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~Charli Rae
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Friday, March 28, 2014
My Favorite Color is Green
Lonely. It's one of those words that quickly loses its meaning if you dwell on it too long. And if you're bored enough to dwell on a word like lonely, chances are you're feelin' it.
I've been really struggling with the feeling lately. About five months ago, we made the decision to leave our church of nine years and return to Metro Life, a church that has undergone some major leaf-shedding and regrowth in recent times. Their roots are deep and their branches are sturdy. But man, do those leaves grow in clusters.
At Grace I only have four close friends - friends who know literally everything about me; good, bad, and worse - but I know almost everyone on a level that goes deeper than "Hi, how are you?" We all know each other's birthdays, middle names, and favorite colors. We scuffle over which clique gets the new kid - which is pretty pointless because the cliques mash together more often than they're separate. Granted, we grew up together, and as a baby church, we want others to feel as if they've grown up there, too.
At Metro, I have one close friend. I share "Hi, how are you?"'s with maybe fifteen other people. Two of those are pastors, three are from the youth group, and the rest are friends of my parents. Metro is almost twice the size of Grace. So why do only - at most - three people know my favorite color?
If you're reading this and you happen to go to Metro, please don't think I'm condemning you. It's my own fault. I've stood on the outskirts after church service and at youth group countless times, trying to muster the courage to burst into a group and blast out enough charisma to keep them from walking away. Then, without fail, I say "Hi, how are you?" to my three people, make a beeline to the car, and kick myself all the way home.
I'm not helping myself at all. I enjoy being alone, I tell myself, but I know I don't. There's a big difference between being lonely and being alone. On one end of the spectrum, being alone is hiding out in my bedroom for some quiet time while my family bustles about the rest of the house - that's the alone that I enjoy. But on the other, the side I'm convincing myself I'm on, alone is having no one to turn to, no one to love. Being lonely just means those people aren't with you.
I've locked myself in a room of self-pity, totally convinced that my friends are gone forever and I'll never make new ones. I'm sucking on the key like a pacifier. One of these days I'll wipe off the saliva, unlock the door, and ask you what your middle name is. But feel free to knock down the door if I take too long.
~Charli Rae |2 Corinthians 13:14|
I've been really struggling with the feeling lately. About five months ago, we made the decision to leave our church of nine years and return to Metro Life, a church that has undergone some major leaf-shedding and regrowth in recent times. Their roots are deep and their branches are sturdy. But man, do those leaves grow in clusters.
At Grace I only have four close friends - friends who know literally everything about me; good, bad, and worse - but I know almost everyone on a level that goes deeper than "Hi, how are you?" We all know each other's birthdays, middle names, and favorite colors. We scuffle over which clique gets the new kid - which is pretty pointless because the cliques mash together more often than they're separate. Granted, we grew up together, and as a baby church, we want others to feel as if they've grown up there, too.
At Metro, I have one close friend. I share "Hi, how are you?"'s with maybe fifteen other people. Two of those are pastors, three are from the youth group, and the rest are friends of my parents. Metro is almost twice the size of Grace. So why do only - at most - three people know my favorite color?
If you're reading this and you happen to go to Metro, please don't think I'm condemning you. It's my own fault. I've stood on the outskirts after church service and at youth group countless times, trying to muster the courage to burst into a group and blast out enough charisma to keep them from walking away. Then, without fail, I say "Hi, how are you?" to my three people, make a beeline to the car, and kick myself all the way home.
I'm not helping myself at all. I enjoy being alone, I tell myself, but I know I don't. There's a big difference between being lonely and being alone. On one end of the spectrum, being alone is hiding out in my bedroom for some quiet time while my family bustles about the rest of the house - that's the alone that I enjoy. But on the other, the side I'm convincing myself I'm on, alone is having no one to turn to, no one to love. Being lonely just means those people aren't with you.
