This morning my coffee is so strong it could kick you in the teeth. And that's good.

Because if it weren't, I might kick you in the teeth.


*love-love!*

Vulnerable Me

Today I'm very tired and alone.

I had to ask my father for money. Again.

I feel as though God is taking a battering ram to my failures and flaws.

I don't think I listened to my accountability friends this morning- I just wanted to solve, solve, solve.

I've stared at final reports, lesson plans, and session notes for so long (revising, rewriting, revising, rewriting). That I'm just exhausted.

I don't know what I'm doing... I have an interview in NYC next week, but I'm so disillusioned with my major that I almost don't want to fly out.

I just feel very raw, alone, and bruised right now. I know it's a feeling and "this too shall pass." But for the time being I just want to crawl back under my blankets and cry...

Whimsical Happiness...

This is not my traditional genre, but I'm in love with this song. Yes, there are several lines which are **ahem** well, you know, but I'm innocent enough to find it transparently endearing- please, no body explain any connotations I might have missed. Thank you. :)

I love the eukelele and the way I can can stumble my way through the lyrics and feel like Ingrid, random chorus, and I are happy, beachy friends who don't really want to get rich.

Favorite line: "And we will put the lonesome on the shelf."

"I NEED..." And I don't love.

All right ladies, whip out those lists. You know you have them. Some of you may keep a mental list, others of you may be completely and totally OCD and have developed spread sheets (I fall into the latter category). You have a list of "what you want in a man." Oh, you can title it however you choose: "dating standards," "intent of matrimony," "ideal characteristics," etc. Call it what you may, your list boils down to what YOU find important in a man and a relationship.

Let's see... I remember my list from Jr. High. I have one from high school. And there's the most recent one from the college years. In Jr. High he needed to have nice penmanship and "not be tone-deaf." There's the high school list which included such essentials as "able to change a diaper" and "willing to grill." (These requirements stemmed from occasional lapses into disliking children and a still-crippling fear of propane.) In college, "ball room dancing" was added to the list along with "willing to balance the checkbook," (because I never wanted to know how much money I was spending).

Yes, I jest, but even when I (during a fit of maturity) removed those more "optional" items from my list, there was one common denominator of almost every stipulation that was left. I needed the man to fulfill these roles in order to be right. I needed comfort. I needed affirmation. I needed to be shielded from all my fears. I needed to be cool. I needed to be thought intelligent. I needed, I needed, I needed...

The funny thing is, God gave me three things to look for in a man: leader, lover, learner. Everything else is icing on the cake. I know this- the head knowledge is there, but the foot-work is lacking, and I shamefacedly admit that even though I could tritely rattle off the right answers, I didn't live them.

But while the leader-lover-learner information is nice, acknowledging it is not the root of my issue. My sin problem goes much deeper. The truth of the matter is I was looking to man to fulfill a role that only God can. I was expecting man to be my everything. This is true not just for relationships in the technical sense of the word (i.e. dating), but also relationships with my parents, friends, coworkers, etc. I needed those people to react a certain way.

When people reacted the way that I needed them too, I was happy- I felt warm, contented, satisfied. (In romantic relationships, this would be the ooey-gooey feeling similarly elicited by chick-flicks.) When they didn't I would become disgruntled, terrified, depressed, and moody. But their inability to be everything that I expect them to be was not necessarily a failing on their part, but on mine. I don't love the people around me. I need them.

I equate my need to love.

Peter said of my God: "His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness." (II Peter 1:3)

EVERYTHING I NEED. Everything.

Why should I even desire to augment the bounty of God with my requirements of a man? Why would I place that burden, the burden of supplying "everything I need" on a man? Who could bear that weight without falling? Why am I searching for that fulfillment? It's already been supplied! What an amazing, wonderful revelation! My prayer is now that it becomes more and more applied in my life- may I learn to be satisfied in Christ, and to actually love those God has placed around me... So much growing to do!

I do but seek faintheartedly

"If there be so certain and glorious a rest for the saints, why is there no more industrious seeking after it? One would think, if a man did once hear of such unspeakable glory to be obtained, and believed what he heard to be true, he should be transported with the vehemence of his desire after it, and should almost forget to eat and drink and should care for nothing else, and speak of and inquire after nothing else, but how to get this treasure. And yet people who hear of it daily and profess to believe it as a fundamental article of faith, do as little mind it, or labour for it as if they had never heard of any such thing or did not believe one word they hear." (Richard Baxter)



"The faint, far-off results of those energies which God's creative rapture implanted in matter when He made the worlds are what we now call physical pleasures,; and even this filtered, the are too much for our present management. What would it be to taste at the fountainhead that stream of which even these lower reaches prove so intoxicating? Yet that, I believe, is what lies before us. The whole man is to drink joy from the fountain of joy." (C. S. Lewis)



"Christianity proposes not to extinguish our natural desires. It promises to bring the desires under just control and direct them to their true object." (William Wilberforce)

Does the overwhelming shock of your weakness and failure ever knock the wind out of you?

