Heartbreak

   I don't even know where to begin.  I'm not sure where this will even go.  Not that that's much different from my other posts.

   Still, I need to blog.  I've been away too long, and I can't avoid it forever.

   I suppose the place to start is to say that, yes, as the title implies, my heart has been broken.  I now know what that feels like.  

   I had other plans for this post, but already that seems like a year ago.  My older posts feel like a lifetime ago.  

   Last December after Christmas, he pursued me.  He actually pursued me.  This godly young man looked into my eyes and asked me if I would be willing to pursue a serious relationship with him.  I told him yes.  

   We stood up and hugged.  It seemed to me that years of miscommunication and misunderstanding had been wiped clean in a moment.  

   We dated.  I was pursued by the man who had captured my heart.  For a few months, the Schoolmaster was mine.  

   But this March he broke it off.  I told him he must do what he thought was right.  

   I don't understand why.  I still don't today.  Maybe I never will.  

"When this all began
I knew there'd be a price.
Once upon a dream
We were lost in love's embrace
There we found a perfect place
Once upon a dream.
Once there was a time
Like no other time before
Hope was still an open door
Once upon a dream.
And I was unafraid
The dream was so exciting
But now I see it fade
And I am here alone.
Once upon a dream
You were heaven-sent to me
Was it never meant to be?  
Was it just a dream?
Could we begin again---
Once upon a dream?"   

---"Once Upon a Dream," from "Jekyll and Hyde."  (Additional lyrics mine.)   

"I could weep
My whole life long
Future years 
With you now gone.
I'll cry 
Until we both are
Underwater
Forever.
See my tears flow!  
This H2O
It is filled with heartbreak
Without your love
These tears don't
Even begin 
To express
This 
Emptiness..."   

---"Tears," from "The Light Princess."  (Additional lyrics mine.)  

   I know why my posts sometimes get preachy.  It's because I have to preach to myself.  Preaching it to myself helps me to get my perspective right again, even if it's redundant or sounds like I'm trying to set myself up to be somebody greater than I am.  

   Heh.  Nope.  

   Eventually I came to realize that this is going to take some time to get over.  I didn't get all these feelings overnight, so...it's going to take a while to, well, to move on.  And that's okay.  Life goes on.  I still have to go to work and do things in my home and go to events.  And around me the weeks keep going, and the months.  The seasons are changing around me once more, bringing all the old feelings and memories and dreams that are somehow just as new to me as they ever were.

   It's a blessing that life moves on.  In grief---and in heartbreak---sometimes that feels like the worst infliction.  The worst part is living with the pain, day in and day out.  You wish it would get better because you're tired of hurting, and yet the idea of there being distance between what you lost and where you are now hurts you just as much, only in a different way.  It will get better.  I know it will.  It already has.  I may be young, but I've seen enough of life to know that it is constantly changing.  Some days I'm my old self again, perky and mischievous and hopeful.  But then there are days when pain comes without warning.  The other day I was blindsided when I saw the place the Schoolmaster first took me out to dinner.  I wept in the car.  It seemed pathetic, but I couldn't help it.  

   I have turned to my Father in all of this.  He has drawn closer to me than He ever has before.  

   Here's one blessing:  My conscience is clear about this whole situation.  I hoped.  I prayed.  I humbly asked for something.  The Lord gave him to me for a while.  When we dated, to the best of my ability I did what I knew to be right.  I have nothing to be ashamed of.  I hoped, and I have to give up hope now.  But---I don't regret it.  I have no reason to hang my head in shame.  The Lord gave---and the Lord took away.  As my Creator and rightful Master, and as the All-powerful King of Love and Light,...well, He does as He pleases.  There is no darkness in Him.  None of His character has the faintest shadow of evil.

   I don't believe in a God who is capricious and stingy, because that is not the God of the Bible.  

   "What then shall we say to these things?  If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare His own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?"  (Romans 8:31 ESV)  

   Not "all things," as in, "everything we want."  What kind of parent gives his child everything they whine for, or even demand?  Not a good one, that's for sure.  Those kind of kids are self-centered brats who are being allowed to let their sin nature take control of everything else.  Their bodies for one thing.  Kids like that won't make healthy choices for their bodies.  Their minds: they are almost incapable of thinking of or doing anything for someone else.  And that is going to lead to trouble the instant they step out into the real world.  Their souls: how could a self-absorbed boy or girl feel any desire for God, or even understand their need of Him?  As long as they have their distractions, they will gladly choose to never think of Him at all.  Love often looks different from what we expect.  The God-fearing parent stands firm when their child wants something that they know will hurt them, or even just be unhealthy for them.  

   The love of a Friend to another Friend can sometimes mean telling them the truth even when they don't want to hear it.  Or confronting them when their behavior is wrong.  And sometimes being a friend means stepping back and letting them feel the consequences of their sinful or foolish choices.  "A real friend would help them no matter what! A friend loves at all times, right?" you might argue.  Yes.  A friend does love at all times.  And real love means you don't shield them from self-inflicted consequences.  How else will they learn?  If they will not listen to truth they might get mad at you and choose not to be your friend anymore.  But if that's the case, they didn't want a true Friend.  A true friend loves their friend too much to feed them soothing lies, or to condone them when they tell lies to themselves.  

   Bit of a tangent there, but I think that's important.  God has shown Himself to be a whole lot smarter than me when it comes to, oh, everything.  In Scripture we see it everywhere.  And so it is written on every page of my life's story, too.  If I'd written my life's story, I'd have been a self-centered girl who had everything she ever wanted at a moment's notice.  I would have fit the "mean girl," trope; popular, stylish, spiteful, vengeful, and dominating.  And who knows where I would be now if that had been my life?  I would have none of the things that I hold dear now.  Things that really matter, like a relationship with Christ, a loving circle of trust in my family, and dear friends who pick me up when I am down.  Or things like the joy I have found in helping and serving others.  Things like popularity and style are fleeting pleasures---they can't even compare to the treasures I have now.  Those things will last for eternity.  I don't know what is going to happen between then and now, but I have been promised a happy FOREVER after.  

   And speaking of stories, that's another thing I've learned through all this.  Having the Schoolmaster be mine was what I wanted in my life's story.  It's true that I clung to that hope.  I don't think the hope was wrong, necessarily.  But it's become clear to me over the past two weeks that now that God has said no, I have my answer.  It is not to be.  It's time to accept that and to stop hoping.  It was all well and good to persistently hope when I was waiting, but I have the answer now.  The answer is no.  If I keep hoping now, than I will be trying to pull the pen from the Author's hand and write my story the way I want it to go.  Not only won't it work, it'll put distance in my relationship to the Author.  I won't listen to Him or obey Him if I'm actively working against Him.  

"If I'm wise I will walk away, and gladly.
But sadly, I'm not wise!  It's hard to talk away the mem'ries that you prize..."

---"In His Eyes," from "Jekyll and Hyde." 

   I thought of those lines from that song, and I realized that I would never be able to move on properly until I stopped hoping.  That meant I needed to not only give the Schoolmaster back to God, but all my past dreams, all my present hopes, and even the memories.  All of them.  

