On Prayer and Pens

Lately, I've been feeling the crux between who I am and who I could be. 

The could be isn't necessarily a good one. 

I, like all humans, have the propensity for both good and evil. 

Creativity, excitement, book worm-iness vs. numbness, depression, anxiety

Sometimes, I delude myself into thinking that I do not do the good for me because I don't have the time. Time-filled days call my bluff, though. I do not do good because I can't make myself. 

And what's so funny and terrible is that if I would move, the rest of me would follow. If I would move, I would keep moving. It takes practice. 

One good day doesn't mean that the next will be just as productive. But that also doesn't mean to give up. It means to practice, in the smallest of ways, discipline. Be consistent. Be persistent. 

I got a letter today from my friend and now long time penpal Leslie. 

Together we discussed prayer and pens, how difficult prayer can be and how settling and clearing writing can be. 

Several years ago, an author named Lauren Winner came and spoke in chapel at JBU. She was super zany with her big ole butterfly glasses, electrocuted looking hair, and Miss Frizzle clothes. Her content didn't help build a case for her either. The most dynamic moment in my memory is of her holding up an invisible squash as though it were the skull in Hamlet and asking if that squash were prayer. 

That question has quietly gnawed at me for all the years since. 

Was that squash prayer? She had tilled the soil and planted the seed and remembered to water the sprout and weeded the garden and pruned the dead leaves and protected the small plant from bugs and squirrels and then, squash. Was that squash prayer? Well...yeah. 

Does that mean that prayer may be more fluid a concept than we think it is sometimes? 

I think yes. 

The deep breath I take to center myself before a phone call, the conscious mercy shown to a persnickety coworker or friend or student, the serotonin supplement I remember to take, the dishes I put up even though it isn't my turn, the letter I write to a friend, the moments spent reading a book and using my mind, all of that might just be prayer. All of that is pursuing righteousness and godliness. 

And prayer, connection, propels us forward, even if at a glacial pace. 

Leslie ended her letter in a way I found poetic in the most beautiful way, and it works as a "call to action", I believe, in a way I'd like to share (pieces of which are paraphrased). 

I hope life is moving forward for you in the best ways. Writing these letters reminds me that life has substance, structure, and is in need of redemption, though the process of writing in itself presses me to pursue a better ending. And seeing your thoughts reminds me that I am not alone in my inward struggles, that everyone has them; an ever-needed "of course other people live life too" moment is always found when I open your envelopes. 

May we all pursue better endings and good words.

Cheers to you, God and Serotonin.

Today I opened a fortune cookie: "Advancement is achieved through hard work." and my chinese word of the day was "europe."

...

Good evening, and welcome to the conclusion of the long-awaited 26th of December.

For a long while, I'd had this day marked as the day I had to "make it" till.
Here I am! Making it.
Wrong country, but same girl.
And also, not the same girl.

I received a letter today from my sweet friend Leslie (have I spoken of Leslie before? Surely. Les is my NI roommate from our Family and Human services trip summer 2012. and also my personal Charles Wallace. Invaluable human.)

I actually received two letters today. One which made my room smell of lavender but both marked with the name "Emmanuel." Emmanuel is God with us. To quote Les (sorry if you read this and are horrified. I'm probably going to do it again, though.): "Not only did God care enough about us to come down and be a part of humanity, but He also still dwells with us every single day. God is with me. And at the same time He is with you. How very special I feel when I remember I serve Emmanuel, who never leaves me."

I couldn't think of a better way to word that. Beautiful. Such beautiful truth. God is with us and through us and around us.

My two other favorite highlights from her letter are when she compared me to Frodo on return from Mordor (Her impressions of my person when she saw me in Siloam last week. Yikes. Re: "not the same girl.") and her comment just after.

The Mordor thing is meant to make you laugh, not deepen your worry for me, by the way.

Her after comment, though, was: "I saw you, and there were no layers to peek under to find you, as there sometimes have been."

I don't think I could receive a higher comment from a higher source.