Today mine did...

Messes of Spaghetti Feelings

In novels, authors patly say, "And she was gripped by sadness." Or "He had a moment of intense despair." We readers sigh, and feel that we empathize. But we can't. Not really. Because emotions don't work in such clean, tidy ways. At least mine don't...

When I'm sad, I don't feel merely sad- I may also have feelings of loneliness, wistfulness, disappointment, and fear intertwined with the dominant feeling of "sadness." Perhaps I'm ashamed (or afraid) to be lonely, wistful, disappointed or fearful, and as a result turn to the nebulous "sad" to fill the necessity of describing my emotions. Maybe I don't want to identify those other emotions, and "sad" is so easily used. Rarely, if ever, does one emotion dominate and over-ride my thoughts to the exclusion of all others. The different feelings intertwine, tangle up, and wrap together, forming one complete, (often irrational) me.

Today, once again, I want it to be cleaner. When I'm happy- I want to be just happy; not happy and scared and giddy, and hesitant. When I'm sad- I want to be just sad; not lonely and fearful. When I love- I want it to be just love; not fear, and infatuation, and timidity. Can't it just be one? Do they all have to be there? What is it like to be confident? What is it like to be angry? What is it like to love, hate, rejoice, and mourn?

How could anyone ever expect to live by their emotions? As soon as they rush in- a complicated, tangled mess, they are just as likely to rush out, another tangled mess taking their place. Very rarely do I wish I had no emotions. But today I do... It would be simpler...

Voice Warm-Ups and Contentment

In between the sentences of this post, I sustain a long "ah"; careful to control my vocal folds, resonance, and tension in my neck and shoulders. As prescribed by my speech therapist (yes, I know it's my degree, but doctors need other doctors- the same is true for therapists), I complete my vocal warm-up focusing on relaxation and pure tones. My mind goes completely blank while I'm humming and sliding up and down scales, as the comparison between my vocal exercises and what I've been learning from God slowly shifts into focus.

I'm a royal case of a stress ball. My shoulder are tight, my mind whirs constantly, and I freak out each time I check my e-mail and get a different message from another supervisor asking for additional paperwork. But when I sit down (like a devoted Buddhist monk) and gently hum my way through my voice exercises, all the tension, the stress, and pressure gently floats away. The only thing I focus on is the resonance in my throat, and its smooth, upward glide out of my mouth.

The same thing happens when I sit down with my Father. All I focus on is His face, the gentle (sometimes persistent) resonance of His Word, and before I know it- the tension has faded from my shoulders, the mind gently untangles the knots that it has twisted itself into, and my day shifts from a whirling kaleidoscope to a quiet panoramic landscape.

How graciously loving is my God to allow for peace in the midst of chaos...

Sometimes a tangible, hold-able, cry-on-the-shoulder fortress seems necessary...

But I will sing of your strength,
in the morning I will sing of your love;
for you are my fortress,
my refuge in times of trouble.

O my Strength, I sing praise to you;
you, O God, are my fortress, my loving God.


(Psalm 59:16,17)

I HATE MY GRADUATE SCHOOL PROGRAM.

Having Fallen, He Will Help Me

I have been busy this summer. But it's been a grumpy, disgruntled busy. I'm tired of the paperwork, I'm tired of my responsibilities, and I just want to be done. So I scooted, in a sub-par way through this summer.

And lately I've been convicted... I don't believe that I've been using this busyness as I should have been. I want to look back over my summer and say, "I worked as hard as I could." but I can't say that. I let things slide, I didn't make certain deadlines and responsibilities priorities in my life. Oh, it wasn't anything serious enough to affect my grades, mind you, but it did cause some extra headaches for a few people, and slightly less than ideal final products.

So I'm working very hard these last three weeks, hoping to finish well. I never want to end another semester saying, "Well, I could have worked harder..."

I messed up, but I have a wonderfully loving God who will help me turn my attitude and work ethic around.

Now, off to conquer that "to do" list, before any of the items are due!

I cannot tell a lie.

(Well, actually, I can, but I'm choosing to be like dear little Georgie Washington, and own up to my error.)

