snapshots of the soul: reflections on writing
May 31st, 2007
Writing is something that is very much “alive.” I can write a piece and three different people can read that same piece of writing and gather three completely different ideas from what I’ve presented through the written word.
That’s partly what I love about the written word and part of what I find so fascinating and awing.
Through writing, we expose only a small portion of our soul; and sometimes, we’re not even saying anything about ourselves explicitly, and yet, through anything we write, we reveal a bit of who we are and the ways through which we view life.
And then, those who read what we write bring an entire set of experiences and backgrounds to our piece, through which they apply whatever message we are trying to convey to their own lives in a very specific, personal way.
Writing fascinates me. I stumble from time to time upon pieces from my past – old, familiar friends, sometimes strangers, shadows of the woman I am now. Sometimes I don’t even recognize my voice within the piece. Sometimes I cringe as I read; sometimes I laugh; most often I smile and thank God that He is faithfully shaping me and growing me through life experience.
We are constantly growing, changing, shifting, engaging. We never stay the same.
Who I am today will not be who I am a week from now; who I am a week from now will not be the woman I am in five years. Writing captures us, gives us snapshots, so to speak, of who we are at various moments on our life’s journey. Half the joy in this crazy adventure called life is that we are always moving, always changing, always developing – sometimes at faster rates than at other times, but nevertheless, we never stay the same. We might deceive ourselves into thinking we have, but change is inevitable – if we can’t see it, others can. We never stay the same.
But for a moment, when we put our pen to the page, or, as is more applicable in this present age, press our fingers against the keyboard, we capture ourselves, anchoring our souls to a specific point in time – scary, exhilarating, fascinating.
-Christen Patterson
May 30, 2007
constrained by time
May 31st, 2007
Time is money in the field of law. When you’ve worked as a paralegal, your sense of time completely shifts forever. As a paralegal, you must bill “time,” and time becomes one of the greatest commodities; therefore, every minute of your day, literally, must be accounted for. Day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, you log your time and activities.
After working as a paralegal, I’ll never view time in the same manner.
The freedom I feel at my current job, without having to account for every minute of my day, without having to race against the clock because every minute I work on an assignment is being billed to the client, is absolutely exhilarating.
–
The whole concept of time is one that befuddles me; we’re always rushing around here or there, complaining that there is never enough time; we wait for the weekends, and then on Monday morning when we come into work, we complain that they are too short; we spend our workdays wishing there was more time to meet our deadlines; we count down the minutes to our breaks and lunches; we run ourselves haggard running to meetings and activities — ever slave to the clock.
Since when did we lose the sense of wonder that comes from not being a slave to time?
And why do we always feel so rushed, so “pressed for time?
I wonder if it’s because we’ve been wired for eternity; if the stories about the Garden of Eden we were taught as children ring true – that we were meant to live forever but are now constrained to having a lifespan – that we must now die a physical death, so all of a sudden, we find ourselves with this other-earthly sense of time because we were created as eternal beings, but we are now constrained to being born and to dying a physical death.
And so we rush around, racing the clock, bemoaning that there aren’t more hours in the day, looking forward to the time that we do have to do the things we desire, always hoping for more – more time with loved ones, more time to sleep, more time to get done the things we desire to get done. More time to attack that stack of books on our bedside table – more time to enjoy the outdoors – more time to spend with people, our loved ones, our significant others.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will never have enough “time” this side of eternity. That’s why I’m thrilled that I have all of eternity to continue doing the things I love – to continue learning and reading and enjoying life. To explore and write and dance. To create, to discover, to produce. To rest and to play. To love and to enjoy. I may have only so many years here on earth, and who knows how long I’ve been granted, but I’m not stressed over it, for the things that I don’t accomplish here, I’ll continue to pursue on the other side.
That thought excites me greatly. Nevertheless, my pile of books “to read” continues to grow.
-Christen Patterson
May 30, 2007
[Many of my ideas in this piece have been shaped, in part, by conversations over the years with my friend Clifford – thank you!]
i’ll take one man and a side of fries, please
May 31st, 2007
“I need a man!” I shouted. I was greeted with silence, wide eyes, and smirking from my friends who had gathered to help me move from my town home of two years to a new apartment. I made that exclamation numerous times throughout the day, too tired to realize the double meaning I was conveying to everyone around me; besides, I didn’t think I needed a qualifier within the context of it being moving day – heavy furniture needed to be moved and I certainly wasn’t about to attempt it on my own when I had strong male friends around.
