"If downward movement is key to our quest for reality, then failure is key to our growth. Success, or the illusion of success, is an upward movement, an inflation of the ego that makes us lighter than air. But failure is life's ballast. It restrains our tendency to float away on a bloated ego and pulls us back toward common ground. The angel floats in heaven until he fails, and his failure brings him down to earth. Failure is the angel's mode of contemplation, his way of falling from illusion toward reality.
"But it is not failure alone that brings the angel down and moves him toward compassion. It is his willingness to confront, acknowledge, and explore his failure. He could have ignored it altogether. He could have glanced at it and tried to palm it off on someone else-- on those ungrateful people, or on that cruel God. But the angel claims the failure as his own and allows it to hollow out his heart: "The angel flew away and collapsed at God's feet. Lord, he cried, help me to understand where my power and judgment were lacking." Learning from failure is not cool and calculated act. It tears at the heart and opens us against our will."

-- Parker J. Palmer, "The Active Life," 87

"You are learning," he said
But sometimes it feels just like I am
tripping
and falling

"If we want to break out of the mechanistic and obsessive action... we must first learn to ask ourselves a simple question: 'Why am I doing this?' This is the question of motives, and we hardly ever ask it of ourselves (though we are sometimes quick to inspect, and suspect, the motives of other people). Every action has some motive behind it, some impetus, a force-field out of which it rises. If we do not explore that force we will never act in a transcendent way, we will live out our active lives as automatons who move but do not choose."

Parker Palmer, "The Active Life," p 58

Today, after some moments of little prayers for words and clarity, I've reached a few (partial) conculsions:

a: If I am not able to receive love, it is going to be a lot more difficult to give it away.

b: Maybe I have been wrestling so much with the questions of how little energy I have after school is less about what is right or wrong or "normal" and more about the fact that I just personally don't like it. I don't like having to devote all my energy and time to writing a paper and studying hours upon hours for a test for the same class because something in me wants to do something more meaningful with my time and energy. And I am torn because I want to get my degree-- I see the importance of being "in the world" in the sense that I will do what it takes to be around people who are also part of the world. I get irritated by people who never go to school or never use their degree because they see "working for the church" as a more noble thing to do because to me, that seems like a cop-out or an excuse to hide behind a church building or system rather than engage the world. There is this attitude that if you could be in a "spiritual" occupation rather than a "secular" one, that makes you more in line with "God's will for your life."

And so I have this disconnect in myself when I see myself saying things like, "I don't want school taking up so much of my energy because it takes away from things that I think matter more," and then also get upset with people who quit school altogether to do the same thing. I mean, I don't think it is the same thing because I do see the value in at least getting a degree and using it-- I think these are the places where the kingdom is found. So where is the line? Or am I wrong for being judgemental?

I do not think earning my degree has much value in terms of simply a means of earning a living. I mean, this is important and it is definately a valid means of endeavor, but when I think about why I am doing what I am doing, the thought of getting a decent paycheck is the last thing that keeps me going. The reason I am seeking my degree is because it is ticket to a place where people are in need. I am working towards finishing school so that I can be in a school where I am able to use the gifts I've been given to help other people see that they are loved. However, I fear that if in the process of doing this, I loose my heart for loving, what good is it?

I've been thinking about Corinthians 13 that says, "If I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing." I fear that burnout and energy will cause me to forget the thing that matters most. I am afraid that long hours in the library will harden my heart, that I'll get to the place where it doesn't matter that I've allowed my intellect to monopolize my energy, that I'll say, "well, for now this is what I have to do and later I'll have more energy to love." I don't want to wait for tomorrow to be able to love-- all I have been promised is today.

For those who know me well, you know that I am often wrestling with the cultural gangrene that tells us to continue to strive for tomorrow, to finish today, to get to the next rung on the ladder. I have a strong belief in the idea that the habits I form today are what are going to shape me tomorrow. I often think of what Gary told me a few months ago: "The way you learn to build relationships in college will determine how you do so for the rest of your life." The more you put these things off, the more the putting off forms you anyway.

So I don't want to wait until tomorrow, but at the same time, I have to believe that I am investing in the future. And I don't have the balance that I need-- I know this. The question, however, is however in the world will I find it? I don't think I can do it on my own....

I feel a bit like I'm going through some sort of recovery, or maybe withdrawal. My paper is finished, although the semester is not. Three more weeks of school work before finals. Four more weeks of living before finals.

I'm afraid that I've lost myself, misplaced my heart somewhere. I've become an intellectual, it seems like, incapable of doing much outside of thinking, writing, studying, reading. And I feel like in many ways I've lost my passion. I don't care much about what sort of teacher-hood I'm headed for, what my artistic future holds because I am simply too tired to care.

I feel as though I've adopted a little bit of an apathetic attitude towards a lot of things-- I've stopped even being bothered by the fact that I don't have the energy to see people, that sympathy, commpassion, any sort of social occupation really is beyond my range of energies. I feel as though I've only been thinking about Art in nineteenth century Europe for the past two or three weeks-- like I've sold my soul or something.

