Ramblings From the Weeks Past

I had a dream that I saw everyone I knew in one place. There was Sam, from Wisconsin, walking down the steps of McCool. I saw my childhood friends, I saw my physicians, I saw employers, I saw people that I didn't like too much. I wondered why they were all there, coexisting but not recognizing each other. I was the only one who knew that there were connections to be made. Today I sat across from a man in the library who never once acknowledged my existence, even though I sat only two feet away from him. He stared out of the window, a book in his lap, with such a look of despair. He daydreamed, unmoving for about thirty minutes, then snapping out of his waking dream, gathered his things and walked away. I was taken aback. I was left alone in a remote corner of the library to wonder about his wonderings. The elevator door next to me mysteriously opened and shut about 7 times because of some malfunction. I was confused. 

I drove to Nashville this past weekend to visit my sister. I took the trace, like always, but this time I wasn't in the least bit excited about the prospect of solitude. I missed the idea of Mississippi highways that lead past houses standing alone in the middle of fields, surrounded by crops clinging desperately to the cold ground. I wanted to pass road signs that told me the names of towns that were so small that maps didn't mark them. Tchula. Egypt. Ethel. Verona. Fenwick. The Natchez Trace, despite it's obvious beauty, unfortunately takes all originality out of Mississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee. The road is unchanging, always empty fields, pine trees, and a few indian mounds. My one comfort is the crossing of the Tennessee River, a vast body of water that is more frightening than it is beautiful. On both sides in the summer, the trees and brush hang over the edge, concealing what lives beyond the banks. It has a mysterious tropical feel, and I know there are secrets in those trees. I always make it a point to stop on the banks and pick up a few shells, or eat a snack (sharing with the ducks), or to hear the wind over the water. 

The more I'm in Mississippi, the more I know that I'll always come back. This state and I have a tumultuous relationship, similar to that of lovers. I love it, I hate it. The warm comfort of knowing that I'll always have family here, the hot streets in the summer, the fact that nothing, nothing here comes without a story. These are things that I love. This state is so full of family and rumors that I could write a book just from hearing stories about "Your Uncle Jack's third cousin and her no-good husband who left her for work in the mines...". Things like this make me sure that I have a heritage, I have people who care for me and know [whether I want them to or not] what is going on in my life. There is no chance of being forgotten. This is possibly one of the reasons why I also find myself aching to leave. The ache never stays for long though. My heart has warmed to the idea of staying here for quite a while.  

I recently bought some books [big surprise there] when I was supposed to be saving up for shoes. I don't regret my purchases though, because I got three classics: The Phantom Tollbooth, Huckleberry Finn, and A Good Man is Hard to Find. I couldn't tell you which one I am most excited about, because I just can't decide. I've been finishing up McCarthy's The Road this week, and I have trouble putting it down. For a book so oppressively dark, I still turn page after page with the hope that the father and his son will finally find the peace that they are seeking. I've grown to love them both. 

Argentina. It's looming closer and closer. I know that it will be healthy, but I can't help but dread it a little. It's just so far away.

I've struggled lately with being able to articulate to others exactly what it is I believe. I want to be able to sit down with a cup of coffee, and say "This is exactly why I believe what I believe." I suppose the skeptic in me asks how people can pass up such an amazing gift, and I am so held back by this disbelief that I am unable to explain why God's grace and mercy should be snatched up by them immediately. I know why I am I Christian. I know that I have been given the most precious thing in the world, and that is God's grace and love when I, of all people, least deserve it. I mean, I mess up, and mess up, and mess up, and mess up, and at the end of the day, the Father is still lavishing His love on me. I guess in a way, I'm still so in awe of this life that I can't even find words to describe it. The fact that I am able to have a personal relationship with the God of the universe makes my head want to explode. He wants me to confide in Him, which is something I don't take advantage of enough. I just.....I can't even write it out, and I'm so frustrated at my lack of words. 

In the words of Opie Taylor, "It's preying on my mind, Pa." 

[Side Note: I found out today that I can raise both of my eyebrows separately in quick succession. Will keep you posted as things continue to unfold in that area.]