Dear Mr. Hard-To-Love,

It is my daily prayer and constant persistence that you will be changed because I am in your life and Jesus is in mine, and He indeed is in the business of changing things.  And by that, I mean everything.  From the inside out and for all of time.  Making them new.  Making them whole.  Making them His.

He will be found by you.

You will be saved by Him.

This I do believe.

Sincerely,

Me…whose life apart from the grace of God doesn’t and really shouldn’t make any sense.

BLEH.  Sometimes.  Not all the time.  Still sometimes.  My writing?  Yeah.  Not a fan.  Too predictable.  I say.  My style.  Too foofy.  I try to change.  To no avail.  It all comes out the same.  It all comes out the same.  Now, I believe the term is.  I’ve it heard it called. Correct me if I’m wrong.  But I’m not wrong.  What I have here is a love-hate relationship.

Currently, I’m on the hate-side of the relationship and am cringing at the prospect of pounding out another insipid entry; nevertheless, just because I sometimes don’t like my writing does not mean that I am going to stop because I know that these stirrings I’m feeling right now don’t want me to succeed…and their names are Doubt, Fear, and Insecurity.

Earlier this year, we had a mouse running around in our apartment, and against all impulses to name it Gus Gus and knit a slouchie beanie, we got snap traps instead.  We baited them with peanut butter and then waited and waited and waited some more.  “FINALLY!  Sweet victory!” I thought, as my roommate delivered the guess-what line.  Obviously, I guessed wrong, though, because not only was there no mouse on the traps, but there was also no peanut butter!  How he did that?  I don’t know, and I may or may not have been wildly impressed.  This mouse had to be the smartest mouse everrr.  A couple days later, I realized I had spoken too soon when I found out that the little guy met his match on one of the traps that didn’t have any bait.  Really?…Dumbest mouse everrr.

And with that, our little rodent friend was buried in the swirling and watery graveyard; still, though weeks behind us, there’s been something not quite right about the whole situation.  Call it suicide or stupidity or penance from the other day, there was something not quite right about the little guy just giving up like that, without a fight and without us even having to waste any more peanut butter.

This got me thinking about the coming day that I will be taken out of this game called Life, and I, for one, want to go down swinging.  I want to go down hitting hard, for I believe that one of my jobs here on earth is to make Satan’s job as hellish as possible.  So though at times I may doubt my mission and fear the weapons in my hand (which right now happen to be the words on this page), I know that Satan would love it if I were to just walk up to the trap of insecurity and throw down my pen.

I will continue to write.

Now, be that the same old stuff in the same old style time and time again, that’s fine because by putting words to my feelings I uncover a sense of ardor and articulation and consequently, a powerful form of prayer and meditation.  I write because by my own words of admission, I am reminded of and reaffirm myself of the task at hand.

I will continue to write.

I also know that many of you read my stuff and well, jokes on you if this is terrible and you keep reading.

As for me, I will continue to write.

I’m truly convinced that everything happens for a reason.  Take tonight, for example.

I was heading to a friend’s house for a good and sweaty work out session, like we do every Monday night (or at least like to think we do).  Keys, phone, Metro card, gigantic water bottle, game face.  Check.  I was just going there and back.  There was no need for much.  So, I threw all the items into my grocery bag that my brother had made me.  Sewn with fabric from the naval shipyard, this was the real stuff–canvas on crack, if you will.  A grocery bag Hulk Hogan couldn’t rip through.  So with everything tucked away safely, I hopped on the train in Brooklyn and got off in the East Village and walked the remaining three blocks when I pulled out my–“Oh my gosh, water.  WATER!”–phone.  Now, this was no whoops-I-spilled-on-my-phone incident.  Nope.  I really wish it could’ve been, but because my bag was too awesome, it ended up retaining every single drop of water inside serving as a makeshift pool for my phone and Metro card to do backstrokes in together.  Greeeat.  So there I stood on the stoop of my friend’s house, knocking and ringing a broken doorbell, hoping that she’d hear me from her third floor room.  Being the middle of January, though, the knocking soon turned into banging as my fingers turned into popsicles and my determination into despair.

