Thoughts on God, Eve, and Me

A few summers ago, I read John Eldredge's book "Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman's Soul". Despite a title which may scare a few men who might not want to know anything more of the mystery that is merely women, this book was probably one of the best I have ever read. What struck me so deeply about "Captivating" was how honestly and accurately the author portrayed the deep wounds that lie within every woman, wounds dating back to The Fall when Eve, our misguided first woman, sinned and therefore tainted her wonderful relationship with the Lord. Before reading this book, I always thought about this story as if it were a fairy tale. Of course I cursed Eve for causing such horrible things to happen to women as, for instance, the pain of childbirth. I have not experienced this yet, but from what I have heard, that kind of pain is definitely fallout from The Fall! But "Captivating" revealed to me that Eve's slip-up is in every single way the same as my own failure to follow God and devote myself, my life to Him and Him alone. In the wake of reading this book, I wrote a poem, from Eve's voice or point of view. Though her lament, her despair may seem far removed from our own lives, listen closely for the ways in which her story, her circumstance, are so closely linked to your own.

Eve

By Cara Parliament

I live in the dark valleys
of the shadows of my soul.
wounded by the past,
afraid I am un-whole.

My heart holds the pain
of a distant memory;
one where I am beautiful,
the life you meant for me.

Now I am left searching
for the life I used to hold.
But scarred by the journey,
I am left bitter, hurt, and cold.

You promise me forgiveness
and the life I so desire.
Only You can make me lovely
and raise me from the mire.

I long for love and meaning;
Only You can understand.
yearning for your healing touch
I stretch out to grab your hand.

But just as I am in reach
of The Father’s tender grasp,
I am bombarded with lies again,
echoes of the past.

Shrinking back in fear,
trembling as I cower,
Oh when will I realize that
my beauty lies in Your power!

I live in the dark valleys
of the shadows of my soul
wounded by the past,
afraid I am un-whole.

Something

I wrote this poem a few weeks ago as I pondered my own inability to be satisfied with my life. I feel that this is such a universal feeling, not unique to myself...that everyone longs for something more, even when we cannot figure out what more is. So without further ado, my first posted poem.

Something

Contentment.

We may define it, but can we really understand what it is.

Has one ever experienced it?

It’s funny to me…

How no one is ever truly satisfied with their life.

We trudge through each day with a sense that there must be something more,

Something better

And at the end of the day,

When we haven’t found that allusive something,

Disappointment and depression sink in,

Even when the thing that is missing has no name,

No form or figure to help discover it

No clear definition, no tangible quality.

And yet we long for something,

Something better

Something more,

Something that if found

Will deliver

Contentment.

CBP

Walls

I have been thinking about walls a lot recently. Not the king of pretty brick walls that are seen frequently in my neighborhood enclosing trees or delicate flowers, nor the strong sturdy walls that hold my little home together. These walls are not awe-inspiring like the Great Wall of China, but more seemingly impenetrable much like the Berlin Wall. I am talking about walls that cannot be seen, but are evident everywhere we look...personal walls, protective mannerisms and deceiving facades that almost everyone builds around their true self to shield others from getting to know the real person inside.

My husband and I describe these structures as being 8 feet tall, maybe taller, and probably just as thick. There are no openings to allow outsiders to catch a glimpse of the mystery that lies on the other side. No, people with walls do their best to keep others out, merely peeking over the towering barriers to permit others to see only their best face, their seemingly more likeable persona.

As I have been pondering walls, I have been struck by how so many people seem to have built them up around their hearts. You see, walls protect us from getting too close to others, becoming too authentic, and thus leaving the heart in an extremely vulnerable position. Even with close family or friends, the walls stay in tact. As my brother put it in a conversation we had the other day, "I don't think our parents or even you, my sister, know the true me. If you knew some of my thoughts or ideas, you might not approve." To have my brother, one of the few people I let see the real me, say this to me was very striking. Even the most bold person I know cannot be himself all the time.

What baffles me most is the purpose of walls. Do the walls really serve to keep others out for fear of the discomfort they may experience when discovering what is beyond them, or are we personally too uncomfortable with ourselves and who we really are to let others in? I think both are true statements. Beyond our tough exteriors what we really are is a raw lump of clay, imperfect and incomplete. We are flawed, faulted, and forever in fear of being discovered for who we really are. Heaven forbid anyone find out about the real me, we think, or worse..that someone might have the ability to penetrate our barriers, gaining access to our hearts, and cause our walls to come crashing down like the walls of Jericho.

