Waiting in Advent

During Thanksgiving break, I played Dragon Age II for at least five hours every day.  Pretty quickly I realized I was escaping my anxiety by completing fictional quests, and I was grateful for the reprieve.  But now life has started back up, and I have to face the unbearable unknowability of the future.

It seems like I might not go to Greece until late 2015 or early 2016.  This throws my schedule off, as that means I will have to think through lease renewals and jobs.  It seems like fundraising is going to be extremely complicated and scary.  It seems like this whole adventure is overwhelming.

I tend to be a quitter.  If I don't think I can do something, I bow out and find something else.  So it was encouraging to realize that I don't want to quit Greece.  Although I am scared, there is no part of me that feels okay with saying, "well, screw this, back to the original plan."  I am 100% convinced that this is my best next step.  But still, I worry.

I talked to my friend Michal yesterday about our upcoming trip to Puerto Rico.  When she asked if I wanted to celebrate her birthday in the Caribbean, I immediately said yes.  Within 24 hours I had 1) booked flights, 2) reserved a hotel, and 3) scheduled a kayaking trip.  I threw it all back to her, and she stuttered an agreement, with the unspoken, "I just suggested this," very much evident.

That's what is frustrating about Greece.  When I decide something, I want to immediately work toward accomplishing it.  The fact that I cannot do so in this experience is driving me crazy.  There is so little I can control.

Which is why it's perfect that I am struggling with this during the Advent season.

Mallory and I have been texting each other Advent-themed prayers and book passages the last couple days.  I love the Christmas season because it's all about waiting, about expecting something good in the midst of a lack.  Easter is a lovely celebration of what has been accomplished and what will be accomplished, but Christmas is the time when we slog through the in between.  We are declared holy, but we are not yet holy.  We are saved, and we are being saved.  We are sinners and saints.  We are in the in between.

Advent says, "Wait!  This dark world will soon be bursting with light!  Just wait, just hold on and wait.  It feels impossible, it feels uncomfortable, it feels agonizing, but it will be worth it."  Advent is a reminder that we are not in control, that no matter how much I wish I could speed up the calendar, December 25th will come at its own pace, and not mine.

So even though I desperately want to book a flight, know all the details, and make accommodations, Advent is reminding me to wait.  To let God lead, to let God be in control, to trust God.

Lean into the longing.

Scared

Soon after I emailed Dina and Argyris, I was driving down Royal when I thought, "This is the dumbest thing I've ever done."  My mouth curled into a smile as I thought about leaving my internship, my awesome supervisor and coworkers.  I thought about turning down a solid job in order to depend on fundraising, and my smile turned into a loud crazy laugh.

"Thank you, God!" I laughed.  "Thank you for pushing me through the doubt and getting me to this place.  I love it!"

I love the risk, I love the insanity, I love having to trust God.  I suck at that in the small everyday things, but when it gets big enough to be life-changing, I love throwing it all away.

Of course, that intense joy hasn't lasted.  Fundraising intimidates the hell out of me.  Leaving the lovely people in Dallas who know me so intimately, who have been my counselors and allowed me to counsel them--that sucks.  Imagining starting over in a new country, making new friends and finding new streets and grocery stores is already exhausting.

I feel a little bit like I'm not allowed to be scared.  I fear that someone will say, "Well, this decision is wrong.  You were right when you decided to stay in Dallas."  So for awhile I didn't tell anyone about my fear except for Michal.

Me:  "Yeah, I'm really excited. Starting to also feel sick with "OH MY GOSH WHAT AM I DOING" but I think it wouldn't be an adventure if I weren't a little bit terrified."

Michal:  "Most people live their lives never being afraid of anything. Which means you never experience the thrill of doing something risky you know Jesus is beckoning you to do. Jesus is in Greece too.  Or, they are scared of everything and are petrified into doing nothing also. Either way, you can be scared. Scared, and stay, and regret, or be scared, get drinks with friends and cry and laugh and dream over things who will support you no matter where you go, cry on the plane if you need to and then go freaking do it and have awesome stories to tell your kids one day, meet equally brave people, help those who are hurting, and contribute to a story God is creating with other people. You will smile when you look at Jesus one day knowing you went with Him to Greece."

What a friend.  I love Michal.  She had better come visit me in Greece five million times. 

I Reserve the Right to Change My Mind

I have told so many people, "So you know how, like, five days ago I told you I was definitely going to stay in Dallas?  Well....I have completely changed my mind."  It's gotten a bit old, eating so much crow, but I probably need to do one big blanket explanation.  Plus when I'm old and writing my memoir, these blog posts are going to be invaluable information.

Last Monday I was finally able to Facetime with Dina and Argyris.  It was so great to see their faces.  We spent the first five minutes gushing about how crazy it is that we first met each other ten years ago (when I was a baby 16-year-old!), how we've kept in touch this whole time and supported each other however possible.  I felt my heart melting for this amazing couple.

"We want you to come for six months," Argyris said.

"A year," Dina corrected him.

"I'm trying not to scare her!" Argyris said.  "But, yes.  The longer you can come, the better.  These women have been abandoned their entire lives.  I don't know what you feel God's calling for you is, but if you want to stay in Greece for the rest of your life, we would love that."

I laughed internally.  I WAS SO RIGHT.  In the two months of no contact, I'd worked myself into thinking I was over-reacting, reading dramatic requests where only minimal ones existed.  Not so!  They were just as passionate and friendly-demanding as I was.

"What if I just came to Athens for a couple weeks?" I asked.  I was trying very hard to hold on to my previous decision.  "I care a lot about supporting you guys, and I would love to help raise awareness about your work."

"We will take you in whatever way possible!" Argyris assured me.  This was the worst thing to say.  If he had downplayed the usefulness of a short trip, my rebellious stubborn nature would have done it to Prove How Useful I Am.  Instead, his genuine acceptance melted me further.  Two weeks wasn't enough.  I had to go for a year.

I began to freak out at this point, and it was with some relief that we ended our Facetime.  I walked around my house in circles.  It was suddenly clear that of course I had to go.  All of the reasons why I was so excited three months ago came rushing back.  This was perfect.  But what about the reasons I had decided to stay in Dallas.  What about my desire to experience long-term relationships?  What about my tendency to avoid intimacy?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.  I am a vulnerable person.  I over share, some people say.  Of course there are some things I don't share with just anyone, and of course I am learning to show anger and tears in real life.  But I'm not the emotionally closed off person I like to think I am.  As for leaving long-term relationships...I DON'T.  Moving to Jackson, to Senegal, to Texas...it twists my stomach to think of those decisions as mistakes.  Each time an opportunity presented itself.  I didn't seek it out.  It happened, the choice lay before me, and I decided to take it despite the fact that it meant leaving dear friends.  Dear friends that I carry in my heart and chat with on Facebook.  I'm not interested in leaving them.

