Crying to Ben Folds

Thursday morning. 8:49 am.  Stop and go traffic.

A song starts playing on your iPod, the intro unfamiliar, yet the voice so clearly penetrates layer after layer of your subconscious and strikes the center of your heart. Kill shot. You know exactly what this is.

This is a Ben Folds ballad. Doesn't matter which one, they're all good.

Briefly, your mind darts back to that one conversation around the dinner table you had with two of your closest friends when Ben Folds happened to come up in conversation.  "I'm not going to lie," you remember starting, "The man makes me bawl like a baby sometimes."

"Oh... I know," Your friend nods her head in agreement, then looks up sheepishly, "Sometimes, I just lie awake at night with my headphones.  And I don't even know why, I just start crying. I have nothing to cry about, but it always happens when I'm listening to Ben Folds."

Words cannot even describe the warmth that spread all over when you realized you were not the only one who experienced emotional trauma at the hands of a Ben Folds ballad.

As your mind turns over that memory, you find yourself thinking, "Don't start crying."

But it is too late.

Suddenly the words come crashing over you.

"I love you more than any man has loved before.
I love you more than all the stars up in the sky.
I think that we should settle down and live happily forever after
What do you think of that?" (One Down, Ben Folds.)

Boom. Water works.

Why?

Isolated, the lyrics aren't even that great.  Just reading them off the screen sounds a little lame, but gosh.  It's all in the set-up folks.  Preceding and following these lines is a song purely about meeting a lyric deadline, and complaining about whiny musicians in today's music industry.  Suddenly these lines hit you like a brick wall out of nowhere and it knocks you so far over that you have no choice but to burst into tears.

Or that's all that I was left with, anyway.

Needless to say, any morning started by a case of the cries while moments away from arriving at work is never really a good morning.  To top it off, a migraine has been a-brewin' all day long in this silly head of mine, so most of my workday was spent cradling my forehead in my left hand, feeling my temple throb in the most unholy of manners, while turning off all the lights in the office with my right hand because they are too damn bright and that is most annoying.

Brighter than the office track lighting, however, is the inevitable change that is coagulating on the horizon. Yes. Coagulating.

Suddenly, I'm being forced to actually plan my life farther than 6 months down the road and I'm learning some things about my decisions that have surprised me.  I don't want to give a lot away, right now, so forgive my vagueness- just know that it's a good sort of surprise.  It's kind of like finding something you didn't know you'd lost, but now that you've found it, you realized you've been missing it terribly all along, "Oh, there you are."

Still, the winds of change are starting to twist and turn and there's always that feeling of loosing your footing. I think, in a way, I'm looking forward to loosing my footing for a little while.

I can feel my identity starting to move forward into a new phase of life, and I'm running, breathless, to keep up with it.

There are still a few constants, however.  People that will always stand beside you, during every horizon of coagulation. I've been reflecting a lot over the past week about these people in my life and I can say right now that it's hard to find the words to express my gratitude for having them by my side.

They're the kind of people who know you better than you know yourself.  When you're tapping your foot idly, they know that you're frustrated about something because it's impossible for you to sit still when you're frustrated.  Then they confront you about it, and you vehemently deny it, and stop moving your foot- all the while not realizing your fingers have started tapping involuntarily in place of your foot.  With a gentle smile, they motion to your hands. Oof.  Point proven.

They're the kind of people who grab your hands on days when you are at your lowest level of self worth, and they force you to look into their eyes, while they proceed to tell you exactly why it is that you are special, and why you should love yourself better, the way they love you.

They're the kind of people who no matter how far away they are, you can feel immediately close to them by just spending an afternoon on the phone with them while researching international volunteer programs.  You don't even have to talk to each other. They're just there, at the other end of the phone, and you draw comfort from that.

They're the kind of people who love you enough to tell you the hard things, the gritty things, the things you don't want to hear, but you need to hear.  They're not afraid to kick your ass when it needs to be kicked.  Those are the people you need in your life.  Of course, if you're as lucky as I am, they'll kick your ass and offer you homemade cookies or lemon cake at the same time, because they love you and they don't want to see you hurting.

I've been blessed with a happy few individuals who have been there for me in immeasurable ways for the past four or five years. They have stood with me through the silt and the sludge of turbulent teenage years, and they have allowed me to walk beside them during their toughest moments, as well.

History is not something to be taken lightly, you know?  When you have years and years of memories compiled with people that you love, treasure that.  Take care of it.  Be good to it, because there's nothing worse than having to start over.  There's nothing worse than loosing those people because you've taken them for granted, or you've assumed that everything in your relationship is hunky-dory when it's really not, because they could be falling apart.  You could be the straw that breaks the camel's back, and their world could be moving on without you.

They're the kind of people you love so much, that a silly song on the radio or a commercial on TV can catapult you into an emotional roller coaster of soaring joy and overwhelming love-that-is-so-deep-it-hurts because it reminded you of them, and their impact and their presence in your life.  Hold onto those people.

I plan on holding on so tight to mine.

