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For the most part, I'm moving my blog to my tumblr. Feel free to check it out... sometimes it's pretty ok :)

http://bekahandthewayshelikesit.tumblr.com/

Four letter words, including that one that starts with L.

MESS. We are a mess. No, not just you and me. People in general. We need each other but then we hurt each other. Sometimes its intentional and sometimes it’s passive, but the effect is the same. We’re too scared to fully care about those that we love. Too terrified to get close, but more afraid of being lonely. Our thoughts are skewed and we act selfishly and the result is this messy jumbled web of hurt and caring which is altogether confusing, because we love so imperfectly. GOOD. Do good things exist? I’ve had several debates with friends, co-workers, and classmates lately about this. Good intentions have to exist for love to be real. If you love someone, you want good things for them. Love cannot be self seeking. People are, by definition, self seeking. LOVE. Perfect love, from which all good things stem, is only found in Love himself, my God. We CAN love, if it’s rooted in him. We can bring hope, the ceasing of hurt, and other good things into the world if he is our source.

I will continue to love, imperfectly at times. I will continue to learn about true love from my Lord.

Words are symbols for real things, so please use them carefully

I think we too often classify things as good or bad, when rarely can anything be classified that way, unless talking about milk. Good and bad, when referring to people, is an opinion, unless coming from God. He’s allowed to throw around words like that because He is perfect, and even then he uses words more fitting such as “sinful” and “righteous” or “pleasing.” “Good” and “bad,” coming from us are usually judgment words.

Double Negative

There are a million and one things I need to do right now and being stubborn with you isn’t one of them. So I’m stopping. I’d love for you to stop too. Please don’t not stop.

Double negative.

Just like I will never not feel loved when you hold my hand.

Just like I will never not miss you when I wake up to Brand New Day.

If a double negative is a positive, and a double POSITIVE is just extra positive, does that go to show that everything is better in excess?

Probably not, because too much ice cream gives me a stomachache, but I think you are an exception to that rule, because I honestly can’t get enough of you.

Puke.

If you were here listening to me, you’d mime gagging into the nearest trash can.

You think I hate cute things.

The truth is, I’m kinda a sucker, even though I hate to admit it.

The truth is, I love you.

I and love and you.

(no longer are those just the words dancing around in my head and my mouth. No longer do I have to swallow them before speaking. And it feels so good.)

My uniform is white but my eyes are green and this is how I see the world

The shuttle sets off into a clip-clip-clip rhythm

Accompanied by a din of voices

Women in their 40’s and 50’s making small talk about their dayweekplanskidsdinner and the weather

I, of course, am forced to eavesdrop

And all I can think is that I hope I can never utter that sentence that

Mrs. curley-haired, turtle-necked, sensible-shoed woman in the 3^rd isle just said

I hope that I can never,

EVER.

With any sincerity, say

“This week was a blur”

I may, at this moment, look like a blur

My white, pristine, student uniform blending in with my skin tone and hair color

Clean.

Crisp.

Camouflaged.

White and spotless,

But in my mind is a mess of colors exploding

Inside the sounds are loud, dissonant, and unruly

One day, I may be in that woman’s shoes

One day I may be on the other side of the planet

We’ll see.

But no matter what or where or how my immediate and distant future turn out,

I refuse to let who I am be defined by where I am

I refuse to quit seeing the beauty in every day.

I refuse to quit being in awe at each new moment.

Sometimes Bekah has a thought explosion. This is the result of one of them

Sometimes I wish I had a better way of expressing myself. So often my vocabulary falls short of the vivacity of my thoughts and feelings. I’ve tried to paint it or draw it and I’ve failed miserably. Most of the time, a culmination of all of the senses are needed to conjure up the substance of my thoughts. The hard part, probably, is that most of the time I don’t understand myself.

Time. Time freaks me out. I never have enough time to invest myself as fully as I wish I could in certain friendships, projects, pursuits of knowledge, etc. Yet, when I have time I have no idea what to do with it. Time is such a cruel devise.