   I obeyed.  At first I didn't want to, but I did.  I knelt down and with tears I gave everything back to my Father.  Every memory that I prized.  Every Moment.  I let go of all of my dreams and gave them to Him.  

   When I stood up I felt free.  I felt a new chapter beginning, and I actually felt a little excited.  Anything---absolutely anything can happen now.  

   But more than that...I have peace somewhere deep inside me that my Father is pleased with me.  Most of the time I think of God as my gracious Master; and He is, but that is not all He is.  

   Jesus Christ laid down His life to absorb God's wrath at my sins.  God the Father was the one who sent the Son on His mission, who provided the way for sinners to be forgiven.  The Holy Spirit has been given to me as a gift, to protect me and to reassure me that I belong to God as His daughter.  

   I am God's adopted Daughter.  He has made me royalty.  He trains me as a warrior of the Light.  He bids me to share in His joy.  He has told me to dry my eyes and to despair no more.  He is no longer only my Liege-Lord and King, but my Father.  

   I don't have the answers why.  I don't need them.  He is the Answer.  

   I don't have to understand to obey.  I gladly obey.  I gladly give my heart to the One who has been determined to capture my heart since before the dawn of time, and who has sworn to love me for all of eternity.  He loves me.  More than anyone else ever could.  I am safe in His love.  Only God can truly heal a broken heart.  He's healing mine.  

   Oh!  And one last blessing I should mention.  During that hard conversation, the Schoolmaster told me that he wanted to still be my friend.  He wanted to speak with me when he saw me at church, and wanted me to feel free to do the same.  

   I know that to a lot of people that would seem unthinkable or even mean to suggest.  I know that for most people, friendship is impossible after a romantic relationship ends.  

   But it is possible, and here's how I know it is: Friendship is a different kind of love than romantic love.  The Schoolmaster and I were truly Friends before all this began.  We know each other and we trust each other.  We have a lot in common and we enjoy similar things and even similar beliefs.  We each think certain kinds of questions are important and worth discussing, even if we don't agree on the answers.  C.S. Lewis wrote a whole chapter about Friendship-love in his marvelous book, "The Four Loves."  

   Sadly, people today don't really know what true Friendship is because few people experience it.  They get into romantic relationships without friendship coming first, which sometimes ends up working out, but when breakups happen they literally no longer know how to act around each other, and have no choice but to avoid each other.  I can tell you now, as painful as this season has been for me, it would have been double the pain if I had lost my Friend from this.  But we are still Friends.  When I'm with him at church or in group settings I am completely myself around him.  We still banter and argue and talk about important things and listen to what's going on in each other's life.  

   ...So I'm not losing him.  Not really.  I believe we'll always be Friends.  We'll share in God's joy when He comes back for His children.  

   It actually excites me to think that this situation is living proof for all I believe about Friendship.  When people take it for granted that they're losing their best friend from a breakup, I can now point to my own life and say, "It doesn't have to be."  

   It can only happen if both parties decide to put in the effort to remain Friends.  Friendship, like everything else of value, you must work to maintain.  I can assure you personally though, that it is worth it.  

   I'm so grateful.  

   And you know what else?  I'll fall in love again someday.  That's exciting to me.  And even if I don't, I'll get stronger on my own.  I'll live a life of devoted service to my King, and pour my life into others, to inspire them, to encourage them, to help them through their own valleys.  

   And that is enough for me.  

"There are days when I feel so afraid 
I can hardly remember to breathe.
When reality crashes in wave after wave
Pulling me farther beneath.
So what's the point in planning for a future
If it all can be stolen away?  
It's all I can do to hold on and survive 
When the colors have faded to gray.
But my children need so much more from me
And they give me the strength to go on.
Whatever may come---

All that matters now
Is where I go from here.
There's an easier way
If I live for today.
The beating of my heart 
Is all that matters.

There's an easier way 
If I live for today.
The singing in my heart
Is all that matters."  

---"All That Matters," from "Finding Neverland."  
  
~Cadenza

To An Elsa I Know

   You've lived a lonely life.  

   You've been hurt.  

   You've been misunderstood.

   You've taught yourself to conceal.  

   You've lost dear ones and are not sure who to trust.  

   You are afraid.

   You are running.  

   You're divided in your mind because your power is raw and wild and untamed.  Part of you loves this gift and can't understand why people don't seem to see the beauty of it.  The other part of you is afraid because you've hurt people with it in the past, and they give you distance.

   So you've built an ice palace around yourself in attempt to break free from everything.  You've shut the gates and vowed, "They'll never see me cry."

   Yet you pace the floor with your hands to your temples while fears chase themselves around in your mind.  Frost hangs like a mist around you in your haze of confusion.

   When I knock at the gates you meet me, but you hold me at arm's length and pretend that everything is fine before sending me away.

   Or you will talk---but you won't listen to what I can tell you.

   You won't let me help you.  

   Maybe you think I don't understand, but I do.

   Maybe you suppose that I don't care, but you know I do. 

   Maybe you don't want to hear the truth.  

   The truth can hurt at first, but the Truth will set you free.

   Truth burns away dross, but it refines the gold.

   I want to tell you the truth because I want you to be free!  

   I want to tell you the truth because I want you to get rid of the dross that is freezing your heart and poisoning your power.

   I want to tell you the truth because I see the gold in you.  I see the magnificent potential in you, and it thrills me to think of all that you are capable of. 

   Because I believe in you.  

   But if you will not listen, what can I do? 

   You don't have to learn from me.  Learn from Elsa.  

   Elsa thought all along that to control her power meant to stop it from happening, even though the Trolls told her that her power would only grow.

   When he said she must learn to control it, he meant bring it under control.  Not hide it.  Not to be afraid of it.  Not to be ashamed of it.

   She misunderstood.  Her power was something she was born with.  Perhaps there was magic in her ancestry.  It was a gift; but somewhere along the line she began thinking of it as a curse.  When her parents, the only ones who knew her secret, were taken from her she felt that she must carry the secret alone...as a monarch!  A heavy and daunting task.

   Of course her secret was discovered.  Was it her sister's fault for losing her temper in public and shouting out insults at Elsa in her frustration and hurt?  Was it Elsa's fault for not getting out of the situation fast enough, rising to the bait, and losing her self-control?  To even ask whose fault it is misses the point.  

   A more important thing to point out---in all stories, including the stories we are writing by our lives every day---is that in the end, it doesn't matter who has the most blame.  The truth is we are all to blame.  No amount of argument or excusing can ever purge us of the percentage of fault that each of us contribute to problems.  There are consequences for every action we take.  Even just 1% of contributing blame still carries its consequences and its ripple effect on everything else.  To quarrel about who has the most blame is pointless and childish, like all the characters from "Into The Woods," rounding on each other and pointing fingers and screeching, "See, it's YOUR fault!!" 

   That doesn't make the problems go away.  It doesn't solve anything.  In fact it makes things worse.  

   The only acceptable thing we can do in this life when we make rotten choices is to face up to them, take responsibility for them, and then do our best to make them right.  

