Not To Scare You Or Anything.

I like to say that I'm ready to be married.

I like to say that a lot.

And, for the most part, I think a lot of female colleagues I've talked to are in the same boat, which I'm sure is quite startling to the XY club.

I'm ready to be married, in a sense, to find my partner and get to the good stuff: learning, battling, and growing in faith. It's exciting to me, to share a life with another individual, the good, the not so good, and the thoughts and ideals in our mind that we like to keep packed away. I'm ready to trust. I'm ready to believe. Moreover, I'm ready to create a life with someone who will walk beside me. Not in front, nor behind, but beside me, and take it one lovey-dovey* day at a time.

I have it all planned out.

But knowing my Father, and His great sense of humor, will come at me from left field - completely polar to what I was expecting. I like to say I'm not looking. I like to think I'm not looking, but deep down my peripheral vision has the creativity of a seven year old. I'm sure it has something to do with the estrogen.

That's the beauty in plans, though. You make them, yet the probability of those desires coming to be is a complete mystery - just how I have a list of qualities I'm (not actively, of course) looking for: he must love cats, drool over Egg McMuffins, and share in my chai addiction. However, years from now, I'll probably be exchanging vows with a dog lover, fast-food hater, and a calorie-counter king**.

You never know what you're going to get. But that's the most enchanting realization, I suppose. At the end of the day, I do know what I want, but I don't know what's best for me. And that's where the light shines through: my King who knows me inside and out, action from reaction, thought from craving, from want, from need, from hope, from truth - sees me in my undoubtedly overwhelming transparency. And with that solidified notion, I uninhibitedly surrender. And wait.

And I keep telling myself that, "I'll just know when it's time," but as each day goes by I wonder how even that is possible.

How will you just know?

Is it like God slaps you*** and says, "Here, look, it's him" with doves fluttering about in a divine nature? Is it through tireless dating? Is it through our standards being met and the individual exceeding those?

These questions position myself to becoming increasingly aggravated at my own ill-supported-by-any-concrete-evidence ideological fantasy, so I stop.

I think there's a healthy balance between the two: actively searching and waiting. What I do know for certain, though, as Luke covered in Acts, is we, as women, should be keen on finding a man who is seeking God's own heart, and continue to trust in Him wholeheartedly - with or without a significant other. And with that, I think everything else will fall into place.

And you'll just know.

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* My primary love language is affirmation, then touch. Be prepared hubby, be prepared.
** I'm just sayin'.
*** In a genuine, I-love-you-unconditionally kind of way.

Revenge, I Say!

Humanity can always be found reaching; Whether it's for that dream job, dream husband, or the last smidgen of tamale casserole*, the stars never seem quite enough. We consistently binge ourselves of wants, like a typical i'm-an-emotional-wreck-and-can't-get-my-hand-out-of-the-fridge day, and go from one to the next, taking little notice to the effect that each rise and fall brings. Theses wants, though, are vastly different than our true, genuine needs: a God to lean on, and the occasional dirty chai to sip on.

I'm beginning to learn more and more to just what extent I'm really not in control. I'm not in control of where I'm going to be in two weeks, I'm not in control of who I'm going to be with in two years, and I'm certainly not in control of what I'll be wearing tomorrow. As frivolous as it may seem, I find myself yearning to take hold of the reins, and lead Santa's helpers** to where I presume the next stop to be located.

However, as experience shows, houses are missed, presents are not delivered, and a particularly dramatic crash ensues.

Although the metaphor seems somewhat vague, it still rings true. The continuum that the earth runs on is time - seconds, minutes, hours - so comprehension other than that is somewhat of a difficulty. I find it hard to think beyond my ever-so-favorable tunnel vision, and catch myself aching to make things happen, my way, and in my time.

Even when I think I'm doing something that breathes right, something that feels right, something that looks right - it could still be wrong. A couple of months ago I wouldn't have understood. I would have found myself teething in resentment, anger, and left with a bitter heart. But now, I have been blessed with a sort of comprehension; I can look at each situation with open, trusting eyes.

It's not easy.

But that's when grace steps in.

I'm growing, and I'm continually reassured in the most simplistic of instances. Once I would have overlooked them, yet on this date I cherish them.

I was told simply to "be at peace" the other morning, and I accepted it. Nine hours later, and I'm attacked, wherein which I realized these words of wisdom were obviously preparing myself for what was to come.

I understood.

And in that I find total contentment.

