Extrovert Blues.

            I zip up my blue jacket and lace up my new shoes, when I realize I’ve spent all weekend caught up in the extrovert blues. It been a long time coming so here's the thing: my friend’s boyfriend liked it so he bought her a ring. Playful and laughing, they show us the healing and provision that comes from God.

  While smiling and giggling with them, on the inside I was scared of losing yet another close friendship.

It has been said that our greatest strengths can also be our greatest weaknesses. Mine, I think, has to do so much with people. They tell me it's a strength - connecting, welcoming, listening, remembering, sharing warmth, spending time. And it is, which I appreciate and use. But it is what I am made for. It’s a longing that I can’t turn on or off. The gift of connecting with people is like a hot potato burning your hand when it is not in use. I long to connect with others, share love, share time; not being able to do so is also uncomfortable.

        Last Friday, we went out on U street to dance. I watched many couples, lost in each other and themselves, clueless to their surroundings. Smiling, they looked at each other and moved to the beat, and seemed unaware of the silly mismatched groups like ours, and of the homeless-looking guy who walked in and stood along the wall by himself. I don’t want to be like those couples. There’s a whole world out there beyond their romance, and it could benefit from their attention and gifts.  I think the reason I want someone extroverted, with good social skills, who can "hold their own" in a variety of settings, is because I want a relationship that's outwardly focused. Making your relationship all about you and the other person is an easy trap to fall into. I think I am made for something more outward.

I have read several articles giving voice to the introverts – explaining that they are not boring or dull, they are actually quite interesting but may not be able to show it at parties, explaining that they are deep thinkers… but what about us extroverts? It can be assumed that extroverts are attention-hungry, but they also do better in the social gathering/ mingling scene. It’s true, we like attention - both receiving and giving it. We’re seen as the fun-loving party animals, and we may come across as lacking depth of thought that is evident in the introverts. Who is going to give voice to our struggles?

             In November, I had a party. The place buzzed with voices and music; wine glistened. Katy repeatedly told me how special i am and how many people love me . It's true, I have poured out a lot of time an effort into these folks, and I was so thankful to have them reciprocate. I loved hosting them and spending time together, especially when I got them to dance in a group. From the outside I am sure I looked like the one who has it all-  friends, fun, attention, affection, health, others to cook for me and help me clean up, companionship, and even a couple of flirty dances. Especially to the introverts, it might have seemed like the dream come true kind of thing.

        But the truth is, I know what it means to be alone. There are few things as depressing as lack of human connection when you long for it.

     To an extrovert, loneliness is a heavier burden, bothersome enough to make you want to crawl out of your skin. To me, the party was not glamour nor the cherry on top. It was one of the rare days when i knew my need for companionship would fulfilled, if only for a little bit. It was one night where i didnt have to wonder whether humanity would seem distant and cold, whether my purpose and gifts would be unused.  It wasn't as much showing off as it was meeting a need, which doesn’t seem met most days.

Just days after the party, the lonely extrovert was overtaken by the blues. I am grasping for consistency and permanence in a temporary and changing world. Take that, introverts. Take that, extroverts. At the end of the day, we all have a need to connect, think, relate, and have community, maybe just in our different ways.

questions of lonely despair

God, please help me make sense of life.

what will i do after grad school? there are US govt jobs that seem interesting in public health, but part of me itches to fulfill the international pull, to be a "citizen of the world" again... where will i work? how will i pay back my debts? who will i be with? will i have community? will i just be a boring us person who settled for the repetitive grind due to debts and not thinking outside of the box? will i go to africa, latin america, russia, etc ? will i have a community? a life companion? will i be satisfied, will i have fun or use my gifts? will all of life be suffering and dissatisfaction? will my friends be geographically close by and create a community or will i be the only one left behind, bitter, disconnected, wishing we were closer so we could help each other? will my brother and i still be close? will we both be bitter? will our parents ever come to know You, God? will hope, faith and love be evident and alive in my life?

