Combat Mode

I have been surrounded by emotion, but emotion is fleeting and confusing. So I am combatting it with truths.

“The great thing to remember is that though our feelings come and go God’s love for us does not.” - C.S Lewis

My name is Priscilla Gray. 

I live in a beautiful area.

I was born into a family that already had four children and was made larger 2 1/2 years later with the birth of my little sister.

I am an aunt to the adorable, Callie (as of 6:43AM[MT] this morning).

I can’t help but care about people.

I don’t handle emotion well.

People bring a lot of emotion. 

I care about them. 

I don’t handle emotion well. 

God’s grace is sufficient for me. His power is made perfect in weakness. (2 Cor 12)

When I feel overrun by emotion, my first response has been to bury it under any noise I can find. 

”Crying is all right in its own way while it lasts. 

But you have to stop sooner or later, 

and then you still have to decide what to do.”  - C.S Lewis

Even when it is hard, I have made my choice to live within 

God’s plan. Every other option is terrifying and distasteful.

“Shall we indeed accept the good from God

 and not accept the adversity?” -Job 2:10

When it feels like there is a storm inside of me that tearing my heart into a million pieces, simultaneously suffocating me and drowning me, crushing the very center of my soul I know that God sees and cares. 

“But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, He who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; when you walk though the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” -Isaiah 43:1-3a

When I feel utterly alone and unknown even to myself. 

God knows me. 

He made me. 

He put me here. 

There is a purpose to this pain. 

“Pain insists upon being attended to. 

God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, 

but shouts in our pains. It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

 -C.S Lewis

When all else fails, breathe in and out, feel your heart beat, 

and give thanks for the most basic life functions. 

People and all the emotions they cause have no mandatory power over me.

 All the power they have is given to them, by me, by choice. 

“...you whom I took from the ends of the earth, 

and called from its farthest corners, 

saying to you, 

“You are my servant, I have chosen you 

and not cast you off”; 

fear not, for I am with you; 

be not dismayed, for I am your God; 

I will strengthen you, 

I will help you, 

I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

-Isaiah 41:9-10

When life is swirling tornado of love, faith, pain, joy, confusion, loneliness, seeking, losing, ice, warmth, tears, laughter, annoyance, hope, and instability, I have stability. My life is built on a Rock. When the silence around me is screaming, it should only drive me to find the quiet of my Foundation.

“I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. 

You are yourself the answer. 

Before your face questions die away. 

What other answer would suffice?” - C.S Lewis

“Have you not know? Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He does not faint or grow weary;

his understanding is unsearchable.

He gives power to the faint,

and to him who has no might,

He increases strength.

Even youths grow tired and weary,

and young men shall fall exhausted;

but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;

they shall mount up with wings like eagles;

they shall run and not be weary;

they shall walk and not faint.”

-Isaiah 40: 28-31 

In the end, this will pass. Everything will pass away. 

And there will be nothing left but God, unhindered. 

I, in this moment, am fighting to abide in that truth. 

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. ¹⁷ For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. ¹⁸ So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." - 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

The Anticipation of a Coming Generation

Yesterday was my sister-in-law's due date.

This means at any moment my brother will become a father. 

I am having some trouble wrapping my head around this. 

My brother, with the green eyes, the bald head and the fluctuating facial hair. 

My brother, who would steal my favorite teddy bear, run to the bathroom and hide it under the sink, but flush the toilet and tell me that the bear was floating down with the discarded toilet paper. 

My brother, who would randomly break into song, or even rarer,
into dance, in the kitchen as we fixed lunch.

My brother, who used to pick on my sister Charissa for not being a Yankee (born in IL himself) and will now make his jaw-shifting, eyes-slightly-narrowed, eyebrow-raised, dissatisfied "humph", face if you mention he was ever happy living anywhere above the Mason Dixon line.

My brother, who has been making eggs or oatmeal
 every morning for breakfast for years. 

My brother, whose car turnover rate was so extreme that in the first eight or so years of driving, he had eight or so cars. Not because he wrecked any, he normally improved them, he just got tired of them I suppose.

My brother, who has mastered the art of contented, contemplative
silence and one-word responses.

My brother, is so ferociously protective of his family that he gave each of his single sisters some form of mace/knife etc before we moved away from him, threatened my now brother-in-law with shooting him if he was not 'good to my sister',  and is  concerned that  the hospital his baby will be born in does not have metal detectors on the doors.

My brother, who signed up to coach wrestling at our high school,
with no real experience in the sport. 

My brother, who has grown from a college student, content with spending spare time driving trucks through mud and rocks, and buying new packs of socks rather than doing laundry, into a man who fights for every above average grade, on top of work and growing family concern.