My Father is teaching me, and slowly but surely, as any worldly individual, I'm catching on - and rejoicing in it.

Welcome to the Chai Factor.

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*Whatever you do, don't set the casserole in front of you.
**I'm ready for winter when you are, God. Hint, hint.

Any Way You Want It.

Aristotle was a stately man when dealing with rhetoric and poetics, combating the puristic Sophist beliefs of virtuous (and might I say distasteful) discourse. Little did he know, though, that since the 4th century BC, the 21st-ers have taken it to an all new extreme.

What classifies an honest man?

Society today has learned to manipulate any, if not all, modes of communication in an attempt to save face, in an attempt to get face, and in an attempt to hide the it's-two-in-the-morning-and-I'd-like-to-go-to-sleep-even-though-we're-in-Vegas face.

After a quick trip six hours down the I-15, the grammatically correct trio made it to the City of Sin, and might I say it continues to uphold its reputation, if the "Girls, Girls, Girls!" men on the corner didn't already scream the notion enough. You wonder how many people, especially here, are telling the truth, even with the most elementary of interrogations.

"What's your name? How old are you, really? How many kids*?"

But in turn, how many people can actually be trusted? Even sharing your first initial causes worriment to some, afraid of a reenactment of Scream-meets-The-Hangover. But then again, there's the mass social networking tool of Facebook, where I'm more than positive that it's the largest stalking agency to date. So on a comparative level, Vegas is just a flashy, nude version of the website, and I'd like to think that both contain strategic false impressions.

I'm not ragging on the town, however, should that be the ideological assumption made, because a lot of good came out of a place characterized by a lot of bad. A friend had stated prior to the trip that company triumphs even the most mediocre of places, and he was right. Meatloaf is more than just a loaf of meat, kissing a smoker isn't always like licking an ashtray**, and gambling two dollars was as disheartening as predicted are all things I've recently learned, along with taking a step closer in understanding just what it is that I want.

While away on our vacation, I was going back and forth on a job offer in Alaska. During the interview, the woman asked me several expected questions, your typical figuring-out-if-you're-not-a-creeper inquisitions, and then stopped me at one.

"Where do you see yourself in five years?"

At first I let out a laugh. I didn't know how to respond, and on top of that, didn't know how I would frame the statement in such a way to entice her attention.

I stuttered a bit, and finally blurted something out along the lines of, "Is this a trick question?" I have always been asked what I wanted to do with my life, and it seems as though the response consistently changes. How could any one person give a surefire answer? I decided to give it a shot.

"At the end of the day, I want to be enjoying what I'm doing, and doing it well."

I'm not sure if that's what she wanted to hear, but I hoped she'd appreciate my strong taste for honesty. Aristotle was surely shaking in his grave at my discontinuance of rhetoric, yet as more and more time passes, I'm figuring out that being me is all I have to give, and with that comes a little bit of sarcasm, a little bit of laughs, and a lot of realness.

I'm real, and it's comforting in knowing that, even in the 21st century.

Although flashing lights and glitzy (abhorrent) glamor draws you in, Vegas spits you out with a bit of insight, believe it or not. I suppose this means that what happens there, doesn't necessarily stay there.

Viva!

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*And how old - very important question.
**Not from personal experience.

Paging Dr. McDreamy.

It was getting closer to six in the evening, so we made our way out the overtly large glass doors that enclosed us from the world beyond it. The street was busy, with the sun still positioned clearly in the sky; It was summer.

After walking for roughly a mile, with a few stragglers behind us, we finally made it. Dad held open the door to the Cheesecake Factory as we all filed into the grand lobby. I'm not quite sure what it is about Cheesecake Factory, but time and time again I'd chosen it over even the finest of establishments. Maybe it's the attempt at a jungle temple-like theme. Maybe it's the mighty portions that even Michael Phelps (with his apparently large caloric intake) couldn't finish. Or maybe, just maybe, it's the dessert.

Brother habitually put in our name, exchanging it for a buzzer which would, well, buzz, when our table was ready. It was my last night before surgery, and if a large, two thousand calorie platter of chicken parmigiana wasn't something to clear my mind for the evening, then the caramel pecan turtle cheesecake surely would.

There was an escalator next to a large set of stairs that would lead us to the upper floor of the restaurant, where in which we needed to be.

As much as I enjoy escalators, I've always meant to avoid them, after all, I did have working legs and a little exercise never hurt. So immediately as we realized where we needed to go, the family split.

