Our Father,

Thank you. Thank you for peace that passes understanding. Thank you for strength out of nowhere. Thank you for clarity of mind when my heart is at a loss. Thank you for London fogs and friends and gorgeous evening walks.

My heart aches tonight for my counterparts, close friends and acquaintances, scattered around the globe who are encountering homogenous culture for the first time in a really long time. We pray that we may approach these scary times with grace and learn to adapt and love without compromise, but setting aside our need to have the world on our terms. We pray that you bring the right people into our lives, people that challenge and frustrate, but also people who sit and listen, people who ask and people who recognize the value of who our lives have made us to be. We pray that you would give us oceans of grace and patience (which I sorely lack, let's be real). I pray that you would guard our hearts against distrust and cynicism.

My heart also aches tonight for my peers who have walked my path, the path of minimal romantic interest. Keep our hearts from bitterness and remind us daily why we are of value even when those who we hope are paying attention are not. Keep us centred in the knowledge and faith of you and set us free in your love to be our gloriously flawed and beautiful selves. Let us be more than the opinions of those who surround us. Let us be more than the voices in our head that question our worth. Let us be stronger and wiser and more compassionate and generous in view of our own journeys. Let us treat the dreams and hearts of others with care and selflessness.

And finally, for the piece of my heart that aches for home and family, give me courage to live with this grief. Give me the time and ability to spend time with my loved ones. Remind them in Your love that I also love them immeasurably. Protect them. Challenge them. And love them even when they wander or doubt. Keep us laughing. Keep us dancing. Keep us faithful to who we are and what we believe in.

In Jesus' name.

"Higher than the mountains that I face. Stronger than the power of the grave. Constant through the trial and the change. One thing remains. Your love never fails, never gives up, never runs out on me."

Frustrating

I've been stewing over this entry for a little while. A week ago tonight, I said another one of those awful goodbyes that seem to define my life… This summer has been so overflowing with incredible moments and memories. My parents have taught me to embrace life's idiosyncrasies with dignity and laughter since I was born. The moments where I'm bent over, barely breathing from laughter are some of the most precious and well-preserved memories. However, it's the everyday stuff that's frustrating. My dad and I, by virtue of genetics, are near matches in personality. We've learned over time how to push each other's buttons, so we get locked in arguments, neither one wanting to back down. The sarcasm flows freely and the game is on. At the end of the day, though, Billy Joel makes us sing, Stevie Wonder makes us dance and we both agree that Sara Bareilles is all kinds of great.

In the frustration, there is ample room for beauty. My dad and I have a beautiful rapport. Case in point, me holding back tears as he drove me home from work one final time… So, he lightens the mood and throws some Natasha Bedingfield on (he had recently discovered and loved "Freckles"). By the time we're driving into the driveway, "Love Like This" featuring Sean Kingston is blaring. My dad pulls the car over into the track that goes around our property and gets out of the car and starts to dance. As the song ends, he turns it on again and comes around to my side. And we dance, like the crazies that we are. By the time we get back in the car to drive up the driveway, we're both losing it because goodbyes are really hard to face. The maddening thing is that even though I'm stuck in this cycle of homecomings and goodbyes pretty much for the rest of my life, I wouldn't trade anything for my "love like this"

Part of the journey that I'm on is daily frustration. Sometimes, it's my own pride. Sometimes, it's the intimidating feeling that I live in a culture with no room for my convictions and life experience. It's really tough not to lose myself in the constant tension. So, I dance. Like a total weirdo. Alone on a cliff. I dance. Sometimes, I flip through my iPod until I find the right song and sometimes the song comes to me in a fit of shufflin' genius. Example… I'm not a huge Bruce Springsteen fan. I mean, I totally respect his legacy and work, but I didn't grow up listening to him. So, I'll listen to his stuff on the odd occasion. The other night, I'm dancing through this incredible evening on the cliff when Born to Run comes on. So, I waited it out and realized that "Tramps like us, baby we were born to run" was exactly what I wanted to scream into the wind. 

See, I'm not the most patient human being. I think I drive heaven nuts because I'm like, "God, I'm really really passionate about doing this. Can we make this happen now?" and then he responds with a "Wait on my timing…" and I'm planning my world takeover. So, everyday life gets really frustrating, because I'm definitely not taking over the world any time soon. This year, I think one of the most valuable lessons I've learned is waiting on God and trusting His faithfulness. It sucks a whole heck of a lot, but it's also totally worth it. I remember listening to a Mumford line: "When I'm on my knees, I'll still believe". In a moment where I was sick and tired of carrying the sadness of my heart, I chose to hear the Spirit speak (in a rather unorthodox way). 

