A Princess Worth Waiting For

So I have watched Tangled again, for the third time. Each occasion prior I’ve managed to hide the fact that parts of the movie made me rather weepy. However, this last time I just let the tears follow. Call me a silly girl, I don’t care. But there is something poignant about this movie that always brings mist to my eyes. Maybe it was the father king, heavy shoulders burdened with the pain of losing his treasured daughter. Maybe it was the magical moment when Rapunzel realized she was in love with Eugene. Maybe it was the end, when Eugene showed us all how much he loved Rapunzel by sacrificing himself for her. Or maybe it is just the beautiful scene where all the twinkling lanterns rise over the kingdom and your heart is filled with longings for love. Whatever it was, this time I felt no shame in weeping like a ridiculous silly girl.

I like the line in the end, where Eugene describes the picturesque finale saying that Rapunzel was a princess worth waiting for. It made me think of all the lonely girls out there in this huge world. How many of us gaze upward toward the starry heavens, searching, imploring, dreaming, praying to find that one special love which will be our new dream? When there seems to be no hope, how easy it is to sit on dark nights wondering like Rapunzel: “when will my life begin?” For some of us, we haven’t quite figured out how to escape our towers. For others we just haven’t met our Flynn Rider. For some of us still, we just aren’t brave enough yet to take the jump into a new world of love. Personally, I think I am a little bit of all three.

One day lying on my bed, staring blanking at the ceiling, it dawn on me quite suddenly—I have absolutely no inkling of an idea  what it would be like to truly love a man and share a life with him. What must it feel like to be so intimate with a person that the cords of your heart are entangled in such a way that you feel as though he were a part of you? It is a dream worth the wait. And if it happens to me, I am beginning to see, like many girls, that I am definitely a hidden princess. We each have within us a special glow, a sort of natural light which is all our own, and it is this radiant glimmering of the heart that makes us absolutely beautiful in the eyes of that one, right, dear love. Perhaps he is lost in the forest, perhaps he is temporarily blinded by a witch, perhaps he is searching and waiting just as hard as you—whatever the case, some days it seems like he will never come. And no matter how many lonely tears you shed, no matter how many stars you wish upon, no matter how many prayers you lift upward upon the breeze, he doesn't feel any closer to you. 

 

But just think of it this way. Maybe he is out there too, sitting under that same white moon dreaming and longing for you just as hard as you are for him. And one day, one beautiful, happy day, he will find you--a princess worth waiting for. And together, you both will begin a new dream!

The Resurrection of the Windshield Wipers

It has been nearly two months since the windshield wipers on my truck decided to give up on life and lay obstinate and useless upon the dashboard. This little inconvenience of not being able to see when one drives in rain or snow has been something of a nuisance for a while now. And the deep misfortune of restricted transportation has produced in me great feelings of lamentation and ingratitude. Why should I have to drive a vehicle that is 100 years old and constantly breaking down? Why is life so miserably unfair that I should have to alter my precious plans to accommodate something so unthinkable as a life problem? Honestly.

All of the sudden, the windshield wipers on my truck railed together their spirits and decide (at least for the time) to renew their efforts at life. Their spunk might be a little overcompensating for they only work on “Off” and “High.” And to shut them off at just the right moment, at such a speed, is of no challenge for me, for years of playing video games has prepared me for just this moment in time.

It is raining today and as I hopped in my truck to grab a coffee, it hardly crossed my mind that there was a time when my wipers would have stopped me from such a venture. I had jumped already onto the next big worry in my life and was fully occupied in the despair of that problem when I almost crashed into a red car. Such near life disasters always makes one stop and think: My own ingratitude is astounding. Life is filled with so many little blessings and through littleness of person such blessings are completely looked over.

I should be grateful that I even have a vehicle! I should be grateful I have a job and a family and joyful things to do with my life. How is that one can spend so much wasteful energy despairing over little things and totally miss the huge amazingness of life? There is so much to be happy about yet it is so easily obscured by these loud, noise clouds of useless worry.

I for one need constant reminding of this. For such cares are the death of life. It’s rainy today, but I can go where I please. Life moves on and new joys are still to be unwrapped each day. Live it to the fullest and give thanks for it every day, for the way you live today is the way you live your life!

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”

~Oscar Wilde

The Art of Imperfection

As usual, I have crossed the finish line of the week and soaring onto plains of ecstasy that usually enrapture my spirit Friday afternoon around 3 o’clock, I become very happy. But then, as usual, after that dreamlike flight upon the heavenly boughs of weekend freedom, my joyful stupor is cleared away by the coming of Saturday afternoon... in which I sit staring dully out the window, chewing over that all too familiar question:

“Jennie, what are you doing with your life?”

How can life be as perfect as possible? How can I enjoy my weekend to the absolute fullest? Am I doing everything right?