I turned to Ali and jokingly said, "I'm going all out - this is probably the last time I'll be able to do this," and began to sprint up the stairs. The pathway in front of me was clear, as majority of individuals going to and from the establishment had sided with the rest of my family. I looked over my right shoulder and saw my brother staring at me with competition in his eyes, and, of course, I couldn't resist. He began walking up the escalator as I was running up the stairs. I reached him in no time at all, and with one flight left to go, victory was stripped away from me.

I fell.

Not your average stumble, where you can still manage to play it off like it never happened - this was much more dramatic. Arms flailing, head bobbing, knees falling hard upon the stairs, I was nowhere near a Destiny Child's recovery, as seen here.

Seconds later, when I realize I had let out a moan and was stretched along the staircase, I began to help myself up as a host from above started to come to my aide.

"I'm okay, really, I'm fine," I said to the man who held out his hand. Luckily Ali had been walking up the stairs at a safe speed and came up behind me.

Laughing, she said, "This really is the last time you'll be able to do that."

I walked outside this morning to the rays I had once been so accustomed to. I reached up my opaque hand to shadow my eyes that seemed to be retracting as I stepped farther into the light. It was only ten o'clock, yet the center of the solar system had no remorse in reminding me of it's existence.

For roughly a month I've been stuck; Stuck in a bed, stuck in the dark, stuck with the fan rotating above me, rattling as it went. I haven't been able to run, I haven't been able to bend, I haven't been able to leave the oxymoronic comforts of my little dark chamber. I can't quite remember now the amount of pain I was in, but I'm reassured that it's for the best. In the beginning I couldn't think of anything but screaming, anything but crying to keep my mind off of what had happened to me. My entire spine would ache, from top to bottom, an ache that even I can't find the words to describe. The narcotics wouldn't come fast enough, yet even when they did the nausea was another battle of it's own. My body was fighting me, and I was fighting it.

After a day of outings (which were meant to keep my mind busy, I assumed), I felt tired and weak. I went to my room, layed in bed, and awaited the sun to fall so I could potentially escape the confinement I repeatedly found myself in, and not be blinded. Dinner came and I had the strong desire to swim.

A lot of times I get these ambitious thoughts, where in which I'd go ride my bike, or get out of bed without the log-roll maneuver, yet these were all thoughts that were just slightly out of reach. I'm feeling well enough that it seems even brushing my hair wouldn't cause an issue, but then I'm faced once again with reality: the knots in my unkempt mane make it that much more difficult to endure.

I went back into my room and opened up the top drawer of my dresser, retrieving an old bathing suit I'd left here years prior. In an uncoordinated fashion I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror. I had proper curves, my shoulders were align, and I still somehow had my four-pack. I couldn't help but let myself smile.

I hastily grabbed a towel out of the hallway cabinets and went outside to meet my competitor. This time is wasn't my brother - this time it was the water that lay before me, callously tempting me as it provided many memories of my earlier, more agile self.

I slowly eased myself down to the top step, then the lower, then the lower, then I stepped to the bottom. It felt good - it felt like I was somewhat back to normalcy and back to the place that had always meant the most. Mom called from the door, reminding me that I'm not supposed to swim yet, as Dad noted teasingly after her that butterfly was to be avoided.

I smirked, yet instantly wanted to try. I attempted to do the arm motions while standing in the shallow end, and realized mobility wasn't quite on my side yet. The rods in my back were stiff, along with my tight, tense muscles clenching at each minuscule movement made. I gave up the strokes, but just for today.

I ended my swim with some egg-beating, trying to hold out as long as I could until I began to hurt. As much as I'm dying to be one hundred percent, as much as I'm yearning to be able to do the things I used to, I'm learning to be patient, I'm reminding myself that I had major back surgery.

I just had major back surgery, and now I've treaded water. I smiled again.

The truth is, running up the stairs at Cheesecake Factory wasn't the last time I was going to do it. I might not have believed the notion a couple of weeks ago, but I'm determined to believe it now. It's not always going to be easy, and I'll surely have days of discontentment, but persistence has always been a prominent attribute that even nineteen screws and two rods can't take from me. Nor am I about to let my bed form a ravine due to my lack of a desire to move.

Things can always be worse, but things can always be better, too - it's just up to you to want to achieve them.

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Interpret With Ignorance, Not Malice.

