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If you want my child, you gotta take my kin

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Family is a phenomenon that I don’t quite understand.

Everyone’s family is a bit strange – this is something I’ve been told time and again. I’d definitely say mine is no exception to that rule.

Before I go any further, let me preface this by saying that I love my family very much. I am related to them after all. While that doesn’t necessarily go with the territory, I think it should.

Still, I don’t fully understand the way that my family functions. We’re not terribly close knit – never have been. To be quite honest with you, I don’t understand families that are, though I do hope someday to have a close knit family of my own. But for my family, holidays have always been more of a time that we are forced to hang out together because that’s just what you do, not a time where we are excited about spending quality time with one another.

When I visit my extended family in Birmingham, I can’t help but think to myself, “I’m not so sure they even like me. Love me, probably. But like me? I don’t know about that.” We just don’t have that much to talk about. My sister is the bubbly, outgoing, entertaining one. I sit on the sidelines and observe. I don’t really know them, and they don’t really know me. I don’t know how to change that. Sometimes, I’m not even sure if I want to put the effort into it being any other way.

All of this concerns me. I don’t want these patterns to carry over into the family that I will someday co-lead with my husband. I want to have a good relationship with my in-laws, as well as see my husband interacting with my parents and siblings comfortably. I love my family, despite of their many quirks. (Hey, we all have them, right?) It’s important to me that the man I someday marry love them, as well. I pray, though, that the family the two of us will create together will still be altogether different than the one from which I originate.

Once, twice, three times a lady

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Scene 1: Flickering candlelight provides the room’s only illumination as the faint scent of honeysuckle lingers in the air. From a corner, strains of soft jazz spill out of the stereo. In the center of the candles that circle the room sits an introspective soul, lost in her solitude. She peers down from behind the curly tendrils that have escaped her ponytail in favor of framing her face. Pen in hand, her notebook paper is quickly filled with the ideas that have been rattling around in her mind. It seems only natural ‘ in her life, any pensive mood demands a pen, indeed. While the melodic rain falls outside her window, she takes another sip of chardonnay and sinks back into the pile of pillows behind her. Eyes closed, she soaks in the peaceful night.

Scene 2: Gone are the tulle and eyelet lace, as they find themselves replaced by pressed and starched cottons. The sun has risen, and a new day of work has begun. She is confidence and maturity on high heels. Her no-nonsense attitude gets her far in her career, but doesn’t allow her colleagues to come too close. Perhaps at the close of business she’ll let down her hair and join them for dinner and drinks. In the meantime, though, she’s got goals to accomplish and business to which to tend.

Scene 3: At last, the weekend has arrived. Jeans and a sassy tank top are the uniform of choice, and her eyes are now highlighted by her gold shadow and black liner. Odds are that she’ll don her favorite army green jacket and her ‘too cool for you’ attitude as she pursues whatever entertainment the days might hold. Here, she is at her most extroverted, and certainly her most flirtatious. She thinks it somehow appropriate when her curls are wild and free to release that aspect of her personality. Her coy smile and fluttering eyelashes betray the woman she is when she’s all alone.

Behind all this make-up, there’s no one you know

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’ll warn you up front that you’re probably going to think that I’m fishing for compliments as you read this entry.

Get over it. I’m not.

That sounded harsh, but I’m being serious. I don’t want to find fifteen comments at the end of this post that all read something like, ‘awwwwww, but you’re great, don’t think that way, okay?!’ If you have insight to offer, please do. That’s why I have that comment link down there ‘ and I love reading what y’all have to say. But let’s not use that as a tool for building up my too fragile ego. Deal?

I wish I could articulate why the significance of outward appearances has been weighing so heavily on my mind lately, but I don’t understand it. All I can tell you is that I have been observing how concern for beauty (on the part of me and others) affects my life and how I handle myself.

I fear that I’m not going to come close to saying what I mean. Let me try to explain this to you.

I’m not one of those quick-shower-and-ready-to-go kind of girls. When I ready myself to face another day, it’s a full out event every morning, regardless of what I’m doing that day. I bathe, I moisturize, I pluck my eyebrows, and I do my make up. I will not leave my house without taking these steps.

In fact, it’s a rare day that I’ll leave the house in jeans and a t shirt. I don’t like wearing t shirts. They’re not dressy enough for me, and I am generally trying to look my best at all times.