Foolish Ramble.

It's over. You

fooled

me into thinking this was something real, instead of a silly game. Well, you're the winner wearing your medal made up of distance, independence, excuses, and easy-way-outs. You stand tall because you have your pride clutched in your fist and perhaps you think that I am

foolish

for being vulnerable. I let myself hurt, rejoice, and be touched, maybe too often and too deeply. But at least I feel. So now, who is the one that is

fooling

around? You or me? Because you work so hard to make it look like you are having fun, but I know you better than that. You may see me as weak, painted in pastel colors and whispering soft sweet songs, but know this: I am nobody's

fool.

I just still believe in good things. I believe in kept promises and Truth and the type of Love that lays aside one's own life for another. For this, I think I am stronger, not weaker.

This isn't a literary masterpiece, it's just what I'm thinking about today.

Today I finished my mental health clinical and I was a little bit sadder about it then I expected to be. Yesterday, Connor told me it would be okay for me to cry if I needed to, and I shook it off like it ain’t no thang. No. Not like that. Because I never say things like that. Point being, today I realized how much I needed Connor’s words because working with the mentally ill this last semester is one of my favorite things that I have ever done. My heart is broken for the mentally ill. It breaks because the stigma surrounding “mental illness” and the way people have treated fellow human beings like animals just because they were labeled “crazy” in the past. I can’t imagine how terrifying and vulnerable it is to not be able to trust what is going on in your own head. Yet, if I’ve learned anything this semester it’s that those that have mental illness don’t have a voice for themselves; I’m learning more and more that being a nurse is being the voice for those that can’t speak for themselves. This is why I am so passionate about mental illness, about speaking out against abortion, and about bringing healthcare to women in Afghanistan who have been deprived of decent care for years.

We live in a world full of hurt, brokenness, and lies and I kind of wonder how we don’t all suffer from mental health problems. Hopefully, this is one tiny way that I can bring the Kingdom full of hope and restoration and good things.

“Listen.

Can you hear it?

Does it speak?

Will I feel it?

Will it hurt?

Am I near it?

...

I don’t know.”

Irrelevant

The scenery whipping past the windows as we drive home from Salina, Kansas, leaves very little for the imagination to work with. I therefore start thinking about bizarre things, like this web of asphalt stretching out across our country that humans constructed and then called the “Interstate System.” I start trying to quantify how much gravel and petroleum has gone into the roads humans have paved all over the world. This, then, triggers thoughts about what type of effect this has on the environment, after we have spread this concoction all over a significant portion of the earth’s surface… This whole tangent is extraneous. (or is it?)

Basically, my thoughts turn to really irrelevant things. Which means eventually they turn to us. “We” are irrelevant, aren’t we? Although at one point, I know we were relevant. We mattered. But time moves and things change and my mind and heart have a hard time catching up.

The Interstate system is relevant.

The road I’m traveling these days is relevant too.

We’ll see where I end up.

On my mind, and now on my blog.

1. "Sorry." What is that? Is it really an apology? I think its actually a word that you use to cover yourself. It's a cop-out. In other words, its your signature move.

2. When did the boys stop becoming men and start becoming guys?? MAN UP.

3. I will no longer make up excuses for where I am right now. I'm here. God put me here. If it's good enough for him, it's absolutely good enough or me. And I think it should be good enough for you too.

4. "Nothing will behave in the logical way you have come to expect. You will understand things only with your heart, and that can be a little frightening. For a long time, the journey will seem like a Dark Night, but then, any search is an act of faith."

Dennis inspires me.

I know this man named Dennis and I kind of think he is the coolest guy ever. Dennis is a middle aged man in my nursing class. I learned today, after attending class with him for at least six months, that he never even wanted to be a nurse. He is married to the love of his life, has a son, and is a pilot for the military. Unlike most of us, Dennis has already built his life. His goals and dreams were in the works already, and have nothing to do with Beth-El or hospitals or white uniforms or stethoscopes. No, being a nurse was not his dream, but the dream of his best friend. When Dennis's best friend, also in the military, died in combat, Dennis took this endeavor upon himself as a way to honor his friend.