Every Sunday afternoon and evening, I feel a creeping dread that slowly grows as the sun dips lower in the sky and the comfortable grogginess of my afternoon nap wears off. It's the creeping dread of Monday. I have been doing a pretty good job managing the graduate school dread which terrorized my life during the fall semester. However, I don't think that this management has come about by a change in the circumstances of graduate school, rather, I believe that it has come from change in my attitude which God was so gracious as to alter.

He has allowed me to see the bigger picture of what I'm working towards. He has altered my view of correction, and made me more amenable to constant scrutiny and criticism. The work load is becoming more typical, and fortunately God made us adaptable beings.

But that doesn't mean that every Sunday evening (and to a smaller degree, each evening of the week until Friday) that I'm not gripped by a dull dread of tomorrow. I don't like it. Sometimes I even hate it. It's a hard thing to hate your profession, your life, and what you're training to do.

But there are several things on which I meditate when it seems as though Monday may be the blackest day ever made:

1. I am pursuing a profession that is not about me- it is about serving other people. There is incredible gratification in a "helping profession."

2. God has not given me more than I can handle, and His work in me is being perfected during this time in my life.

3. I have rarely found anything hard or difficult. It is good for me to develop perseverance as I continue in this program.

4. This week will end. And each week that ends brings me closer to that day when I can sign my name, "Courtney Blake, M.S., CCC-SLP" and collect a paycheck like an adult.

Some days, that's all that gets me through...

:)

So Very Old (yet so very young...)

My date of entrance to this world (i.e. my birthday) is drawing near with great rapidity. Each year it seems to creep up on me just a little more quickly. When I was four, an hour was incredibly long, and a year- unfathomable. At fourteen, an hour trotted by fairly quickly, while a year ambled around leisurely. But now that I'm reaching twenty-four, an hour is a cramped, overly-short period of time, and the year spins around so quickly I get dizzy. (No wonder the elderly have vertigo... I will too if time keeps speeding up at this rate.)

But as this birthday draws near, I am struck by two opposing thoughts.

I am old.

I pay bills, and I walk around turning off lights that were left on in the bathrooms. While shaving my legs in the shower, I occasionally miss the little part behind my ankle because I don't want to use the time (aka- hot water) that it would take to check the ankles thoroughly. I go to the beach and am content to sit in the sun and doze an entire day. My idea of an exciting Saturday is getting the oil changed in my car (such a good feeling!). When buying an outfit, I wonder how well it will wash, and after an intense workout, I hurt, hurt, hurt the next couple of days.

But I am also so very young.

I still am completely incapable of grasping innuendos, and jokes still have to be explained to me. I didn't know that you have to call to set up your utilities BEFORE you move in (yay, for living without water for 3 days!). I cry in Disney movies, and I still have a little stuffed dog from my daddy sitting on my bed (I love "Ferguson.") My idea of a bad day is when my socks don't match and my hair won't stay straight (or curl- whichever...).

I look at people around me who have done so much at my age- written books, gotten married, had babies, started TV shows, travelled the world, become gourmet cooks, and back-packed across Europe. And I think, "Gee, I'm lucky if I do a load of laundry and make myself a dinner of Mac 'n' Cheese after a day of staring at people's esophaguses."

I guess what I'm saying is- I'm a slow grower. Right now I'm more twelve than twenty-four. Other people can go and do those great things, make those massive commitments, polish those wonderful skills, but I'm not there yet. I'm impressed by such people. I'm awed by them. Often I want to be them. But I'm not ready for that.

I take a little step back and get excited...

There's so much to do! I'm going to live in a big city, travel to Asia, bungee-jump, and do book-signings in cities across the U.S. of A. There will come a day when paying bills will be easier, and when the cable company will be awed by my poise and firmness while dealing with them. Perhaps someday I'll make that really big commitment ("marriage"), and have a bunch of mini-me's running around. But right now, I'm very, truly happy.

So I guess what I'm saying is...

I'm perfectly okay with feeling half my age. Because that means when I'm fifty-

I'll party like I'm twenty-five!

BRING IT ON!
(That's the young me speaking...)

Epiphany of the morning: I crave things that are bad for me.

Case and point-

I've been recently diagnosed with vocal nodules.

I'm not supposed to drink caffeine.

I'm on my way to The Den to buy a MASSIVE coke.

Whoo-hoo!!!

So my guilty pleasure is listening to poppy, dance techno music while I'm running... Amazing how this one makes me run faster...

