counterweight.

I think too fast sometimes for my brain to catch up to what I’m thinking. A million butterflies flitter, a thousand grain of salt drain, a footstep, a song lyric, a new design, a biblical thought, a prayer, a curse, a definition, a category, a worry, and buckets of rain. So tonight’s entry may be a little scattered.

I’m finding that I need to be balanced. That I’m this mass of thought, and words, and feelings, and creativity, and pain and in order for this mass not to become chaos, I need people around me that are nothing like me.

I look across my paths in the several years I’ve been alive, and as much as I may have felt it at the time, I do not think there is a sole time in which there were only one set of footsteps. I remember, at the very beginning my friendship and trusting of Todd, being overwhelmed by the loneliness that high school seemed to be. I had changed schools 3 times, back and forth between so many lines and the only times I ever felt solid were when I was either at oasis or at cheesy tuesday with todd and the group. I felt like I could never fit in anywhere anymore, after all the rumors spread about me in freshman year when I “disappeared” to boarding school. I felt like the outcast and that I had no where to go, and no friends to go with.

I know that’s were I was because I still have the emails to mark it. I remember writing them, so scared that I would be rejected from the only place I felt I ever truly fit. But….

Looking back on those years, I know it was me, I know I walked through loneliness and being the outcast, and drama, and friendships falling apart. But sitting here now, with the knowledge I have about what happened in my life, I have a hard time fathoming what strange world loneliness is.

All through-out growing up, I always seemed to have the curse of becoming best friends with the people destined to leave. Time and time and time again. I think I developed sort of a barrier very early on that prevented me from getting too close to even my “best friends” because I had gotten so accustom to leaving… either moving or changing schools, that I, even as like a 4th grader became numb to the situation.

In middle school, I latched on early to a group that ended up being… a very very bad influence on my life, and then… because I think I wasn’t used to having a good friend for more than a year, I choose to make as much conflict as possible within the group, leaving me again… “friendless”. About a week later, I some how got connected with the EDGE junior high group… and my life has never been the same.

Kimmy, Paige, Sierra. Abbi, Sarah, Elly. Thomas, Sean, Ben. Will, Rebecca, Ashley. Lindsey, Stacy, Serena. Tony, Molly, Jordan. Sarah, Kelsey, Bianca. MaryEllen, Heidi, Luigi.

Sets of three has seemingly been the trend. I never thought I was one of those group people, the kind of things you see on movies where there are friends who are seemingly inseparable.

But somehow, in the mix of all these friends, and changes, and the chaos that is my life and high school, somehow three people snuck in, not really noticed, not making a big scene. Three people, in the middle of some of the most miserable times of my life, silently entered my heart. I never asked for these three. Never in my prayers, nor in my dreams did I think that I ever WANTED us to be the crew. But it happened. I sat tonight, hours after youth group, talking to someone who I never thought would ever know me as well as she does. We laughed, and got choked up, and laughed some more. We talked about everything. We can talk about anything. In her eyes, I have no shame, and I hope that she feels the same in front of me.

Sometimes I think it is incredibly important to stop and look at our blessing. These three people mean the world to me. Tonight, Abs and I just sat there and we didn’t really need to say anything. We know that we love other people. Our school friends, and our youth group people, and our families, and those odd and end people who enter our lives. We do. We care about them deeply. We love and will miss them (more on this later) fully.

But… in the end, there is something else that enters the picture when it comes to us. Is our friendship perfect? Heavens no. Do we continue to learn how to love and care for each other on a minute to minute basis? Yes sir. Do we have it all figured out and neat and tidy? By no means. Our friendship isn’t some nice flag, folded in a box and displayed so that others can envy us. Our friendship is more like a ragged cloth that has draped us, covered us, been what we sit on, & dry our tears on. But oh, would I be proud to fly it high. We’re beautifully different. Incredibly so.

Ryan is the fixer, he gets his hands in the process and doesn’t really want to let go. He has an immense heart and talent for making even the little things full of life. He embraces what a moment has to offer, and grieves not what the moment might be lacking. He is fully real and blunt and honest and has an unrelenting ability to say what needs to be said. There are people who when you are near them, they radiate life. Ryan is one of those people. He is fully alive and active and engages within the moment. There are times that he has been there for me, that I still continue to struggle for words to describe and to thank him for.

