Pan Plan Pain Plane Pan

Dear Hannah G Love [and anyone who reads this],

Writing is my release. I am not so good with speaking--it always comes out pausy and weird...and usually not what I intended lol. But writing makes sense. So my head is crammed and empty at the exact same time. And since I have no idea where I am going with my music these days, I figured I might as well keep writing blogs until I figure it out. I have to get this out somehow.

God directs us, right? He directs us in our path. He makes sure that we are going the right way and He is always speaking to us. He doesn't sit back on His throne in Heaven, wind up a clock, and say, "Here goes nothing!" He is always working in us.

So He has a specific plan for me. A specific plot and a specific scheme. From the time that I was born to the time that I die, God wants to use me in every way possible. He doesn't want me to be in pain, but He does put me through tests? Tests to see if I am living by faith. Tests to make sure that I am not trying to control everything. Tests for me to grow.

So God has promised me a whole lot. He has promised me life, grace, mercy, forgiveness, life, love, life, love; the list goes on and on. He has promised me a purpose and He has promised me gift after gift.

He is walking with me down this narrow path and I can only see a few feet in front of me at a time. Everything around me is dark except for a small light shining down through two clouds. This light steers the way for my feet. My feet stumble and I trip a lot. I fall onto the dusty ground. The ground is cold and gravity tries to keep me there. The ground tries to tell me that I should turn to the dark. I should turn to anything except for the light for help. I am too tired to question it, so I do end up turning around. Running away.

Eventually I need light again. My eyes are blinded from being in the dark for too long. I crawl back to the lighted strip of land, hopeless and hopeful. The light is a shock to my system. From there God picks me up and carries me back to where I need to be. And I feel somewhat stronger than I was before. Only because Christ strengthened me.

We all need to be reminded every day of God's love. Because it only takes one negative thought for you to want to turn around. To run away. To try and control the plan. BUT GOD! GOD has it down! If we could just see it and live it. Everyday.

Love,
Hannah L

clutter.

I hate stuff. Today I hate it. Why do I have so much stuff? Next to my yoga mat there is a sheet of paper on my floor, a candle, two empty water bottles, a string, a charger, a t-shirt, and an envelope. My dresser is dusty and I won't dust it because there are bobby pins, pens and paper stacked on top of it. My bed has a Target bag on it, a pair of sweatpants, my Bible, another water bottle, and 5 pillows. My closet doors will barely close because I have so many old shoe boxes and shoes and clothing and GAP bags and Target bags and DSW bags and ERG! TOO MUCH. For WHAT? WHY must I have SO MUCH STUFF. And honestly, compared to most people I know, I have less stuff then them. I usually get rid of things when I move from place to place--so now I'm not really left with so much clutter. But it's still SO MUCH CLUTTER. Too many displaced objects that I don't know where to put. So they just kind of collect there, until I have my usual cleaning attack where I must clean everything.

Seriously people, there is something to be said about being simple. Don't be a collector unless it really means something to you. I mean don't get me wrong; I keep things and I love being sentimental. But I have too much stuff. I want to throw it all into a giant Hefty bag.

I think it's driving me crazy. That and being home.

That's all.

Hannah L

Thoughts on "Bothered"

From reading your blog "Bothered," I realized just how bothered I was. And I'm beginning to believe that you can change the things that bother you. You are SO RIGHT HANNAH. And I knew this before, but I just didn't believe it.

When my hair bothers me, I get a haircut. When my back bothers me, I go to physical therapy. When my head bothers me, I take Ibuprofen (which I probably shouldn't do). When my dog bothers me, I give him a bone. When my body bothers me, I go for a run.

But when I am bothered by a good friend who called me a name (a name you wouldn't ever call a friend), I don't do anything about it. When I am bothered by the fact that me and my dad barely speak to each other, I don't do anything about it. When I am bothered by Karen giving me attitude, I don't do anything about it. When I am bothered by Satan, I don't do anything about it. I give in. I let things go too easily. And I hate it.

I want to fight for everything that I believe in. If it means telling off my friend to make sure that he never calls me that name again, fine. If it means going out of my way to strike up light conversations with my dad, fine. If it means scolding Karen, fine. If it means calling on the name of Jesus--then thank God. Because that has the best results.

I am tired of not saying anything. Of keeping things in. It's so much like living a lie. And I'm not trying to be all dramatic or anything...but I want to be honest. I guess I'm just afraid that what I say doesn't make any sense. I am just a poet (lol) who thinks too much and over analyzes. Sigh.

IN ANY CASE! The weekend of my show was just...I still am so surprised by it. Everything went right, nothing went wrong. I had to do nothing but trust in God, and He pulled through EVERY TIME. I will have to tell you the details later, but let me just say that God is good. You would have LOVED the venue. It was folk central station. And Stephen drove me and helped me set up and supported me and..he is amazing. I could go on for pages about him, lol. But I probably shouldn't do that..on here. :)

This entry was way weird. No idea if the context has a point or not...or if it's even interesting to read. I hope it is. These are just my thoughts at the moment, as I sit on my kitchen counter top drinking mint tea--again. Sigh. Pretty sunset to watch outside my window. Columbus is sitting on the floor under my feet. He's so cute.
Tell me how you're doingggg. And I'll see you in two days! Love you Hanner! And everyone who reads this :)

--L

Release.

