A gestalt.

If I just do my thing and you do yours,
We stand in danger of losing each other
And ourselves.

I am not in this world to live up to your expectations
But I am in this world to confirm you
As a unique human being,
And to be confirmed by you.

We are fully ourselves only in relation to each other;
The I detached from a Thou
Disintegrates.

I do not find you by chance;
I find you by an active life
Of reaching out.

Rather than passively letting things happen to me,
I can act intentionally to make them happen.

I must begin with myself, true;
But I must not end with myself;
The truth begins with two.

W. Tubbs, Beyond Perls.  Journal of Humanistic Psychology, 1972, 12 (2), 5.

A Song for Me

So today I wrote a song for you
Cause a day can get so long
And I know its hard to make it through
When you say theres something wrong

So Im trying to put it right
Cause I want to love you with my heart
All this trying has made me tight
And I dont know even where to start

Maybe thats a start

Cause you know its a simple game
That you play filling up your head with rain
And you know you are hiding from your pain
In the way, in the way you say your name

And I see you
Hiding your face in your hands
Flying so you wont land
You think no one understands
No one understands

So you hunch your shoulders and you shake your head
And your throat is aching but you swear
No one hurts you, nothing could be sad
Anyway youre not here enough to care

And youre so tired you dont sleep at night
As your heart is trying to mend
You keep it quiet but you think you might
Disappear before the end

And its strange that you cannot find
Any strength to even try
To find a voice to speak your mind
When you do, all you wanna do is cry

Well maybe you should cry

And I see you hiding your face in your hands
Talking bout far-away lands
You think no one understands
Listen to my hands

And all of this life
Moves around you
For all that you claim
Youre standing still
You are moving too
You are moving too
You are moving too
I will move you

Song For You, Alexi Murdoch

2010

I resolve to look love in the face and fear it no more.

unrelated (related) thoughts

contemplating being alone together. and together, alone.

feeling a little like a waste of space. wondering. why “me?”

will i still have these questions six months from now? a year? when I’m 80?

how will you read my words?

do you want to read my heart? or do you want to read me okay?

don’t call. don’t need. i have no room for you. i have no room for me. where’s my room?

do you ever feel so broken you’re beyond all repair? (do you tell yourself no one is beyond God’s repair? (does it work?)).

does it make you uncomfortable when I wonder if God can fix me? (will he choose to fix me?) do you worry when I tell you I worry… because I don’t know where my trust has gone? was it trust that I seem to have lost? or was it something only called Trust?

what is truth, anyway?

are you worried?

i’m not.

are you capable of joining me in a place that even i feel uncomfortable in–or do you need to fix me first? do i feel happy with you, or do you feel happy with me? which do you prefer?

i prefer that you feel happy with me.
not anymore.

i’m not happy with you. i’m nice. i’m easy to talk to. i’m forgiving. i listen well. i’m wise. i give good advice. i’m lonely. i’m discarded. you tell me you’ve never told anyone. i know you best.

i don’t want to know you best. i want to know me.

who am i?

i am There For You.
not anymore.

would i rather be alone, or alone with you?
lately i think: alone. there i am safe from you.

December 14, 2009

Dear Life,
I only get to live you once. I’ve been thinking about that lately and wondering if I will regret the choices I’ve made. There is so much of me that wants to do everything perfectly so that I can look back on you with no regrets. There is too much fear wrapped up in that kind of relationship with you, though. I’m not typically a big fan of risks, but I’m starting to learn that pretty much all the good things you have to offer are built on a foundation of risk. When I wait too long to make sure a decision won’t hurt, disappoint, betray, or reject me, I usually end up feeling one or all of those things anyway. And then I have wasted that much of my time wondering if I will regret risk. I regret those times. Will I spend thousands of dollars on a Master’s degree, only to find out I don’t want to be a counselor? Will I invest time and love in friendships who will betray me? Will I marry a man who bores me? Will I miss out on knowing my nephews? Will I have children and be happy that I did? Will I ever see my best friend more than once a year? Will anyone I love ever know just how much I do? Will I wonder what Italy is like? Will I wish I had painted more? Will I miss out on all that poetry has to offer? Will I experience New York? Will I make friends with a homeless man? Will I regret it if I don’t? If I do?

