Confused.

I am caged in glass.
My thoughts on full display to see--I try to catch them, pull them back--But they flit away giggling, and almost malicious.

I forget that my mind is not glass but walls; that my eyes do not always reveal my heart, neither the good or the bad, and I never know: Did you really hear me?

I knock on your walls, not knowing they are only cardboard, not realizing they have fallen on your head. I see brick, and stones, and cold, cold iron, icy marble, torpid and wary. I cannot see your frantic scramble to set your pride to rights.

Do you feel any better?

...


I see a light bright and glorious that reminds me of a day in the way a memory of the sun points to that glowing orb. But my fingerprints on the mental glass are greasy and black; they remind me that I am separated--but not for long. I push it over--it shatters! Jagged shame cuts deep--but I must get out! Step by step of agony to the light.

Noel (which just so happens to be part of my name...)

Sit still.
The silence
wants
a word.

...


Christmas.
The lull before the storm.
The time of preparation,
of promises kept
and of hopes lost.
Of all our dreams crashing
around our heads
and our souls coming to life.

Christmas.
The times we'll never have again
but have forever.
The warmth of reconciliation.
The icy distance of self.
The cheer-coated pinpricks.
The awkward "family" hug--
but it's alive
warm-blooded.

Christmas.
Songs--
of hope and of despair.
Of the burden falling off--
and realizing the burden was there.

Christmas.
Make room.
Scoot over.
Move out of the way for the King.

Christmas.
Let go.

Christmas.
Watch.
You'll never see this again.
Ever.
You can't rewind, fast-forward--
this is now.
Life is now.

Where will the Christ-child be this year?

Help.

Reverence. Fear. These aren't words I normally use towards God. Yet I firmly believe in their importance. Without proper respect and acknowledgment of WHO God is--I gravely misstep in my thoughts toward and conversations with (or are they at?) God.

I want to die having lived a life pleasing to God.

As a culture, and as a generation, we're losing our ideals--the good guys aren't the good guys anymore. The bad guys aren't bad. Evil is not evil--it's a friendly devil, an affectionate death.

God isn't God anymore.

We've copied our stories, images, thoughts, and feelings so many times that they no longer have meaning. We are souls without faces.

What is love, again? Oh, and none of that nonsense, please. The REAL thing. Since all the other REAL things weren't actually real.

We are blind; we have no eyes to see God for who He is and what He requires.

And what is goodness?

Goodness is neither kindness nor righteousness; goodness is speaking in a politically correct manner, having a well-paying job, raising a family, taking a vacation every summer, playing team sports. Goodness is "coopetition"--everyone wins, even though only one gets the gold. It doesn't matter if we don't win; we justify our condition. We don't want to win anymore--doing okay is good enough.

--GOOD ENOUGH. As if there were such a thing--

We are dying. We are weakened. We cannot see it--or maybe we would be healed.

I don't want to sound overemotional. I don't want to glamorize the situation. I am exhausted of living according to what I think is life.

Goodness used to be selflessness: pursuing the good, true, and beautiful, then spending one's life giving it away. Loving the unlovely enough to give them the means to find true beauty.

Goodness used to trust that the missionary pleading for funds was not out to steal your money--but out to heal lives.

Goodness used to remember that God is God.

Remember.
That.
God.
Is.
God.

Not haunting our steps, waiting for us to mess up.
Not lovingly patting us on the head no matter what we do.

He is God: He shows His love to all yet does not let the guilty go unpunished.

...

Who are we now? What have we become? Us who have seen his love and not understood his justice?

...

I long to be a godly woman of purpose and ambition to see God's will done on earth. I have never before felt so lacking in character.

LORD, have mercy on me, a sinner.

And thank you for men like Booker T. Washington.

The Flapping Endeavors of A Jumbled Mind.

Warm greetings to all—

So: Spaghetti Dinner passed remarkably well! We had a fun night, lots of leftovers (spaghetti at least enough for two dinners = YUM), and made a record for ticket-sales.

Onward and upward! I’m not going to apologize, because I like jumbledy posts, but I will warn you at least that I’m leaving this in my “language”—

I’ve found lately (okay, maybe not just lately but more lately) that my life tends to be jumbledy. And I like jumbledy. Problem: I need more order. I need more, consistent quiet time. I need to be still and listen to God—and my crazy haphazard way of finishing homework and chores leaves me just enough time to check all my email and websites but not enough to seriously think about God.

So I’m cutting out Internet for a week.

Starting tomorrow, I will not get on the Internet except for class. I will not check email, I will not go on websites: I will work on getting life in order. I’m going to see (as someone wiser than I once advised) what taking this out of my system does for me.

So before I take the dive, I’m going to celebrate my jumbledyness for what it is—this season in my life for what it’s been.

First. I just got an amazing new piano piece—Chopin’s Prelude in F# minor, Op. 28, No. 8. It moves me—the whirling, passionate 32^nd notes (32^nd notes!!! That’s what I said…) make my heart speed up, cause my breath to catch—

I love the piano.

However, my piano teacher groaned when she first saw it… “You HAD to pick the headache piece!!” But then she heard it and converted.

I love the piano.

Second. After reading through Claviger’s screenplay, I was intrigued… I dug out an old short story that could use some touch-ups, and I think it’ll work just fine to turn into a screenplay. I’m eager to see how it stretches me—what it will require of me—what I will require of it. Keep a lookout for The Second Hatchling.

Third. I realized that I’d forgotten some situations that scarred me a couple years ago. And that forgetting allowed me to heal. I’m very thankful for that, but now that I’ve remembered I don’t want to forget where I’ve been.

Fourth. I wonder, why do we need reasons for everything? Why do we to some degree require order of our lives? Why does knowing a person’s motives change our opinion of their actions—whether their actions are right or wrong? What might it say about our natures?

Fifth. My rabbit came running to meet me yesterday—I was so happy that I jumped, and he ran away!

Sixth. I miss all you dear people most dreadfully. I love reading your blog posts and your emails—you seriously make my day. So thank you.

Seventh. I seemed to have failed, after all, to jumble this up—everything’s numbered! Botheration!

Eighth. My dad and I are looking for books about the history of the church—from apostolic times. Basically, we want to study how the church changed from Jesus’ day to ours—where all the denominations separated, etc. Do you know of any?

Ninth. Is anybody going to the Biola University Day? Anybody? Because there is a slight chance that I can go!

Tenth. As I was walking from the garage to the house tonight, a silver sparkle caught my eyes—the moonlight reflected off of the beautiful blue tiles on my mom’s new brick patio—shimmery, water-like: I stopped and stared. It was simply lovely.

Eleventh. I’m quite sure my mother will ask when I posted this.  Mommy, it is 9:43 PM, and I love you.

Twelfth. I don’t like Halloween. I don’t like scary Halloween movies, or how scary Halloween movies are the only things on TV on Halloween.

However, I love punkin-carving parties.

Thinking back on this, I probably should have made that thirteenth. Whatever…

May you have a sudden unexpected burst of joy and understanding—

The burd.