I'm sitting in a room that once used to be mine. Completely unrecognizable to the prior, the dark walls and antique furniture stare at me as if I'm the foreign object, as if I'm the one that doesn't belong. The sun is out, incandescently showering the landscape beyond the walls with it's polarizing rays, spreading it's wealth as it revolves about. The whispered hum of the vacuum is driven in differing angles, dragging it's pitch along with it.

I stare at the ceiling and being to wonder; I begin to think. Not the type of usual thinking, where the aforementioned minutiae would go unnoticed or disregarded, but facing the real of it all.

But then again, what is real?

We all create illusions of what the present is dealing, what the past has dealt, and what hand the future is supposed to hold. Whether we feel it's a full house and we reach out to collect our chips, or a jubilee of less-than-synchronized numbers, leaving us with empty pockets and a baffled mindset, things are never as they seem.

You may think you're running a sprint but it's really a marathon. You may think you're failing miserably, but you're really doing okay. You may think, but you could be wrong. Everyone thinks, and everyone is wrong.

There's a difference between logos and pathos, mentality and emotionality.

This maxim of humanity, of life, continues to perpetuate the notion that these two items are separate, that they're a battling paradox which have no purpose for intermixing. It's interesting to detail what we strive for and so greatly value: seeing rational thought as a savior of sorts, yet time and time again it's our intuition, our conscience, our emotions that serve as our most looked to advisers, whether you're able to come to its admittance or not.

As bruised and battered, spoiled and loved as I have been, I can still say I'm profoundly in agreement with the famous poets, authors and philosophers who have become cage-free in noting the power of honoring our heart's guidance throughout the ages. Not that there's no room for rationality, as there's a time and place for everything, but finding that true balance takes a mature wisdom, one in which majority of the world is too blind to see.

I take my attention off of the ceiling and onto the screen, rolling back the technological pages of life's occurrences, and remember. My thoughts haphazardly play games with me, fading in and out of happiness and contentment, like a puzzle of scattered images reminding me of what was. I'm thinking about the past, but this time searching for the real.

Both the positive and negative about that, though, is that I found it.

"Don't try to reason with your heart - or feel with your mind - for, just as the heart knows no logic, the mind can't lead you to your soul."

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Here's Johnny!

There's a lot I've been learning since I've been home, and it's only been two short weeks.

But then again, those two short weeks have taken an abnormally long time to pass*.

I've learned that those who care undeniably for you will be at your side when you need them the most - regardless of schedules, distances, or even prior engagements. It's amazing how many things the human conscious takes for granted; a bed to sleep on, a brace to rely on, and people to love on.

It's not a job that comforts you when you're down, or celebrates when you're up. It's not a job that will get you through the day, or provide the warmth of touch at night. It's not a job - it's an excuse. It's not a lifestyle - it's an excuse. It's not that you don't care but you just can't get to it - it's an excuse.

And that's how you begin to lose somebody.

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*Many ANTM marathons later.

Oh Hot Damn, This is My Jam.

I was told to write a post on my past weekend experiences, and have found great trouble in doing so.

It's not because it isn't worth writing about, the fact that my room screams emptiness, or simply due to my lackadaisical mindset; Even my current enjoyment of dark chocolate pretzel bark isn't keeping me from typing furiously (which would be fully understandable, if otherwise). What is however, is that I want to do it justice.

Just like any college graduate quickly thrown out onto the curb of you're-on-your-own-so-do-something-oh-and-we're-all-watching-you, I was able to cast aside the doubt, stress, and frugality that a simple commencement ceremony, once completed, brought upon for a smidgen of time.

I took a trip outdoors, and found a lot.

I found that you should break your boots in before hiking, I can comfortably lay face down in my sleeping bag, I'm less than mediocre at Speed, and low-and-behold a "strong current" is really, a strong current.

I also found that I finally surrendered.

There's something incredible about primitiveness and the absence of complication. With no connection to the outside world of fast-paced living and limited leg room, satisfaction came easily, trust came easily, and nothing else mattered than being with the people you were with. It's comforting, even in it's trivial state, to fall asleep under the stars and wake up with the sun, mother nature saying hello the way she knows best.

Escapes like these are so close and beneficial, yet the small amount of times they are actually ventured to seems one too few. I suppose one day I'll just find a plantation* up in the mountains and finally garner some quality air. Maybe then I'll even escape to the city - maybe not. But what I do know, is that comfort was solidified this weekend, and I can face the next couple of weeks with confidence simply by the people around me.

Pew, pew.

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* Oh, hello ignorance, didn't see you there.