The Pink Room, Chapter 14,Beauty from Ashes and Singleness, Part 3

This one might need a bit more editing. But I need to go to bed :).

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The Pink Room: Thoughts About Intentional Living  

Chapter 14/ Beauty from Ashes and Singleness.

Part 3 (Previous post contain the previous chapters.)

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Singleness gets complicated sometimes. When new people are in the mix it can get confusing. One night Lisa and Dan invited me over. That night they invited a guest I didn’t know and I invited a guest they didn’t know. Neither of us confirmed with the people if the guests were actually coming. We sat at their dining room table and began talking. Laughter and snacks--time passed we didn’t think much of it. The doorbell rang. We just waved the people in figuring they’d find their place but they awkwardly stood in the doorway of the kitchen instead. I assumed they knew Lisa, and Lisa assumed they knew me. We both kept on talking. One of the guys interrupted and asked if this was “Jason’s party.” We all, all five of us, were stopped in our tracks.

Lisa said, “nooooooooo.”  And I looked at her quizzically. She returned the same look.

I said, “Wait, you don’t know them?” Pointing at Lisa--my eyebrows shifted down and I squinted at her.

“You, don’t know them?” She replied. We pointed at each other. We looked at them and back at eachother.

The two guys excused themselves quickly after that. Muttering something about leaving and wrong house and party not being at this address, it was difficult to hear what they were saying. And they headed across the street, they informed us that the cars must be for that house pointing out the door—backing out of the house. And we laughed and laughed. I was very glad that they seemed like relatively decent people.

Lisa and Dan would get ideas here and there. We spent one Christmas season exploring the possibility of “deer tipping.” City-dwellers version of Christmas season cow tipping, I suppose. I don’t think we were ever courageous enough to finish any tipping, deep down we all thought it was mean and didn’t want to do it. But we talked a great deal about it for a couple years.

We should have been born in the 60-70s and done “happenings” as art events. We would have had a following for sure.

I sometimes wonder what makes an artist famous. A combination of being prepared at the right time, and having a great example of work, in the movement, they are in—which is doubly difficult seeing most movements aren’t identified until they are complete. For those alive, often quirkiness or sense of humor lend a hand. I think singleness is sort of like being a starving artist. There is all this unexplored potential, and a wide range of possibilities—there is uncharted future. Artists discover what they are to create next and I have imagined that discovery is a lot like finding a spouse. But I hope I’m not famous after I’m dead. That is where the metaphor breaks down—I also hope to find a spouse before I’m dead.

In many ways there is a theme of beautiful messes in my life, and making the best of hard situations. It is turning ashes of something hoped for or devastation and finding something useful in it, turning it into something beautiful and redeemed. I see that all around me. I see that people can claim parts of their story for another purpose, something to help others.

My friend’s brother had a five year old that passed away. They did that very thing. His wife started a grief support group and they raise money, with a walk-run, to support nonprofits. Talk about turning devastation into something beautiful. The story is widely known and has touched many lives in a significant way.

No matter what happens in life, we need to remember this is not a dress rehearsal. We get one shot. We may as well keep people guessing but better yet, we may as well make beauty from messes (or ashes.)

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I used to believe I made art, now I know I am a partner in creating. Just like I create something, God created the world and then He did the unthinkable—He humbled Himself and entered his artwork. That is the craziest thing that has ever occurred to me. I can’t imagine entering one of my paintings and not sure I’d be courageous enough to do so. But in another way, daily I’m creating this life alongside of God.

Life has taken so many unexpected turns with me. It seems like cliché but when you have no idea what God is doing, waiting for Him to open doors, then it is important to praise God in the hallway.

The Pink Room, Chapter 14,Beauty from Ashes and Singleness, Part 2

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The Pink Room: Thoughts About Intentional Living  

Chapter 14/ Beauty from Ashes and Singleness.

Part 2 (Previous post contain the previous chapters.)

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Right before my college boyfriend and I broke up there was one more dance. We decided to go together. I knew in my heart that was the last big thing we’d do as a couple. I wanted it to be memorable and searched my brain for ideas and things I’d heard that could be fun, surprising or touching.