Timmy. Timmy is a character that if observed, would leave the audience very confused. But to those who know him, he is like a finely main grandfather clock, with hundreds of pieces all working away. He watches life closely, and notices the little things that Ryan brings to life. He lives to please, to serve, to humbly life live without negative impact. I do not think he knows the positive impact he leaves wherever he goes though. He is also, hands down, the smartest person I know. When he laughs, it lights up a room. He takes delight in the most unexpected things, as to always keep one on their toes because you never know what will spark him. He is this absurd wonderful creature that neither words nor pictures nor song nor speech could truly ever describe.

Abigail. Abs. Abbigiggles.
What an unexpected pair we are. A touch of class, and a heart that could engulf this entire world a few times over, that’s what she is. A keen awareness of reality, and truth. A brilliant believer in the good in the world, she has depth beyond her years. She cares so deeply for those around her, and is, in my opinion, unable to truly hate anyone. There are those who are beautiful because they were born with a nice face and straight nose. Abbi is beautiful because it seeps out from her soul. A gentle yet wild and uproarious passion she is, all at the same time. And truth be told, I’m coming up empty for words to describe our connection.

3 people. Totally different from the me that I am.
Tonight we talked about the thing we haven’t wanted to talk about.
The whole leaving thing.
Because in reality, 6 years of our lives, countless tuesday and wednesday nights… the weekly pattern of showing up early (well… some of us!), and staying late, Student Service Meetings, and church life lunches, and family picnics is coming quickly to a close. And in the end, we are all we are left with. The building are nothing really to us, without us in them.

I’ve never seen a more resolute group. Everything that seems like it should have ripped us apart ended up with us becoming closer. And honestly… I feel a bit naive. I let these people get to me in ways that no one else ever has. I’ve let them in, and I’ve shown them who I am, and likewise so have they. No one else can say they’ve held my hand through the darkest nights. No one else can laugh at the times we’ve had, sitting in parking lots, behind bmws, or in white vans. Out to dinner, or watching movies, or at the pool. We’ve traveled miles together. We’ve cried together, hurt together, sang together, loved together. Together. 6 years together. And I’m completely enthralled with excitement for my best friends, for what their future holds, and maybe, just maybe, the one thing that we all feel may finally tear us apart will just make this banner of love stronger. I’ve never been more sure of one thing, that I wholeheartedly, completely, totally, and fully, utterly, and without qualms or preconditions love these three.

And there are a thousand ways to say goodbye.
I cannot bring myself to say one.
You are my counterweight, my better halves, my sanity, my truthtellers, my lifesavers, my best friends.

This is not the end.

slogans.

It has been a while seen I’ve latched on to a life slogan, or even a life song. Maybe things have just been changing so fast, I haven’t had a chance to grab on to much except my hat and hold on for the ride.

In this season of change I’m learning how. How to change. To be aware that I’m not a solid state, but that I’m constantly being formed, rebuilt when the has the world knocks me down, repaired after I’ve broke myself. This is not a comfortable place, but it is a incredibility important time, in which I must continue to remind myself that God is truly in the amidst of it, and that I will be changed “for the better”.

I’ve dealt with a lot of things in high school &, I’ve met some amazing people willing to help me through, and who continue to remind me that I’m loved along the way. I’ve wrestled through my fair share of life slogans and songs too, everything from freshman year “apathy is the best policy”, to “baby steps”, to “the Lord will fight for me, I just have to be still (Exodus 14:14).

I’m now in the process of getting a tattoo (see below) that sort of covers all of high school, and sums up for me one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned through this. As I reflect upon what it has been, what my childhood was, and what it wasn’t… for me to write love on my arm is essentially closing this chapter, not to throw it away in the sea, but to understand that the lessons I’ve learned were vitally important and that, if these struggles were the price I had to pay to learn, then I’m thankful for every single moment, and I praise God for His redeeming work. However, I’m excited to enter a new phase in my life, & the next few turns of this earth, I will grow and learn and begin a new journey.

My life slogan now, that came about through TWLOHA which has been THE most influential thing in my life aside from about 6 select people who know who they are and who are, in all honesty, the holders of my heart, is “A new now is always on the horizon, & today is a day that has never been known before”. This statement may quite possibly be the most hopeful & true phrase I’ve ever latched on to. It requires I live here, and now, constantly aware and appreciating each moment, and not being overwhelmed because things will be okay, a new now will always be on the horizon.

Which sort of clashes and flows at the same time with my new life song, which is Dismantle.Repair by Anberlin. I’ll post the lyrics, and discuss my reasons at a different time, because this post is already too long, and I have to talk about my tattoo (well I don’t have to, I want to).

