Broken-down Poetry

Credo quia absurdum

“Not the least of my problems is that I can hardly even imagine what kind of an experience a genuine, self-authenticating religious experience would be. Without somehow destroying me in the process, how could God reveal himself in a way that would leave no room for doubt? If there were no room for doubt, there would be no room for me.” – Frederick Buechner (epigraph to A Prayer for Owen Meany)

—

Today is Good Friday.

I was planning on going to a Good Friday service tonight, since I can’t make it to church on Sunday, but I got the times wrong. I’m frustrated with myself; I don’t really know how to observe the holy day outside of church. Write a poem?

I haven’t gone to church in a long time. It may since Christmas, actually. But as I’ve blogged before, I feel closer to God than I’ve ever been. And as this important holiday approaches, I want to go to church. I want to celebrate Christ with other people! I know, too, that I will go back to church again. This is just a season. As Ruthanne told me long ago, church isn’t just about what you get out of it, but what you give to it. I don’t know what that is yet. I don’t really know how I fit into the Church as is.

So. Here I am.

My Contemporary Lit. class has spent the past few weeks reading and analyzing John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany, which is about this awkward, 5-foot-tall guy who believes he’s God’s instrument, that God tells him things, that he will die a heroic death. We’ve spent those class periods discussing belief; there seem to be different levels of belief within the book:

Owen believes from the get-go.

Johnny doesn’t believe until he sees Owen’s faith lived out and his prophecy fulfilled.

Reverend Merrill doesn’t believe until Johnny tricks him into believing.

We talked briefly in class about Johnny’s and Rev. Merrill’s faiths being shallow, at least compared to Owen’s. But the more I think about it, the less I’m convinced of that. I mean, if you believe, then you believe. Who cares where that puts you on the spectrum?

Last night I had a conversation with my friend Doran about Christianity, and I left crying. I don’t handle confrontation well, nor do I like defending my faith–not like that, anyway. I ran off to meet my lovely roommate Elizabeth, who let me rant and figure things out through that ranting. While drinking lattes.

Why do I believe? I think I believe the way Owen believes. I believe because I always have, and I believe because I’ve seen things and have felt things. There has been proof, but it’s been proof for me, as Kierkegaardian as that sounds.

I told Doran, and I tell Nate and Elizabeth this to: I don’t think proving one’s faith has always been top priority. We are now products of the enlightenment. We are children of the Print Age. We live in modernity. Seeing is believing, right? But I don’t think Eastern Christinity treats what we call apologetics like that. Sometimes you just believe. Rationalism aside.

The folks in the Middle Ages had a phrase for it: credo quia absurdum.

I believe because it is absurd.

I don’t need my faith to make complete sense.

When Nate and I were apart for those two months, I prayed often for him and about him. God reassured me that Nate still loved me. (And, as any rational girl would do, I refused to believe Him. But He turned out to be right.) I remember spending so much time daydreaming about Nate and me getting back together. I had a million scenerios picked out, including one that landed me in a hospital bed.

But then God told me, It isn’t going to make sense.

How we got back together wouldn’t make sense. There wouldn’t be any profound moment. It wouldn’t be with angels; it wouldn’t be with some heroic deed on his part or mine. It would just happen.

And it did. We just–got back together.

After that I started realizing that other parts of my faith don’t need to make sense. I want them to, but they really don’t have to. I don’t need to fully understand the Bible or Christ’s mission on earth. I just need to try to believe, and pray that God helps my unbelief.

As an intellectual (and, I am one) this sounds absurd for me to say. But as Kant pointed out, faith doesn’t have to be connected with rationality. It’s its own thing.

So, no. I don’t have a great defense of my faith. You know, a lot of it relies on personal revelation. Again, is that really Kierkegaardian of me? Yes, it is. Do I wish I had a defense of my faith that at least sounded more intellectual? Uh, definitely.

But I’m okay with this. At least for now, I am.

April 6, 2012  Leave a comment

Things I’m convinced of:

God wants me to love as best way I can (my boyfriend, my family, my friends, my neighbor, my enemies, my baristas).

God wants me to enjoy the beauty of his creation (the sun, the rain, the trees, the bugs, the birds, the people).

God thinks I’m great, just great (he loves my quirks, my theories, my interest, my enthusiasm).

God doesn’t want me to be controlled by anything less than me (sin, food, Hollywood, advertising, anxiety).

God delights even in my stumbles (because he knows that I’m trying, dear Lord, I’m trying).

—

As I’ve spent time separating myself from what I consider legalism (i.e. my school, aspects of the Wesleyan denomination), I’m finding myself more in love with God than I’ve ever been.

