Rambling silence

There's a one-panel cartoon about introverts that shows a stick figure with bulging eyes stating, "I'd love to hang out but I have to go sit in my house by myself."

And as terrible as that may sound to some, it's sometimes true. I like to be alone. I  will admit I have occasionally turned down someone's invitation because, honestly, I'd rather go sit in my house by myself. Of course I wouldn't pick that over friends every time, but a few quiet hours to read or just putter with a project can be bliss.

Matt's been out of town for 4 days this week, so I decided to spend my evenings sorting through 2 huge plastic tubs and various drawers full of papers, letters, and miscellaneous memorabilia that we've toted around from house to house over the past few years. (All of it is mine - he doesn't save things the way I do.)

As I sorted I found a lot to throw away: old brochures, cards that were torn or just not that meaningful, school papers that I know I have as digital copies. I threw out trinkets and ticket stubs and notebooks full of unorganized thoughts. I saved Christmas photos and discarded the cards; I sifted through programs and posters of plays I'd been in, saving one or two of each instead of a stack of six. Some souvenirs I set aside and vowed to actually scrapbook. Others I just threw out. 

But I saved all the handwritten letters from my best friend during his summer at boot camp. Letters and cards and colorful drawings from my mom and siblings during my 4 years at college. Encouraging notes written by friends. College brochures with our pictures in them. Half-finished journals, many pages still blank when they were discarded for newer, fresher ones (that would end up just the same). And try as I might, I couldn't throw away any card from my grandma, even if it just said, "love, Grandma" on the inside. It's been almost seven years since she's been gone, but...keeping them for a few more won't hurt.

Only one or two of the handwritten items were from my husband - most of our communication has been digital. After we first met we spent a lot of time talking through instant messaging (even though our dorms were only a parking lot apart). We emailed during the summers I spent nannying. We had a lot of relationship-defining conversations through digital media. Even now, if we're fighting or not communicating, often my first thought is to type up my arguments/issues instead of sitting face-to-face discussing them. I know this hasn't been the best way to handle things. I'll write it but end up keeping it to myself, and our silences fade back into every day life without actually being addressed head-on, which encourages them to rise up, worse, again and again.

Being an introvert, putting things down on paper is often easier for me than actually saying them. And the convenience of a computer means I can pound out words as quickly as they enter my head, be they angry, poetic, thoughtful or chaotic. Taking the time to write something by hand, or mustering the courage to actually say them, is probably much smarter. A couple of years ago I took part in a Bible study that encouraged writing out the entire book of James by hand. Writing it by hand makes you more involved than just reading it, stated the instructor. It takes time and imparts more meaning.

To bring this rambling introspection to a close, I will continue to sift through saved memories and attempt to create more for our future. More handwritten notes. More photos. More indications of things my husband and I will do together and apart over the years. But mostly, I hope, together.   

Unquiet

     Quiet time. 

     To most people that sounds like a very peaceful part of the day: early morning with a nice cup of tea, a devotional book with flowers on the cover and a big comfy chair.  Everything is right with God and it’s time to reflect on Bible passages you’ve already memorized and can instantly apply to life’s moments. But what if flowery, placating words only increase bitterness? What if conversations with God have been limited to “why?” Or worse – and more realistically – if they haven’t existed at all?

     I shared with a dear friend that I am going through a time of bitterness, anger and hurt. This dear friend recommended starting “quiet time” by shouting and venting to God – not AT God, not blaming Him for everything, but venting, sharing, releasing hurt and frustration. Just saying it to Him directly can begin the healing. Then turn on worship music, she said, and turn it up loud. Listen to words of praise for Him, even if you can’t say them yourself yet. Go to the Psalms. Read them even if nothing jumps out. Do it again. Do it again. Do it again. Do this every day, and God will begin to speak to you: through the music, or the words on the page, or the way your words to Him begin to change. Day after day talk to Him and read His promises, even if they mean nothing to you at first. Finding peace through God won’t happen in a day. And once it’s found, it won’t stay without work. 