Give up.  Go home.

I know.  That’s what all other normal minds would say but not mine.  Mine continued to play sick and tortuous games, telling me that the minute I leave would be the very minute she’d come down to the first floor to work out and see me.  False.  Fail.  She didn’t come down, and I left after 90 minutes with little frost-bitten fingers and a wet and soggy phone.

Wom-wom.  So much for exercising, I went home and ate ice cream.

Now, like I mentioned before, I’m convinced that everything happens for a reason.  And for two months now, the first part of this entry has been pending as a draft because I was determined to make something of this exceptionally inconvenient experience (not to mention the fi-as-cooo the next three weeks were trying to activate my new phone).  There just had to be something to learn.  I mean, it’s funny now, but it most certainly wasn’t back then.

Ergo, here is what I gathered.

Last week, I got to spend some time with my childhood sis, and we laughed and laughed and laughed about all the silly shenanigans we had gotten into as kids, which to be honest, most had no real noteworthy implications that I am aware of.  In the same manner, I can’t tell you the significance of this seemingly dead-end story, except that…

I think we’re sometimes thrown into maddening situations with other people just to get us to smile and smile together.

For such are the stories that weave our hearts as one and tune our laughter to the same key; for such are the steps that move us forward from strangers to acquaintances to friends to kindred spirits; and likewise are the stairs that move us upward toward the source of all joy who designed this world to function in, on, and through relationships.

Such are the moments that I live for and will always love reminiscing on as my friends and I, though maybe not geographically near, continue down together on this journey called Life.

Note:  For the other side of the story, click here.  Her name is Becca, and Becca and I laugh about this story all the time.  

Love is giving someone the power to destroy you but trusting them not to.  -Unknown.

Sooo, I have this friend.

I have this special friend who has disarmed my defenses with His humility and done away with my predilection for independence with His persistence.  He knows everything about me, inside and out, the good and the bad and yet adores me just the way that I am, all the while continuing to push me to be all that I can be.  Now, He’s way out of my league but still calls me “Beloved.”  He is kind of a big deal but still calls me to come and talk.  And while some men give up on the relationship at the first sign of difficulty, He moves heaven and earth to make sure that I don’t go through difficulty alone.  Moreover, while some men don’t even give up their seats on the train, He gave up His life.

Oh, God.

Dear God,

I’m in love.

Today I pulled relics from out of my closet.  I placed them into a bag.  Today I peeled memories from off of my walls.  I packed them into a box.  Today I said goodbye to a life that once was.  I left it at the curb.

It’s just stuff.  It’s just stuff.  It’s just stuff.

Today I went to go spend time with my daddy.  There was a service going on nearby.  Today I saw a coffin go into the ground, with loved ones–not stuff–close beside.  Today I was reminded of life’s brevity, and with all put back into perspective,

It’s just stuff.  It’s just stuff.  It’s just stuff.  

Today I reaffirm my treasure isn’t here; I set forth for only things that will last, for tomorrow is never guaranteed to anyone.  So in the case that I do pass, I want to know there’s going to be people at my service, people I loved and was loved by.  For stuff will come and stuff will go but relationships will persist for all of time.

1.22.08.

“As a student at Westmont College, I will strive to continue learning about and drawing near to the person of God.  I realize that the academic exercises and challenges this liberal arts education gives way to are merely a means by which He uses to build character and expand knowledge in me.  Through it, I will try to engage Him in a higher and more intimate relationship.  During my time here, I will also seek to know what I believe, why I believe it, and with hope point others (and myself) more towards Christ.  Consequently, I wish to emerge a more disciplined, articulate, informed, productive, and appreciative citizen of the United States and of the Kingdom of God.”