I’m questioning more than ever: geez, I have no idea if the Bible is infallible or if Paul is even worth listening to. I’m doing more conventionally “bad” things than I’ve ever done. But still, more than ever, I know that God loves me and forgives me and knows that I’m trying to figure things out. Because I am!

What excites me about The Seattle School is its openness, its willingness to ask why. Instead of separating itself from culture like IWU tends to do, it engages it. Students are taught to see things from other perspectives, other standpoints. I know I can bring my questions there and I’ll be able to wrestle with them without feeling guilty or un-Christian.

I’ve already experienced that. In the two days I spent at the school, I never once felt judged or less of a person/Christian/woman. I was listened to, and loved. Loved!

I wrote on Molly’s wall that I have the worst senioritis ever — I’m Seattle-bound. More than that, I’m ready to embark on a spiritual journey. I don’t mean that in a silly way either: I’m about to leave my Midwest home, my family, my lovely boyfriend, my free rent, to live by myself thousands of miles away. I’m going to be at a school with a different view of spirituality than I’ve experienced here. I’m going to be around more ethnicities. I’m going to be so lonely and scared and empty.

But it’ll be so good.

(Broken, and then you will be made whole. – God, circa 2005)

March 9, 2012  1 Comment

The Seattle School

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves. – Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”

—

This is where I’m meant to be.

—

This blog will be, I think, quite taxing for me to write. I’ve been in Seattle for two days now, and I’ve seen so much – so much I don’t know what to leave in, what to leave out. I’ll do my best. For those of you who’ve known of my obsession with the Pacific Northwest – Renee, Jacque, Nathan (of course), Sophie, Molly, Merz, Sam, et al – I was right about this place. Amazing.

—

DISCLAIMER: In the FWA bathroom I prayed that God would make it clear for me whether or not I’m supposed to be in Seattle. I knew that I had great expectations, but I didn’t want any sort of illusion to get in my way. God, make it so clear. Ten minutes later, our flight was cancelled.

I’m under the impression that God makes door open, and then Satan tries to close them. The important doors were open: Mom’s on board, I’ve felt peace about the school, my mentors are on board, etc. Satan closes are the arbitrary doors: he cancels flights and makes you sit in Atlanta for two days. I believe this to be true.

—

Interview

I was late for the interview day at The Seattle School. My fault. Instead of following directions, I wander. I love wandering; I love getting lost – if I have time to. I didn’t have time to.

I called the school and James – God bless James – helped me find a bus to get me to the school. The head of admissions, Nicole (who looks so much like Miss Nicole Chromey), called me, looking for me. We texted a bit – she promised to stall the interviews.

I got there about 45 minutes late, but in surprisingly good spirits. This was opposition. I expected nothing less.

Rachel, another admissions rep, met me at the door and took me upstairs where the other applicants met and chit-chatted. She offered me water and offered a story about her starting her period five minutes ago. I know what it’s like.

Upstairs we separated into groups almost immediately for our interviews. I was in a group of six girls with a woman facilitator, Talitha, who looks like Cuddy from “House” and was, I’m pretty sure, a subject of Joshua Longbrake‘s photography. I’m pretty, pretty sure.

OK, so this interview was more like a therapy session. Talitha asked us to speak to the topic of body. Alisha, the beautiful thirtysomething with a 9-month-old named Clive Gatsby, began by talking about eating disorders. She started crying. Then I added something and started crying. Pretty much half of us cried. We were sisters. In one hour: sisters.

We talked about vulnerability – I haven’t been that vulnerable in a long time. I’m most honest with myself, God and Nathan. No one else. But these strangers, my sisters, know my darkest insecurities and secrets.

I hung out with those girls the rest of the weekend.

—

Faculty

These are real people. The dean of students and several faculty members spoke to us this weekend – none of them “sold” the school. There were no sales pitches, just real stories from real people.

Even as they talked about what they believe the mission statement to be, I felt like I was learning something. My mind wandered so much as I considered their thoughts on reading Scripture and orthopraxy. These people are smart and so personable. They’re lovers of people and lovers of God.

I hunger for that. I didn’t realize how constricted I felt at IWU until I heard these people speak. I wish I could be honest there. I wish we could write about sex in the school paper. I wish I could write fuck in poetry. Because there’s truth in that. There’s culture.

The Seattle School isn’t afraid of culture, like I think IWU is.

(IWU does a great job of pretending it loves culture. We love diversity! We love different denominations! But cusswords scare us. R-rated movies scare us. Hollywood scares us. Calvinism scares us. Sex scares us. Cigarettes scare us. Homeless and impoverished people scare us. Truthfully, black people scare us sometimes. Am I speaking with unfair generalizations? Yep, a little bit. But there’s truth in all of those – I’ve seen it first hand. Let me pull out my book of for instance….)