And anyway, I LOVE people.  I think the key difference is that while I love the people I am with at the moment, whenever I see a new group of people in another state, another country, I think, "I want to know them!  I want to know how they learn and love and work!"  I want intimacy with everyone.  I want the whole world to be my friend.  That's not a deficit.  That's a gift.

All of these thoughts convinced me I ought to go to Athens, but....what if I was wrong!?  This had all happened way too fast. 

I Facebook messaged Kim, since I knew she would understand the conflict of "when is something big enough/worthy enough to choose moving over staying?"  She refused to make the decision for me, but said things like, "Not everyone has your spirit of adventure" and "Don't ever make a decision based in fear."  I countered each of her thoughtful comments with a "But...."  Finally she said, "Stop considering all sides of the argument and BE STILL AND WAIT."

So that's what I did on Tuesday.  Every time I felt myself arguing a pro or con, I told myself to shut up.  As I turned off my brain, I kept thinking about how God is a wild God, how "he is not safe, but he is good."  I realized staying in Dallas and building a private practice would be the logical and easy decision.  But how often does God do the logical and easy thing?  Not very often, as far as my Bible studying has gone.

I've always loved the story of Gideon, loser extraordinaire.  As my friend Ruth said, "I can't tell if he's a hero or a douche."  "He's a hero and a douche.  That's what makes him so great!"  I didn't even get to the part about him, though.  At the very beginning of his story, an angel appears and says, "God is with you."  Cowardly Gideon is threshing wheat in a winepress, and he grumbles, "How can God be with us if the Mideonites are attacking us?"

My heart stopped.  That is exactly the sentiment I imagine women who have been abused and trafficked would feel.  "How can God be with me when all these horrible things have happened to me?"  I wanted nothing more than to fly to their side to say, "I am God's ambassador, I am his arms and legs and eyes and mouth, and I came halfway around the world to be with you, to know you and care for you, so that someday you might believe that he loves you, he is with you!" 

My brain knows that the best thing to do is stay in Dallas.  But my heart is 100% convinced that I should go to Athens.  I'm going to follow my heart, especially since it felt, for a moment, like God's compassionate heart was beating in its place.

On Wednesday I emailed Dina and Argyris and committed to staying at least one year in Athens.  I did learn from my previous decision.  I do want to live more in the present without looking ahead to the next thing.  So I'm moving to Athens.  And I'll stay there until I know I ought to be somewhere else.  0_0

Playing Chicken

There are a great many reasons I was so attracted to the idea of moving to Greece, some more personal and some more idiotic.  One that lies in the middle is the way I play chicken with people's affection.

When I told Supervisor that I was staying in Dallas, he accidentally cracked his neutral counselor's face and smiled.  Then he asked that we eat lunch together, where I discovered he had already planned the next three phases of my working at The Vale and the unique ways I could contribute to the team.  Oh my word, I cannot describe the warm glow of feeling wanted.

I called Wendy to update her on my decision.  "I would be happy if you stayed or went, if you continue growing or sit on the floor eating chips, but I have to say I'm glad you aren't moving halfway around the world," she said.  "I don't want that to--"

"No," I said.  "I need to hear that people would miss me."

"Tricia," she said.  "Of course I miss you.  I wish you would move back to Peoria and blah blah blah."

I couldn't hear the rest of what she said because I had started crying.  "Thank you," I garbled when she finished.  When she heard the tears in my voice, she started crying, and I thought, Oh my God, I'm doing it.  I was vulnerable in telling her what I needed, and she gave it to me, and now I'm crying and it's okay.  We still laughingly hung up with the promise that not every conversation had to make us feel things, but it was significant.

The point is, I think I play this desperate card out of a fear that no one actually cares about me.  "I'm moving to Senegal/Texas/Greece!" I declare.  And then I wait and see if anyone says, "No, don't!  Stay here!"  My word, what a manipulative way to gain scraps of affection.  Sometimes it works, but it's never enough.  There are too many supportive people who want me to follow God's leading, who say they are so excited for my opportunities.  Inevitably their well-meaning voices win, and I swerve out of playing chicken and pack up my bags.

This is not the only reason I move.  Not even close.  I genuinely think Tennessee, Senegal, and Texas were wonderful and necessary places of growth for me.  But I do wonder if I might not have left somewhere if enough people had screamed at me to stay.  I don't know.  I can't control other people, so I'm learning to offer up my neediness in vulnerability rather than passive aggressive stunts.  And I'm a lot more likely to grab a friend by the shoulders when they consider moving and say, "DON'T DO IT.  I will miss you desperately, and I don't want you out of my life.  I mean, maybe it's the best thing for you to do, and I will grudgingly support you no matter what, but just know that in my heart I will be so sad to see you go."

The Spiritual Gift of Mercy

In my Pauline epistles class, my professor said that instead of thinking of our spiritual things as something we enjoy doing, perhaps they are something which requires sacrifice on our part.  I don't see why they can't be both.  I've gotten to a place where I automatically reject any Christianese anti-joy stance, because I firmly believe God desires for us to enjoy life and the gifts He gives us.  But it makes a lot of sense that in our broken world, the things that ought to bring us joy will also bring us pain.

A couple years ago I asked some people from church to identify my spiritual gifts, and instead of continuing to listen to my professor (who I really do love, but well, I have a short attention span when I'm interested in something else), I searched my emails.  There it was, Joel saying he thought I had the spiritual gift of mercy, long before I considered studying counseling and making mercy a career.

I thought back several months, when I spent an agonizing evening with my friend Libby, opening up for the first time to a friend about how the weight of the world sometimes feels like it will break me, how my bouts of depression are more often global in scale than personal.  The ways people hurt each other, the inevitability of war and abuse and my helplessness to do anything about it--this can feel unbearable.  Libby said I take too much responsibility for other people's feelings, and she is absolutely right.  But I think there is something else to it.

If my spiritual gift is mercy, and if spiritual gifts require sacrifice, then this makes sense.  Mercy only exists where sin exists.  Being tapped into the richness of mercy necessarily means being tapped into the depths of sinfulness.  There some days I find this exchange more acceptable than others.

