[4] The Sunday Collections: The Difference Between "Ideal" and "Right"

First, a quote I saw this week and loved:

I beg you to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without noticing it, live your way into the answer.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Live your way into the answer.

As good as this past season has been, it hasn't been without it's hard questions and moments of wrestling. I've been trying to understand this nagging restlessness in me. What I'm slowly realizing is that I got caught in a little trap of living to prove or justify myself, rather than living as my best self. 

Expectations are strange. Sometimes my ideals and what is actually right for me aren't the same thing. I waste time chasing wishes and miss the rich substance of right here. This whole season, for me, has been one of forcing myself to stay, to simplify, to slow down and fly under the radar for a bit. It has been humbling on many levels. That isn't a bad thing.

Sometimes I wait for some magic feeling or a direct sign to show me I'm in the right place or doing the right thing. When I get stuck in this place, what I'm really doing is glancing up at all the faces out there to make sure they are all still smiling. I don't even know who those faces are, but they hold powerful sway. I didn't even realize I was living so tethered to approval from these vague mystery people but apparently I was. 

I've asked myself so many times: why isn't this working? I've scattered questions all over this season, trying to find answers, and finally resigning myself to gathering evidence from noticing my habits, my responses, my intuition. What I realized is embarrassingly simple: it isn't working because it isn't right. I was chasing dreams that didn't fit. I was wishing for things that looked very sparkly and fulfilling, but I wanted them for all of the wrong reasons. 

It is kind of like what they tell you about dating: you can't have a strong relationship with another person in that way until you know yourself first. In other words: don't date out of insecurity. It's the same difference between running away and exploring options. With running, you are constantly trying to find that "one thing" to fulfill you, define you, satisfy you. With exploring, you know yourself already and you're trying to find the best fit. One leads to a persistent hollowness and an insatiable appetite. The other one leads to a peaceful sense of knowing this is right.

How do you begin to know yourself? It comes through poking around a bit and finding those things that make you feel alive and passionate and capable and doing more of it. It comes through building a tight circle of people you trust and who will tell you the truth, lovingly, when you start to fall off track. It is learning how to be really honest about what you don't do well and making peace with that. It is noticing your bad habits and figuring out how to overcome them. It is recognizing why you want what you want. These are ways to live into the answer. It is about noticing. It is about paying attention. It is about choosing which voices to listen to in your life and learning how to tune out the other ones. 

Basically, it takes attentive work. Eventually, though, it will shape a new way of thinking and, consequently, a new way of being. Every day we're healing something.

Live your way into the answer.

Happy Sunday.

I hope you find moments of true clarity and peace within this week.

.007 Codes

A lot of life is like trying to break a code. We're all trying to make things fit, trying to make things add up, trying to unhook what works and what doesn't and assemble our own little theories and philosophies according to personal experience. Sometimes we come across people who blast us with pointed opinions, or people who offer deep truths, and you can bet that something in their story taught them that. Something about it fits into their code and offers an explanation or clarity to them.

I'm not good at math, but some days I'd like a solid formula or two for life. Relationships, for instance: they are tricky, sometimes, with few concrete, overarching rules because relationships deal with two different people coming from two different stories with two different codes of life. If there were pre-set formulas to use in particular situations, there would be a lot less music in this world, fewer books, less art in general. Art helps us work through the code. It offers a sense of: "hey- I feel that too!" or "I understand" and it is all a journey of connecting pieces and lessons learned the hard way into a mosaic of healing and direction.

I think that community is sometimes a gathering of people who have certain matching aspects of their life codes. Some people, for example, cook or bake for therapy and this is why we have cooking clubs and cooking blogs and cookbooks and Pinterest boards dedicated to food. It is a way of gathering people who know that this is something that offers meaning and expression and a way to connect. It adds value to their life, and therefore it is part of their personal formula. Their code includes cooking because, for them, it has to. It is an essential, soul-filling practice that colours in one of those empty spots in life. When something fits into your code in that way, it means that it is important on a deep level. It means that this makes you a better person and that this gives you a sense of your purpose. This happens with book clubs and farmers and Engineering professors. We all operate according to our different codes. We're all attempting to understand the world with the interests and talents and spaces and relationships that have been given to us.

