trincessity tales

I’m tired of being someone who “struggles with depression.”  I’m through with that.  All the things I have learned in my life so far—I can’t count them.  God is telling me something the size of the world.  He has always been telling me.

He saved me when I was little and alone and hurt.  His angels brought me miracles every night.  He saved me every day in my loneliness and pride.  He saved me from myself.  He saved Mitch from blindness.  He saved Em from curiosity and the edge of the cliff.  He is Aslan, touching his nose to mine, and breathing in my mouth.  “Little one, will you be brave now?”  He is saying, like in that story Em told me, “Dave, does God need to break your legs AGAIN??”  He is telling me his promises are real, and my sins are forgiven.  Just BELIEVE, oh you of little faith.  He is roaring, and telling me to GIVE IT UP ALREADY.  He is Mitch, saying, “Oh get over yourself already, T.”  Laura saying, “Have you ever heard T admit she was wrong?”

I AM getting over myself.  It is all about Him.  I can’t be sad in the face of that.  I used to think it was beautiful and mysterious to be depressed.  Now I know it’s selfish and stupid, and completely immature.  Em has made me ashamed.  She is barely a Christian, and little wet kitten of faith and trusting baby love, and she has already shared her faith several times.  I don’t know that I EVER have, because I have used this sin of sadness, disguised as a personality trait, as an excuse.  Get over yourself already, T.  I have let myself be crippled by memories and misplaced fear, by excuses and frustration and self-loathing.  How many times does He have to prove Himself to me?  This life is not a story about me, and that makes it beautiful.

I was thinking how real God is the other day.  He is alive in anything and everything.  I see His presence in the sunset driving home, and breathe it in those quiet moments in the car.  How can anyone not believe in Him?  I was telling Dubie how Christianity is not a faith you can divide up into subcategories—how it is not something you can separate from the rest of your life, like, this is my at-home category, this is my school category, and this is my God category.  Or, “just keep him out of this for once, and tell me what you think apart from your religion.”  Then I realized I was talking to myself, not her.  God is not a religion.  I need to remember that.  God lives in our hearts, and follows us into everything.  He has seeped out of my heart and down my arms and out of my eyes and he is filling the room around me.  How could I ever hide or deny him?

There is so much beauty and responsibility in the world opening up before me, a free woman of 22 in love with God.  There is so much I have yet to do, and nothing that I have to do.  I could be anyone.  I want to learn to sing and play the guitar.  I want to become a masseuse.  I want to sketch the people and places of the world.  I want to live in a revelation of color.  I want to learn about everyone everywhere.  I want to grow closer to Em.  I want to share the gospel without fear.  I want to become fearless and free.  I want to write amazing things, write books and sit on the beach sketching the ocean.  I want to fall hopelessly in love, and have amazing sex.  I want to get big and full of a baby.  I want to see Egypt.  I want to wander the streets of Israel.  I want to make friendships that are deep and lasting.  I want to get old and happy and have grandkids.  I want to find so much joy and excitement in my own life that I don’t need to escape into others’ in order to smile so big I still feel it on mouth in sleep.  I want to be there for my family.  I want to make them all proud.  I want to never be bored or restless.  I want to work so hard I’m exhausted in a good way every night.  I want to be always full at every moment, knowing I am a creature made by a great Creator, and everyone is eternal and there is no need to fear because He cares.

So no more excuses.  No more bouts of depression.  No more self-indulgence.  Tomorrow is today and it is time to live for God, with no fear, with unbridled all-encompassing joy.

Here’s a lyric creative non-fic essay I wrote this quarter….

What I’ve needed to write is something about driving through the wind, my hair, my sun-burnt skin, the triangle of moles on my left wrist, the thick swallow over a hot dry tongue. It is about prayer. It is about waking up without a dream. What I’ve needed to say is something about the sticky juice of an apple running down my chin, and the airplane I saw painting the sky white, falling down towards the city. It is about the years I have forgotten. It is about how I wish I could hurt you.

I am my sister’s hamster, brown and white inside a ball, trying to find a way into the mirror. No matter how many times I run this plastic sphere into the glass, I won’t learn. Let me out—let me in.

I have never learned to speak. Read the rest of this entry »

An creative non-fiction essay I wrote for class.

Last night I dreamt I found it in my pocket. In the dream I was older and could fold origami. In the dream I stood suddenly still—looked down, noticed it nestled there like a little cat. It thrummed with a certain yellow glow just bright enough to shine through the pocket fabric. I almost reached down to touch it, but at the last moment dropped my hand.

I thought I should have found it when I moved into this house. I had a key in my pocket as proof. I felt so confidently sexy walking up the front steps that hot summer day, the red of my tank top spilling into the air around me and coloring everything I saw. This is the start of my life as I know it, I thought to myself, and laughed in a very mature way at everything Sarah said. I signed the lease with a flourish. Read the rest of this entry »