Love Story

He reads Michener and Salvatore; I adore Pride and Prejudice. We have discussed golems, druids, LARPing, and he thinks it's cool that I have music from the movie Gladiator on my phone. I can ask why eight times in a row and he will honestly answer each one. He relishes the thought of having a good argument about something we see differently and I dread it, but we both order our burgers plain. He caught my attention when he first mentioned Moonlight Sonata. We are each better for having known the other. He makes me smile like no one else. I write letters on his arms in Sharpie. We disagree about the definition of spatial intelligence. He alone knows the significance of the phrase "A Thousand Crashing Waves". Stanford and West Point gave way to what I'd say were more valuable educations. I fell in love with God before I fell in love with him. He knows better than to ask what I want to eat, and yet he does anyway. Let them think we're crazy. Oogly eyes and gummy bears. Blue Gatorade. I was a bird afraid of being caged. FAADAH. We each have shoes to fill. He's my best friend. I make my coy face at him. We fell in love over conversation. He wants to see Alaska. I'm taller than he is. He hates my fake smile. I'm his favorite. He introduced me to Chic-fil-A breakfast. Tartar sauce. He plays like a little kid. We believe that each day has something we will never have again.

LGBQT

My name is Julie. I am a Christian. If you identify with the letters in the title of this post, I have something I want you to know. I love you. God loves you. And I'm sorry. For the things other Christians have said. For the things I myself have said about you. For the ways Christians have treated you and made you feel. For the love we haven't made you feel.

I love you. No conditions. No "but", no "even though", no "in spite of". I love you. You are a person, a creature made after God's own image. You are a sinner and so am I. Judgment is not mine to give. Only love. No "Love the sinner, hate the sin". What is that crap anyway? We are all sinners. That mantra should apply to all people, but I only hear it in reference to people whose sins are viewed as greater than our own. I'm sorry. I've said it myself when referencing you. And I am ashamed.

I'm sorry for the love I haven't shown you, for fear of making myself uncomfortable. I'm sorry for thinking even for a second, that I am above you. Or that I am less of a sinner. I hope you'll forgive me. I'm sorry for putting my love into a context. Who am I to ever do that?

God loves me. No conditions. No "but", no "even though", no "in spite of". He loves me. I am a person, a creature made after His own image. I am a sinner.

My name is Julie. I am a Christian. If you identify with the letters in the title of this post, I have something I want you to know. You and I, we are no different. We're both sinners. And we're both loved by a God who doesn't have rules for who He loves or how He loves them. He just does.

You Don't Know A Thing About Me, And Neither Do I

At sixteen, my greatest fear was that of being ordinary.  If you had asked me, I doubt I could have told you that.  I was not so self aware.  I was too busy mapping out my future.  At sixteen, I would have said that by now, I'd be facing my firstie (senior) year at West Point.  Had you told me that instead I'd be a waitress who had failed out of her residential high school, lost a scholarship to a state university and was taking classes at a community college, I would have nearly spit in your face.  I would have told you that you didn't know a thing about me.

And yet, here I am.  And once again I'm facing the fear of being ordinary.  Because, as arrogant as I know it sounds, I can do just about anything I decide I want to do.  I have the ability to do great things.  I'm on the right track to becoming a Cracker Barrel manager, though I tell people I'm going to school to be a teacher.  My latest daydream has been about FBI profiling.  The first two possible futures frighten me.


I grew up knowing no boundaries.  At the age of nine, I had already wanted to be the first female president, a 4-star general in the Army, and a Supreme Court Justice.  I wanted to make an impact on the world.  And in a big way.  I was destined for greatness.  I was fourteen attending a brunch with my mom and a bunch of Army wives.  Afterwards, we introduced ourselves to the motivational speaker of the morning.  He shook my hand, looked me in the eye, turned to my mom and told her, "she's going to be someone some day."  This was no surprise to me.  But it felt good to have someone acknowledge it.  I already knew I was going to be somebody.  But right now I'm no one.  Not the kind of somebody I thought I'd be.

I'm a waitress.  I know how to do my job well.  I'm entrusted to train new employees.  I have a high standard for myself in the work place.  I am respected for being willing to help others.  Frequently, I am praised for doing a good job.  In my place of work, I am something of a somebody.  But I am still a waitress.  That scares me.

I view this resurfaced fear as a good thing.  I think it indicates that I am once again aware of my potential. And while I find this exciting and think it great progress, it walks hand-in-hand with a new fear.  I foresee changes coming, a rediscovery of self, an awakening of ambition, a new era of dreaming.  And what I fear most now, is whether I will leave behind the things I now hold dear.

But that is for another time.

I used to dream, I used to wonder

I used to dream.  I used to wonder.

I used to build castles in the sky and flower shops in my future.

I used to plan continent-spanning road trips.  And I believed that they could happen.

I used to dream up crazy outfits.  And then I'd wear them.  At 21, I feel trapped, like I'm too old to wear five bracelets if I want to.

I used to marvel at the world around me.  I'd steal away, snatching moments to myself, long walks in nature with nothing but my thoughts.

I used to dream.  I used to wonder.

I used to draw up crazy floor plans and build dream homes on graphing paper.

I used to dream of ways that I'd make a difference, paths I'd take that would lead me to somewhere, a somewhere where I was somebody, somebody who could make her dreams come true.

I used to tear pictures out of magazines and catalogs, then dream up ways to turn my thrift store finds into something that reminded me of my media clippings.

I used to dream.

I used to wonder.

Somewhere between "I used to" and today, I lost all my potential.

Without dreams, we never achieve anything greater than our current existence.

Without wonder, we lose the ability to perceive beauty and we lose sight of how we fit into that beauty.

I used to dream that I might be a wedding planner.  The closest I got to that today was planning my own dinner.

I used to dream of becoming a makeup artist.  I pondered a great deal on a co-worker's blush, but I didn't even play with my own color today.

I used to wonder if God's favorite color was green like mine, but today I hardly noticed the beautiful greens of spring.

I used to wonder how it feels to be another person.  I deeply pondered how different it would be to experience life from another body, mind, and soul.  Today I barely considered how the people around me felt about their situations.

I used to dream and I used to wonder.

I used to imagine almost constantly and on occasion I would create.

I used to escape the mundane, the tedious here and now.

I used to contemplate all sorts of ideas, emotions, possibilities.  Any more, I'm too busy debating how discontent I am to examine the source behind it.

I used to explore and take adventures.

I used to get excited, about big things and little things.  I'd show the same enthusiasm for a pretty rock as I would for the announcement of a vacation and not feel any shame.

I used to dance when my family was in the next room.

I used to sit in the quiet, sometimes in the dark and let my mind wander.

I used to seek out music that made me feel, made me happy, made me sad, took me back to times and places, brought back memories and helped me heal.

I used to dream.  I was a romantic to the point of being dangerously naive.  I would easily have fit into a fairytale.

I used to wonder.  And when I articulated those thoughts of wonderment, people just looked at me like I was a loon.  I didn't care.

I used to dream like the best daydreamers, but oh, I was happier in my dreaming days.

I used to wonder like the most curious five-year-old you've ever met, but I was at such peace when I could find something magical everyday.

I used to dream.

I used to wonder.

But never did I dream that today I would be wondering, how on earth did my thoughts go those places.