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agarnergirl
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Name: Andrea
Gender: Female
Interests: caffeine, ethnic conflicts and reconciliation, pseudo indie music, theology, NPR, the great American novel, hip-hop, intellectual men, road trips, uncontrollable laughter, St. Louis, singing in the shower, Wes Anderson films, merengue, kissing in the rain, mini vegetarian corn dogs, culture, Cairdea's and Kaldi's, PBS, manuscript studies, Hindi movies, green tea, speaking Spanish, outdoor jazz concerts, and driving at night
Expertise: learning, sticking my foot in my mouth, self-depricating humor, language and cultural faux pas, and literary analysis
Occupation: Other
Industry: Nonprofit
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
4/7/2005
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| ...and i was your silver lining / as the story goes...
Paul once asked me why someone would want to live with me for a long time. I remember being startled by the question not so much because of the implications, but because I couldn't think of a good answer. I had to call Shannon and ask for help coming up with a response. In the end I told him there is much laughter when I'm around, albeit often at my expense. I told him there is much music when I'm around, even if it's just my singing. I'm pretty sure I told him a couple of other things that Shannon reminded me of, but the details are fuzzy. What I do remember is feeling oddly dissatisfied with my answer and realizing that I needed a more solid one, more for myself than for him.
Healing comes our way in the most unexpected moments.
Last night my current roommate/fellow IV staffer/friend and I took a break from the packing/cleaning frenzy that accompanies the vacating of an apartment and ventured out in search of food. As we ate what I jokingly christened "our last supper," we talked about the things that we appreciate about each other and what the past year as roommates has meant to each of us. Ashley told me that living with me had provided a safe space for her to confront the issues that God was bringing to the surface of her life without fear of judgment or rejection. She told me that she had grown spiritually as we encouraged each other to practice the disciplines of prayer, fasting, and confession.
In that moment and because of her words I finally heard my answer.
I wrote an entry nearly three years ago about those moments - the ones where the words are being formed by human lips, but it is clear that they are divinely ordained.
My conversations with Jesus take place while we're both perched atop a split rail fence overlooking a meadow right about that magical point in the day when the sun is setting. Last night as we took stock of the day he turned and said, "What Ashley said to you is quite true. You call people to freedom and it's not just what you do, it's who you are. It's who I made you to be."
"Yes," I said, "I am just beginning to understand that."
He smiled, "Excellent! There's the need for some refining on the delivery and timing of those calls, but I've got that covered."
"Good to know," I laughed.
I'll have you know that it was a beautiful sunset.
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| "Andrea, you're so easy to love."
Those words have stuck with me since a conversation with dear friends on Monday night. I'm not sure what to do with them. As much as I feel like I've been protected from a lot of lies about my worth in the midst of this mess I realize that I'm not completely immune to them. I know that because those words sound so different from the ones in my head:
"He wouldn't have done this if you had only been more (fill in the blank)."
"See? When they really get to know you they will run."
The voices that speak those lies are sinister and I loathe them. I picture myself stamping my foot and covering my ears and yelling, "Not true! That's not true!" But there are moments when I believe the words that I shout and there are moments when I say them and hope that one day I believe them.
In the heat of those foot stamping and shouting moments I am aware that there are parts of this battle that I must fight alone, however I am also discovering that I need a lot of help from other people. There are more communal aspects to this fight than I would have ever imagined. I need people who will continue to say the things that are true about me. I need people who will believe things on my behalf. I need people who aren't afraid to be seen in public with me when I'm puffy-eyed and unable to control the mascara streakage. I need people who will laugh when I say ridiculous things. I need people who will hold me when I cry. Sometimes I need people who will eat ice cream with me at 10 PM and other times I need people who will refuse to let me eat ice cream at 10 PM.
Wouldn't you know that I am finding out that people are happy to do those things and more? They don't feel burdened or overwhelmed. They're not running away scared. They love me and they're carrying my pallet through the crowd to bring me to Jesus' feet. They'll bust through a roof and lower me down if that's the only way.
It is good to need other people.
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| ...never trust a heart that's so bent it can't break...
Today is packing day. Yesterday was sorting and liquidating day and tomorrow/Thursday are moving days, but today is packing day.
I've been dreading this a little bit. Okay...a lot, but I'm learning that it is possible to live and thrive even when what I dread comes to pass. What strange, resilient creatures we are! Or perhaps I ought to be rejoicing in the realization that I have built my house on a solid foundation? Let's face it - that remains an unknown until it is tested.
The testing, of course, also forces the recognition that the sense of control I claw at and often think I am maintaining is delusional.
Yesterday I read my journal entry from May 30. I do not remember writing these words, but I must have:
I want to know what it means to accept change not as punishment, but just as the thing that drives me to actually cling to you. The calm is just barely coating the deep sadness that I think is about to break loose.
I want him. I want us. Jesus, breathe life where there has been the stench of death lurking around the edges.
This is my Father's World, O let me ne'er forgetthe though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yetThere is no use in trying to make sense out of senseless words and actions, but what is clear is that they have resulted in a lot of clinging.
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| Any ambition I harbored about reading Nouwen as some sort of intellectual exercise was shattered yesterday as I dissolved into choking sobs near the beginning of the first chapter. In these pages I hear the invitation to continue to let God have the last word.
The day before the students arrived at our chapter camp in May I wrote the following prayer:
abba,
small, frightened, and desperately wanting to please...i need to be found, scooped up, and held until i believe that i'm enough. only you can tell me who i am. you get the last word.
love,
andrea
He issued the invitation a long time ago, of that I am certain, but my eyes are finally opened to it and I am saying "yes."
It is not a safe invitation. I think C.S. Lewis put it best in the words of one of his Narnian characters: He is not safe, but He is good.
I find David's words in Psalm 27 so very fitting:
I am still confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the LORD
in the land of the living.
Wait for the LORD;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the LORD.
Boldness in waiting - not my area of expertise, but there is nothing like being thrown in the deep, deep end to force an expedited learning curve.
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| To identify the movements of the Spirit in our lives, I have found it helpful to use four words: "taken," "blessed," "broken," and "given."
There you have it. The words I've been hearing as I make sense of what I'm experiencing couched in the language of the Eucharist. In addition to Scripture I think this is going to be a season of drinking deeply from the writings of Nouwen, Merton, and Lewis. Perhaps a foray into the world of Russian literature will finally take place as well. The American brand of "evangelical" faith doesn't offer much when it comes to a theology of suffering and thus I am forced to search elsewhere. One doesn't like to generalize about an entire group all at once, so I am happy to be corrected if anyone can point me toward the exceptions.
It won't always feel like this and of that I am very conscious. I liken it to the inevitable two to three weeks scattered throughout any given year when my sinuses are attacked. I usually complain for days about not being able to breathe and I worry that I've forgotten how to do so properly and I suspect that I'm not likely to ever experience that freedom again.
Except within a week it passes, my sinuses clear, and I can breathe easy.
Don't get me wrong: this sensation will not dissipate so quickly and I am not even attempting to find a shorter path. Instead I hear my instructions - Bear this well, Daughter of Eve.
And so I sigh, tighten my belt, and remove the excess baggage from my pack. The call to press on is clear and I am compelled to follow because I know before whom I stand.
I know that He has seen fit to invite me to flourish as one of His dearly beloved.
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