This is the best thing that I have learned in University so far: my way is not the only way and that isn't a bad thing. University is a garden of people, a zoo of ideas and opinions and my own have opened and shaken here. University is, in a sense, a really expensive way of becoming yourself through encounters with other people and their codes of life. Sometime you stumble upon a gem in someone else's code and it helps you understand something in your own code that didn't work before. This can happen in a lecture or late-night chats over pizza or overhearing a stranger's conversation. I don't think that University is the only way or the best way to grow into yourself, necessarily, but it is one way and, since I've been here, I appreciate how it has shaped me.

Although I discovered this whole code metaphor in University, I really think that this can be applied anywhere in life. We learn as much as we allow ourselves to learn. Some of us are more diligent or creative in solving our codes than others. I think that ignoring the code, or pieces of it, can lead to dissatisfaction and restlessness. It can happen when you get stuck on a formula that makes sense for other people, but just doesn't work for you. It is easy to feel overwhelmed by all of those blank spaces in your code, and it can seem too hard to draw meaning from it all. Your code can be daunting, possibly because of the potential for you to make a mistake, or maybe you just don't know where to start. Instead of exploring potential answers, we can sometimes latch onto certain things that offer escape or the illusion of meaning for us. These things can eventually look like addiction or chasing approval or constructing a false identity because figuring out the real one is scary.

We assemble our codes through art and community and science and personal experience. Sometimes we have to find it through a risk or a move or just by stopping and noticing. We solve the code by asking questions of ourselves and of others or maybe opening ourselves to new experiences and new ideas. Some mornings we wake up and just know that something is wrong on a fundamental level; something in our code needs to change and that is allowed to happen. You are allowed to make a mistake, to do a little guess and check, to admit that you were wrong about something important. You are allowed to acknowledge that your perspective is shifting or that you are growing up and it is time to change something that used to work but just can't anymore.

To work on the code, you have to take all the aspects of yourself into account: personality, abilities, interests, beliefs, relationships, talents, health, and fill in those blanks with truth and what lines up best with who you are. Solving the code is a journey of discovering what makes you whole and purposeful and then living as close to that version of yourself as you possibly can. The important part is the journey, the growth. The adventure of solving the code is what teaches you. It offers clues and metaphors and stories to collect and examine. Assembling it all is like a scavenger hunt of discovering your potential and purpose and how you aren't the most important thing that ever happened to the world, but maybe you can add a little colour or hope to your corner of it.

Call the code your life philosophy or mission statement or value system, but we all have one. It is the individual vision and unique combination of practices and priorities and principles that construct our "self" and, in turn, how that "self" interacts with others and engages with life. This code is dynamic and flexible through different seasons, but it is grounding and important to think about. I know that part of my code right now includes writing, stretching myself, talking to people even when I don't always feel like it, praying, drawing healthy boundaries, and staying present.

What are the practices, priorities and principles that are important to the code for your season right now? What is on your list of things that you need to remember to focus on, fill with, grow in, or learn from? What is the mantra or theme or pattern growing out of the place that you are living in at this time? What is your personal code?

.006 Defamiliarization {Or: Why I am Withdrawing from University}

When I dove back into school this September, I was expecting the transition to be smooth and easy. I thought I would pick up where I left off in first year, except this time I'd go to bed earlier and manage my time more effectively and eat more salad. I wanted to have a quiet semester: no spotlight, no major life decisions, no pressure. The healthiest thing, I thought, would be to live at a mature, steady pace for the next few months with intentional focus and direction.

That's what I thought.

In reality, rather than gaining healthy habits, I found myself walking around with a sense of aimlessness and feeling a little bit sick all the time. I played the piano for two hours a day, went on extended walks or runs, took pictures, made abstract sketches, wrote vignettes and bad poetry, and more: all on top of the other work my six courses gave me. It felt wrong, like something was constricted or cramped up and all of those extra things were my attempt at gasping for air or massaging out a tight spot.

Generally not one to make impulsive decisions based on a whim or emotion, I thought it was a phase. It would pass, I told myself. It had to. Despite this attempt at a positive mentality, however, I would still go to class and wonder what on earth I was doing there. I'd try to slide it away, hoping that this season would end quickly and that I'd start feeling fulfilled by my studies. September was almost over when an acquaintance asked me how school was going and I answered with a blunt: "I hate it," which took her slightly aback and surprised me even more.