I have always been an emotional sucker for underdogs.  I cried for Gollum more than any other character in The Lord of the Rings, because he just needed unconditional love, oh my God.  My absolute favorite part of counseling is when a client tentatively admits to some secret, and by not reacting in horror, I get to watch their faces open up just a tiny bit in trust before the rest comes out.  All the shame, all the horrible things they have thought or felt or done.  I love being the person to hear their worst and to say, "I'm so sorry you went through that.  I understand why you would have done that.  I'm so grateful you shared that with me."  I hadn't really thought of it as mercy before, but of course it is.  I love seeing someone at their worst and saying, "I'm not going to punish you for that."

My overabundance of mercy is counterbalanced by an incredibly diminished capacity for justice.  I hate war, I hate revenge, I hate the death penalty, I hate giving up on someone.  My church is going through Joshua right now, and I very much appreciate how nearly every week whoever is preaching addresses the complexity of what it means to serve an occasionally genocidal God.  I struggle with that a lot, and the concept of God's justice in general.  There are exceptions, though.  I think of the men and women who kidnap children and naive young women, who sell other people's bodies for sex and abuse, who buy homes paid for by someone else's nightmare.  I think of those people, and my capacity for mercy shrivels up until I understand God's justice.  I understand His disgust with our sin, His desire to see it--to see us--utterly destroyed.

That's unusual, though.  And honestly, if I met someone who worked in the sex trafficking industry and managed to talk to them, I'm sure I would discover their own background of abuse and neglect and pain.  I'd like to think that I could learn to empathize with even these disgusting people, that I could learn to show mercy to them.

That doesn't negate justice.  I understand that justice is an attribute of God, despite my usual inability to fathom it or especially to appreciate it.  But I just read G. K. Chesterson's Orthodoxy in which he states the inherent paradoxes of Christianity.  Ours is a religion, not of balance, but of passion.  Christianity has inspired the gruesomest wars in history as well as an enduring community of people committed to non-violence.  Our God is entirely just and entirely merciful, and I think His people, being finite where He is infinite, are able to inhabit and display just one or two of His attributes. Someone else has justice covered.  I've got mercy, for worse and for better.

Ambushed by the Bible

For the past two weeks, I've been leaning more towards the "stay in Dallas" side of the future.  I had a breakthrough in group therapy that involved me crying in front of people, feeling horribly embarrassed at displaying vulnerability, and then being invited by a friend to talk about it more afterwards.  It was a lovely departure from my core belief that people won't like me if I open up.  Combined with the fact that I just read Vital Friends, a book about the benefits of working with friends, I was feeling like it would be super dumb to leave my Dallas support group.

As a result, I have taken no steps to contacting Dina and continuing the conversation of moving to Greece.

But.

My church is going through a series on Joshua, which is this consistently annoying reminder that God calls His people to do crazy things outside of their comfort zone, often with very little clear guidance beyond "Do this step.  Okay, now this one."  On top of that, my friend who took me out for further conversation accidentally compared me to the person I am annoyed with who only reacts to things, but rarely acts.  "Oh," my friend said.  "So like how you don't like to do anything unless someone else decides for you."  :|  On top of THAT, I started thinking about all the ways this opportunity came up, how so much of it seemed, well, supernatural.

It reminded me of the parable of the talents.  God gives people passions and opportunities, and if you use them and grow them and try, then He rewards you with further passions and opportunities.  But if you freeze up and do nothing, well...you may never get an opportunity again.

I was telling all of this to my friend today, and then she had to do homework, so I pulled out my Bible.  My small group at church has a challenge to read all four gospels in a month, and I am doing very poorly at it.  I opened up to my current location, which was....the parable of the talents.  Since it is the Message translation, I read, "That's a terrible way to live!  It's criminal to live cautiously like that! ...And get rid of this 'play-it-safe' who won't go out on a limb.  Throw him out into utter darkness."

Well.  Well, okay then.

So I emailed Dina.  It's not a decision, but it's a step away from being paralyzed with fear.

But Then I Think

I've been napping more often, which is only unusual because I've been sleeping a normal amount.  This didn't strike me as odd until something deep inside told me, "This is what you do when you're stressed," and intuitively I knew that was true.  It isn't really that I'm more tired than usual.  I just...sleep.  Oh, a bit of extra time? I subconsciously think.  Might as well be unconscious, then I don't have to worry about anything.

I'm in a weird state of limbo where Greece plans are concerned.  I have no new information, since I am letting the Petrous have some family time in the midst of their son's surgery and recovery.  However, this means my attempts to plan my future are happening without the most important part--the side beckoning me forward.  Without that lifeline, I feel like I'm stumbling forward for no reason at all.

I found out that accepting a job at my internship will, best case scenario, mean living off the same amount of money as I've been making these past two years.  Possibly even less.  While it has mostly been fine to live on $1,000 a month, I was kind of hoping that was a grad student lifestyle.  My supervisor assured me that, as with any new business, I shouldn't plan on actually making real money for the first three years of working in private practice.  This means that if I stay at my internship, I will need a second job.  A job...like nannying.  Although it feels a bit humiliating, I'm not above telling my bosses that I was mistaken--counselors don't actually make good money for awhile, and could I please continue to work for them?  I'm sure they would say yes.

What worries me is Greece.  If Greece is temporary, say three or six months, and I return to Dallas...what will I return to?  I could work at my internship well enough, but my bosses will have to find someone to replace me.  That means looking for a new second job.

It feels so much like life in Dallas would be easy.  Well, not easy.  This whole continuing-to-live-on-the-poverty-line is not great.  But if that's what it means to work in private practice, where better to do it than somewhere I have an understanding, supportive second job family?  Am I an idiot for giving that up to move somewhere new?  Does there come a point in maturity where pragmatism outweighs passion?

But then I think--God uses the foolish things of this world to shame the wise.  It's feeling incredibly foolish to walk away from a career laid out for me with minimal obstacles.  If it's foolish to go to Greece, does that mean I should?

But then I think--there are plenty of foolish things that I don't think God is necessarily leading people to do, like when I ate a bag of Twix candy bars.  God might love using ridiculous situations to show his glory, but that does not mean all ridiculous situations are his specific plan.  What if this is my pattern of leaving a good place, of being scared of the intimacy and commitment of settling down?