As we listened to faculty, staff, alumni and students speak to us, the words openness, intersection, culture, wholeness, good news, tension, conversation came up so much. Also the word shit.

It’s a real word spoken by real people. That word relaxes me. It reminds me that we are people just like non-Christians are people just like the homeless are people just like prostitutes are people.

(My favorite moment: Dan Allender, who is a god and has written several books and is friends with Don Miller, talked with Rachel the admissions rep about her time researching for one of his books. When he found out that she was only 30, he goes “Ohhh shit!” I guess he’s much older.)

—

M.A. of Theology and Culture

They’re changing the name of the program I want to study from Christian Studies to Theology and Culture. How much cooler does that sound anyway?

“Oh yeah, I’m studying theology and culture in grad school. Yeah, no big deal.”

—

Friends

I’ve made quasifriends here already. Like I said, those girls I interviewed with I spent much of the rest of the visit day with. I’ve spent the most time with Megan, the blonde-Caitie Merz, and her friend Krista. They’re both real girls. They’re the kinds of people I want to spend the next two years with.

During the last session of the day, a current student named Dan talked about vocation. And though he read from the awful Parker Palmer book Dr. Allison made us read for Capstone last year, he had us do an exercise I really appreciated. He read to us Mary Oliver’s poem “Wild Geese” (a poem I read in Poetry this year and fell in love with) and had us write down the words and phrases we resonated with. Then we free-wrote a bit about what those words and phrases brought to mind and shared it with the person next to us.

I love that Megan and I were thinking such similar things, yet we approached it in a different way. We see from different lenses. We have different standpoints.

I’m overwhelmed, too, by the people I’ve met here. Mom will agree: They’re all just so nice. I think it’s because they’ve spent time either studying how to love people or want to.

—

Justice

I’m realizing that there’s no way I can do this school justice. No way. I just know that if I were to invent a school, this would be it. Actually, I don’t think it could be. This school is beyond my wildest imagination.

March 4, 2012  Leave a comment

Drafts

“Hard disk: the letter I remembered as embarrassing is OK after all. I must have revised it just before sending. I never confuse what I dreamed with what I actually did, but this is different: which draft am I?” – James Richardson’s “Even More Aphorisms and Ten-Second Essays from Vectors 3.0”

—

I read that poetic aphorism today and it made me sit there for a while. Which draft am I?

If I, Lauren Deidra, am a written story, which draft am I? Or am I an essay, an attempt, who will never reach perfection?

I look at how different I am now than I was freshman year. The essence of me is the same. I am always, like Rabbit, searching for something. That something is usually God, or an aspect of God; no matter what, I’m searching.

I am always a dreamer. I am always ambitious and full of ideas. But still, I am a completely different draft than I was freshman year. I was scared and innocent. I was vain and enthusiastic.

—

I both love and hate the process of revision. Part of me loves it. I like re-envisioning what’s already on paper. What if I change points of view? What if I move this around? What if I make this minor character into a major character? What if I cut this scene out altogether?

Another part of me hates it. Dude, I wrote this stupid thing already. Why add/cut/change anything?

I am a perfectionist insofar as I don’t have to do anymore work. I’m a perfectionist insofar as it keeps being fun.

—

Sometimes I answer those typical college/grad school entrance essays just to test myself – just in case The Seattle School were to ask me, What has challenged you the most in college?

The answer is very simple for me. It’s always on the tip of my tongue: leading the Sojourn.

Why? Well, I know in many ways I am fit for the job, but in others, I’m not. I am not the best writer on staff. I’m not the best editor. I’m not the strongest leader. I don’t know the most about newspapers or media law. I just happened to be on staff the longest and wanted the job the most.

I wonder which draft I am on.

I remember the grading scale for essays in my AP Language course. A nine was the best, an “excellent” paper. My classmates and I always shot for eights and nines on our practice essays. A six was the one I dreaded the most, it was the grade I always received.  It’s hard not to know you’re getting a five or lower; you have to expect it. No one writes that poorly without knowing a bad grade’s coming. But a six?

Sixes were the grade you got when you thought your essay was good, but it wasn’t. You didn’t argue your point well enough. A metaphor or creative technique you used failed.

The description for six called the paper “workmanlike.” I’ll never forget that: “workmanlike.” I get that. There’s a striving behind those letters. There’s an effort put forth that’s so visible to the reader. It looks like you’re trying to be cool. It looks like you’re trying to sound smart.

