One Word 2013

A year ago I learned about the idea to choose one word instead of making a list of New Year's Resolutions. Yes, please, I loved the idea right away having many times been frustrated by lists, lists, lists. I either could never come up with things for a list that I actually cared about or I knew the list wouldn't last beyond the first three weeks of January. Or both.

At first I didn't know what my word would or could be. But two things happened and I had it in an instant. My sister-in-law had mentioned One Word 365 and that she chose to keep her word private and personal. I knew I could pick a word if I didn't have pressure to share it, because I knew it would be an intimate thing. Then I read the post that explains One Word 365 and mentions that if the word doesn't scare you, that's not the right word. 

My heart skipped a beat as my word for 2013 slammed into it like a clingy ping pong ball. I knew my word. I knew there was no going back. And I knew I had to try.

I feared failing, and just as much I feared succeeding. Because my word would turn my world upside down if I let it. Which is exactly what I wanted, and exactly what I feared.

My word seemed impossible.

It was also the thing I wanted most.

I started strong but directionless, trying to find ways to live my word out in the little things. Life is daily, and so was my word. It was encouragement, it was a challenge.

There were brief seasons the whole thing slipped my mind, but the word always came back, ready to urge me onward.

And there were days I saw my life taking the shape of my word as I made hard choices while keeping it in mind.

It seemed impossible, yet here at the year's end, I have embraced and lived my word for 2013 more perhaps than I ever have before. And because of it, I'm looking forward to how much I will own it and live it out in ten years because I took the first steps now.

My word was FREE.

Now I'm looking forward to the next year and the next word. I’m not sure what it is yet, and I feel a bit like I'm trying too hard to find it. I'm not sure the fear will feel the same as it did last year, because last year my word was terrifying, and also I've seen what incredible things can happen in my life with a focus on one word for the bigger picture. Though I haven't quite found my word for 2014 yet, I think I'm close. I'm hoping it will clutch my heart and hold on fast much like free did. This year I'm more hopeful and a little bit less scared.

This perfect girl is gone, too.

I'm not sure I can say how much I love the song "Let It Go" and its scene from the movie Frozen. If you haven't watched the movie yet, I highly recommend it, and also, this post will have spoilers. Don't worry, we can squeal over it together after you've seen it. I'll be here.


Now then, you've seen it?

Isn't it awesome?!

Here, let's see it again:

::happy sigh::

So, Elsa and this song touched me as powerfully as the end of Tangled did, but for a different reason. With Eugene's act, I saw Jesus reflected. With Elsa's freedom, I feel her realization, joy, and transformation of acceptance.

I'm struggling for the words, but the depth of my groans just don't translate well in the blogosphere. Auuggh! Okay, I had to. I just can't get enough of this song! (Seriously, I've been watching it two or three dozen times while writing this post.)

I ached with Elsa as a child, fearing something was wrong with her, that she could only hurt others, growing up hiding from everyone and everything. It wasn't the right choice, and we know when we're watching that it's not the right choice, yet it's exactly the sort of thing that we do in our own lives every day.

Everyone completely missed that her power can be beautiful.

And when she let's it go...it's stunning. The snow, the ice, the things she can do with them, and the freedom smile that makes her glow.

Yet there's also the hint that Elsa could become dangerous, just like everyone feared. She could become a villain at this point. She fully embraces who she is, and it's distinctly different than what she was told she had to be all her life. Seeing that change is a bit scary to me, to know how starkly different the two are. To know that very contrast is also possible in me. Her transformation is so complete that we know she might go too far if someone pushes her now. This is who she is, and she is powerful and passionate, embracing all of who she is including the raging storm within her.

She is both majestic and dangerous. And really, when we embrace the truth of our own selves, aren't we as well?

What I'm Into November 2013, or Things I'm Thankful For

I've been watching Leigh Kramer's What I'm Into posts, enjoying them, and wanting to participate. Now I'm finally going to do it!

An old friend acquaintance sent a message earlier today that got me thinking about the things I've done lately, and I realized quite a few things of note happened last month.

