C.S. Lewis said...

... "If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world."

Is that what I'm feeling? Is that what this unrest and burden on my heart is? Am I not truly seeking my eternity? I thought that moving home was a step forward in the Lord's plan for my life, but instead I feel further from being in communion with Him. I don't know how to relate where the Lord was taking me in Orlando to where I am here. I can't start over here because in many ways I have certain foundations already established. But I can't relate to those connections the same ways I once did, and don't necessarily know if I want to. I don't belong in the new communities that define the lives of some of those close to me, but am not sure I have the strength to breakaway and find a new community of my own. Or even what that would begin to look like. Looking at that quote above though, I am so torn. In some ways, it terrifies me. When I consider my discontent to be proportional to my heart's efforts to seek the Lord, I am overwhelmed with how far I am falling short. But it also comforts me, that this aimless wanderlust I feel isn't because I am in the wrong place, but simply the Lord trying to dissatisfy me with anything that is not of Him. If I could truly set aside myself, my pride, my walls, my fears, my insecurities, my plans, my expectations....wouldn't I find the peace I so desperately crave no matter where I am? Would I finally be able to sit and just be? My heart weighs a thousand pounds these days, my worries grow each day...that's not eternity. The Lord has promised that if I am truly in a relationship with Him, it won't be an easy walk, it will still be filled with struggle, but it will be more than worth it as eternity begins to manifest itself here on earth.

I speculate. I wonder. When really I should just pray. Without that there will be no revelations or answers or peace. This crushing weight on my chest will continue to grow as it has been, the lump in my throat will get harder and harder to swallow, the walls around my heart will get more and more impenetrable, the tougher it will be to get out of bed in the mornings. Prayer and the Word. The Word and Prayer. Pray the Word and Word the Prayer.

Insomnia continues...

The past three nights have found me in the exact same mental state as 2 am rolls around.....thinking about Paris. Tonight I indulged it even more by opening my computer and looking through all my pictures from in/around Paris. I could cry I want to be there so badly. I don't know what the city has for me at this point, or what I have to offer it, but the ache to be there is reason enough for me. My mastery of the french language is severely diminished, I no longer hear from "the dream" that was my Parisian pen pal and soul mate, and I don't necessarily desire to work for the same company that took me there the first time around. But to wander the streets of Père Lachaise again, scan the bookshelves at Shakespeare and Company, walk the steps of Montmartre, go to mass at Notre Dame....what I wouldn't give. The idea of a visit isn't enough though, I'd almost rather not. Knowing I only had a short time there, every moment spent would be tainted. I'd start missing it the moment I arrived. I wish it weren't so, but I'm honest enough to admit that it would. That wouldn't be enough to keep me away though. I'm far too much of an emotional masochist not to in some way enjoy the torture. Maybe that's what makes Paris so beautiful to me....it's not mine to keep.

Into the West

I can't sleep. At night. I could sleep all day though, which I know is both a symptom and a cause. It's just that the minute I lay down, my thoughts go into overdrive. What ifs, what could be, will be, was. Relive old hurts, old joys, wonder where I belong in certain hearts. I can't decide which is worse, the awake or the asleep. At least when I am awake I have the freedom to tell truth from fiction. My dreams don't allow such differentiation. In them I am often convinced of where I am, who I am with. It's not the regrets I relive that hurt the most. It's the dreams when I believe I am back in a happy moment, with the people I miss the most, being loved the way I want to be loved. To wake up and find it was nothing more than a wish...these are the reasons I lie here awake. At least this way I can know when I'm lying to myself....

I've recently discovered that every morning I should look through the notebook I keep by my bed. On more than one occasion I've been surprised to find a new entry that wasn't there before I went to bed. Either I have philosophical elves writing their musings down while I sleep, or in my restless hours I sleepily scribble down thoughts I have no recollection of the next morning. Because I can't remember writing them, I'm trying to decide how I define them. I'm torn between thinking that I'm trying way too hard to be poetic and deep or that I couldn't have possibly been, and considering their birth from a sleepy and well-meaning place, they actually ARE poetic, in a very innocent way. Considering that I usually find "to-do" lists mixed in with them, I'm thinking it may be the latter. Who spills their heart on the same page as their grocery list?

An example of my late-night journal mumblings:

"The thing about your heart is, once you've given part away, you can never get it back. You can grow it back, this isn't to say your heart won't ever be whole again. Just remember that it will take time, and it probably won't look quite the same as it did before. That part you've given is a totally unique bit that now belongs to someone else, so before you give it away, be careful. Make sure they're worthy"