What I am discovering about God though is interesting in relation to my rant on walls, or at least it is interesting to me, a girl who thrives on building the tallest , thickest walls around my heart. If we truly seek God we discover Jesus...and Jesus, the central figure of my faith, was the most completely authentic person who ever roamed the earth. He never once hid his feelings or stifled a thought about a subject for fear of how others might react. He was honest about who He was, and what's more, was unashamed when others rejected Him. Boldly, and yet surprisingly humbly, Jesus approached those He encountered on a daily basis, and He was real about it...so real that it scared others.

SO what does this mean for me? I think realizing this about Jesus forces me to confront my own insecurities and fears of intimacy. I get so frustrated with people who are fake or put up a front of what they think is acceptable or even those who keep me at an arm's length in relationship, and yet I am guilty of all of these. I am so scared that people won't accept the person that I am, but only want to know the person they have boxed me in to be. I realize that I need to start tearing down the walls around me heart, no...letting God break down the walls...because in order to have any hope of relationship with God, let alone another person, I need desperately to allow my true heart to be known.

Friendships Lost

It is another stormy summer evening in Nebraska. Thunder growls as dark storm clouds chase the sun from a perfectly pleasant June day out of the sky. I watched from my kitchen window as joggers, children at play, and fathers doing yard work were quickly forced to seek shelter inside as the impending storm quickly overtook the early evening hours. Now, as the rain has been falling in thick streams for a steady hour, the only interruption to the evening are the flashes of lightning and the thunder that shakes my little home.

Storms have been a constant to the plains this summer. Though typically we see thunderstorms pop up during the summers in Nebraska, the storms this year have been fiercer, stronger, and more frequent. I have heard many complain about the dreariness and the danger that have accompanied the storms, witnessed plenty of lamentations of how the severe weather has put a damper (no pun intended) on the Midwest for months now. Normally, I would join these people in complaining that the weather has thoroughly ruined a perfectly good evening in which I had planned on a long run and then grilling. However, tonight, I welcomed the tempest, for it fit my brooding, pensive mood.

My foul mood, like the storms, has been a constant for me this summer. Not knowing the cause of my dreariness, I hid out in the office tonight, listening to the rain rat-ta-tat-tatting through the drains, playing a sweet melody accompanied by the percussion of the constant thunder. Here I found entertainment by going through old photo albums I had stumbled upon while cleaning earlier in the week. As I flipped through the pages of smiling faces, memories of friends from high school and college flooded over me. I smiled, a bittersweet smile, as I remembered these people who all had some impact on my life and thought, What went wrong? Faces peered up at me from the pages, faces of people who had at one time meant the world to me and unfortunately, I had lost touch with many of them. I began to wonder how this happens. How do friends slide so easily in and out of our lives? Is it our busyness that forces us to cut ties with people whose time used to be so precious to us? Is it circumstance that causes us to prioritize the people and activities in our lives? Do we make new friends that suddenly seem more exciting and thus edge out the old friends? Or is it really deeper than all of this?

I have moved a lot in my life and I have seen circumstance, time, whatever really take a toll on friendships...but I have also seen friendships thrive despite distance or differences. I befriended a girl named Anne in the 7th grade when I lived in New Hampshire. And though I moved to Nebraska shortly after beginning my sophomore year of high school, I still managed to keep in touch with Anne. Through letters, e-mails, phone calls, and IM chats, Anne and I kept current on each others' lives....she even came to visit once when we were both Seniors. Obviously, it wasn't busyness, circumstance, or other acquaintances that ruled out our friendship when it finally ended...it was something more.

I think in many cases, especially in my own life, friends come and go not because of outside forces, but because of forces deep within ourselves. I know too well my own ability to let friendships die because I feel insecure or uncomfortable around someone. Perhaps an unpleasant confrontation or competitiveness drove me to cut these people out of my lives. As I stared down at the faces of my once close companions, I felt deeply saddened. I could distinctly remember how most of these friendships faded, and unfortunately, I was deeply aware that most of the time it was my fault. Was I such a bad friend, so caught up in my own world, my own needs and wants, my own silly insecurities that I ruined my friendships? Quite possibly. And that scares me....I don't dare trust myself or anyone else to let them too close anymore....for fear that I might get hurt, or worse yet, I might hurt those whom I care deeply about.

So where does this leave me on this gloomy evening? Do I take my ponderings of the night and chalk them up to good reflection or do I learn from my mistakes? Time can only tell.

