surrender

This girl.
This person of the female gender,
Is needing to, ready to?
Surrender.
So bend her, break her, but please oh Lord,
Mend her.
You don't condemn her, you come in her,
You enter.
Resonate, dissipate but continue to create,
You’re a mender.
You meant her.
When you picked her, designate her, as a lover
You love her,
But she,
This girl,
Must surrender.

Intoxicated... seeking the sobering grace.

I can breath easy here, oxygen flows freely. I can clear my mind, the noises here seem to attract and never distract from God's presence. I can see the stars, even the sky is clear of smog and city lights that pollute our vision.

This place is full of untouched beauty, the purest setting for a deep detox. We are all such intoxicated beings. Always under the influence of something. But what does it look like to strip those toxins from us? Are we able to deprive our minds, or our bodies of the things we think bring us satisfaction? Or are we addicted? Do we seek them to bring comfort? Do we crave these things? Are we slaves to these masters? Do we feel trapped, caught amidst the stormy seas as we loose sight of the one walking towards us?

The freest I could ever be would be to never feel the pulls of the things that intoxicate me. To never feel the pollution in my thoughts, to never let them grab control, grab my foot and watch me slip under water.

But this place, its pureness, brings such a clear image of freedom. For where the Spirit is, you are free, you are detoxed. This is a place for renewed minds to cultivate, generate, and contemplate the pureness of the Spirit that is in control. The Spirit is in control.
"For if you live according to the sinful nature, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live, because those who are led by the Spirit of God are daughters of God. For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of daughtership."

So let us be.
Be still and know that You are God. You are the Truth that finds our intoxicated beings somehow beautiful enough for your sobering grace.

Back in Renaissance Times

I haven't macro blogged for awhile now.... it's been since the "lost heart" entry. Well, I think it has been found, but I'm not too sure about the condition.

My "so called" life for the past year now has been separated by compartments, two week spans, and land borders. I have been here in Lake Hughes for almost two months and I have found myself once again calling a quite foreign place "home."

This summer I am living at THE OAKS camp as the arts and crafts director. Our theme for the summer is THE KINGDOM. I have been in charge of much of the behind the scenes work in transforming our camp into a medieval kingdom filled with God's princesses and knights from the inner city.

It makes sense to me that I was struggling so much in the beginning of being here. A couple weeks ago I repeated the same thing over and over again, in my head, in prayer, saying "The kingdom is already here, and you had nothing to do with it." "Tricia, the kingdom is already here, He is already reining, even if the sets are not finished." "He is already in control, even when you fight Him." "His love is already changing everything, turning things upside down, even when you are being stubborn/ unchanging." " The kingdom is already here and you had NOTHING to do with it."

The Oaks is no Italy, but Italy is no The Oaks. But luckily this kingdom I have been talking about is not separated by land borders, two week spans, or compartments. It reins in my life.... not just my "so called" life.

Italy has come up in conversation, because of my necklace, art interests, our theme, or my longing, I am not sure. I might go with theme on this one though. One of the things I learned in Italy and have been reminded of plenty of times here, is that I am a theme girl. I like the cohesion of outfits, decorations, and well, life lessons.

Lesson number one for The Oaks then is..... dun da-da-dunnnnn!!!! :

If Florence is the birth place of Renaissance art, then The Oaks is a safe home for new born artists.

(Renaissance means "re-birth")

More to be explained soon.... for now, I'm taking baby steps.

where the heart is

So I have been home in "the village" for a little over a week. I have been soaking up the sun, going for long walks around the neighborhood, catching up on movies and tv shows, and eating a lot of Mexican and avocado themed foods. I'm headed to camp in three days! SOOOO exciting.

But I think I'm starting to run there.

.... Basically. Ish hit the fan at home. Some of my friend's actions aren't really friendly... to say the least. . . I get it, though, we are moving on. Well, now I know I am. . . . and well. My church hasn't quite felt like one of the places I come home to, maybe my membership is expiring. And my family...well they will always be my family. But home is just not quite as familiar....homey.

This is all over the place, I know. But that is fitting. I am all over the place. Literally. Part of my heart is in Italy, part is at school, part is at camp, and well of course the majority is home at the moment. So I think it is safe to say, or maybe scary to say, that my home is all over the place. I'm pretty displaced.

