Love and madness.

    Growing up is a scary thing. One minute I'm a mess, the next I'm able to look back with a bittersweet smile and see how far I've come. I've been in the looking-back phase lately, and it has come to my attention that I have quite fallen out of love with the idea of being in love.
    When I was younger, I felt like I always had to like some boy- whether he was my friend's older brother or a character from a book or movie. It was a cycle that ended very messily a couple of years ago, when I woke up to the fact that 1) my behavior was destructive to me mentally and emotionally, and 2) it was seriously getting in the way of my relationship with God. So I stopped. Not right away- I ripped the metaphorical Band-Aid off all at once and boy, did it hurt like Hell. It took me a long time to heal, to find something else to focus on, to fill the void in my mind that had once been captivated with thoughts about boys and love and relationships. Thank God He brought me out of that dark place, that I might be more in love with Him than the idea of some boy or another that I barely knew outside of my head. "But by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace\to me was not without effect." -1st Corinthians 15:10 is a verse that I seriously love, and feel practically applies to how gracious God has been to me, and how little I deserve His grace, throughout this messy process.

another translation of this verse that offers somewhat of a different perspective and I kind of love it :)

   I used to be in love with being in love. Actually, let me rephrase that- I was in love with my idea of love. A flimsy idea involving an emotional Prince Charming riding in on a white horse to rescue me from every insecurity and meet my needs with perfect words and kisses on my forehead. I seriously expected every boy I had a crush on to be like that, and because of that I did a lot of damage to myself, as well as to whatever poor boy I liked who didn't kiss my hand or tell me I was lovely. My expectations were so high, and I was so naive, and because of that I ruined too many chances and cried too many tears.
    Looking back I am sometimes ashamed and full of regrets, but I am learning to forgive myself. I really didn't know any better, I was a selfish young teenage girl with her head in the clouds and her heart pledged to a boy who never existed. Now I know that real love isn't waiting for some perfect person to come around and make you happy. True romance isn't needing someone more than you need air, it isn't lovestruck poetry or a wedding band on your finger. Real love is practical; it's putting someone before yourself and working hard because God gave you this one person to love, maybe for forever, and He doesn't play around when He puts people in your life. Love is helping, sacrificing until it hurts because your soul and the soul of your significant other just seem to get each other. There is a certain degree of waiting involved, but not the passively-staring-out-your-window, looking-for-your-prince-to-take-you-off-to-Narnia type of waiting. I think it's a calm sort of waiting, the kind of patience which requires a lot of self-respect and self-control, as well as the motivation to live your life to the fullest, knowing that every day might bring you one step closer to meeting your person halfway but not focusing all of your energy on that hope. It may sound cliche, but true love is a verb.
    At least, these are all my thoughts on love, and I have never really been in love with a guy. These words of mine have come from some years of hard learning- learning from my mistakes as well as the mistakes of others, from taking advice on relationships as well as occasionally giving it. This is my view of love at the moment, and that might change, next week or next year or maybe never. God only knows how right or how wrong I am.
    Am I still a hopeless romantic? Yes and no, because my definition of Romantic is different now. I am no longer in love with being in love, because now I am starting to see love as a serious commitment, and I am not exactly ready for that at all. Maybe it's part of becoming an adult, or maybe my hormones are finally calming down, but when I think about love now it is not in daydreams about my first kiss or my wedding day. It's in touch with reality, in practical thoughts and prayers on how I can guard my heart for now and work towards being a tolerable spouse someday. Maybe everything will change when I find my Person, maybe then it will be easier to think about marriage and everything before and after. But, for now? I'm young and unattached and single as a Pringle. And thank God for that.
--Laura :)

some imperfect thoughts on empathy

    I'm listening to some very poignant piano music I only just stumbled upon somewhere deep within the reaches if the Internet, and it has inspired me to abandon my responsibilities to schoolwork and friends by writing on this blog.
    Truth be told, Paul Cardall (the fantastic pianist I mentioned in the above paragraph) was not the sole reason behind what my conscientious self calls a rebellion. My heart has been heavy lately, and for once it is not because of my own insecurities. I've been chalking all of my recent growth up to entering adulthood- empathy is something you learn as you get older, right? I think I have always been an empathetic person, and it is only now as I become a *shudders uncertainly* woman that I realize what it really meant all along.
    I'm used to the weight of my own issues being heavy. But when bad things happen to other people, in my selfishness I bear their burden, usually without being asked. This is just how God made me, and I am starting to understand that it's okay to be this way, and I should not be ashamed when someone else's demons bring me to tears.
    I am also starting to understand that everyone processes their grief differently. I for one am a talker. I have to talk about things in order to process them; I usually cry while I talk about whatever it is too. My dad, on the other hand, is not like that at all. It's almost painful to watch him make a conscious effort not to talk about his feelings when he's upset. Today, for example, he had to drive me halfway across the state to take care of some college-y business in his hometown. Since it's my grandmother's birthday I suggested that we visit her grave while we were in the area. And so we entered the cemetery under the deepening blue of the April sky, and we hunted for my grandparent's dual headstone, finally finding it nestled as always between the little prickly bushes my dad planted himself after my grandfather died. We stood before their graves, no flowers or gifts to leave as a token of our visit. Dad kind of started to cry, and I started crying because I'm a sympathetic crier, and when one of your parents cries it's really hard not to start crying too, because you know something is really wrong or sad when even your biggest sources of comfort cannot keep it together. But Dad said nothing and started walking around, finding graves of old family friends and neighbors. All I wanted was for my daddy to explain his grief or hug me or something, but like I said, Dad is not a talker. And in that small moment in the cemetery I realized: sometimes you just need to let sad people be. Not everyone expresses their emotions, and sometimes the best you can do is just be a shoulder, a silent presence while they cry it out.
    But you can be there for someone too, if they let you. Even if you are incapable of offering a physical shoulder for them to cry on, you can still send them a note or a text that simply says "listen, I don't totally understand what you're going through, but I still love you and I'm praying for you and if you need anything, I'm here." Sometimes, that is just enough.
    For me, sharing the grievances of others is a humbling experience. It makes me realize time and time again how sheltered I am, and how grateful I am to God and my parents for sheltering me, preserving my innocence for as long as possible so that I may be ever more sensitive to the issues of others when I learn of them. It has also come to my attention that I do not, in fact, know everything- I know next to nothing, tragically. And most of the nothing that I think I know has to do with my prejudices against other people. I judge people too readily, which is probably why I am so often brought to my knees when I learn of the struggles of those around me. Empathy makes me realize how little of a person I am, yet reassures me of the greatness of the God whom I hope to emulate with my whole life.
    So, the moral of this post? Firstly, piano music makes me want to change the world, pursue my passions, and fall in love. And also, it's okay to get emotional for other people, to be happy for them when they are happy and sad for them when they are sad. Some people need to know when you feel for them, and others would rather not. But don't be afraid to shed a tear or say a prayer when someone else's problems become too much for your heart to bear.
--Laura :)