   Once her secret is out, Elsa runs.  Her nerves, strained for so long, finally snap.  She doesn't want to fight, so she chooses flight.  From everyone she loves, away from all counsel, and away from her responsibilities.  

   Just like me once.  

   Exactly like me.  

   I saw my face in her every expression.  

   Finally she reflects.  She sees no other option for herself.  But then, she had no one with her to consult or to reassure her or offer help.  She'd run away from everything.  

   When I watched this scene the first time in the theater, emotions welled up in my heart and a lump came to my throat.  I braced myself, for I was certain she would turn vengeful and wicked.

   But no...

   In the shock of sudden freedom, Elsa lets herself use her gift.  She creates swirling patterns of snow and builds ice into intricate, delicate designs.  She even sparks personality into a snowman that she builds, infusing within him a remembered friend from childhood.  She lets herself be who she is, and she loves it.  For once she lets herself enjoy the beauty of her gift, and she casts off the bondage of some of the lies she's always believed.

   In the theater when the score melted into a major key, tears began pouring down my face.  That may have been the first time a movie ever moved me to actual weeping.  

   She makes a vow never to go back, dismissing her responsibilities as ruler of Arendelle along with the bondage of her wrong thinking.  So she builds an ice castle around herself and closes the gates.

   Her sister finds her and apologizes for her side of the fault.  She reminds Elsa of her responsibilities, promises to help her figure out a solution, reassuring her of her love for her and pleading with Elsa to let her be part of her life again.  

   Elsa is convinced that this is her fate and is scared that she will only make things worse if she goes back.  She's afraid that she'll hurt her sister again, and part of her---the part of her that's used to taking all the blame for things---feels that the right thing to do is send Anna away and to abandon her kingdom.  It's an understandable conclusion, and certainly is pitiable...but that doesn't make it right.  Flawed thinking can seem glamorous for a while, but it's still faulty and treacherous, and it always leads to more wrong choices.  She refuses to try to make things right.  She discourteously throws her sister out, shoving onto her shoulders the entire responsibility.

   Eventually the real world catches up to Elsa and drags her back by main force to take responsibility for her actions.  Having dismissed and distanced herself (literally) from those that love her, she's taken advantage of and almost killed by a wicked man.  Only an act of true love and sacrifice made on her behalf saves her.

   Love saved her.

   Love lifts the winter, the confusion, and the lies.  

   Love casts out her fear.  

   Love transformed her raw power into beautiful strength.  

   And once she righted her mistakes and used her love and her power to bless her people, everyone loved her for who she was, not some idea of a perfect monarch.   

   My dear Elsa, you're still running.  You're trying to live in a reality of your own.  You're finding that's a lonely place to be.  That's because your personal world is governed by rules that don't work in the world that we all live in.  I know you like it in there.  You find an illusion of safety and peace in it.  But that world, by its very nature, is one that none of us can share with you.  You can live in it for a while, but it's a lonely place.  You can't have it both ways.  I know.  Because I once did the same thing.  

   I once thought that if I could only shut my eyes to my responsibilities and from the world that hurt me and the consequences of my actions that I would be able to heal myself and be happy.  It didn't work.  Trying to feed off my own personality was maddening, because I couldn't manufacture joy.  I couldn't love myself enough to satisfy my heart's desire.  I thirsted for beauty and for fulfillment, for safety and for adventure, for control and for resting in someone else's strength.  I hungered for joy and the overwhelming lust to be right.  I wanted to be a one-man army, rebellious against authority and free to make selfish decisions, and yet I also wanted to be loved by everyone and sympathized with.  My desires chased themselves around in my head and played upon my fears and my wounds.  It was horrible.  There were times when I thought I would go crazy.  Sometimes in the despair of my conflicting desires I gazed into my soul and found in it only unanswerable riddles, pain, conflicting desires, everything steeped in sin, and a chained beast, frothing and raging and straining at her chains.  I was idolizing myself, and that idol could not satisfy.  The more I gave to her, the more she desired.  I raged against my Maker in my misery.  I tried to blame anyone and anything else.  The very sound of the Word of God being read stirred hatred in me...I shut everyone out and suffered, imprisoning myself in my own mind.  It was hell.  I was exactly like Gollum.  There were times when the desire to end my life tantalized me with an evil fascination.

   I think sometimes you perceive me as a nice, sweet little woman who lives a charmed life or something.  Perhaps you think I'm a hypocrite, or that I want to control you.

   No.  

   I don't want to control you.  I don't want to cram you into some mold that whittles down your personality until there's nothing left.  I've actually been down that road myself, and believe me I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

   I hope and pray that one day you will find that once you surrender your dross to your Lord's furnace, He will bring you out of it more yourself than you ever were before.  

   Oh, my dear girl...running from everything, locking yourself in a tower with no stairs!  

   Oh, my sweet friend---screaming out your pain, but refusing to be healed.  

   I can't save you.  I can't heal you.  I can't make the problems or the grief or the loneliness go away.  Only One can do that.  

   Sometimes I think we forget that our desires and wounds and pain are meant to drive us to Him.  I think we forget that most of what we truly desire is not wrong...the irony is that so much of what we truly desire: fulfilling love, resting in someone's strength, adventure, safety, (yes, both of them at once) meaning, hope...they can only be found in their fullness in Jesus Christ.  

   When I thirsted for beauty, I shut out the Author of beauty.  When I cried out for Love, I slammed the door in the face of the One who gave His life to redeem me.  When I cried alone because no one listened to me or sought me out, I turned away from Him who was right there with me and who was already listening.  When I longed for meaning and for adventure, I ignored the Great Author who writes all stories and who is Himself Love and Light and Strength.  

   Go to Him.  He'll never cast out the one who comes to Him for mercy.  I know...you're afraid that He'll shame you or hold you at arm's length or send you out to work off your debt.  But that's not the God of the Bible, is it?  He is God, not a man.  He goes against the normal human pattern because His nature is infinitely higher than that of fallen man.  

   He won't shame you.  Jesus already bore the shame and guilt of God's righteous anger toward all of our sin.

   He won't frighten you or threaten you if you cry out to Him.  He already delivered all of His wrath on a willing Recipient.  There isn't any left!!  Jesus has already paid for everything, including our guilt and shame.  Why would anyone in this world suffer in sin and guilt when they could be free? 

   He is the Father from whom every family on earth receives its name.  He is a Father to the fatherless.  He is the Healer.  The Word says He brings healing to His children, and satisfies their souls with good.  That means fulfillment, joy, and love.  

   My dear girl, I love you more than you probably know.  I will never, ever shut you out.  You can shut me out if you like, but my door latch will always open to you.  Good can wear a wry face, Truth can hurt, and Love must be tough.  But that's because I love you too much to leave you in lies when I know the truth.  As one beggar to another, I know where the Bread of Life is.  I know where the Living Water is.  And we don't have to just come once and then leave.  He invites us to feast every day on His kindness.  

   So come.  Be truly freed.  The Truth will set you free.  