And then I remembered he loved white dresses. The search was on. I searched for a white dress at every store I could think of and couldn’t find one anywhere. I needed to draw the line at wedding dress however so I did not go anywhere near there. I was thinking simple so I went and purchased a pattern and made a dress.

My dorm building had a dramatic staircase with a door at the top. All the girls got ready upstairs and would come down stairs with the guys waiting in the lobby. Nearly ten of us descended that night; I was one of the last. I think I may have given the poor guy a heart attack—he didn’t know about the dress, and when I told him I made it, it added a whole new level.

I tried to make the most beautiful experience out of something that was becoming quite painful.

I learned that very thing about artwork as well. People do not like the pieces that are perfect. They are boring. They are hard to appreciate. The pieces that have something wrong, off, or ugly within the beauty are the ones that get rave reviews. The contrast makes the beautiful part more beautiful.

I believe it is the same with the stories of underdogs or the redeemed. There is an imperfect part that is right up against what is beautiful and that makes the beautiful part so much more stunning.

Friendships are something I long to understand and do better with. I love others deeply but struggle to build deep friendships that I know are solid—people are unpredictable and don’t tell you what they want or need. I often feel like I am the only unchanging one. People fly in and out of life at warp speeds making decisions and life changes, moving, having children and get disillusioned with faith. And then they begin again, repeat the cycle.

Friendship is complicated during all these changes…I'd like to trust it more but it is based in human nature and I am not sure what to do about that, other than know it won't meet my hopes or expectations, that is. I wish Jesus made us better people, and didn't allow the darker stuff to creep in like doubt, pain, selfishness...

I've always hoped friendship would show up and turn into a husband and long-term companion, but it hasn’t. It is a struggle to believe that it can exist in a committed relationship for a long time, although I have seen it with my parents, so maybe… Do I dare hope?

Friendship isn’t what I expected, as with most of life. I wish it were a bit easier to maintain and a bit less changing. People are dynamic and change so easily. How do we find balance?

It is too easy to take life and time for granted. Friendship has blessed me in some ways by knowing some for more than a quarter century, and family for my lifetime--and some great journeys, and some heartbreak...friendship is always a surprise.

Here is what I expect from friendship in the coming years. More. More from me and more of it.

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There is a verse in the Bible that has remained close to my heart. It is Isaiah 61:3 where it talks of a crown of beauty instead of ashes. It is not easy to swallow anger, pain and grief to but it is best and makes for the best memories. I’ve learned that in spite of how I feel about something that is happening I am able to do good, stand for what is right, or be encouraging or loving.

The Pink Room, Chapter 14,Beauty from Ashes and Singleness, Part 1

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The Pink Room: Thoughts About Intentional Living  

Chapter 14/ Beauty from Ashes and Singleness.

Part 1 (Previous post contain the previous chapters.)

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As a gift, a friend wanted to give her daughter a book of letters. All of them written by women in her life. She was hoping that they were filled with their years of wisdom. Here is my letter:

Your mom asked a few of us to write down some wisdom. What we wish we had been told as a young woman around the time of entering high school. I’ve been a Christian since I can remember but serious about my faith since about age fifteen. I’ve been blessed with a close family and a few great friends. A good foundation is helpful but perspective, wisdom and an open heart toward God, through prayer, are the things that keep you going. I’m writing what I’ve known and how it has been tweaked through maturity and a lived-out faith.

·          I used to believe I was cute, but I’ve learned I am beautiful inside, in the ways that are important—a life of purity, a desire to serve God and a heart that wants to encourage downtrodden people.

·          I used to believe I was smart, but I’ve learned I’m intelligent--but it only matters to me that I’m thoughtful.

·          I used to believe that I was unique, but I’ve learned that individuality just means I’m a leader—I’ve also learned that leaders are often lonely so I need to take extra good care of myself and connect with people.

·          I used to believe I was observant, but I’ve learned that I’m able to really know people and I care about them—I’ve learned that noticing small things opens doors for the Holy Spirit, too.

