The Green Journal: Part 2

October
The month began with a two day stint in bed. I was so sick all I could do was look at the ceiling and ask God to help me get up. An hour later, I would muster the energy to go to the bathroom, or make tea, or maybe text a friend. Two days dragged by in this manner, and I spent a lot of time thinking about my schedule, since there was nothing else to be done. If I hadn't been sick, I know I would have been rushing around and around, like a lunatic hamster on one of those exercise wheels. Finally, my mind was made up:

I've decided that I need to quit working at the Cafe at the end of the month. The late nights aren't helping, and I honestly believe that the strain of holding down three jobs is going to drive me crazy, even more so than it already is. I can't do this. I really wanted to think that I could do all of this, and do it well, but I just can't.

My friends surprised me with their kindness throughout this time. Almost every weekend that I worked at the Cafe, one of them stopped by to see me and gave me a hug or chatted with me as I steamed milk and pulled espresso shots. In Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller talks about being invited into one of his friends' apartments to talk and share stories. "I felt like she was massaging my soul," he writes. That's how I felt when the door bell of the cafe jingled and I looked up to see my friends smiling and waving to me. The knot of loneliness was massaged away by their presence. Knowing they supported me made giving my two weeks notice at the cafe a whole lot easier.

The last weekend of October, Grace and her fiance Mick came to visit. I was nervous. I knew a lot about Mick from Skype and phone calls, text messages, and some Facebook creeping (for which I feel no shame whatsoever). Everything I knew about him seemed perfect for my sister. Grace and I are really close, though, and I was worried about how Mick would fit into that relationship. Over the years, as different boys pursued my little sister, I always felt as though they stole one of my best friends away from me. And then Mick arrived. Even before I met him, I nicknamed him "The Man" because any time Grace told me about what he did or said, I couldn't help saying, "Wow, he's such a MAN!" Meeting him confirmed this. Mick was everything Grace said he was and more. Throughout his stay, he laughed with us and at us, encouraged me in my walk with God, and, inexplicably, made me feel close to both him and my sister. At the end of their stay, I wrote, "I am so glad Grace is marrying him."

November
At the beginning of the month I met up with Natalie, a friend from high school. We sat and talked for a few hours, catching up after three years of not seeing each other. It felt as though we had simply been away from each other for a summer vacation. Natalie was as beautiful and easy to talk to as always. When she looked at me, I could feel her registering what I looked like on the outside, but all of that wasn't what she really saw. When she looked at me she remembered me on a tiled bathroom floor late at night, washing my hair with eggs because "I read about it in a book." She heard me, swimming, biking, and running behind her that one year we both decided to do the Triathlon. She remembered me playing piano for church. She saw me, the real me. I know this because when I looked at her I had the same sort  of barrage of memories. Something settled inside of me. I realized that this is why I travel miles and miles to be with my missionary family for only a few hours: I want to remember someone and be remembered by them.

There were other days of happiness, as well. My housemate Lisa and I became acquainted with our neighbor, Seth, who we baked bread for on multiple occasions. Lisa made him pumpkin bread one evening, and we braved the "long, cold walk" across the street to bring it to him. He invited us in and we sat his table talking about musicals, gourmet chocolate, high school, being there for people in difficult times, and everything in between. Seth has a very rich, deep voice, so Lisa and I begged him to read Rupert Brooke, our favorite romantic poet, out loud. He was kind enough to say yes. When he finished, Lisa and I made a fuss over him, saying things like, "That was so good! You just made our day!" Seth blushed a lot when we did that. Walking home afterwards, I was very thankful for Lisa and how kind she is to the people around her.

"That was fun," I said. "I'm really glad we went over there."
"Me too. I think he liked the pumpkin bread," Lisa said, unlocking our door.
"And having two girls go on about his reading skills probably didn't hurt," I said, laughing.
"For sure. I think our neighborly visit was a success," Lisa said.
"Definitely."