 Love Always,
~Cadenza

August (Part 1)

   Yes, prepare yourself for another (LONG) post about the weather and changing seasons.  I don't know why this is so important to me, but it is.  It seems to me that there's so much richness in the earth around us, and I for one, crave more of it.  I often feel trapped in this city of concrete and asphalt, with its exoskeleton of metal and steel, and all our cold devices of plastic and glass that we can't go without even for an hour.  The Earth is warm and rich and beautiful.  It's a growing, living thing.  I soak each season, each month, into me.  I look.  I listen.  I think.  I feel.  Each season and month has a different feel to it.  And up until now I've been half-blind, half resentful of the feelings of August.  This year I'm not.  This year I am delighted by the charms of August, and I want to tell you why.  

   Summer has always been my least favorite season.  I don't like the triple-digit temperatures.  I don't like the air so humid that you almost have to wade through it.  I strongly dislike feeling sticky with sweat.  I hate how blazing and strident the sunlight is.  It's too brash, it's too obvious.  It's almost like having your eyes assaulted like your ears would be if someone were to sneak up behind you and shout in your ears.  

   In stories, summer is usually the time when good things happen.  How many stories have you read that are set in summer?  "That" summer.  The summer before this happened, or the summer after something else happened.  "That," summer where the boy met the girl.  Summer romances, or exciting vacations, or the summer you thought would be boring until...fill in the blank.  In the stories, summer brings healing to hurting hearts, and adventure and meaning to restless hearts.  I see why the stories are that way, of course.  There's no school in the summertime.  And there's something about the summers of your life before jobs and real life set in, before college and responsibilities.  You're old enough to know things, and still have time to care and to explore. 

   Don't get the impression that I'm being stuck up about the tropes of summertime stories.  Tropes are tropes for a reason.  They make good stories.  I'm a bit rueful, perhaps, but only because my experiences with summer have been very different.

   Each season's beauty fills me with longing.  Each season seems to promise me something, though it never delivers on its promise.  Springtime promises Resurrection.  Of new, glorious, better Life after death.  

   Winter promises Adventure.  The biting wind, the bare branches, and the starry sky fills me with the longing for adventure.  For more than the life I'm living.  For something to seek after and find, alongside comrades.  Something to fight for, live for, and die for.

   Autumn gives the promise of Immortality.  I'll have to come back to that later.  

   Summer promises Fulfillment. 

   The promises overlap, of course.  But they specially overlap when the seasons begin to blend.  

   Now, when I was younger, summer had an entirely different meaning to me.  *Insert wavy screen and commence flashback...*  (Kidding.  Please don't.)  

   Summer meant no school, which was cause for much rejoicing.  But summer also brought the heat, and it also meant that everything else in my life came to a screeching halt.  Once the---what I call the May-hem---of the month of May had finally resolved all performances and ceremonies and recitals, June was the slam of solid impact and the resulting whiplash.  I always loved the activities I was involved in, and before June was over I was missing them again. 

    In the ninth grade, I was able to join in the adult ministries at my church.  Incidentally, Junior High was a miserable experience for me...you've aged out of your old activities, but haven't grown into the adult ministries yet.  And usually too young to contribute to the youth group activities.  Anyway, in the ninth grade I began attending the adult choir and orchestra, and hand bells, when we were fortunate enough to have those rehearsals.  I entered the youth group, and was also involved in AWANA as a leader.  And then I was enrolled in classes outside of my home, specifically for home-schoolers.  Most of my high school years I played in a youth orchestra program with my violin, too.  I loved all of these activities.  But the ones I loved most by far were the rehearsals in the church. 

   Sure, the other activities had meaning and enjoyment for me.  But classes were hard, and homework was a lot of pressure, on top of all the other difficult schoolwork that I struggled through alone at home.  I loved the youth orchestra program because I loved the music and the conductors and the high standard to which we were held.  However, the other children there were not people I could make friends with easily.  I always found a knot of girls to hang out with, and perhaps one or two of those friendships have remained.  But the rest were boisterous worldlings that had nothing in common with me.  

   Yes, I did love youth group.  I loved the sound teaching, and I enjoyed being with kids my age, and all around my age!  I enjoyed the atmosphere...sort of.  

   I knew I was different from the other kids.  I stuck out like a sore thumb.  I tried to make friends with them.  I tried to talk with them and listen to them, but for the most part none of them wanted anything to do with me.  The things they talked about, the places they went, the things they did were completely foreign to me.  I couldn't be friends with them because they wouldn't let me.  You know how high school girls are; they pursue their own agenda.  They're busy trying to be or trying to hang out with or get in good with the Popular ones.  The ones who did things, who had resources, and who actually got together with others for activities.  The ninth grade girls fussed themselves up with stylish clothes and were consumed with volleyball or other sports.  They prattled endlessly on about people I didn't know and about things I couldn't relate to.  It was hard being a short girl with glasses and braces and bangs and shapeless jeans and t-shirts.  No one reached out to me because everyone was so busy chasing after their own agenda.

   In some ways, youth group was a lot harder than the orchestra program or the classes outside school.  In those places I knew I was different, and I could at least eat with or sit with girls I knew.  I could just listen and maybe contribute to the conversation if they were talking about a subject.  It didn't matter too much if I was different there.  In youth group, I wanted to be one of the other girls, or at least to be friends with them.  But they ignored me.  There were girls that I sensed had more to them than they let on, but the pressure was on me to reach out to them.  They gave me nothing to go on, so it was uphill work.  

   It filled me at times with unspeakable anxiety and dread.  I wanted so desperately to penetrate their shells and become a friend to any of them, if they would only let me in.  But since they wouldn't, I was often horribly afraid that there was something wrong with or repulsive about me as a person.  It was exhausting and emotionally draining, especially for me as an introvert.  I was so very shy back then.  There were times when I felt so painfully self-conscious that I would retreat to the bathroom and literally hide in one of the stalls until it was time for youth group to start. 

   Youth group had its joys, too.  When the group of girls my age met after the sermon to discuss it and to share prayer requests, they were willing to open up a bit and be more vulnerable.  But once we said amen and left that room, things went on just as they had before.      
  
   I tell you all of this to serve as a backdrop for what I really found enjoyment in: the choir and orchestra rehearsals at church.  Those were the highlights of my week, and what got me through difficult days of impossible school concepts and piles of homework.  There was spiritual refreshment in each song we sang or played.  The beauty of them washed over me, purging away the clinging dread of every week.  It let me out of the Normal, out of the ordinary, and into a world of beauty and light and color and music.  A world of laughter, where adults were silly and told funny stories and teased each other.  A world where friendships and comradeship existed between people despite the age differences.  Where adults treated me as a friend and as a person of my own standing.  Everyone was respectful of everyone else, and everyone shared what was on their hearts.  I found comfort, real understanding, and spiritual teaching there.  There was this joy that permeated the whole atmosphere.  It tied everyone together, and everything was colored through with it.  Everything from the beat-up music stands, to the smell of the old music sheets, to the clouds outside the windows.  When we looked into each others' faces we saw a glow of understanding in the others' eyes.  We comrades in this ministry, those of us who are here late on a Sunday afternoon, or lingering late on a Wednesday night...we know.  We know this world and its beauty.  No one out there, none of the rest of them have any clue what they're missing.  But we're here together.  We know.   

