429 Memory Ln.

I have a fondness for Memory Lane. I love looking back through old photos, notes, home videos, journal entries, tracing the way God has shaped my life thus far, following that pattern of footprints to the present. It reminds me of two things:

(One.) Every major point of transition in my life has been painful. At times, I could not believe that anything good could come out of it. I have always hated change, hated goodbyes, hated the phrases moving on and letting go. But, in spite of all my fear and unbelief, out of those painful circumstances, something beautiful emerged. Every single time.

(Two.) I have had enough blessings in my past to last me a lifetime. I'm only twenty-one years-old, but God has already given me more than most people will have over the course of their entire lives. If God were to say to me right now, "From here on out, you will experience only hardship and loss in your life," I know it would not be enough to outweigh all the good He has poured over me in the past.

Of course, I can't spend my whole life looking at old photographs. I read somewhere recently that you can't begin a new chapter of your life until you stop rereading all the old ones. I have been doing a lot of rereading lately, and though those chapters have been a comfort to me in this time of transitioning, I know, deep down beneath the fear and doubt--it is time to turn the page.

Go Fly a Kite.

Yesterday, I flew a kite for the first time in my life.

There was a lot of running involved, at first. Downhill, uphill, every-which-way in an attempt to launch it into the air. It had always seemed to me that kite-flying was a leisurely, carefree activity, but fifteen minutes into the endeavor, I was already worn out.

Then the wind picked up. Suddenly, we didn't have to run anymore. We simply threw the kite over our heads, and the wind cradled it and carried it upwards. We unraveled the string until it reached its end. We stood still, heads tilted up. We watched the kite soar.

I think sometimes we fight so hard to get off the ground on our own. If we can just run fast enough, arms outstretched, surely we will take flight. What we don't realize is, we can't take off without the wind. We're not made to fly on our own.

There is a right time for everything. Yes, there are times of soaring. But there are also times of waiting. Not everything in life comes down to how hard we try. We can throw our bodies into the atmosphere again and again, but without the wind to catch us and hold us aloft, we will fall right back down to earth.

God wants to take us higher. He wants to fill the sky with color. But we have to wait until we feel His breeze on our skin; we have to wait until we hear His voice in our ears. Without it, we are merely a scrap of bright fabric. But with it, we have wings.

For Those Tired of Running:

Everything will be fine.

We miss so much of our lives because we forget that. Several people lately have reminded me to slow down, and I am trying. With graduation looming ahead, I have a lot on my mind and on my schedule. So many emotions are spinning through me, I revert to zombie-mode to avoid processing them all. But how much am I missing out on in the meantime?

Today was my last day of classes, and I decided beforehand that it was going to be a good one. Admittedly, I still found myself sprinting through the first half of the day, finishing up assignments that were due later that afternoon. But as I sat in my last two classes, I began to pay attention. I have spent my entire life taking this opportunity to sit in a classroom and learn for granted; today, I drank it in, savoring each drop.

Afterwards, I walked to another building across campus. The sun was warm and the breeze was light. The walk is so familiar to me, but I made sure to open my eyes wide for the sweeping field stretching out on my left, for every tree that lined the sidewalk.

When I thought of the tree with the swing, I knew I would have to stop. I cut across the grass to it, settled on the plank of wood and wrapped my hands around the chains. I kicked the tree roots gently to propel me into motion. I listened to my iPod until it died, then just listened to the wind. I leaned my body backwards until I could see the world upside-down. I sang quietly to Jesus. I closed my eyes and let the swing rock me.

These moments are our gift. They are our promise.

Everything will be fine.

Dear God,

Where do I go from here?

I know the pieces are taking shape, each experience a new stroke in this collage that is my life. But I only see the jagged edges, sharp contours that I cannot make fit together. So many beautiful patches, I try to stitch them into wholeness, but they keep slipping through the cracks. Somehow, I did not realize this would be so messy.

Why don't I know how to trust?