I know you aren’t able to answer these questions for me, Life. I’m glad you can’t. Why would I keep on living you if I had all the answers? I have already lived 26 years of you. I have at least one more day. Maybe thousands more days. It seems like so many, but feels like so little. I know I will regret some of them. I know I will feel the sting of betrayal and the emptiness of disappointment. I hope to also feel the healing balm of redemption and the love of grace. Oh, but what a tragedy it would be if I got to the end of you and found that I had risked nothing. Then all you could offer me would be regret.

I hope I love you well.

Kendra

Practicum

I sat today with ten pairs of eyes on me. All of them welled with tears. All of them. I gave them glimpses of my heart. Glimpses. What I saw in their eyes was a deeper sense of sadness than I have ever seen from another for me. Unspeakable heartache for me. Love. It’s good to see you.

one

how is it we all feel like the only lonely one?

year one: boot camp

I talked with my twin sister on the phone this morning. Her husband just finished his basic training with the U.S. Air Force. She got to see him this last weekend at his graduation for the first time in 8 weeks. There was a change in her voice–a peace and relief I haven’t heard in her for a long time. I am struck by how different she sounds when she feels joined with her husband. I believe it is the sound of desire fulfilled. I enjoyed hearing his stories from her. I couldn’t help but feel an ache of empathy for him as she told me about his MTI’s (I think that’s what they’re called), and how they yelled in my brother-in-law’s face in such a demeaning way. It was hard for me to imagine someone treating a man who is kind and soft-spoken in such a way. My sister was delighted to share with me how much her husband had grown since she last saw him, though. “He stands taller and with more confidence… it’s amazing.” Her words were pregnant with a newly awakened pride and respect for her husband (not to say that she was not proud or respectful of him before–it has just grown). We talked about how he learned that he is capable of far more (physically, emotionally, mentally, etc.) than he could have ever imagined, and the impact that was having on him. He has gone through quite a transformation. This I expected. What has caught me off guard is the realization that his change is also her change. I have not thought much about how one person’s transformation can also mean another’s.

As I attempted to envision what “boot camp” was like for my brother-in-law, I found myself feeling like I’ve been in a boot camp of sorts myself. I don’t want to devalue in any way my brother-in-law’s experience–what he has gone through is honorable and far from anything I can understand. However, I’ve become very aware that I am capable of holding far more pain and heartache than I ever knew was possible. Not that I can “stuff” more than I knew, but that I can be aware of it and not use all sorts of methods to hide from it or make it go away. I can walk through the pain and survive. I’m assuming, but I’d guess that in many ways Airmen are stripped of their identities. Who they once were must be shed and left behind if they want to survive in the Air Force. No. Survive is the wrong word–if they want to be an effective Airman. What they once knew about the world does not fly anymore. I can relate. In so many ways I feel stripped of my identity. So much of how I operate in the world is being challenged and is shedding away. What was once okay to do is now not only not okay–it’s dangerous. How I communicate, how I ask questions, am I defensive? What are my motives? Is this for me or for them? How are my needs overriding theirs? Am I manipulating in a way that keeps me safe from them? Was that the right thing to say? Do I apologize? How much do I share? How much is too much? The questions are endless… who am I? Who do I need to be to be effective? Who do they need me to be to help them? It’s an interplay of risk and wisdom. It takes a lot of practice, a lot of help, and even more humility. I’m tired all the time and often feel like the biggest mess there ever was, but… there is hope in me. I don’t stand tall or with confidence yet, but one day my transformation will mean change for another, and that makes this worth it.

A Glimpse.

Here are some pics from some of the times I’ve been able to “play” while not digging myself out of school work!

Finally went to my first Mariner's game! Here I am with my roommate Renee and my new friend Melissa.

I took my nephew Christian to see Where The Wild Things Are. We liked it!

A group of classmates and I went to a farm up in Mount Vernon to pick pumpkins and apples. We had a great time!

My roommate Renee and me.

the healing and haunting of Harvest

Every year I am surprised by how much I love Fall. I’m not sure why I’m caught off-guard by it every year, but I’m glad I am. It’s like experiencing Fall for the first time every year.

