Sisterhood of the World

Hey guys! Sorry I went MIA for almost a month... I was so overwhelmed that I managed to post three times in two weeks that my brain imploded and it's taken me this long to reconstruct the knowledge of sentence structure it would take to write this post. Not that you cared.

Anyways, the fantabulous Megan over at Rustic Remains has given me a Blogger award called the... *squints* The Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award. Alright!

This is a lot like the Liebster award that I did a while back. The rules are:

1. Thank the blogger who nominated you and link back to their site

2. Put the award logo on your site

3. Answer the ten questions they asked you

4. Make up ten new questions for your nominees to answer

Now for Megan's questions!

Is there an inspirational quote that motivates you?

As far as creating goes, I love what Cesar Cruz said, which is "Art should comfort the disturbed, and disturb the comfortable."  

As far as life... Much of what I currently understand about God and theology has been influenced by the writing of C.S. Lewis. A quote of his that has always stuck with me is from a letter he wrote to a friend. "Try to remember that the 'bottomless sea' can't hurt us as long as we keep swimming."

 Would you prefer to write with pen and paper, or a keyboard and a document?

It would depend on what I'm writing. If it's fiction, or something like this blog post, then I do it all on my laptop. But I find that lyrics or poetry are much easier to physically write (preferably with an instrument nearby;).

Do you have a favorite song artist?

I love the music of Switchfoot and Sleeping At Last, as well as Rich Mullins and Colony House. (oops that was four...)

What is your favorite thing about blogging?

I guess it would be motivation. I write all the time, but there's a certain desire to write well when I know it's going to be on the Internet for all to see x) There are so many amazing, talented, encouraging bloggers on here. (I'm looking at you, Megan;P)

If you could travel to one place (in reality) where would you go?

Venice. Decidedly. But I'm also getting pretty pumped for my roadtrip to California this summer... Going back to your birthplace + ocean + trains = ahhhhmazing. 

What made you decide that you wanted to write novels/shorts/fan fictions/etc.?

I don't remember how I started writing... I suppose it was because I read so much and I wanted to get in on the action;) But I do know for certain that it was my best friend who kept me going. 

Do you prefer the mountains or the ocean?

The ocean. Going to the coast is a very spiritual experience for me. Many have tried to explain the feeling, none really have. But yes, I hold a very special place in my heart for large bodies of saltwater;)

What is your favorite movie, and why?

Oh dear.... I'm gonna have to go with The Magnificent Seven. Laugh if you want... But it's such a phenomenal cast. There are dozens of hilarious lines, but the depth of emotion and conflict the film portrayed can't be replicated. Plus, the score is legendary. (runners-up: Life of Pi, Shadowlands, the Emperor's New Groove. C'mon, you totally knew that one was coming.)

Your favorite Bible verse? (If you have more than one, feel free to share)

I've been reading 1 John lately, and a passage that continually comes back to me is 2:12-14. John takes on this beautiful poetic voice, when he says:

"I write to you, little children, because your sins are forgiven you for His name's sake. I write to you, fathers, because you have known Him who is from the beginning. I write to you, young men, because you have overcome the wicked one. I write to you, little children, because you have known the Father. I write to you, fathers, because you have known Him who was from the beginning. I write to you, young men, because you are strong and the word of God abides in you."

The way he repeats his words with only slight deviations catches my attention.... What is the significance of it? Your guess is as good as mine.

 Would you like to meet someone famous? If so, who?
If you go and read this post right here, you'll see that I kinda did already and it was amazing. If I could meet someone else, it would probably be Francis Chan, because I'd love to pick his brains on a few things, or Megan Whalen Turner, for the same reason. But different. But the same.

So. My nominees!

I actually hate this "nominate ten other bloggers" rule because I don't even think I consistently keep up with that many blogs... So here is my short-and-condensed list.