·          I used to believe I was introverted, but I now know I’m introspective and reflective—I’ve also learned that these are equally good or bad traits, I need to be generous and grace-filled.

·          I used to believe I was reserved, but I now know I’m an internal processor and need extra time to sort out how I feel about “what just happened’—some things have taken me years to understand but because I was willing to sort through them, those things are also healed up.

·          I used to believe I just journal-ed, I now know that I write. And the written word helps me feel and think and process and can also touch others deeply—I remember so many things said to me, some of them were not so nice, so I want the things I express to be helpful or edifying.

·          I used to believe people grew up, I now know that some people just get older—I’ve had to learn not to judge.

·          I used to believe I didn’t express myself well, I now know that communication is important to get right and I wanted to use the right words—I believe words expressed verbally or internally have the power to lift or sink you, and the words in your life give or take life from you.

·          I used to believe I was depressed, I now know I’m an artistic melancholy and that is different from the times I’m down—I’ve learned I don’t need to be happy to please people or make them more comfortable but it is worth it.

·          I used to believe I needed lots of friends, I now know I need two or three people who know all there is to know and I need to be vulnerable with them for my own health—keep those good-hearted people in your life at all lengths.

·          I used to believe I was at a disadvantage being a woman, I now know that true womanhood is the most life-giving and encouraging role.

·          I used to believe that it didn’t matter what I said—and now I know a well-placed word will be remembered for a lifetime.

·          I used to believe I was a hard worker, I now know that Jesus’ grace and a surrendered life is way easier and more fun—His burden is light and easy.

·          I used to believe life was a struggle and a burden, I’m beginning to see it is God’s gift to us and He loves us beyond our wildest imaginings.

·          I used to believe that church was enough, I now know faith works better in community—that service and the Great Commission are part of community-oriented faith.

·          I used to believe I had to be perfect, I now know it is my weaknesses that allow me to experience freedom and connection—I can’t do everything myself and I need help.

·          I used to believe that people just choose not to create art, but now I know that creating takes courage—if you find and use your real “voice” it will simultaneously be the easiest and hardest, and most rewarding thing you ever do.

·          I used to believe that beauty pointed to worship, I now know that work also points to worship—the “why” of what you are doing is what you are living for.

·          I used to believe that reading the Bible was good, I now know it is the best way to experience revelation and insight—there are no wasted details and the connections go on and on through the stories.

The core ideas are probably that faith and perspective are everything; and that words (in your head and out of your mouth) are life-giving.

I hope you have even more fun in school than I did, are blessed with many good friends and memories. Don’t take yourself too seriously, embrace your mistakes, apologize quickly, say kind things and smile at strangers!

Much love, friend.

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I think, maybe, that Wisdom has smiling eyes, laugh lines and wrinkles.

The Pink Room, Chapter 13, Bad Days, Part 3

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The Pink Room: Thoughts About Intentional Living  

Chapter 13/ Bad Days.

Part 3 (Previous post contain the previous chapters.)

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Like everyone else, I’ve received terrible news on occasion. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like anyone else has ever heard the same dark, sad thing.

My childhood home was demolished by the city a few years ago. My family accidentally found out it was going to happen. Three and a half years before it did, we happened to be told by someone who knew someone in the city offices that the plans were being developed to demolish a few blocks.

We all knew the house was not the “home,” the family made it home. We all knew, in our heads that it was the people—but it didn’t change the fact we were all mourning.

The city decided to widen the street, to beautify the area, by adding a median to the middle of the road. (I think it was their excuse to tear down a lot of worn out buildings.) And for one mile from downtown to the highway access there were eleven businesses and about the same number of houses that were leveled. As the main highway entrance from the north, the city wanted to beautify that “gateway.” And then the purchasing began, one block at a time would see orange cones and ripped out sidewalks. Over the course of three years we watched the chaos slowly approach. Finally the day arrived when they bought the old house and relocated my parents. I cried. My dad was angry. My mom didn’t know what to do with either of us.  

