On Tuesday, one of the youth leaders at my youth group saw me driving into the parking lot, going too fast because I was late for youth, and mentioned to me later that he "saw that white car coming down the road and was like, geez, that girl's going really fast" and then was "shocked to find that that girl was [me]."

Yeah. Umm... I never really fancied myself someone who speeds, but that has really stuck in my head the past few days. Speeding. It's not just about when you drive, but how you look at life. I race, always multitasking, always running, always in a hurry. How often do I take walks? Whenever I drive somewhere, I look at the speed limit, instantly add 5 miles/hour to it (I once heard they won't pull you over for going less than 5 miles per hour over the limit), and go that speed. I've been making an effort to go either the posted speed limit or one mile/hour over it the last few days, and I've really learned a lot. It sounds dumb, but 5 miles/hour faster won't get you somewhere any faster. Running a yellow light won't get you somewhere any faster, because if it's that necessary, you're already late.

I'm a late person, but I fight it and speed and worry amd stress to try to get somewhere on time. I'm done with that. I'm a late person, and I'm going to be late. And you know what? You notice a lot more when you slow down and enjoy the drive.

--

Also. I heard once that it's unChristian to tell someone else how much so-and-so hurt you, because it spreads ill will about so-and-so. That's really hard to do, but I'm doing it right now. So, that hurt me, so-and-so. I wish I hadn't seen it in the first place.

spontaneity and nature and love (and run-on sentences).

Last night I looked up at the sky and felt dwarfed. I'm reminded of a line from Ps. 8, "I look up at your macro-skies, dark and enormous, your handmade sky-jewelry, moon and stars mounted in their settings. Then I look at my micro-self and wonder, why do you bother with us?" Except, I didn't wonder the second part.

Then I turned to go inside and glanced up again, a retreating look, and saw the big dipper. My favourite constellation (because it was always the only one I could find until the past few years) glowing brightly; jutting out against the deep plum and watery blues of the sky. I teared up a bit.

I'm a sap, I know.

But sometimes... I just look at nature and think, wow. What an incredible God we have, to have blessed us so much. And how awesome it is that I can experience this. Like Sunday night, when I hiked through Wintergreen Gorge and its accompanying creek with my friend Brian. Standing knee deep in creek water and staring up at at least 100 feet of solid slate rock forming a gigantic, imposing, thunderous wall, I realized... this is the life. I doubt there's much better.

Oh. And that feeling, that heart-pounding, gut-wrenching, stomach-in-throat feeling that comes as you stare down from a ledge to the rocky pool maybe 10 feet below, wondering if you'll have the nerves to jump. And then stepping backwards, running, pushing off against the last bit of dirt at the edge of the drop off with trepidation and carelessness, wondering if you're going to regret this and unable to quell the scream of fright, wonder, craziness, and amazement that rises in your throat as you sail through the air, heading downwards so fast and so slow at the same time that the world seems to stop. And then, whoosh, hitting the surface of the water and obiedently crumpling your legs beneath you so as not to hit the jegged rocks that lie six feet or so under the depths, fighting up to the surface, flipping back your hair, and grinning with pride.

That's taking life by the horns, I'd say.

redbull and vodka, $1 wednesdays

I haven't been sad in a long time. I don't remember, anyway, the last time I felt truely, utterly, tearfully sad. Probably around march/april, when my great aunt was so ill and in the hospital. I'd never imagined, really, quite what dying people look like until then. I know now, though I can't say I feel much wiser about it.

No, but, tonight, after watching the painted veil, I feel sad. I bawled through the last fifteen minutes of the movie, and still, thinking about it, I get teary. Even while typing this. I heard once that women cry at romantic scenes in movies because they wish that for themselves and are unhappy with the state of affairs in their own lives. For me, that's... I dunno, 30% true? In theory, I tell myself that I haven't figured out myself or God enough to try to shove someone else into that equation, and I do like how I am. Mostly, though, I don't think I have it in me to devote myself to another relationship that will pull me from god, my family, or myself.