I have yet to live down my empathic statements.
My recent move went exceptionally well, and as I was thanking God for His provision, I realized that sometimes miracles come in the every-day form.
Miracles are when friends show up late the night before moving day to help you pack your bedroom and paint your new apartment, bringing dinner with them; miracles are somehow getting your house packed the morning of your move, and not only getting everything packed but also getting everything moved in record-time. Miracles are getting your Internet-connection hooked up the night you need it when you have a deadline to make. Miracles are having friends unpack your boxes on the other end, setting up your kitchen so that when you stumble into it later that night, exhausted after a long day, you can actually find a glass to help satiate your thirst. Miracles are watching three burly men get an upright piano into your second-story apartment, undamaged. Miracles are when you stumble into your bathroom after everyone has left for the day and discover hot water for a shower when you were told that because of a mix-up, you’d only have cold water for a few days. Miracles are the love you experience from those around you who support you, figuratively and sometimes literally, when you are too tired to do it on your own. Miracles are the grace God gives you when you part ways with your closest friend and no longer have her in the room next to yours. Miracles are watching God bring your new roommate into your life in a way that leaves no room to wonder if He’s in control. Miracles are watching people come together to help and support each other.
Miracles are the very breaths we take, the health we have, the ability to reflect, and so as I look around my new apartment, I am reminded that we have daily reasons to thank God for His many blessings and the miracles He bestows upon us.
And, when it comes to upright pianos being moved to second-story apartments, yes, sometimes you do need a man.
-Christen Patterson
May 29, 2007
reflections from this side of the mirror
May 5th, 2007
Now we see things imperfectly as in a poor mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God knows me now. (1 Corinthians 13:12)
You find yourself wondering when your heart will be still; when you will stop questioning; when you will stop wondering.
Maybe that’s the point; maybe this side of eternity, we will never stop; maybe that’s what God uses to get us up in the morning — the expectant hope of new beginnings, of new seasons, of growth, of learning, of adventure.
We’ve been shaped for eternity; maybe our longings, our desires, this deep-seeded feeling of always wanting more is because we were created for more; we were created for eternity; we were created to be only satisfied by the King of the universe, and when we forget to attach our hearts daily to His, we find ourselves restless.
I look at everything and see each event and circumstance in my life as another lesson. Sometimes, if I’m honest, I’m tired of learning. Sometimes I just want to reach the finish line, but what is the finish line? Will I ever be truly at rest during this lifetime? There is an insatiable hunger that has invaded my soul. Theologically, I know that it will never be satisfied until I stand on the other side of eternity; experientially, I repeatedly forget.
Male and female have been made in His image; I’m only half of the equation. And yet, I must be content with that. But even in knowing this, the hunger pervades. As I watch friend after friend get married, have I bought into the lie that the “right” relationship will somehow make life 10% sweeter? As I watch married friends enter into new seasons, have I bought into the idea that the “next” step is when my heart will finally settle and I’ll be satisfied?
I know better; I have friends who are engaged; their hearts still yearn for more; I have friends who are happily married; their hearts still yearn for more. It’s always “the next step” – we long for the next season to come, rendering us unable to enjoy our present, and when we reach the next season, we find that it does not satisfy as we thought, and so we move on to wishing for the next. The cycle continues. Humanity is never content, never satisfied. And maybe, once again, that’s the point of it all. To remind us that only One can satisfy.
And then, to further expose how complicated the human psyche can be, I find myself wondering, despite this longing, if I’m more productive on my own; if I am one of the ones who can remain single. Not that I would willingly choose this for the rest of my life, but it’s quite clear that I don’t want to live a normal life and not too many men are interested in abnormal.
I’m independent; fiercely. Not because I intend to be, but merely because I am; I’ve had to be. Independence is valued in our Western culture, but is independence best for a person’s soul? The more years I spend alone, the more I grow accustomed to it; how readily do I fall into a comfortable pattern of not needing anyone save the Lord? I surround myself with community, but it’s not the same as a companion. Community I can retreat from; a companion I cannot. Community I can enter into on my own terms; a companion is there 24-7, whether I like it or not.