At some point I started thinking about dropping out. I'd talked about it before, jokingly, but suddenly I began thinking about it seriously. I, the one who competed for grades, the one who followed the rules, was contemplating dropping out. This forced me to look at the situation and ask myself some honest questions: ones that, frankly, I really did not want to ask.

The next week of my life looked mostly like me having extended conversations about life with some very wise people and sketching out some other possible life plans. After much contemplation, I decided not to drop out. It seemed like the logical conclusion and the safest plan. I told those wise people not to let me talk about dropping out anymore. I wanted to stop shifting my allegiance and changing my mind. I wanted to stick to my decisions.

Essentially, this didn't work out for very long.

The reality is that trying to become someone you are not will almost always come up short, somehow. My massage therapist originally went to school to be an Engineer. I asked her how she went through all those years of school to become something she knew she wasn't. She told me that, somehow, you always end up coming back to what you were made to be. It might happen very late in life, the realization, or you might catch it early and turn things around, but eventually you'll explore, whether in thought or in deed, in hobby or in occupation, the person you were created to be. You'll come back to yourself: your story may just unfold in a more unconventional way.

Once I finally made the decision to withdraw, I fully committed. I cut ties, cancelled interviews, officially withdrew, wrote a proposal, and backed out of a contract. It was a huge hassle and it hurt at times, but every step felt closer to freedom and my motivation slowly returned.

My time at this University is coming to an end. My plans (and most of my back-up plans) include returning to school in September, studying the one thing I probably should have been studying this whole time, but I wouldn't allow myself to pursue (which is another discussion entirely). This means, though, that I have a huge empty space between now and September that did not exist before. I have some ideas of how it will be filled, and they mostly include people and writing and art and work. Beyond that, I don't know. It all feels terribly risky and irresponsible, but there's a freedom attached to it and doors continue to open for me, unwarranted.

There's a term we use in English Criticism called "defamiliarization." Essentially it is the idea that one of literature's functions is to show us a truth that exists unseen by revealing it from a different angle. It means that it usually takes something to knock us out of our "familiarized" state, out of our numbness, to shift us into a teachable posture. That's how I'm thinking about this space, this season. I'm in a defamiliarized state and I'm trusting that I'll grow more into the person I actually am as I take a few risks and learn old truths from new places.

.005 Watch for the Signs

I've noticed a pattern forming in my life, lately. It is one of those rhythms that forms subtly and seems to reflect my head space. It has to do with direction. I was scrolling through recent pictures that I've taken on my phone, and I noticed that there is a distinct theme of "going" threaded through them all. Tunnels, stairs, doors; they are all side-glances. They are all a motion from here to there.

One of my English profs constantly says: "watch for the signs!" Watch for the signs. Trace the repetition. Catch the hints. I'm seeing this principle carving itself into my daily life. If I'm reading the signs correctly, I'm in a phase of "going." I'm in one of those dynamic seasons where change and opposition seems to flare up with every step.

One of these changes is that I've decided to withdraw from University for a time. From December till September, I'll have a haze of empty space to fill and some days that is exciting, some days it is intimidating. I want to fill it well, educate myself outside of the classroom, use the freedom to reflect and to try some new things and to work. I want it to be a place of re-assembling and of laying low. I want to use it to prepare and to stretch and to catch my breath.

I'm always going. Moving and change and I are old friends. Now I'm cutting a huge hole of open, semi-stable time into the next year, which is something I've never done before. It is a little uncomfortable, to be honest, and I've been reflecting on it in quieter moments. This weekend I spontaneously took a bus home and during the trip, the middle ground, I thought about this motif of journey.

I love transformation. I love to push myself to do more, to make mistakes and learn from them. I love looking over my shoulder at where I've been. I'm always attempting to become someone better. That is usually a good, healthy thing. But what happens when I look up and notice that the space I'm in is not where I should be?

We're all on a journey of transformation, of becoming. Sometimes, however, this journey is not an exploration. Sometimes it resembles running away more than anything. There are pieces of ourselves that can be uncomfortable and scary. These are the things we know about ourselves, but would rather avoid. We'd rather stuff away this dream or this talent or this issue that we know exists within us but for whatever reason it comes wrapped in fear or hurt or insecurity. Maybe we're supposed to be running toward these things, pursuing healing or an edging open of ourselves, but instead we're running in the opposite direction and calling that our "journey."

