Thursday, September 13, 2012

posture of the sweetly broken


Miracle of the day: I just made a new friend.

~

Rewinding a bit: today, at lunch, my friend told the story of his Thursday, which started with a burst of panic, then settled into the typical daily chaos. 
I think that about accurately described the entire semester thus far.
 Diving right in? More like being pushed off the high dive and bellyflopping right in.

Last week, at the height of my own chaos, I revisited some advice I received freshman year. 
I always say how blessed I am to have so many incredible women in my life. From directors, fellow actresses, mentors, my mother, I have been given access to an overflowing wealth of feminine wisdom. The following advice on how-to-make-it-through-college was given to me by one of the most wonderful, talented woman I know. 

*Never be afraid to ask for help. I don't care what it is, school work, laundry, time management, ASK! Growing into adulthood doesn't mean never asking for help, please, please don't demand learning this the hard way. You are not invincible... and that's actually a good, beautiful thing 
*No matter what is happening, good or bad, run TO God, not away from Him. Even if you're angry or confused about something, better to yell at HIM then turn your back and walk away. Again, please don't learn this one the hard way, believe me. 
*Worry, ABOUT ANYTHING, is pointless! Chuck EVERYTHING on God, get good advice from people you trust, take steps to fix the things you have some control over, and laugh at the rest. Easier said than done, but vital for sanity AND for enjoying this life God gave us.

It was exactly what I needed to hear two years ago, and it was exactly what I needed to hear last week.
Worrying is unnatural to me, so when I start whirling around in a spin-cycle of anxiety it throws my world off-kilter.

But throughout the week, little moments of peace popped up in the midst of the chaos:


A professor going on an inspired tangent about trust in the middle of a lecture.
A text offering prayers precisely when they were needed.
A hug and a chat that stopped me from running right through my day.
A friend's sunshiney smile breaking through the little clouds of worry circling my head, just like the sunbeams are cutting through the cloud bank above South quad right now.
And of course, my mother. Last week, multiple people who have never met her, but only heard of her accomplishments called her a heroine. Accurate.

And (of course) I stumbled upon was led to this:

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—oh you of little faith? 
(To which I can only respond: I get it, I get it. Okay, okayyyyy)

~


Fast-forward to now:

 I find myself in the lobby of the performing arts center, deep in conversation with a precocious fourth-grader with sparkly high-top sneakers doing her math homework. 
She tells me about playing volleyball, about the number of gold behavior stars she has at school, what she thinks college will be like, and how she and her little brother get along. She asks for help with her math homework. She tells me about the boy she has a crush on: he has spiky hair and a really bright smile. I ask her if he's nice, she says the other kids bug him, but he's always nice to her. I say: that's good, then. 
I show her the blog post I'm writing. She asks what else is in my backpack, and I show her my journal. She tells me she doesn't think she has a journal, but there's a notebook at home she can write in. She asks to read my journal. After she has let me so easily into her own life, how can I not let her into mine? She finds a page with a on it poem, and reads:

each valley will end; and the Sun shine clear in the East.


 We make a math problem using our favorite numbers. She shows me her Lisa Frank unicorn folder. Then I say good-bye. I have to go to choir rehearsal. But she's done with math homework, and gets to play on the playground. She says good luck and good to meet you. I say good luck and I'll see you later.


And it was sort of magic.

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