scribbles and whatnots

i write everything. bad and good, for myself or the public - on anything, anywhere - i write it down. writing is very quiet, but it's a very real adventure for me.

i'll start writing out thoughts, prayers, rhymes - whatever it happens to be at the beginning... and then as i'm writing, my agenda usually changes. thoughts become prayers. things that i thought were prayers actually end up just being thoughts. pretty words grow to phrases. phrases begin to rhyme. then, sometimes i start hearing chords and melodies in my head, and those first words end up being a song.

but the adventure is this:

i never know. how things are going to end up, or what form these scribbles will take.

i am compelled to write it down - so i do.

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quite a few of my friendships and relationships on this earth have been with very extroverted, free-spirited, adventure-seekers. it's always been intriguing to me - lives that seem so huge and inspiring, so fearless. but sometimes it's really hard for me to relate to those people. especially in high school, this was a pretty big area of insecurity for me. i remember being super confused. why don't i "want" to do crazy things like them? why am i so okay reading books and writing, instead of "going out" and "having fun"? and then you compound those thoughts with questions like... oh no - do boys like girls more when the girls are crazier? those thoughts are horrible and diminishing, and i'm still learning how to shake them back out of my head.

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i remember making a tent one time at my grandparents' house with my brother and cousin... i was probably around 7 or 8 years old. all three of us loved the tent - it was amazing. it was made of a black sheet and quilts, had nooks and bedrooms and even a pantry (which i believe held a bottle of water and some saltine crackers). when we were finished making it, jason and my cousin wanted to "play"... i wanted to stay in the tent and read. i remember they got mad.

it seems silly now - but back then, i remember how much that confused me. i felt so lame. was there something wrong with me? why didn't i want to "play"? why did i want to "read"? i felt like such a boring nerd... but i had no idea how else to be. i remember it so well, it's like it happened yesterday.

i remember my grandma finding me in the tent later that afternoon. she crawled through the "front door" and sat in there with me, oohing and aahing (in her graceful way) about how wonderful our tent was. i remember she asked me what i was reading... and i started to cry. to this day, i remember how nervous i was and how embarrassed i felt - and yet i don't think i've ever told anybody this story. my grandmother that afternoon sitting in that tent, proceeded to hold me and retrieve from the little confused mess of my heart what was the matter. i won't ever forget what she said when she held me:

she told me that reading books was one of her favorite things in the world. she told me that she liked that she could visit places and be different things that she maybe wasn't made (or allowed) to go or do physically. and i remember how safe i felt when she told me that... my grandmother was one of the most beautiful, graceful, strong people that i can remember in my life - and knowing that i had something in common with her, even the most boring, nerdy thing i thought of myself at the time... i felt okay. i felt safe, valuable, pretty - and i remember she brought me some cookies into the tent and she brought her book in there with me. we read together until jason and erin came back inside from playing.

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every bit of this life is a growing process - so i'm certainly not denying the many times in my life i have hidden behind books and writing and school at times, instead of living my life or "playing" with friends... i have been wrong at times, and i am learning to not use the things that come easy for me as a crutch.

but for the most part... reading and writing is just one of those ways the Lord really gets to me. it might just be that one little factor that is "unique" in the way people are always telling us we were each made to be. it's not a matter of being better or worse - and it never was.

it's embarrassing to think over how many times i have wished to trade this gift for another... as if the clay could question the potter. as if i could cease to express Christ in the way He has encouraged me to express Himself. as if these scribbles and whatnots were for no purpose at all... we are called to count all these things as joy. i am compelled to write those things down while i count them. it's one of my favorite things about my life, my walk with Christ... this taking footsteps, by way of ink and paper.