These are the signs. Right now I'm closing doors and taking a new path. I'm changing directions and I think that is ok. It is ok to pause and check the map and be honest about the fact that you might be trying to follow a trail that isn't going to lead to the destination you thought it would. It is ok to take a break, re-evaluate, and chart a slightly new course.

Sometimes we grow out of our spaces. Sometimes we're trying to squeeze ourselves into a place we don't fit. Sometimes we place expectations on ourselves and need to be honest and admit that we'll never measure up to that constructed ideal in our heads. Sometimes we're just blindly blazing forward out of fear or a binding tunnel vision. What path are you actually on? Do you need to change directions?

Watch for the signs.

.004 Sometimes Making the Decision is the Hardest Part

I'm standing on the edge of a new threshold right now; the kind of place that knits fear and possibility together and smudges expectations. My future direction, the one I had so clearly laid out in my mind, has warped once again. I'm in a messy place full of decisions and I spend so much time wondering if I will do the right thing.

My sense of adventure and my sense of fear is split right down the middle right now. I'm taking a crazy step forward. I'm taking a calculated risk that could return great reward, but the road to that place looks tangled and ambiguous from this point of view.

I'm reminded again that I fear what I don't know, or what I think I can't do, and I wonder how often I've allowed this fear to govern me and cinch me into a place that was comfortable, but not necessarily right, or vice versa. There are many places that might not necessarily be noticeably damaging for us to live in, but it may not be the best place: the one we thrive in, the one where we are challenged and stretched and embraced and alive in.

In this place, I'm realizing that deviation and sketching out a new, and perhaps unconventional, path for myself is daunting.

Am I making the right choice?

Will I regret this?

Regret. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I don't often deviate from the norm because I'm ducking away from potential regret. I cringe away from mistakes. They are uncomfortable. They uncover weakness and often force me to admit I was wrong. Past mistakes have a way of sneaking into everyday thoughts like a constant hum in the background, and sometimes they rise up and pinch.

What I'm learning here in the process of making decisions is this: everything leading up to the decision is often the most exhausting part. Flopping between "should I?" and "shouldn't I?" is mentally exhausting. I catch myself in the tension of whether to listen to my head or my heart. I run in circles with my thoughts, trying to uncover the "magic" solution.

Sometimes all of that back and forth confusion is a sign that you just need to make a decision. You might need to go to a quiet place and and get really honest, or sleep on it overnight, and then ask yourself "what do I really want on a deep, real level, even if I know it is hard or crazy or unpopular?" or "is all of this back and forth just fear?" You might actually know what the "right" decision is, but you may not be admitting it to yourself because finality is weighty and commitment is just scary sometimes.

What if you regret it?

Sometimes it seems easier to stay in that place of back and forth because you're afraid of making the decision. You're afraid that going ahead and taking the step might be the wrong thing to do when, really, the restlessness you are choosing to live in is the very signal you've been praying for. It is the sign that is telling you that this is the wrong spot. You've grown out of it. You're restless because you aren't content here.

Maybe it is a sign that you need to make the very decision you thought you would never seriously consider.

Maybe it is a sign that you just need to make a decision and stick with it.

I often find that when I brush up against uncomfortable situations or issues or choices in my life (especially if they come up repeatedly) it is almost as if God points and says "ok- we're going there. I didn't make you to shrink away in fear."

That could mean staying where you are or diving into a completely new space. That could mean taking responsibility or handing responsibility over to someone else. That could mean dusting off an old dream or saying no to a new one. That could mean sticking it out or it could mean letting it rest. That could mean saying yes or it could mean saying no.

Sometimes the road to the decision is the most difficult part but the actual decision, even if it seems like the hardest way, might surprise you with freedom and beauty and possibility. It might offer blessing in the last place you expect to find it. Yes, it might be hard. You might wake up with huge questions and a wave of fear might roll over you from time to time. It might even seem like the "wrong" decision sometimes. However, there is a long, scenic road ahead and someday the knots will be kneaded out. Someday you'll look over your shoulder and notice the difference between here and there and, perhaps, you may even feel grateful for the journey.