disclaimer: i realize that these questions may not be the most encouraging, and there is more to faith than despair and questions. life is full of joys and pain so perhaps someone will rejoice if they relate and know they are not alone.. or we can all reflect and laugh after it's all resolved. but this is where i was today and wanted to share.

everything

He knows everything
Every single little thing
Whether or not you bring
It up to Him in prayer
Whether or not you think it’s fair

 He knows everything, every single little thing
 Every little thing between you and I , between her and I, between him and I
He knows about your evil eye, you being that boastful guy with the lustful eye
When you get drunk and high or when you so tired you wanna die
Every single tear you cry
 And every time you tell a lie
 How many days you before you die
And what you didn’t say cuz you’re shy
 When decisions got you torn
When your computer downloads porn
Knows when to give you a daily portion of bread
The number of your skin cells
 and hairs on your head
And even things you can’t remember
Might as well surrender
 He knows everything
 When you wanna kill your brother or cheat with another
 Every time you give a gift
 Or cut your shift short
Every question of your life
 Let him answer
 He knows everything,
Every single little thing
 When you dance around the tree ,
Or lie saying "it wasn’t me";
The questions you have yet to ask
He will give you strength for the task

He knows everything
Let Him be your every thing
 Let Him come repair the pain
So you don’t gotta live in vain
Pushing needles in your veins
Or drowning sorrows in champagne
When everything else dies,
Only He’ll remain

 He knows everything
Every single little thing
Whether or not you bring
 It up to him in prayer
Whether or not you think it’s fair
 He knows everything,
 Every single little thing
 Every little thing between you and I , between her and I, between him and I..
He knows everything
Let Him be your everything
Let Him be your only thing
Let Him be your lonely thing
Let Him be your everything
Because He is the king
Who made everything.

Exceptions

Against the rules. I like exceptions to the rules. Don’t get me wrong - I’m not against rules, In fact normally I think there’s a reason for them, and I want to understand it. But what I like even more are the exceptions Have you ever had, in your growing up experience, the special days where you would eat ice cream for lunch, or stay up super late? I like exceptions to the rule: A crazy busy day in the middle of a summer vacation, Folks who are fully honest with what they tell you, Finding money in a pocket, Surprises… A warm winter day, Occasionally skipping a class, Throwing in a word of a different language, Flexibility from the usual routine. A sick day from work that makes you slow down- Pillows, pajamas, blankets, and tea contrast nicely with slacks, button-downs, rushing, and to-do lists. Or better yet – give me ridiculous costumes, Spontaneity over tradition. Allowing ourselves to cuss, make a judgmental statement (just one! And perhaps with an apology!), Putting on makeup or heels (I usually don’t) I hate phone calls but an occasional long, meaningful one is amazing.. A wealthy person that’s humble, Going home early or staying out til sunrise, A good cry, An intense thunderstorm, Skipping an essential condiment… Walking around like a child, Big eyed, Mystified By the big city, Or a quiet picnic in God’s presence. Varying schedule, The rare occurrence of sitting next to someone who smells bad.. No day is like any other. A college student hanging out with a homeless person Interracial couples, A white person speaking perfect Spanish.. As much as I love a jogging routine I really love an occasional unexpected hike, or a basketball game, or skipping a workout in favor of something really fun. Variety is the spice of life, they say Give me the moments that are valued When life feels real.

Lent

Lent is the Christian season in which we examine our mortality. I used to think this meant self-abasement, overanalyzing my selfish motives for everything. I got pretty good at that, and then I got pretty tired of it. So I started ignoring Lent’s meaning. This year I am searching for a better working definition. Something that is mortal is temporal. When I realize something is temporal, I appreciate it more.