Spokes streaming out from the center of me, they go in every direction. Any step will mean to sacrifice a thousand others. I am afraid to move. I am afraid that my choice will be the wrong one. I am afraid that I will stand here forever.

What am I supposed to do?

I could never decide which was more trustworthy, the head or the heart, so I threw them both away. But sometimes, they still scream loud, I cannot hear the voice You promised I would know. This is me begging, for slammed doors in my face, for clanging bells attached to the ones You swing open.

When will You come for me?

If these questions have answers, I do not know how to find them. That is why I am bringing them to You. Again. My anxieties, cast on You because You care, because You are strong enough. The questions that overwhelm me will never break You. You are my only option, Abba, the only chance I have. When I remember this, I know I am safe.

My Stream of Consciousness, Which is Only a Little Bit Like a Psalm.

Originally written August 3, 2010. Because it is appropriate for today, and because I don't feel like writing anything new.

I am writing because, at the moment, the page is the only Jonathan I have. Perhaps the page is listening to me, but I will have to imagine its response, the response that drives away my loneliness and gives me the courage I need to press on. For the page does not have a voice to encourage nor arms to hold nor a countenance to sympathize. It only has (maybe) the ears to listen, depending on if you are good at pretending. I know I should not be selfish, and I have learned that self-pity is really only pride draped in the guise of brokenness. I did not think I was a very prideful person until I learned that. Now I realize that I must be--or must have been, rather, and what I sometimes still live in even though it is not who I am anymore--one of the most prideful people of all. Very few people know how broken I am, really only one whose name is Jesus and He loves me. But once someone glimpsed that I was broken and they left and now I am afraid that if everyone knew I was broken I would be alone. Not really alone because God is always with me and He is my very best friend, but alone as in I would have no Jonathans or Mordecais (like now), and after all God did say it is not good for man to be alone. I am not a man, but I was taken out of man, so I expect it is a similar thing. But I have been in this hole of spiritual isolation for nearly a year off and on, and I told myself once, or maybe the truth whispered to me the way it sometimes does, that if I truly believe that God will provide for all my needs (yes) then He will not leave me in my isolation when He knows I need to get out of it. I need to get out, I have been screaming. And sometimes I get very, very close and I think praise God, this must be what I was waiting for, but if I am being honest, which I am (I always try to be because truth is one of my favorite things, even more than chocolate), I would have to tell you that I am still waiting. I hurt sometimes, waiting. I think God is teaching me to trust Him, and He has been teaching me for a long time because I am not very good at it. And I am feeling better already, so I will probably end this note soon. I think it is because I am like David, during those times when he did not have Jonathan and wrote those Psalms that are terribly depressing at first, but if you can push past that, you will see that by the end of it David is saying things like Praise the Lord and God is good, which might not make sense to everyone, but it makes sense to me. That is why I liked this quote I found, which says, "Have you realized that most of your unhappiness in life is due to the fact that you are listening to yourself instead of talking to yourself? Take those thoughts that come to you in the moment you wake up in the morning. You have not originated them but they are talking to you. Now this man's treatment [in Psalm 42] was this: instead of allowing this self to talk to him, he starts talking to himself. 'Why art thou cast down, O my soul?' he asks. His soul has been depressing him, crushing him. So he stands up and says: 'Self, listen for a moment, I will speak to you.'" Of course these thoughts do not come from nowhere; they are lies from Satan, and I can be awfully gullible and have listened to his lies for a long time. That is why I think truth is so precious and why I love it so much, only that is another story that I do not have time to tell now. So I am staring at the page and will draw the rambling to a close because I have nothing left to say and God has quieted my spirit. Praise the Lord.

It Sounds Like Chains Breaking.

It was amazing how quickly the freedom came back.

I used to be offended when worship leaders instructed us as a collective group to raise our hands. I used to think I simply didn't worship like that. I used to tell myself that it had nothing to do with being afraid.

Then, a few years ago, the Spirit of God shattered my carefully-constructed world and changed everything.