Caitlyn at isabela
Juliette at Thoughts and Writings of Juliette the Silent
Faith at Secret Agent Unicorn
Claire at Mother in the Making (get back on yer blog, Lightbulb)
Kate at A Ship Is Always Safe At Shore
Sammy at Operation: Fun and Love!
Sunshyne at A Ray of Sunshyne
Aaaaand lastly, Adelaide at Word Smudges and Wonder-Filled. She's super cool.

Dude, I know seven bloggers. Sweet.

And your questions:

1. What's the best book you've read recently?
2. What's your favorite song of all time? (aha, I've broken them. They'll never be able to answer this one)
3. What is a hobby or interest of yours that no one would expect? (Claire, your answer is rap)
4. What is currently stressing you out?
5. What is a reason to not be stressed out about that thing you answered in #4?
6. What is your favorite memory?
7. Who is your biggest role model, and why? ( you guys are not allowed to say me. I know it'll be tough, but... I don't make the rules. Oh wait, I do.)
8. Biggest pet peeve? (this question is so interesting to me... I don't know why.)
9. What is a misconception that you are learning to overcome?
10. Finally, what are you currently eating/wishing you were eating? (saved the best for last, I did)

Ahh, that was fun. Thanks again to Megan for tagging me in this adventure;) Until next time!


~Margaret

Why I Recommend Guitar

  January marks six months since I began playing guitar. I am in no way proficient yet. I'm not even good. But I am better; better than I was three months ago or even three weeks ago. It is a process I am glad to have stuck with for benefits and lessons from it I hadn't been aware of the first time I picked up Mom's old '89 Martin.

  I started playing at the end of last July. Actually, now that I look back, I realize that my motives for starting weren't all that healthy.

  I got back from a short one week trip to find that life had exploded while I was gone. When I got home, expecting to rest from that week, I found that it was the opposite - that those past seven days had been restful. Comparatively, at least. I was offered no break, no explanation from life, just thrust into the midst of a situation that had finally reached a breaking point.

  I'm not all that good at conflict. I've put many hours of thought into how I deal with it, and learned that I handle it one of two ways:

    1.) I hide. It's not a "I-hope-nobody-sees-me-in-this-hole" kind of hiding. It's a mask, the idea that maybe if I act my part well, no one will think to ask what's wrong.

    2.) I explode. I end up saying hurtful and not-too-well thought out things that I don't mean. I upset the people I love the most. I always regret my lack of filter after it's too late, because words said can never be taken back.

  In this particular case, it was the first. The first time I heard a song and thought, "I could play this," I simultaneously thought, "Oh look! It's something to hide behind! No one can accuse me of retreating when I'm so obviously being productive!" This may not make sense, but when you're a person who needs far too much time to think through and understand things, privacy is something of the greatest value. Add a load of pain and confusion to the situation and it just becomes that much messier.

  So I picked up guitar. It was my escape, the only one in view. I retreated to music - as I often have - to tell me what to think, to try to make sense of the emotions and motives that swirled around in my mind. I played until my fingers bled, and when I found out that you couldn't chord with band-aids, I pulled them off and kept playing. I felt like if it hurt, it had to be a good thing, because so many other things in my life were hurting, and people kept telling me they were good.

  It's strange to look back and see just how little self-esteem I had at that point. Though I have slowly reached a healthier view of myself, those feelings of self-hatred were very real. It wasn't so much that I wanted to be hurt, only that I felt like I deserved it. I resented God for not resenting me, His was the only love I could never disprove to myself. In public I said the right words, in private I cried over those same words that felt like lead in my mouth. I was tired. I was bewildered. I was angry.

  And through all of it, I kept playing. I found that I had begun to improve, that real skill was slowly but surely replacing clumsy efforts. Most of all, the songs were changing. I didn't want to pity myself any longer. I didn't want to be angry at people who weren't affected by how I felt. I wanted to talk about struggling and depression and messing up, but I didn't want to stay there. There was a light at the end of my tunnel. There's a lyric by Switchfoot that glibly suggests, "If we're adding to the noise, turn off this song." I heard that song. I listened to that song. I didn't want to stay where I was. I needed to move on, past the chaos of my situation, past the chaos of my own mind.