But why? Why is it that I am constantly powdering my nose to reduce shine, even for just sitting around the apartment? When I glance in the mirror, I quickly evaluate myself and decide if I’m looking cute enough. Who am I trying to impress? Does anyone really care about how I look as much as I care?

I’m frustrated with myself. I fear that I’m placing too much weight on my outward appearance, and not enough on more important matters. I feel superficial and ugly in this, if you want to know the down and dirty truth. I don’t like this aspect of my personality.

I suppose insecurities lie at the root of the problem. All throughout my life, I have been compared to people around me, and without fail, I’ve been told that they’re more attractive than I. These evaluations haven’t been made by evil boys who were out to break my heart (a shocker, I know ‘ I’m not proclaiming the wickedness of men at all). Instead, I’ve been informed repeatedly by important women in my life that someone else is prettier than I am. So-and-so is always the gorgeous one, and I’m considered cute, at best. (Ordinary is a word used more often.)

Lest I blame others for my problems, I remind myself that I shouldn’t place too much weight on the opinions of others ‘ nor on physical appearance! (Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.) The Holy Spirit within me reminds me to busy myself in growing my character and studying the Word, but my flesh is all too excited when learning that my Mary Kay lady is having a 40% off sale. (Perhaps a new shade of blush would perk these cheeks up’.)

As I’ve pondered this particular hang up of mine, I wonder if it has any connection to another question that’s weighed heavily on me. I seem to be bonding more quickly with guys than girls lately, and that’s a phenomenon I don’t understand. I’ve always been closer to the women in my life than the men; in fact, up until the past few years, I’ve practically been frightened by the opposite sex. But suddenly, I find myself launching into entertaining conversations with them quite comfortably. How odd.

Or perhaps it isn’t. Again, I question my motives. Am I striving to build up my self esteem by gaining acceptance by men in an area where women have so often put me down?

Many of you know that flirtation has been an area of struggle for me in the past several months. This is perhaps the ugliest portion of my personality that I could reveal. I’m a woman, and therefore a successful manipulator. {Insert wry smile here.} I’ve discovered a knack for getting attention when I want it, and I hate it.

When the boys are flirting, I feel desirable ‘ whether the guy is actually interested in me or just messing around. I put on the coy act like it’s a second skin. It’s an attempt to come off sweet and innocent and cute as all get out, but when I step back and look at myself, I see so much ugliness.

(Again, the holy side of me argues with the flesh. One laments the situation and prays that the poor boys see my ugliness for what it is; the other nervously hopes that they’re thinking to themselves how great I am.)

I recognize this sin, yet I have the hardest time tearing myself away from it. Too often it takes place in private, where there is no accountability available except for from the object of my flirtation himself. What can I say? It’s fun. That’s what disappoints me the most.

If this sounds all too familiar to you, as you may be one of the boys I’ve flirted with, I apologize. I don’t need to offer anything with my words that I’m not willing to back up with my actions. Until I am willing to offer you my affections (should you even be interested in accepting them!), I need to cut it out.

I am longing for fellowship. The craving for women who I can share these struggles with is deep (but the women who have been closest to me in the past are hundreds of miles away). And you know, I truly love my brothers as well, and I love the insight that their perspective offers to me.

The love of people who see the ugliness of my sin and yet still consider me their friend amazes me. I’ve had a few reminders of such friendships lately, and what blessing they have been! I wouldn’t trade them for a quick ego boost. But these ridiculous attempts on my part to build up my self esteem ‘ I would love to bid them good riddance.

If you want my glory, you gotta to take my sin
If you want my future, you gotta to take my skin
If you want my heart, you gotta to take my blood
If you want my bed, you gotta to take my lust
–Derek Webb

As good as I was to you, is this the thanks I get?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

From where I lay on my bed, I can count ten volumes containing my thoughts over the years. I know that, just out of my line of vision, a spiral bound notebook holds page after page of poetry and prose. Just opposite the foot of my bed sits a box that contains, among other things, every published word I’ve ever written. Both yearbook and newspaper articles abound.

I am literally surrounded by thousands ‘ perhaps millions ‘ of words in this room. Those that have flowed from my own pen are kept in good company with the likes of CS Lewis, Sean Watkins, Patty Griffin, Francine Rivers, and Derek Webb, among others. The books and songs that have influenced my life cover my walls, inhabit my CD player, and find their liner notes strewn about the room.