I remember crawling into bed with my mom this summer, worried about a number of things. She told me that she combats worry and insomnia with good old Proverbs 3:5-6. My mother, the queen of all wisdom, was right as always. She's also passed on a healthy love of the verse in Psalms: "Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart". As I understand it, the "desires of your heart" aren't just things like a nice, comfortable house and a nice comfortable lifestyle… The desires of your heart are the things that make you come alive, the things that make you tick. Those who know me know that justice issues, African politics, poverty, global community and empathy, calculus and a good book put a spark in my heart and an endless stream of thoughts pouring from my mouth. So, it's frustrating to live a life that is not necessarily aligned with those passions and among people that don't necessarily 'get it'. Still, one of the most poignant moments for me this summer was a visit with some old friends who have recently been granted the desires of their hearts and to see the hand of our incredibly faithful God on their lives.  

Speaking of tears, my parents left a birthday card behind for me when they left. Yes, I was born on August 7th and yes, they left on the 19th. Because of a variety of factors, we celebrated my birthday over an extended period of time. We did cake and a present before the day then (lots of) cake, then a few days later we did the special home-cooked meal I had wanted for my birthday, then we did lunch out and finally, we landed on the card. Now, my birthday cards are always the best because my dad's a total goof head and my mother is one classy, precious lady. So, I've grinned and cried my way through the card a few times now. Why would I put myself through that kind of emotion, you ask (this is the part of the show where I place questions in your mouth you probably wouldn't ever ask)? It's really quite simple… Their words fill me with the confidence and love that they have for me. That's love, at least as close as I can pin it… It's a frustrating, heartbreaking ride but it's also the ride that leads to a lot of extraneous laughter and dancing. 

One of my favourite songs off of Lady Antebellum's new CD is called "Generation Away". The groove is seriously cool and just reeks of a breezy summer evening. There's this whole situation where they break into "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands", which is actually a very cool, gospel tune. 

"So, baby, let's dance." 

Fearful

I seem to have hit momentary writer's block. Can you even hit writer's block for a blog that's only read by your most loyal friends? Does this make my one minor claim to authorship even more ridiculous?

Unfortunately for those opposed to the overexposure of the blogosphere, I'm going to sit here in my striped Oompa Loompa leggings, my brother's old Tusker shirt and hopefully find an 8tracks list that inspires some wisdom. Reflecting on my writer's block, I live in two extremes...

The first extreme is one where my brain buzzes a mile a minute: "After I finish my undergrad, I should move to Europe... I should get my childhood proficiency in Portuguese back... I should write my thesis on a mathematical model to address the injustices of the developing world." This mostly happens as I'm trying to fall asleep. The second is a stillness, an almost eerie peace and emptiness of mind. This happens when I cuddle with my puppies or wade the waves of the Gulf. In the interest of blog writing, extremes are not productive...

The mile-a-minute thoughts evoke one primary reaction. Fear, but a fear that is intensified because my speculations and imaginings are my wildest dreams. Fear, that is intensified because I'm not sure if my dreams and ambitions and passion are relevant or possible in the environment I find myself in. And yet, I live for the moments when my joie de vivre conquers my fear. There was this moment when I was alone on the beach with my puppies and "Footloose" came on my iPod. Not dancing would have been the tougher choice...

My dad and I have a bizarre relationship. We are music connoisseurs (spell check just informed me that I don't know how to spell that word, oops). We have serious conversations around "The Stranger" album (Billy Joel). I explain why "Vienna" means so much to me and then we discuss how "Only the Good Die Young" adresses the rules of the church that we follow simply because they're  rules and not because we understand them. Then, we throw our intellectual concerns away, because "She's Always a Woman" is an intoxicating melody that must be sung. We did "Rumours" (Fleetwood Mac) on the way into work one morning and drove to home to Earth, Wind and Fire's greatest hits. I even bring Taylor Swift along for the ride, because I'm an eighteen year old girl at the end of the day...

The other night, I was feeling down, caught in one of those moments of fear. That night, my golden retriever, Pippin, was restless and kept returning to lie in my doorway, right next to my bed. It might be because of the howling wind in my parent's room, but I choose to believe it was the instinct of a faithful, loving friend. My golden buddies are as high maintenance as a couple of toddlers, but I ultimately love their smelly, needy, mischievous puppy selves. We are inextricably linked, in mutual infatuation and unconditional love...

