be restored.  I am vulnerable and scared, and yet this is progress.  What a paradox.

Puzzled

I lay strewn across the floor

Can’t solve this puzzle

Every day another small piece

Can’t be found

I lay strewn across the floor

Pieced up in sorrow

The pieces are lost

These pieces don’t fit

Pieced together incomplete

And empty

The preceding is an excerpt from AFI’s song ‘…But Home is Nowhere’.  I could honestly write for hours about that song and the connection I’ve found with it this year, but since there is homework do tonight, that post can wait for another day.  Today I’ll focus on the puzzle.

If you know me at all, you know my love for jigsaw puzzles.  It began as a child, but college solidified it.  I cannot enumerate the sleepless nights passed in the PVG lobby studying tiny variegated interlocking pieces and assembling them into an utterly improbable complete image.  If you know me well, you know that puzzles of any kind bring out my neurosis.  If I’m working on a logic or math puzzle I talk through it audibly, sketch out pages of notes and tune absolutely everything (and everyone) out until I’ve solved it.  I’ve been called obsessed, and I can’t always balk at the description though I’m not entirely convinced this is abnormal. 

With jigsaw puzzles, I have a distinct (with calculated variations) system for sorting and solving them.  I won’t give away all my secrets, but the most important rule is never seeing the picture before the puzzle is complete.  Granted, I look at the box when I purchase it, but once it is opened and the assembling has begun, the picture must go away.  If I view it accidentally, or through the trickery of a mischievous friend, I’ll likely scrap the puzzle in favor of a new one and come back to the ‘spoiled’ one later. 

The purpose in my describing this neurotic inclination I have brings us back to the lyrics at the beginning of this post.  My life lately has felt like the scattered pieces of one of my beloved jigsaw puzzles.  The pieces are strewn across the floor, no two fitting together and not even a hint of the final image.  Unlike the physical puzzle, I don’t know how many pieces there should be or that the pieces conform to traditional rules.  I just know that in my clumsy fumbling progress seems impossible. 

Today I began to explore the analogy further and was struck with the reality that there can be only so many unknowns.  It’s simple algebra:  if more than one variable exists, the equation cannot be solved.  I keep the boxes of my puzzles hidden, but I know the piece count, overall shape and theme of the completed project.  Without knowing these variables, I would have to see the picture to know where to even begin putting the pieces.  So why do I keep trying to put the pieces of my life back together on my own? 

There is truth in the saying "you can't see the forest for the trees".  None of us know what our completed image will look like.  And yet most of us grasp whatever pieces are directly around us and force them together based on the skewed picture we have of ourselves.  We need the people around us for support and encouragement.  They give perspective that is unattainable on our own.  Ultimately, though, we need to eliminate variables. 

What I consistently fail to recognize is that God has the answers I need.  He knows the precise number of pieces in my puzzle, the perfected final image and the ideal method for assembling it.  When I feel pieces are getting lost, He may be removing them as part of the pruning process that leads to the Christlike shape we all desire.  As long as I try to control the process, I can only ever hope to be “pieced together incomplete and empty”.  I decided recently to choose more than that for myself.  This requires inviting others to become a part of the project, and trusting God to direct the progress.  I’m not good at either of those things but I’m seeking the Lord’s guidance and believing in His healing grace.  That's the goal anyway...prayers appreciated!