Wow. Talk about love and loyalty. I cannot ever imagine putting myself through something as horrible and expensive and competitive as nursing school for the soul purpose of honoring my friends memory. I'd like to think that I'm just as loyal of a friend though, maybe. And that I have loyal friends like this. There are a few girls that share a permanent mark on their body that match mine and few other girls besides that I'd do anything for, and vis versa, I think.

And Dennis is going to go back to being a pilot in two years when he graduates. Dang.

Work in Progress

My life seems to be one big experiment of trial and error. I either try and succeed, and move on to try something new, or I try, fail, revise, and try again.

Today, I feel like I had more errors than I’ve had in a long time. I don’t really know how to try again right now, so I’m giving up for an hour or two.

My sister always tells me that I can start my day over at any time, and as many times as I need to. I plan on starting my day over at 2:00pm MT.

I always tell my sister that its okay to not feel mature enough to be your age. Because nobody tells you that when you’re twenty years old, you are really 20 and 19 and 18 and 17 and 16 and 15 and 14 and so on. Right now the 20 year old part of me is beating myself up a little bit, but the 16 year old part of me feels like I deserve a break, and maybe to cry a little bit.

Sometimes I don’t think that I’m brave at all, maybe just a little too accepting of my own failures.

I guess we shall see in two years time

Today in school, we learned about the health of a very important organ: the skin. My professor told me that one of the reasons that the skin is such a vital organ is that it feels everything. Everything from pleasure to pain, and warmth to cold.

Funny, because I always thought that my organ that does that is my heart.

... and therein lies the reason I will always struggle with this sterile, rigid, detached environment that is necessary for my education

... and therein also lies the reason that I think I will be a good nurse one day

The Adam Gang Quartet

Last night I saw and heard one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever encountered.

My friend, Adam, has a jazz quartet. He is so very talented. Adam is the kind of kid that lives each and every moment with his whole entire heart. When I was seventeen, Adam taught me to meditate at the Grand Canyon. We climbed over the fence that says “Do Not Cross” and down below the cliff into this alcove created by the canyon, because it was raining and also because it had a perfect view of the canyon. Then, he and I and our friends Amy and Lauren meditated and prayed. This is just the type of person he is.

Last night Adam had a gig that I went to and I saw him play his tenor saxophone with so much soul it almost made me want to cry. With eyes closed tight and moving with the music and crinkling up his forehead with concentration. He loved the music he was playing, and the music was his. It was in him and through him and part of him. I wish I had that much passion and love for anything in this life. I remembered why I love jazz music so much—because jazz musicians love the music they make more than anything. It’s almost impossible to not love something a little bit when you see how and why someone else loves it entirely.

Beautiful.

As a side note, I miss music so much today. I miss performing. It’s something about being a small part of something really spectacular. Something that makes people happy. Something you have to work towards. But most good things in life are like that, and I know there are more good things in my life now and to come. Stay tuned.

Swimming

Kim and I go swimming Thursdays.

Unlike Kate Nash, we’re not that good at it. However, LIKE Kate Nash, I do think about numbers and count the laps when I swim. All sorts of numbers. I think about how the pool gradually goes from 5 feet to 10 feet. I count the ceiling tiles when I do the back stroke, too. But I also think about how certain numbers feel different than they really are. Like how two sometimes feel like one. And when you subtract 1 from 2, the answer is 1 but it feels like a half. Because it belongs with the other 1 that it lost, and it should be called "two". I think some very strange things sometimes.

However, mostly I count or think nothing at all, and it clears my head in such a refreshing way. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday my head is so full and busy and noisy. Something about the water all over my skin and my head submerged underwater where all I can hear is the swishing and splashing of the other swimmers, just purges my mind of all the messiness.