I didn't want to be still anymore. I didn't want to hold back. I wanted to reach up and touch Him. I wanted to fly. In that instant, I really believed I could. Sometimes, I still do.

But I am haunted by a terrible forgetfulness, and a self-consciousness that borders on obsession. And recently, in worship, I've retreated back into myself. Affix Hello, I am an introvert to my forehead, and hope it is excuse enough.

When I heard that Jesus Culture was coming to Atlanta, my heart rate picked up speed. A few weeks passed before I made the decision to go, but when I bought the ticket, it felt like inevitability.

My only fear was that the freedom would be gone. That I wouldn't be able to abandon myself as I had before.

It took all of five seconds. Arms fully extended, the songs propelled by all the air I could burst out of my lungs. And I remembered what it felt like to have the rest of the world fade. I remembered what it felt like to believe.

That night was God's gift to me, I know. A night away from myself, lost in the holy.

One of the speakers said that it's easy to worship in a crowd of Jesus-lovers, but the real test is the continuation of worship in everyday life. My heart tightened with the truth of it. Because I knew, in a way I did not understand before, that this feeling would not last forever.

But while it lasted, I reveled in it. I plunged into that stream and prayed to drown.

Two days have passed. Today, I have been tired and full of anxieties.

The thing is, even when my feelings change, my God doesn't. He is the same God in this moment as He was when my fingertips brushed heaven.

I wish I could promise to never forget, but I am no good at keeping promises. My only hope is in a God who keeps His.

Just Outside the Window.

There is a tree outside my window, with clouds of leaves that lift in the wind. The wind is too quiet to hear, but still the leaves flutter their paper-thin edges like wings. They do not fly far, tethered to the trunk by a network of branches. It is a gentle movement, deep inhale and exhale less steady than breathing, a rhythm that can be measured, but not predicted.

You are wondering what all this means. You are wondering what I am trying to say. I cannot tell you.

Somewhere out of sight, the sun pierces the cloud-muffled atmosphere for a moment, and suddenly the leaves are green, and bright. We think of color as something intrinsic (disregard the oddity of the chameleon's skin), but really everything depends on the light.

I cannot tell you because I do not know what I am trying to say.

But I'm certain that if we look deep enough, we will discover that it has something to do with God. He is the heart of everything. He is the wind that stirs us, the trunk that roots us, the sun that colors us, the window that shows us the world outside our own.

I know we have heard these metaphors before. We have heard them all our lives. And yet, we still don't understand.

An Hour of Listening.

I have given you your daily
                                                 bread.
I have given you your
                                        manna.

You take double
                    handfuls, you hoard until it turns to
rot, you cram full your stomach until you
                    vomit, you are so afraid of starving.

Tomorrow is too big for you.
You want to hold it, not knowing
                                                   it will crush
                                                                  you.

But you are strong enough for today,
at least  for this hour,
this minute. You can take one
                                                     more
                                                                step.
You have strength enough for that.

If I told you your future, you would not
be able
            to move. It is too heavy,
                          you would crumple
                          to the ground
                          under its weight.

You think by knowing, you would have
                                                                 peace,
but it would destroy you, for you
still would not believe you could reach
                                                           such a beautiful end.
So trust me, this time. Just
                                                  for
today.

The Art of Invisibility.

Originally written on April 16, 2011. When I came across this, I recognized the honesty of the moment and knew I needed to share. I still remember the intense loneliness that gripped me that particular day, with little warning and for no specific reason. The following is a snapshot of my struggle.

I never meant to become invisible. Sometimes, it was a conscious effort. But mostly, I just didn't want to be rejected. And when you're invisible, you're not rejected. You're just forgotten. I didn't realize, that being forgotten is probably just as bad. Maybe worse. I didn't know I had that kind of power. I didn't know my silence was strong enough to make the world see right through me. I didn't know what it felt like to fade. If I did, maybe I would have said something.