Yes, Lord. I know this is the perfect time. for You to be my home, my comfort, my heart holder..... and as I look at all the ish that surrounds this place at the moment, (awful imagery), I realize here lies Your glory. Sick..... but really.

God has spoken to my reluctant ears in several ways today:

Today's reading in Oswald Chambers' "My utmost for His highest" is titled "The delight of despair." The passage concludes with this "if I am ever to be raised up it must be by the hand of God. God can do nothing for me until I recognize the limits of what is humanly possible, allowing Him to do the impossible."

A friend texted me today reminding me that God's strength is in our weakness. He also said this as he prayed for me via text "I pray that you give her strength.... I'm afraid her heart is hurt and she may fall away from you" (because of all the ish) "but I pray that she desperately seeks you with all her heart and I pray you will please her for that."

God, please answer his prayer. You are in the mist of the ish.... YOU are in my heart. You (home) are where the heart is.

"don't act like you know me"

so ever since i wrote the entry about the ting tings lyrics, not only has the song been stuck in my head but so has the message i got from it.

i mean it was great to grasp that concept on paper (or in blog post) but actually applying it? well i failed. . . or at least got a "D."

i was so good at walking around campus, song blasting through my ipod speakers into my ears, empowering me to look anyone in the eyes that called me a name that i'm not and say "don't act like you know me, that's not me name."

but the part i failed at, at even seeing, until recently when it was thrown in my face, was that i call myself the wrong name. i mean you pick the area of my life, i most likely have it wrong. so much for "finding myself abroad" right? wrong again. i think.

this all became clear D-day, or the day i got my grades back. this semester, as many of you know due to my complaining, was insane, but i was excited for the challenge of being back in upper level SPEA classes and starting the honors program. and as i planned out my senior year of college my course load was pretty intense but i knew i could handle it. . . . i mean i am an honors student.

well that ish all hit the fan when D-day came. yep. got my first D in college and got tossed right out of the honors program due to the drastic drop in my GPA. since i found out. i've been trying to figure out what that "D" stands for... some things have come to mind. the first being -Damn. then -Defeat. then "Damn teacher" as my mom said. "Don't worry" was another consoling response. but as much as i would love for it all to stand for something, i'm pretty sure this is just another application of "that's not my name." my name is neither "D- is for dumb" nor is it "honors student." the latter is the hard part. what if i'm calling myself something good? honorable? is God telling me that i can't define myself even by good things? i mean it's a good thing. honorable, pure, pretty, worthy.... these are good words, God. why wouldn't You let me call myself that?

okay so i'm not aloud to define myself by anything, good or bad. i get it now i think. and i think i'm ready to apply it all this time. easier typed out then done.
it's a pretty low place to be not knowing the definition of yourself. but as i told my friend today, "there is a lot of hope in growth."

and so i'm at this place where i'm still being gently stripped of things i call myself and here i have found the bigger picture. i'm finally on my knees ready to look up.

recently, a friend said to a group of people very casually as we were referring to God as someone in the room, that God maybe sitting there saying "you don't even know me." we think we have Him down. i can guess what He is doing, what lesson He is trying to teach me and He could very well be sitting there saying "don't act like you know me" "tricia, you have NO idea." i'm not calling myself a "nonbeliever" or even a "non-knower of God" i'm saying that instead of worrying about how God defines me, i need to be searching after WHO HE IS.

i've been reading Hosea like it's my job and this is one of the many things that has smacked me in the face... kicked me while i'm down. (down is a good thing in my book/blog):

"Come, let us return to the Lord; for it is he who has torn, and he will heal us; he has struck us down, and he will bind us up. After two days he will revive us; on the third day he will raise us up. that we may live before him. Let us KNOW, let us press on to KNOW the Lord; his appearing is as sure as the dawn; he will come to us like showers, like the spring rains that water the earth."

i think it's supposed to rain tomorrow.

the difference between me and the ting tings

As you very well know (because the song has repeatedly told you for the past two weeks) that the ting tings refused to be called by the wrong name. Not that I actually enjoy being called "stacy" or "her" or even "triSHa." But the real difference between me and the ting tings is they make a big stink about the misperceptions, judgments, and flat out lies that others proclaim about them.