All my life, I've been trying to hide or to become. When I finally realized what I was doing (a much more recent event than I'd like to admit), I honestly had no idea where to even begin to pull off the layers I'd built around me. Sifting through the actual and the constructed, impossible.

Will the real Jamie Odom please stand up?

I guess the real Jamie Odom wasn't standing up at all. She was kneeling. She was curled up in a ball on the floor. And I didn't even know there was anybody else in the room to see her. I didn't see her.

I guess the real you doesn't show up when you're looking for her; she shows up when Jesus himself rips everything else away.

I'm not really even sure what I look like right now. Have kind of a blind spot. But others seem to be able to see me, and they couldn't before. So whether or not I would know me in a crowd, praise God He and others can.

Today, I woke up kind of anticipating I'd want to be alone and hostile. I wasn't.
I actually woke up very cheerful. Jansie and I had a nice long chat, had lunch together, wandered a trendy part of town (decided neither of us are trendy enough to desire a return visit), and walked along the pedestrian bridge. It's supposed to be over the river but, in pure Oklahoma fashion, our river is dry, dry, dry.

After, I'd settled into an inverse parabola. Definite sink.

Spent the next three hours in a coffee shop with my cuz. Krissy, with (not despite of) all her craziness and her very definite, passionate opinions, makes sense to me. One of my most favorite people to be around and has a knack for shoveling me out of any foul mood. Half distraction, half no-nonsense "let's deal with this crap and move on" attitude. It works.

Day 2 in a row of almost total clearmindedness. I'll take it, with thanks.

The Day Blank in the Planner

Starting early my Junemore year of college, I observe the Sabbath.

It may have begun a little earlier than this, but I really committed to it through a project at JBU's Honor Program. Once a month, they would have Sabbath Sundays, based on the ideas in a book of Dan Allender. 

Allender's goal in his book on Sabbath is to dispel the notion that Sabbath has to be this boring, staunch holier than thou experience. Rather, he explains to Christians that Sabbath is meant to be a time of rejoicing and in celebrating God. It's a mandated time for joy. In theory, that sounds awesome. In practice, not always awesome. 

My two favorite events of the program were the week that several professors brought their children (I'm a little baby crazy and was missing my nieces and nephew terribly) and the event I helped run: finger painting. Actually, that second one is a really funny story involving rain, a wet and brakeless bike, consequent wet jeans, a tornado, and a subsequent date. 

Anyway, I read Allender's book and did some thinking. My personality is very task oriented. I can get a little controlling and workaholic. Okay so maybe a lot of those things. I decided to do it as a spiritual discipline on a one-month trial basis. 

I spent one of the days dead asleep, another lying outside in the grass, another reading a book for fun, and yet another in Tulsa, seeing my niece and nephew. After that month, I was hooked. Only missed one Sabbath in all this time. 

That doesn't mean I get excited for it. Often--especially during finals--I dread it. I dreaded it all this week, actually. 24 hours I can't do homework?! I have important things to get done. I have places to go, people to se, drawers to organise (actually, confession. I once did that for one of my sabbaths. I love it. I know it's weird). 

The thing is, no matter how much homework I had, how many meetings I had to schedule around it, how overwhelmed I was, I have never once missed a deadline or had to fudge a paper because of Sabbath. Not even one time. Every week, it all got done in the end. And, every week, my mind was clearer and calmer than if I had spent the whole day getting things done.  

My thoughts on the subject currently are because this is a Sabbath I didn't want to come. Actually, I remembered it right in the middle of a phone conversation and was filled to the brim with dread. I'd plotted out exactly how much time I would need to accomplish my work by Monday and am now 24hours  short of that initial projection. 

But I slept and I showered, answered some friend emails I'd been unable to, am going to lunch with a friend, am blogging, and a whole lot of time thanking God for making rest in him a rule. Even my "rebellious spirit" (which, I will tell you I've heard my mother pray against for my entire life) finds it hard to build a solid case against that. "No, I will not rejoice in your beauty, creation, and joy! Bah humbug!" doesn't sound all that convincing out loud. 

So, if you'll excuse me, I have a letter to write.