I feel comfortable here, on the DesRoches property in Goose River. The routine is basic: the occasional run in the morning along the cliff, a last-minute cup of tea in my Starbucks mug from London, work, my mom's cooking (with special mention for her garlic bread), puppy cuddles, a couple rounds of Facebook Scrabble with my friend Tim, getting way too invested in Downton Abbey, and exclaiming over our marvellous sunsets. Sometimes, we mix it up and adventure: live theatre, live music, and taking some of our favorite back roads. I have a very comforting rapport with my parents. My dad and I fight about the same things. My mom's my confidante, although infinitely more wise...

Then there's some redhead that flew up here from Texas. Granted, between our plans and the hours I had to work the week she was here, it flew by. Still, I have been so blessed to know Rebekah Follingstad and to have this time to dance under the stars to the Dixie Chicks (live!!) and generally act like a couple of crazies. New York is next on our bucket list of places to see together. I don't doubt it will happen. Granted, being separated sucks. But, it also makes you appreciate that taking the money
and time to make the trek and see each other is worth the sacrifice. Still, I echo Andy Grammer in saying "It's fine by me, if you never leave. And, we can live like this forever, it's fine by me." It's not every best friend who shares the giddy experience of Moody McSpurgeon flirting with you...

Three pages of my thought-scribbling notebook later, the writer's block seems to be fading. It's a mixture of that summer lull in motivation, coupled with that fear I described... So, I love Sara Bareilles. Her new album is very album. Also, how fun is the renaissance of Fall Out Boy? It's like adolescence  but without the ugly and awkward bits... But I'm getting carried away. Sara's new single, "Brave" is a fun time and a great way to kick off a workout session. So, this summer, my goal is allowing myself a break, from the people and the complex situations that burned me out. Hopefully, I will gather my confidence and embrace the passion of my dreams in spite of my fear. And above all, I'll temper it with the seasoned wisdom of Proverbs 3:5-6 and stop leaning on my own understanding. In all my ways, I acknowledge my Creator and His Heart for the spiritually, emotionally and physically destitute....

"And so it goes, one foot after the other til black and white begin to color in, and I know that holding us in place is simply fear of what's already changed..."

Free

Some nights, I want to put my favourite Billy Joel songs on repeat and curl up in bed. Admit defeat. Throw in the metaphorical towel. This is becoming a more frequent desire as the time between the end of the school and my parents arrival continues to stretch before me. The whole principle behind finishing school for the year is being homeward bound after a long semester/year. In the more realistic portrayal of this daydream, the lights come up on our female lead. She writes her last exam, goes to church one last time, takes part in a five hour meeting to talk about ACF's vision for next year, and then spends the following day packing up her dorm room. Her final night at school, she sits, exhausted, among her packed belongings, rolling into bed at the tame hour of ten. The reunion with her extended family in the following days is comforting, but it's not the same… 

One of the clearest memories from my many homecomings is the unique pitch my mother uses to greet her long lost children. It greeted me at an airport in Saudi Arabia in December. It also greeted me many Fridays as I finished yet another week at Camp Wildwood. I remember as weeks at camp became more taxing, the immense relief that settled on my soul as I ran into the arms of Mom or Dad. Call it childish, but to me, I can't lay my burdens down until I hear that special pitch and feel their arms around me. It doesn't feel like the year's really over. Not yet. Sure, I'm going through the motions. I got a job. I go where I need to go when I need to go there. I go about my life with minor enthusiasm. 

I think that living out of a suitcase takes a little bit of your soul's dignity. Or maybe I'm just dramatic. Either way, I'm tired of living out of a suitcase. I've taken two week-long trips in the last month and both times, I have failed to pack the right combination of clothing. Discouraging. Any person with poetic perspective likes to pick apart the minute occurrences to add significance to the bigger picture. So, to me, my inability to pack the right combination is just a symbol of the pieces my life is missing recently. 

Ultimately, I think there's great merit in a poetic lens on the world. Sure, it lends itself to over thinking. Still, it lends thoughtful significance to details that escape other eyes. Yes, it makes the way you understand the world somewhat subjective and selfish, but it also makes it beautiful. Because good poetry is beautiful. Poetry built out of experience and reflection and inspiration. So, even my moments of loneliness and longing are beautiful… They promise good things to come. Reunions. Hugs. Puppy kisses. Ice Cream. Beach days. Laughter. Cheesy grins on my part. 

People have pointedly observed that I talk about my parents a lot. I'm sure they think it's selfish, childish, perhaps a sign that I'm stuck in my past. The way I see it is that there are only a select group of individuals that make me really, truly happy. My parents in particular bring incredible joy and wisdom into my life. I celebrate that by wearing out the subject. And in the grand tradition of anyone who has 'haters', I say, Suck it up! Part of getting to know any human being is finding out what makes them tick, what makes them happy, what makes them feel alive. I can spend hours talking about calculus or Anne of Green Gables or even about a book/poem I just read that impacted me. Or, maybe I just talk too much… My rambles on this blog are proof enough of that. So, I'll wrap up with something my mom told me about freedom: "Just smile and understand that God really has set you free. Free to learn. Free to grow. Of course, along with that comes the potential for hurt - which you've also known. But you are free. Free to grapple with what it means to be a believer of integrity and intellect." 

