doings. big doings. kinda.
in Thoughts and Feelings
as better than yesterday, castaway, casual wear, character, delaware art museum, doings, duck boots, kind, life, little girls, sky, stage, store, today, tom hanks, toy, Unshowered, victoria s secret, victoria s secret s, way
I don’t know if today was actually better than yesterday, but it sure did feel better.
That was nice.
This week is playing out to be a little bit interesting. Actually, every week is a lot interesting. Seriously. Life is not boring. Not ever. Nothing about it is boring. It’s teeming with with people and thoughts and animals and the moon–THE MOON. Did anyone happen to see it while it was hanging so low in the sky as to make one think they could just about touch it?
And it was pink.
I am not joking about that. Pink. Like the little girls’ section of a toy store. Pink. Like Victoria’s Secret’s casual wear. I loved it. It’s now sitting sedately, high up in the sky, looking all shiny and white and untouchable once again. But I saw it when it was low and pink and I think I’m that kind of friend now.
You know, the kind who has seen you at just about every stage. Best and worst.
Which reminds me of a little while ago, when my friend Christian was kind of hinting at not liking my duck boots. I know, I was incredulous, too. I informed him that I am really not trying to impress him. “Not since you’ve seen me at my absolute worst,” I reminded him. And he didn’t even try to deny it. He saw me sobbing and completely undone. Unshowered and uncaring about that. Like Tom Hanks’ character in Castaway when Wilson floated away. My Wilson had floated away. Well, that’s a very very nice way of putting what my Wilson did, anyway.
But anyway, yes, I’ve see the moon low and pink now. Maybe we’re through with trying to impress each other now, too. Actually, the moon doesn’t even have to try. It’s impressive. Gosh, it’s impressive.
But this week I am shooting a commercial for the Delaware Art Museum. At least, I think that’s what it’s for. Hmmm, I should really know this, since it is happening first thing in the morning. And Wednesday, I am working with a photographer in New York City. We’ll see how it goes (don’t worry, mom, we’re meeting and shooting in a public place). And then Thursday night, the paper janes have a show at MojoMain. We’re sharing the space with a bunch of slam poets. I love this idea. We will sing some and they will, well, slam (if that’s what you call the wonderful way in which they recite their poetry).
And I forgot all about mentioning Tuesday. I am getting my hair cut on Tuesday. Yes, I know, big day. Big week. Big life. Which is something that, at one point, I actually told a friend of mine that I have: A big life. I was feeling distraught and–I don’t know, trying to prove some kind of point–and in the heat of the moment, I emphatically said that I HAVE A BIG LIFE!
Okay, sure. I am not positive as to what that means, but I stand by that declaration. Even though I am slightly embarrassed by it now.
so sing your story; sing it until it goes from here to better and then sing about how it’s good
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Loved Ones, Thoughts and Feelings, Uncategorized
as beginning, content, finality, fragments, God, heart, hell, hell hath no fury, journal, journals, kind, life, little girls, million pieces, million years, nightmares, peek, post, scor, trusting god
At the beginning of each new journal I often wonder about the content that will fill its pages.
Sometimes I would even like a peek at it.
I don’t anymore.
I’d rather live hoping for the best.
I’d rather live being shocked at the worst.
I’d rather live trusting God to handle both. To handle it all, really.
Because I never thought–not in a million years, as the saying goes–that I’d be writing this post. I never thought my journals would be filled with this content. I was just like a lot of you, I think. I’d dream of him, spend my nights wondering what he’d look like and how it would feel to fully love someone.
What I never thought about was how much it could hurt.
What I never thought about was how after you meet him, after you fully love him, he can shatter your heart into a million pieces and then throw them into the sea, leaving it up to a miracle to ever put those fragments back together again.
I guess those aren’t the kinds of dreams that little girls foster.
Those are the kinds of nightmares that women survive, and now I am one of them.
I came home from tour to the worst kind of evidence of the worst kind of choices my husband has made. And because of these choices, we can no longer be married. Because of these choices, we have both known pain that seemed reserved for a special kind of hell.
And because of these choices, God has shown up in ways that has humbled me and carried me.
We are both trying to heal, both trying to take the next best step for each of us. And though it’s true that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, I want his life to be good. I am not even mad, really. Not now, anyway. Ask me again in five minutes. I feel…so many things. But pervasively devastated, like someone in mourning. Oh, and shocked at how my sweetest of comedies could turn to a tragedy with seemingly no warning and who’s writing this script anyway? And though the word over has never held such weight, never rang with such terrible finality before, I am believing for something new and even good.
For both of us.
And I will say this: Never before in my life have I experienced such a startling contrast of love and pain. Though I have been hurt to the point where I didn’t before know it was possible to stand back up, to smile and say hello to those you see, I am also being loved. Immeasurably and in ways that I can never repay. Everywhere I turn, it seems, I am brought face to face with another kind word, another selfless act on my behalf, another encouraging note that makes it’s way inside of me and chips away just a little more of the arrows that have landed there.
God knows that I am the desert and these harbingers of love are the rain.
I have cried because of the pain and I have cried because of the love and I don’t see myself stopping anytime soon; I have felt like nothing, wondering how all the parts of me could drain out so quickly and leave my heart still beating–wondering why my silly heart didn’t get the memo that I had died, that my spirit had flown to a safer place; I have wanted to close my eyes to the world, close my eyes to the many days that stretch before me like some kind of impossible life sentence to endure; and I have also seen, despite everything and against all odds, a bit of beauty brake through. A bit of beauty that had the audacity to tell me that my life isn’t over.
That’s right, my life isn’t over.
Because there are still dumb jokes to be made.
Still people to whom and with whom I need to share my story.
Still songs to be sung and outfitted to this new adventure upon which I am embarking, ready or not.
And still blank pages in a journal.
A journal that will be filled with content that says everything about redemption and nothing about bitterness.
I hope, anyway.
And hope. Isn’t that the point, anyway?