All month:

So, first off, in October I wrote a post about National Novel Writing Month and my intention to participate again. The goal of 50,000 words daunted me working full time and living in a new home, but the pattern of it quickly became a comfort. The set up of my word processor, music, and earbuds became a ritual; I was entering sacred space and I loved it. There were a few times I fell behind and wondered if I could catch up, but I allowed myself grace at the same time that I required words. It was a funny balance, but I learned about my own writing mechanics. I also pantsed the entire story to date, allowing more freedom for the silly and nonsensical, time travel you know and all that. I still write serious and need to work on my humor (funny is hard!), but the characters and events are better for my lack of a strict outline. On November 29th, I reached that longed for word count milestone. On November 30th I wrote some more because the story wasn't done and I had the itch to keep writing. And so I did, and so I shall.

In addition to writing, I indulged in as much Doctor Who as I could, catching up on all the series before the 50th anniversary episode, when my household had a party with Jammie Dodgers, Jelly Babies, popcorn, and more. I love that show, and the 50th anniversary episode did not disappoint.

After The Day of the Doctor, Peter Capaldi's eyebrows showed up in a game my brother and sister-in-law played on each other. I was the unintended victim a couple of times, and it was great. Eventually it escalated, and the 12th Doctor's eyes were vandaleyes'd. No pic of that, though, sorry.

Last month, I was also told that I am an empath. I hadn't realized such a thing was a real-life possibility and not just the stuff of superheroes and fiction, but it explains so much of my past and present, how I experience life and other people. I'm keeping my eyes open for more resources and information on this subject.

Firsts:

It's hard to believe it was such a short time ago now, but in November, on a beautiful, fresh Sunday afternoon, a friend took me to see the ocean, which I had never seen with my own eyes before. I knew I'd be going back and I already have once.

The last morning of November was spent on a yacht, traversing the harbor with the family. It was great to get out and do something with everyone, and the admission price was a present for Toys for Tots, which my niece was very excited about giving. Near the end of the trip, the boat went under the bridge pictured below. It's huge and amazing (it's actually one of my favorite places in the area--the view!). I lingered outside, taking in the vastness of the bridge, sky, water, and breeze. Also, no pictures, but I caught my first glimpse of a dolphin jumping out of the water!

Travel:

Midmonth, I went to Columbia and drank coffee. To clarify, I did not leave the country, or even the state. I headed to South Carolina's capitol city and watched a dear friend, a wonderful and inspiring woman, graduate from basic training. After the ceremony, I had the blessed time of enjoying an Olive Garden lunch and caramel macchiato with her and her family, some of my favorite people. It was so, so good to see them, and so hard to leave.

Reading:

I started reading Jesus Feminist (which I knew about primarily through my sister-in-law and Leigh Kramer, so thanks, ladies!), and it is amazing. I'd say my viewpoint on "women's roles" has changed even in the last couple of weeks, and for the better, in part due to this book's examination of how we live and what should be normal. I'm not through the book yet, but I don't expect it to take much longer.

It's also been a month since John Flanagan's book The Royal Ranger came out and I haven't read it yet! I pre-ordered, then decided to wait until December so I wouldn't be rushing through it (I anticipated bleed-over rush pace from writing so fast in November). Then I decided I should read one book at a time (I forget why, something about focus), and I started Jesus Feminist first. But this one is next (sorry, Jane Eyre) since I've been anticipating it for months.

Listening:

Like many, I have been introduced to Pentatonix's performance of The Little Drummer Boy, one of my favorite Christmas songs, and loved it. I'd heard their cover of Radioactive with Lindsey Stirling and liked it, but didn't know what I was listening to. Now I do and Pentatonix has a new fan. I love a sound that is full even without instruments.



Whew! It's been an odd, interesting, and typical month, jam packed with the ordinary and realizations, routine and special events. It's been even fuller than I'd realized. And I didn't even mention Thanksgiving, with my niece and brother racing on the Wii, or the fact that my list of "what I'm thankful for" was simple and I was too embarrassed to give one that was heartfelt. I do have a lot to be thankful for, and I'm learning how to express that, in the special and the ordinary both. This blog list is a good start.


So. What are you into?