My brother, who has the most ridiculous and understated sense of humor,
that you really have to know him to see. 

My brother, who used to practice "screaming" for the 'heavy metal' moments of the songs that his high school band would play (Kyris - maybe you'd heard of them).

My brother, who introduced to me the music of Brad Paisley
alongside the concept of having pride in where you live and where you are from
(excepting those two years up north).

My brother, who waited and prayed and fought for his wife, the amazing Pam, who so seamlessly fits into our family and with Andrew himself, that it couldn't be anything but God's plan.

My brother, with whom I can recall every serious conversation I've had.
And his calm, thoughtful expression and who's advice still echoes in situations I face today.

My brother, who, good decision or questionable one, has never once lost my respect or pride because he has always made it clear, that good or bad, his life and purpose comes back to a pursuit of God and at the end of the day that is what is important.

My brother, who within a matter of the days will become the one responsible for teaching
how to grow,
how to keep teasing friendly,
how to be confident enough to dance through the kitchen,
how to be strong enough to protect your family,
how to be weak enough to learn,
how to make eggs,
how to take pride in where you are from,
how to pursue what you love,
how buy a car,
how to listen and not overreact,
how to give anything your all,
and most importantly, how to pray and submit your life to God.

In the course of one conversation I had with my brother as I shared some of the struggles I had been facing at camp that summer he shared with me 2 Corinthians 12, a group of verses that had made a huge difference in his life.

"But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." - 2 Corinthians 12: 9-10

When I see my brother now I am exceedingly proud of him. I have sat behind him (I am seven years younger) and watched him grow and face life. I know there is plenty that I missed, plenty good and bad that I have not seen, but there is plenty that I have. And the most prevalent of that is my big, imposing, strong, protective brother's ability to be weak and to let Christ work though that weakness. In that conversation in a canoe on my, 18th birthday, he was weak enough to be even slightly transparent with his little sister (who he had not spent significant amounts of time with since I was about 11) see that he struggled and at the time, see that he submitted that to God.

I am human enough to know that my brother, no matter how awesome I think he is, is not perfect and I do not expect him to be, but I have seen, and continue to see, him step back and fight to submit his worry, his anger, his irritation, his heart, his relationships, and his self, to God. 

That is what makes me so proud of him. That is what makes me respect him so much. That is what makes me so excited for him to be a father.

My sister in law's due date was yesterday.

This means that at any moment my brother will become a father.

That child is freaking blessed. 

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The Release of Pent-up Air From Your Lungs

Today I was looking through my old files on my computer and was pleasantly surprised by a completed work (I have a bad habit). It makes me feel sentimental about school, or my current lack thereof.

I sigh.

The blinking cursor mocks me as it sits marking the beginning of what is supposed to be a short story. 

First person. 3-10 pages. Double spaced. Times New Roman. 12 point font. 

The specifics are rolling over and over in my head. My index finger taps lightly up and down on the “j” key. My eyes drift towards my hands, willing them to start thinking for my brain and type their own story. 

Hmmm. 

There is a faded scribbling of a pen on the back of my left hand reminding me to buy stamps, read the Aristotle essay, email my professor, call my sister, and write a story. I scratch the back of my head then my forehead, then my leg. The wall next to me is white, with an odd brown stain that was there when we moved in. I never thought to wonder where it came from. Maybe I could write about that. 

My fingers start moving along the white keys. 

“Harold and I didn’t notice the stain when we first moved in. I wish we had. It would have been nice to have known the story so we could have been better prepared.” 

2 years of writers
block- abridged.

I stop and hit my head lightly on the keyboard a couple times. A random collection of letters and symbols appear after the final period. I delete them and then the rest of the writing. Better prepared for what? Something gory? Something sad? Something hilarious? How melodramatic was that opening? And why in the world was Harold the first name I picked? The cursor starts to mock me again. 

My stomach grumbles. 

Food will help. 

I get up and walk to the kitchen. I open the fridge and stare into it blankly for nearly three minutes before letting out a frustrated sigh and closing the door. I go to the cupboard and grab a bowl and some cereal. I go to get the milk out of the fridge. We're out. Of course. I grab a pen off the counter and add “buy milk” to the back of my hand. I think about pouring orange juice on the cereal, but then think better of it. I dump the corn flakes back in their box and grab a bag of chips and the carton of juice and head back to the computer. I finish the bag and wipe my hands on my sweatpants. 

I glance at the clock. 7:83 PM. 

We need a new clock. 

I pick up my cell phone. 7:43PM. 

