A Writer by Nature

I have been blogging for almost two years now. Two years! And they’ve been the most tumultuous two years of my life thus far, I might add. These two years have seen me ambivalent about more things than I ever thought possible, yet I kept blogging steadily through it all.

I’ve always been a writer. Even before I knew how to write in English, I wrote stories in my mind and drew squiggly lines on paper that supposedly communicated them. In elementary school I would do research papers for fun. I would find a topic in which I was interested, such as bunnies or Minnesota (I am no longer interested in Minnesota), get a book or two from the library, and then write full-on research papers about them. Indeed, I was a strange child.

In junior high and high school I continued to be known for my writerly-ness, as I have come to call it. My papers were hailed as exemplary, and I won little awards here and there for my stories and essays, including the highest honor of the Shakespeare Award upon my early graduation from high school. I’ve been told time and time again that I have a way with words, and I know that my grammar policing tendencies certainly do not damage that reputation. I’ve been able to recently slip seamlessly into songwriting (alliteration! sorry) because of this ease with which I handle the Engligh language.

People have told me I should write books. I once wanted to major in English and do nothing but write books and essays for the rest of my life. But what, I ask, am I to write about?

That has always been the problem. Give me a convincing subject and I can pour out hundreds upon thousands of words on the matter, but without such a compelling idea I am confined to writing of the details of my own inconsequential existance. Thus, the blogging.

Lately I have been trying to keep the more journal-like entries away from the public’s eye, but this has caused me to miss the more formal style in which I used to engage when writing about my thoughts, experiences, and desires. There is nothing like hammering out a good essay; that is the one thing I have missed about school. I haven’t written a truly decent essay since my first semester of college in the fall of 2007. I can still remember how glorious it was, how perfect in every detail, to the point where I didn’t have to change a thing from the first draft to the final product. Yes, I miss formal writing. Perhaps this is why I should go back to school.

It’s a love affair with words, really. That fact is the one of the only reasons I have such a facination with the anatomy of the human body- the parts are all named in Latin. I am a very auditory person, and that fact has led to a few passionate flings with abstact entities. I loved ballet for so many years because of the transporting nature of the music; I love writing for the way sentences tumble out and tie up in such eloquent little bows. Music and words are not like reality. They can be manipulated for the entire length of their existance; they can always sound pretty if worked by a skilled craftsman. In music and words there can be happy endings that in life are not always possible, and for that I love them.

I have no idea where all this talk is going; I am out of practice with crafting coherant literary works, and now that the end of this post is drawing nigh, I am finding myself at a loss for what to do. Should I draw some sort of conclusion, some course of action from these thoughts? Shall I resign myself to continue blogging and forever missing out on the beauties of writing as art? Or should I simply…end it?

I think I shall end it.

My Last Seven Years

Dear Teenagehood,

Thank you for giving me the space and freedom to explore the world and the complex bundle of thoughts, emotions, and desires that is me. Thanks for not forcing me to do things I didn’t want to do, but eventually teaching me that that’s how life goes anyway. Even though I always said that loathed the very essence of being a teenager, you really weren’t all that bad. We had some good times, and I will never forget them.

There were the Courtney & Shawna days, full of BA! and monkeys’ botatums and bananas and side-desks.

The infamous Courtney & Shawna

There were the ballet dreams, which were of course made up of exploding knees, dead pointe shoes, sore bums, and foreign accents.

Courtney's 2006 Audition Photos

There was glorious Winnipeg, full of solitary winter walks, constant movie watching, endless rehearsals, and inspiring glimpses of other-worldly beauty.

Courtney at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet School

There was the beginning of Mike and Courtney, a duo surely nowhere near its end, full of diet Coke and obsessive quoting and nonsensical stories and Madagascar 2.

December & May

There was the finding of New Song and all that New Song has come to mean to me: falling in love with Jesus, Scripture, worship, and people.

Second Home

And there was the great discovery of two of the most amazing friendships I have ever had.

Courtney & Farah- "Soul Sista's"

Craggsy & Court- "Emotional Twins"

There were a couple of not so great times too: dating, broken hearts, betrayals, and depressions.

Real tears

But then, to end it on a good note, there was picking up a guitar, turning my thoughts on Jesus, and letting it all turn into something beautiful.

Court & the Red Guitar

Yes Teenagehood, we’ve been together a long time now, but in just a week it will be time to say goodbye. I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time; I can’t say I’ll be sad. I hope you won’t take it too hard though; you knew it was coming better than I did. You served your purpose and you did it well, and for that I thank you. I know you’ll be looking upon the rest of my life from the nice little viewing place of my past, and I hope it makes you proud.

So thanks, Teenagehood, for being all that I needed you to be for the last seven years. Here’s to the next seven years, and finally knowing who I’m supposed to be.

Your friend,

Courtney Hope Miner

Stained Glass Masquerade

It is truly an amazing thing when people take off their everyday masks and reveal their true selves. When just looking at the surface there is no way to see what pain, confusion, regret, guilt, or a plethora of other emotions might be boiling underneath. Most people have one or two friends whom they trust enough to fully reveal their hearts to; some have no one. I have been lucky to garner three friends with whom I feel I can be totally & completely honest about myself. With these three people I can talk about my dreams, my struggles, my fears, my failures, and my transgressions. Nothing I say will ever be held against me, and in return I have the privelage of being there for them in the same way.

I dream of a day when the Church can be a place of refuge from the world’s masquerade party. The love of Christ is what enables us to accept people exactly as they are: broken, bruised, damaged, abused, etc. Sadly, the Church has long been a place where people feel like they need to “have it all together,” so they put on a smiling face and pretend everything is fine, when clearly it is not. I have been guilty of this many times. I’ve finally decided to stop pretending.

I’m praying for the day we can put an end to this stained glass masquerade.

Title: Stained Glass Masquerade by Casting Crowns