So, here's to living in the knowledge of that freedom and here's to a summer spent in the freedom of God's love and the love of my parents and furry pals. 

"Once I thought I'd like to be a blossom growing on a tree; white and pink and lazy as can be; but I'd be king just in the spring; so now I think it over… Gee, I'm glad I'm no one else but me." 

Chaotic

I love Easter. I love the process of Holy Week and the grief of Good Friday, and I love the way that order is restored when the sun bursts over the horizon on Easter morning. I love the way I've learned to celebrate liturgical holidays. I love the traditions of Beira and St Julian's. I love the culture my family and I created over our years of global adventure. I love that laughter is a focal point in said culture. 

As I look back on our years together as a family in various parts of the world, I enjoy the chaos. The chaos that comes so organically with the poor infrastructure of the third world. The chaos that comes out of cultures less preoccupied with the hustle and bustle of capitalism and individualism. I love that my childhood is built around this premise of chaos. When you live in a vibrant, multi-cultural community, you learn and experience other cultures, but you also experience families' personal takes on culture. As you find kindred spirits across cultural boundaries, your traditions arise out of chaos. The thread of human experience, love, and joy join your lives together, and you learn to not take the details too seriously. Sometimes, pumpkin pie just doesn't taste right when not made from processed and packaged ingredients. That's okay. Sometimes, Christmas is celebrated in 20 degree weather, Celsius. That's okay, too. Sometimes, Easter happens as the sun comes up over the Indian ocean and the fishermen haul in their catch. That's okay. Traditions are not always about consistency. Sometimes, they're about finding common ground among the inconsistency of life. My life and my culture has been born out of quirky chaos and I wouldn't do it differently if I had the option…

Now, how do we handle the day when you return out of this chaos into a culture that revolves around the very traditions you tried and failed to replicate? I'm missing the chaos this weekend. I'm missing sharing that chaos with similarly chaotic people. But missing things is passive and just sad. So, there are options. Replacing the missing things. Repressing the sense of missing. Moving on. But, that makes me sad, because at the end of the day, I'm losing things and I prefer not to lose things I love. And yet somehow, this seems to be a theme in this whole growing up process. I don't like this. I don't like this one bit…. That's okay, too.

Where's the chaos in Easter? I think the only moment that didn't hold a chaos of emotion and activity was the moment Jesus gave up his spirit and died on that cross. That gasp of breath. That eerie silence. Before it dawned on his disciples and family. Before the dramatic tearing of the curtain. Sometimes, I feel like I'm caught up in a moment of anti-chaos. Unable to find words or an expression of grief as the chaos grinds to a halt. 

Sometimes, life feels like some sort of divine dramatic irony. A letdown. An anti-climax. A tragedy that plays out in a matter of minutes. But, you might interject here that you know the ending. The tomb, the stone, the angels, the women and disciples, afraid to hope, Jesus' reappearance… It's exciting and insane and dramatic. It's the ultimate victory. So, we find ourselves in that moment and we keep pressing forward because we know that good must win at the stroke of dawn. We convince ourselves that the end of this tough stretch is just around the next corner. It might be. Or it might not be. Then what? 

Sometimes, I feel that the reward aspect of being in the service of God is exaggerated. I feel that way because I don't see it playing out in my life as I would like it. So, here's the secret. You don't run the show. Your artistic vision for your life is not necessarily going to become a reality. You have to run it by the producer, and He's got a mind of His own. God didn't have to let His Son die. He didn't have to re-instate the glorious chaos of the Kingdom of God on Earth. He could have just been like, "I give you the Messiah and you kill Him… Classy." Is God sarcastic? I don't know, friends, but He never misunderstands my sarcasm. Anyways, He didn't do that… Because He loves us for some crazy, illogical reason. But he let the grief and helplessness sink in before the sunrise of redemption. It's mostly about timing, His timing. It's mostly about learning to trust out of anger, hurt and sassy conversations with heaven. 