By the time I knew, it was too late. I didn't know how to break the silence now. What I needed was someone to notice. But the problem with being invisible is, people don't. I can't blame them. I wanted to. I wanted to get angry. I wanted to scream. I wanted them to know I'm still here.

I know it's selfish. I wanted a shoulder to cry on. I didn't even know why, really. It didn't matter why I was crying. I just wanted to cry and have someone hold me. Someone who saw me. Someone who would notice if I wasn't around. Someone who wouldn't let me disappear. Someone who proved that existence was worth it.

God, I know You're there. And I hope this doesn't make You sad. It's just a feeling. I know it will pass. I know You're strong enough to hold me until it does. I know I'm not invisible to You.

On Dying.

"I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again." -Donald Miller 

This is how I want to live. With a constant regurgitation of my self, bleeding out the poison of selfishness that blackens my insides to rot. God called us to die because, what we call life, these 75 years or so in which we imagine ourselves to be the center of the universe, is not really life at all. Life is loving, and loving is only possible when we've forgotten about ourselves.

To love is to give yourself and not require anything in return. People have warned me that if I'm not careful, I'll become a doormat. Which is probably true. While I intend to keep my pearls far away from the swine, to love at all is to make yourself vulnerable, and it's inevitable that in your vulnerability you will come across those who take advantage of you.

But have we done any less to Jesus? We greedily cling to the love He offers us, hoarding it up in our hearts to assuage our guilt-ridden fears, then stubbornly resist when He calls us to go into all that world and pour out that love to others. And His response? "Daddy, forgive them. They don't understand what they're doing."

We want to fight for our respect, our dignity, as if the world owes us that. We grant our love to those we have deemed worthy of it, those who seem the least likely to injure it. Little children, our human natures scream self-preservation, but that is not the calling we have received. "Follow Me," Jesus said. Then He went to the cross and died.

But that's not the end of the story. Three days later, Jesus conquered death, and that glorious victory is one He shares with us, a triumph that will always be secure, no matter how many times we lay our selves down on the altar.

Adventure is Out There!

"You have said to me, 'I know you very well, and I am pleased with you.' If I have truly pleased you, show me your plans so that I may know you and continue to please you." 


The LORD answered, "My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest."


This is the conversation between God and Moses documented in Exodus 33. It's also the conversation I've been having with God for the past few weeks now. Though, the translation coming out of my life probably sounds more like this:

"GOD WHAT THE HECK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MY LIFE???" 


"Alyssa, trust Me. I've got a plan. I'm not going to leave you alone in this. Relax."


Put this scene on repeat, and you basically have what my life currently consists of in a nutshell. I'll be the first to admit it's completely ridiculous, this cycle I'm stuck in. But it doesn't surprise me that I'm in this position. Sometimes, on the good days, I'm even a little glad. Sure, it's going to be rough--stepping out into the unknown and the uncertain is not my forte. I like stability, routine, safety. I like doing the things I know I'm good at. I like the familiar.

On the other hand. There is a part of me, a small portion not bound by cowardice, that wants an adventure. One of my greatest fears is living a mediocre life. Settling. Apathy. And if it takes being shoved off a cliff and free-falling while sheer terror shoots through my veins to keep me from that, then so be it.

...Later I might regret that last sentence. I really should be more careful with my words.

Regardless of what happens from here, I still believe God's promises are true. Wherever I go, He's going to go with me. What more do I need?  He will give me rest.

Only, not quite yet. For now, it's time to buckle down for the roller-coaster ride it'll take to get us there.

Self-Portrait.

This is me, empty. I have nothing to offer. Drained emotion, pooling in the corners of my heavy eyes. I want to embrace this weakness, because everything else feels like pretending. If you expect me to be strong, to have-it-all-together, you should know I have already failed. If you are counting on me, I promise I will let you down. How can I save you when I cannot save myself? 

This is not peace, exactly. It is an acceptance of sorts, and it brings a certain relief. Like the realization that sometimes, silence holds more meaning than words. So listen closely. This is my silence. 

Peace is impossible, but it will come. My life is full of impossible things.