  What changed? Well for one, I got right with God. When I knew for sure that He was always backing me in my endeavors to change and to realize my own potential, it gave me the determination to do those things. But another thing that I think had a huge effect on me was simply playing my guitar. I learned what a beautiful form of self-expression it is. I started putting my own thoughts and feelings into words and melodies, instead of only mouthing what other people had written. I worked hard, and had the satisfaction of seeing it pay off. I grew in confidence in my ability, and I discovered an entirely new purpose for music. Yes, music can drag you down. But it can also be the rope that keeps you from falling. It connects us to each other with a magic we cannot understand. It shows us a life beyond ourselves, it brings us to realizations, it slips around our biases and opinions. It brings hope. It brings joy, genuine joy. And best of all, I was now a part of that magic. I was connected in soul with my fellow humans. Soul, which is our constant and only commonality. I was able to worship or to weep, knowing that no matter what form the outcome took, it would be beautiful. This was me. This was what I was capable of creating. These ties that draw us together, through the boundaries that push us apart.

  As I look back, I see how my motive has changed. I am no longer hiding behind this six-stringed wooden instrument, I am using it to attract attention. I am not trying to be quiet, I want to be loud. I want to shake the world up! I want to be around people who do. Music is something outside of myself, something directly from God, something that I am vastly privileged to be part of.

  I am not a proficient human. I'm not even a good one. But I'm better. Better than I was three months ago, or even three weeks ago.

  You see, the greatest secret of music is not its beauty, it's not how it draws us together, it's not its entertainment value or anything else of the sort. Music has the power to inspire - the greatest power any of the arts possess. The songs themselves are not changing me, but they are showing me how to change. It is a path I continually strive to follow: one toward beauty, toward acceptance, toward God. As I look back on the past six months I see that not one day of it was pointless. Though I couldn't see it then, it was a journey - it is a journey. Just as a song swells and fades, so does life. And just like a song, we all seek that eventual crescendo, the climax, the completion, when all the loose ends will be tied up. Unlike a song however, when the conclusion of our life comes, when that final note rings - it is only the beginning.

~Margaret

An Evening at the Ryman

Editing note: This post was actually written on the 16th of December, before promptly getting lost in a small black hole of drafts and portions of blogs. I'm posting it now, because after rereading it and beating it into shape a little bit, I found that I actually liked it. So, here it is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The neon lights on Broadway and 5th reflected on the wet streets, as we pulled up beside the building many affectionately call the Mother Church - the Ryman Auditorium. We get our tickets and wander into the venue, trying to find our seats. After some awkward, anticipatory chatter - a crucial part of any concert - the lights dim and Andrew Peterson comes onstage. He thanks us for coming as a large handful of musicians file out on the stage behind him and silently take their seats. One of them happened to be my reason for travelling hours on a rainy Monday night to be here.

  Sometimes irony is cruel, in a slightly ridiculous way that you can only laugh at. I could see every musician sitting up there, except for a man in a fedora, who was blocked by a music stand. Normally it would have been fine, but that fedora-wearer happened to be Jon Foreman, and I was suddenly unwilling to put up with any shenanigans the Ryman had to pull. So after a couple songs, I moved to an empty seat, whose owner had conveniently failed to show up. 

  Andrew introduced the guests one by one and they each came up and played a song or two. There's nothing like an audience devoted to the musician, and the people of Nashville have an enormous appreciation for the art of music. They aren't shy or rude, and it was truly wonderful to see the warm welcome they gave to each artist, well-known or otherwise. I was taken completely unawares by the presence of Caleb Chapman, frontman of one of my favorite bands, Colony House, who's got a powerhouse of a voice packed into a budding twenty-something indie rocker. It was an eclectic mix of Nashville's homegrown, alongside music-makers from other scenes.

