The loveliness of being known or "Icebreaka."

To be known is a great comfort and relief.  This person knows when I'm tired; this person knows when I'm mad, joking, upset, uncomfortable.  This person knows that I am loud when I'm excited and quiet when I'm angry.  This person cares enough to know.  These are all the great things about knowing and being known, and yet intimacy is the scariest thing I've come across.  Only a few people in my life "know" me.  Is that because I hide myself; need to have control over the relationship?  Is it because I value my inner most thoughts and feelings, my only treasure?  Not just anybody can see those things.  And then there are some things that are just between God and me.  

Like the purple full moon he just gave me, with the wind whispering around my hair, lifting up my perfume, lifting up my eyes. 

Moving out; moving on.

This is it: I'm moving out, the last day I will pay rent for 425 Magnolia St is December 1st 2008.  My roommates and I had a chat about it today; they asked that I push back the date to the end of the semester to give everyone more time.  I'm pretty sure I am ok with this decision.  There is no rush for me to move out; however, I do want to maintain the momentum that came from my decision to leave.  I am deathly afraid of stagnation, and the idea of being stuck in one place without purpose scares the be-jesus out of me.  It is becoming more and more clear to me that my purpose has to be "community" or intentional relationships.  I did not find healthy community at 425 Magnolia St, and I know that without this piece, my life becomes desperate.  Failing at healthy community is the largest failure of my life.  Consistently, fear of this failure has caused me great pain and self-doubt.  

Right now, I feel I need to start over again, which is my way of dealing with failure I suppose--or maybe just a result of my fear of stagnation.  Maybe it would be best for me to stay and fix things: learn to live humbly without resentment.  But maybe my "need" to start over again is a desire for love and fellowship.   

And yet, life (and many wise people) have taught me that love and fellowship occur only when I offer them to others.  They are not things bestowed upon me; it is what St Francis said, "it is by giving that we receive."  Well, one thing is certain.  I have three months to try out loving my roommates.  I pray that I can do this in a way that blesses them, in a way that breeds love, mutual respect, and forgiveness.

In the absence of soap.

Here's the thing.  I tend to soapbox.  Lately, my  zeal for soapboxing has died down a bit, but that is mainly due to various inner struggle and almost daily existential crises.  I have lost my passion, and I have lost my nerve.  For someone who thrives on passion to define oneself, I am in a tough spot.  It has been too long since I've overly cared about something: cared about something to the point of preaching my friends' ears off about it.  Instead I find I have quiet questions, and for the first time in my life, humble inquiries about who I am, what I'm made for, and how to live a fulfilling life.  This past year I've suffered worse than a broken heart.  I've suffered a broken spirit.  How do I pick myself up by the bootstraps and continue on?  How do I define myself?  The only thing I know is that these humble inquiries have led to even quieter prayers.  Whispers between me and God, "Help me God.  Help me love.  Help me believe in you.  Help me meet the needs of those around me.  Help me, help me, help me."  Jacob ended his struggle wounded.  He ended with a new name, a painful one.  What is my name God?  

Good news for the world.

Here is some good news for the world: I, Becky, have decided to begin blogging.  I've broken down and tapped into the hype that is broadcasting inner dialogue to the entire universe via the world wide web.  We'll see how this goes.