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Me and the brother on Christmas Eve…

the truth

I can finally say this, now that I’m single.

I have had a fairly decent crush on Michael Ian Black (of I Love the [insert your favorite decade] fame) for quite a while now.

This article on Celebrity Baby Eating was particularly good, I thought. Maybe I’m at a bit of a dark place right now, and my sense of humor is a little off-kilter (I LOVE saying off-kilter). But I have been laughing out loud this past five minutes.

Read, and enjoy.

*****
Hey, me and Myles are on a website together. Apparently someone thinks we’re a good read. Check it out.

***
Hey, Myles also wrote an article for Relevant. I think we’re tied now at 2 and 2. I’d better get writing…

***
I read somewhere that young sopranos sing beautifully, but they don’t really acquire the depth of emotion that makes their singing truly stunning until they’ve had their heart broken. I wonder if that’s true of writing as well? I write more honestly and more often when I’m in the midst of some kind of struggle… but that’s the nature of it all, I guess. When you’re happy, you’re happy. There’s not much to contemplate, other than, wow, I’m so happy. (And I really was. Anyone who knew me could tell. And although it took a long day to realize it, I know I’m grateful for it, regardless of how I feel now).

The darker, more painful seasons of life offer layers and layers and layers of depths to be searched. And although there’s pain in the learning, I’m looking forward to discoveries this season of quiet and solitude has to offer me. The thing is, I can’t change where I’m at. Can’t change what happened. My choices are limited to whether I will grow or be reduced by the circumstances in which I find myself.

And I won’t be able to tell I’m growing. You never are conscious of it at the time. You never hear someone say, “Wow, I’m growing!” You hear them say, “Man, I’ve grown.” So I’m going to take my buddy Kevin’s advice and “grieve the shit out of this and grow big and big and big while you feel so small beneath it at times…” I’m going to let myself feel it, let it hurt, let it be real, and then I’m going to pick myself up. Well, sort of. I more allow myself to be picked back up again than anything.

I don’t think it’s about trying to grow, or trying to impress everyone with how strong you are, or trying to really be anything at all. I think it’s more about surrendering yourself to the process, just sort of saying, “Hey, God, I’m here. I’m sad things didn’t happen the way I wanted. And I’m kinda feeling broken right now. Put the pieces back in place however you want.” And regarding being strong, it’s not being strong in yourself. It’s being strong enough to be humble enough to lean on those who you know love you. Even though you know and they know that you’re a bit messy at the moment.

You know, I did ok this morning. Especially compared to yesterday. The first night and day are the hardest anyhow. I got up, got cute for work for no one other than myself (which is huge considering the fact that I lounged in my PJs and slippers on the couch all day yesterday), had a great talk with my boss, who is amazing, am smiling again, and am, even though hurting, feeling a peace. Peace. Not really feeling it fully in this moment, but more in knowing that the worst is over, and that only good and better things lie ahead.

And, as a friend reminded me yesterday – the hopes I had… they’re not gone. Just postponed.

You know, I really feared sharing this, as I didn’t want to come across like a sappy girly girl. Then someone wrote to me yesterday that they admire “The way that you don’t hide your pain, you deal with it and you share it, at first for your benefit of healing, but then to help others heal.” (thank you, anonymous, whoever you are). I promptly cried for two or three minutes, feeling my heart soothed and refreshed by the kindness of the words. They nailed the reason I write, the reason I share. First, for me, second, for someone else.

So thanks for all the kind words, for the prayers, and for giving me the grace to be just who I am in this moment – even if it’s a sappy girly girl. Mine is a heart truly blessed.

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One phone call from Waco, Texas at 6 a.m. (which I answered cause I was still awake)
+One mocha from dad in the a.m.
+One bacon cheeseburger (no lettuce onion or tomato) and hugs from mom at noon
+One visit from Amanda in the afternoon with another mocha
+Three sweet text messages from Dave & Amanda (Dave’s made me cry)
+One phone call from Wes, complete with Napoleon Dynamite impressions to make me smile (he needs some practice, but I loved the effort)
+One worship CD and a card left on my car windshield from Jules
+Three encouraging emails, one from a Hamster several states away
+One entire disc of the Friends DVD enjoyed with Lili in the evening

= Me feeling way more loved than I could ever deserve. And feeling better in general. Thanks to those who are so dear as to be there through sad times – with no apologies necessary on my part.