The Pinch Space

After an extended writing hiatus, I've finally returned to this space a few months older and maybe (debatably) a little wiser. Summer had its own lessons to teach me, and they may slide their way into this place when I've had the time and distance to untangle it all.

Right now I'm standing on the threshold of a new season: that vaguely foggy, uncomfortable middle gap that collects time and I always get a little restless in this place. I'd rather not let go of the old seasons I walk though. I'm the one who, once that ship has sailed, stands on the dock and watches until it disappears beyond the horizon and then I wait a little longer still, just in case a wave might raise it up for one last glimpse. In this case, I'm shifting from summer and work back into university for my second year.

It might be the period of life I'm in, but I'm a bit of a nomad. I feel as though I'm always living out of a suitcase, flipping between homes and cultures and communities and as much as I love it, the uprooting never fails to pinch, somehow. That pinch, though, is becoming more familiar and less scary as our paths cross more frequently. It is almost an acquaintance to me at this point. We meet again.

I guess I appreciate that pinch, in a way. It reminds me to be thankful for what I've been blessed with in the seasons passed, and it forces me to look ahead with a sense of adventure and a perspective of possibility.

I've also found a bit of a rhythm, or a strategy, if you will, for surviving the transitional period:

• In my world, there is nothing that spinach can't fix: Or kale. Or pears. Or peppers. Essentially: eat as healthy as possible. I want to eat all the ice cream in the world when I feel a bit adrift, and sometimes I do, but I know that I feel infinitely better when I eat healthy and take care of myself. That is just motherly advice from me to you.

• Resting space: I'm beginning to see this middle space as more of a gift and an opportunity to reflect and gather myself before diving into my next season. As chaotic as it may be, I take it as a chance to fill myself in small ways. I listen to really good music, pray, read my favourite books, write, bake, etc.

• Look foreword: Personally, I always need a goal or a challenge in life to work toward, or my motivation and demeanour will flatline. The pinch space is always a place where I set some new goals, pick out some new things to get excited about, dream a little. I always pray about these things, but part of the process usually involves lists and Pinterest, on occasion.

• Talk: Sometimes an honest conversation or two with a wise person can be the most healing medicine. Conversation has a way of kneading out little fears or insecurities I didn't even know I carried, and speaking those into open air, to another person with doubts and worries just as human as my own, has a habit of dissolving their weightiness. Tea also helps this process.

• Debrief: I try to extract as much meaning out of life as I can. When a season ends, I usually look back on it and try to nail down what I learned, how I grew, or mistakes I made. I also try to carry that gained experience into my next phase of life in order to apply it in a new context. The pinch space is where I sort out some of those lessons and ask questions about myself, life, God, relationships. Some questions have answers and some remain open ended. Those open ended kind are the ones I carry with me into the next season to view in a different light, and they are often the questions that shape me the most.

Rather than idle time, I'm learning to view the pinch space as a bridge or a connection. It is a gift I can use to collect myself, to transition into a new season with a clearer vision of where I came from and where I am going. It is a season in itself, and it can teach me and shape me and possibly heal me as well, if I allow it to. I'm learning to use it, to say thank-you for it, and to appreciate the unlikely gifts it can give me.

Thank goodness for the pinch space.

Autonomy

I'm trying to think of what has been on my mind in all the leftover space. To be honest, I haven't been hashing through any grand or lofty issues. Sometimes I just get very quiet and contemplative and content with the present moment. That has been happening a lot lately. I've just been appreciating life and where I am right now, soaking in time, praying quiet prayers, and generally flying under the radar. I really love flying under the radar: not in the sense that I am underestimating myself, but in the sense that I know myself, I'm secure in where I am and where I'm going, and I like having ambiguous areas in my life that only I know about. 

A steady theme in my life this year has been the idea of becoming autonomous- not relying on anyone else or anything else for my identity, yet being part of a community and loving it well. I'm so prone to dive in and latch on to places, ideas, people, and when the time comes to move on, the rip is anything but clean. I leave kicking and screaming and finding hollow places in myself that I try to cover will all these external things. Not anymore. I've brushed up against that elusive balance between independence and interdependence. We all need people and places and seasons, but not as saviours. 