I feel like any sort of spiritual discipline I used to have has given way to reading, writing, and sleeping. I feel little and sometimes care less.

All of this brings up a few questions-- is this right? Is it right to be so busy like this? Is is noble, admirable to be so embedded in school that I feel incapacitated for anything personal, social, or spiritual? How do I move out of it? I mean, am I working too hard-- am I going too far above and beyond? I simply don't know.

It's hard not to stand in the shower (the only time it seems I take to really think these days) and feel like I've done something wrong-- that it is not right for me to make choices that make me so tired, to feel guilty for choosing a lifestyle that I can justify having little energy for people. And maybe that isn't totally true-- maybe I do have more compassion that I give myself credit for, I don't know.

Something I do know, however, is that I have a strong need to solitude, for quiet, for some sort of silence that gets me back to real reality. I've lost it. But I am afraid I've forgotten how to retrieve my own spirit, that it has gotten buried so deed that it has faded completely or maybe that it really doesn't matter. I don't really know.

Something I have been contemplating-- holding onto by tiny threads-- is the hope that the Father does still love me in the midst of my inability to focus on much other than the next thing I have to do for class, that maybe he isn't taking score, or that his approval isn't dependent upon how he would "grade" my life right now. I don't know where I stand in the "honorable life" category these days, and that frightens me.

I set out with all of these expectations for myself and I feel a bit ashamed maybe that schoolwork has taken over, as it always does. Hard as I try to make caring for others the focus of things, school seems to prevail and I end up walking through the library at 11 p.m. hoping that I won't see anyone I know because I don't have the time to talk. And I don't know where the line of grace is in that. I'm not sure how terrible of a person that makes me.

Nevertheless, I still search deep down somewhere for that reassurance that he still loves me.

I know I've said it a few times here, but this semester has ended up being a lot more difficult than I gave myself the time to contemplate. I feel very much like I am in uncharted territory, receiving a lot of advice and influence from people I don't know and am not sure I trust. I find myself often longing for familiarity, safety-- someone who really knows me just to say I am doing okay, to tell me I'm not a failure simply because I only have enough energy to be a little less than super-human. Sometimes I think maybe have bitten off more than I can chew and it isn't even the right thing-- even though I feel as though I have so little choice.

I've observed this semester how easily I do get overwhelemed. And from other experiences and times in my life, I think that I am the best version of me when I am doing less, even when that makes me feel as though I am going to fall behind or I may not measure up. And I find myself here, back in school, and am stigmtized into thinking that more is always better because then I'd have a good excuse for being so exhausted. I am still haunted by a conversation that I had over a month ago in which someone I hardly know emphatically informed me that many students just starting out in the art program don't do nearly enough work to be the kind of artists they could be, and although this person was not directly referring to me, I am still angered by the feeling that I was left with in that conversation that somehow I ought to be working harder. Secondly-- there seems to be a common argument in the realm of education that American schools don't require nearly enough contact time as a result of comparison with other countries such as Japan or Germany. But given my current state, I can't help but wonder if this is really neccessary. Why are those countries the benchmark-- is their quality of life any better or do we feel as though we just need to keep up with the rat race?

Please do not make any assumption that I have reached any conclusions here-- that would be the farthest from the truth. All I know is that I have worked very very hard these past few weeks and still feel as though I have failed in so many ways-- I have very little mercy for myself in the midst of my weakness. I fear that I will wake up ten years from now, still unable to walk away from things and as a result have missed the voice of the Father and my heart grown cold from exhaustion.

I feel like I have few spiritual benchmarks for my spirituality and although I make lots of cynical comments about constructs that we have created for assuring them, I still want them. I want my grade report on how well I am loving, how well I am doing because there too-- I feel as though I have fallen behind and in contemplating such a placement I am guilty of even worse.

Despite all of this, I keep coming back to this voice that says, hush. Just sit quietly, go into the woods and stop your worry. Just trust in Me and you will find peace and stillness there.

I am often encouraged by Jesus' practices to often go off into the woods, up to the mountain, across the lake, just to be in solitude. Even when there were crowds who were crying out for his healing, he guiltlessly went to a quiet place.

And the only hope that I have that all of this matters is that it is taking steps towards a degree that will allow me to touch lives in a wonderful way. And that maybe what God requires of me now is faith that he is not counting on me for my own expectations, but that I would be faithful here to do well now, to trust his unconditional love for me without any grade card.

A few weeks ago, I listened to a discussion of the Parable Jesus tells in Matther 18 about the man who's impossible debt was forgiven and turns to his brother and demands the $10 he is owed from him. The point that sticks with from me is the question: "Do I still live as though I still owe a debt that has already been forgiven?" That is the question I must continue to wrestle, I think.