My Box

I live in a box. Like one that can store treasures or collect unwanted trinkets that don't ever get thrown out. My room is a box. Like a storage unit, it can be organized or chaotic. Right now my room is like a box being sorted. Only the treasures will remain, leaving empty space so they will be visible. Some have been hidden for so long that they're hardly treasures anymore. Yet once found, remembered, I have a hard time parting with them.

But what needs more space in the box of my room? Things? Or me?

I feel most alive, perhaps most protected, when I am not confined. It's why I love a wide open sky, a low horizon, a far view. Somehow I have to create that within a confined space, and so more things must go to make room for my long limbs and brave imagination to stretch.

My box, my room, is very boring, until I add the touch of me, things that make my heart leap with joy, things that remind me of good times and the love I have from others, things that let me ponder. Snapshots of the best moments in my favorite movie. A rose from my best friend, given three Valentine's ago, hanging in the window all this time. My college graduation cap with the Tangled sun that my sister-in-law painted on top. My framed print of a cowboy riding at sunset. My bridesmaid bouquet from my brother's wedding.

I live in a box. But soon, the edges of the box will fade and the treasures will take the spotlight.

Soon, my box will be as open space.

Linking up with The RunaMuck's #concretewords prompt.

Delight of Now

My jaw would drop if I wasn't resting my face on my hand.

I just met someone, well we didn't meet exactly, but we talked briefly on the phone. And then I learned something about her.

She's a year younger than me and just had a baby? I think. I feel cheated. But as soon as the thought forms I remember, oh yeah, that's...that's about normal.

Remember, I have called you to something else.

Yeah. I remember. I'm not cheated. And she's not better than me, either. Nor am I better than her. I'm just on a different kind of path. I don't know where it will take me, but I know I have a leader who has already set the path and decided it's good. That should be enough.

And it is. Actually the last couple of months have been better than I could have expected and exactly the sort of thing I hope for my life. When one exciting thing calmed down and the event passed, days seemed normal. Time traveled slowly...and in the proper order. That's okay. Good, actually. And then another exciting event came, and went. And days passed one at a time. No specific exciting event on any given day.

Except every day is rather exciting. Each day is new, and I have renewed hope for future days...without spoiling the delight of now.

Now I get to wake up every morning, see the growth of my little jar of Forget-Me-Nots, relax or start early, form a semblance of a dinner plan, head off to one of my dream jobs where I work with great people and will always be surrounded by inspiration as long as I don't close my eyes to it (the feeling is a bit like every time I would get to walk to my beautiful Gaylord, home of the best possible major for me, great teachers, and friendly classmates), read, dream, write, and store up...something. I'm not sure what, nor for what, but I'm glad to drink in where I am now, knowing where I've come from.

No, I'm not married, and no, I don't have a newborn. But I do have a lot. Her adorable baby isn't mine, but this,
::deep breath:: 
this is mine.

I don't choose my purpose. I'm given freedom.

Yesterday I held a newborn baby. A tiny person. She is beautiful and precious. Impossibly real. A new heart not yet ready to explore far, but filled with so much potential already that it makes one want to sing. I didn't see her for long, and I held her for less than that (she was hungry, after all, and I haven't got food in me). I'm terribly excited for her and her parents, and I have confidence that they will be just fine. I left as unobtrusively as I could manage to let this beautiful, little, and growing family have peace and time. And on the way home, I cried.

You see, despite my fears of babies (mostly because they're so small, I'm not and tend toward clumsiness, and I don't want to break them or hurt them in any way), there are times I desperately want a child (or more than one) of my own.

I want a small, young, new person to hold and comfort, cuddle and feed, encourage and teach. Someone to whom, down the road, I can say, "Sure, try that slightly dangerous or new and uncertain thing. It'll probably turn out all right." Someone who I can try to help have more courage than I do. And a whole long list of reasons and things I look forward to, should they be granted to me.

And preceding that, I would love to be married. Seriously. There's another list longer than my arm of things I want and hope for wrapped in that.