And there I am in the raw, with my hair a mess and no make up on and I don’t care.

I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care…

(Well, at least, not about this. Other things that I say I don’t care about… that’s a different story.)

It’s a very freeing experience, and the ironic part is that it doesn’t come for free. Leaving all of your inhibitions at the door is something that has to be worked at. Earned, maybe.

More often than not I think I probably write about nothing. I try to put words to those half formed thoughts that lie around in my brain, and the result is confusing or abstract or altogether uninteresting. I end up relying on the words of other people (like Kate Nash). This is a crutch, I know. But, here you are. These are the things that were swimming around in my head this morning while I was swimming around in the water.

Short.

Joy.

It may be fleeting, but I swear I won’t miss a beat.

Shining bright sunshine-y yellow all through my mind, on everything I see.

Radiating tingly warmth from my eyesnosesmileyface to my feet.

(I think God creates moments like this to show that he loves me)

Fender Bender

"Do you ever feel like this is too good to be true?" You ask from the passenger seat of my car.

"Yes, all of the time." And I mean it with all of my heart. This is the most real thing I've felt in my entire life.

So I'll close my eyes and you take hold of the wheel.
Tell me when to press on the gas and tell me when to break.
It'll be okay; I trust you.

I trust you I trust you I trust you
(Even though I can't see you. Even though I have no idea what may happen next.)
I trust you I trust you I trust you I TRUST YOU...

CRASH.

Today.

On days like today, my Dad always tells me to make a list of ten things I am thankful for. He says it will make me feel better. So. Here it goes:

1. How when I feel all mixed up and slightly insane and like I'm only pretending to be an actual person, all it takes is a quick phone call to Janie to make me feel real again.

2. Those few people that can read me and know how I'm doing without me even saying a word.

3. This gorgeous weather outside and that talented kid at this park playing some of the most raw, beautiful music with his guitar.

4. My date with Kim to watch The Office later

5. Saddness and tears. They have made me appreciate happiness and smiling and laughing so much more. I am so very blessed.

6. My new grey sweater

7. An excuse to skip my classes this morning

8. SPRING BREAK. Which officially started for me today at 12:05

9. My sister. I love that she went out of her way to make me feel special on my bad day on Monday. I love her.

10. Above all, my God that lavished his love upon me and thinks that I am lovely and special, and that I have infinite intrinsic value.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but...

I think you've been parched for authentic conversation for such a long time.
And not just the whispered conversations in libraries
Not the fragmented, impersonal text strung together and exchanged on electronic screens
Not a line or two in a postcard, skimming over anything close to personal
Or neatly picked words, rehearsed speech over coffee or tea

No.
You're craving honesty, intimacy, the good, bad, uncomfortable, funny, serious, embarrassing, silly, profound.
You want to share dreams and fears.
Pet peeves and passions.
Guilty pleasures and favorite memories.
You want to spill your guts and bleed all over everything, for better or for worse.

(I'm sorry. I can't do that for you.)

((stream of consciousness))

Lazy Morning.

I woke up slowly, went upstairs and got some coffee, and climbed back into bed and stayed there for a least and hour listening to sappy songs and talking to Kim online.

Most mornings when Kim is here, she and I have random talks about nothings that turn into something while she’s getting ready, blow drying her hair and asking me if her outfit looks okay, and I’m drinking coffee or eating cereal. So I guess this felt like the right way to start out the day.

I ended up looking at old photos of Cate, for some reason. The same haunting feeling came over me. The whole thing is haunting. I won’t get over that feeling.

I ended up thinking of Mate’ Monday that I shared with Sara yesterday. That was haunting too, in a way. So much that has happened recently seems surreal.

My heart started breaking all over again for the hurting people in my life. I wish I knew the right things to do/say/feel for these people, but lately I don't feel like I do. Loving used to be the one thing I was good at.