I've locked myself in a room of self-pity, totally convinced that my friends are gone forever and I'll never make new ones. I'm sucking on the key like a pacifier. One of these days I'll wipe off the saliva, unlock the door, and ask you what your middle name is. But feel free to knock down the door if I take too long.
~Charli Rae |2 Corinthians 13:14|
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
This Side of Heaven
For anyone out of the loop on facebook and other such social stuffs, this year has been a really hard one for my family. The car that hit me on January 24th was reported stolen. We have four very busy people and no reliable vehicle to get us places. My dad was let go from his job, which - though God is providing - was difficult. I still have panic attacks about driving, and it feels like they'll never go away.
On February 24th, my grandfather was taken in for heart surgery and passed away in the early hours of the 26th. My grandpa was a great man with a charming smile and a funny habit of buying anything on sale. I know he's with his wife, son, and son in law again, basking in the glory of God's presence, and there's nowhere better to be.
I've tried writing about it. I know some of you have been checking the blog to see if I've managed to get anything out yet. To tell the truth, I still don't think I can. Some nights I lie in bed, every muscle taut, ill from having no way to get the anger out. Sometimes I remember to thank God that I got to see Grandpa last summer and hug him so, so many times and hear his belly laughs in person rather than over the phone. But mostly, I cry.
I cry because I feel guilty that I was the last of the Florida family to see him, and my dad couldn't fly out in time to say goodbye. I cry because the anger isn't good, because I'm not the only one hurting, because I can't help. I cry because I keep demanding to know why - I cry because I know I don't need to know.
I hate writing things like this. My greatest struggle is self-sufficiency. I don't like to need help. But right now, I need prayer. I could use a wall to punch, too.
~Charli Rae |Romans 5:1-5|
On February 24th, my grandfather was taken in for heart surgery and passed away in the early hours of the 26th. My grandpa was a great man with a charming smile and a funny habit of buying anything on sale. I know he's with his wife, son, and son in law again, basking in the glory of God's presence, and there's nowhere better to be.
I've tried writing about it. I know some of you have been checking the blog to see if I've managed to get anything out yet. To tell the truth, I still don't think I can. Some nights I lie in bed, every muscle taut, ill from having no way to get the anger out. Sometimes I remember to thank God that I got to see Grandpa last summer and hug him so, so many times and hear his belly laughs in person rather than over the phone. But mostly, I cry.
I cry because I feel guilty that I was the last of the Florida family to see him, and my dad couldn't fly out in time to say goodbye. I cry because the anger isn't good, because I'm not the only one hurting, because I can't help. I cry because I keep demanding to know why - I cry because I know I don't need to know.
I hate writing things like this. My greatest struggle is self-sufficiency. I don't like to need help. But right now, I need prayer. I could use a wall to punch, too.
~Charli Rae |Romans 5:1-5|
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Calm and Cranky About It
I was in a car accident on the 24th of January. A Friday night at 6:40. An intersection of questionable jurisdiction, which led to four hours of waiting for a state trooper. Eight other accidents nearby that were more of a priority, despite mine being a hit and run (the other guy ran his red light, smashed into me, then fled on foot).
This was the condition of our van. The van that has taken us across the country back and forth, up and down multiple times. The van that has run in spite of leaks and creaks, that up and dies randomly near friends with jumper cables, that has an engine light that won't turn off and a speed gauge that's five miles fast past seventy. The van that's currently sitting in an auto shop parking lot, waiting for word from the insurance company to get hauled off to a junk yard.
The van that crumpled on impact so that the two teenage girls inside could get out and walk away unscathed.
I am so grateful. And so frustrated. Thankful that I can rest in God's care - friends were quick to offer a replacement car, take us to a chiropractor, and jump to our legal defense. Upset that the guy who wrecked my beloved van still hasn't been brought in.
The night of the accident, my mom marveled over the fact that I seemed so calm. I responded that I was calm, but not graceful. It's held up in the weeks following. Please pray for me.