And these are good things to want, certainly. I'm not likely to stop any second. But I'm also not likely to get married "any day now". And because of that (and a thousand other things, including I've never been career-oriented) I've been down in my heart about my usefulness and my purpose. If I want to raise a person, how is fiction going to help? If I want to marry and partner myself with a man, what use is the obscurity of holing up and pouring my energy into false realms into which no one can truly travel? And if marriage and children are not for me, what is the point of wanting them so deeply? And what is the benefit of my desired and chosen profession anyway?

Those questions are hard to write now, because, for the moment, it's so easy to see how silly they are. But for a couple or so weeks I wrestled with the challenges they brought to mind. The "glut" of fiction and stories haunted me. The longing to do something great and to be a crucial piece in a grand plan that worked for the good of thousands of people made my heart despair that "I could never".

Because, after all, what can one lonely little writer do? Certainly nothing on such a grand and important scale.

But even as I doubted, I knew my doubts were...well, not exactly wrong, but ill-founded. I know that God can do nationally, even globally-scaled works through small people. So, of course my writing could turn out to be something desperately needed. It could turn out that way and I'd never know, or it could turn out that way and I'd be giving my autograph until I wished I'd never become a writer for different reasons.

But that's not even the heart issue. I know God can do huge things with one person if He chooses. I also know He can do "small" yet still highly important things with one person. The fact is, there's not a single person on this earth who doesn't have and fulfill a purpose.

I was struggling with wanting to choose my own purpose, when in reality, it's not my choice. I can choose the purpose of the fictional people I create, but I cannot choose my own. It's not my right. I didn't design myself, nor the people I'm around, nor the world I interact within. No, none of it. Everything I do in a fiction story I did none of for my own life.

It's not mine to question. Oh, sure, I can ask as long as I ask respectfully (how odd would it be if one of my characters were to demand of me that I change him from being a tailor to a taxi driver?), but once asked it's not mine to demand an answer. It is mine to simply accept that God is working and using me in His story as He sees fit. I don't have to know how all the intricacies work. Sure I'd like to. But I'm not my own author. Whoops. I merely play my part, which has importance though I may never know exactly what. I should stay open to the possibility of changes--or growth--of my role at the moment. But that doesn't make who I am, what I love, and what I do now flabbergastingly useless.

I didn't create it, but I have purpose, and really, I can't escape fulfilling a purpose. For God's glory and the good of those who love Him. Which, to put a finger on it, is what I really want.

That doesn't mean I can't choose to do other things, but I'm still unique me no matter what I do and will remain designed for what this unique me is needed. God gave me not only a love of others' stories but also of creating and sharing my own, and though I may sometimes try, I can't run from that. It will always be a part of me. I can grow as a person (please, no taller), expand my skills and knowledge, meet new people, try new things, and generally live life. Actually, I hope to do this. And that will only work to further my God-given purpose. Whether He chooses to reveal it to me at the time, later, or not at all is His call. But I can trust Him to use me for grand things.

It's a mystery. And yet it makes sense.

For now, I think I'll keep writing in re-remembered freedom.

Absentminded Woolgathering

I watch and I wait and I try to hold fast. I am a shieldmaiden of the shelter, defender of the home, but not an adventurer or soldier on mission. My assignment is wait, watch, hope.

Essentially, this fellow said it perfectly. I have thoughts like that at times; I often wish for such pivotal life moments. But they don’t always happen the way they’re expected. Sometimes I have a sweet thought of a romantic moment, and suddenly I’m disappointed because I realize it probably won’t happen that way. I’ve “jinxed it,” or rather, God’s plan is always better than mine if mine is other than His, and often He chooses to surprise, so I don’t imagine that my daydreams becoming reality will be His primary method. Sometimes my imaginings are creative, but I have to remember He is more creative than I.

I am a shieldmaiden, so I watch. But when the meeting comes, I will likely be caught off guard, unprepared, and at a loss for words. My first defense is silence. My second, quiet reasoning. It may be agonizing, wishing that I could act, that I could speak, but it will be perfect. It may be shy and sweet, but it will be perfect. It may not seem like the life-changing moment it is, but it will be perfect. It may have movie soundtrack music in the background (though that might be awkward), but it will be perfect.

Perfect because I didn’t plan it; He did.