But goodness, tonight, do I feel lonely. Not lonely, even, just... I could use a hug. Not just the comfort of the Lord nearby, but a real, person-to-person, physical hug. And I don't believe that God begrudges us that, the human desire for contact. He built us, anyway.

So. There it is, then.

self-actualization be darned.

So, I read in this book this weekend (praise habit by david crowder. I'm going to lend you that, too) that God in our lives should be compared to one of those habits that the nuns wear. As in, people see it and make judgements about you as a person; about what you're like to relate to, about how you feel about things, etc. And while "habits" are also defined as little things that you do often and unconsciously, they are also a name for the heavy clothing that nuns and monks wear each day. If Christ can be that habit, both the unconscious way of acting in situations because of his influence and the unconscious decision, each morning, to wake up and not say, "what am I going to wear today" but instead, "I'm going to wear Christ today as the most visible part of my attire."

It's a weird concept, but I like it. I guess, personally, I only really like who I am when I'm wearing that habit of Christ... and that's how it should be, right? Because with Christ, I am not self conscious about my hair, my clothes, my body, my laugh, whatever. With Christ, it's all about Him--I draw my glory from him, as I think people were created to do. In fact, even Christ once said, "My glory comes from the Father." Isn't that our role, then? To draw our glory from God, not from other people or a society that forces us to conform to standards that are not particularly Christ-like?

If even Christ drew his glory from the Father, far be it from me to try to get mine anywhere else.

Self-actualization be darned.

when I think about looking in mirrors, I remember physics I with mr harvey and sarah bennett and julie welch, and learning about concavity and convexity and points of reflection and lines of refraction. I remember drawing little pictures on the white board and thinking that mirrors never used to be that complicated. You just look in one and you see what you see. Or, alternatively, you see something and spend time criticizing and it moving around and breathing differently and hoping that other people won't see what the mirror does.

it's similarly difficult to look back at my own life and see it objectively. like, now, I realize how other people saw my relationships or crushes or whatever, but at the time I was so head over heels that I couldn't see that.

I learned a lot from each of these boys. I owe them a lot for that, if nothing else.

Joe -- I really, really liked this kid. I can't even remember who, if anyone, there was before him, and he was my first real introduction into the dating "scene." Joe held my hand and I can still remember that huge shivery feeling that stayed with me the entire movie that he stayed like that. I learned from Joe that if a boy has to debate between you and two other girls, and comiserates with you about how hard it is for him to choose, he's not worth it. I learned that cockiness isn't as attractive as one would think. I learned that just because a couple breaks up doesn't mean it's forever (particularly when they break up a lot) and that you should take some serious time before moving in on that. Finally, it sounds silly, but if a boy doesn't return a kiss, there's nothing there.

Danny -- There was absolutely no reason why danny and I should have broken up. He was everything joe wasn't--kind, caring, sweet, not overly cocky. He gave chase, Joe didn't, and he really, really liked me. I think I didn't like him as much and as fast, at the time, and it became the sort of thing where we just... grew apart. From Danny, I learned that boys sometimes do those romantic gestures that they do in movies. It's not all fake. I learned that you shouldn't date someone who likes you more than you like them, and that there are boys out there who can hold you in their arms and have you not worry about crushing them. I also learned, for the first time, that it's better when your family likes who you're dating. It solves a lot of problems later, and they have a knack with knowing who's good and who's bad news.

Matt -- Matt and Danny were (are) polar opposites. Matt was the pot smoking, poetic, skinny, well-dressed drinker, and Danny was the sweet, safe, preppy trombone player. Matt really liked me, I think, but I never really knew and I never really figured out why. I felt, quite a bit, that I was a replacement for Andona, and that never really worked for me. Matt and I used to spend hours at panos talking and reading his poetry, and he was the first boy that I could talk to for hours and hours day by day by day and never get tired or bored with his opinions. From Matt, I first realized how frustrating it is to be with someone who never lets you know how they feel; who treats you well but always leaves you wondering how you could fix yourself; how you could be skinnier, smarter, prettier for him. Matt messed with me a little, and my priorities were really out of whack while I tried to mold myself to what he wanted me to be.

