i felt like writing.
i've got no paper, but i've got a laptop.
ah, progress.

summer has such a wonderfully mundane rhythm to it. it feels like a perfectly worn-in pair of rainbows, or a pair of jeans the second time you wear them after a wash--comfy. it's mid-july, and i can hardly remember last month--or the beginning of this month, for that matter. i adore that feeling.

the odd thing is that in the midst of this comfort, i've been assaulted with this feeling of future. days are passing, and i feel like they are numbered in the midst of their perfect bore. call it the stage of life and blame it on a hyperactive heart residing next to a still soul. their co-existence would seem a contradiction, however, they are working overtime in me. and in tandem. it's all a bit overwhelming.

how do i prepare my heart for a future that's not yet mine? how do i prepare for all situations? there are givens in adult life of which i am taking advantage: marriage, family, house, career, children. what if this is not the direction i'm led? what if He takes me elsewhere?

i've been experiencing the strangest rumblings in the pit of my heart. and i regard them--separate from them yet fully involved in the experience of them--with wonder and trepidation. how could it be possible that i might be led down a life- path that doesn't begin, include, or end with a husband? a baby? a garden to tend? a dog to walk? a grandchild to spoil? or, even more terrifying, how could it be possible that those desires are being removed from my heart? how could it be that i yearn only for the intimacy of the Risen and the marriage of Spirit? how could i not want a husband? a baby? a garden to tend? a dog to walk? a grandchild to spoil?

what am i, a nun?

it is widely understood, but never verbalized in young-adult female christian circles that your success as a woman is based on your marital status. we are married women before we are women. or--shame of all shames--we are single girls before we are women. it seems the message has somehow come across that you aren't a viable contributing factor to the kingdom if your contributions don't come in the form of a godly marriage and the rearing of a godly family.

so, the goal becomes the husband. and we primp and modify and portray and bend and study and work so hard to find what is not ours to find, to orchestrate what is not ours to orchestrate...because we aren't reminded that our hearts are His before they are joined to a man. nobody ever warned us that the desire for something so good, so true, can become as much of an idol as a golden calf.

marriage is meant to provide an opportunity to act out God's love relationship for us. His love doesn't meet us where we are dolled up and batting our eyes in His direction. God's love meets us where we are honest, unfiltered, and true. in beauty and in ugliness. it is there that we are loved, and there that we are of use.

i now recognize what i'm waiting for--an opportunity to live an example of the Relationship--an opportunity to be Love with skin on. nothing less will do. it's just that simple.

in truth, i have little idea of what i want.
but if it brings me a step closer to knowing what is wanted of me, then i will gladly remain clueless.

If I don't stand out like a star among the moons
if I am always late and he always backs away too soon
I walk the world with a skin so thin
I can wear no adequate protection
everything comes crashing in.
If I'm too wide open for this place
but not enough for him to recognize my face

How will he find me
with no one's arms to gather me together?
How will he find me?
Only held by gravity, faded with uncertainty
no longer young and not that pretty
how will he ever find me?

It never seems to matter, the tears I cry.
There's a well inside of me that never runs dry
from being born I guess, and born in life until we die.
The music and the hope for love keep me alive
still I wonder, how will he find me?

How will he find me
with no one's arms to gather me together?
How will he find me?
Only held by gravity, faded with uncertainty
no longer young and not that pretty
how will he ever find me?

And what shall I do with a drunken heart
with goggle eyes and the troubling hunger
reaching forward to trick mirror men
leaning out and in again.
If love is a game how can it be creation?
And if I'm wasting my time
how will he find me?

---the weepies