Mixing Metaphors

I read earlier about an interview with Toni Morrison (a Nobel Prize author). The interviewer asked her why she had become a great writer--who has she learned from, where has she studied, what has she read, and so on. In response, Morrison just laughed and said, "Oh, no, that is not why I am a great writer. I am a great writer because when I was a little girl and walked into a room where my father was sitting, his eyes would light up. That is why I am a great writer. That is why. There isn't any other reason."

I have this theory about the individual man or woman. I think each and every one of us has limitless potential. I know we throw that word around a lot--"limitless"--, and so it's kind of been watered down. I'm talking about a potential that is bottomless, that has no confines. An incalculably infinite potential. A boundless and incomprehensible potential. Limitless. A potential for greatness. Every one of us, man and woman, child and adult, have been divinely composed, structured by some greater hand, each of us unique, distinguished, extraordinary. And for what? For greatness.

I don't know what it is, but something is holding us down. Sometimes, I force myself to look at people. I mean really look at people. When I take the time to really gaze into someone, I always see something, some fire hoping for the slightest breeze and a chance to burn like it was created to, to consume this world. It's especially visible in youth. I swear, it's like God makes their skin glass, that's how visible the fire is that's turning over in their bellies. I think the older you get, the harder it is to see that fire, though. It's like some people have been told to ignore the fire for so long, keep in hidden in your belly, and hopefully it'll digest like a piece of poorly cooked food and pass right through your system with only some slight discomfort toward the end.

There's something holding us down.

Every once in a while, I'll glimpse a fire that has been unleashed and given the world to feed upon. It is beautiful. Souls like Mother Teresa, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr... I've even met a few of those souls, and the fire you encounter when you meet someone like that is dangerous. It's hyper-contagious, threatening to deeply infect you, penetrating to the bone, stoking and unleashing your own fire. Damn, it's so exciting! I know I've been made for more than this. I start feeling that rumbling deep, deep down inside of my belly. And it hurts. The fire has been caged, and it was created to breathe air and feed and consume everything, and it wants out. But there's something holding us down.

Donald Miller said, "Maybe a human is defined by who loves him." I think he's right. I think maybe that's the thing holding us down. We want to feel loved. We need to feel loved. We have to feel like someone really loves us if we want to go on, especially if we want to reach our potential. And it has to be a love that isn't dependent on what it gets back. Independent and unconditional. A love that makes a lot of room for failure and disappointment and setback and pain. I think it's only under the sky of a love like that that we can really reach greatness. Maybe that's why it's so important for so many of us to believe in God.

But whatever it is, whether it's feeling loved or not, we can't deny the facts--something is holding us down, and we were fashioned for more than this, for greatness. The ability to create; the ability to imagine and dream; the ability to recognize beauty; the ability to love. But why? For what larger greatness were we bestowed these gifts? To be doctors and lawyers, astronauts and physicists, authors and politicians. Or maybe Donald Miller was right--maybe the greatest desire of humanity is to be known and loved anyway. If so, to be the source, the provider of such a love-- that is really the highest purpose, the greatness we were created for.

"That's the only purpose grand enough for a human life. Not just to love--but to persist in love." --Sue Monk Kidd

The Secret Life of Keith

I wrote a poem a couple days ago. I love to write poetry, but I think I'm a prose person. Poetry really isn't where my talents are, so I won't post my poem on here. I will, however, at least prose about it (learned "prose" can be a verb. go figure.). I have this thing where I don't title my poetry. Maybe, if I give a poem a title, it boxes in the words and ideas, smothers them beneath some blanket, keeping them from breathing. I just don't like titling my poetry. (To be ironic, I now have to title this blog, I realize that.) The first line of my poem says, "this life's about hurt." For so many people, that's all we feel, that's all this life is: hurt. Living is overwhelmed by it--by pain, brokenness, grief, betrayal, lies, bitterness, guilt--hurt.

About two weeks ago, I started The Secret Life of Bees. (insert little superscript footnote "1" here)(insert little superscript footnote "2" here) Essentially, the book is about the life/development of a 14 year old girl, Lily. Gosh, the girl's been hurt so much and carries way too much for a child, for anyone, to bear alone. At times, Lily is heavy, at times withdrawn, at times bitter, at times angry, at times depressed, always broken, always hurting. The whole story is about diving into all of that hurt. Because that's what life is about: hurt.