Cassidy -- Cassidy was a nice kid. That's what I had thought, anyway. I mean, he really liked it, and he made it perfectly clear. He moved way too fast for me, and I agreed because I didn't want him to leave me for being inexperienced. He didn't like my family, and when I'd be upset because of a fight with my mother, or something, he'd try to support my opinion and trash talk my mother. (I don't know about you, but that doesn't make me feel better. In fact, it just makes me hate myself for hating my mother). I remember thinking how lucky I was to have someone like Cassidy like me. I never imagined that someone like him would like someone like me, and so I was willing to overlook the swearing, the hating going to church, the physical-ness, the clinginess. There are two times in my life when I've been furthest from God, and not suprisingly, the coincide with the unhappiest times--when I was struggling to find myself in the Catholic Church, convinced that there was something wrong with me if I couldn't find God here, as my mother and grandparents and whole entire materal family had, and while I was dating Cassidy. He hated church, and he made it clear, sometimes keeping silent for my benefit, and sometimes not. Cassidy often convinced me that my morals were flexible. I wish I had had enough tenacity of character to have stood up to him, but I didn't, except on the matter of sex, and I wonder how long I would have held out.

I have asked God for forgiveness for what I did with Cassidy. I know that sounds silly to a lot of people, but once we broke up, I realized just how screwed up he made me. Maybe it doesn't count, because I was dating him, but I figure that I was so upset and awkward and scared about it at the time, that it does. I need it to, and so I believe that, because I believe in the forgiving and loving nature of God. I've never said this outloud before, how dirty I felt for months after we broke up; how I cried in the car on the way home from church, thinking about how I was no longer the clean Christian girl that they esposed in church every weekend. God made me clean again, and I am so thankful I can barely say it.

Since then, I've been terrified to let go of His hand, because I only know and like myself through him; when I'm wearing the "habit" of Jesus, as David Crowder so beautifully phrased it.

I think the central theme with all of these boys is the desire to mold myself to their views of a perfect girlfriend. Sure, there are compromises to be had in any relationship. Danny liked concerts, I didn't at the time, but I went with him and felt awkward and hated the music and suffered through it because I felt like I owed him. Cassidy liked being affectionate in public, I hated it (HATED IT) and still do and felt awful and awkward but did it because he would be so upset later if I didn't, and I didn't want to have to deal with him being upset about it. I see a difference there--there's doing something you don't want to do because you care about the other person, and then there's doing what you want to do because you dno't want to have to suffer the reprocussions with the other person. The latter is how I approach a lot of arguments with my mother; I do things like clean the kitchen because I don't want her to be upset.

I don't think that's a compromise. We do it all the time, forcing ourselves to drive slower because we don't want a ticket, for example, but that's a bad way of looking at it. What about being proactive, rather than defensive, and driving slower so that we don't hit anyone or endanger ourselves?

Maybe I'm not going anywhere with this. It just seems to me that I've never been comfortable enough with who I am to allow myself to think proactively when it comes to compromise. When I know there's something I don't want to do, I tend to do it for fear of abandonment, or insecurity, or whatever. As if, if I don't do this, I'll be alone and I'll realize how fat / stupid / ugly I am. So I do it.

That's scary when you imagine the consequences that it could have.

So, I know the cassidy one here is the longest, but I forgot to talk about what I learned from him. I learned that I can't motivate someone else to try harder, want more, or be anything different. If you don't accept someone for who they am before dating them, don't do it. They won't change for you unless they want to, and you can't bank on that. I learned that if someone doesn't like your family and won't make an effort to fix it, they aren't worth keeping around. I learned, most of all, that if someone won't come to church with you, they aren't worth your time. Ever. I think that lesson is the most important one.

I've met a lot of boys in Atlanta, at the Emory weekend and at Coke, and I know I'll meet a ton more this coming year. My parents gave me a little gift basket of silly gag gifts for graduation, and one of them was a little bottle of scope mouthwash for "my first atlanta smooch." I didn't realize, even before I started writing this, how scared that makes me.

Scared, but at the same time, excited, because the possibility is so great. I really think I like Southern boys. Who knows? With Jesus by my side... He and I, we'll take the sky.