   Keep in mind that this was my experience for all the school year of each year of high school.  School went from bad to worse, the other orchestra became more and more demanding, and youth group was hard.  But when I had choir and orchestra rehearsals to get me through each week, I blossomed and grew.  

   And now, imagine June.  The sudden absence of all the things that had filled my days was like having someone yank a rug out from under me.  It flung me on my face.  It was a welcome relief at first, but the Nothing that replaced it ate into my mind and my heart.  Youth group went through the summer, thankfully, but with no rehearsals to balance it, the gloom and discouragement gnawed away at me unhindered.  

   During those summers, I maybe had a few once-a-week jobs, but I had no friends to hang out with, nowhere to go (I couldn't drive anyway), and I hated being outside in the heat and the humidity, where the bugs pounced on me the moment I stepped out the door.

   On the positive side, one thing I have in common with Harry Potter is that I hated summer vacation more than any other time of the year, just like he did!  

   Each summer month grew harder as the slow weeks dragged by like frozen syrup.  I longed for adventure, for new activities, but morning after morning I woke up and nothing happened.  And nothing kept on happening.  I made up stories in my mind of hidden passageways leading to hidden rooms, or of doors into magical worlds.  I loved stories about summer time and of neighborhood "gangs," of children solving mysteries or discovering treasure or what not.  I loved stories about dogs and animals that changed children's lives, (usually over the summer) like "Shiloh."  I dreamed of faraway places.  I dreamed of forests and endless trails and of following a Road somewhere, anywhere.  I lived in the books I read and wrote in my journals.  I made up stories in my head...and I missed keenly those days when pretend playing in the backyard was just as real as the yard itself.  

   The beauty of summer always mocked me before.  I had pictures in my mind of wide open meadows with long grass and wildflowers.  I loved the idea of mountains, and the idea of the beach, and of course I loved swimming.  I had pictures of sailing on ships or boats, of water-skiing, or of paddling down a river in a canoe.  I had fuzzy mental concepts of "summer camps," and of water balloon fights and campfires.  I had pictures in my mind of friends in a car, driving down the road with the windows down, all singing at the tops of their voices.  I had this idea of going roller skating, or shopping, or going to the movies, or of buying ice-cream late at night after youth group like the popular crowd occasionally did.  

   But what I experienced was burning pavement, and sticky air.  What actually happened were days and days stretching by full of nothing.  Days when I wandered and prowled about my house, feeling stir-crazy and discontent, but with nowhere to release my energy.  

   June was hot and boring.  July was made up of dog-days of unbearable heat and restless longing.  By the time August dragged in I felt like I was going crazy.  Crazy with longing, crazy with loneliness, driven mad by the Promise of Summer that was mocking me because it never came true.  I was dreading the opening of school again, but I was so desperate for my friends and for beauty and for interaction that my mind could sort of block it out.  

   By the time August was over and activities were ready to start again I was dying to go back.  By that time I wanted August over and done with.  As it dragged its slow days onward, I mentally kicked it out the door when September finally arrived.  

   I wasn't expecting to explain all of this when I started this post tonight.  I think it was necessary to provide a good understanding of where I'm coming from.  Perhaps the best thing to do will be to call it a night, publish what I have, and finish the original idea I had for the August post in a part 2!


~Cadenza        

I'm Back!

   Hello, faithful readers!  Guess what?  I'M BACK!  And yes, that is so worth putting into all caps.

   Usually after a long absence from my blog, my first paragraph is a sheepish apology for being away for so long.  But this time I really have a good reason.  I haven't posted for over half a year because I inadvertently locked myself out of my blog!  I was starting to be afraid I'd never be able to get into my little blog again, which would have been truly sad.

   Oh, it is so nice to be blogging again!

   I'm still at Chick-Fil-A, and still loving it.  This summer has been a most enjoyable one so far.  Having somewhere to swim makes a lot of difference.  It's something to look forward to after a long shift.  Yes, and I work mostly opening shifts now...which means that I have to be at work and clocked in, ready to start at 5:30 am.  Yup.  

   I don't know if I've ever mentioned it before, but I am not a morning person.  Pretty much every morning when my phone gives out its little default tone that serves as my (first of three) alarm I pry my eyes open, groan, stumble out of bed to hit the snooze and question my life's choices that have led up to this.  I hit the snooze, which helps to keep me from falling back into deep sleep.  When the third alarm goes off, I know it's five o'clock, and that I have to get up.  

   I have learned that all I need is 15 minutes to get ready for the day, and in a pinch, 9 minutes.  It's that bad.  It takes me 15 minutes to get to work, so if I leave by 5:15, I'm generally on time.  

   I hate being up at that hour.  It generally takes me two to three hours (without caffeine) to really wake up.  Each day I think I must be crazy to have chosen these hours when I knew that I am not an early bird.  And yet after the lunch rush, everything starts to calm down at the store.  We have time to recover, stock supplies, and generally pick up the pieces from all the chaos of the hour and a half before.  I can stay busy until the afternoon lull sets in, and then, boom!  I clock out, and I'm done for the rest of the day!  At 2 pm.  It's great!  I eat a little snack, and then the afternoon is mine.  

   You see, the alternative would be either to work afternoons or work nights.  I was against nights from the start.  Believe it or not, readers, I actually have what might be called a social life!  I need my evenings to go places and do activities.  And it is *so* nice to be trying to make plans with someone and be able to say, "Hey, I'm off work at 2:30 everyday; what time works for you?"  I can run errands or go swimming in the afternoons, and it's wonderful.  Besides...the afternoon lull lasts from 2 to 4ish, or even 5pm.  It's possible to run out of things to do.  I know a lot of fun can happen in that time frame, but I'd be falling asleep on my feet.  I couldn't bear it.  If I'm going to be at work, at least let me be busy!  So, really, morning shifts were the best option.  Even though I question that every morning.  

   Yes, well.  I started with work-related stuff because a full-time job does take up most of my time.  (Surprise.)  I'm still going ballroom dancing on some Friday nights, and have gotten a few friends interested in coming with us.  My church actually has a Sunday-School class for singles now!  I have waited so long for there to be a real ministry for singles!  It took a few years...you know, to get singles again.  Most of the singles around my age group left for good once they left for college.  They've been scarce, and then many of them had to go off and get married..!  But we have a fair-sized crowd, and the teachers of the class have started this thing where we meet together in one of their homes for fellowship, discussion, and naturally, food.  It gives me something to look forward to in the middle of the week.  It's a great way to get to know each other; without all the formality or time-restraint of the church's setting.  

   In a week or two, the church's choir and orchestra will be starting up again for the Christmas semester!  I am so excited...even a little surprised at how excited I am.  I needed the break over the summer, but I have really missed it!  Besides, Christmas music!!  

   I think this will have to do for tonight.  I do have work in the morning, and got lots going on tomorrow.  I think if I try to tackle anything descriptive or thought-provoking than I will be staying up entirely too late.  Until the next time, my faithful readers, I am ever your

~Cadenza
 

Something Lighter

   Holy moley..!  It's actually been a year since I've written a fun post!  

