Photobucket      Photobucket      Photobucket       Photobucket

Thursday, December 23, 2004

My grandparents from Texas are visiting for Christmas. I get apprehensive and nervous about people visiting us. I can't quite describe it, but ever since I was little, I sometimes feel sick to my stomach when extra people are in our house. And other times, too. I get it less now than I used to, but it still happens. It's hard to explain, but I think it's when I'm either uncomfortable with myself, or uncomfortable with others. And I feel that way a lot. And Lane was here for most of the summer, and a little selfish bit of me misses having just my own family in our house. I'm an introvert. I talked to Dad about it on the way home from work on Tuesday. My Dad is so great to me. We just talked about being an introvert and what it's like and how it's okay. I think I always feel more pensive about things when I'm home. Maybe it's just that I have more time to sit around thinking.

There are things I miss about my life the way it used to be. I wouldn’t go back, but still. I guess I’ve always had a hard time with change. In a weird sort of way, I miss loneliness. I miss the internal-ness of it all, and the way I used to write all the time. I love to write. I miss the way I used to read a lot, too. I miss a lot of things. but I love my life now, too. For real. It's funny... when I first transferred to Wheaton, I missed Biola. I could still remember so many feelings and impressions and thoughts and sounds and sights so vividly. Then, when I transferred to Gordon, it was the same thing all over again, but missing Wheaton instead. Now, I'm still at Gordon, but in some ways, I miss the way I was and the way my life was at Gordon last year.

But when I say that I miss it in some ways, I mean in some small ways. Because my life is good and I am happy. And in the midst of it all, I am growing into the person of me. I think.

Things are so different when I’m at home or when I’m at school that it just gets confusing. I don’t always know what to do, or if I’m making the right choices in life. Some things seem very far away. Things that are most natural and most familiar to me when I'm at school seem so distant when I'm at home.

Nothing’s going to change; I try to never make big decisions when on vacation. I always decide before coming home that I won't even let myself cut my hair during break. Because my viewpoints about various things shift between home and school. But this is confusing to me, because which one is right? Which one is me? Shouldn’t things be the same no matter where I am?

I must write about one more thing before going to bed:

A surprising thing happened this afternoon. I'm playing my violin at all the Christmas Eve services at my family's church. There were two services this evening, and there are three tomorrow. At one point in the service, the lights all go out and I play the first phrase of O Holy Night all by myself. I was nervous about this and was worried I didn't know how to make it "musical" enough, so when I got home from work, I practiced it a few times, trying different fingerings and shifts and bowing and phrasing ideas and things. Then I played it for my Mom downstairs. My Grandaddy was there too. Now, my Grandaddy can sometimes come across as being a somewhat critical person... or at least, I'd say he's difficult to please. Also, he's not a Christian. Well, after I played the phrase, my Mom talked to me about how it sounded, and then Grandaddy said he wanted to tell me his thoughts on it. I prepared myself for a criticism, even though he's not a musician or anything. But then he proceeded to try to explain that even though he didn't know much about violin or how I made it sound a certain way, that it was beautiful and that it was the most moving thing he had ever heard played on a violin. And... he was sort of crying. I was so amazed. I was so surprised. Wow. If my playing can have a fraction of that effect on people in the Christmas Eve services, then I think that God can use it... for real.

No comments:

Post a Comment