Hazards of Having a Big Heart

1. You fall in love with people quickly and deeply.
2. You fall in love with places quickly and deeply.
3. You grieve deeply with people you've just met.
4. Your heart breaks when moving away people and places.
5. You want everyone to know how beautifully amazing they are.

Okay, so these aren't all hazards... bear with me. 

Come Home

Last week was full of mourning.
A few things were legitimate, the loss of one of my very best friends in high school, Caleb "Bubba" Manning, as well as the loss of my stepfather in the same year.
Two years now.

And although the third is just as legitimate, I spend a lot of time dwelling on it.
The loss of a relationship I've never known.
A relationship with my biological father.

It came on suddenly. I felt somewhat mopey and I thought it'd pass.
We'd spent the night in my church study talking about our names, the phrase "children of God" and what we, as Christians, stand to inherit.
I felt fine.
And then I read this post by Donald Miller.
The mopey-ness turned into a wave of grief, of loss, of want.
I spent that night crying, and the rest of the week reading more of Don Miller (I had committed to finishing Father Fiction) and taking time to actually engage with the deepest wound I feel I possess.

And it was ultimately through the grief, the knowledge of the Truth of being loved with an unending love, a love I cannot fathom...all while wrestling with all of my insecurities and questions,
came this.

It was like a breath of fresh air. To not just feel loss and want of something I never had, but to actually work through it. It was a small victory despite the pain. The first time I actually saw something beautiful come out of the pain, the hurt, the messiness.

I'm not saying a neat little (or big) bow was tied. The week got harder, there was more God wanted to work through; more I didn't want to show him. I wanted to avoid the pain of touching my bruise.

I personally thought we were done. I thought the band aid had been secured and I was free until the next time symptoms of this severed relationship popped up again.
I was wrong.

I like music; I like listening to music before I go to bed.
I decided to listen to a song I had listened to, and really liked.
"Come Home" by OneRepublic and Sara Bareilles.

And although I doubt the song is meant to illustrate a little girl's plea for Daddy to come home, that is just what it meant for me.

come home, come home
'cause i've been waiting for so long
so long

and the fight for you is all i've ever known

That phrase stopped me, "and the fight for you is all I've ever known". It made me think that is the way I've lived my life. My fight for my father is all I've ever known. I don't know what it looks like to live without fighting for my father. I've lived my life waiting, yearning, wondering about my father. Wanting my father.

And then I saw myself. I saw myself standing in front of my earthly father, Jesus standing between us. The song still played in my ears, and I saw myself reaching around Jesus, reaching for my father. My reach was close, but far enough that I couldn't actually touch him.
My reaches became frantic, slamming my body against Jesus' undoubtedly bruising myself. Hurting Jesus in my zeal to reach my dad.

Wanting so much for my father to come home. Come home to me.

And suddenly I lunged one last time.
One final reach for my father.
And almost as if I knew it wouldn't be enough, my final reach melted into Jesus' body.
Weeping, I finally allowed Him to embrace me.
My brokenness, my dreams, my pursuit of redemption.

I spent the next day sitting in that.
How much time have I dwelled on what I don't have instead of what I do?
I've spent years letting the lack of this relationship define who I am, instead of letting the reality of my Heavenly relationship tell me who I am.

I had to realize that my non-existent relationship with my biological father
is a part of my story,
it's not the story.

I can look forward to the journey my Papa is taking me on,
the adventure He has for me,
the people and places I love meshing into one.
The untold story of the woman I am becoming.

And for what's to come,
I give Him all the glory.

Amen.

Canta.

Singing is my vulnerable spot. Probably because I enjoy it (a lot) yet don't feel like my voice holds a candle to the rest of the voices surrounding me.
So when my friend, E said it was finally time to perform this song ("Let That Be Enough" by Switchfoot) outside of his room, for more than five of our closest friends, I said yes. However, I didn't think that Senior Catalyst (InterVarsity's large group gathering put on by the Senior class every year) would be the biggest risk I ever did take in BCF.

That Thursday night was me putting myself out there (I felt the most vulnerable I've ever felt); knowing I wasn't the best singer in our class, that my voice would not be flawless, but deciding to sing anyway.

Singing because I have a story to tell.

A story of redemption- singing with the man that has challenged my mind and caused me to check the motives of my heart. Not to mention that he aggressively encouraged me (for about a year) to do this song. I could not have done it without him. I have learned to much of God's love through him, and learning what it means to live in the constant want of letting God's love be enough for me.
A story of grief- the first time I heard this song was five days after my stepfather passed away, liking this song, and having the melody and the line, "I'm a plane in the sunset with nowhere to land," stuck in my head for a long time after initially hearing it.
A story of healing-a year after, seeing the ways God has been doing a healing work in me. Shattering guilt, shame and reminding me that I am His. That his love is constant, no matter what I fail to do and no matter how I mess up.
My story- it has become a story of dependence on Jesus. Learning more and more what it means to follow him in the moments when I don't know what comes next, the moments when I'm tired, the moments when I think he doesn't know what he's doing.

My life and my story has become this song, and may that be enough.


Amen.

grief.

it's found its pockets in my life.

[i'm learning the places where it tends to hide, but kind of like the fact that i don't know.
i'm too much of a coward to intentionally face grief and its implications.]

this week especially.
no, i don't like seeing my friends in pain, especially if it reminds me of my own.

this week seems to be especially painful.
my friends are feeling grief in losing loved ones.
i feel that pain as well.

i feel for you and with you, my friends.
i just wish i could be of better comfort to you.

Remembering Caleb "Bubba" Manning

Bubba-
I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for always hugging me during our first passing period of the day. You don't know how much that meant to me. It was a time when I felt invisible, and for that brief time that we talked as we stalled walking to our class, you made me feel visible.
I remember sophomore year, sitting in Ancient Civilization and venting at how pointless we thought the coursework was, you making faces from across the room and making me laugh. You always made me laugh.
I didn't quite know it at the time, but a lot of my high school memories have you in them, memories that remind me that someone did care about me in high school. Somehow you knew that I needed a tall friend who would hug me and make me laugh. I only wish I could have told you that sooner.
I miss you, buddy. A lot. I miss having to look up in order to see you face to face, your hugs that always came at the right time, your sense of humor, and your genuine concern for the friends in your life.
I know that you're in Heaven, but that doesn't undermine the fact that I wish I could see you, talk to you and return the favor of making you laugh as much as you did me. I pray that you're having a ball; swimming, playing water polo and doing everything that you loved when you were here. The grief eases up a bit when I think I'll get to share Paradise with you one day.

-Sol

when it's kinda late...

i wonder what comes next.

are You asking me to let go?
to grieve?
to jump into more, another challenge?

i honestly don't know.

all i know is that it feels pretty overwhelming; i know you don't dish out more than i can handle and i feel i am at that breaking point.
i see and feel you all around, but it's difficult. quite difficult.

you're probably right, i need more time with you. time i've neglected to give in order to avoid these questions i don't necessarily want answers to.

we'll see how it goes.