As I wrote a letter last week (another outpouring of my daily word count), I looked about this room and began to wonder: what will come of my words when I am gone?

They are at home now among some of the great authors (and some veritable, albeit respected, unknowns) of the past century. Someday, though, I’ll pass from this world, leaving these volumes (and likely countless others yet to be written) to some unfortunate relative who will then be responsible for determining their fate. What will become of these pieces of my heart?

Unlikely though it may seem, I actually do pick up my old journals and pour over the pages on occasion. While in a particularly pensive mood, I may select a volume from several years past and turn to the present day’s date in that chapter of my life. Sometimes I discover that what I wrote then is still a struggle today; others, I look back and smile at the victories of life.

But what value do these words hold for anyone else? When I’m dead, will anyone treasure these books as I have? Will the time spent creating my high school yearbook be significant to someone else? Will all of these words serve as a memorial to the life of their author ‘ or will they be better suited to decomposition in a landfill far away?

These are days you’ll remember

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

A year has passed.

She sits at what she’s beginning to think of as “her table” in her favorite coffee house, soaking up the atmosphere and reflecting on the past 365 days.

It’s been a long walk to get here, and much of it covered rocky ground. Her feet are calloused, and her knees tender. As she looks about the coffee shop and sips on her strawberry tea, she again wonders why it happened this way. All things happen for a reason – a belief she clings to – but even now, she doesn’t know what that reason could be.

Perhaps she’ll never know. She thinks that to herself and nods. That would be okay; she doesn’t have to solve all of life’s mysteries. Ambiguity – in some instances – is acceptable.

In any case, she’s come to accept the circumstances of the past year as lessons well learned. The uncertainty and magnified insecurities were scary at the time, yes. But she looks back to who she was twelve months ago, and she knows the changes have been for the better. At last, she’s beginning to consider herself a woman, not merely a little girl lost.

She has become her own friend. She has the confidence to pursue her dreams, but the presence of mind to know that things won’t always work out as she hopes. She’s prepared to face either situation. Risks are no longer something only other people take, but journeys that she too is willing to embark on.

Tangible evidence of the changes of the last year is something that she lacks. The stamp left on her life, though, bears witness to the good that trials may bring.

Chillin’ out, relaxin’, maxin’ all cool

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

On the whole, this has truly been an unremarkable week. I have done nothing that is really worth sharing. You could even argue that this week has been a waste of time. For the most part, I think I would agree.

Oh, but not tonight. Although my time has been spent lounging about my apartment, it has been time well spent.

Sometimes alone time is the most appealing option. (I’m fortunate that this has been the case tonight, as I didn’t have many other choices!) Indeed, I don’t know that I would’ve enjoyed the past six hours so well had they been spent doing anything but exploring the additions to my CD collection, reorganizing said collection, slowly turning the pages of my current novel, renovating my home on the internet, and jotting a few wayward thoughts down into my journal.

I’m so glad that I am my own friend. As such, a candle lit evening of solitude is delectable indeed.

You are not alone, I am here with you

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Yesterday I was starting to feel sorry for myself. After leaving a place where I was so connected to other people, it’s sometimes hard not to throw a pity party.

I’ve only been here for two months, and I’m not foolish enough to think that I should have developed life long friendships in such an expanse of time. The friendships that I do expect to carry with me to the grave took far longer than this to be cemented.

Still, it’s only natural to miss the kind of fellowship I once had. In Tallahassee, God really taught me the significance of bonding to others, particularly within the body of Christ. He pulled down the walls I’d built ‘ walls that I was so accustomed to that I didn’t even realize they existed. I began to allow people to step over those ruins and get a glimpse of my heart. Through His grace, I found friends who not only truly knew me, but loved me in spite of the insecurities and imperfections they saw.

I’m so grateful for modern technology! Even though each of those people is hundreds of miles away, our friendships persist. A quick phone call or a few written lines sent over the internet keep them near.

Maybe the friendships I make here will find their way to similar life-long status. Or perhaps the year I’ve got ahead of me will yield a master’s degree but little else. Regardless, I carry the knowledge that I am loved ‘ both by an indescribable Savior and by His people ‘ close to my heart. The longer I focus on that fact, the harder it becomes to keep a pity party intact. It might do me some good to dwell on it a while.

