when did this change happen?

We used to be friends,

Now I struggle to keep eye contact with you.

And we've resorted to small talk, if anything.

I want us to be friends again.

And then I want us to be more than friends.

I dream about falling in love with you.

And I'm not talking about daydreams.

I'm talking about waking up with an ache in my heart,

Wishing I could go back to sleep.

Tonight, all I wanted to do was to talk to you.

I wanted to tell you all of this.

I wanted that so badly that it made me want to cry.

I miss the way you taught me.

I miss the way God used you to change my life.

I miss how comfortable I was with you.

But it's not quite right.

At least, not right now.

And maybe it will never happen.

But maybe I'll dream of you tonight.

And maybe it will come true.

being me.

I am not an athlete.
not by any stretch of the imagination.
So when I realized that I had registered for Lifelong Physical Awareness and hadn't really exercised all summer, I was a little freaked out.

During the first workout (9/2), I was regretting my summer laziness.
And I continued to regret it for the next several days.
I could not move without every part of my body crying out in pain.
But during class, I wanted to fit in and work hard and not let anyone down.
I was assuming that everyone was holding a stone, poised to throw it at me if I showed weakness.
(More about that later.)

On the following Tuesday or Wednesday, I rolled over in bed and felt something like a pop in my abdomen.
My abs had been hurting for a week, but this was different.
I was a little concerned.

When I got to class that Thursday, I tried to do a push up, and it felt like something was trying to push its way out of my abdomen.
I was seriously concerned now.
I told Coach Randolph, and, after jokingly asking me whether I was pregnant, he had me walk/run around the perimeter of the gym for the rest of the class.
I did my best.
I walked hard.
I felt it the next day.
The abdominal pain went away sometime over the weekend.

Last week, I had a pain in my neck, I was tired, I was feeling lazy.
I slept through class and worked out on my own time.
And I felt good about it.

Tonight, Dr. Ted Bryant spoke at Vespers.
He talked about how so many people at this college cling to being fake.
We cling to the image we want to create.
We cling to the idea that we must have it all together, and that we don't belong here if we make mistakes.
He dared us to be real.
He told us to try to be ourselves for one week.

He's so right.
I have a Pastor's Kid Complex.
For some reason, I think that everyone is waiting for me to screw up.
And I feel that if I show my flaws, it will reflect poorly on my dad.
I know that the people who would blame my problems on my parents have their own issues.
My mistakes are not my parents' fault.
My faults should not be seen as reflections of my dad's ability to help lead a church.
I know this.

But I have struggled to shake the imaginary pointed fingers and jeering grins.
I keep my mouth shut because I don't want to say anything wrong.
I don't want to look stupid.
I don't want to look weak.
I don't want to look like I don't have it all together.

I have hid behind a facade for the past several years.
Middle school was difficult for me.
I was awkward.
I wore strange outfits.
I didn't like to ask for passes to the bathroom, so I always bled through my pad and had to wear sweatshirts tied around my waist every time I was on my period.
I was a crier.
I tried to fit in and I learned tough lessons.

After I left middle school, I was determined to avoid situations that would give opportunities for ridicule.
This has continued for six years.
I have missed out on so much that has happened around me.
I hate that.

I hate that I assumed such awful things about everyone around me.
I hate that I projected my insecurities onto my friends, my family, my peers and classmates, my teachers, my directors, strangers on the street, and even onto God.
I forgot that He loved me anyway.
I ignored His promises.

But He never did.
He is teaching me more and more about His love.
He is showing me grace, and I am learning how to recognize and accept it.

And when I wake up in the morning, I will go to Lifelong Physical Awareness.
I will wear a yellow tank top, brightly colored plaid shorts, black leggings, and pink and black striped knee-high socks.
And I will be confident.

I am me.
I am discovering the woman I was created to be.
I will not conform any longer to the patterns of this world.

I will gasp for air, I will sit down, I will lag behind the other girls as we run around the gym.
And I will do these things with my head held high.
Because I have no reason to be ashamed.

Good night, readers.

Sept. 1

It's always a weird day for me.

My body knows what day it is, so it never wants to get out of bed.

Then something awesome happens, so I don't have time to think about what day it is.

A series of wonderful events occurs, and it's almost always a great day.

Until it's night time and I'm alone with time to think about what day it is.

And then I cry.

My sister died twenty-one years ago.

I didn't know her, of course.

If she had lived, I probably wouldn't exist.

But she's still my sister.

She will always be a part of who I am.

One of my biggest fears is that we won't all recognize each other when we get to Heaven.

I don't know all of what the Bible says, or how ambiguous it is about this subject.

I know that we will have resurrection bodies.

I hope and pray and beg that I will know my sister.

I know that if I don't know who she is, it won't matter.

But I want to know her.

I talk to her. I feel a little weird about it.

But I know I'm not the only one who talks to someone who has died.

I don't know whether or not she can hear me.

That's all I have for today.

the emotional pain of my latest piercing.