It wasn’t fancy, but it was ours. It had been remodeled over time to be exactly what they wanted to live in. A huge kitchen with lots of seating and customizations those were unique. My friends found it to be a safe place to come; some loved it as much as we did and were sad to hear the news. My father purchased it when he was quite young, before he met my mom. He lived there for quite some time, rented it out at one point, and then after a series of events my parents were married and then moved there. He owned the house for nearly fifty years; they lived there for more than thirty five. There was a half century of history on that land and within those walls.

It was also good there was three and a half years warning because it took that long to go through thirty five years of stuff. It also made the mourning phase extremely long and exhausting.

The city hired movers to pack the house and then haul everything to the new house. I spent two days with my mom and dad and the moving guys.

There was this relentless little man who was five feet tall, with long red frizzy hair--and he was missing one of his front teeth. For his stature, he had an abnormally deep and raspy voice. He decided I was the most fascinating person he’d ever met and actually told me this. I was a bit startled by the middle of the first day when he would announce his fascination and then began asking all the other movers to get my phone number—but he never asked. Not surprisingly, they ignored him. He kept saying, “Get’er number! Get’er number!” Often followed by, “You guys have heavy sh*t!”  It, at least, made a sad occasion entertaining. And in a whirlwind of frizzy red hair and sweat covered tee shirts the house was empty.

I walked through it slowly and took photos of all the rooms. I never imagined I would see it empty. It was like being in a different dimension.

I lived there from the time I was six months old until college, and then rented the apartment over the house for a couple years. I moved back later because my apartment had been robbed and I didn’t want to stay in there any longer.

I rented an apartment on Dousman Street in an old building that my parents owned. They never had any tenants get robbed until I lived there, of course. It was a great place with a huge living room, kitchen and just one bedroom. It was one of those buildings built when the river was the only real transportation and the people settled with large plots of land and built big houses. It had an iron fireplace with tile around it that was the color of jade. There was also all this ornate woodwork, leaded glass and big windows. My parents recently sold the building.

I liked it there but the last few months I felt like I was being watched, for no good reason—I had no proof. I found myself closing blinds earlier and earlier and double checking locks.

One evening my mom and sister talked me into going to a Pampered Chef party. I had decided not to go but changed my mind when they asked again. We took our time there and when I returned home, just like normal, I unlocked the door and went in. Things were off.

I noticed hanging cords, then I saw that the stereo was gone, I walked over and all my papers were on the floor—someone opened the coffee table! My printer was gone. Anything small and electronic was gone! I went into my bedroom and my under garments were all over the floor, someone had rummaged through all of them! WHY?! Looking for cash? And then my jewelry—almost all of it was gone.

I had a small piece of jewelry marking almost every significant happening in life and it was all gone. My mom gave me her high school class ring when I lost mine, they even took that.

I looked down the hallway and the door was open to the basement. As I got a little closer I realized the entire doorjamb was broken out. They kicked in the door from the basement stairs and the deadbolt ripped the wood frame apart. I began shaking, that was more than I could handle. It was still daylight, thank goodness. When it fully occurred to me what had happened, I picked up the phone and dialed 911. The dispatcher was patient and helpful. She told me to go lock myself in my car until officers arrived.

They came, walked up the porch steps and inside, hands on their guns. (Guns!) They looked through the whole apartment and basement and then came out to see me.

They took down a list of everything I could remember that was stolen. I asked them to fingerprint the cabinet door and they declined saying it wouldn’t help. I regret not pushing for that. They were kind and helpful. It was all gone and I could do nothing about it.

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Just like the altars they built in the Bible’s Old Testament, which marked the place of something blessed, significant and special--that place, the old house, held altars. We took those significant memories with us and now my parent’s new house feels just like the old house did.

There is a pain that settles deep when others take what doesn’t belong to them though. IF we can realize that it never had to do with us, the personal us they never cared to know—and we can understand that those who take see cash dollars and cents we can begin to heal.

When I realized they took “a house” not my home, and they took “some gold” not my gifts marking special memories, that it was never about hurting me personally, then I could feel safe again.