WOW we just got deep with the ting ting lyrics. Adam stop calling me emo!

Two summers ago, at The Oaks Camp the drama team preformed a skit that addresses this big-kid version of name calling: A girl stood on stage with a sign on her that said "slut." People walked by her calling her awful names. "whore" "hoe" "worthless" "trash." She looked down at her sign and decided that she must really be a "slut." Then this man walked in, wearing all white and tore her sign in half. He had a new sign for her. It said "daughter."

Within the last month I have had several heart breaking conversations, as well as encouraging conversations with women who struggle with self worth. (myself included- yes, conversations with myself). When we try to fit different roles and molds whether matching our standards or someone elses, we walk some fine lines of self definition and worth. Worth that guy's glance? Worth a picture comment on facebook? Worth anything more than a once over? A cat call? A good grade? A job? THAT'S NOT YOUR NAME!

I made a joke that my latest comeback will be "that's not my name."

Define it. And then work it like the Ting Tings.

Well Written

This morning I was reading Romans (one more thing I love about Italy)! But this verse really hit me in a theatrical way.

"6You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. 7Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. 8But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

Now watch this:

Warning- It will ruin the end of a really great movie.... if you havent seen it, it might still be worth it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfwH0kgIigs&feature=PlayList&p=C86CE7133BAE4082&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=12

Now read this again:

6You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. 7Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. 8But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

I am so thankful there was no re-writing.

"The man who knew he was going to die, he died willingly, isn't that the type of man you want to keep alive?"- Stranger than Ficton

Thank Jesus He is ALIVE in our hearts. Kinda strange, right?

Happy Friday!

Do actions speak louder than words, what if I yell?

"The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug" -Mark Twain

I appreciate those who are good with words. I hope I can be poetic, articulate, accurate, and well, right when I choose my words when I speak or write. But how far do my words go? Until the end of the sentence? The end of the conversation? The end of this post? I'd like to think not. I'd like to think that you or whoever I talk to value my words. But the more debates, the more posts, the more papers, conversations, messages, poems, the more me comes out. Yes, in our society I want to make a name for myself, I want to be known, I want to be quoted by an expressive student 100 years after my death. And in this case my actions could get that much attention as well, if not more. I could go down in the history books (like Columbus!) for what I do and what I say throughout my life.

But hold the blackberry,
How many times did I just type I, me, or my? Don't count.... it's embarrassing.
This Satan-Damn World, as I like to call it, has convinced me to doodle my name all over my paper, mount my trophy on the wall, display all virtues and good deeds on online profiles and resumes, yet not blame myself for any of this.

Let's face it, we are a selfish, pleasure seeking society. Go on, face it. Literally. Look in the mirror and ask yourself what you do or say that's not for your own pleasure or name. And while you're at it look up the lyrics to Man in the Mirror by Michael Jackson and get inspired to change the world. But my point actually isn't to get you to "turn up the collar on your favorite winter coat" while seeing those who are freezing on the street and feel like an awful person. It's to get you and myself to realize that "I've been a victim of a selfish kind of love."

But the irony in it all (I'm starting to think that seeing the ironies of life may be my spiritual gift) the irony is that the only reason we know how to love, to love ourselves, is because we are the "victims" of the most selfless love this world has ever and will ever know.

So while I go ahead and take credit for that or any other profound thought, kind action, impressive grade, or cute outfit combination, I can become more and more proud of myself.
The things I'm not proud of, at this point in my life all (quite ironically) can be traced back to my pride.

When Jesus asks us to take up our crosses does He mean our baggage, our biggest struggles and sins, our name, or our words? To answer that question I think we should look at what it meant when Jesus took up His cross. The action was two fold: a display of Him willingly walking to His own death, and He was carrying our baggage, our biggest struggles and sins, our name and our words to die. So does the answer lie in our words or our actions? The right word or the almost right word still won't do here. Here, all we have to do is follow suit.

The suit is hearts, if you were confused.

those who can't do....

i have come to realize this semester that a good professor can really challenge you in all areas of your life outside the walls of the classroom; but a whiny professor is a challenge.