     Last night I tried. I closed the door, pushed the coffee table into the corner and sat on the floor. I laid out my Bible and put on my playlist, a mere 7 songs. A lot of worship songs tire me with their repetition, so I tried to pick a few with lyrics I knew were personally meaningful. I closed my eyes and screamed. My husband was home so I didn’t scream out loud, but I screamed and screamed and screamed inside my head. Ranting about the past few weeks, the past 4 years, the years to come. Raving because I can go from loving my husband to despising him in mere seconds, and it is hardening my soul. Blaming myself for letting this cycle roll on and dig up pain I didn’t know existed. 

     Everything has turned to hatred. Even writing, one of the things I love, has become the enemy. He exists right now in a vast world of words and yet never asks or seeks out mine. Even writing this causes the bitterness to rise. Has he ever cared or encouraged my words? My focus turns away from God and inward into hate so quickly. Bitterness and bitterness and bitterness.

     Song lyrics told me of a husband’s desire to lead with strong hands, and I cried because I have no trust or respect for my husband. I want to be led and yet I deem him unworthy. We don’t agree. We don’t work towards the same goals. We exist alone beside each other. And I need God to show me how this will change. 

     A verse stood out that said as I cry out with my voice, He hears me from upon His holy hill. I wrote it down. I closed the book. Turned off the music. Got up. Went out. Made dinner. The bitterness remains.

      I’ll do it again. And again and again and again. It’s the least and the most all at once. 

interlude #2

So here we are:
It's like we never really left the start.
Time heals the wound,
But then there's still the scar...
To remind us of the way it's meant to be.

I'll sing a song:
A melody for what has come and gone.
Try to convince the choir to sing along...
Here's to tomorrow or
Whatever gets you by.

- "Whatever Gets You By," The Features

lyrical interlude

I think I need a new story...

ONE WHERE I TAKE ON THE WORLD.

The one I'm living is boring,

IT'S KILLING YOU AND ME BOTH.

- "You and Me Both," The Classic Crime

Singing

I was in Target the other day when I heard singing. Not murmured, humming-along-with-the-radio singing, but singing. Bold, rich singing coming from somewhere across the store.And this wasn't pop star singing.

This was auditioning for the opera singing.

I looked around trying to find the source...it was the cart boy.

I'm not trying to sound mean or aloof, but that's exactly who it was. The young, gangly, shaggy-haired teenager pushing a line of carts into place by the door. I stood stock-still by a rack of clearance earrings and listened to him sing with abandon. He finished with the carts and moved on, his voice fading in the distance. Does he take lessons? Does anybody know? It was a very Good Will Hunting moment except I had nothing to offer him, no contract promising a future of fame and fortune. All I could do was listen silently and appreciate.

Thank you, cart boy. I hope one day your on-stage banter includes telling the story of when you used to work at Target and surprise the shoppers with your soaring voice until the fateful day a talent scout handed you their card and said, "Call me, kid. You've got what it takes."

A #*$%@*& Situation

I’ve never been a fan of bad language in movies. There are times I can get past it, for the most part, but I never fully justify it: a movie like “The Town” bombards you with constant f-words but is also set in a very rough environment with some very messed-up people. And while that’s still not an excuse, it makes it a little more understandable. In that situation I will usually say something like, “It’s a very good story, but the language is terrible," meaning that I think the story could have been told just as effectively without it.

A few months ago I started working at an office where it’s common to hear s- and f-words every day. I had never before been exposed to bad language on a daily basis - if someone I know (or myself) uses it, it’s during times of pretty extreme anger or frustration. But at this job the words slip out from my coworker’s mouths like any other adjective or exclamation, punctuating times of anger, frustration, excitement or casual commentary.

Some people are able to tune it out or become desensitized, but it weighs heavily on me. I cringe internally every time. “Jesus Christ” used as a curse word is the worst - it makes me feel sick.

A few weeks ago Matt and I turned on a movie he’d wanted me to see for a long time. It was about the underworld of high-stakes poker, so obviously none of the characters were shining examples of humanity, and the cussin’ was strong and constant. We got about halfway through before I got up, shut myself in the bathroom and cried. I just couldn’t take it. It was almost like a panic attack - every f-word and JC doubly heavy since I’d spent all day hearing the same thing.