My kind of people who will listen to Ben Folds with me on repeat and not only forgive, but accept my silent waves of tears caused by a silly adoration of a Southern pianist with a gift for sass and poetry.

Which, to bring this completely full circle, I just have to add that on my way home from work tonight I found myself crying, again, to Ben Folds, but to a different song this time.  Thus, for the second time today, I found myself crying to Ben Folds, and that, honestly, has to be a new record.

For those of you who have been there for me, rock-bottom and sky-high, thank you.  I love you.

Always.

Flighty Little Birds, Jagged Around the Edges

I have this candle that smells like one of my most favorite people in the world.

I'm not sure how it's possible that this came to be.  One day, about a month ago, I was milling around Sesame and Lilies, the home decor store I used to work at when I lived in Cannon Beach, and I picked up a large candle in a grey, hobnail jar. I brought it to my nose.  I wondered for a moment what "Ambergrass" was supposed to smell like, and then I took a whiff.

Instantly, familiarity washed over me.  I knew that scent very well.  It smelled like wishes, right before they are granted.  It was the same smell that used to follow me around while grocery shopping, or riding in that car.  It smelled like being held in a warm, tight hug.  It smelled mildly like peaches, but earthier than that.  It was the same smell that accompanied the voice which soundtracked my Summer, to quote that crazy-good Boys Like Girls song from 4 years ago.

I don't know if I bought the candle because the smell reminded me of this person, or if I bought the candle because the familiarity of the smell was comforting- but somehow, it ended up coming home with me that day.

And right now it's perched next to me, lit.  One small beam of light to combat a world of darkness.

Lovers,  sometimes we forget how precious life is.

Sometimes, we forget that death is a constant and inescapable part of our lives.

One of my dearest friends, Natalie Trust, writes about this very topic in her blog.  It's titled, "Death's Waiting Room," and you can read it here. Please do so.

Lovers, there is a story behind all of this to share- but it is not mine to tell.  And so I will not tell it today. But I will write a few vague sentences- even if just for the sake of personal catharsis.

There are many thoughts in my brain that do not align in a logical pattern.  Mostly they are whirring around like flighty little birds, jagged around the edges.  They are afraid to settle in one place for too long, because they might become stagnant.  They might become flightless, and by loosing their wings, they might grow even more scarred.

Memory, that rose-tinted creature, flies from one branch to another restlessly bringing up images and nostalgia with every fluttered movement- Fact, that cold-hearted mistress screeches from the tops of her tiny little lungs unforgivable curses as she flies in endless circles- Hope, that bedraggled white dove, coos softly in the midst of the squalor.  Often her voice is overpowered- but it is still present. Her patient heart is still beating steadily.

What do you do when someone you've always known as a permanent fixture in your life suddenly becomes frighteningly temporary?

All I have floating around in my brain are words- and words are so blatantly empty today.

Words have the power to break people- and yet, rarely do they actually possess the power to bring comfort.  Where is the comfort to be found in a violently angry murderess that lives and grows within our very bloodstreams?  Where is the hope to be found in a pungent blackness that devours from the inside out?

My words are muted, today.  My arms are tired from wrestling with angels, like Jacob in the book of Genesis.

My heart is heavy. This small hammock of tragedy in which I sit today is cradling me so carefully, so effortlessly.  I wonder if I could just lie back and let it carry me, how far would we travel together?

It's strange, watching your beloveds go through the motions of realizing they might loose someone beloved to them. It makes that person, while still a familiar, cherished, loved and more-than-welcomed part of your own life, all that more special and precious to you.

I realized today just how sacred every breath is.

Sacred. 

Every breath.

Human life is the most priceless thing on this planet, my own best friend reminded me today.  How careless of me to have forgotten.

Through it all, I continue to ask my Heavenly Father where He is in all of this.

Father, God.  Where are you?

I know your sovereignty.  I know your omniscience.  I just don't have the Kingdom eyes to see your plan; I am made of bone and sinew and my weak heart is full of doubt and I lack understanding.

Still, Lord- I stand.  Just as all of those around me and all of those involved and all of those grieving alongside each other tonight are standing.  In the light and hope of our God and Savior- knowing that He is also standing for us.  Knowing that He is not absent, or removed, or uncaring, unfeeling.

Knowing that He is full of healing, and mercy and miracles and undying love for each one of His earthly children, and that His heart is also breaking under the extreme weight of this recent news.

How blessed are we.

To have a Savior who's heart breaks over the tragedies which befall His prized children. To know that not only does He have all control of the situation, but He also understands and comprehends exactly how these tragedies make us feel.

He is breath-taking, and we are all made in His image.  When I envision the face which this tragedy belongs to, I see the beautiful Imago Dei bursting forth from those grace-filled features, clothed in dignity and righteousness.

So tonight, the tears may fall.

But the Almighty is still good.

This grief-laden hammock is comfortable, but it is not permanent.

Tomorrow is a new day, and for those of us who live to see the morning light- there will be so many moments in which to give thanks throughout the day.  Don't let the opportunity to thank God for the sacredness of breath pass you by.

I love you.  I love you.  I love you.