clumsy believer.

this weekend was difficult, to say the least.

there were about 40 women at the retreat, talking about unhealthy relationships and self-worth and vulnerability and grace.
i thought a lot about shame.

i realized that i believe a lot of things about myself which i’ve been told aren’t true. but i’m not convinced they’re lies yet.

i also realized that i’m afraid to be vulnerable and open myself up to grace from others because of the possibility that they will believe the same things about me that i already believe about myself.

i think it’s hard to know for sure if things are wrong when you’ve been thinking them for as long as you can remember.

we weren’t made for this world. but we were separated from Him.

i work hard to be worthwhile. make the grade. help people. please my dad. feel the ”appropriate” emotions. hide behind my shame. be the right kind of Christian. the right kind of weight. the right kind of girl for the right kind of guy. write the right kinds of words. have the right kind of heart. even the things that i should do out of my love for Him, i do to measure up for Him.

i am rebellious. i keep secrets. i struggle with guilt. i say the wrong things. i gossip. i get bitter. i don’t take care of my body. i will do so much to be accepted. i write when i’m angry. my heart strays from Him. the things i should do to show Him i love Him, i don’t do, out of love of self.

we do all of this in a desperate attempt to gain peace. we try to get rid of disorder by doing what we feel is best.
am i missing the mark?
there is a very specific path to bring peace between us and God. (grace.)

GRACE AMIDST SUFFERING.
GRACE AMIDST DISORDER.
GRACE AMIDST MY MESS.

GOD, in His love, took my brokenness on Himself.

God didn’t run away. He stepped further into the gap of pain and suffering to bring peace.
i don’t want to hide in the shadows of this world’s hurt.

if i were to write “abby” a letter, it would look something like this.

i used to want to demolish the stereotype that guys have on them to only want “one thing” or to be selfish or whatever. i hate stereotyping and kind of believe everyone deserves a chance. plus, you can’t negate the fact that all men (like women) are not equal in ways of morality and personality and wisdom. you just can’t give this broad, sweeping generalization about the male sex. it’s not fair.

so what happened? because lately i’ve been one of those ridiculous girls who whines about how ridiculous boys are and how there aren’t any good ones out there. i feel myself becoming more and more bitter and i’m only 20 years old.
it’s not that i’m unaware there are good guys out there — i know there are. it’s just that i haven’t met any. atleast not any that i know really well. and it’s not that i’m saying i’m the perfect girl — i’m not. it’s just that i’m trying, and i don’t see guys trying to be the right kind of men. i know i’ve had a lot of bad experiences. and i know those aren’t all the experiences to be had.
to find men who love the Lord with their whole heart…who cherish the beauty and fragility of women…who show strength through their respect and ability to serve…where are those men?

i look at the men in my family, and there’s no one who matches that description. and then i look at my personal experiences and over and over again, i come in to contant with those kind of boys. you know. they talk about girls in terms of their hair color and the size of their breasts. or they think so well of themselves — find themselves so attractive and intelligent — that they don’t have time to really pay attention to you. and when i say “really”, i don’t mean the “hey baby can i have your number?” i get that, you get that, every girl has gotten it at some point.
…but to be valued! to be put first! to put God on the throne and to also lift you up. does that happen?

i’m not really talking about romantic relationships, though that definitely applies. but in male-female friendships as well. as soon as i dive into a deeper level of friendship and get to really know a guy, he proves himself really shallow, or prideful, or perverted, or apathetic. where’s the depth of thought, humble spirit, pure-minded, passionate men?

i know it sounds like i’m looking for perfection. or some fairytale story. it’s not that either. i just feel like we’re living in a crisis of manhood. and it breaks my heart.
i’ve been praying through these new, angry thoughts. trying to focus more on being the right kind of woman (not nessasarily for a man, but for God). i’m not going to go around shouting this to every guy i see either. like i said, it’s an overgeneralization, not fair, and mostly i think it’s a personal issue i need to work out with God.

maybe as i get older things will change — my perception as well as the men themselves. i’m not planning on joining an all-girl rock band to let out some suppressed past of teenage angst against all things male. i just don’t know if i want to deal with them anymore.

sincerely,
the frustrated sex

all around
it surrounds me.
a mysterious hound
scratches the souls of my feet,
ushering me into the brightened unknown.
its scent lines my insides,
streaming through my veins like antibiotics.
soothing, it settles in my stomach.
yet untamed, it rattles every rib in my cage,
singing songs of eternal years and deeper breaths.
my bones are like prison bars trying to keep in the hum
of heaven as it expands to get out.
a life of scraped knees and calloused fingers,
i lick my wounds and knuckles bruised.
still holiness paints my skin from the inside,
smudging and then scrubbing the grime
with a tender Artist’s hand.
it rages, it surges, it fixates itself
on me.
the desperately battered me.
and i can’t keep it in anymore.
there’s a glorious whoosh that fills my lungs
becoming a song which rises in my throat.
the tune speaks of freedom and burns of life.
the pain is worth the end result which speaks hope.
they may laugh, they may jest, they may point and accuse
but it’s too late to escape the message behind my lips.
my tongue dances before the kingdom of GOD.
an explosion of truth escapes my body,
broken, poured out and used.
truth is a lie when kept silent.
i am a loud speaker echoing
in vast rooms of tired hearts.
a messenger sent to rouse
a world, once immobile
to move.

for most people, my subject line is enough to reel them in. the deal is that’s natural. human.