But then I think--what "pattern"?  Why am I determined to view all my personal revelations as necessarily bad?  So what if I moved from Peoria to Jackson to Fatick to Peoria to Dallas?  Each time I moved, I felt peace that it was within God's plans, and in every place I found a new family--people who cared for me and encouraged me to grow, people I could serve and love and miss.  I don't think any of my moves were wrong.  I think, for whatever reason, God gave me a passion for seeing new places and experiencing new things, and he has given me many opportunities to live this passion.  Why think of that as a bad thing?

But then I think--well, isn't it?  Aren't community and commitment good things?

But then I think--of course they are, but why can't both life paths be good?  Staying is good, and going is good.  They both offer separate rewards and separate challenges, but one is not necessarily better than the other, nor is a decision to follow one necessarily what the rest of my life will be characterized by.

But then I think--

But then I think--

But then I fall asleep.

Greece

I'm only quiet when I'm processing, and a two month absence from blogging accurately indicates that I have been processing something rather massive.

I'm working toward moving to Greece after I graduate.  So much of this possibility is unclear--when I would go, how long I would stay, if it is even possible.  The short story is that the Petrous, a dear family I visited twice on mission trips to Athens, invited me to join Dina in working with women leaving sexual slavery.  Everyone I have talked with about this opportunity has been overwhelmingly supportive, whether in affirming the reality that this is my chance to invest a long chunk of time in travel before settling into a professional life, or in reminding me that I never actually wanted to be in private practice anyway; my dreams have always skewed toward the international and missional. 

Everything is still very much in the information stages, but that hasn't kept me from leaping ahead and preemptively deciding that I will definitely go.  It took me about a week, back in July, to work up to a fever pitch of excitement.  Here at last was what I had been waiting for.  I remembered sitting on a Seattle beach with Roy, telling him how so many of the greatest events of my life have occurred because of random connections so perfectly timed that it felt like God.  This could be it again.

The first month of thinking and planning was almost entirely done in delirious excitement.  This second month, well, I'm becoming more realistic.  Working with women coming out of sex trafficking?  While I love the idea of putting my feminism into practice and tangibly helping women who have suffered the worst forms of oppression, I am completely overwhelmed by the magnitude of the job.

One friend told me that my singleness is a gift, not only in my freedom to travel as I will, but in my emotional freedom.  I can work in an emotionally draining job, go home, and take care of myself.  Were I married or had kids, I would go home to more people who needed me to be emotionally available to them.  This is a very nice thought, one which I clung to as evidence of this opportunity's perfection.  But...a job that is that draining?

My supervisor has been having me read articles about secondary traumatization, an effect of counselors working with a large caseload of trauma victims for a long period of time in which you inherit their triggers, memories, and nightmares.  I'm already terrified of rapists, clutching car keys between my knuckles in dark grocery parking lots and checking my backseat for potential kidnappers.  This fear is driven from email chains twelve years ago--how much more scared will I be when sitting before me is evidence of the worst humanity can inflict upon each other?  Stories of rape, violence, humiliation.  How will I be able to listen to them, empathize with them, be with them in their pain and come away whole?

I don't know if it is worth it.  Why should I tear myself apart to put someone else together?  Of course, if this happens, I intend to be proactive about self-care.  I will try to create a support system on which I can unload.  I will create safe spaces for myself, and give myself as much time and quiet as necessary to restore myself.  But still.  There are some things you cannot unhear, some realities you cannot ignore.

Last week Mike preached on Joshua 3 and 4 when the Israelites are going to cross the Jordan River at its deepest, during flood season.  Mike said it would have been nice if God had parted the waters in advance, had given his people ample time to see his power so they could trust in his provision.  Instead, it took the faith of twelve men to step into the water, to begin walking into a deep river that showed no hint of a miracle.  "Yet as soon as the priests who carried the ark reached the Jordan and their feet touched the water's edge, the water from upstream stopped flowing.  It piled up in a heap a great distance away."

I've been excited, and I've been terrified.  Now I hope to bring the two emotions together.  I will continue walking toward this deep river that threatens to swallow me in sorrow and fear.  I will continue walking, only because I have the assurance that if God is leading me, He will also make a way for me through the valley of the shadow of death.

Courage, dear heart.

Reframe

Whenever I'm with a group of single women, there is an 80% chance that the conversation will meander towards a discussion of the fears we have surrounding marriage--giving up freedom, trusting that intimacy will stay despite personal growth and/or change, etc.  And twice this has happened.

Me:  Marriage is scary!  I just haven't found a guy who I like and respect enough to let go of the fear and start trusting.
Friend: That's not true.  You've loved guys that deeply before.  They just didn't love you back.
Me:  ...

I'll be real, I can only barely tolerate that level of honesty.  I have been pissed about this conversation for months, and I'm only starting to process what that means.

Why does that reminder--they just didn't love you back--make me so angry?  Well, obviously because it touches on rejection and unworthiness and all those horrible feelings.  It feels like it is a break of the friendship code, where you don't, you know, shove your friend's face in all their insecurities.  But on a deeper level, that statement angered me because it took away my control.  When I narrate my singleness, I give myself the power, telling people I haven't found the right guy, I'm not willing to give up freedom.  I am the person keeping me single.  It's my choice.  But when my friend called me on this, I was suddenly stripped of even that.  Not only do I not have a person who has committed to loving and supporting me through life, I'm not even responsible for this lack.  My last shred of dignity, taken away.

The introspection doesn't end there!  Again, months after this conversation, I am only beginning to shift the way I frame my singleness.  If it's not my choice, then what?  I mean, it would be easy to sink into all the things I'm avoiding (rejection, unworthiness, etc), but there's another side.  If I'm not choosing to be single, then that means--I'm open to love.  I do give my heart away.  I practice vulnerability.  I risk my affections, and I'm willing to gamble on romance. 

I have to give up the illusion that I'm in control of my singleness, and that hurts.  But I get to give up the illusion that I'm a cold-hearted bastard.  Giving that up is a bit scary, of course, since a cold heart isn't broken so easily.  But it also means all that therapy nonsense where I worried I couldn't feel and that I lived in hopelessness was, well, nonsense.  I do nothing but feel and hope. 

That's my new narrative.  I'm ready to love and be loved.  So far those halves of the sentence are not synchronized, since I'm not interested in being loved by those who confess it, and the guys I love similarly dismiss me.  But I'm not broken, I'm not shut down, I'm not hard.  I'm ready for marriage, and when the day comes that the guy I love says, "hey, me too," I don't think it will be difficult to take the next step.