Let’s take Grandma. I was lucky to become intensely aware of her mortality ten months before her stroke in 2010. In January, the night I was to take her to the symphony, my uncle took her to the hospital with a bad cough. She was in the ICU for a week with pneumonia. When I saw the tracheal tube and the oxygen in her nose, heard the beeping monitor and her loopy comments, and felt how thin she was in the hospital gown, I knew from here on out, I had to appreciate every moment I had with her.

And I did. Nearly every week from February to November, I drove to the hospital or the nursing home or her house to see her. Sometimes all I could do was try to feed her pie to help her gain a pound or two. Other times I got to take her for a walk or play the piano for her. And tucked into those months like treasures were a few long, slow conversations about life and love and music. Even when she was sarcastic and moody, I just knew I was in the right place, to be there with her, to be connected to a woman of such wit, grace, and acceptance. I am thankful her mortality made her more dear to me.

This Lent, there is a different ending I find weighing on my heart—my time left here. I am excited to be married in September, but wish I wouldn’t have to move so far. Recently I found out that to be eligible for competitive status in applying for other government jobs, John has to stay three years in Cherokee, North Carolina—not, as we originally thought, only one year. With every new revelation about this job, I feel my heart sink. I have known since December that I would likely be leaving, but part of me hoped something would change, or that we could come back after a short time. I fear the unknown of my vocation in a tiny tourist town in the mountains. I fear loneliness in a new place. I fear change.

But this impending kind of death reminds me to look around at the goodness of the community where I am now. I moved to the West Hyattsville House on the eve of the new year 2010, pretty broken. All fall I’d been living at home with my parents and commuting three hours per day. John was in Palestine. I’d been trying to connect with childhood friends and finding we’d changed. I had no rhythm in my spiritual life. I’d already been lonely for a year in Tanzania and I ached for my college friends.

That first night at the Hyattsville House, Amy threw a party. People from the New Leaf community came, and we played games, and I remember thinking at the end of the night, I haven’t laughed so genuinely in months. I remember thinking, Wow, it is nice to be around people who get what I’m about. Talking to Amy a few months later, I said something like, “I really value having friends who are different than me, to challenge me in my thinking and widen my views.”

“I do too,” she said, “but I also like having friends who are the same. The same is nice too.”

I too often focus on what can be improved, in myself and in the world around me. People in the workplace have told me it’s a gift, but sometimes it makes me miss out. It’s like I don’t really believe that I am mortal, or that there is more than this life, so I insist on striving to perfect it. There have been many times I’ve complained about New Leaf, to myself, or aloud. I wish it were more age-diverse, I wish everything didn’t have to be so complicated, I wish blah blah blah. We can always find something wrong with where we are, with who we are. But New Leaf community gave me back a piece of myself, and I have always been thankful for that.

A few months after I joined New Leaf, writing group was formed. At the risk of sounding like a bad country/pop song, I thought this was what I had been waiting for my whole life. Here we had my #1 favorite thing in the world—getting to know deep down what people are really about, and sharing what I’m really about. AND here we had that happening, but gently, so that I could take the time to craft and even hide behind my words, so that I could avoid all the usual awkwardness of the beginning of friendships—trying to express myself aloud and tripping on my words, timing my comments right, knowing when to share something vulnerable or when it’s too soon. Writing group has been a place for me to be me.

This small example of abundant life and loss brings me back to the larger sense of my mortality. This Lent, I find a reminder to be thankful for the gifts I have been given. I also begin to think like this—if God has blessed me so richly in this time, and in this life, then even where there is death there must be more. There must be resurrection. I hate to admit it, but I think I’ll probably come to love Cherokee.

I'm Not Going to Fall.

A few weeks ago, I went camping with some friends at the George Washington National Forest in West Virginia. Having started this blog just before the trip, I was hoping that at some point while stargazing, hiking or sitting on top of a mountain that I would think of some fresh ideas to write about. Blogging inspiration can be hard to find, but I was excited because it seems like people are always getting epiphanies on mountains.