One last glance from a taxi cab
Images scar my mind
Four weeks’ve felt like years
Since your full attention was all mine
The night was young and so were we
Talked about life, God, death, and your family
Didn’t want any promises,
Just my undivided honesty, and you said

Oh oh, things are gonna change now for the better
Oh oh, things are gonna change, oh, they’re gonna change

I am the patron saint of lost causes
A fraction of who I once believed (change)
only a matter of time
Opinions I would try and rewrite
If life had background music playing your song
I’ve got to be honest, I tried to escape you
But the orchestra plays on, and they sang

Oh oh, things are gonna change now for the better
Oh oh, things are gonna change

[Chorus 2x]
Hands, like secrets, are the hardest thing to keep from you
Lines and phrases, like knives, your words can cut me through
Dismantle me down (repair)
You dismantle me
You dismantle me

Give me time to prove
Prove I want the rest of yours (prelude)
Call this a prelude to a lifetime of you
It’s not that I hang on every word
I hang myself on what you repeat
It’s not that I keep hanging on
I’m never letting go

[Chorus 2x]
Hands, like secrets, are the hardest thing to keep from you
Lines and phrases, like knives, your words can cut me through
Dismantle me down (repair)
You dismantle me
You dismantle me

Save me from myself
Save me from myself
Help me save me from myself
Save me from myself

Oh oh, things are gonna change now for the better
Oh oh, things are gonna change

[Chorus 4x]
Hands, like secrets, are the hardest thing to keep from you
Lines and phrases, like knives, your words can cut me through
Dismantle me down (repair)
You dismantle me
You dismantle me
————————————————————–
The tattoo. It has been 2 years in the making, months of struggling with it, sitting with it, rejecting, coming back and still loving, being denied permission by my parents, redrawing it with the same message but better, sitting with that, showing my mom with the intent of telling her I’m getting it anyway, being surprised when she said it was beautiful, talking to the people who influenced the design, talking to rex about it, thinking if it had an applicable reasons twenty years from now, praying, testing out the area with sharpie, researching, going to shops, researching more.

and now it is final. I’m getting in August 3rd, at Staircase (I hope hope hope it all works out, there was a tad bit of unclarity there, but I’ll figure it out).

Here is the design. It is an ambigram of agape, which means divine love in greek, and the english word agape which means wide open. An ambigram is a graphic that can be seen and understand, either as the same word, or two different words from either direction. For examples that are more clear than mine: https://www.wowtattoos.com/wow/index.php?cPath=140_142

The main idea behind this design is I’ve been working through this time of saying I want my love and my faith not to be blind, but rather to see and to love and believe anyway and I feel like God moved me to a place where a confidence that this was what I needed for closure, and a tangible reminder that He is always with me and not only am I called to reflect out love, divine love, agape out onto others, but that I must accept that love for myself as well, as it is visible in both directions. And that I’m worthy of art, that I can see it, and believe that it is beautiful and a part of me.

I’m getting it on my wrist, so it will small, and I hope it all works out.
So excited.

sunsets.

In a perfect world, hatred wouldn’t exist.
In a perfect world, we wouldn’t be worn down.
In a perfect world, a distance would never form.
In a perfect world, there would be no scars.

In a perfect world, we would learn nothing.
I’m becoming more and more aware that everything has a specific and divine purpose. Even if it seems like this time in your time is a tangent, a discourse on how not to live, or a falling away… it is all relevant.

I haven’t learned all… or barely at all the lessons that have been taught through the hardships I’ve faced yet. But as I sat today, surrounded by this group of people that in reality I met a few weeks ago but what feels like I’ve known them for my entire lifetime, this safe family of people who understand, who aren’t afraid of the discussions, who are frank because we are all the same yet so different, as I sat laughing with them, watching the sun set and being totally caught up in the moment, I realized that everything I’ve lived for was culminated in this instance.

Words I wrote a while ago, and that echo one of my heros, Jamie T’s words float around in my mind…
“A new now is always on the horizon”
“Today is a day that has never been known”

Those words are about the most honest truth I’ve ever stumbled into.
I’m walking through a period of time where I’m questioning my faith, I’m looking at the roots and finding that some aren’t rooted in what they should be, and I’m taking a second glance on my motivations, my interests, my reasons. What I’m finding is a person desperate for a God who forgives, who loves, who teaches. I’m looking for the real me amidst thousands of versions and alternatives. I’m asking how much of what people have said has affected me. I’m faced with the question, “Can I do this even though so many people say I can’t?”. I’m dealing with the difficulty of believing in myself.