3.5.03

“Hey ya’ll.  It is spiritual emphasis today through Friday and lately I have been going insane.  First of all, ‘Bob’ is…(I think) the next J** R****.  It is really irritating at how good she is at everything.  I know it seems as if we all have our own little worlds, but it kind of seems like she is invading a lot of mine.  I mean we both had personal stuff like she has soccer, looks, figure, personality, athleticness (?), and height.  I had dance, bball, vball, grades, and to a certain extent-popularity (because of my brothers).  But now she has vball, bball, and my grades and the only thing left is dance.  I think that is why I love it so much.  And also, she is so skinny, but she eats so much junk food.  It is disgusting.  My mom keeps telling me, “That’s so bad for you” but it seems to be working for her.  I just don’t get it.  I wish I didn’t have to constantly watch what I eat and condition 24/7.  And she doesn’t really hang out with me.  She is always with ‘Chester’.  But when she is around me, it is when ‘Frank’ and ‘Chester’ are gone and she yells in my ear and burps in my face.  It is kind of irritating.  The thing that gets me the most though is that she is a good person.  I can’t really tell her any of this because I don’t think she knows she is doing it.  She is just a natural at everything.  I know I am jealous but I don’t know what to do.  If I talk to her she might not try as hard in things, which would make me comfortable with myself.  So, in a way it is kind of good that the better she gets, the harder I try.”

Note:  I don’t think I can convey just how embarrassed-EMBARRASSED I was to publish this, still it’s a part of who I was and a landmark from where I’ve come.  Gosh, please don’t judge me.

Other note: I’m sooo glad to say that this young lady and I still keep in touch.  She is and will forever be one of my dearest friends.

Other-other note: I really did assign code names back then, but now can’t even remember who Frank and Chester are.

11.21.95.

“Did you know when I am leaving?  I know when I am leaving.  Well if you don’t know I am leaving on Friday.  Ther now you know when I am leaving.  And I am going to stay ther for four days.  Sunday is my lucky day because that’s the day of competition!  But you know this I am going to miss my Mom.  And my Dad to my brothers my whole family.”

Moment of honesty #523,937,184:  I don’t feel like writing.  I haven’t for a while, obviously.  That said, here I go–writing about how I don’t feel like writing.

Life’s been full lately, so full to the point that I not only cringe to close my eyes on the train for fear of waking twenty stops up in the Bronx but am also having to write this first draft on a kitchen ticket while still behind the bar.  Yeah.  That kind of full.  Needless to say, writing hasn’t been very high on my list of priorities, save for in thought and in theory.

I’ve just been so tired. I’m worn out.  I’m at the crossroads, if you will, a saying all too familiar with my close friends, which in the context of a late-night study session would translate to something like, “Let’s get some 7-11 coffee or Bible-in-a-minute or Backstreet Boys going and I’ll be good until the sun comes up…otherwise, I’m going to bed.”   As it applies now, though, it would translate to:

Sit down and write or give up and wait until I feel like it.

I am clearly trying to go with the former, although right about now it feels as pleasant as wearing skin-tight jeans after Thanksgiving dinner.  Against every somatic whine and whimper to do something—anything—else, though, I want to write.  I don’t feel like it, but the commitment has been made and my mind is resolute to see it through, for it is at these everyday crossroads where I come face-to-face with the future Malia.

Staring contest to begin—now.

And whilst I stare into the eyes of the future me, I see the woman I want to become.  I can sense that God’s accomplished some great and mighty feats through her, and yet I know those didn’t come along by mere fortune or feelings.  Rather it was by way of developing a sound and steadfast mind through the ordinary errands of life that extraordinary endeavors were able to happen.

Now I don’t want to overstate the act of writing this entry; still, I don’t want you to underrate the significance of discipline, for it’s the very thing that is going to get you through those feelings of I-don’t-feel-like-it amidst your driest droughts and lowest lows.  It’s discipline that will push you one step further when you didn’t think you had anything left and, enough steps along, will take you to places you didn’t think possible.

And in turn, maybe or maybe not, you might just end up blessing someone along the way.

Who knows?  Lord knows.

After all, it was discipline that helped me finish this entry.