The general state within my head is a box full of unsorted emotions, a to-do list of dreams, and, most prominently, a vague feeling of being not quite satisfied in life. It is as if some object hangs within a phantom sphere, just waiting for me to figure out what it is. It is the elusive promise that whispers to me, "If you can just figure out this mysterious elixir of life you will be completely satisfied forever."  This mystical knowledge though, eludes me. I thought it might be found at Wal-mart, I thought it might be found in a book, in a paragraph of proses, in the vacuum cleaner or at my beading table. I thought if I learned how to be better, I would feel better. But actually...I usually feel worse. There must be some cliched secret of happiness that just hasn’t clicked yet.

You know, in college you are supposed to figure out your future and what you want to do with your life. But somehow I missed that important class. And it caused me so much agony, the not knowing, that I really hated me on the inside. But I think that is just the catch, isn’t it? Before you can learn how to live well in the world, you need to learn how to live well inside yourself. It seems the daily torment of the perfectionist is trying so hard to do everything right, that you end up doing everything wrong! It's paralyzing.

Life is about making mistakes! Life is about changing your mind. Life is about being strong enough to say you are weak and honest enough to admit you don’t have a clue. I mean, how else will you learn the difference between what you think is best and what really is best? I feel so envious of people who can actually make a good, old fashioned mistake—admit it, learn from it, and move on without pining over it or analyzing it for years.

So what sort of treatment is there for people who are plagued by perfection? For in all actuality, the noble charge of a perfectionist is the the endless quest for the unachievable. And that can be rather maddening.

All I can come up with this saturday is the long, lost words of an old English teacher: 

"Forget about being perfect. You'll avoid having ulcers and you will live longer."

So here's to today: To not being perfect. To not having it all figured out. To writing a not so perfect blog entry. To having bad grammer, to having mispelled words, about not knowing everything, not having a list, not having a goal.... Not having a single clue.

Today will be about listening to Christmas songs too early. Blowing bubbles in my strawberry milk. Making a mess. Singing off key. Having coffee after my bedtime. Saying something stupid and not caring. Letting my drawers stay unorganized. Today will be about looking boldly at the clock without guilt that I am wasting a perfectly good day of freedom. 

Today I will not figure out my life. Today I will practice the art of imperfection. <3

 

The older I get the more I realize there is no need to rush. No rush to get married, no rush to accomplish everything, no rush to find that mystical ‘happily ever after.’ Because all that really matters in life is God and doing His work. And nothing about His labor makes you feel lonely or impatient or unsatisfied. It is beautifully perfect. ♥

The Lost Pen

For the past few weeks…perhaps the past few months, my soul has felt like a butterfly with a crumbled wing. I can still fly, but I can’t soar very high. I need to start writing again. I need to start reading again. I mean passionately, seriously, and avidly begin again. You see, I do read, but it doesn’t penetrate my mind. The yearning to discover uncharted lands, the hunger to be an explorer upon the pages of a world entirely fresh and new—it eludes me. I write, but the words don’t really dance or skip or spark or blow up. They just sort of…stand there. Looking up at me, expectantly. What do they expect?

Sometimes it’s happy to be oblivious. Oblivion is a delightful cup of coffee to drink when you are living your life as only half a person. But I am not oblivious and that is the entire problem. Somewhere, in invisible corners of earth or within cupboards that never quite close or bushes with raspberries which lay forgotten, among some place like that I have lost a part of me. That secretive, wild, quietly enchanted part of me that gives me the fervor to brandish a pen and embolden the paper. My writing pen is lost.

And I don’t like it. Not one bit. So I shall rally my spirit and double my efforts. I must write. I must read. If I don’t surly a part of me will die.

And when one lives in a world without the mysteries and pleasures of imagination they may still be able to walk and talk and breathe, but mark my words: They are very much dead inside.

Book or Movie?

More often than not, you will never capture again the feelings that overwhelm you after seeing an epic movie for the first time. I remember this feeling as I left the theater after we watched the last Harry Potter. I remember being young and watching the very first movie…I remember feeling such intense envy because I wanted to be like J.K. Rowling. I wanted to write like her. I wanted to write and evoke the same feeling as that movie. But now, over a decade later, I realize that it is impossible. A book can never give you the feeling a movie gives you. And in the same manner, a movie can never give us what a book can. When we watch a movie it arouses all our senses. Our heart is overwhelmed with passion as the surge of powerful music stirs the blood within our veins…

Our eyes are filled with tears as we see the pain and agony etched into the characters faces… we feel their hurt, we feel their triumph as they lift the sword over their head and charge onward to victory… we are enchanted by what we see. Beautiful and complex worlds that stretch beyond the wildest boundaries of our imagination…such vividness can only be found in a movie. The effects are overwhelming. When I leave the theater and the plain, mediocrity of my fantasy-less existence settles down upon me like dust, I feel the strident sting of sameness. 

In books, a more lingering escape can be found. In books we travel on a long journey. We have the rare opportunity to do something we can never ever discover in the movies: we can see the minds of our heroes. It is within books that we intimately become acquainted with a set of characters. And if these characters chose to show us enough of their souls, they become part of us.