Reaching Celebrity Status

I discovered something today as I wandered aimlessly around Super Target. Now browsing the aisles of Target is a magical experience in and of itself, but never in a million years could I have imagined having a grand epiphany right in the middle of the coffee aisle. So let me start by setting the stage for you. I was, as I said, wandering the aisles of Target. Oh, I had a list and a purpose for being at the store in the first place, but the prospect of all the wonderful "stuff" in that store had spellbound me and soon I was meandering from aisle to aisle in a trance no one could break. Trying to snap out of my daze, I glanced at my list..."Coffee...that's why I am here...yes, coffee!" I thought to myself and made my way through the throngs of people to find my wares. As I took a slow turn into the aisle, I heard it.... "It's Ms. Sietstra!!!!!" I quickly looked up to see one of my eighth graders and her mom. Pleased with this surprise encounter, I spent the next 10 minutes chatting it up with these familiar faces.

After saying our goodbyes and heading off towards the registers, I again ran into a student, this time one who wasn't as excited to see me, not out of dislike, but out of what I perceived was pure shock that a teacher could ever do grocery shopping. As the sweet girl stared uncomfortably at me, I smiled and commented, "Kind of weird running into teachers at the store, huh?" She giggled shyly and I quickly removed myself from her presence so as to alleviate her discomfort.

So, I am sure you are thinking right now...Hey! I thought she was going to enlighten us with her epiphany, not tell a simple story of running into kids! What gives!? Well, my friend, prepare yourself for the thought that has been on my mind since this chance encounter. I am a CELEBRITY! Ok, so not a celebrity in the way that say, Reese Witherspoon is a celebrity. I don't expect to have paparazzi stalking me or see my life splashed across the pages of the National Enquirer or E! News anytime soon....but in a way, my status as a mere teacher has catapulted me into the status of celebrity.

Let me explain....Because I teach in the same city that I live in, I find it hard to go anywhere without running into one of my students. And these run-ins are always met with strange reactions. Kids act so differently when they see their teachers outside of school. Some, like the girl I saw in Target, clam up and can't think of what to say because they cannot wrap their arms around the idea that teachers lead normal lives. We'll call this reaction, being star struck. These students make the meeting uncomfortable and cause me wish to be whisked away by my PR rep to go meet some other famous people. Others, like the first student, treat me normally and we engage in easy natural conversation that makes me feel like I really am a normal person, not a....TEACHER! And finally there is the category of students we will call over the top. These kids freak out when they see their teacher in public. Much like groupies, they yell and act out eccentrically in ways that they will regret later when they see me at school on Monday. Take for example three of my male students. Upon seeing me at the local Lowe's store, they preceded to follow me in the garden center,racing on their bikes and screaming at the top of their lungs, "Sietstra! Sietstra!!" All in all, they made a huge scene and I was completely embarrassed. I kept trying to duck behind a plant or find refuge behind my husband. I felt just like a celebrity trying to lay low from the media.

So that's how teachers are like celebrities....my great epiphany. So now I am sure I sound very conceited that I would even dare to compare myself to the rich and famous, however I think in light of my silly comparison I have learned something. I really can't go anywhere in this city without chancing a meeting with my current or former students. And because of this, unlike the Brittney Spears of the world, I am careful of my behavior. I think , would I want to be seen dressed like this and have to have my kids remember that? Or, would I want to say something in public or act a certain way that would be unbecoming of the educator I strive to be.

I guess in light of the awkward experiences with seeing students in public, being a celebrity teacher isn't all that bad. As long as I don't end up in the papers anytime soon! :)

Thoughts on Home

Dorothy Gale in “The Wizard of Oz” mused that “there’s no place like home.” Amidst the wonder and magic of the Technicolor Land of Oz, filled with talking lions, scarecrows and men made of tin; munchkins; witches; and wizards, Dorothy longed for Kansas. Although Kansas in it’s drab black and whiteness represented the harsh realities of work, mean old ladies who steal dogs, and natural disasters, it was to this place that Dorothy wished to return to with all of her heart, thus solidifying the cliche that home is truly where the heart is.

Growing up, I never felt completely settled or rooted anywhere. My family moved several times, toting me all over the country from west to East Coast and every where in between and leaving me always searching for the ever allusive feeling of “home.” However, although I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, I felt fortunate to have the opportunity to experience so many places and be exposed to a vast array of cultures. Each place was unique and beautiful to me, holding it’s own mixture of nature, adventure, and culture that combined to shape me into the person I am today.

Despite my appreciation for my nomad-like way of growing up, I still felt that something was missing in my life. Unlike many people, I didn't have a feeling of acceptance or ease that often comes with living in the same community for years. Each new place I encountered, though full of wonderful and new experiences, seemed just like an extended vacation spot. Deep down I knew that this new place, our new house, even new friends were only temporary. It wouldn't be long before Dad would come home to tell us that yet again his company was transferring us.