Sometimes I feel like everything I do is workmanlike. You can just tell I’m not fit for what I’m doing. I put forth a good effort, but in reality, I’m only one point away from doing poorly.

—

In a few months I’m going to start a new life for myself in a far away city – inshallah. I get to start a new draft, inevitably.

I’m thinking about which parts of me I want to take with me. I think there are aspects of an earlier draft of myself, maybe freshman year Lauren, that I’d like to take with me.

I used to really want to be a world changer. I used to pray that God would make me into who He wants to me to. And though those things are still true to me, I don’t think they’re quite on the forefront of my mind. Because, Who cares? There are bigger things to worry about.

I hope, more than anything, that I begin a new draft, a draft that’ll shape me into a better woman. I’d like to meet new qualities about myself. I’d like to be a draft I can recognize as unfinished, but still worthwhile.

February 5, 2012  Leave a comment

Christmas Break Goals, revisited

I know these posts are never that fun to read, but I’m worried that I’m going to get out of the habit of blogging. I was on track through the whole breakup process. I can quit now that life’s awesome! (It’ll probably get not-so-awesome again.)

—

So let’s see how I did:

1. I will read – a lot! I did! I read parts of the The Best American Non-Required Reading 2011, edited by Dave Eggers; I’m Not the New Me by Wendy McClure; I’m Not Myself These Days by Josh Kilmer-Purcell; and I spent hours on McSweeney’s, reading columns.

2. I will write at least three poems and one piece of creative nonfiction. I didn’t do great with this one. I ended up writing a 2,500 word creative nonfiction piece and one poem about hipsters. I also spent much time editing a CNF piece for a writing contest.

3. I will stop slouching. I did this really well for most of break! Then I failed again. As I write this I’m sitting up straight!

4. I will job shadow a British fellow. I did! So fun.

5. I will update my website. I did. I’m not in love with that site yet either. It’s an improvement though, I believe.

January 14, 2012  Leave a comment

Day 60: It’s all over

“It’s like waking up from a dream.”

Today should be Day 60 of the hardest breakup – the hardest season – of my life. It should be Day 60, but it’s not. Because – wait for it – Nathan and I are back together.

In the words of Barney Stinson: “Wud up?”

So here’s how it happened: Saturday night Nathan said he’d like to hang out again soon. We decided on Sunday (yesterday) at South Side Diner. We were there for six hours. We just kept talking and talking about dreams, out-of-body experiences, his family, my friends, our friends, WordPress (shout out!), Marshall McLuhan, marijuana, New Year’s Eve, food/diet, how he’s like Jude Law’s character in Contagion, God/religion/belief, etc.

It felt like an hour, tops.

We left at 11:15 p.m., and went our separate ways. I went home and took a let’s-get-the-South-Side-smell-off-my-body-a.s.a.p. shower and ate a fig bar. We texted, briefly, about how the night was fun blah-blah-blah.

Well, I told him I wanted to hug him. I did. So badly. When we went out to our cars there was an awkward lingering he should have interpreted as “Please hug me, dammit!” but he didn’t. Nathan texted back that he wanted to hug me too.

So, I came over to hug him. And we hugged, but he didn’t let go.

I swear, that hug was like a freaking spiritual experience. I realized 1 second the hug that this is what I wanted – nothing else. I wanted him and his embrace and all that that meant. I wasn’t going to let go either.

We eventually let go – eventually.

And we kissed some and talked for another 6 or 7 hours.

—

Part of me feels guilty. I get whatever I want. I swear, I do.

I know my happiness is my happiness (and, in this case, Nathan’s happiness) and no one else’s. I can’t expect anyone to be excited for me. I know you all have shared with me these 60 awful days, but I don’t expect you to be happy that Nathan and I are back together. Why should you be?

If my happiness relies on your approval, than my life won’t be filled with much happiness.

More on this later, I presume.

But until then, I’m going to spend time with my boyfriend. Round II.

January 9, 2012  Leave a comment

Egotism

“I want people to see me and think: that girl got dumped, but subsequently lost a ton of weight, gained confidence, and lived a pretty sweet-ass life.” – Me, about ten minutes ago

—

Every day is a crossroads. Every day I have to decide how I want to continue on from here. Do I want to pine after Nathan? Do I want to forget about him? Do I want to try to be his friend? I face those three decisions every day – and every day each answer is “yes.” I hate him; I love him; I’m disinterested, all at once.

Yes, this is exhausting.

I noticed today, that I am a pretty sweet-ass person already. No, truly. I know that I have value. I didn’t always believe this; sometimes it’s extremely hard to believe. But in the company of friends I know I have value. (They tell me, and I can finally see it for myself.)