Unless he's allergic to cats.  Then there's gonna be a problem.

St. Maarten Stories: Concessions

While we were walking along the St. Maarten beach, Lindsay asked me if anyone had ever kissed me.  I coughed out a laugh and admitted, no, no one had.  She sighed and said I was lucky, which elicited another painful laugh from me.  After silence stretched too long, I said, "I would ask when your first kiss was, but honestly, I don't want to know.  I'm feeling bitter, and I wouldn't appreciate it."

So it was fortuitous that Jordan flirted with me at the resort's chocolate buffet immediately after we returned.

Lindsay had pointed him out as the cutest guy at the resort that afternoon.  She called out to him and carried on a conversation that I mostly observed, wondering when she would finish so we could go to the room.  Unwilling to look totally anti-social, I made a few comments, but I internally rolled my eyes when she invited him to meet us later.

I might have been pissed at her extroversion, but I wasn't going to risk hanging out with a hot guy unarmed.  I dressed up and painted my eyes darker than usual.  It was nothing, nothing, but you know.  Just in case.

He did find us, practically running up, begging for our help in escaping a girl who had been following him around during his weekend at the resort.  The three of us talked until his friends appeared.  Lindsay had already met them, and Jordan moved to sit at the edge of the group next to me.  I should mention he was an absolutely delightful asshole.  He made horrifically racist and sizeist comments with a grin, and I couldn't help laughing.  He was a good ol' boy from Georgia, and I found it easy to fall into the role of being shocked and appalled at the things falling from his lips.  "You say the most horrible things," I told him.  "I know," he grinned, leaning into my shoulder.

Confident assholes.  My weakness.

Everyone else had left the chocolate buffet, and the workers had turned off the spotlights.  "Let's go inside to the bar," his friends suggested.  Lindsay said she was tired, but I convinced her to go in for just half an hour.  Jordan pulled up a semi-circle of chairs and made sure we sat beside each other.  He put his knee on my chair so I could press my hand against it if I wanted.  I did.

Half an hour came and went, and his friends glanced between us and said they were going upstairs.  Lindsay again said she was tired, but I convinced her to stay.  I felt dangerous.  I wanted--I wanted to give up.  Here I was in another country with a cute boy who I was pretty sure wouldn't say no to anything I suggested or allowed.  For so long I've loved boys who said no, who said, "oh, but I like her," who put up walls that I couldn't get past.  Jordan was wide open, and I desperately wanted to take advantage of that opportunity.

"What's your favorite band?" he asked.

"Mumford and Sons, probably."

"Ugh!  You're a hipster!"

"Haha, yeah, I guess I am.  I like my men in skinny ties and suspenders."

Jordan grabbed my arm and smiled close.  "That's horrible.  I would never be caught dead in a skinny tie."

"That's your loss," I grinned.

"I'm going to bed," Lindsay said.

I could already picture what would happen if she left us alone.  A new story, one I would probably regret.  But at least I would finally have an answer to the question, "Has anyone ever kissed you?"  I would look back on whatever happened with sadness and guilt and a deep satisfaction.

"I'll go up with you," I told Lindsay.

Jordan leaned in again and said, "I'd really like for you to stay here with me a little longer.  I'm leaving in the morning."

Well.  I smiled and said as meaningfully as I could, "I would really like that, too."  I turned to Lindsay.  "Alright, I'm ready."

We went upstairs.  I washed the makeup off my face and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts.  I said goodnight, slid under the covers, and turned off the light.  I stayed awake for over an hour regretting my decision.  I could still go back down.  I could find him again.  I could have my secret, and I would hate myself for a while, but I would feel desired and complete in a way I am increasingly desperate to experience.

It's hell, sometimes, fighting to hold onto hope.

Invisible at Church

I've been skipping church a lot, and finally a friend called me out on it.  I'd been waiting for someone to do so, which is exactly the sort of loser-move I side-eyed when I used to be an insider.  "Well, if they'd just come up to us," I would say, "We would totally invite them in and be nice."  True!  And it is undoubtedly unfair to ask people to be responsible for the emotional well-being of others.  But sometimes people are desperately unsure of themselves and need the validation that someone noticed they were gone and wish it hadn't been so.

That was a long preamble to the fact that:  I went to church today.  And I wish I hadn't.

It was Father's Day, which is never my favorite holiday.  Same for Mother's Day when there is blanket celebration with no acknowledgement of potential pain (either from one's own parents or from not being a parent oneself).  So there was the requisite adorable video and honoring of fathers.  There was a quote from Martin Luther about how we ought to be grateful for our parents because they fed us instead of letting us die.  All true, I suppose, but a single throw-away line about, "If you need to work through your family's dysfunction, go see a counselor," did little to honor the pain that I imagine at least 40% of the congregation felt.  Fathers, man.  They do a number on people.  Sometimes it's "simply" lack of time or affection, and that's enough to screw someone up.  But I've been a counselor for all of five months, and already I'm realizing how terrifyingly common it is for fathers to verbally, emotionally, physically, and emotionally abuse their children.  Handwaving that fact away with a "thank God for your parents" felt very irresponsible.

But I expected that.  What I didn't expect was a sermon based on the fact that humans bear God's image most fully in the family.  There were, like, maybe a few sentences about how the Church is a family, but mostly even that was in the context of using the Church to bolster your own family unit. 

As soon as it was said, my face shut down, my body turned in on itself, and I felt emotions crawling up my throat.  Honestly, I don't even care that I disagree with that interpretation of Genesis 1:26-28.  I personally believe that we bear God's image as individuals in relationships, but that there is no premium on marriage or parenthood as the relationship par excellence.  And I believe that multiplying to fill and subdue the earth includes, but is not limited to, physical reproduction.  But whatever.  That was not the message being taught today.  I could maybe have handled hearing that the family is the best way to represent God if even once the message had been directed to singles.  "What about us?" I thought.  "We're stuck with being sub-par image bearers.  What do we do with that?"  Hearing a callous "You just have to wait until you're married," would have pissed me off, but it would have been better than what actually happened, which is that myself and other singles (and the divorced and widowed and childless) were simply erased. 

It got worse, of course.  Because eventually we were addressed, in the form of a survey the entire congregation filled out after the sermon so that the church could better serve us.  Nice thought, and there was even one-fourth of the page devoted to singles.  There were sliding scales that asked if we thought God was using our singleness to sanctify and mature us, and I heavily circled the highest number in an attempt to prove my marital status doesn't affect my relationship with God.  Then there were a couple yes/no questions.  Two of the three were, "Are you saving sex for marriage?" and "Are you doing what you can to hold high the idea of marriage?"  Wonderful, wonderful.  My existence is summarily described by what I cannot do and by aspiring to that which I am not.  My singleness is the absence of.