Somehow, I feel like I’m being gypped from great spiritual lessons here. And my singleness is starting to become entirely too comfortable for my liking. Wanting to live full-out, passionately serving the Lord, I’m starting to understand the Apostle Paul more; I used to despise his stance on marriage; now I’m starting to agree with him. And that is scary.
I never thought I’d be comfortable being alone.
Singleness has its upsides: I love being able to literally do whatever I want, whenever I want; to have no schedule but my own, to be accountable to the Lord only for my daily plans; I like that I have so much freedom – to take off for a weekend retreat or conference, to stay out late with students, to meet with a friend for coffee.
And yet, in the midst of all that, there is still this pervasive loneliness. (Yes, I’m a walking contradiction, but aren’t many of us if we’re really being honest with ourselves?) Friends come and go; relationships well up and then dispel as God calls each of us to different seasons, different cities, different states, different countries. One friend is leaving for Europe this summer before heading off to Harvard Law in the fall; two other friends are most likely heading to New York City; another friend is heading to Los Angeles to teach — our close-knit group effectively entering into our last lap together; we’re blessed to realize it now before the race is over, but how many of us stop to appreciate what will no longer be? The ties forged will last for eternity, but the reality is our weekly communion will cease. We’ll have to be okay with the internet and phone; an occasional visit; years of memories; and the knowledge that we have eternity together.
I know God provides what we need; I know he brings new friends in; I know he clears out our lives for new seasons, but I don’t like the change. It’s painful, it’s hard, it’s lonely. It’s a daily reminder that we need to rely upon Him for everything. He is the only one who will never leave, never forsake; never change.
So when my heart skips a beat and then is disappointed, when my friends come and go, when I wake up in the morning and it’s just me, God, and a black cup of coffee at the breakfast table, I will rejoice. The loneliness reminds me this is not my home; I have work to do; I have people to love; I have an adventure in which to partake with the author of my life – could life truly be any better?
-Christen Patterson
April 2007
loving this side of eternity
May 5th, 2007
[The following is an old piece I never published.]
C.S. Lewis once wrote: There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglement; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.
Tomorrow will be three months and my heart still bleeds. Love is a funny thing; without it, what would we have? With it, we become susceptible to pain. And we run from pain like it is something to be avoided at all costs. Karin from the band Over the Rhine sings, “And though we love to numb the pain; we come to learn that it’s in vain; pain is our mother; she makes us recognize each other.”
There’s something to be grappled with within those words.
It’s not until we experience deep pain that we learn to stop and consider others. Pain allows us to get outside of our self and our world and consider those around us. And it forces us to wrestle with the larger questions of life, starting with “Why?”
For some of us, pain makes us come face to face with our creator and many of us would rather not do that. We don’t want to acknowledge that we’re eternal beings; that this pain is a sign that things are not the way they should be. For others, we want to numb the pain, fill our life with convenient hobbies, experience as much “fun” as we possibly can. Pain, in essence, is an inconvenience to our lives, and so we seek to avoid it at all costs.
Oftentimes, pain comes from having loved, so we learn early on to build walls around our hearts so that others cannot hurt us, or if we do allow someone into our castle, and in turn, are hurt, we throw up our walls again, building a stronger fortress this time. We refuse to be hurt again. Simultaneously we try to rationalize our pain away. We blame the other person, we try to make sense of it, we try to make it fit into the puzzle of our lives, but the reality is, sometimes life just hurts and there’s no making sense of it this side of eternity.
So I assess myself; I’m healed; I’ve moved on, but I won’t pretend that the wound on my heart is not there; I am stronger because of it — because God has shown me His love and strength through carrying me through this time.
I would have it no other way.
For to love means one has something to lose, and yes, when one loses it, it can feel like hell. But we should not be afraid to love for the fear of experiencing pain; for it is through our pain that we grow, that we know God more intimately, that God’s strength is exemplified in our brokenness. The Apostle Paul quotes the Lord: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” So, along with Paul, I, too will “boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me” (2 Corinthians 12:9 NASB).
So be it.