I’m not expecting to live in bubble or “require” people to never curse around me, but it makes me thankful to live most of my life around people who don’t swear just because they can. It wasn’t ingrained into my vocabulary as a kid. I’ve never felt pressure to use bad language to “fit in” or “be cool.” And if there are kids around and someone’s swearing, I’m not afraid to say, “Hey, stop it. There are kids here.” That may seem old-fashioned, but I still believe it matters.

Superheroes

The following excerpt taken from Slate.com’s article “In the Aurora Theater the Men Protected the Women. What Does That Mean?” *

At least three of the 12 victims of the [Aurora movie theater] shooting died because they were physically protecting the women they came to the movie with. Alex Teves, 24, used his body as a shield to cover his girlfriend. He was shot, and she survived. Matthew Robert McQuinn threw his body in front of his girlfriend, Samantha Yowler. He too was killed, and she was pulled to safety by her brother, Nick Yowler. Jonathan Blunk, 26, pushed his girlfriend, Jansen Young, under a seat. Again, he was killed, and she got out after the shooting was over.
...Papers have described what happened in the theater as "chivalry." But it's not really that. Chivalry is a code of conduct connected to social propriety. Throwing your body in front of your girlfriend when people all around you are getting shot is an instinct that's basic, and deeper. It’s the same reason these Batman and Spider-Man franchises endure: Because whatever else is fading away, women still seem to want their superhero, and men still seem to want to be him.
_____________________________________________________

Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises is honest, painful, triumphant, tragic. It shows the difference a few good people can make against an overwhelming onslaught of evil, and that those good people are just as flawed as the rest of us - Commissioner Gordon lives a lie for 8 years, Bruce Wayne hurts Alfred again and again through his selfish acts, Selina Kyle has a dark past she just can’t shake. Nobody good is perfect, and nothing evil is undefeatable. Rises is intense and painful without the manic brutality of the second movie in this series, and real enough to make you stop and think “what if?”

The weekend after the Aurora shooting I read many, many news articles detailing the attack and aftermath. I had read that the attacker entered the theater and set off his gas bombs just as two bombs exploded on-screen. I saw the movie on Monday night, and as that scene approached I found myself tensely watching the exits at either corner of the screen. I told myself nothing would happen...but at the same time, I couldn’t be sure.

Later in the film Bane sets off a massive explosion in a crowded arena and his thugs swarm the stands, preventing anyone from fleeing. I cringed and tensed because even amid the fantastical elements of a superhero story, it felt real. A very similar event had just happened; on a smaller scale, yes, but a masked stranger has burst in without warning and taken lives. The real-life attacker didn’t bring down a city, but he did enough. What was entertainment before had become a reminder of real life. 

Many themes in The Dark Knight Rises mirror those in Charles Dickens’ French Revolution classic A Tale of Two Cities, and at one point a main character even quotes the book’s heroic closing passage. The lines he reads are the last words spoken by a man about to die, a man who has taken the place of another at the guillotine. For a large section of the film the citizens of Gotham must provide their own protection, their hero missing. One police officer hides behind closed doors as an epic battle approaches, yet ultimately chooses to join the valiant men he had led before, during times of peace. A reviewer from Relevant Magazine’s website** remarked that The Dark Knight Rises is “a morality tale and a mortality tale,” which I believe sums it up very well.

If the men in the Aurora theater had time to think at all, something inside each of them must have said, “if you do this, you could die,” and they did it anyway. They protected their girlfriends. Their wives. Their children.

They didn’t have time to plan. It wasn’t part of a script they had rehearsed. When given the split-second choice to save themselves or protect the ones they loved, they chose the latter. They weren’t wearing armor and had no special powers, but they were superheroes, plain and simple.






*http://www.slate.com/blogs/xx_factor/2012/07/23/aurora_dark_knight_shooting_the_men_protected_the_women.html

**http://www.relevantmagazine.com/culture/film/dark-knight-rises