   How about something lighter for a change?  

   I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I have a new job now.  I work at Chick-Fil-A!  I've been there for about three months now, and I am really enjoying it.  

   I was thinking today about some things that happen on the job that would be funny to me if I didn't have to put up with them so much.  What's the buzzword for those types of things these days..?  "Micro-aggressions."  Yeah.  Personally, I only use that term ironically, such as "First World Problems," because first-world problems aren't real problems.  I've seen rural India, don't come whining to me about your wifi connection or that someone skimped the foam on your Starbucks drink.   You won't get much sympathy here. 

   Right!  So, ironically or not so ironically, here are some work-related Micro-aggressions:

   (1)-   This: 

   Me: (at the window)  "Can I get you any sauces or condiments?"  

   Them:  "No, just ketchup."  

   Because ketchup isn't a sauce.  Got it.  

   What's really cute is when I place two ketchup packets into their bag and they say, "Oh, and can I get some mayo?"  I grab two mayonnaise packets and slip them into their bag and they say, "Mustard...and one Barbeque and one Polynesian sauce." 

   I have my hands full of packets in the window, and what I'm actually doing is smiling my sweetest and saying, "What else can I get for you?" when what I really want to do is fire the packages at their face.  TAKE YOUR SAUCES AND GO, YOU'RE HOLDING UP THE LINE!!

   (2)- Making me lean out the window.  

   Look, I get it, you're used to staying clear of brick walls.  All the same, don't you think three and a half feet is a little far away from the window?  You might consider that some people don't have very long arms, and that in order to reach you, I have to lean half my body out the windowsill.  The very least you can do is try to meet me halfway and not just lazily grab it at your window.  And rolling down your window all the way might help, too. 

   Of course, by now I've learned that if I dive out the window to reach you, the people behind you will feel sorry for me and will drive closer.  Not that that excuses you.  

   (3)  "These fries are cold."  

   You're kidding.  After sitting there munching on your chicken for ten minutes your fries weren't piping hot?  Our fries may be yummy, but they get cold quickly.  Deal with it.  

   (4)  "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but we spilled our fruit punch."  

   Okay, why on earth did you even give fruit punch to your kid in the first place?  This stuff should be banned from children under seven.  

   (5)  "Can I get this to go?"  

   This is a perfectly acceptable question if asked at the right time.  Right when the tray of food is placed in front of you on the counter is not the time.

   If you'll think back, I asked you a question right when you walked up to my register.  I asked you these words, "Will you be dining in with us today?"  

   First question that I asked you.  It's really not so difficult if you break it down.  "Will you be dining IN"---in as in, "here IN this dining room,"---"with us," as in the idea of you being around us for a while.  As in, here.  As in, here IN Chick-Fil-A.  

   You answered, "Yeah, yeah, dining in."  I remember distinctly, because I needed to press the right button to tell the people bagging your order whether it needs to be in a bag or on a tray.  

   Either you weren't paying attention because you were distracted by your phone conversation or something of that nature, or you looked at me funny, apparently thinking that I was asking you if you wanted to "dine," today.  I think that because your look clearly said, "Of course I want to eat, you idiot, why else would I walk into a Chick-Fil-A?"  But again, the question isn't so hard if you break it down.  Or maybe, like, LISTEN to the words I used.  

   Now you want it to go.  Meaning that the bagger is annoyed with me now because it's caused him some extra work.  We strive for quick service, and people like you slow us down when you're not willing to work with us.  When you ask me, "Can I get this to go?" I really, really want to say, "No you may not.  You'll eat it here, and you'll like it."  

   (6)  "I want a chicken salad."  

   Do you mean you want our chicken salad sandwich, our side of chicken salad, or do you mean a salad with chicken on it?  

   If you'd bother to read our menu, you'd see that our big salads have nifty names, just for your convenience!  There's our Cobb salad, our Asian salad, and our Grilled Market Salad.  When you say you want "a chicken salad," you could mean any of three very different salads.  And believe it or not, "chicken salad," is not the same thing as a salad with chicken on it.    

   (7)  "Is that a large?"  

   I get this from fussy, sour-faced middle-aged ladies with pointy framed glasses only after I've tendered their order and are preparing their drink for them.  Well, no.  This is our medium size, which is the size that comes with the meal.  If you want to up-size it to a large, there's a 90 cent difference, and you really ought to tell me that before I swipe your card.   

   (8)  When people use other restaurants' lingo.  "Can I have the combo meal?"  "Do you have curly fries?"  "I want the six piece chicken McNuggets..."  "I need three Happy Meals..."  "Can I get the King-sized drink with that?"  "I'd like the Cini-minis."  

   Get out.  You're besmirching my restaurant's honor.  

   (9)  "Are you still serving breakfast?"  

   Again, this one's not so bad if given in the right time area.  But I've had people ask me that at three in the afternoon.  Actually no, we're not.  Of course, I need to make sure I tell people, "Sorry, no; we serve breakfast until 10:30."  Who knows, maybe word will get around?  

   (10)  When people ask for "regular iced tea." 

   I love this one.  Today, I had a lady ask me for regular tea.  I smiled and asked her, "Sweet or unsweet?"  And she looked at me like I had two heads.  "Reg-u-lar," she pronounced more loudly and clearly.

   I'm sorry, I don't know what area of the country you come from.  Here in the South, people tend to think of cold tea as "sweet tea."  It's the regular, or default mode of tea for a lot of people.  But if you're from up North, (Hmph, Yankees!)  I understand you thinking that tea in its original state would not be inherently sweet.  I'm a tea-drinker.  We brew tea in the back, I know that when it's freshly-made it isn't sweet.  I get that.

   But honestly, I asked you a very clear question.  "Sweet or Unsweet."  As in, "We have two options, pick one."  I really don't see what's so hard about this. 
    

   Okay, so yeah, these things tick me off.  But they aren't real problems.  They're funny.  I laugh about them.  They aren't that important in the big scheme of things.  I can't allow myself to lose my sense of humor over such trivial things.  Sometimes the best thing I can do to help myself in situations is to step back and laugh.  Whatever!  It's not that big a deal.  Once you lose your sense of humor, you've given up one of your best weapons in life.

   Besides, a lot of what gives Chick-Fil-A its superior status to other fast-food places is the way the employees handle such situations.  The employees care about their customers, and when there's a problem, we seek to make it right.  We sell a good product, and we go the extra mile to serve our customers.  That's why we have raving fans.  That's why people choose to come here.  That's why families and kids love it here.  That's why so many people like me want to work here.  

   I'll listen to you.  I'll do my best to help you.  I won't rush you.  I won't be rude to you.  

   I will NOT fling the sauces in your face.  

   I will NOT roll my eyes at you when you complain that your fries got cold, no matter how sorely I am tempted to do so.  

   I will get out the mop and bucket and clean up your spilled fruit punch and I will say, "That's okay, accidents happen."  Because kids, right?  I was one once.  I grew up with siblings.  I know how it is.  You didn't want them spilling their drink any more than I did.  And you're being so nice to give your kids fruit punch when you could make them drink water.  