I love my chaotic life. I love my memories of Easters and Christmases and other assorted holidays with my family around the world. And to be straight with you, I haven't found anything here that comes close to those memories. When your world is born out of chaos, it's tough to give it form again. It's tough to sit through Good Friday, to wait for that Easter sunrise. But as I frequently tell my dear friend, Beka, life is tough. Sometimes, life with Jesus is even tougher, because you know the ending and you're anxiously awaiting for it to come to pass. However, God seems to have stuff to teach us as we walk through the middle bits. I guarantee that you'll like about 5% of the stuff. The image that comes to mind is combing out knotty, long hair. After one too many road trips, I know that experience all too well. Shockingly, the pain and discomfort is worth the shiny, untangled hair. Like much of life, however, it is cyclical. Untangled hair can always become tangled again. And it's all rather pointless, except that we know the ending and we get to live in hope of its coming. Hope out of confusion. Hope out of chaos. Hope out of unredeemable circumstances. Hope out of unthinkable loss. I love Easter because I love hope. Lots of smart people said great things about hope. I want to live it. Not talk about, but live in it and be transformed by it. 

"I've got the world behind me and the cross before me; the straight and narrow is where you'll find me. I have decided to follow Jesus." - traditional (with some Andy DesRoches flair)

Dissonant

Sometimes, living in my head is like a piece of modern music: chaotic, inspired and uncontrollably dissonant. Besides the fact that I get overwhelming sensations of cultural estrangement, the over-analytic side of my brain takes hold and then, only time will tell what sorts of nonsense will come pouring out. Analytical, romantic, creative, logical, spontaneous… It can verge on whirlwind territory. One thing I know for sure though. Every thing I think and feel seems to be at odds with the surrounding symphony. It gets sort of disorienting after a while. 

These days, every time I give words to what I feel, it comes out differently. Quantitatively, qualitatively, I have no sound method of recording this state of mind. So, to lessen the pressure of my brain, I'm writing… To untangle a corner of the mess. For me, it all comes back to something I stumbled across this week. On Friday, one of my literary heroes passed on, Chinua Achebe. Looking for a fitting way to remember him, I stumbled across a quote of his: “One of the truest tests of integrity is its blunt refusal to be compromised." Now, I don't claim that I have integrity of superhuman proportions, but it is a quality I seek to emulate in my life and in my sense of self…

Over the last weeks, I seem to be perpetually confronted with situations that would have been less complicated if I had merely compromised pieces of my sense of self. Everything from my understanding of friendship to my penchant for sass. Each time, I've debated the merits of compromise. Compromise for love or companionship. Compromise to save face. Compromise to appease people's hurt pride. Now let me explain something here. I'm not equating compromise with the humility necessary to recognize when you are in the wrong. To me, that humility is essential, compromise… Well, I'm not convinced. Are you really a person of integrity if you literally go any way the wind blows? Would I rather please a majority of the people who surround me or fall asleep every night content with the humility and confidence with which I was Davita that day? 

I can't say that right now I'm okay. My heart is heavy. My brain is buzzing. For better or for worse, I'm going to be me. I'm going to fall in love with calculus every Tuesday and Thursday morning. I'm going to read books and spend days trying to process their majesty. I'm going to be a staunch little girl, retreating to the wisdom and encouragement of my parents on a daily basis, even when they're halfway across the world. I'm going to choose who to give my heart to, hopefully, with more and more discernment. I'm going to expect too much of the world and its people and watch my heart break every time it disappoints. Not because it's particularly popular or even healthy somedays, but because I don't want to look back and sense a compromise of the self I've been taught to value and love. 

Today, someone told me that they loved my energy and the way I pick up on small things and laugh (specifically during church services). Although we can talk about whether or not it is proper to laugh during church (I personally believe that God is a great proponent of laughter in His house), I want to talk about why I laugh wholeheartedly when my soul is otherwise downcast. Because, why the heck not? There are lots of weird, quirky people on this planet who do endless weird, quirky things, providing you with ample fodder for witty commentary. There is entirely too much reason in this world to laugh. And there are endorphins or something scientific.

 So, no answers, no grand declarations, no harmony of mind, heart and soul. Just dissonance. Dissonance within and without myself. And endless Billy Joel songs. Seriously, Billy, GET OUT OF MY HEAD. This world is cruel to those who hope and dream for fulfillment. So, I'm keeping my head down, letting my wounds heal and stretching a hand out to heaven for the strength and grace I cannot dredge up. 

Just read/listen to the lyrics to Vienna about a thousand times…

"Slow down, you crazy child…" - Billy Joel

More

Deserve is a funny word. It's one of the first things that pops out of any good girlfriend's mouth when a boy breaks your heart, "You deserve way better!". But then, you start to list all of the heartbreaker's good qualities and you protest, "But they're a great guy/girl… They seemed like the perfect choice at the time." But, see, the deserving isn't in their unique combination of desirable qualities. It's lost the minute they break your heart. The minute they don't recognize you for all your uncomfortably weird and uncommonly beautiful glory. A friend of mine spoke this truth into my life last weekend from her own recent struggles. Finding common ground of struggle is such a blessing. So, praise God for the common threads of human experience.