To drive home the point, today was the Sunday when people with birthdays or anniversaries in the current month go forward to be acknowledged and prayed over.  I normally love this, because I really do have a high view of marriage.  But after forty minutes of being told over and over that this is ideal (and implicitly, you, Tricia, are not ideal), it hurt to hear one last time, "Congratulations to these couples who are exhibiting the truth that marriage is the place where people best bear God's image!"  I wanted to scream, "What about Jesus?  What about Paul?  What about that pesky verse that says it is better to be single than to be married?  Why is this not a nuanced conversation!?  Why do I feel like I don't exist?"

Instead, I practically ran to my car, throwing sunglasses on to cover the tears in my eyes.  As the car door slammed shut behind me, I instantly began sobbing and didn't stop until I got home.  Part of me sank into the desperate desire to be married and have kids--to be normal, to be the focus of the sermon, to be heard and valued in conservative evangelical culture.  I just wanted to fit in.  Another righteously angry part of me wanted to stay single forever, because I'm scared that if I ever do get married and have kids, I will be awash in relief at having arrived, and I'll blissfully forget the other singles who will still be ignored and undervalued.  I hope I will not be that way, but I've seen how the glow of being an insider can make me oblivious to those on the outside.

I don't mean to bash on my church family or my pastor.  I love my church to pieces, and I think this hit me so hard because I have such high standards.  They've been very nuanced and balanced and thoughtful in the past, and I'm sure they will be again in the future.  But today hurt.

Torn

I've finished my second of three years at graduate school.  While this is definitely a significant event, it feels less important now that I am nearly certain I'll stay in Dallas after I graduate.  Not forever, because I haven't yet learned how to commit to something beyond "Sure, maybe for a few years!".  But my plan to stay in Dallas for three years looks like it will expand to five, at least.

It's weird, realizing this sprawling city will be home for longer than I initially planned.  This weekend my grandparents visited, and one of my favorite parts of the weekend was introducing them to people from my new church.  It was lovely to have people come up to us who recognized my family from Facebook.  It felt like another step toward "these people are my new faith family."

But. 

But there's always a but.  Even as I settle into a place where I have "my people," I can so easily fall into discontentment.  Because Lindsay and I talk on the phone, or Jenna texts, or Mark says something unabashedly sweet on Facebook, and I think, "Those are my people."  I miss the endless hugs on Sunday mornings.  I miss being involved in everything, and I miss people knowing my talents better than I do, requesting and occasionally forcing me to use them.  I miss going out to lunch after the service because no one wants to say goodbye.  I miss the Bible studies and Tuesday night dinners and any excuse to hang out with my faith family as many nights of the week as possible.  I miss the friendly insults and the utter comfort with which I knew the men, women, boys, and girls who made up Woodland.

I don't know what to do with this.  I don't know how to parse out the difference between the evidence that God is using me in this new city with the fear that I came here because I'm terrified of good things and wanted to start over.  I don't know how to hope for a homecoming when I worry I can't take my new self home without regressing.  I don't know how to celebrate the life I have now without feeling like I'm villainizing the life I used to know.  I don't know how to fast forward through these years of sloughing through relationships, hoping for the level of comfort and vulnerability and trust that I enjoyed before.

I don't know how to be excited and sad at the same time.  Life is really good lately.  I'm doing something I adore in a place where I feel safe and challenged.  Those words--safe and challenged--kind of typify my experience in Dallas.  That's a really good place to be, so I'm going to be here for a while longer.  But I guess when the future starts solidifying, the past starts tugging at me.

Noah Gundersen

Last night I saw Noah Gundersen in concert.  I fell in love with his music the second I heard "Jesus, Jesus," which perfectly expresses my doubts and discomforts with Christianity while also clinging to a hoped for hope.

When I finally got around to listening to the rest of his music, I was blown away by his ability to honestly relate the highs and lows of life with a wisdom that digs beneath the obvious.  In "Isaiah" he describes a relationship with a girl who has a boyfriend.  He manages to convey the ambivalence of wanting the relationship and knowing it's wrong.  The chorus repeats Isaiah 41:10, "Fear thou not, my right hand will hold you, fear thou not."  The first time it is an excuse, a get out of jail free card, and as the song progresses into regret and conviction, it becomes a truth to which he clings in the midst of sin.  I mean, this guy blows me away.

And he's even more fantastic in person.  His passion pours off the stage.  He is absolutely captivating.  And the joy of live music comes from hearing your favorite songs in real time, watching emotions play across an artist's face as they share their soul with a crowd of strangers.  So when he played the opening chords of "Jesus, Jesus" I was thrilled.  It was better than I expected, however, as we were privileged to hear Noah's alterations to the song, something I can only assume reflects his spiritual progression.

The last verse of "Jesus, Jesus" is this:

"Jesus, Jesus, I’m still looking for answers
Though I know that I won’t find them here tonight
But Jesus, Jesus, could you call me if you have the time?
And maybe we could meet for coffee and work it out
And maybe then I’ll understand what it’s all about"

But what he sang was this:

"Jesus, Jesus, I’m still looking for answers
And I think I always will be
But Jesus, Jesus, could you call me if you have the time?
And maybe we could meet for whiskey and work it out
And maybe then I’ll understand,
Maybe then I'll understand,
Maybe then I'll understand
You."


It's probably powerful enough to let the contrasts sit there, but what is a blog for if not unnecessarily sharing opinions?  And I have to, because I love the changes.  First he acknowledges that not only will the doubts go unsolved tonight, but--they're always going to exist.  Then he changes out coffee for whiskey, reflecting a darker sensibility, and awareness that this is heavy stuff, not something for a casual coffee date.  Not only that, but he trusts that Jesus would join him for whiskey, would be comfortable joining him where he is: in a bar, silencing his pain.

And finally, my favorite change.  Whereas first Noah sings about understanding "what it's all about" he finally decides that he wants to understand "you."  There will always be questions and he will always want answers (don't we all?), but in the end, he knows those aren't sufficient.  You can have all the answers in the world to the problems presented in the song, but answers won't solve anything unless you know the Person who is giving the answers. 