  Jon stepped up to the mike last of all, and asked the crowd, "I think what we need is a waltz, right?" The crowd laughed and he waited. "The answer is... yes!" Then he started into Only Hope, the very first Switchfoot song I fell in love with. The strings and piano sections behind him made it feel like the song had been pulled straight out of the record and was now echoing off the old walls. When he finished, he tuned his Taylor a bit and started into Your Love Is Strong, a favorite from one of his solo EPs. Another guitarist played along with him and Caleb backed rhythms on his electric.

  Moments, unironically, last for only a moment. It's strange to think that future we anticipate becomes further in the past every second we live. Jon finished his song and the crowd dissipated for intermission. And if the evening had ended there it would have been worth it.

  As we all settled into our seats again, Andrew started It Is Well With My Soul, singing softly. The audience joined in, and he stepped away from the mike as the sound of two thousand people singing in perfect melodies filled the air. The notes lingered as he sang a song written about and completed in the Ryman, and we listened once more. Then he and the band started playing through the Behold the Lamb of God record, guests reappearing on the stage one by one as the songs began. By the end, they all stood together, singing the last chorus of The Theme of My Song. They bowed together, and the concert was over.

  We waited in the lobby to see if any of the artists would come out, but the ushers started asking everyone to exit, and we reluctantly left. Outside in the cold, my dad gave the valet our ticket, and we waited by the door for our car. At that point the musicians did start coming out, on their way to their respective cars and homes.
 I waited aimlessly, attempting to not get my hopes up, but lo and behold, through the door comes this normal looking guy, guitar case in one hand, keys in the other. I looked at my dad and mouthed, "Get your camera!" and made a beeline for Jon.
 "Hi!" Oh my gosh, my voice is three octaves higher.  
  "Hey!" He smiled and I wrung his hand, keys and all. "Y'all enjoy the show?" I assured him that yes we did, absolutely. "I mean, the Ryman, right?"
  We chatted for a minute, and then I asked him if I could get a picture. "Yeah, let me just call my in-laws real quick." he replied. He put down the guitar and started dialing away at the speed of a dozen turtles, like any adult, and I stood somewhat awkwardly while he told the person on the other side of the line that he was on his way home. He hung up and someone else approached him and began talking. I thought, Oh no! I didn't just lose my chance, did I? But as soon as the fan left, he turned to me. "You wanted a picture, right?" We took a quick photo, and I thanked him and he moved on as someone else quickly struck up a conversation.
  My dad was scrolling through his phone with a confused expression on his face. "It's not here. All the other pictures I just took are on here, except for that one."
  "What?!"
  "Hang on, we'll take it again." He walked up to Jon and explained, and Jon came over again.
  "We did that on purpose." I laughed, as we took the picture for the second time. As I shook his hand, there was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to thank him for the humility that permeates his music and his philosophy. I wanted to tell him that Hello Hurricane had been getting me through the last four months of getting out of bed bleary-eyed, and that Restless will be my anthem until the day I die. I wanted to ask about the upcoming EPs and the next record they were working on as a band. I wanted to know what he thought of Francis Shaeffer and Shaeffer's opinion on Soren Kierkegaard, to talk about how hard music is to create and to play.
  I said, "Thank you."
  He said, "Have a good night."
  And the valet came and took us to our car.
  Jon shouted "Merry Christmas!" to the small crowd still hanging around the entrance, and walked himself out to a little white rental, which he piled his things into and drove away. I watched him go, and seldom has the feeling of surrealism been so strong. I knew, in that moment, that it very well might never come again. That whether or not he would remember, a very real connection had been made between a San Diego songwriter and a girl who wanted to survive in the same meaningful way.

  There is acceptance to be found in moving on from events you can neither change nor re-experience. I treasure this memory, tinged with the regret that time will warp it into something it was not, that perhaps it already has. It didn't change the way I listen to his songs, the way some of them fill me with a higher longing for something I can't yet perceive. But I am so thankful for this good moment in my past. Life can be too full of bad ones. Perhaps the joy is lost from life not through its absence, but by the fact that it is so often ignored. I am thankful for Jon. I am thankful for his kindness and his genuine love for his fellow man. I am thankful for a character which permitted me to tell my dad, "No, he's not a star. He's just a guy." I'm thankful for the struggles in his life that have allowed him to create such deep and meaningful art, and I am thankful, as strange and as hard as it is to say it - for my own struggles. I will look back on my life and find that it has held meaning. This is a truth I wake up to, and this is the truth I will live my life trying to affirm. I am thankful for Jesus, the reason for this evening and my existence in the first place.