yesterday i talked sex with a friend of mine and when we were done, we both agreed that we were finally able to be true friends because we’d “had the talk”. of course we were joking, but it did open a lot of doors and let down a lot of our guard. i feel a lot more comfortable around her now.
i started to think about how hesitant we are to talk about sex. perhaps boys are a lot more self-disclosing (or so i’ve heard), but in the female (especially Christian) community sex is seen as dirty or embarassing or taboo. i admit i’ve often fallen into this mindset myself.

if i ever have children i’m going to talk to them about sex as soon as possible. and i’m not just talking about what things are and where they go, but as they get older — how it makes us feel, why everyone is doing it, how we are “sexual people”.
if i ever have toddlers who are asking questions about their bodies, i don’t want to make them feel embarassed for their questions. i don’t want to build in them a shame of their sexuality. from day one, i want them to know how beautiful God has made them.
in the same way, discussing sexuality helps to protect children. in a time where the average girl is smuggled into trafficking at 10-12 years old, 1 in 4 women are raped, the average boy comes into contact with his first view of pornography at 8 years old, and nearly every teenage guy is masturbating, i find it naiive of parents to wait til their children are in jr high and high school to discuss these things. we have to prepare our children with a healthy awareness of the blessing and burden of our sexuality. we need to develop in them a respect for their bodies as well as others. this means talking.

when i was home the other weekend, my little brother trevor (5) yelled at my sister emily (7), “i’m gonna kick you in the penis!” i guess it’s good that he knows what that is called (though he’s sorely misguided as to who has it).
little kids are funny.

all i’m saying is that if i ever have kids and they ask me questions like “what’s a clitoris?”, “why are guys circumcised?” and the age old “where do babies come from?” i’m gonna tell them it like it is. and if they don’t ask soon enough, i’m going to tell them anyway.
i’m not saying i want to make them buttons that say “i know what the fallopian tubes are for”, but i am certainly not going to shield them from reality.

anyway. obviously i feel kind of strongly about it.

not that one.
the other one.

should.

it’s a nasty word.
i get so stressed out when i resist the reality of my life. so often i look at my life through the verbal lens of “should’s”, resulting in a very blurry image. i start to feel like my life isn’t going the way it probably should be. these should’s are reflected in the major life choices as well as the minor, everyday occurances. i should have more money. i should probably weigh less. i should have a family that’s not broken. i should have a boyfriend. i shouldn’t have even tried. i shouldn’t feel so hurt. i shouldn’t have been so awkward. i shouldn’t make so many mistakes…
should, i think, relates to an expectation placed on oneself to be, do, say, think or feel a certain way. it’s constricting and slowly suffocates oneself over time.

it is no wonder, after all these expectations, i am going to bed exhausted. if the record in my brain is constantly replaying questions about whether i’ve done enough or been enough, the music starts to crackle. how am i ever supposed to feel like i am accomplishing anything? resisting reality and expecting perfection brings one before a marred reflection of self. — one that is disfigured, grey and haunting.

so thankful for the “done’s” of God that take away all my “should’s”.
help me remember.

praying.

lots of thoughts in my head. it’s been awhile since i’ve blogged. i think there’s been a lot i’ve had to say that can’t really be said. you know how that goes.

boys.

my ex-boyfriend told me he’s getting deployed in a few months.
it’s weird to think about. almost a year ago we broke up, and now we’re single and living separate lives. it’s hard to know i’m not that girl any more. i won’t be the one to be there for him and support him and miss him. i won’t be the one he can’t wait to come back home to.
i think it’s also giving me a real picture of adulthood and growing up. it’s kind of surreal.

today i attempted to make up with a guy i almost dated. somehow i really hurt him. i think part of that’s my fault and part of it’s his. but in the process he hurt me. it’s been a great big mess and i wanted to make things right. i’m not a fan of broken relationships if there’s anything i can do to mend them.
i guess it went as good as it could have gone.
i think this has been a very humbling experience for me — things that i wish were said and done haven’t been, and i’m having to trust the Lord with that and submit myself to what He wants for me…i’m trying to zero in on that. my end is what matters.

i was really depressed yesterday. i hated being single.
the funny thing is that last year on valentines day, i was uncomfortable being in a relationship. it’s good for me to remember how i felt last year and what happened last year when i had a boyfriend. it’s a good reminder that i’m where i’m supposed to be.

i’m struggling with a lot of insecurities. i don’t know if i’ll ever be ready for a relationship.
there’s a lot of praying that goes into this process.

because when i can’t __________ , He can __________ in me and through me.

http://nicolebromley.tumblr.com/

she has a beautiful heart.

one time, my sister and i were playing with my little neighbor friend in the carport. i think we were playing house or something. i can’t remember how old i was. it was before i was 7 because my dad still lived there. my sister karyn, then, was at the oldest, 5. somehow she crawled into my dads truck to continue our pretend world. my dad was a bio chemist and had all these chemicals he’d brought home from work. oddly enough, he had acid in the bed of his truck. karyn picked it up and began pouring it all over her legs and feet, thinking it was water. i remember telling her not to — not because i knew it was acid, but because i knew dad would be mad.
i don’t think karyn screamed at first. maybe it took a minute for it to eat through her skin.
but eventually karyn was screaming bloody murder. after my mom ran out and figured out what had happened, i knew it was something really bad, because she was crying and freaking out. i think my mom may have tried to wet her down. we wrapped her up and rushed her to the hospital.
thankfully we got her our of there fast enough so that nothing serious happened. for a really long time she had scars all over her legs and feet. i think some of them are still there, but they’re very faint reminders of her childhood.

mom always said dad felt really horrible for that. i felt kind of bad for him.