Noah is probably not a Christian, from what my concert-mates told me.  But his song speaks volumes of truth to me, reminding me that having arguments are secondary to resting in Jesus.  If I can understand him, the contradictions and worries will fall away.  I'm so honored to have been able to listen to Noah's heartbeat so that mine can fall into his cadence. 

Unconditional Love

Therapy today meant discussing self-worth, which was MISERABLE; I assume for everyone other than the three or four lucky bastards who had perfect childhoods.

Therapist: Do you think there's a spiritual element here?
Me: Yes. I was raised knowing that God loved me in spite of my sins, and—it was always in spite of. It's only been in the last couple years that I've learned that maybe God just straight up loves me. Maybe he delights in me.
Therapist: What would that be like?
Me: Comfort. Security. Peace...Too good to be true.

Our conversation moved on, but for the rest of the day I was stuck on this exchange.  Later it struck me why it felt so important--the last year or so has essentially been my attempts to prove that God's love is conditional.  For so long I've been defined (by others and by myself) as "the good girl," and it terrifies me to think that this reputation is what has earned God's love.  Does he only care about me when I'm trying not to sin, when I'm being modest, when I'm focusing on him, when I'm serving others?

So I stopped reading my Bible.  I started cussing.  I hit my snooze alarm until it was too late to go to church.  I ignored chapel requirements for DTS.  In my "good girl" way, I went bad.  I think I was railing against God, trying to prove to him that, "See!?  You don't love me now!"  I disobey authority, covet everything, hang onto jealousy, embrace bitterness, wallow in self-pity, and then I held my blackened and shattered heart up to God in defiance.  I wanted him to let me down.  I wanted him to be like everyone else, so that at least the world would make sense.  The rules would be clear--for me to experience love, I need to put on my happy shiny people face and DO STUFF.

But....that hasn't happened.  It's not like I've felt showered in God's love.  But during this year I've found friends who are in the muck with me, doubting and trying and flailing.  I've got this support system that is mysteriously okay with all of my pain because they know that the world is shitty and they're not interested in pretending it's not.  And it's through them and their sarcastic, enduring compassion that I think...okay.  Maybe God loves me.  Maybe I could never read the Bible for the rest of my life, and he would love me.  Maybe I could always act selfishly, and he would love me.  Maybe he looks down on me and fucking laughs and smiles fondly.  Maybe I'm his craftsmanship, and he made me good.  Maybe I'm broken, but he sees what I was, am, and will be, and he's just entirely delighted.

Finding Hope in Purpose

At my first therapy session of the new semester, I had to admit that I had little to talk about.  Christmas had gone better than expected.  Some of the things that had been weighing on me had been confronted and put away.  I felt good.

My therapist asked how I would scale my depressive symptoms against how I felt when I first started therapy.  "I was probably a seven in the fall.  Now...I think I'm a two."

"A two?" she said.  "That's really low.  That's great.  What do you think changed?"

I didn't know.  But the more I think about it, I realized that I have purpose this semester.  My depression is almost always wound around feelings of hopelessness and purposelessness.  Now that I am starting to see clients, my life has meaning.  I am doing the thing for which I came to Dallas and entered graduate school.  All these things I've been cramming into my brain are coming out.  Instead of talking about stepping into people's pain and wondering what that will be like in the nebulous future, I'm experiencing it right now.

It's terrifying, counseling people.  But the good sort of terror, the kind when you see a person and you think, "You're going to change my life," or when the camel you're on lurches to its feet or when you stare at the clouds and feel so small and so massive.  It's terrifying, but it is mine.  It is what I am made to do, I have not one shred of doubt. 

God crafted me into a sensitive, empathetic person.  With every book I devoured, I learned to place myself in someone else's shoes.  With every person who ignored me, I burned with a passion to give voice to the voiceless.  With my heightened sense of disunity, I cried against the separation of heart and head before I ever had a place where I could sit with someone and say, "It's okay to feel things."

So although this first step into the next leg of my journey is stupid scary, I am so excited.  And that excitement that I have found from doing what I was made to do--that is what has healed me. 

Ministry of Singleness

When most people talk about a "ministry of singleness," they usually mean nuns or missionaries.  And that's if singleness is even discussed as a positive lifestage at all.  As someone who loves to travel and entertained the idea of being a missionary, this was not a wholly unappealing topic.  To be honest, one of my very favorite things about being single is that I can, within the space of a day, decide I want to go somewhere and make travel arrangements to get there.  The freedom to pack up and wander the world is a great joy.

But it's statistically unusual.

Let's say I travel one week in the summer and five weekends throughout the rest of the year.  That is less than 5% of my year spent in a "ministry of singleness."  I refuse to believe that God essentially skips over me during the routine of daily life until I pack my suitcases and head to Mongolia.  That's not true.  I do believe that, a lot of the time, and this sense of uselessness is what fuels the majority of my depressive symptoms.

Things are changing, however.  I think I mentioned that last fall, I decided to invest more heavily in a couple in my small group.  At the time, they had a toddler and a soon-to-be-baby, so I wanted to give them as many date nights as possible before their parental load doubled.  The enormity of their gratitude floored me.  I literally sat on their couch, ate their food, and watched their TV while their child slept, yet they acted as though I were doing something actually sacrificial. 

It struck me that I was in a unique position.  Other married people or parents can't afford to take care of someone else's children.  Not for long, anyway.  The burnout rate is significantly higher.  Hiring a babysitter is fine, but they are teenagers and you have to pay them.  But a friend who is perfectly fine getting her alone time in your house or hers, who cares?  That's an asset.  I'm an asset!

This is my ministry of singleness, and I'm looking to expand.  I have freedom to travel, yes.  But I also have emotional freedom, and the ability to pour myself into others because I'm not yet run dry.  I'm sure there is more, and I'm so excited to realize that using my singleness to bless others might affect 100% of my life rather than 5.

My Old Heart

I had a sweet moment with God, but it includes a curseword, so I'll put it under a cut.

Friends and Presents

I have to keep a journal for practicum, so sometimes I forget that this blog exists.  And also I sometimes think about not blogging, because someone who craves intimacy but also runs away from it?  That person can find an easy out in blogging, and I'm not sure I want an easy out.

But I do want to give an emotional update, because this latest bout of introspective sadness is mostly over, I think.  And how?  My word, through intimacy, who knew.  (My therapist knew.)  I've found friends with whom I can be honest, and who even value my honesty, of all things!  Learning to let my frustrations and sadnesses and desires exist without constantly pushing them down, down, down has been so freeing!  So that's very lovely.

