ritual.

Here I am. So much on my mind, yet unable to actually SAY anything. This is an attempt to get IT out of my head and into cyberland- because we all know- once it's there, a girl can rest easy. Or I'll just sit here until I get sleepy, practicing the ritual of: Type... backspace. Type... backspace. Repeat.

I would say that today, I am still struggling to trust. I am still struggling to be content.

I want so badly to be in a place where I know that God's plan is perfect. And to trust that His timing is more amazing than my own. I mean- these things I know- but I want to own them and walk confidently with that knowledge. I want to believe with my whole heart that there ARE far greater things ahead than any we leave behind.

I feel like there's a lot going on right now. {type... backspace... type... backspace...} A lot that makes it feel unlikely that the road ahead will be any different or easier than the one behind me.

For now- until I can make sense of anything happening in my life- I'll find comfort in the clicking of my keyboard. Type... backspace... Type... backspace...   ...   ...   ... 

That's all I've got.

anonymous musings from the apartment on level three

This was sent to me a few nights back, from a very dear friend. I asked this friend if I could anonymously blog it for her and she said, "Of course!". She had sat down with a pen in her hand, in attempt to chip away at a pen and ink series that she's currently working on- and this came out instead. The transparent writings, that seem all to familiar to emotions that we have all felt at one time or another. 

"Sometimes We're Broken And We Don't Know Why."

This could not be any more true to the way that I am. What has broken me? I have the most loving family. I have surrounded myself with people who know me truly; They know my strengths. My flaws. They know what I love, who I love. What makes me happiest and what triggers self destruction.

I have things. I have money. I have house plants and mugs of tea. I have a tiny apartment, with red walls and unfinished hardwood floors. A quilt on the bed, a mattress and records on the floor.

Where I once welcomed the silence of this third floor oasis, I now dread the thought of unlocking the door to these things. Because up here, things are all I have.

What is it i'm searching for? Maybe once I figure that out, I can set myself in the right direction. I've looked everywhere. Alcohol. Sex. Drugs. Work. Money. Other people. I can't quite figure out what is missing. But, I feel like the broken toy at the garage sale. The one that seems really cool until you take it home and try to play with it, only to realize that it is broken. Irreparable. What are you doing buying toys at a garage sale, anyways?

Until I find this evasive missing link, I will continue to convince myself that everything is fine up here, watching the sunset from my tiny apartment. Clutching my tea mug for dear life, since it's the only thing that has yet to let me down.