I wrote the above over a month ago. As the end of first year approached, I began reflecting on the past eight months more often, in quieter moments. It's funny how little memories remain impressed in my mind. They seemed so insignificant at the time, but really those little moments were mini turning points, pulling and twisting me into change and a new perspective. Looking back, I was so right. I'm done school now. I've said good bye and, somehow, I'm not very sad. Of course, I know I'll be going back next year but the old me would have tried to hold on to little pieces of this past year, attempting to preserve them. Now I've come to realize that good friends, good places, good experiences are a gift to be enjoyed and thankful for. There are always endings, but there are always beginnings, too. Life ahead is full and promising.

I remember one night, in the middle of winter, I was in my room, wrapped in a blanket, and suddenly I had this clear thought: "Christy, what do you actually want?" It wasn't a selfish question. I had been frustrated with myself and cloudy areas in my life that didn't seem to be working out in a very clean or ideal way. When that question dropped in my mind, I was reminded that I was drifting toward a very problematic path of living in a way that seemed "right" because it was the direction that I perceived most other people to be walking. However, when I thought about it truthfully, I realized that it didn't fit with who I was at the time. I was trying to shuffle myself into a "norm" rather than being honest and making decisions for myself.

That moment released a dozen others just like it over the next few months. Surprisingly, staying true to myself and the direction I knew that God was guiding me in allowed me to love others in a more free and accepting way. I think it made me more secure in myself. It's a strange paradox: focus on yourself, and you will be freed to live for others. I've been trying to unravel it for a while because it can be so easily misinterpreted or misunderstood, but it is something essential that I had been missing for so long.

It might be the difference between people pleasing and loving people. I think before I would have said that I was "living for others," but really I was trying to bend into the person I thought they wanted me to be. That isn't helpful for anyone. Rather, maybe this paradox should look more like: know yourself, and you will be freed to love others. If I were to nail down one part of me that changed the most this year, that would be it. Know yourself, love others.

For me, this "knowing myself" part meant allowing myself to own opinions and speak them. It meant exploring who I am as an artist and understanding who I am not. It meant balancing time spent with people and time alone. It meant figuring out a new rhythm of prayer and listening to God. It meant staying healthy mentally, physically, and emotionally. This is only the beginning of my personal list. There are so many things that tangle and cross to converge within us as humans, and it is the untangling and massaging out the knots that teaches us who we are, one lesson at a time.

Autonomy. It's something I didn't know I needed to grow in until it happened. I'm seeing now how being a Christian is a lifelong journey. I am constantly being taught and changed by God and it is always intriguing to me how God is going to grow me next. It is such an adventure, and it never fails to challenge me, perplex me, and bless me in hundreds of different ways. Like I said, endings always trail into beginnings. Life ahead is full and promising.

Slow Release

Last week was a hazy sweep of work, laughter, emotion and action. The days smudged together and time warped and Friday night was so welcome. The week exhaled to a close.

I've been thinking about Lent in between all of the chaos. I have a few blog posts written and saved in a document on my laptop that wander through my thoughts about Lent, but none of them seemed authentic enough to share.

Last year, I engaged in Lent for one of the first times and it altered something in me on a very deep level. It taught me about looking outward rather than inward. It taught me about trust and prayer and walking on the edge of wonder and anticipation.

I prayed for five different people over the forty days of Lent. I didn't decide to do this because of Lent, but it happened to come up around the same time, so I ran parallel to it, grafting myself into the practice. The five people didn't know that I was praying for them, but I saw very direct and clear answers to my prayers manifested in their lives. Something fresh and rich grew up in me during that time and I point to that season as one of the most healthy and vibrant periods in my life.

I wanted to recreate that experience again this year. I wanted to have a focus and a direction and, to be honest, a cool story to tell about it. I've been trying to bend myself into Lent by attempting to find something meaningful to give up. Lent has already started and I still haven't pinpointed what to go without.

What is really resonating in my spirit right now is a quiet "wait for me." I think that I might simply need to use this Lenten season to sit and wait in expectation for God. Something in me pushes back against this. I don't want to wait. I want to see. I want to experience. I want the miracle and the transformation right now.

On the weekend, I engaged in a worship session that brushed up against a callous place in me. I realized that, somehow, I've been gripping burdens like a lifeline and their weight is pulling me down, suffocating my spirit, squelching my joy at times. I don't know what exactly I'm holding onto, but it is allowing fear and insecurity to seep in around the edges.