You know, I’m really doing ok. That void already looks a ton smaller as I look around at how full my beautiful life is in all the ways that count.

phantom pains

So I got dumped last night. After waiting a month for him to come home from his work obligations and holiday travels, he talked with me the night after he arrived home. Dumped for the ex, who has had a change of heart about breaking his back in September. (Just a rough situation for us all the way around. I don’t envy him). This would have all nearly been out of the blue, except for the feeling in my gut I had all week that something was wrong. I hate when I’m right. Seems that nausea knows more than I do about where my relationships are headed.

It always kind of shakes me, my capacity for this kind of breaking. You’d think I’d get smart and become closed off or hardened, but I’m terrible at it. I’ve been here before, where it hurts even to breathe. Where life is now bland and all the world seems painted in hues of gray… because something that seasoned your life and colored your world has now been ripped away. And it’s not coming back. He’s not coming back. And even though I know it’s not true at all, it feels in this moment like my world will never be right again. And yet, I know that in just a short season, my world will be right again. And that hurts too. What a strange thing heartache is.

It’s sort of like a person has died. They haven’t died really, they’ve just died to you. The closeness you shared, the knowing of another person, the friendship… that all seems like it’s passed away now, only to be replaced with a void. One of the closest people to me has now become a stranger. All I’m left with is an emptiness that makes me want to explode, and a silence that threatens to deafen me. (It’s amazing how loud an unringing cellphone is).

I’ve been here before, but the wound is fresh. This time, it’s especially deep, because even in my aching, even though he broke my heart, I know I said goodbye to a genuinely good man. So completely kind and honorable even in the breaking that I can’t even be mad at him. Feel like he’s an idiot for what he’s doing, but a kind idiot, nonetheless.

In this moment, I have absolutely no idea what the hell to do with myself other than cry my eyes out.

It doesn’t get much better for a while either — all awkwardness and avoiding and explanations. And a few sleepless nights. It will get better, I know it will, I’m not devoid of hope, but all that exists for me right now is the searing pain of what’s not there. I miss him. That’s all.

I have no cute way to wrap this up, I’m just here, raw heart, puffy eyes. If you think of it today, say a quick prayer for me. There’s an awful lot of hurt in the world, and I know mine is a small one in comparison, but even in my smallness I know God still sees me, and cares even about my foolish broken heart.

[peace on earth]

Peace on earth.

Sometimes those words feel so foolish. So crazy a dream, so feeble a prayer in a world of suicide bombers and killer tsunamis and all else that tears fragile human fabric to shreds.

Last week we found out that one of my brother’s best friends growing up was in that mess hall tent in Mosul. He had just sat down to eat when the bomb went off, thirty feet from where he sat. He was unharmed and assisted the injured in that bloody nightmare of a moment. Six from his group were killed. Kevin S. is 21 years old. Twenty-one years old, and carrying that moment with him for life.

Brings it home to have a face attached to the headlines. Amazing how it changes your prayers.

Peace on earth.

Yesterday was the anniversary of Dawn’s death. Our broken hearts believed she died in a tragic house fire the day after Christmas – her husband, a trusted pastor, was arrested two years later for her murder, and convicted and sentenced to life in prison. I spent time with both of them in a small group before she died, spent time with him after (my boyfriend at the time rented a room from him), sharing dinners out and pizzas in front of the TV, listening to him tell me about what it was like to lose everything – his wife, his house, everything – all in the course of a day, and still not lose faith. I gave God lots of credit for this deep inner strength… never once glimpsing the truth (affairs and murder) that would later shake me to the core.

Thinking of it yesterday, I thought of her family and wondered if they’ve found any measure of peace. I hope so. I thought of Nick in prison and wondered what kind of peace there can be for him. I honestly don’t know.

Peace on earth.

Lighting candles in a late-night service Christmas Eve, we all sang with gusto, but to me, peace felt distant. I sang, but my heart was distracted… not just by the craziness happening out there in the world – I’m far too selfish to be concerned about that for too long – but with some of the craziness that sometimes shakes up my own, smaller, self-centered one. I felt bad for my
numbness. After all, this is Christmas.

At the end of the service, we went forward section by section for communion. I knelt there, alone, and prayed a simple prayer: Jesus, come. Be near. It was all I really knew to pray.
As I ate the tiny bread and sipped the grape juice, my heart softened and tears slipped down my cheeks as I realized there’s never a time I pray that prayer that it hasn’t already been answered. Although “Peace on earth” is a seemingly impossible thing to take hold of, “God with us” isn’t so unfathomable. Although we’re no nearer to peace on earth than we were two thousand years ago – God has indeed come, and revealed something even deeper and truer – peace with Him. Peace in our hearts.