On my last night at home before returning to school, I was spending time with my "little brother."
We were walking around the mall and talking about tattoos.
I wanted another one.
I knew it wasn't a god idea, and I knew that my mother would kill me.
But I wanted another one.
Just for the sake of getting another tattoo.
I texted my friend Elizabeth, with whom I was going to be getting ice cream that evening, and asked her if she'd like to join us.
We picked her up and were on our way.
We got to the shop and I signed the paperwork and made a snap decision about what to get.
My internal conflict was a huge hint that being in that place was not a good idea.

As I sat and thought about what I was about to do, I considered my parents.
They would not be pleased with me.
We were all getting used to the ink on my foot, but something new, even in a place they wouldn't see, would mean serious discussion.

You see, I have never been good at keeping secrets from my parents.
I just can't do that.

I ended up deciding against the tattoo.
But I couldn't leave the shop without getting something done.
Pride. That's what it was about.
I opted for a piercing.
I would have loved to get my nose pierced, but I definitely couldn't hide that.
I am against getting my bellybutton pierced, because I sleep on my stomach.
I don't like any kind of lip or eyebrow piercing.
I needed something out of the ordinary.

I chose a spot on my right ear about halfway between my earlobe and my other cartilage piercing.
I knew through the whole process that I was making a mistake.
I was sinning.
I had the wrong attitude about all of it.
I was dishonoring my parents and therefore disobeying God.

But I did it anyway.

Hurt like nobody's business.
Worse than any of my other piercings.
About the same amount of pain as the tattoo, but a wider needle.
And it didn't stop hurting when the guy took his hands away.

I took Evan back to his car, and Liz and I went out to Jefferson Pointe to meet our friend Emily at Coldstone.
My ear was killing me, I was an emotional wreck, I felt ill.
I had just wasted money.

After we got our ice cream and sat and talked for a while, I knew I had to confess.
I changed my facebook status (lame, right?) and called my mom.

When I got home, my parents were not pleased.
We still needed to load the van with all of my school stuff.
(I had been driving it that evening, just like almost every evening all summer.)
I had disobeyed them.

We had a great talk about my attitude.

I chose to keep the earring in as a reminder to not be impulsive.
My ear still hurts and it's been really crusty.
So much so that I took out the hoop today and put in a stud for about an hour.
I put the hoop back in.
It's still healing, so I'm not surprised that it's been gross.
But it's super gross.

Yes, Mom, I'm keeping it clean. :-)

In happier news, I feel much better about the situation that led to my post the other night.

Good night, readers.
You are wonderful.

a blog for blog's sake.

I haven't really felt like writing lately.
I've started two posts, but haven't really gotten my thoughts straight, so I'm not going to finish them right now.

My first few days of my sophomore year have been pretty good.

Tonight was a little frustrating, because people just don't like to hear tough love.
It seems like no one I know will listen to reason.

We've all been through struggles.
Don't try to make it seem like yours have been worse than mine.
Don't tell me that I don't know what it's like.
Quit projecting. You're the one who's upset. I'm just sick of hearing about it.
You are not excused from turning the other cheek just because you've been slapped twice.
You don't get to lash out just because you were the one with the broken heart.

Just got done with a facebook chat with my mom.
Missing home more than I expected to.
My heart is so raw right now and I'm sitting here sobbing as I type.

Feeling a little lost tonight.
Please pray for me, readers.
I just don't know what to do.

I'm not Linda

"Grabill Missionary Church, this is Hope."

I'm only here this week, so I can't answer all of your questions.

I can tell you that Kelley Sewell is not here. He's in Belize right now.
And Sarah isn't here either.
I can try to connect you to one of the interns, but their office is in the basement, so I don't even know whether or not they're in the building.

No, Star is out for the rest of the day.
(That's why I answered the phone.)
And Linda isn't here, either.
(That's why I answered the phone.)
Yes, I can schedule you for a time for your directory photo.
There aren't any slots that are completely open, but no one is taking the full 15 minutes, so we can fit you in.

Yes, Jon is here.
He's my dad.
I'm Hope Swanson.

I am not Linda.
I can't give you all of the answers that she could.
And I'm sorry that Star isn't here to help.

Kelley is gone, Sarah is gone, Pastor Bill is gone, Lee is gone, Marsha is gone, Kim is gone, Linda is gone.
Right now, I'm the only person in the building.
I hear noises, and I expect someone to come around the corner, but it's just me.

And now I'm going to lock up and leave.

fingertips on fire.

I just started to learn/teach myself how to play the guitar. I've been playing the piano for almost 11 years, and I love it. But I figured it was time to be able to play an instrument that's a bit more portable.

A few weeks ago, my dad brought home a guitar. I think it's his. Last week, he had one of our Worship Pastors re-string it. The strings were about three years old and had rusted.

I've learned a few chords in the past week, but tonight I finally decided that I need to get serious about it. So I can play a G, an Em, a C, and a D. In that order. Very slowly. After about ten or twenty minutes, I had to quit.

My fingertips are on fire. The slightest touch causes pain. If you play guitar, I'm sure you know how this feels. It's not fun.

I'm frustrated with the guitar. It doesn't make sense. The piano, that makes sense. Chord progressions are in the same relative locations no matter what the key. On the guitar, it doesn't work that way. You have to change the length of the string to change the note. And you have to build the callouses. And you have to build finger strength. My ring finger is the worst right now.

I'll keep practicing and I'll keep posting about it.