It's been a while since I have been this content.

I'm by myself in an empty house in Princeton eating a TV dinner listening to Priscilla Ahn's cover of "Julia" by The Beatles. The sun hasn't set yet and there is a faint breeze filtering through the window screens.

My friend has been kind enough to put me up in her house for the week since I'm in town attending a seminar. This is one of the most charming houses I've ever been in. I slept with a piano, a guitar, and a violin in the house's practice room on an air mattress that had a hole in it. It was one of the best sleepovers I've ever had. This morning, I woke up on a deflated mattress and a grin on my face.

I love my family and friends and I like my hometown and all, but this is just what I needed. Right now, this moment is causing me to stop and be at peace. Let life come. It's a lot like singing. Music. It's not about control. It's about release.

Can't wait to hear about your show, L. Miss you.

Love,
G Love

Bothered.

When I was a senior in high school, I wrote for my school newspaper. I can't really remember why I signed up for the class in the first place. I had no aspirations of becoming a journalist and to be honest, I never really read our newspaper during my previous three years at the school. I probably just wanted an "easy" class. Or maybe some of my good friends decided to sign up for that class. Yeah, that was probably it.

Anywho, writing for the newspaper was foreign to me. I knew how to write essays for school. They had formulas. Introduction. Body. Conclusion. BAM. I was good to go for my AP English Language and Composition exam (not really, I scored terribly). Writing for the newspaper was somewhat different. I mean, yeah, you had to include certain things if you were writing in the news section - who, what, where, when, how, blah, blah, blah. But I got to choose what I would write about, what I thought was important enough that the rest of the student body should hear about it.

I found my home in the editorial section. This is funny because when I was in high school, I was deathly afraid to share my opinions. At one point, I was even convinced that I didn't have an opinion about anything. I avoided participating in any class discussions because I was afraid of offending someone or I was busy shading all the coffee mugs I had sketched in my planner. I feel that I'm a lot better at writing than I am at speaking (if you know me, it's awkward turtle all the way with me, man) when sharing my opinions. So, writing editorials it was.

I bring all of this up because this morning, I came across several issues of "The Talon," as it was called (our mascot was a screaming eagle) that I had written articles for. I don't know if you've ever had that experience of watching yourself in embarrassing home videos or listening to how you sound in your cellphone's outgoing voicemail message and you exclaim, "I looked like that?!" or "I sound like that?!" When I read my past articles, I had that same feeling. But it wasn't of embarrassment; it was a feeling of wonder... What happened to my heart?

In one issue, I wrote an article titled "Trash Talk" in which I discussed how my classmates and I complained about the cleanliness of our school when we were the ones leaving our trash everywhere. At the end of it, I challenged our students to throw their trash away and any other trash that was lying around, even if it wasn't theirs. In another issue, I wrote an article about our society's definition of beauty and how it was up to our generation to redefine it. I remember interviewing girls about their ideas of beauty and one girl answered this:

A beautiful person isn't necessarily someone who looks perfect and acts perfectly all the time. It's someone who is comfortable with herself. She knows she has flaws, and yet she still finds confidence beyond those flaws.

The one news article I did write was about my friends and I and our trip to Africa. The whole time I was reading these articles from my past, I felt like I was reading the work of a stranger. Taking action about the problems in our world, telling girls that they were beautiful despite what society was telling them, getting together with my friends and serving others... these desires, these actions, seem so far from where my heart is now.

When I was in Tanzania, I remember one of our friends saying, "Things change when we are bothered by something." Isn't that the truth? People lose weight when they are bothered by their lack of energy or because they are bothered by how they look in their clothes. Someone might change their seat at the lunch table because they are bothered by the smell of their friend's tuna fish sandwich (SIKE, I LOVE TUNA). So the question I'm asking myself is: What bothers me? And a question for you (you = Larson and you = our readers): What bothers you? And a question for all of us: What are we going to do to change what is unjust in our world? If we won't do it, who will?

Enough of my rambling. Your last entry was beautiful. A sort of peephole into the mystery that is Larson. Thanks for sharing :]

Love,
G Love

the PK

Dear Hannah G,

I have been referred to as the PK or "pastor's kid" for as long as I can remember. I grew up in churches, I prayed the "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer every night, and I had a wooden plaque above my bed that said "Hannah: Graceful One."