Amazing Love

I find that the more I develop my relationship with my heavenly Father, the more I am painfully aware of my own short-comings. Although my view of his love may expand, my view of my own depravity also grows. There are days when I want to quietly, shame-facedly place my hand in His, and whisper, "Why me? Why do you love me?"

The more I understand His love, the more incredibly my life appears. The details which He orchestrated for the purpose of bringing Himself glory, He was able at the same time to work for my good. Such a fact is too wonderful and big for my finite thoughts. I love this quote from Jerry Bridge's book (you should read it) "Trusting God: Even When Life Hurts":

"We mistakenly look for tokens of God's love in happiness. We should instead look for them in His faithful and persistent work to conform us to Christ. God in His infinite wisdom and perfect love will never over-discipline us; He will never allow any adversity in our lives that is not ultimately for our good.... Our doubts do not destroy God's love, nor does our faith create it."

I Have Emotional Special Needs

I think that my emotions are "challenged."

You know how most people experience some sort of devastating occurrence (loss of a job, a break-up, bad grade, horrible date, family crisis)? They grieve, mourn, get angry, cry, and slowly, as time moves on, their wounds heal and their life returns to normal.

I am incapable of of reacting like a normal individual. Instead, when something happens, I give a little sigh (maybe shed a slight tear), and then I'm back to "fully functioning" without any additional trauma.

However... a little ways down the road, I completely lose it.

At the point in time when most people would finally be "healed" (or at least less affected) I become a blubbering mess who likes to curl up on her couch, sob, and watch movies while drinking masses of chai tea.

My emotions are a little "slow" if you know what I mean. I think they need special ed.

**sigh**

Fostering a New Addiction and Conquering Old Memories of (Hilarious, but Mortifying) Failure

I absolutely, totally, without exception hate running.

I'm not talking the constant bustle which currently fills my life, nor am I discussing the way my to-do list keeps getting longer and longer.

I am speaking of tie-your-adidas-shoes-on-wear-a-sports-bra-pump-your-legs-furiously-sweat-profusely-blister-inducing running. Yuck. Ever since I was a little kid, I've hated running. While most children would engage in games of tag, capture the flag, and active hide-and-seek, I would curl up in my favorite corner of the couch and read. I was six the first time I read a book through in one sitting (ahh, four hours with "The Boxcar Children"), but the most memorable part of that accomplishment was my worried mother peeking her head around the door and saying,

"Honey, put the book down and go outside. Run around!"

I didn't want to run around. I would pretend to out-run bad guys, I would run to find my favorite book in the library, I would invent crazy stories about running away from home (and then enact them), but I never found any pleasure in running as an athletic, adrenaline-enducing activity that most of my counter-parts appeared to enjoy.

While my mother was trying to stop my reading by peeking around corners and enforcing the "lights out" rule, my father decided to take a more direct approach.

He signed me up for a race. But refusing to sign me up and then watch me fail, he devised a training schedule and did his best to make sure that I followed it. (I didn't.) The night before the big race, he rented "Chariots of Fire" (we never rented movies), and used it to elicit a fire of competitive eagerness.

Unfortunately, all the "eagerness" in the world doesn't make up for a lack of training. I took off that day at the starting line. (When I say "took off" I mean that 83% of the other runners were out of sight before I had "run" for 3 minutes.) Panting feverishly I wondered to myself why anyone would do this as the remaining runners behind started passing me one by one. I was so uncomfortable! Why did people insist on doing this?

As I rounded the final bend, the people on the side-lines began to applaud. I grinned. It was just like "Chariots of Fire"! Seeing the finish line in the distance, I pulled out all the stops. The applause got louder. And louder. I was amazing. I wondered if I was going to win something. Had I unwittingly beaten all my competitors? I looked over my shoulder to see who I was beating, to soak in the devastation that those cocky boys in front of me were now feeling as I collected first prize.

But there was no herd of disappointed males. There was only one, lone, competitor behind me, and she was the reason the crowd was clapping.

And she could barely stay upright. One leg turned this way, the other that. She hobbled feebly, held up by her father. One glance showed me:

I was barely out-running a girl with cerebral palsy.

Ever since that day I have abstained from races, I have avoided running, and I have not missed it in the least. But lately lack of time, and increased conviction have led me to realize that:

a) I really, really, really need to have some daily form of physical exercise.
b) Running is the fastest way to squeeze that into my schedule.

So I'm hoping to develop a need, a desire, an addiction to running that I never had, not even in childhood.

Here's hoping that the next race I run I can push someone with cerebral palsy in a wheelchair instead of being passed by them...