Satisfied in the Present

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Over the past few weeks, I have suddenly been assailed by this idea of change. It seems natural, after all, in fifteen days, I will dawn a cap and gown and walk down an aisle. I will cross a stage, receive a diploma, and turn my tassel. I will graduate high school, and I will begin the last summer of my childhood. I will begin a path to a brand new stage of life.

And I am terrified. And I am excited.

This has brought a lot of conversations up with some of my best friends. They have been fantastic listeners, and they have taught me a lot. A few quotes brought to you by them:

“The secret of contentment lies not in the past, or in the future, but in our current posture of surrender.” – Landis Brown

“Perhaps I will not fully be who I need to be until I give up those consistencies and realize there is only One who is truly unchanging.” – Holly Harris

These conversations have showed me the dichotomy I have fallen deeply into. I am brokenhearted to see my past life ending. I am thrilled to see where the next steps lead. How can these two things be at the same time? The oxymoron called “growing up” constantly astounds me.

And through this all, I began to search myself.

You know, my mom lived in the same bedroom she was brought home from the hospital to, until the day she married my dad. She went from that life, to a brand new life in one day.

My dad on the other hand, has lived in four different states, two different countries, and multiple cities. He’s been to different schools and different churches. He has traveled to China, Brazil, England, Italy, Germany, the Dominican Republic, Rome, and Israel. He has seen so much of the world. And he says he’d be happy waking up in a new city every day.

Their lives are so different, and I see myself so much in my mother. I see myself in her quiet love of the certain, the same, the familiar, the secure. As much I long to have a spirit of wanderlust, I cannot be what I am not.

And yet.

I find myself aching so often for something different. Sometimes, I want to wear flower crowns, and change my style, and cut my hair. Sometimes I want to fly to California just to explore a place I’ve never been. Sometimes, I want to say goodbye to everything and start over fresh. I want to be an artist. I want to be a writer. I want to be this person I am not.

And sometimes, I wonder, why. Do I want do these things because I’m having some sort of quarter life crisis? Am I bored with my life? Am I accepting change, or trying to find fulfillment in it. Too often, I know of myself that I want to do different things because I believe somehow, that Hannah, with Coachella style, and an L.A. lifestyle, would be happier than High Point Hannah living her life exactly the same way every day. But that isn’t true.

As my friend, Holly, so beautifully put, Greensboro is still Greensboro, no matter where I am. And wherever I am, I am still me. I cannot escape Hannah Ray. And truly, I would never want to. And Hannah Ray, can never be fulfilled without Jesus. Flower crowns will not make me happy. L.A. sunsets will not satisfy. Planes, trains, and automobiles will never satisfy this spirit of wanderlust. Sameness will never satisfy this spirit of a homebody.

Recently I was introduced to the book, Soulkeeping. In the book, the author explains that our souls are created with such immense desire. Physical desire for another person. Social desire for relationships. Desires to see the world, to change, to grow, to learn, to understand, to love, to cry, to laugh… to live. And we are created with that desire because we must have something to crave. We crave, deep down, the Heaven that awaits us and the God who created us. We crave something, so that we may wake each day living to satisfy our souls.

But what are we choosing to satisfy this longing? Too often, I believe if my life could look like some sort of tumblr photo feed, I would be satisfied. But Jesus created me to be satisfied by Him alone. 

I feel lost to myself right now. I am in such a strange limbo of wanting everything to stay exactly the same, and yet feeling as if I shall explode if everything doesn’t change. Who am I? A homebody? A wanderlust?

I am me.

I am who God created me to be. I am lost, yet He finds me. I am empty, yet He fills me. I am desiring so much, yet He satisfies me.

I have come to realize, that you can spend forever looking at what was, what could have been, what might have been, what will be, what might be, what would be, or what should be.

But you are only given one thing. What is.

Do I still sometimes want things to change? Of course. I believe that we are made to change and to grow. I just must remember not to find salvation in that change. I must not find salvation in sameness. I must bask in the gift of the present, whenever that may be. 


Alright

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She’s just five foot something,
With hair that color,
Stuck to her forehead.
And eyes that color,
Stuck to her heart.
And she cried a little too long last night,
But concealer conceals dark circles and broken hearts.