If anything, this breakup has helped me view myself soberly. I used to have pride issues; this isn’t a pride issue. It’s a value issue. I survived the hardest breakup of my life (the worst heartache I’ve felt in 21 1/2 years), yet I still view myself as worthy. I am worthy of a man’s affection. I am worthy of people’s friendship. I am worthy of my God – somehow.

But for once, unlike my pride in high school, I view my friends as wonderful equals and more-than-equals. They’re beautiful. I joke about hating Steven because he’s good at everything, but I’m truly not jealous of him. I admire him. I feel lucky to be his friend.

Gosh, I know this sounds like a lot of tooting-my-own-horn – ha, crazy expression – but this is a big step. This is a big realization for me. Anyone who’s experienced rejection knows what it does to self worth. It crushes it.

Mine’s been crushed, but oh, it’s coming back.

I casually call this post egotism in honor of Anthony Patch and Amory Blaine, two Fitzgerald characters I love and see myself in. They are egotists. They believe they have purpose, even when they are often talent-less. They take pride in their heritage, in their circumstances, in their worldliness.

And characteristically, Anthony and Amory look in the mirror and admire their good looks.

I don’t do that – often. Haha.

January 7, 2012  Leave a comment

A secret astonishment that you are strangers

Yesterday I ran into an old boyfriend of mine, Luke — remember him?

Him: “Didn’t we break up at a Wendy’s?”
Me: “Uh, yes.”
Him: “Over Ashley?”
Me: “Uh, yes.”
(A girl broke up our relationship – go figure.)

Anyway, it was great to see him. We spent a lot of time catching up (and flirting?). I haven’t seen him in years, maybe since I started college. Geez. I’m glad, though, that we could chit-chat for a half hour without it being awkward and uncomfortable. I mean, more than it should be, given that I’m an awkward and uncomfortable person. Haha.

I wonder when Nathan and I will get to this stage: when we’re both surprised to see each other – it’s been 5 years – and there’s no lingering hurt or anger or loneliness that accompanies our seeing each other. I think I gave away the answer: 5 years.

I wrote about Luke on this blog senior year of high school, a year after we broke up:

I feel like I have so many feelings inside of me that I haven’t really taken care of. Instead I have just suppressed them (they’re still inside of me) and I don’t really know what I’m going to do when they’re unleashed.

Two and a half months ago I ended a crush on a guy. But how do you just end a crush without the feelings returning? I read something in Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek that reminded me of this feeling in some way:

“…[A]s you look at a still-beautiful face belonging to a person who was once your lover in another country years ago: with fond nostalgia, and recognition, but not real feeling save a secret astonishment that you are strangers.” [80]

And maybe this feeling isn’t describing that “ex-crush” but a certain ex-boyfriend whose heart I mistreated. We are strangers. I guess that the “just friends” philosophy isn’t much of reality. Oh, I wish it were.

I kind of hate myself for quoting Annie Dillard about Luke – and Ben, my ex-crush – back then. Like I knew anything about heartache! Like I knew anything about an old lover in another country! But I tried to get it, and I give myself credit for that.

There’s still a raging duality within me: there’s the part that’s clinging to Nathan, who wants him to be with me again. That part of me has everything figured out. I know why we broke up. I know why and how this makes sense in the grand scheme of things. I even know how Our Relationship Part II could work and would work well.

And then there’s that other part of me, the realist/fatalist part, who knows that is all useless. He isn’t coming back. If Nathan really wanted to be with me, he’d be with me. The fact that he’s not, means he doesn’t want it. And maybe he’ll never want it. Part of me believes he will, like Jayber, be a bachelor for life.

That half of me also believes no one will be good enough. Luke is great. Luke and I were good together, till things fell apart. But Luke’s no Jones. God, I hate saying that. That fatalist part of me believes no one is as good as Jones. No one. No one. No one.

It’s only been 2 months minus 5 days. How do you expect me to be?

When I see Nathan, it’s not like Annie described it. We aren’t strangers. Instead I think: You should still be my lover! You should be! And I think about those times we spent together and how badly I want them back.

Where do I go from here, I wonder.

—

And, on a completely unrelated note, as I prepared for this post on my way to Midas this morning – my car being in a similar situation as my old one was when I wrote that post about Annie Dillard and Luke, actually – I realized how neurotic my ex-boyfriends are.

Seriously. And I swear every one of them would call himself type-B too. They’re weird with all their quirks. Honestly, that’s what I liked the most about them too. Ha!

January 5, 2012  Leave a comment