   I will grab a bag from the drive-thru area and I will put your meal in a bag for you.  

   I'll try to ask clarifying questions so you don't end up with a chicken salad sandwich when what you wanted was our delicious Grilled Market Salad.  

   I'll up-size your drink for you if I wasn't paying attention the first time, and I won't charge you.  Some other employees may not, so don't try this ploy deliberately.  

   I will listen patiently while you order and I will suppress the urge to correct you with our own lingo unless it is appropriate.  

   I will continue to tell people when we stop serving breakfast.  I will attempt to teach, and help you understand the way we do things so that you'll be able to get your order faster next time.

   And I will keep asking you if you would like sweet or unsweet tea until you tell me which one you prefer.

   I want to help you.  We sell a great product here, and I want you to experience it.  And I do want you to feel welcome and at home here.  I do care about you.  You're a person, like me, and you've got your own back story and your struggles.  I honestly want you to feel when you come in here that you've reached a safe harbor.  That you can sit still for a while and leave everything up to us.  We'll take care of you and make sure to serve you.  

   Because seriously, it IS my pleasure to serve you.

~Cadenza        

Cries Of A Raven

   Waiting.  That's what most of my life has been.

   I wonder if people in general can be divided into two types: the kind who strive and the kind who wait.  It seems you hear more about those who strive, because they're the ones actually getting things done.  

   But how foolish.  Many strive quietly, anonymously, with a calm sense of drive.  And many who strive have learned to be wise enough to know when to wait.  People cannot be divided so evenly between those two things.  Or, if they can, they are probably not fully mature.  

   I'm not really sure where this post is going.  I'm not sure what the point will be, or even if there is a point.  I'm sure there will be in the end.  These posts tend to write themselves.  Or, rather, it seems I pour out my feelings, and then end up reminding myself of the truth.  I just voice all the questions in my heart, and I feel as though I'm expanding in every direction, falling apart, crying out for answers.  And then, I have to remind myself of the only Answer.  It's not a thing, it's a Person.  God is the Answer.  

   It struck me this evening that each Christmas that comes, I'm always longing for something more than what I have.  My desires differ each year.  Perhaps one year I long for more adventure.  Perhaps one year I just want my life to change.  Perhaps one year I wish that I was a different person, or a character in a very different story.  Or maybe I wish for more fun in my life.  Or maybe I wish for more memories.  Well, not just more memories, but for different kinds of memories than the kind I end up making.  And the list goes on.  For some years now the things I've wanted for Christmas are the kinds of things you can't put on a list.  

   I remember those days when I began making my Christmas list as early as I dared, and labored long over it in secret.  Days when I thought that things would make me happy.  Or would satisfy me.

   But now...I wish for things that are very different.  Today, without even realizing I was going to, I commented to a coworker that sometimes I almost wished I believed in Santa Claus.  I suppose it makes sense.  The idea of an easily-swayed grandfather figure with endless resources at his disposal swooping in and making dreams come true is a very appealing one.  It's sort of like a God-figure, only he's a god that you can control.  Well, bargain with, wheedle with, win over.  

   It unmasked very selfish desires in my heart.  It's a lot harder to continually trust in an Everlasting and Untamed King of the Universe than it is to try to be good and plead with a soft-hearted grandpa figure.  

   In the Bible, there is a prophecy about Jesus, saying that He will be called the Wonderful Counselor.  I've always been fascinated by that title.  The Wonderful Counselor.  It's funny, because somewhere else in Scripture, it asks the rhetorical question, "Who has known the mind of the Lord?  Or who has been His counselor?"  No one, of course.  God the Cosmic Ruler of the Sky, takes counsel from no one.  He is the King.  

   And yet you see in Scripture that He advises His creatures.  And through His Son giving His life in payment for mankind's sin, He gives an open invitation:  "Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest."

   One pastor said it like this: "In the Garden of Eden, God told mankind, 'Go away.'  And Jesus tells us, 'Come back.' "  

   Jesus paid the price for all of us.  He absorbed all of God's just anger at our sins.  He paid the debt, and He rose victorious over death itself.  Death was the punishment for sin.  Once He paid the price of all our sin, Death was stripped of its power.  Of its authority.  Jesus, the Conqueror, offers shelter in Himself.  He tells us, "Come back!"  

   God is the King, and it's true that no one can sway Him, control Him.  But He stoops to give us counsel.  And who better to tell us what we must do?  

   Lately, I haven't known how to pray to Him.  My new job has been great, as I knew it would.  And yet, the drama has come.  I knew it would, too.  I thought I was prepared.  I knew that there would be drama wherever I worked.  But I didn't know the drama would be quite so close to home as it is now.  When it came, it was a very different kind of drama than I was expecting.  Understatement of the year.  

   I expected...well, never mind what I expected.  What I didn't expect was to be caught up in a drama going on within my own family and among my close friends.  I didn't expect stories to collide in quite this manner.  It's the kind of drama that is written about in books and seen in movies.  Of jealousy and fascination.  Of fierce fire and cold loneliness.  Of secrets.  Of intrigue.  I had thought this would be familiar ground for me, if anything.  After all, I have spent most of my life with my head and heart in those kinds of stories.  And yet what can I do?  

   What ever am I to do?  Wait?  Just like everything else in my life?  Wait?  Sit tight and let everything blow over, just like I've always done?  I don't hear the cavalry yet.  But what can I do?  Am I to do nothing?  No, I must act in it.  I must play my part, because it is my part.  That's all there is to it.  An actor, perhaps, can drop out if he doesn't like the part he's assigned to.  But in the story of each person's life, you can't just stop because the world doesn't stop.  I must muddle through.  In a mystery, I'm both playing my part, and making my own decisions.  I still have to put on my shoes and my name tag, drive to work, stay there all day every day.  I have to do what needs to be done. 

   It's not that I believe God isn't here.  I know He's here.  What's more, I know He's active in what's going on.  I guess my little comment about Santa Claus shows me that I doubt that He cares.  

  I mean, I know He cares, to some extent.  I'm His child, I know He cares.  And yet, I'm bewildered.  I'm caught up in this story, and I---I'm actually playing a part in it---I can affect or mess up things going on around me, I'm not just watching from the sidelines.  

   But I can't seem to find any motivation to pray.  Because in my heart I'm feeling, "Well, He put me here.  Why should I ask Him to change anything?  He won't, because He's put me here for a reason.  Now all I can do is muddle through and hope I end up doing whatever I'm supposed to do."   

   My heart cries out, silently, a little every day.  A formless, wordless kind of cry.  Some days it's only a hoarse croak of pain.  Sometimes it's a silent kind of scream.  Sometimes its just a moan of helplessness.  I don't know what to do, and I don't know how to pray.  