It hasn’t escaped my notice that he brought this peace through the birth of a bastard son to a peasant teenager in a dirty stable surrounded by smelly livestock. That he brought grace through a bloody mess of a death on a Roman cross on a hill surrounded by more angry mob than grieving mourners.

Nothing seems to be beyond the reach of this stubborn love. Not redemption, not forgiveness, not even peace.

Even in a world that seems such a bloody mess.

Of all the crazy dreams, of all the foolish prayers, “God with us” seems about the craziest, the most unattainable, the most undeserved and unlikely thing… yet God made a way. If he can answer that prayer, then perhaps peace on earth isn’t so damned a dream after all. It’s worth holding on to, worth fighting off the numbness and continuing to hope. It’s worth our fervent prayers. It’s worth all the efforts of our hearts and hands.

God, bring peace. To our hearts, to our families, to our world. Bring it through us the way you brought it through Christ – through hearts and hands that reach out to the hurting with selfless love, grace and truth. Amen.

christmas shopping… day 1

Whelp, Jules and I braved the malls last night, and it was, quite disappointingly, a rather nut-free environment. In better news, I was able to find everything I needed in the span of a few short hours, which was rare and wonderful.

I sort of had to laugh when – gasp – the GAP & Pier One had both run out of free gift boxes. Wonder how many freak-outs they’d had that day, because they were really apologetic.

I’d forgotten how much fun it is to shop for a guy! Good times. I think I did pretty well, even without the once-promised help of my ace, Jeremy’s roommate Jason, who was going to give me startling insight into brilliant gift ideas. I guess I’ll find out when the present is opened…

Side note… I am amazed at how capable I am of amusing myself in nearly every situation. Please don’t judge me, but… Jules and I, in the midst of shopping for real gifts, had a great time imagining what I would buy Jeremy if I was a crazy stalker freak, (a la How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days). I kid you not, we’re sitting there doubled over laughing in Hallmark, reading over cards that gave even ME the creeps. The description tab said “new relationship” – not “sheer desperation.” My favorite: a card that said, “Our First Christmas” in big scrawly cursive, with an inside line that, translated loosely (Julie translated it), says, “Run! Run now! While you still have the chance!” (I read “Our First Christmas,” but heard Kate Hudson’s voice instead: “Our Family Album!”)

Later, we walked past a kiosk that will make your name into a necklace. I considered the pros and cons of getting J a gaudy gold necklace with my name on it. Shopping at the Bon, I wondered aloud if J would wear an ugly sweater if it was me that bought it for him? Ah, good times with exhausted loopy shoppers!

Julie – thanks for braving the mall with me! You are absolutely one of my favorite people to goof off with. The everyday and ordinary become memory and laughter-filled when we’re together. Love you.

As I finished my night of shopping, my phone rang. Surprise! Jer has been gone for two weeks, and (cruelly) has been scheduled swing shifts ever since he got back. I wasn’t expecting to see him til the end of the week, and I was honestly a little bummed, because he flies out again soon to be with his fam for Christmas. He had unexpectedly been let off work early, and was headed my direction. I won’t tell you how much Julie mocked me for my instant huge smile and flurry of excitement. But it was a lot. How much did I care? Not a lot.

It’s amazing how the whole world becomes right when you’re wrapped up in the arms of someone you care about… (Happy girl. Merry Christmas to me).

braving the crazies…

Um, how did it get to be December 14th?

Translation: this girl has not begun her Christmas gift shopping yet.

Shocker. Stacey, procrastinate?

Distracted by all the craziness in my life lately, I’ve been in a bit of Christmas denial. Things have calmed down considerably: Amanda, one of the sweetest girls I know, is moving in come February (as much as I LOVE moving every nine months or so, not having to move a thirteenth time quite yet is welcome news), my boss bought my loyalty by providing health benefits (and the peasants rejoiced!), Grandma moved in with my parents this past weekend (good times were had by the cousins in Seattle, incriminating pictures coming soon), and, following some gutsy conversations, things with my internship have been clarified, and I’m excited for the future.