My dad did Bible Trivia at the dinner table once a week and gave me a dollar if I answered a question right (more like Bible Bribes). I moved states every two years and moved churches and houses and schools. My parents always told me to be on my best behavior so that the people in the church would know that I was a good little girl. Same with my two brothers and sister of course. I put on a nice outfit and went to church every Sunday. I watched my parents smile and greet the people and invite them over for dinner. My mom put on a dress for any sort of church event. And when we were planning to pack and move again, my parents would say, "Little bird, don't tell anyone at church yet, okay?" My life was one big mystery to people, and sometimes there wasn't any use trying to explain it.

God made me into some sort of nomad. I never stayed in one place for too long. And I guess it sort of forced me to trust in Him because He was the only thing that was constant. He was the only one who followed me wherever I went...and carried me for that matter.

But when I wasn't thankful that God was keeping me safe, I was doubting and turning away. I was rebellious and irritable. I didn't listen during church and I didn't read my Bible on my own. I wanted things to be MY way, so I tried my best to control things. Control. Why am I always trying to have it? And when I read my Bible, nothing would stick. All of the memory verses and all of the stories dissolved somewhere in my head and I just didn't trust it. I didn't think that God was really there.

I was talking to someone about the Bible and the book of Revelation, and I realized that I didn't know much about it. I'm not sure exactly what I believe will happen when the world ends. And then they said, "Well you're the pastor's kid, you should know." And I don't think they meant anything by it, but it struck me. And all of this popped into my head this morning, and I had to get it out.

It's strange to think that the past is nonexistent. Everyone tries to say that the past doesn't matter. But seriously, it may be nonexistent, but it's still a part of history. And it's a part of my history. And I just had to get this out.

The other day Stephen said, "It's not nonsense, it's Godsense." Hah! Isn't that so true? We aren't really supposed to understand it all, because we are just His little creatures. I kind of think that God is protecting us by letting us be a little ignorant. His love and His perfect plan is so great that we will never fully be able to wrap our minds around it; while we're on this earth.

But we can see glimpses of it. Like those amazing sunsets I've been seeing lately. And when I climb to the very top of a mountain to a lookout. When I feel His love through another person. When I realize that I could have never planned out my life to make so much sense.

I really loved your post. Posts, actually. Hahaha. Sorry I disappeared for awhile. :]

Love,
Hannah L

Pot, porn, penguin sex, and all.

Dear L,

I've recently been reading a book titled Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. And by "recently," I actually mean "the past two days." Maybe you've heard of this book or maybe you haven't. I heard about this book a few years ago from some friends and I refused to read it.

Until yesterday.

I'll be completely honest. I was wary of reading this book because I didn't want to become another victim of some passing-craze in the Christian subculture. Over the past few years, I've begun to develop an aversion to "fads" (be it a phrase like "W.W.J.D" or even literature like "The Prayer of Jabez") that seem to sweep Christians across our nation off their feet. While the intent behind such ideas may be "good," to me, they just come off as another way to somehow cut off ourselves from the world, in a bad way. I had no idea what this book was about. I assumed it was some book giving Christians yet another formula to follow to "live in a more godly way" or "hear God better."

I was wrong. And I am so glad. There are countless quotes from this book that I want to include in this entry, but then, I might as well just retype this whole book. Which I won't do. But at least to give you an idea of what this book is all about, I'll share with you what is written on the page titled "Author's Note":

I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn't resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes.
After that I liked jazz music.
Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.
I used to not like God because God didn't resolve. But that was before any of this happened.
- Donald Miller

I read that yesterday and before I knew it, I was on page 35. I know why I cannot tear myself away from this book. It is because it is honest and real, and I mean really honest and real. This book is a compilation of his honest thoughts on Christianity - how we can get so caught up in religion that we miss the point (aka LOVE); how there are people who do not label themselves "Christians" but know so much more about what it means to love than people who do call themselves "Christians"; how we often confuse "faith" with "feeling"... the list could go on. This guy's thoughts echo so many of the thoughts that have been spinning around in my head. It's not sugarcoated at all. It's completely human. Pot, porn, penguin sex, and all.

There are seasons of my life when I feel like I can say with confidence that "God is real" and "Jesus is God." But then, there are so many more seasons of my life when I try to explain this "belief" out loud and I just feel outright silly. There's a God? He became a man? Do I just believe this because I was raised this way? I am in this season right now.

And trust me. I've tried to break away and figure things out on my own. But I keep coming back to this God thing, this Jesus thing, and I can't tell you why. I don't know why.

All I'm really sure of is that GOD DOESN'T MAKE SENSE. I don't think He's supposed to.

And that intrigues me. Because humans by nature want to make sense of things. Of everything. And maybe some can argue that the concept of God is another way of making sense of things.

But what if in fact He is real, and there is eternal life after we leave this earth? What if we truly were designed to live forever? Maybe that's why it hurts so much to say goodbye to people. Because it wasn't meant to be that way.

I don't know. I just read over these past couple of paragraphs and I sound like I'm crazy.

But it's whatever.

All I'm saying is that this is one hell of a book.

You should read it.

Love,
G Love