"i have over 100 emails in my inbox," "i have a lot of papers to grade" "i have to bring up the powerpoint i wrote 7 years ago and review it before i come to class"

the worst part about some of these lines is that they are used as excuses for why they have come to class unprepared.

don't get me wrong. i complain. i am a complainer. i do want your sympathy for how much i have to do in college, but what i don't ask for is extensions. so i do not understand one particular professor's 4 week response delay to an email i sent. and i believe there is a quite obvious difference between the employed party here and the, well me. so here is my bitter, sarcastic, juvenile, mock, email to professor____.

Dear Prof ____.
You are wonderful.

Go ahead and take your time getting back to the three emails I sent you regarding my grade. It's fine, really. I know that answering emails from students is very difficult, especially when they have written you in regards to your lecture that made no sense, your test score error, or your inability to post important course items online. I would not want to deal with it either. But might I suggest that next time you address your delayed response level that you exaggerate a tad more. By saying you have "100 emails in your inbox" I assume (and prove me wrong, I dare you- email me the right answer) that you have actually spent your office hours counting the number of emails in your inbox instead of responding. Another helpful tip would be to have an auto response sent out to all students saying "I do not actually know this information." It may save you a lot of time of telling us you will eventually respond when we know you will not. Also, might I suggest that you not allow questions during class? It is an awkward time for us students when you refuse to answer questions by sharing a story from twelve years ago, or saying a nice cliche. It would be better to have the students email you questions, and this way your auto-response can kick in. See, every cloud does have a silver lining. Problem solved.... well averted. Finally, I would suggest throwing out the time in class when you say "this is just my personal opinion, it is not fact." First of all, you usually do not need to preference this to many of your statements. Your statements would never be taken as fact. They are illogical and often irrelevant. They often involve two cliches awkwardly thrown together. Secondly, we would rather not hear your opinion. We would rather you explain dead experts' opinions in the field who physically are unable to respond to our emails. Well, that is really all I had to say. I appreciate your time you took to read this entire email instead of the first and last sentence:

I love your class.
~your student.

the examined life

this semester i have a professor that encourages us to see the world around us. last semester, i felt like i saw the world. but there are a world of things to be seen in my life here, in bloomington, indiana... so i found it only appropriate to blog these feelings, foods, and findings, just as i did while "living in italia." this time, "my so called life" (though lacking the best part of the television series- Jared Leto) will cover the frustrations and funnies of my life as i know it. enjoy.

tbe pits of pity

"we are all victims of our own pity"

that's pretty quote-worthy in it self, or maybe it should just be left written in a moleskin.

we were told growing up by parents, friends, and Forest Gump that "shit happens"
but i think we always assumed we could deal with shit. we are familiar with shit. we encounter it everyday. i just don't think i can shit out anymore papers or tests that don't actually resemble shit.....said with a sigh, "shit."

i would apologize for the excessive and out-of-character cursing but frankly, i don't give a ---
you're catching on.

luckily this ish (now censorship begins as the clouds are parting outside my window while i'm also becoming more and more aware of my mother's frequent views when any blog or facebook update occurs).. luckily this ish, at least my ish, does not really matter. yah it adds up and creates a bad day often. (ish*ish(raised to the xth power)=bad day) but bad days are solvable with chocolates, girl talk, and fmylife.com (where other people's ish is actually really entertaining). so cured, right? sure, i mean...if every time we say "whatever," we actually mean it, than ya.

instead, i believe we have a couple options here,
1. typical quick fixes (girl version mentioned above)
2. pity party (mine include streamers to wipe my tears and lots of chocolate cake)
3. friend sympathy or even block sympathy parties (you can often find other friends on the 7 bus, who are also listening to 9 crimes by Damien Rice, staring out this window upon S. Walnut, in hopes a tear may fall as they replay the conversation, right answer they had switched and got wrong, or the misinterpreting text flirting over and over again as the song repeats the 8 minute ride)
4. take advice from one of two artists whose songs are sung by an annoying friend who doesn't understand how to handle your phone call. instead they sing to you. 1. "Dust yourself off and try again." or 2. "and even when your hope is gone, move along, move along" (kayla i see why you love lyrics so much)
5. write a blog entry that details the ideas of how to deal with the situations we encounter daily, in order to distract you from whatever just happened.

like i said, "we are all victims of our own pity."
so, dust yourself off and move along, i need to go pout in a corner.