And that is enough for me.

Failure...or Plot Suspense?

It's not hard for a writer to feel like a failure. If he's not writing, then he's obviously not doing what he's supposed to. If he is writing so much that other responsibilities slide by or he doesn't live in the realm of reality between writing sessions, then he's obsessed and clearly off in the head.


Now, obviously there is a middle ground, but finding that balance between writing and living is remarkably tricky.

I, for one, frequently feel like a failure when it comes to writing. I fall in the first category. I spend so much time taking care of people and trying to maintain a semblance of sanity and cleanliness against a losing battle, that when I have time to write or edit...I sleep in. Maybe I'll pick up a book, one that's already been written and published by someone else, not my own. Oh, no. That takes too much emotional commitment and too much energy.

But I work, too. I co-teach and I tutor, and I love my jobs. Twice a week I get to talk about the workings of story and writing to the next generation, and I get paid for it! It's quite the pick-me-up, and I get excited to work on my stories. But, and there's always a but, when I pack up from the "office" I get sidetracked, distracted, and sometimes guilt-tripped into taking care of something that's more important or urgent (like, you know, people are very important).

So, I'm a caregiver more than a writer right now. Not exactly a "success story" of a writer, but still, I can't stop being a writer. It's part of my core (like phoenix tail, not a canary feather or a frog tongue, was in the core of Harry's wand). That means, that I will always come back to writing. Like this blog post right now. I have to go run some errands (after all, I need sweet tea), but I had a thought, and I needed to write it down.

So, what is one to do? While I can't speak from experience about a writer who does nothing but write, I can speak as one who hardly writes. When I'm not writing, when I'm living in the fantastical realm of reality, I'm gaining experience in the world and understanding of the aspects of it. I'm learning about myself and others (in short, people), and I'm learning about how creation works, and even more about Who created it.

And, later, that will be useful to writing and editing stories.

So, even though I'm not writing much, and I don't feel like a success as a writer right now...

Nothing is wasted. It just adds suspense and anticipation.

Just like in a polished work of fiction.

Fiction ...And Real Life... Can Tie Together

Marriage is not the solution because singleness is not a problem.  They are both good.

Ah, okay.  Now that I have that lovely thesis statement, the rest of this post may or may not have anything to do with it.  You see, I was writing a novel (don't worry, I still am).  I wanted it to be a romance.  I haven't written romance stories before (though I do like the subplot option sometimes) but my best friend writes romance, I like romances, and I thought I'd give it a try.

Welp, I tried.  Moving on.

No, really, I did try.  I had my characters semi-solid in my mind, my setting basically figured out, and a fair bit of the backstory in my head.  But probably about five or seven thousand words into it, I realized that my leading man would never choose the leading lady over his fiancée if the two women were side by side.  Even though the direct comparison is impossible in the story, it wouldn't be very satisfying to anyone (the characters, myself, and most importantly readers) if my leading lady was a second best.

And so, the romance died.  My book turned on its head, and I was left trying to patch together a plot that works and satisfies.  But, never fear (not that you would, and that's okay), that is happening.  I am far far far behind where I wished to be, but that is also in the works.

So I guess the whole couples/marriage/single thing has been in my mind for a while.  Concentrated, that is, on my story.  Now, I want my leading lady, the main protagonist, to be satisfied and happy even with being single.  But, I confess, it was pretty hard to figure out how to do that for my character when I couldn't do it for myself.

Thus the thesis.  (Hey, I am tying this together!)  Singleness is not a problem to be solved because it's not a problem.  Singleness and marriage are both good things in their own time.  It's just something that I've come to realize recently, largely due to a friend sharing this.  I think my life had been leading up to hearing that for...oh, say...eh, we'll call it six or seven months.  Let's not think about it too hard; just recognize that it's been a process.

Now, I am freed of the worries, fears, and even aimless hopes that I personally have had for years.  I have never been more excited to be single.  Maybe I won't be single for my whole life...and maybe I will.  But now I understand that singleness is not a problem.  It is a good thing to be enjoyed and used to its fullest.

Now I think I can give my character the same appreciation.

Problem solved.