The Book Trio from the previous summer had become a musical trio, too. Nathan played the violin, Jewel played the cello, and I accompanied them on the piano. For Jewel's senior recital, we decided to perform a movement from a Schubert trio. For months leading up to the recital we rehearsed and rehearsed. Sometimes I went home cursing Schubert and his obsession with setting sixteenth notes against triplets, but in the end it made me a better musician. The night of the performance, I wrote:

The Trio came off so well. Afterwards, I was floating on all the good feelings Schubert causes. All during the performance, I felt as though there was this golden bubble of sound surrounding us. The rush of energy was incredible, and happiness flowed through me. I am so grateful for Nathan and Jewel. 

My 23rd birthday came, and one of my best friends Lynette celebrated it with me by going to my favorite pizza place and then watching Mockingjay Part 1. Afterwards, laying on the floor of my room, we talked and giggled like we always do.
"You know, I used to think that being close friends with someone meant you had to talk about deep things all the time," I told her.
"Sounds exhausting," Lynette said.
"Yeah, well, I was an intense teenager. Now I've begun to see that it's about this-
"Doing life together," Lynette murmured.
"Yes, all the mundane, ordinary parts. That's when all the good stuff really happens," I said.

About this time, my phone broke and I was unable to talk to anyone for nearly two weeks. I also started watching a legal drama called The Good Wife. I wanted so badly to indict someone after I watched that show. Actually, I would have filed an indictment against my phone for "non operatur" (Latin for not working), but I bought a new one instead.

December
Candlelight has been a tradition in my life for the past four years. This year wasn't any different, and yet it was. I wasn't a student taking part in the university's famous Christmas service anymore. I was an alumni now. It meant I didn't do warmups on stage with the choir, and I didn't whisper jokes down the row to the other altos. Kate and Brandon, two other alumni involved with service, stood on the floor below the stage with me, all of us huddling in the chilly, empty sanctuary and laughing to one another about the speech Mr. Smith gives every year. We could not resist singing along with the choir during warmups, though. Candlelight is generally a time to be serious about our job as musicians by promoting the worshipful atmosphere with angelic music. Every year, though, when the sanctuary is still empty, all of us seemingly angelic musicians bounce up and down during warmups, giggling shamelessly as we sing, "I will go with you, will you go with me to the Dairy Queen?"

My journal is full of small moments that do not matter to anyone else but me: my piano professor lending me his gloves the first night because I was shaking from cold and nerves, the glance and nod exchanged between me and the conductor before we began, the free chocolate I received for being a Candlelight performer, and the moving reflection given by my neighbor, Seth, the guy who read Rupert Brooke out loud for Lisa and I.

Barely a week later, I was in Wisconsin for my sister Grace's wedding. Here's how the account goes in my journal (with some edits):

The wedding day dawned overcast and cold, but there was no snow. We were all up early but none of us as early as Grace. She and Mick got up and went to breakfast as a way to start their wedding day out properly. It was also when they had their first kiss. Grace came striding in to the kitchen afterwards, flushed and excited. All of us were crowded round the little dining room table, and we began hooting and cheering when Grace came in. 

"So, Grace," Kip said. 

"Yes?" Grace asked. She looked like a cat who has just discovered catnip. 

"On a scale from 1 to 10- 1 being 'Eww gross, that was terrible, and 10 being 'That was the most wonderful experience of my life'- how would you rate your first kiss?" Kip asked. We all looked at Grace expectantly. 

She giggled. "Definitely an 11," she said. We all roared, throwing out comments about kissing and making out (give our collective lack of experience, it's remarkable how many jokes and comments we were able to make). In a sudden lull that followed our outbursts, Kalli quietly said, "Yes, but what about the second kiss?" 

Grace just smiled secretively to herself. Ten minutes later, the house was filled with happy yells of "Did you get the cake?" or "Where are my shoes? Anyone seen 'em?" and "There's cold coffee on this table that's been here for an hour. I'm throwing it out." I had forgotten how familiar and refreshing the day to day chaos of a busy household is. 