You know her face ‘cause you’ve seen it before,
Each day in the mirror.
Ink pen on her wrist,
Scars on her paper.
Those shoes in the back of his closet,
Ended up on her feet.
And the scent of her left like the traces in the sheets.

High heels, ash trays, lipstick, lights.
Chasing after daydreams,
And faking for the fights.
And you’d like to hope, that she’d be alright.

He said he fixed her before,
And he swears he’ll fix her again.
But she needed stitches not first aid.
Shattered glass and paper cuts,
Shallow wounds hurt the deepest.
Broken mirrors bring seven years bad luck.
And he told her she was beautiful,
But she called him a liar.
Because he can’t tell her what she can’t believe is true.

Slamming her fist into his chest,
Trying to getaway.
You can’t love her,
Until you let her.
Go.

Slamming his fist into the wall.
Trying to find a way.
But you can’t fix her.
Until you let her.
Grow.

She’s just five foot something,
And looking for love.
Looking in all the wrong places.
Searching treasure maps for roads,
And highway signs for a pot of gold.
Because she’s broken,
Like a rear view mirror,
That she couldn’t bear to see her reflection in.
And she’s driving to fix her problems,
And she’s starving to find her way.

Headphones, sweatshirt, blurry eyes, lights.
Driving in the darkness,
Finding a place in the night.
And you’d like to hope, that she’d be alright.

And he swore that he loved her,
And he probably did.
But nothing says “I love you,”
About killing someone softly.
He kept her from the truth.
He kept her from the Savior,
And tried saving her himself.

She’s just five foot something,
And she broke down last night.
Flat tire and empty promises,
Just left her on the side of I-85.
Spare hearts aren’t found as easily as spare tires.
And she lost all trust in mechanics.

Crying,
Dying,
He didn’t come through.
He promised he’d fix her.
But she’s more broken than ever before.
Headlights out,
Windshield wipers on.
Looking for love in dotted white lines.

And she never saw it coming,
Being this girl,
She always swore she’d be just fine.
Now all that’s left, is a handful of change,
Receipts from the past,
And some blank checks that bounced.
And you’d like to hope, that she’d be alright.

Walked in the rain,
Felt like a hundred miles.
To dry off, you have to get wet,
To live, you have to die.
But the distance was too daring,
And hope had all but gone,
Until that light shone through a night made for sorrow.

Hope, brimming.
Love, skimming.
Along the surface of her skin like the rain on the highway.
A hand that went through nails,
A heart that went through Hell.
A voice says, “you’re wanted,”
A hand says, “you’re protected.”
And she finally understood, that she’d be alright.


Trapped

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Pick.
Chip.
Twist.
Writhe.
At first glance, you look just fine.
Tightly coiled,
Head down,
Rocking back and forth.
Your backbone gives you away.
Arms with muscles,
Like you’ve worked like the rest.

Pick.
Chip.
Twist.
Writhe.
Your clothes just hang.
Socks pulled high.
Someone else found them,
Old and outdated,
They characterize.
If you were in costume,
They’d see you differently.

Pick.
Chip.
Twist.
Writhe.
You laugh at the wrong time.
Your smile off kilter,
Like the sides of your face.
Head tipped,
Strain to hear,
Trying to find your place,
Lost inside your mind.

Pick.
Chip.
Twist.
Writhe.
Look up.
Dark eyes so clear,
Yet so wild.
Confused and lost.
Your eyes betray you.
You’re broken,
You’re trapped.

Pick.
Chip.
Twist.
Writhe.
We mourn the loss,
Of you.
Or of your shell?
We see what you could be.
What you would be.
If only.
You weren’t trapped

Pick.
Chip.
Twist.
Writhe.
Your arms,
Trapped.
Your laugh,
Trapped.
Your eyes,
Trapped.

Pick.
Chip.
Twist.
Writhe.
What secrets do you hold?
What demons do you fight?
What vices hold you in?
Are you tearing your hands,
Like your mind tears you?
Do you see us?
Are we trapped?

Pick.
Chip.
Twist.
Writhe.
Trapped.
I wish I knew how to let you be,
Free of all the pain.
To let your eyes find home,
To find peace within your head.
These shackles won’t bind forever.
Someday, your soul will be free.