I long to see you so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong ‘ that is, that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith. Romans 1:11-12

The music of my heart

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

It seems that the word “romance” is a favorite in my vocabulary. I use it quite a bit, especially as of late. But look around – there is so much “romantic” everywhere!

Now, you must keep in mind that when I use the word romance, I don’t necessarily mean flowers and love songs and swooniness. That’s one type of romance, yes, but in my opinion, that’s not all there is to it. I find a romantic quality in so much of what I see in this world, as though God is wooing us to himself through His creation.

The romance doesn’t end there. I love to lose myself in a painting – my mind goes a wandering. Where am I? What’s going on here? What did the artist feel when he was painting this picture? What about it appeals to me?

But I think that perhaps the most romantic thing to me is the power of words. When used adeptly, the words that compose a good book can transport me to another time and place. They can take me outside of myself and my tiny little world and teach me new things, serving as my tour guide on an exploration of time, place, and knowledge. (Everything I need to know I learned at my local library!)

When set to music, the power of words are somehow amplified. My appreciation for good music is forever growing, and I’m not entirely convinced that it’s a good thing. 🙂 I’ve purchased four new CDs in the past month – and yes, that does add up to roughly sixty dollars! (Think of how many cute new shirts I could buy with that!)

Yet I consider it a worthy investment. I’m not sure that my words can adequately convey to you the way that these discs impact me. Silly though you may think me for saying so – music challenges me as a person. It’s often a tool of growth in my life.

You see, music isn’t merely background noise to me, but rather the soundtrack to my life. So many songs have challenged me to examine who I am – my faults, insecurities, strengths, deeply held beliefs, and dreams. For a song to send me to my knees in prayer or to a passage of scripture is not unusual. Many times, the song may not be explicitly about God or “spiritual things” – but the truth is that God is real life. He’s in everything. Whether the song is designed to praise His name or whether it speaks of locking doors, it all comes back to Him.

If that isn’t a sacred romance, I don’t know what is.

I wanna feel that rush

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I am in a very romantic mood.

I suppose that’s the only thing keeping me up at this late hour – these moods are pleasant and should be thoroughly enjoyed. 🙂

I’m at my parents’ house in Jacksonville, lying in what was my bedroom just a month and a half ago. My possessions are all gone now, but the rugged, romantic feel that I had hoped for when I selected my paint color (a rosey sort of brown) lingers still. As I lay here, the room is lit only by my computer screen (’cause that’s romantic – right) and a softly flickering candle on the bedside table. The guest bed is queen sized, which always feels more “grown up” than my dinky twin sized.

This is the sort of night – the sort of setting – where writing poetry and love letters seems only too appropriate. Granted, I don’t have anyone to write love letters for – at least, not anyone in my life right now. (He’s out there somewhere!) But when I get into this sort of dreamy mood, my imagination can run rampant.

It’s a safe bet that I’ll probably give myself the royal treatment when I get ready tomorrow. Who doesn’t like feeling their best? After all, Mr. Right could be just around the corner….

(…though, truth be told, I hope he’s in a different state. Florida? Not so much…)

And the greatest of these is love

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I don’t have anything profound to offer tonight. However, as it’s been quite a while since my last update, I figured I ought to present at least that.

Lately I’ve been doing a lot of thinking (a dangerous pastime, I know). More often than not, my thoughts have turned heavenward. I’m surrounded by people, but none of them know me yet on a very deep level. Some are headed in that direction; others will never approach that side of me. Regardless, almost every person I interact with has brought a challenge to my life.

I suppose that’s a good thing. Lessons are learned often as a result, and often from the most unlikely people. God has been gracious enough to use some of the people who frustrate me the most and situations that I abhor to challenge me.

Some of these lessons speak to me of positions that I maintain on various issues (Calvinism or Arminianism? To kiss or not to kiss? and so on), but the overriding theme is love.

Yes, when that bartender at work hits on me, my response should come in love. As I walk into a room where two girls are sharing their experiences of kissing other girls, my reaction ought to bear love. While people challenge my beliefs and act out in ways that I am strongly against, even still, love should cover all.

Sometimes this love doesn’t come easily. More often than not, it doesn’t come easily! But then, didn’t love lead to the ultimate sacrifice?