:Picture I took while driving, after the rain.
As you all know, I am a vigorous journaler (that’s not a legit word). If everything burns down in my house, I know the things that are most important to me (besides my family members of course) are my journals. 10-20 books, small and big, furry covered, some plain, some colorful, some self- decorated, some given as gifts, but all so precious to my soul, they carry the hurts and joys of my life….the long life that I’ve seem to live at 22.
August 07 Japan- saying goodbye to Japanese students
“I dont even know what the date is, but its the last day of camp. Its the first night I’ve really noticed the stars- I can’t help crying, it was 7 weeks of my life and once again I’m bawling. My stomach hurts. Maybe no one cares. Maybe I don’t mean that much to them, but in my heart they take a special space. God its a sweet sweet goodbye. I don’t know if this will happen everytime- But it seems to. And I know time will pass- a simple memory.”
November 13, 08 Utter Turmoil, Music To describe. Unexpressed.
“Can anything describe the pain I’m going through? We’re so put together, all of us.
Every single person walking on this earth…she keeps denying the pain in my heart. Everytime I express my hurt, my feelings, she rebuttals with “but…you know you shouldn’t”. Everything she says is bad. Why am I so worried about my career. Aren’t we just longing for acceptance, fulfillment, significance, importance, belong, recognition, love? The more I cover it, the more it hurts, then something small happens and everything is triggered, comes spilling out. She won’t acknowledge anything I express to her, it has brought me to a place I want to shut my self forever and just die in the earthquake B. told me about today.
Solomon was so right. Everything is vain, in vain. The good times we have will only lead us to heartache, slowly our hearts covering layers and layers of pain. Even the most uncry-able people, they probably have the deepest hurts. God it hurts so much I can’t stop crying, my eyes are pulsing steadily, unyielding.
Even as I fall, I am reminded of how dangerous living a righteous life could be. I’m FALLING APART, but wishing I’ll never be put together again, because then at least, I don’t have to unconsciously live a put together life. Even
if I’m fallen pieces, at least I’ll continue to know to rely on God, when I’m put together- I remember the brokenness and even share about it. But soon a glass window rises up, dust gathers, and a small facade, things in my heart gather. When we think we’re at our best, something slowly creeps up on us.
The accumulation of stress. Trying to find fulfillment in my job. Promoting myself, improving my skills, reaching the Bible, talking to God on the surface, bitterness towards my ma, and at worst, verbalizing and apologizing-
BUT having it waved off. Deep down I long for recognition. I want people to recognize the beauty of my music. But in the process of that I’m playing music out of my flesh, not by the Spirit. Remember how I used to play cello for auditions and pray. I would tell God, “I know you gave me this gift, and it’s yours, not mine, so put me where you’d want me”. I FORGOT THAT COMPLETELY. I didnt even pray. I didn’t even think of it being God’s. I knew I had played out of my own human power and skill- DEAD. SO DEAD. It was not the same when I asked and recognized God’s divine beauty and enablement for beauty to flow out of creating music….it is a sort that touches your heart, where your whole life, your experience, your brokenness, sufferings, joys, confusions, your life is simply poured out into the music….it is poured and flowing through my music into peoples’ hearts.
This is not something normal people would understand where technique and skills is the sole indicator of musicianship- where music is simply about notes, rhythm, the exact and the precise. They forget without heart, without passion, without emotions, without pain and laughter, without a life fully lived and felt, music would be a simple commercial product. Music would be stripped of the story behind it, of the story weaved into it…I know, even now, I cannot write or even think of writing something like this, without the Spirit having inspired and putting words in my mind.”
“Vision keeps breaking through and must find means of expression”
“But the only way we can brush against the hem of the Lord, or hope to be part of the creative process, is to have the courage, the faith, to abandon control”
May 7, 09
“I have seen the depressing depressions of those that have it all. They are not as happy as I. I am even more content than them. At times, I see them grasping for meaning, I have already found my meaning and purpose. Now I think about it, God is hilarious. He picks a college student who has nothing. Nothing to lose, to give advice and counsel to those that are business women and men, grandma and grandpas, gansters, 30 to 70 year old “Adults”….what do they have to offer me that I didn’t already receive from God? It is laughable. Yet somewhat too humbling to think God is all about using the weak to lead the strong….
I am a dead woman walking.”
*********These 3 months I am going to attempt to type up all the journal entries just in case their is a fire.