clumsy believer.

do you ever find yourself counting down the seconds in your head until you believe you will act on something you don’t want to do? 3, 2, 1…ok..3…2…3…2..1…3…and it almost never helps. you count and count and count all the while sitting there, shaking like a coward before your duty.

tonight was one of those nights.

i have no idea how people do these countdown things without the knowledge that God will work it all together for the good, no matter the outcome. there’s enough fear of the unknown while having faith in God. i wouldn’t want to deal with the sole idea of faith in myself.

my world revolves around these countdowns right now. counting and breathing. it’s funny how when life gets really messy and complicated, we as humans resort to the roots of our existence to comfort us. aside from counting and breathing, i find that sweet simplicity in writing and praying.

i can honestly say God is my best friend right now. i know that He is the only one in the world who understands these things i’ve been dealing with. He’s the only one who seems to care about these things as much as i do. and He is the one who’s going to get me through it all. somehow — someday — i’ll come out on the other side. and it won’t be by counting to 3 or practicing yoga or journaling.
it’ll be the Holy Spirit interceding on my behalf for truth.
it will be Jesus’ work on the cross playing out it’s redemption in my life.
and it will be the strong arm of the Father that carries me in love.

there is no one else for me. none but Jesus.
crucified to set me free. now i live to bring You praise.

i recently watched a video (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLh0RMpit1k&feature=player_embedded - if you want to watch it) of men from a fraternity, chanting these words: “no means yes. yes means anal.” the question that’s been posed is if this is a chant encouraging of rape or if it is “just a joke”.

i have absolutely zero patience any more for people making jokes about sexual abuse and/or exploitation. it was never funny anyway, but the more and more our rates of rape rise, joking about it is out of the question. unthinkable. the perversion of modern-day humor floors me. if i were to say “wtf”, this would be one of those times.

the truth is 1 in 36 female college students will be raped per year. that’s about 1 person per class room, depending on your class size. and it could be the girl sitting right next to you.
1/4th of female college students will be sexually assaulted or exploited in their four year term. one forth. on your campus.
for every 10,000 students, the number of female rape exceeds 350.

no one jokingly rapes. no one gets raped and laughs about it. 
why in the world do we attempt to joke about it?

no means no.

dear love, you are a demanding tyrant
wrinkled fingers pointing, shouting demands
shoving me backwards into oblivion.

dear love, you are a crafty spider
easing me into your web of destruction
where i am the victim and you are the venom.

dear love, you are disoriented and senseless
a swaying drunkard with slurred speech
stumbling into my house, exhaling toxic breath.

dear love, you are the tiny writing at the end of the page.
the clause that goes back on every word it wrote
where i sign in red ink and immidiately regret.

dear love, you are not love.
you are a liar. a false prophet. a mistake.
you are the whisper in my head and the visions in the night.

——————————

dear Love, You are love.
You speak the truth. a Savior. a right decision.
You are the beating of my heart and the floor of my existence.

and i love You because You first loved me.
(forgive me my doubts.)

“love suffers long and is kind;
love does not envy;
love does not parade itself, is not puffed up;
does not behave rudely,
does not seek its own,
is not provoked,
thinks no evil;
does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth;
bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
love never fails.
…now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.”
-1 corinthians 13:4-8 & 12

-Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

There’s something about meeting with someone and talking to them about who you are and what you’re about. In some ways it feels like weakness. Strength — for so long — has been keeping things inside and making sure no one knows what I know. The things I know are not merely the details of the ins and outs of everything that happened. I also know how I feel about everything. And I try to hide that. How long I have told myself that it’s wrong for me to feel a certain way, that disclosing it means burdening others, making them uncomfortable, or causing them pain, and that saying these things out loud makes me a selfish attention-seeker.
But now here I am, talking. And it’s okay here. It’s safe here.

I’m sick of silence. It hurts to hold tears in when I need to cry. They slosh around the inside of me like water in a glass that’s about to break. I’m tired of suppressing how I feel and making my goal numbness. I feel like I’m near-breaking point. Now that I’ve spoken and emerged from my shell (or poked my head out at least), retracting will be the death of me. It’s funny how everything in me is still saying I should be quiet, but being able to stand outside the situation and distinguish my feelings from what I know is huge. And I’m getting better at that.

In many ways we’re opening up old wounds. old wounds bringing fresh hurt and yet..renewed hope.

My healing is an evolution. I hope to be a different kind of beast on the other side.