~Margaret

Taking Steps

Today is not the first step. Today is not the beginning of the rest of your life. Today is the continuation of a journey that began before you were aware enough to think your own thoughts. Many things will happen in 2015. If I had to guess, I'd say they'll be both bitter and sweet. But nothing that happens this year will be the deciding factor of your life, because no event can define you. Not like that.

  I have always preferred different measures of time than the changing of numbers at the end of a twelve month cycle. Other things communicate the passage of time to me better than a date. School, hobbies, the day I was born. These are the things with a greater impact.  Yet today is the day the world has chosen, a day of new beginnings, fresh starts. Many practical and intangible goals are made today, most never to be reached. Why do we make these resolutions? What are we looking for?

  I would chalk it down to two things: Self-definition and self-worth. Both are intangibles that can never be reached through accomplishing a list. The heart of both issues is simple. "Never let your worth depend on something you may lose." What defines you? Your body? Money? A talent or a hobby? Believe me when I tell you that if this is all you are, then you will assuredly lose it and with it, yourself. Worth cannot be found in what others see. Who we are comes from within.

  Are resolutions totally in error, then? Of course not. But as someone I used to know said, "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail." The issue does not lie in the resolution necessarily, but in the way you approach it. I don't think that the beginning of a new year is a good enough reason to start something. It has to go beyond that, beyond forms or conventions, beyond your desire to appear good before others. It must be a desire voiced by your soul above all else. If you do not believe in it, why do you think you will allow it to change you?

  All that to say, I have made resolutions myself. There are things which I want to accomplish in the future, yet the fickle nature of Time means I cannot put a date on when I hope to see them completed. They are not new things, rather those elusive tasks that are revealed after many days of searching for truth in the wrong places. I want to be a better person. I want to live intentionally, which promises a great amount of guilt but even more productivity. I want to love people based on the soul that we have in common, instead of writing them off for the superficial discord they bring to me and my ideology. I want to continue learning about my Creator, the One I thought I knew so well, though I have discovered in recent months that my ideas of Him may turn out to be very mistaken.

  I'm learning just how much I do not know. I have discovered that most of my life has been lived in unconscious confidence in myself and my opinions. That confidence is fading. The universe is wide open to me now, and I am becoming more and more prepared to learn its ways as each day passes. I believe in a God who loves me and knows me by name, who I speak to every day and who answers me, for He holds all the answers within Himself. I know right and wrong, but it is the grey areas I am eager to penetrate. I have learned that compromise is the difficult and beautiful line on which our existence balances, that without polarity, meaning has no place.

  As this year begins, with its freshness and possibilities, I am looking for answers. I am looking for myself. I am looking for a hope beyond my own, for a day on which the sun does not set, for a land where pain has vanished and peace is overpowering. I am looking for the meaning in the suffering, for the light at the end of the tunnel, for something that brings freedom from the chains, protection in the fight, and joy in the journey. This is the path I will walk, because I see no other that can promise anything I want. Tell me, what are you looking for?



~Margaret

Margaret is Back! ...Maybe??

  I know what I want to say. I sit here, and thoughts come and fade, and the page stays blank. Not for lack of words, but lack of will. Writing poetry, letters, or funny Instagram captions is easy, non-committal, and can be pretty cathartic. Blogging, however, is not.

  Blogging is hard. Sitting on my bed and pouring out my soul in larger fractions, whether funny or serious, is not so therapeutic. It takes more work. There's a lot less image-control that goes on here, lately. But it is far more rewarding. The blogging community has offered me so much, from love, to support, to simply a fresh insight on something I needed to consider from a new angle. It makes me think about what I'm giving back to it. Right now, the answer is not much. 