That’s a lot of “stuff” to cram into just a few weeks. Happy to have things back to some semblance of normal. I’m reminded once again that I can stress all I want, God will let me exhaust myself doing that – but my life, my needs, my wants… all rest in his hands. Not only that, but even when I’m having a hard time trusting, when I’m anxious and frustrated, God’s grace and kindness toward me is still so big. I kid you not – after a week of rather sleepless nights and way more tears than normal – the living situation, health insurance, and internship stuff was pretty much taken care of all in one day, all in the course of a few hours.
God answered the prayers I was too worried and stubborn to pray. I’m always amazed when God loves me in spite of me. I may be stubborn, but he is way more stubborn in his love toward me, and honestly, that gives me peace.

***

So now, I’m free to focus on Christmas craziness. This craziness is quite a bit more fun. I’ve already taken part in some of my yearly traditions… got the Christmas tree (real, of course) up last weekend… pulled out my decorations and lights… when “Santa, Baby” came on the radio in my car, I called my brother first thing and blared it into his cell phone (it’s in the Christmas rotation at Albertson’s and catapults him into an instant state of bitterness every time he hears that little vixen sing her familiar refrain)… these, my friends, are the moments. And then, the shopping!

Julie and I are braving the masses and heading to good ole Kitsap Mall tonight… I figured ten days out is a good time to begin, right?

Here’s how I approach Christmas shopping: with the lowest expectations possible, and a good sense of humor. I don’t even attempt good parking, I head straight for the farthest possible spot approximately ten miles from the door. (Pet peeve: riding with someone who will spend fifteen minutes and a quarter tank of gas driving around in search of a non-existent close spot… heaven forbid we strain our legs in two minutes of low-grade exercise).

When I realize that even these spots are taken, I become creative in determining parking spots. Yep, I’m that person… the jerk who snuck their green Mazda in at the end of the row, where there are no lines denoting an official parking space… I always feel a bit smug at this point as I walk my saucy little self into the mall… like I’ve stuck it to the system. (damn The Man! I park where I want!)

Once inside, the real fun begins. I am addicted to people watching, and second to the airport, there’s no better place than the mall to study the beautiful absurdity that is the human race. The thing with shopping around Christmastime that makes it so precious is that even total nutjobs have to get their near and dear something special from Santa. And I get to stand in line for the cash register with them as they fuss and fume and stomp off screaming obscenities and boycott threats when the poor-overworked-clerk-without-a-lunch-break is out of those free gift boxes. There’s a strange sort of moment the rest of us in that line share as we exchange chuckles and knowing smiles, shaking our heads at the fireworks we just witnessed… for the briefest of moments, we are all the dearest of friends, united by the secret smug enjoyment of knowing that, however crazy we may be, at least we’re not that chick.

Just gives me the warm fuzzies, you know? I love Christmas.

Wish us luck. We may need it.

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Check out my view everyday… well on sunny days anyway… 

it’s the most wonderful time of the year…

There are certain memories that always make me feel, well, a bit more Christmas-ey, full of holiday spirit and a joyful, happy glow.

This precious memory from last winter, forever etched in my mind, is among my favorites.

But Stacey, you may be thinking, look at your poor mother all covered in snow and looking slightly peeved… aren’t you ashamed of yourself?

heh heh heh. the woman got schooled.

this, friends, is what comes of starting something you just ain’t capable of finishin’. if you can’t stand the chill, maybe you should think twice before chucking a well-aimed snowball in the direction of your only daughter, who has quite a decent arm herself.

Oh sure. She put up a decent fight. She did grab me by the jugular, flip me on my back with near super-human strength and rub large quantities of snow in my face. She fought hard, and it was an admirable effort. Props to you, Ma.

But that was before The Rage.

The Rage has been around since my childhood. The Rage is my secret weapon in any fight. It’s genius, really. I let myself get pummeled for just a bit, at which point my red-headed opponent foolishly thinks they are winning the battle. I’ll take some punches. Or snowballs. And then… out of nowhere… a burst of fury. Sheer adrenaline overtakes me and I beat the crap out of anything that dares to threaten me. Such as moms and brothers with foolhardy ambitions of greatness. Or aspirations of winning the snowball fight, for that matter. (Kevin learned a long time ago to fear the Rage. Then he got to be 6′1″ and big boneded and sadly, there’s very little he now fears from me).

Ha! Says I.

Long story short, The Rage took over and there’s really nothing left to say other than that the battle was mine. She tried to run like a scared little rabbit – hoppity hop through the deep deep snow; she even called to Her Husband for help. Her Husband, however, from his excellent location on the porch, was too busy doubled over laughing at her painful predicament, and, of course, capturing the moment on film to be preserved for all posterity. All posterity and random blog entries.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…

Love you Mom. Merry Christmas. (I’m up for a rematch, any day).

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sunset