This doesn't just extend to matters of romance. This extends to the people you fill your life with. Sometimes, they can be phenomenal people in their own right and phenomenally toxic in your relationship with them. It's the combination, not the individual. It doesn't lessen the other person's right to life and love, but when they get in the way of your inalienable right to be joyful, that's when things get hairy. Sometimes, more is less. Sometimes, more is pruning people from your life who make you less you. Sometimes, more is just you, standing up for your right to be recognized and loved and treasured. 

Praise God for Jesus, because most of the time, He's all the more you need. Because He loves and recognizes you to the extent that you deserve and then some. And, in Him, we are so much more than conquerors. We have a stamp of love and grace on our hearts that leads us to full and abundant life. Jesus is a weird mixture of love you deserve and don't deserve at the same time. So, rest in the humble confidence of being a child of God who has been fearfully and wonderfully made. And, love, serve and respect mankind, because like you, they deserve more.

Let me close with some song lyrics that have echoed through my head frequently as of late:

"Every single broken heart will lead you to the truth

you think you know what you’re lookin’ for

til what you’re lookin’ for finds you

In a cold world, it’s a warm place

where you know you’re supposed to be

A million moments full of sweet relief

when the right one comes along"

Beautiful

I came across this quote by Gabourey Sidibe the other day… "One day I decided that I was beautiful, and so I carried out my life as if I was a beautiful girl." Cue over-analysis of my social mannerisms… Someone says, "Davita, you're beautiful"… "Davita, you look beautiful today"… and I dazzle them with my best "Aww gee, thanks" smile, but inside I feel uncomfortable. Contrary to popular belief, I don't feel uncomfortable because I don't think I'm beautiful or that I don't deserve to be called beautiful. I feel uncomfortable because at some level, I feel the compliment is unnecessary. Obviously, I put effort into looking good that day and I know I look good, but I don't want any attention drawn to the fact. Perhaps because I'd rather be recognized for my killer calculus abilities or my extremely odd and dramatic personality. Perhaps because I feel like it's a reminder of my own vanity. Who knows… 

But have you ever considered what life looks like when you live in the knowledge of your own beauty? I don't think it's an explosion of selfies or narcissistic photo shoots on social media (although I do rather enjoy both of us those). I think that knowledge of beauty is outpoured as love. Last week, I had one of my most un-beautiful weeks for a while, in terms of both my efforts to dress myself and my heart. Showering takes a lot of motivation, friends. Especially during a week of midterms. And out of nowhere, as I was dealing with situations and reflecting, my mood was anything but dark or ugly. I was laughing at dumb things, squealing at cute things, dancing to rhythmic things… My first thought… I can't possibly be this uplifted. It must be a mask. But no, it wasn't. Normally, I have no problem letting the world know just how grumpy I am. So, maybe my soul is far-sighted. It sees the beauty that's coming, the beauty in the small things that get lost in the moments of confusion and sadness… Or maybe it just recognizes that the things that really matter aren't really falling apart at all.

So, this Valentine's Day, whether you're single, in a relationship or a Martian (that should replace "It's complicated" as the third relationship status option on Facebook), don't be sad or disappointed. Be beautiful! Or stay beautiful, as my dear friend Taylor sings so sweetly. And do whatever you feel like doing if you don't have significant others to hang out with. Put a couple extra inches on your hips with your favourite ice cream flavour or favourite type of candy. Watch a romantic comedy and get irrationally involved in a fictional character's love life. Don't listen to the people who tell you these things are pathetic… They just wish they had the self-esteem to not worry about that tub of ice cream. Rah, rah, rah female empowerment! Or if you're tired and you have lots of crap due this week, go to bed early. Or browse a photography blog with lots of wedding photos on it. Wear your grossest, coziest clothing, not because you're a stereotype of a broken-hearted girl, but because you want to, gosh darn it. Embrace stereotypes and then blow everyone's mind by being content and beautiful and poised. Or cry ugly tears. No judgment here. 

If there's anything you learn in academia, you learn that knowledge of anything is haunted by ambiguity. Try making it through an university English course without discussing ambiguity (you won't or you may, but you'll fail the class). This reaction against determinism is scary as the established ways of knowing the world are melted from your brain, but it's also freeing. Freeing to know that the ambiguity of your mood and your future isn't weird or unusual. It's human. That's why I love literature, because you start to find beauty in the weirdest places because you learn to never disregard anything. Like pronouns… The Jennifer Hudson of the literary world. Under-appreciated at first glance, coming back to kick your butt with their Oscar-winning, ballad-killing soul. Okay, so like all of my analogies, it breaks down. But, seriously pronouns are radical. It took British Restoration Lit and pages and pages of 18th century poetry to convince me of their importance. So, don't disregard the pronouns in your own life. The things you have a weird affinity for or that prompt inspiration of heart and mind. They make you unexpectedly beautiful and radically ambiguous. 