The change of scenery and the slower pace of the trip definitely created an incubator for my thoughts, but for whatever reason, no writing idea ever hatched while I was out there in the woods, trying hard -- perhaps too hard -- to be introspective. Upon returning from my weekend getaway and logging into my blog to reflect, I could only recall trivial little things -- like how our crew burned a log that looked just like the legendary SR-71 spy plane or how mummy sleeping bags are amazing inventions. (Actually, the spy plane firelog was pretty sweet and in retrospect I wish I had taken a photo of it to share here). Nonetheless, I felt like the writing retreat component of my camping experience never took place.

However, while mentally revisiting the trip just recently, I thought of something worth writing about.

* * *

Being a city dweller in an extremely litigious society, I'm used to seeing guard rails along any place where there is a steep drop off. I'm thankful for this too since I'm slightly acrophobic. On the mountain trail that I was on a few weeks ago though, by contrast to the heights around my town, the only thing preventing me from plunging off some scary precipice was my own footing.

I didn't take many photos during the trip, but I do have one of myself crouching atop a boulder near the summit of Big Schloss mountain. When I looked at that image again recently, my mind -- which is highly visual -- started to replay my hiking experience.

I started to remember the chalky surface of the rocks and eating craisins at the summit. But most powerfully, I remembered walking towards the edge of a cliff and having all my muscles tense up along with my nerves shooting off. Fear, that intense physiological reaction, was a big part of that memory.

I've been thinking about fear a lot recently too. I wish I could say that I only get that tingling, choking sensation of fear in my body when I'm standing at the tip of a deadly precipice, but the truth is that I'm often just as -- if not more -- fearful while sitting on my couch, where I'll be fretting about work, relationships or something else. Fear has got me pinned down, I realized. But then something awesome happened while I was still reliving that memory. The Lord spoke to me through a visual metaphor.

I saw this: I was back on the Big Schloss mountain, and as I started walking towards the edge of a cliff, I suddenly saw a helicopter hovering in front of me, the chopper blades creating a lot of wind and noise. I could see the pilot through the open cabin too, and I just knew that it was Jesus. Although I couldn't really see his face since he had the big pilot helmet, visor and everything on, I clearly heard him yell, "Relax, I got you, bro!" And I knew in that moment that Jesus wasn't going to let me fall.

If you're laughing right now, don't feel bad because so did I when I first had this "vision". The all-out pilot suit and the language that He used cracked me up. God sometimes appeals to my humor while teaching me a lesson, which in this case echoed Hebrews 2:11-13.

Now, let me emphasize that this didn't actually happen in real life; it was a visual metaphor that I saw while reliving a memory. I can't give a physical description of Jesus now, but that wasn't the point because it was all about the Lord reminding me about this principle, which is: I don't have to be fearful because Jesus is with me! Christ has set me free from living in fear because He is watching over me, and it is His presence that casts out fear, making me confident in His perfect love.

Before God gave me that message, I had actually been trying to acknowledge Jesus' presence in my life more, and I thank Him for blessing me with that image of His love for me.

I don't know when God will encourage me with another visual metaphor again, but until then, I'll be joyfully reminding myself that Jesus has already said, "I am with you always".

One Year

I’m never not going to miss you.

But it’s no longer heavy; I have the lightness

to run, to travel, to meet new neighbors.

It doesn’t feel like nothing else

is important, or joyful. There is making music,

and cooking tasty (meatless) meals,

and loving the people around me

like you did.

I don’t dread Thanksgiving, because

my gratitude is deep. I’m thankful for family,

content to sit with them eating food I don’t love,

telling stories that seem to signify little,

where before I would have been restless, unsatisfied.

I still think about you every time I drive west on the Beltway

towards Bethesda.

And every time we sing of resurrection, I sing

to your rising.

Every piano suite I play is somehow for you,

not to make up for all the songs I couldn’t remember

how to play for you and Mr. Baer at the end,

but because life is rich with the

food of music,

and you are still alive and part

of its music.