I start biting the inside of my lip. 

I move the mouse to the bottom of the screen and open the internet. It takes twelve minutes to answer my emails and facebook post. I watch a video Elijah posted about a father telling his son that monsters are real and that he and mommy had a deal with the monster that if he goes to sleep and doesn’t make a peep the monster won’t get him. I laugh out loud, even though it was not that funny.  Maybe I could write a children’s story. 

“There once was a magical unicorn named Matilda. She had and evil uncle Bruce who was a bear. A black bear. Fact: Bears eat Beets. Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.” 

I laugh again to myself, but figure the joke will be lost on most kids, which is a real shame. Besides, Bruce and Matilda? I am really off my game. Maybe I could write a story about people with out names. I could call them “Thing 1” and “Thing 2” and “Thing 3” and so forth. But no, darn Dr. Seuss went and monopolized that market. 

My head stats hurting so I get up to get some water. As I sit down I stare at the cup. Water makes me think of the ocean, which makes me think of Shia Le Beouf, because once we watched his TV show while we were at the beach. I begin to wonder if his new movie is out. I pull the internet back up and search for it. 

I watch the trailer and three subsequent suggested trailers. I figure while I am online, I’ll check facebook again. Nothing new, but I look through my old teacher’s photo album from her family vacation. I feel slightly like a stalker, but it's entertaining. 

Now it is eleven minutes past nine. My eyes are starting to droop and I do not have one word down. 

I blow my cheeks full of air so they expanded like a blow fish, then let them out like I got punched in the face. 

I realize how ridiculous I must look, and tell myself this, out loud. Then I began to wonder so I pull up the web camera on my computer and take a picture of my bored, brainless self. The shutter clicks and the picture adds itself to the saved shots from last week's eight-page research paper and February's Beowulf debacle.

My mom used to tell me that movement helped you think. I crack my knuckles. 

I doesn’t work. 

I stretch my legs out.

Nothing.

I stand up.

Nada. 

I do a handstand against the wall. The blood rushes to my head. I flip back down. 

My brain is blank. 

I throw a few punches at the air. I draw a flower on my wrist with a sharpie. I eat some cheese. I dance to an annoying song. I buy the annoying song on iTunes. I try to come up with a good name. Irene. Phillip. Gladys. Cherry. Frank. 

I try a yoga pose. I try Aristotle. I try just sitting. I eat some chocolate. I close my eyes

It hits me.

I walk back to the computer still forming the idea in my head. I lick the chocolate off my thumb and stretch all ten fingers before gently placing them on their proper keys. I feel my mouth curve into a smile as my fingers begin to move. 

“I sigh...”

by Priscilla Gray

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Sounds of a Study Lab

I now work in the College and Career Readiness department of Tri County Community College. This means that I usually end up doing a lot of things during my three-hour shifts (it's part-time) one of which is occasionally facilitate an open lab for people who are studying to take their G.E.D.

Last night there were very few people and they were mostly studying on their own, so I grabbed a scrap piece of paper and a pen (which I have to travel with as this department has an obsession with pencils. I find, on average, one, three-year-old, promotional pen to every five #2 pencils) and then started my own version of a writing exercise.

Sidebar: I have found that being out of school, I will periodically give myself homework. Like telling myself to sit and think about the sounds I heard and how to describe them, rather than doodle. 

--------------------------

Sonic* Studying

- The rhythmic vibration of the old air condintoner, alternating between noise and quiet, like a weary Grandfather napping in an threadbare arm chair, snoring, in and out.

-The muffled static of papers sliding together and apart.

- The frustrated knock of a pencil hitting the table, only to be picked back up again seconds later. As if the driver of the wood encrusted lead was only looking for a different sound besides the steady pull of the black tip against the white scrap paper.

- An extended and somewhat labored copier, broken up by the incessant beeping of an error warning, which is broken up by the curt, yet good natured, "Shut up!" of the operator of the machine.

- A wide range of sighs:

     -The frustrated one that preceded the the pencil drop
     - The weary one that starts with a slow intake of breath
     - The wishful one, accompanied by an expression implying that their eyes are seeing anything but the ghostly yellow/white of the wall infront of them.

- The dynamic tones of the lead facilitator as she jokes back and forth with students. Inflecting more on the punchline of dry humor than on any legitimate statement or direction.

- The stifled puffs of air pushed, in quick succession, out of the nose of the girl who seems incapable of not laughing at everything that happens or is said.  

-------------------------

There was more sounds to be sure, but the students left and the lab closed. 

*Sonic |ˈsänik|: adjective 

relating to or using sound waves.