~Charli Rae |2 Corinthians 12:9|
This was the condition of our van. The van that has taken us across the country back and forth, up and down multiple times. The van that has run in spite of leaks and creaks, that up and dies randomly near friends with jumper cables, that has an engine light that won't turn off and a speed gauge that's five miles fast past seventy. The van that's currently sitting in an auto shop parking lot, waiting for word from the insurance company to get hauled off to a junk yard.
The van that crumpled on impact so that the two teenage girls inside could get out and walk away unscathed.
I am so grateful. And so frustrated. Thankful that I can rest in God's care - friends were quick to offer a replacement car, take us to a chiropractor, and jump to our legal defense. Upset that the guy who wrecked my beloved van still hasn't been brought in.
The night of the accident, my mom marveled over the fact that I seemed so calm. I responded that I was calm, but not graceful. It's held up in the weeks following. Please pray for me.
~Charli Rae |2 Corinthians 12:9|
Monday, January 6, 2014
It's Not a Party 'Til Someone Calls 911
"Charli, are you coming to church with us?" Alyx whispered, pressing her face close to the safety bar of the loft bed.
"Yeah," Charli mumbled. Then she tried to sit up. The nausea hit her like a heatwave. "No."
Yesterday we celebrated my sister's Sweet Sixteen with a 40's swing dance party. The event itself was fantastic. I pumped myself full of nose-spray and tylenol and set up the party with my family while Alyx and a few friends got ready at a house nearby. The party started at five. The first guest arrived at five-oh-three. We finally finished decorating around twenty after.
Despite only three of the forty-some-odd people there knowing how to swing dance, we had a blast stepping on each other's toes and twirling around. Alyx looked adorable. The rest of us looked okay, too. ;)
Out of the blue - or not really, considering DJ Josh had a special announcement for the birthday girl - instead of a 40's song, there came a favorite hip-hop song. The floor was vacated as we could barely swing dance, much less break dance. Alyx and a few friends eventually made their way back to dance in a little circle.
It was then that the party came to an abrupt halt - around quarter to eight - when our dear friend Katie collapsed with a dislocated knee. Since she's double-jointed pretty much everywhere, I honestly didn't see anything out of the ordinary until the paramedics arrived and stretched her out on her back. I have never seen a leg turned completely sideways at the knee.
She's not in much pain now (unless she's lying, which is possible, 'cause she's a trooper). She's got her brace and ice packs and crutches and her sister's wedding to walk down the aisle at on Saturday. I'd volunteer to carry her if I didn't think that would look funny. Oops.
~Charli Rae |Job 39:19-25|
"Yeah," Charli mumbled. Then she tried to sit up. The nausea hit her like a heatwave. "No."
Yesterday we celebrated my sister's Sweet Sixteen with a 40's swing dance party. The event itself was fantastic. I pumped myself full of nose-spray and tylenol and set up the party with my family while Alyx and a few friends got ready at a house nearby. The party started at five. The first guest arrived at five-oh-three. We finally finished decorating around twenty after.
Despite only three of the forty-some-odd people there knowing how to swing dance, we had a blast stepping on each other's toes and twirling around. Alyx looked adorable. The rest of us looked okay, too. ;)
Out of the blue - or not really, considering DJ Josh had a special announcement for the birthday girl - instead of a 40's song, there came a favorite hip-hop song. The floor was vacated as we could barely swing dance, much less break dance. Alyx and a few friends eventually made their way back to dance in a little circle.
It was then that the party came to an abrupt halt - around quarter to eight - when our dear friend Katie collapsed with a dislocated knee. Since she's double-jointed pretty much everywhere, I honestly didn't see anything out of the ordinary until the paramedics arrived and stretched her out on her back. I have never seen a leg turned completely sideways at the knee.
She's not in much pain now (unless she's lying, which is possible, 'cause she's a trooper). She's got her brace and ice packs and crutches and her sister's wedding to walk down the aisle at on Saturday. I'd volunteer to carry her if I didn't think that would look funny. Oops.
~Charli Rae |Job 39:19-25|
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