Because stereotypes… Well we construct them because getting to know people and figuring them out is time-consuming and requires lots of emotional energy. I'm not condemning them wholeheartedly because yes, they do save time and energy. But, remember that they are a construct and that you have, therefore, no responsibility to live within them. If you want to live in a realm in which you make the rules, be my guest. Be an individual not because you're forcing what you think weird looks like on the world but because you just can't hide your weirdness.

You might ask why I'm preaching in the name of self-knowledge of beauty, seeing as today is the day on which we celebrate romantic love between two people, so "Davita, why are you not waxing eloquent on your ideals of love or raging against societal ideals of love?" Well, thank you, voice in my head, for that intriguing question… Well number one, been there, done that. Soooo last year! And number two, have you stopped to think recently about how you have been fearfully and wonderfully made by a great Creator God? If we're celebrating love, why can't I celebrate that love if I want to? My class is just as beautiful as my sass. So, deal, voice in my head. 

I desperately hope if you are a woman in this world that you have a daddy who tells you you're beautiful on a regular basis. Mine does. Sometimes, I retort with, "I know you think so, but I swear you're the only guy who does". It took me a long time to figure out that that might be okay. Not okay in the sense that all of your self-worth should stem from one person's opinion of you. But more in the sense that all you need for your self-worth is the kind of unconditional love and affirmation that stems from a deep understanding of God's love. So, more along the lines of "I love everything that's great and not so great about you because I created you and I'm freaking insane enough to love every piece of you, now what are you going to do about it?" 

Full circle. Live your life as a beautiful human being. Bring out the beauty in those around you. Recognize the beauty in the people around you. Do the things that inspire you and make you feel beautiful. Fight ugly even when it seems to dominate the lives of those around you. Wear your favourite scarf 5 out of 7 days of a week. Let he who has never committed this fashion misdemeanour throw the first judging glance. Let other people bring out the beauty in you. Step away from those that make you feel uglier, but keep fighting for their beauty. Get dressed up once in a while and celebrate the beauty that is your eyes, your smile, your hips… Accept compliments graciously even when you know that there's more to be celebrated than your pretty dress. 

I have a friend who told me one time about a couple weeks she spent in the Kenyan bush and what I remember most clearly from that conversation was the glow in her eyes when she described how dirty her feet were and the patterns left by the sandals she wore for the entire trip. I have another friend who makes me keel over with laughter because of her surprising wit and her surprising irreverence. I miss the twinkle in her eye everyday. I have another friend who has so much confidence in her life and her dreams that she glows in and out of her beloved spotlight. I have yet another friend who fights with everything she has against what I see as unsurmountable odds and loves every minute of it. I have another friend who dances with such abandon and passion that you could never tell she's an untrained white girl ;). Then, there's the friend with whom I learned to love delicious harmonies and, by hook or by crook, learned to love most of my life… I also have a friend who is so true to herself that I'm concerned the world will never love her or appreciate her like her loved ones do because of all its ignorance and prejudice.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg, a select few of the beautiful girls (and people) I've surrounded myself with in the past 18, almost 19 years. They're my role models, my inspirations and my strength for finding my own beauty. So, be beautiful and inspire beauty today. You were designed to live beautifully whether or not you have a beautiful life. And, enjoy your ice cream in the company of your favourite human being in a 5 mile radius. Happy Day of Beauty!

"All around; Hope is springing up from this old ground; Out of chaos life is being found in You. You make beautiful things. You make beautiful things out of the dust."

Impertinent

I'm sick. I have this exotic disease called the flu. My immune system has dealt with its fair share of unhygienic food preparation and international-school incubated viruses, but a winter flu is a new one. Maybe next year, I'll be inspired to stick yet another needle into my arm. Thousands of third culture kids across the globe just shuddered. Tonight, however, cabin fever is setting in and my brother advised me to do what non-DesRoches rarely do: adventure. So, my pencil is like Lewis' wardrobe tonight.

I live in a constant state of wrong-ness. I'm like the colloquial bull in the china shop. Except I'm an elephant in a rural, Eastern Canadian shop. For example, in my Old Testament class, we were talking about Jonah and were asked who would be our personal Ninevites. The first thing that popped into my head was anyone who shares the socio-cultural context of my birth. I get stuck in this tug of war of frustration and insecurity. I can't tell you why but every bone in my body seems to be different enough from this place to result in my repeatedly screwing up social or cultural convention.