It's crazy that I actually believe that sometimes. I've had some moments even just this break where I've been stuck in that. God always has a funny way of mending that mentality, though. I finished The Secret Life of Bees a week or two ago, and it spoke a lot to me then, and I mean a lot. Some of those moments of "life's about hurt" have hit me since finishing the book, though, but that book still has such a strong hold over me that it keeps changing me, refocusing me all over again. God has really used this book a lot to draw me out of those moments where I feel all depressed.

By the way, sometimes, I hate that I can't stay depressed. Sometimes, I just really want to be depressed and wallow in self-pity or self-loathing or self-whatever. Whenever I get depressed, though, and start thinking things like "life's about hurt" or whatever, I start to feel really melodramatic and pathetic. I mean really melodramatic and pathetic, so much so that I end up forcing myself to get over it and smile or dance or sing or eat or do something wonderful--something probably melodramatic and pathetic on the other end of the spectrum, but I like that place.

Like I said, God has really used The Secret Life of Bees to heal me over and over again the past week or two. The book really isn't about hurt. It's more about Lily discovering herself and her world and her hurt and dealing with all of those things. In the end, Lily finds love and belonging and peace and healing through mothers--all black mothers I should point out-- and through God--who in the book is also a black mother I should also point out. It's made me start seeing God in that light, too, as a mother (hopefully a black one, but I suppose I'll be okay either way). I just saw Avatar, and it did the same thing: make me think about God as a mother.(insert little superscript footnote "3" here)

But anyway, I've really needed the message God gave me through The Secret Life of Bees in this season of my life. Like I mentioned above, the book's not about hurt, but about healing. I think that's a message we all need to hear and be reminded of from time to time. Of course, I can only speak for myself, so that's all I'll do, but I hurt so much sometimes! Sometimes, the hurt is overwhelming, and for a time, it's all I see and feel. And like Lily, sometimes I feel alone, and I know I can't do this alone. No matter what I feel, though, I know I'm not alone; I have people in my life to help me, people that won't leave me even when I screw up big time, even when I bring hurt to those people. That's a gift from God, I realize that; and I realize that more than those people, I have a true Mother protecting me, forming me, loving me. I hurt this Mother so much, but the beautiful thing is that She isn't going anywhere. She'll always be there, always loving me, always healing me. Because life is about hurt, but it can be about healing, too.

I wasn't sure how I would end my poem when I started writing it. For a long time, I ranted and ranted about hurt and how cruel and painful life is, but, like always, I couldn't stay in that place. I began marinating thoughts of healing in my mind, because that's what was consuming my heart, and those thoughts flowed out into my poem. The last line is, "yeah--life may be about hurt, but living? living is about healing."

"Behold, I will bring it health and healing; I will heal them and reveal to them the abundance of peace and truth."
Jeremiah 33:6

*(insert little superscript footnote "1" here) --I decided that the best thing I read in 2009 was this book. In the words of one of my favorite people, "It is beautiful and soul touching." I strongly recommend it, and it has established itself in my all-time top 5 books list, a list that includes the 7th Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia and The Shack and Uncle Tom's Cabin, a list that's very competitive and has lots of books fighting bloodthirstily for a place.
*(insert little superscript footnote "2" here) --dear blogger, please add a superscript option. sincerely, Keith.
*(insert little superscript footnote "3" here) --I decided that the best thing I watched in 2009 was this movie. It was crazy awesome.