In an intricate tapestry of silkily spun words, our own fates become entangled within the pages of a book. We feel as the hero does; with every page we turn as it brings us closer to the end, we pray that they find what they are looking for. Because if they do find it, whatever it might be—then is it not possible that we too might find it? The effects of movies are powerful and overwhelming; but at the close they fade so quickly when tossed against the unflinching rigidity of reality. Yet, when we close a book we feel as if an old friend has died. And that story becomes a part of you that you will never forget.

Sometimes I get frustrated, feelings as if these stories illustrate the inexpressibility found in the deepest parts of my soul. It makes me desperately desire to write my own…

These stories remind us what it is to be brave, they remind us what it is to have faith—even when the hour is the darkest and there is no hope to be found—these stories teach us to believe that no matter how ugly and black and terrifying the enemy may seem, good will always triumph over evil.  

Books or movies, does it really matter? Regardless of the medium, a story is told. A story that can change our lives for a moment or for a lifetime.

<3

This makes me ridiculously happy for some reason <3

Amen!!!

Nonsense Found Upon a Scrap of Paper in my Pocket

Usually if she had nothing to say she would write about it. When her mental energy was feeling—how shall I put it—disinclined to be creatively accommodating, she would write a short, burp-like thought of quirky nonsense.

It would be simple, cute, and to the point, but most times it would be enough to satisfy her writing hunger and leave her feeling accomplished.

But as you can easily see, her situation is extremely acute today as it is she is writing about how she writes about nothing when she has nothing to say.

This is most serious nonsense, indeed.

Do What You are Afraid To Do

A new chapter begins in many people's lives this week. At close of which, I find my usual philosophic verbiage threatening to choke me if I do not release a few quick thoughts. First of all, I cannot feel too grateful of the chance I have to be here. This really is a beautiful place; a sort of cocoon of safety I feel it is.

For the past few weeks a single phrase has been running through my mind. Mystically as it entered, even more mystically it has somehow become ingrained as a fixed, immovable epitaph carved into my character:

Do what you are afraid to do.

My resilience this week has been nothing short of mind-blowing. For a melodramatic, worryaholic I cannot believe how I have been able to not only survive the week—but nay! I have smiled and laughed and sailed through it with joy! There are so many beautiful people in my life! I have enjoyed so many parts of it that there really is no excuse for a long, dreary monologue of my dark misfortunes or tragic deprivations of a peaceful heart. (Mostly because there is a deprivation of deprivations, if that makes any sense!)
 
Simply the fact remains: the formidable blow for which I had been waiting has not struck. The axe has not fallen, the heart has not cracked under pressure, and the mind has not discovered any empty pockets of longing nor whipped together the lethal mixture of self-pity and ingratitude.

Upon the threshold of this new chapter of my life, there were a few, prodigiously marked fears that stormed the tranquility of my mind. One fear I discovered was not a fear at all. Though it has drained quite a bit of my energy it has been hemmed with love, pleasure, laughter, and a very unexpected feeling of familiarity and comfort. The other fear has, again, turned out to be not a fear at all! But a reason to rejoice! A victory! A feeling of beautiful escape and freedom. And, I might add with a sly little smile, the enchantments have worn so quickly away that the whole of it looks extremely ridiculous to me now. I would not wish it back for the world!

I venture a guess at what magically transformed all this dread into happy butterflies and contented smiles. I can say—without a doubt—that God must be the master behind the scene. He must be the author of this little story of my life. He must have sprinkled magical dust on my silly, dramatic heart and calmed it as only divine intervention can do.

My advice to the world today is this: Do what you are afraid to do.

If you think about it logically, if you do so often what strikes fear in your heart, after a while, you won’t be afraid any longer. Then you shall be powerful and strong and—dare I say—incredibly well-equipped to fight the harder foes of this world!

And really, most of the time, the fear of something is much greater than the object itself. It reminds me of the verse:

“I, yes I, am the one who comforts you.

So why are you afraid of mere humans,

who wither like the grass and disappear?

Yet you have forgotten the Lord, your Creator,

the one who stretched out the sky like a canopy

and laid the foundations of the earth.

Will you remain in constant dread of human oppressors?

Will you continue to fear the anger of your enemies?

Where is their fury and anger now?

It is gone!” Is. 51:12-13

Why Life is Awesome #6

Is it really possible to be this happy? What an incredible week!!

For so long I had so much fear about things in my life and in the twinkling of a beautiful brave moment they vanished entirely.

Oh goodness how can a person feel so much happiness and not explode? God has been so good to me in such indescribable ways...I lead a humble, quiet sort of life--but I feel richer than a king today. I feel like a ridiculous girl in love! Or a child at Christmas! I am so happy!

 Whoever knew the heart could feel such joy?

Oh what a glorious day! I dare say nothing will give me a frown!

Aerodynamically the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn't know that so it goes on flying anyway.
-- Mary Kay Ash

I've learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends on our dispositions and not on our circumstances.
-- Martha Washington

Don’t limit yourself. Many people limit themselves to what they think they can do. You can go as far as your mind lets you. What you believe, remember, you can achieve.
-- Mary Kay Ash

Far away in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see the beauty, believe in them and try to follow where they lead.
-- Louisa May Alcott