   I always wanted my life to be a discernible story.  And yet now that I see it, and what's more, now that the risk and the pain is real and tangible, I'm afraid, because I don't know the ending.  I don't know how it will turn out.  Happy, good, or sad.  Happy is the, "Happily ever after," idea.  A Good ending is a strong, satisfying, well-done ending, even if it isn't entirely happy.  I like Good endings.  I don't like sad ones.  Ones that make you wonder if it was even worth it to slog through the story.  And there are bad endings that make you angry at the author.  What was the point of a story that doesn't even resolve?  (Side note, that's the main reason I won't watch horror movies.  There's no ending, that's what makes them scary.  And what makes them pointless.  Plus, I don't like the feeling of being petrified when I'm alone or in the dark.)

   I don't tend to watch movies or read books if I don't think I'll like the story.  Each time I do, I'm putting myself into the author's power.  I don't like to do that unless I think they can be trusted.  I recently finished J.K. Rowling's, "Harry Potter," series.  I had faith in her.  My faith wavered two-thirds of the way through the Deathly Hallows.  I was just not sure how she could possibly work this mess out.  But she did.  And it was masterfully and beautifully done.  Which I saw when I finally worked up the courage to finish the book.  

   C.S. Lewis' "Till We Have Faces," is like that, too.  I have much more trust in C.S. Lewis, due to long experience, but I doubted him in that book.  "There is just no way that this can resolve." I thought to myself.  "There is just no possible way."  And yet---yet it is one of my top favorite works of fiction.  I will say no more.

   I doubted J.R.R. Tolkien in "The Return of the King."  After all the chapters of doom, of shadows, of despair, and after all the weakness and sadness and dark omens, I wondered how it could ever resolve.  How could the ending actually be happy?  I couldn't see it.  And yet I laugh and sometimes cry for joy when I reread that book.  

   I know in my head that the Author of every story is writing mine in His great Work.  I know that everything---somehow---will end in my good, and for the good of all His children.  I know it will be grander than Tolkien's story, more piercing and joyus than Lewis' story, and more human than J.K. Rowling's books.  I know that, and yet I cannot see it.  

   I suppose that to feel this kind of pain is part of what makes me human.  To feel pain, to feel love, to feel doubt.  To be loyal, to trust, and to be afraid.  To go on when you don't think you can.  To risk everything and be willing to lose everything.  To do the right thing even when you aren't sure it is the right thing.  Those are lovely ideas.  But it's so---different somehow when it's your story.  When it's your life.  When you can't skim down the page to peek at what happens.  When you can't ask someone if it actually is going to be all right in the end...

   Or can I?  Ask Someone, I mean.  Obviously I can't skim down the page.  

   Oh, but of course, I can ask.  I can ask, but He won't tell me.  

   But I know that He has promised that it will come right in the end.

   I just have to trust Him.  

   I have to do what I think is right.  To let Him steer me.  And just trust in Him that He will write it better than I ever could.  

   I have been longing for something for five years now.  A desire so poignant and so painful that sometimes I can hardly bear it.  It's like a wound that will not heal.  It won't heal because it was a wound of Hope.  And I cannot and/or will not put it to sleep unless---or until---there is no hope left.  So the wound is a living thing inside me.  Its pain waxes and wanes just like everything else in my life, (C.S. Lewis called it The Law of Undulation.)  But it lives inside me.  It rears its head at the smallest things, and it fills me with pain when I least expect it to.  I have no real reason to hope now.  It was a fool's hope, and all along I knew that this might cost me dearly.  But I made that choice because I wanted to hope.  

   Perhaps the worst of it is that I don't know how it will resolve.  Sure the pain is bad, but if I knew there was no hope, I could go about getting over it.  The wound would heal in time, and it would no longer live inside me.  If it resolves---that is to say, if it blossoms and bursts open in light and beauty, than I will be beside myself with joy, and the pain would leave.  But now---here in the fog and the uncertainty...in the winter, this drowsing hope will not let me rest for long.  Will I have to slay it one day as a dragon, or will it be a sweet bloom of maturity?  I have no idea.  No way of knowing.  Right now in the mist of Now I can only wait.  Yes.  Just wait.  Not pursuing, not scheming.  Not even trying to find out.  Just waiting for who knows how much longer?  And every day I have to get up and firmly put it inside a box and focus on other things.  

   What's more, I'm watching other people go through that now, too.  I'm watching them agonize and cry out in pain.  And what can I do?  Dear friends in the trenches with me.  All of us writhing in our uncertainty and in our pain and in our waiting, and we don't know what's going to happen.  

   I don't know how to pray to God about any of this.  Every request that I could cry out to Him sounds infantile and childish.  But...supposing my every request actually sounds like that anyway?  I can cry out for mercy, for grace, for strength.  But inside my heart a voice keeps saying, "How much longer?  How much longer will I have to deal with this?  When can I know?  I want to know!"  I can cry and pour my heart out to Him on my hands and knees, and I have done so a few times.  But there's no answer.  He is the answer.  

   I can cry out for wisdom, sometimes, for discretion.  I beg Him to show me what I must do.  What the best decision is for right now.  And He does give those things to me.  

   And there are those times when all I can do is cry.  When I have no words, no requests, just pain, pain, pain, filling my heart.  I can't even kick and scream like a spoiled child.  I can only lie limp and still and try to weep silently so no one else will know.  When that happens, the only prayer that I can voice is one word, two words, over and over again: "Help.  Please help."  

   Just like the cry of a raven.  

   And God hears the cries of the ravens.  

   He sees every sparrow.  

   He designs every snowflake.

   He commands where the lightning bolts must fall.

   He calls every star out there in the universe by its Name.  

   He sees every secret.  

   He knows every heart.  Each name.  Each story.

   He knows the pain because He once lived as one of us.  He shared in our grief, our pain, our suffering.  He was a man.  He is Human.  Fully God.  Fully Man.  

   The Bible says He is a sympathetic High Priest.  Not like the priests were to Judas Iscariot, when he came to them, full of remorse over his hideous betrayal.  They said to him, "What is that to us?  Your conscience is your responsibility."  I've always thought that was one of the saddest---and one of the most chilling sentences in the Bible.  

   Just as I know how to pray for someone when I've been through something similar, Jesus knows how to pray for me, because He was a Human on this sin-cursed earth.  He is called a Man of Sorrows...and acquainted with grief.  He knows what it is to grieve.  He knows all about loss, about risk, about terror, and about anguish and death.  He went through it.  He conquered it.  

   And He's promised to be there for me.  To love me unconditionally.  To see me through my life and to---wonder of wonders---welcome me into His joy one day.  

   I have to trust.  I have to hold on.  Perhaps if I just keep looking at Him, I won't be so afraid.     

   "Trust the heart of your Father when the answer goes beyond what you can see.  
   When you don't understand the purpose of His plan
   In the presence of the King
   Bow the knee."  

   Even when there are no words.  Especially when there are no words.

   "Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in His wonderful face
   And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
   In the light of His glory and grace."  

   "Are we weak and heavy-laden? 
   Cumbered with a load of care?  
   Precious Savior, still our refuge,
   Take it to the Lord in prayer.
   Do thy friends despise, forsake thee?
   Take it to the Lord in prayer.
   In His arms He'll take and shield thee,
   Thou wilt find a solace there."  


~Cadenza