Probably because of my uprooted lifestyle, I missed out on a lot more than just feeling settled. I realize now that my early life experiences have cause me to be restless. I am like a caged animal if left in one place for too long. Panic creeps into my eyes and a fire stirs up in my heart...I must get out and explore somewhere new before I get too comfortable.

I am deeply aware of my restless tendencies today. School just finished for me yesterday, and I suppose that I associate the end of the school year with moving...as a result I am awfully antsy today. My soul longs for movement, for adventure and excitement, an excursion to an unfamiliar land or an encounter with something new and different....and yet, to my dismay...I live in Nebraska - what adventure could I ever have here!? Not that Nebraska is all THAT bad (save for the crazy Husker fans who I will NEVER understand), but it has become too familiar. It is here that I have spent the most time out of any place I have lived. Moving to the area in the middle of high school, I thought that the prairie and plains of the midwest meant one thing only...the end of the world. There were no oceans to fathom, no mountains to climb, no cities to get lost in....there was just a whole lot of land. And yet, despite my prejudices, I now choose to live here after returning from college and getting married. I guess I have grown to appreciate the openness of the land here, but on days like today, when the wind is just right and there lingers the smell of a brewing storm on the air, my roaving heart begins to stir. I long to pack my bags and leave...never to return to this place...and begin a new adventure in my life.

But there is a problem...I have made a home here...not a home in the sense of place, but in the way of people. My husband, my brother and his girlfriend, a close knit group of friends from church, and soon my parents who are also returning to the area after a long hiatus in Atlanta, Georgia......all work together to give me a sense of being settled, a sense of home. And so, I remain conflicted today. Everything in me wants to fight the idea of being settled, of finding home, and yet to know that there is a place I can always return to is very comforting. I suppose, like Dorothy, I am learning to appreciate my black and white center of my own universe, even though the world of color may seem more appealing, what I really want and long for is the familiarity of the people I love.

A girl, a dream, and a desire

I was out for coffee last night with my friend Julia. Coffee dates are always the best way to catch up with friends, and for me it was a much anticipated break in my busy final weeks of teaching before summer break. We sat talking and laughing, oblivious of how loud we were and how that might affect the other customers at Starbucks. Amidst our deep conversations about husbands, future families, work, and other serious matters such as who would win "American Idol" and what happened on the season finale of "The Hills" (our shared secret obsession), the chatter turned to writing. I love talking to Julia about writing and "the arts" because I feel she can be totally honest with me and will understand my secret desires to be a writer...after all she understands my weird tendencies, why wouldn't she understand the serious side of me?

So....after talking a while about my authoric (yes I made that word up) dreams, I realized something...I have no clue how to even begin to be a writer. Oh sure, I have always scribbled my thoughts down and been known to fill pages and pages of notebooks with poetry, short stories, or just simple lines I think of on a whim, but all that scribbling was just for me. Until just recently, very few people in my life have been privy to the knowledge that I even like to write. My brother and a friend or two like Julia have been my sole confidantes, kindred spirits (to borrow a line from L.M. Montgomery's famous character Anne) if you will, who I knew would never scoff or laugh at my silly dreams. Even my own mother, who I like to consider the person who knows me best in this world, just recently discovered my habit of scribbling. Upon going through boxes of my belongings as she and my dad prepare to move homes, she came across notebook upon notebook filled with journals I had written from the time I was in 6th grade, 14 years of thoughts and stories. When I was asked why she didn't know I ever wrote, I couldn't find an answer. Writing has just been something I have been ashamed of, or at least afraid of for so long.

You see, some people say that the eyes are the window to the soul, and whereas I can see their logic, I can always avert my eyes, swallow emotions, hide behind a wall of aloofness, essentially keep people at a safe distance from what is true and real about me. Writing doesn't allow for this tough exterior. As an author, you bear all, even when not writing about your own personal experiences. So until now, right this minute, I have been a closet writer. A writer who scratched lines into notebooks in the middle of the night by the light of the moon so that no one would discover her. A writer who would daydream in class and begin to compose poetry in the middle of her chemistry notes. A writer who hid her life away in non-discrete journals tucked safely beneath a bed or in a closet, desperately trying not to be discovered. A writer who wrote for no one but herself until this very moment.

Now, thanks to the tender prodding of a friend and the encouragement of my brother, I am ready to write for people. And whether anyone ever reads anything I write in this blog or not really does not matter to me. The audience is not really the point. The point is the leap of faith. And I guess I am taking that leap. So if anyone does read this, bear with me as I embark on this journey of vulnerability known as blogging.