  That, however, changes from now on. About a month ago, I promised myself not to shut off any outlet that added something positive to my life, any muscle I could strengthen that both myself and others could reap the benefits from. I put effort into some outlets, but have let others slip, like this one. However, this blogging thing is not a slippery slope. All it takes to blow the dust off and get going again is a few simple clicks and an empty document. The control is there for me to take. 

 But I haven't felt so much like taking control of late. Actually, the past few months have been the craziest series of completely out-of-control events I think I've ever experienced. But it's okay. I'm learning to believe God when He says that things happen for a reason, and understand that while a few of my feelings have been stepped on and a few new realities are now on my horizon, I am not broken. I am quite the opposite of broken. I think maybe I'm dusting myself off along with this website. 

  I have a problem, though. I can't blog the way I used to. I almost didn't sit down to post tonight, because I don't feel like I have anything funny to say, or anything that sounds remotely like something someone would want to hear at all. And I learned something: I am a different person than I was back in June. Or October. Or even last week. I can't go back to where I was, because I don't fit there anymore. As Caitlyn said to me while speaking on a completely-different-but-rather-related subject, as we change, we have to find new holes, new homes. If we try to go back to our old hole, we find that we are differently shaped now, and don't really fit at all. I suppose I'm out looking for my new hole. 

  What this does not mean: That there will never be a funny sentence from the mouth (or pen) ((or keyboard)) of Margaret Carpenter again. Of all the things I do not intend to do, sitting around and moping long past moping's expiration date is at the top of the list. Like I said earlier, I want to get back up and in this race of Life. I'm rediscovering that I'm still a worthy competitor. But getting back up may look a lot like this, a few more muddled, vague, distracted posts from me while I'm trying to find my voice. 

  Guys, I can't tell you what a relief it is to know that I still have a voice. That I still have something to offer. That God has not created me to be faced by one set of formidable struggles and be defeated forever. That the very fact that I am alive adds meaning to the world. How crazy is that? I haven't found everything I'm looking for yet. But I believe with all my heart that that is the very essence of our time here on Earth - the idea of always searching, always reaching, always running for what is almost attainable but barely out of our grasp. It proves that what we're after is something maybe a little bigger than what we see with our eyes. I like the idea of looking beyond the available world, because I believe all true meaning is found in that place outside - of our comfort zones, our biases, our tastes, what we think the world should look like. 

  After all of that, I have one thing to say: Guys, I'm back. And as cheesy as it sounds, (and is, sheesh) it's good to be home. 

~Margaret

Happy Birthday

Today is October 12th, and this blog is officially one year old. I don't have the wherewithal at this point in time to put into words, as I would like to, how grateful I am to all of you who have offered me encouragement and uplifting words over the past twelve months. You guys brighten my days, and I am thankful for each one of you.

~Margaret

On the Brink of Something Bigger

I'm taking a moment from the frantic whirlwind around me - frantic because I'm leaving for the nation of Haiti in less than 13 hours, and though I should have begun packing roughly three days ago, the first time I even considered what I needed to take was.... about six hours ago.

This being my third trip to this tiny Caribbean country, I think I've got the packing list down, but the mental preparation is a bit more daunting. Here I am, little American girl with suitcase in hand, standing right on the edge of something so much greater than I. I recognize the spectrum of emotions I always feel before this journey. Anticipation, concern, excitement, and a dose of apathy as well. These are the polar opposites of the ones I feel coming back, which range from sorrow and joy to absolute, total disgust.

Why?

Because every time I go I learn to love new souls. Every time God spreads His light a little further into the darkened box of humanity that is the island of Hispaniola. Every time I see just how much I could do without and just how willing I am to do without it if it means just one day longer with these children, these precious, precious children. Because I know that when I leave them, I will inevitably at some point not cry every night for their poor, starving bellies and their empty eyes. And it breaks my heart that every year I would be so able to underestimate the human's ability to forget. And every time I say, "Not this year."