But also I feel better because of gifts.  Today Ketan kept giving away what he wants to buy me for Christmas, despite our NUMEROUS talks about how I love surprises and would he please shut up? 

Ketan:  I know what I'm going to get you!
Me:  Good.  I don't want to know.
Ketan:  But should I get you one?  Or two, three, four, five, six, and seven?
Me:  KETAN!  Now I know!
Ketan:  No you don't.  What is it?
Me:  The new Harry Potter books with the awesome covers.
Ketan:  Oh.  Yeah.

Ketan:  I'm going to get you TOMs for Christmas.
Me:  Well, now you can't, because you've told me.
Ketan:  What color would you want?  Oh, green, right?
Me:  Yeah.
Ketan:  They don't have green.  What about red?  Or black?
Me:  Sure.  But Ketan, TOMs are expensive.  They're like, $45.
Ketan:  That's not expensive.

Ugh, it's going to be pleasantly mortifying if the kids I nanny spend more on me for Christmas than I spend on them.

But also!  I hung out with Libby and Mike Stroh last night.  I've been so blessed to have a Married Couple as friends in each city I've lived in.  I can be extremely cynical about marriage, and I think God has put people like Lindsay and Nathan, Jennie and Dusty, and Libby and Mike in my life to remind me that marriage can also be silly and warm and encouraging.  Hm.  That is a whole separate thought to be dissected.

The Great Ice Weekend pushed even my introverted limits, so when I asked if I could hang out at their house and we three could play Risk and they said yes, I happily crashed and ate their desserts and bared my soul about all sorts of things they are gracious enough to ask about.

Mike has started watching Doctor Who, which is the happy result of a month of wheedling on my part.

Libby:  You started without me!
Mike:  You...wouldn't like it yet.
Me:  Yeah, the first few episodes are kind of...awful.  Silly and awful.
Mike:  In the first episode, a garbage can eats a person and then burps.  It's that kind of show.

Mike and I giggle at the memory.  Libby grins and rolls her eyes.

Libby:  I'm so glad there are at least the two of you in the world to like that sort of stuff.

And we played Risk!  I've wanted to play it for FOREVER, but no one acknowledged my subtle hints.  Finally, success!  Except I lost, only it was fine because Libby and Mike are so fun to play with.  AND THEN they gave me a present!  Key to my heart, all the time, every time.  A Jack Handey book, because they know my twisted sense of humor!  AND a book of Mike's short stories, with a handwritten front page saying that some of them are changed for the better because of my editing!  Imma frame that and make people look at it once he's a famous author.

The moral of this blog post is:  When sad, give me friends and presents.  The end.

The Grace of the Church

I had it in my head to put together a sort of Faith Profile of my year with the poems I've been writing.  So picked out the ones I was extra proud of and worked on editing them and putting them in some semblance of order.  I did this right before bed, which was a problem.  For one thing, it got my creative mind racing, and that takes ages to shut off.  For another, it opened up memories and feelings and doubts and worries.  I've been feeling pretty on top of things lately, and then I read my own words describing myself in my darkest emotions.  Not a great idea.

The result was that I skipped church today.  My alarm went off, I hit snooze.  Then I laid in bed for ten minutes thinking about how I was really tired and anyway I didn't want to go.  So I didn't, and I slept until 11:30.

It's funny, the days I skip church sometimes turn into big spiritual epiphanies for me.  That happened a little while ago, but it isn't what I want to talk about.

What I've been learning lately is the power of the Church.  I think I've always thought of it as God's people, I got that part.  I knew it was more than a building, more than a gathering of people who thought and acted the same way.  But in the last year or so, I've been deepening my awareness and appreciation of the sacred. 

One of the sacred things I've been stepping into is Communion.  That's honestly the main thing I miss whenever I'm not at church.  I've grown to love the cracker pieces and wine glasses passed down the pew.  I love taking strength there, remembering that I am here because of Christ, that it is only through Him that I can do anything.  I don't think the bread and wine are literally Jesus's body and blood, but I do think there is something far more sacred going on than I ever realized.  I think there is some special grace in taking Communion, some acknowledgment of our humility and dependency, some concrete action of finding purpose and strength in Him.

The other sacred thing I've been stepping into is the Church.  I just googled "Is the Church a sacrament?" and turns out the Vatican II said there is a sacramental nature to the Church, so good, I'm not alone in thinking this.  The thing is, as I've grown weaker this year, more aware of my sins and the sins of the world, I've found real peace in the Church.  Not as in they encourage me, though they have.  What I mean is, it's so comforting to know that while I struggle and doubt, there are others in the Church who are strong and faithful.  When I skipped church this morning, I took strength in knowing that there were others who went, men and women and children who heard the Word and took Communion and echoed creeds.  It's not a get-out-of-jail-free pass.  It's a genuine grace, I think, this acknowledgment that I cannot be strong all the time, but that God has me as one small piece of a Body--a Body that is strong, that continues when I am not physically present.  There is such comfort in seeing faith as communal rather than individualistic.

I'm turning mystical, I guess, and pretty High Church.  I just love it.  I love stepping outside of myself and realizing how dependent I am upon God's grace, how I need physical manifestations of His grace to eat and drink, how I need relational manifestations of His grace to serve Him when I cannot.  It's all just crazy enough to make sense.

Too Beautiful

I stumbled across this playlist of epically beautiful instrumental music, and I actually had to stop what I was doing to stare open-mouthed at my computer during one song.  It was so beautiful I wanted to turn it off, as if it were too much of a good thing, like my ears and my mind wouldn't be able to stand so much purity and clarity.

Beauty is, I think, sadly lacking in everyday life.  Efficiency and practicality are useful and good, but when we laud these virtues at the expense of beauty, I wonder if we aren't losing something precious.  Beauty is a sign, an arrow that points to the reality of "now and not yet."  This ache I feel around something too beautiful makes me all too aware that this is my life--I am meant for something great, and there is joy and peace in eternity.  But at the same time, right now life is streaked with selfishness and abuse and despair.  Beauty highlights ugliness.  It makes us aware of what life should be and in contrast, what life is.

We need those reminders, whether we find them in music, in stories, in forests, in architecture, in mathematical formulas, in gears aligning, in galaxies, in paintings.  We need beauty.

(Also I just read Rollo Mays' The Courage to Create, which has greatly influenced my opinion on the universality of creativity.  It's quite short and I highly recommend it for those who care about such things.)