This is my first Fall in Seattle. To be honest, I had low (very low) expectations for the sort of Fall this city could produce. It doesn’t get that hot or that cold, which are usually prerequisites for a brilliant Fall. Even as the trees started to change a few weeks ago, I was skeptical. I thought that was as good as it was going to get. However, I have been happily proven wrong as the temperatures drop and the brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows begin to show themselves through the leaves on the trees outside. To experience the view of the UW campus while driving over Lake Union on I-90, to sit in the big comfy leather sofa chair facing the windows in Zoka and look out to see bright reds and oranges to the left and greens and yellows to the right filling the giants windows, to drive through Washington Park Arboretum–the trees in all their splendor… I think, “this is Fall.”

A couple of days ago my roommate and I were talking about how much we love Fall. We mentioned all our favorite things about Fall–the crisp cool air, the colors, the cozy warm feeling of being inside when its cold out, the smells of apple and cinnamon that seem to be everywhere, the unusual desire to bake, the strange craving for hot apple cider, the smell of dying leaves and burning wood. I wondered aloud why Fall has so many “traditions.” It seems like a season of goodness. And it seems ironic that it would occur just as the easiest season to enjoy (Summer) is ending, and the most difficult season to enjoy (Winter) is beginning. Then we remembered Harvest, and how Harvest is naturally a time of celebration. It marked the end of the all the hard(est) work, was the time for people to reap the bounty of it, and gave them a reason to celebrate. I love that God picked this season to be the season of Harvest. Celebration dances around us. Even the trees seem to be celebrating with their display of color. Most plants produce their best fruit for this occasion. It seems a perfect time to celebrate a season of hard work and prepare for a season of rest.

I thought more about this idea over the next few days, and was moved to contemplate how I might celebrate the “hard work” that I’ve done over the last year… and the Harvest that God has done in my life. I wondered how I was displaying my celebration, if at all. It’s a sweet invitation for me to pause in the midst of Readings, WTL’s, and Buber discussions, to reflect on the goodness that is dancing around me. I couldn’t help but smile (perhaps only internally) at the thought of the journey of this last year. What a sweet year it was. I fondly remember the blessing of a new job with the Union Gospel Mission. That job was a place of rest and tender care for me as I was part of a staff team that loved me deeply and fiercely supported me. I was highly valued by this organization and given incredible training that I will forever be grateful for. This job also gave me the security and freedom to begin dreaming beyond it–and I started my pursuit of Grad School. I found MHGS. My response to everything I learned about it was, “this is too good to be true.” My heart seemed to line up with everything about Mars Hill. It wasn’t too good to be true, and on August 1st I moved to Seattle. I left five roommates, a house, and a neighborhood, that I deeply loved in Spokane. I traded it for three new roommates that can’t be compared to my Spokane ones, but who I deeply love in different ways. I moved from a city I enjoyed to a city I am already in love with. In the short two and a half months that I’ve been here I’ve made friends I sense will be in my life for, well, maybe life. I’m in a program I love. I’m being allowed to pursue my dreams and engage in what I’m most passionate about. What a time for celebration!

But even as I am intentional to sit in my thoughts of celebration, I can’t help but be somewhat haunted by the Winter that is looming before me. We’ve been talking a lot about desire in class. The nature of desire is to keep our hearts interested, longing, engaged with something we don’t yet have. I hadn’t occurred to me until just now, but with the celebration of desires met there is a feeling of being stripped and new desires are surfaced. It’s alarming and unsettling. I was pretty comfortable with the desires from before. I was in a familiar place with them. I had done the work I needed to do in order to reach “desire fulfilled,” and all I had to do was wait. Now that the waiting is over, my awareness of other desires that had been lurking in the shadows of my waiting have come into the light, and I am terrified of them. They are familiar, but unfamiliar, too. I don’t want them to go away, for that would be worse than death, but I want them to get out. They call me to feel the pain of realization that I don’t have what I so deeply want.

I suppose the beauty in this is that the memory of the Harvest can invite me to hope that this approaching season of Winter will also have it’s Harvest. I hope for the day when I can celebrate the fulfillment of this season of desires.