Random Thoughts

thought 4: I've realized something about myself: I'm a pretty ridiculous person. I am entirely way too dependent on grades. I almost died when I thought I was going to make a "B" in a class I've worked my butt off in (an ungrounded fear I soon discovered). I'm also way too dependent on what people think about me. I can't even sleep at night if I think someone has a problem with me; I have to have everyone be okay with me, and in the end, that's just not feasible. And I'm way too dependent on what I can see. If I can't see it, it's really hard for me to trust that God can. Like the future. Those things are difficult for me to trust God with, because I'm constantly combating this "I have to know!" mentality. I guess all of it is ultimately a control thing...

thought 1: I don't know what the big fuss is concerning "Redeeming Love." I swear I've heard over and over about how wonderful that book is, it'll teach you how to really love someone, it's the perfect picture of God's love for us, ... I'm just a little into it, but I keep having to repress the urge to gag. It's obvious the author is working her ass off trying evoke some deep, emotional response from me, and frankly, I refuse to give it to her. At least for now, because the story is oh so predictable and cheesy. I mean, I guess it's beautiful and all, but it's also really sappy (I think the novel would be a great soap opera actually). I simply refuse to be emotional for its own sake, so hopefully the story will pick up and do something else for me. I guess I'm also not a huge fan of the metaphor for sinful, disobedient humanity being an adulterous woman and loving, redeeming God being a man. But that's probably just the feminist in me brought out from working with people like Liz, Carrie, and Collyn in the Writing Center ("Den of Prosperity").

thought 3: I just got back home from good ol' Gardner-Webb. I'm already counting the days till I go back, and I already freaking miss everyone there--some more than others, obviously. Geeze.

thought 2: I'm slightly perturbed that as soon as the homework, reading, studying, and exams end and I actually have time to blog, I really don't have much to say; that the times when I'm stressed-out-of-my-mind-I'm-so-busy, those are the times when I have things to say. That is just silly. Since I have no more thoughts of my own, I'll voice someone else's:

"On that night nothing is ever the same again. Once you've seen him in a stable you can never be sure where he will appear, or to what lengths he will go, or to what ludicrous depths of self-humiliation he will descend in his wild pursuit of man.
If holiness and the awful power and majesty of God were present in this least auspicious of all events, this birth of a peasant's child, then there is no place or time so lowly and earthbound but that holiness can be there too."

-Frederick Buechner

Broken Bird

Ok, I'm totally breaking my commitment not to blog during exam week. I really just want to post a poem written by one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. It has brought so much healing and encouragement to me, and I want to share that. Shout out to my girl, Nikki Raye Rice.

"Broken Bird"

I read a story once
where an angry man
crushed a bird in his hand.
And lately I've asked,
"Am I the bird, God?
And you, the wrathful palm?"
Because I'm feeling out of
flight, broken, and grounded.
I hated that part,
that a man so merciless
would crumple a creature
so meek in his fingers.

But, You are not just a man.

And like balm on a broken wing,
your mercy is spread thick over me.
I am not caught in your clutches
or crippled by my circumstances.
I am held.
And I know that there is no better
place to break
than in the hands of a healer.

Washing Days

I woke up this morning with a song in my head. It's a gospel song my church sings a lot. It really only consists of about one phrase, which is repeated over and over again. It's so simple, but so penetrating. The song simply states:

My storage is empty, and I am available to you.

Something about myself you may not know? I like to create medleys in my head. Well, this morning, the medley I've created has been with this song and with another song we always sing at my church. Once again, this song's pretty simple, but so penetrating. It simply says:

Increase my capacity for You.

This past month has been a breaking month for me. God has been working like mad--tearing down walls, burning bridges--completely breaking me. And I feel broken. The past couple days, I've felt so worthless and broken. But I believe that I woke up today with these songs in my head and heart for a reason. I feel broken because my storage is empty. God has exposed so much of the garbage and secrets I've been hiding, and s/he's taken those away from me. They're not mine anymore. I actually feel like my storehouse has been emptied. Of everything. of me, my secrets, my pride. everything. But I know I'm in a healing place now, and I need God to increase my capacity for her/him so I can be filled with that. While I felt broken about that yesterday, I feel excited and encouraged today, because I know that being broken and ultimately emptied helps place me in a position to be filled and used by God.

That's why God made it rain today. Today is a cleansing day, a washing day. Today is a day of purification. I need God so much to cover me, fill me; and I feel him/her raining down on me, soaking my skin, and washing me. And so, this medley is my prayer today--my prayer for myself, and my prayer for those in my life right now: God, increase my capacity for you; my storage is empty, and I am available to you.