I desperately want to be back out in the great wide somewhere. France, Italy, China, India, Thailand, Australia. I want to learn, discover, taste, feel, see, smell, trip over cobblestones... Now that I'm back in the motherland, I'm finding myself less than inspired. Plus, this weather... My itchy, wandering feet are old, worn-out news.

Friday night, I started watching Zero Dark Thirty because I'm an awards season junkie. Plus, Jessica Chastain is my girl. After 20 minutes and a couple of vicious torture scenes, I couldn't handle it. When a movie is based on real events, it enters in an uncomfortably close dimension to your own life. So, I watched the endings of my favorite rom-coms instead.

My mom turned 50 a week or so ago. One of my favorite things about my mom is the way she fights back against the harsh realities of life by loving every dog, stray kitten, and students that wanders into her life. Every time she sees my brother or I after a long period of separation, her voices has this higher excited pitch. That's the kind of love that defies reality's agenda. My mom is everything I hope to be in many ways, but more importantly, she gives me the freedom and courage to try and grasp who I am.

Who I am is the kind of girl who tries to watch Zero Dark Thirty for its reputation as great art. How does this reflect on my cultural predicament? I can't say that I have any world-changing conclusions to make tonight. I like anecdotes. I like raising questions. I like revelling in some blog narcissism because the Internet is judgment free when you're low profile. So here are my questions, regularly thrown heavenward... Why am I uninspired and often unhappy? Why do I have the world's oddest conglomeration of abilities and areas of interest? Why do I get so much wrong? Why the heck did I get sick when I have SO MUCH to accomplish? Why is Canada so cold? Why does the human heart breed ignorance and prejudice? How does one begin to chip away at what's wrong with the world? How does one begin to chip away at what's wrong with our hearts? Why do I wake up in the morning and keep going about my routine even when it feels meaningless?

I wish life was like an Ellie Goulding song. Have you listened to "Anything Could Happen" yet? Her opening Oohs are just shy of euphoric. To me, that euphoria represents my understanding of the love of God. It's the best hook of them all. It lifts up the doom and gloom prophecy pre-Jesus and then changes the world in Jesus' lifetime. So, I can't tell if my wrong-ness is a sign that I need to learn humility and assimilate better or that I'm just pushing the boundaries enough to embrace the fulness and mystery of our Father's love.

"You swore and said... We are not... We are not shining stars... This I know... I never said we are... If you're lost and alone and you're sinking like a stone, Carry On. May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground, 

Carry On."

Irrational

Tonight, I'm struggling with my demons, the demons of my mind, my spirit and my heart. The ones that  start the tear ducts flowing in the darkness. My dad and I were exchanging emails about my present frustrations with the academia I've encountered in my Old Testament course. I was crying out against the formality of analysis and the loss of the beautiful poetry and symbolism of prophecy and poetry. My dad in his wisdom and by the Spirit's transcending grace, sent me this, attributed to Jean-Marc Ela, a Cameroonian Catholic priest:

"If Christianity wants to reach Africans, to speak to their hearts, and to enter their consciousness and the space where their soul breathes, it must change.  To do so, Christianity must do violence to itself and break the chains of Western rationality, which means almost nothing in the African civilization of the symbol....  The whole Scholastic and academic pedagogy of the West penalizes symbolism and ridicules symbolic thought.  The collision of the gospel with the African world compels the church to restore to symbols their place and value in the encounter of humanity with God.  After all, that encounter takes places through Christ who is the primordial sacrament – the manifestation of the Invisible One in the visible, the irruption of God into the perceived world, the domain of all that can be felt, heard or touched (I John 1:1-3)."  

I've read this about 10 times now. I lose myself in his language, his truth. How is this connected to my demons tonight? Ever since I've been back, I've had the equivalent of a spiritual allergic reaction to Western expressions of faith. Perhaps I see myself as more African than I actually am, but I've tried over and over to adapt to some semblance of being Canadian, and that's just not happening. I find myself blurting out shocking statements in my head whenever I enter a discussion or classroom. I can't tell if it's some kind of weird coping mechanism, but it's the most alienating thing I've ever experienced. 

I'm in a Lamentations kind of mood, though I lack the poetic edge. My mind, my heart is lost. More than anything, I need someone to meet me here in this place and hold my hand. And before voicing this prayer, I know it's been answered because of something Jeremiah (or whoever) has already said, "Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."(Lamentations 2). So, I say thank you for strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.