I thought I was done with this. I thought that I had found freedom from all of my fears already. I can't believe I've come full circle. I didn't properly guard myself against relapse. All of these thoughts caved in on me as I realized how heavy and ingrained these burdens are. They have begun to grow and intertwine like vines to build up a protective layer, a shield, a wall of distance.

A constant unclenching of the fist. Really, isn't that the essence of Lent? Isn't it about giving up, about going without, about regaining focus and grasping meaning in the hollow space that has been channeled into your life? What will fill that gap? Will it be new truth, or a conviction, or simply some air for breathing room?

Maybe, instead of giving up coffee or committing to a different way of prayer for Lent, I need to wait and reflect and begin to loosen the knots that have blunted my spirit and my trust. This whole season must be a slow release, an uncurling of the fingers. It takes time to pull away the layers. The deepest lies are not easily redirected. The heart of a burden is buried deep.

Rather than letting go at the beginning, this Lent will be a journey of release.

Journalling, Special Tea, and Sacred Spaces

There has been an idea growing in my mind lately that threads in and out of my normal thoughts. Last night it surfaced again and I couldn't file it away, so I decided that it was time that I make it happen.

Before university I was a coffee lover. I still am a coffee lover. Strong, full tastes appeal to me and the robust flavour of coffee tops the list. I was convinced that I would be the ultimate candidate for full blown coffee addiction in university but, in a surprising twist of fate, I have switched my allegiance to chai tea. Coffee has slipped to a (very) close second. I will still drink coffee at any hour of any day, and I still love the taste, but chai tea has become my drink of choice here.

There is a chai tea blend at Teavana that I love. I ask for it unsweetened, without sugar, and it is the most amazing drink ever. It is my Special Tea, a tea that I will only ever reserve for special occasions because I do not ever want to get tired of it.

The idea that dropped into my mind was to strike out to the mall, get my Special Tea, grab a booth and do some writing, and that is exactly what happened. Maybe it is abnormal for someone my age to say that they absolutely loved going to the mall to drink tea alone, but I'll admit to it.

One of the best parts of the whole excursion was writing on paper again. I've written in a pen-and-paper journal since I was nine and, in recent years, I've journalled almost every day. However, university changed more than my preferences in hot drinks: I stopped journalling on paper. It blindsided me a little. I didn't expect that over a decade of writing in pen and paper would dissolve in a matter of a few months, but it did. 

Maybe this is part of why I feel this silence so acutely. Journalling has been my form of prayer, of connecting to God, of debriefing the day, of holding myself in check, and tracing back to see how I've grown. I didn't anticipate this discipline changing as drastically as it has. I tried to keep it alive at the beginning, but it felt forced and unnatural. 

I made an executive decision and declared a paper journal hiatus. All my personal writing had deferred to a Word document on my laptop, so I decided to allow that to become my stand-in journal. It is still good, but it is not the same, and I was reminded of that when I sat down in the booth today with my tea. 

When I sat down to write this morning, it felt like old times again. My writing is the most authentic and raw when it is written on paper and I could feel a release of pressure with every line filled.

Pages and pages later, I had to force myself to stop.

That hour in the mall this morning, just drinking tea and writing and praying, stayed with me the whole day. I've been thinking over it, wondering why my journalling (and when I say journalling, that is synonymous with prayer) only worked when I completely removed myself from my normal location.

A change of space. A meeting ground. An intentional connecting of heart and spirit. Maybe this is where I need to be more often. When I lived at home, I would journal at the end of the day in my room. Here at school, my room is where a large part of my life unfolds. I study and work in my room. It is my home base. At home I never did anything in my room except sleep and read and journal. It was, in a way, a sacred space.

Carving out sacred spaces is a theme that I have noticed subtly unfolding in my life over the past few months. I've met God in coffee shops, on bridges, and in an empty atrium. Maybe the shape of this season includes intentional pauses and finding a location to do nothing but meet with God. 

I'm going to try to do this on a weekly basis: to very intentionally carve out portion of my day to meet with God somehow. It doesn't have to be Special Tea every time, but a new rhythm needs to form. A rhythm of meeting. A rhythm of expectation. 

A rhythm of sacred spaces.