Fearless

I didn’t write a prayer to you Lord this day last year. Which surprised me because I was writing more then than I am now. How dissapointed I’ll be when I look back for old prayers a year from now and see weeks and weeks of nothing. Please forgive me.

This time last year was one of the hardest months of my life. I remember sitting down on my bed by the end of January, my daddy in the hospital. Trying to write a research paper the night after they sawed open his chest and cut up his heart. It didn’t make sense, and everything felt white. I guess the heart stuff he went through came after my last grandparent, Grandma, died yesterday a whole year ago. I felt like nothing superficial surrounded me anymore.

My heart ached for the lost dreams of December. Hoping something good would come out of the new year, the new winter. Not expecting it. Watching my dad, dirty because he had back problems and couldn’t really bath, have to roll across the room in his chair. Watching my mom weep a lot, but also show braveness and strength and patience and loved that moved me and deeply surprised me. Watching my brother sit on the floor and strum anxiously on his guitar in-between hospital calls. Hoping my sister wouldn’t absorb the worry. Driving her back and forth to the hospital. Running till I almost threw up because it made me feel in control. Always waiting for my crush to text, knowing he wouldn’t soon. Wondering if he would die overseas with much childish drama behind the wonder. In these eyes, my fears were as legit as a war bride’s, minus the war and the bride part. Remembering how my older brother came home that holiday–was it after his bad breakup–and looking at us all and saying, “You’ve changed. You’re older.” And me feeling like a woman, finally, but also a sad woman. I would look in the mirror and feel pretty with clear skin (finally, and it didn’t last! Alas, it cleared up in California and flared up here) and large golden hoop earrings. But I was scared and angry inside, and that ugliness can’t be hidden by good skin or costume jewelry.

My younger brother and I were taking an E-term (Jan term), and that was the highlight. But how awful I felt when I walked up the cold, icy stairs to Birmingham-Southern, my brother and I parting ways–his first undergraduate E-term, my last. I shook in that class, so anxious, so sad and depressed. Eyes darting back and forth, looking for a friend. Sitting next to my closest friend at the time whom I knew would only be close for a semester. There are those friends who you know will only be close until they’re not. And the “not” is always impending. Most friendships are that way. Especially with boys, and also sometimes girls with a lot of makeup.

Well, this was interrupted with my brother came and sat by me. He used to not admit his emotions, but he’s been whining for a long time how much he will miss me. Now I’m the one who isn’t forthcoming. Didn’t say it as much as him. It’s hard and weird. We are definitely some of best friends. I pray he makes other close friends soon. He sees me as both abandoning him and escaping. One day we will get together and get movies. He said, “I wonder if there will be a time in our life when we won’t click anymore. When we feel uncomfortable or don’t know how to act around each other. Like when we’re forty.” He said this sitting on the floor on the girl’s room, my room, with his bass guitar and speakers and laptop, neither of us wanting to go to bed and say the last goodbye because we won’t see each other again until May, if the Lord wills.

How nice it is to have people to miss and places to miss and animals to miss and to be missed. The times that I selfishly did not feel any of those things were true, I felt so alone. So do most people in the world, probably. But despite the muck that comes with having a family and friendships and places and pets, there’s a pearl in the fodder of it all.

Again, another magical day with my friend. She is one of the few people I know is my friend. Like a real one that’s going to sti k. I have another whom I can’t text a lot too. Every friend in my life has been so different, so unique. I told my mom the other day when she asked if one of my friends might get along with another, that I have a feeling my closest friends would get along if they never met. Because I am often closest to the people who aren’t close to a lot. But I think they’d all get along if that makes sense at all.

I need to tithe. I haven’t done it in so long.

Last year, I remember being at my friend’s house, this same dear wonderful friend who I’m still writing a romance for, and putting a Kool Aid streak in my hair. Huge deal then, the small streak of raspberry hue. I was so afraid of getting in trouble for it at home. It did get comments, but not as bad. To think I’d even worry about that now. The night we got back from my grandma’s funeral, I dyed my hair bright red all over. It looked good but also cartoonish. And I wore my biker jeans and leather coat and political tee, hair down, not realizing how red it was. And that was the class I was angry and nearly broke down to my teacher in the hall telling him no, things weren’t all right. He listened patiently. When I felt home, I felt like the stereotypical rebellious female who colors her hair to gain control of her crazy life.

I cried so much and felt so much. But mostly impending unknown and loss. So much has changed since last January. I’ve been thinking all year it’s been a worse change. But maybe not. Because then I had faith only because I was drowning. But now it’s still here, and the Lord, despite my flaws, has given me the tools and a friend and hope and prayer to feel more fearless than ever before. And so here I go into the world. About to sleep because the plane leaves at 7:30,and I must get to the airport at 5 in the morning. Am scared to start again after adjusting to life back home. Who knows what next year will hold but You. Thanks, Lord.