The ceremony itself came off perfectly. When Grace walked down the aisle, a surge of joy went through me. When she and Mick said their vows, Elise and I kept blinking to keep from crying. When Dave Schoreder announced them as husband and wife, I muttered to Roz, "I made it without crying. So there." She smiled back at me as if to say, "Yeah, but barely." A minute later, the wedding party all danced and skipped down the aisle to Stevie Wonder's "Signed, Sealed, Delivered".  

At the reception afterwards, I had to give a speech, while avoiding looking at my baby sister's beautiful face (it was very difficult to not cry). There was dancing afterwards. Roz and I couldn't stop laughing because the people around us started trying to match our line dancing steps, as if we actually knew what we were doing. We sent Grace and Mick off with a beautifully decorated car and a line of golden sparklers lighting up the cold Wisconsin night.  

January 
I came home to a frigid, empty house. For some strange reason, I let myself hope that the people I left behind in Wisconsin might have followed me home, that the house would not be silent or dark, all the while knowing this was silly. I stayed up late, fighting the cold and loneliness with blankets and episodes of Garrow's Law until the heater kicked in and I fell asleep. The rest of the week was more of the same. My New Year's party consisted of me, a veggie platter, an assortment of cheese and crackers, and the cast of Garrow's Law. At 12:01 AM I remembered that I was supposed to do this thing called a New Year's countdown. Oh well. Even this depressing week was not without some humor, though. I wrote:

So, our air filter needs to be changed, and my housemates are gone right now. The last time the air vent went several days passed its change date, the whole vent cover came crashing down in the hallway with a loud bang. Lisa and I both thought someone had died. Not knowing how to change the filter and having no one to help me with it, I now creep down the hallway with my back to the wall, hoping to avoid winning the Darwin Award for Most Ridiculous Suburban Death. 

The month passed with a lot of hard days. My body was drained, although by what I could not tell. My emotions confused me daily. I should have been feeling happy with my life, yet I was struggling to look forward to living each day. Some mornings I woke up so afraid, I would hide under my blankets for hours, coming out long enough to peek at the world map on my wall and wonder, "Will I ever be brave enough to go to any of those places?"

My brother called one night and I told him how hard it is to feel this way.
"It's like I'm always broken and emotional and such a burden to everybody all the time. Everyone always has to take care of me."

"Yeah, well, it's okay. You have to talk to people about what you're going through. You have to ask for help. Your troubles and burdens matter to God and me. Share them with God. He can bear them and longs to help you."

I did share my problems with God everyday and I think He listened, but there was no sudden healing of my body, and no grand moment of joy when all of my depressing thoughts left me. Rather it was gradual, and even now, months later,  I still have my low days, both physical and emotional. The journal ends with me drinking a lot of wine one evening and telling God the following:

Here I am, tipsy, sad, and a little depressed, but at least I'm being honest. All of this growing and changing hurts, especially when I feel like I've taken a few steps back in my progress. I know You are with me, though and none of this scares You, no matter how scared I am every day, every week, every month, and every moment. None of this surprises You, God. 

Granted, this is how the journal ends, but it isn't the only memory I take away from it. There was another day before the end of the journal when I felt differently.

Laura was babysitting Josiah today. When she got a call on her phone, I took him from her, and the two of us began doing laps around the apartment. Josiah still like being faced inward, so I held him close to my chest and started humming. At first he watched everything, turning his head when we passed lights and stretching out his chubby baby hands. Then, as I kept lapping and humming, he fell asleep, one hand against the skin below my collarbone, the other clutching my hair. I turned him so that he lay in my arms and then sat in a chair. I had a full sunlit view of how the perfect the baby in my arms was. He is so beautiful, and I felt beautiful holding him. 

I think that everyone's life is full of moments when we know gladness and sorrow, and there are days when those emotions exist side by side. Reading my journal has allowed me to see that in my own life, and although sometimes I read passages that make me regret certain words or actions, more often than not I find myself amazed by God's grace, and the way that He makes beauty out of my life. This is why, no matter how hard some of this stuff in the journal was, I still signed it the way I always sign my letters to God.
Love Always,
Rachel