I am taking a short break from writing a quite burdensome paper on the Symbolists-- it's been a while since I visited this place. I've been tired and busy. Overwhelmed actually. I am going to attempt to make only subjective observations here-- no analysis. As the semester has wore on, I find myself continually responding to the question, "how is your semester going?" with the simple answer of "tiring." As we near the slight three-week remainder mark, I simply feel delirious, catching only small glimpses of sunlight beneath the dark piles of books and paper. Its been a good two weeks since I gave significant thought to any class outside of Nineteenth Century European Art History and it is a strange, isolated sort of feeling.

I've been spending a lot of time whining, realizing I don't know how to deal with this stress or exhaustion. To be brutally transparent, I keep thinking, "this can't be fair." I can't help but have thoughts that the univerisity system gives little thought to one's humanity and personal capacity. I feel a little sense of hopelessness as I look toward the next three phases of the education program after obstacle after obstacle just registering for classes, learning that the problem is actually my failure to sign up for additional labs, allot more time and energy to this process that adds a lot of arbitrary stress.

I sat in critique this afternoon with squinted eyes, physically unable to fully open them. And now it is 6:41 p.m., three hours of work later, looking forward to three more hours before I can finally go home.

And I don't mean to be a complainer-- I just am not sure what to do with this lifestyle. I keep thinking that it is I that chose it-- I committed myself to the aquisition of this degree. i think I actually said I liked school at one time. But I get tired of the insistence that it must be so overwhelming to be deemed affective. That this system is called "rigorous," even though I don't actually have the time or energy to read the material or stay awake in class.

A few months ago, I read an article in the Collegian citing statistics of the ercentage of students who graduate in four years, excitedly lauding the colleges within our university with the highest number of students breezing through. And maybe there is something I don't understand, but I wish that the option was left to me how fully I want to overload myself. The only reason I am in a hurry to graduate is so that I can feel as though I might have some power over my own time.

I keep thinking, "I hope that after I get out of school, my life will be less hectic, that I won't be exhausted all the time," but some admonishing voice tells me, "don't count on it." People say that it is foolish to say, "after school, then I'll ________." And I realize the patterns I set now will dictate the choices I make later, but at this point, I don't feel like I have a lot of the choice-- my program is laid out, the prices high, the likelihood for mistake inevitable. The sacrifice to take fewer credits is costly.

Life is hard. This is what I am finding. And I am unsure what to do with that. I feel like this environment affords little space for difficulty-- keep up, do well-- and I don't know how to be honest about my weakness here. There is no time to be weak, no mercy from impersonal instructors who don't even bother to know your name. I just don't know how to deal with that.

This semester has been hard. I feel like there have been a million emotional obstacles and I'm tired. The finish line is in sight, but my legs are tired, my feet sore. Lord, help me to make it.

I'm looking back at my life, all the times that I've said, "I am definitely not like that."
I think back on the last eighty-six days of my life, each little brick in the wall that has added up to the me that sits here, on the third floor, midday. I look at the moments of self-hatred, those days when everything felt sharp and the air felt abrasive against my skin. I feared-- insecurity masqueraded as trying to get a grip. "I'm not like that," I said. I pushed a lot of people away. I forged ahead, leaving behind a lot of important people-- people I still need and want and yearn for. I look back at the last eighty-five days and am thankful for grace, thankful that the shirt I wear today reminds me that all is a journey, that there is forgiveness for those days that i doubted, those days I hated, those days I slandered, the days that I killed people in my heart in attempt to keep them from killing me first.

I look in the mirror and see a girl who was frightened, yet pressured. Despite my fears, I pushed on, pushed myself, challenged myself, seeking. Just to be Somebody, whoever the hell that is. And here I am today realizing I need a lot of grace, a lot of forgiveness, a lot of room to breathe because I swing aimlessly and violently.

Equilibrium. The thought of staying here for a while is soft and comfortable and reassuring. This morning I lay in my bed reading about the inequalities, the segregation, and the pull didn't feel as strong. I wonderig if i would ever move or if I would just stay under the covers forever. part of me shouts and accusation of "sell-out" while another part whispers "content."

I have grown content with the small life I used to despise. More than ever I am relieved by the few small relationships that I do have-- I don't covet anymore. I am comfortable with a few people knowing me well. It feels more manageable. I have this sense that I just want to go back-- to work subtractively, whiting out areas-- to go back to embrace the people that already know, who are already there, to worry less about building fortresses. It feels easy and calm-- the pressure is off and I am able to breathe again.

I long for the comfrot of those who have been a part of me before. People I don't have to explain myself to. And I am in the process of redefining some of those things, but I need to go back to the freedom to build those layers slowly. To stop expecting immediate results, to give myself the freedom to struggle with transition, to be small and afraid and insecure-- to start being honest about that.

So the semester is nearly over and I see things evening out, I begin to get a grasp on things for the moment. The world seems to be spinning abit slower and I look forward to another semester in a place I can call home, the idea of spending the summer in a familiar place. someone said to e that I seem more present now, that all the turmoil of change has slowed down and I am able to live my life here-- I can see for the first time in a long time I'm not thinking about, worrying about another move, another change, another transition. Maybe this is why w edon't get to know all that the future holds from the beginning... maybe.