Yet against all these things, in this time of doubt and change and questioning and growing and impatience and shifting views, the sun still sets and friends still remind me that I’m loved, and the fire still glows warm, and the ocean crashes out a lullaby. The stars still shine, and the words still flow, and the hugs still feel safe. Home is still home.

And that is okay. Things are still able to be still in this chaos.
And tomorrow is a new day that has never been known before.

denny’s.

Tonight was quite eventful.
I suppose most spontaneity arises from great boredom and good friends.
And the best conversations are never planned. They happen, while speed along highway 1, on the way to nowhere in particular, leaving all our qualms between in the fog that separates the mountain side.

Tonight I saw new things, and I taught my heart. I was reminded of how much I love to share the good news. I was reminded what it felt like to speak truth, raw, real, passionate truth again. I was humbled by my lack of understanding, and the still small voice saying “Keep talking, she’s still listening”.

We talked of failure, of friends, of forgiveness, and freedom. Christianity 101. Religions and where they came from. Jesus. Jesus disappointing Jewish people as their messiah. Complex ideas. High School level analogies.

Tonight… was yet another example of what happens when people stop being afraid to ask questions.
Tonight was incredibly humbling, because as I spoke about God, and His sacrifice for us, I realized that I was as much speaking to myself, than her. I suppose when the Word of God speak, it doesn’t matter whose mouth it comes from, it is really for all to hear.

Fear, Joy, Guilt, Freedom, Carefree, Awestruck, Inspired, Calm, Tired. All feelings felt tonight.

———————

And all these little things keep adding up in ways I don’t understand. They make two arrows and several crowns. Which master should I follow, which path should I take? A gentle whisper passes by, but I am too busy looking peaceful that I miss the most important thing.

But second-chances are abound, but what if the first chance was better? Seize the moment or have the moment seize you. You in all your motion, in all your upside swing. I’m caught in the divots of His fingerprint, not sure of where to go.

I shouldn’t be perfect, but really, what can I do for a chance? Can I belie this route of Yours, rather than work for each foothold? But ponder not I read, Let the understanding come to you, The calling of your Father should be clear!

Clear as a mist that covers the mind in the middle of a dream that time has begun to rewind. It shallnt be now then perhaps. Oh fair madam Patience, would you please quit the powder room?

hero.

the girl who wrote this was the inspiration for TWLOHA, an organization that has touched many by saying the things that were hard to say, and not fearing the silence in response.

this is from Renee, and her words are my words, and possibly yours too.

“I just wrote five paragraphs about hope, and I also just deleted them
all a million times faster than it took me to write them. I deleted
them because I think there is something underneath hope. There is
something that feeds it, and keeps it alive, and perpetuates it. I
believe that everything is undeniably intertwined, such as purpose,
hope, love, redemption and healing…specifically those things, are on
my heart tonight…

Many of you do not know me. Perhaps most of you do not know me.
You know the story, the image, the picture of the girl in that video you
saw that one time…or maybe you know what I desperately long to
represent. Here is a little window into my heart and mind these days.

These are the days after the digging and burying. This is the part
where I stop running and fight every part of myself to slowly turn
around and look into the mirror. This is where I fight to feel, where
the ones that I love get clawed up in the process and my heart has to
learn how to apologize. It has to learn how to allow itself to be
weak and vulnerable as opposed to calloused and hostile. These are the
days that I have to choose healing. True healing, holistically and not
just where it hurts less. When we spend our lives trying preserve
ourselves, trying to escape, we build a dam. Sooner or later we have
to let it out, and the fear of that process knocked me down face first
in the mud time after time. My fear came from the belief that such a
weight would crush me, that feeling such pain after years of apathy
would kill me, and the unknown. What would happen to my heart if I let
it feel these things? What vices would I turn to this time? Would the
blow of such a burden wipe me out, put the running shoes back on my
feet…break me?
yes.
it would.
it will.
break me.
it will break me so that the parts that healed wrong from being
ignored so long might have a second chance.
it will hurt my heart so that it may heal.
peroxide.
my fight is not for hope as much as it is for healing these days, and
it has taken me over five years of sitting on her couch to touch the
edge of this idea. of this new direction.

The other day my boyfriend thought he might have been bitten by a
spider. His foot was swollen and red to the point that he was sent
home from work. Despite the pain he was in, he didn’t want to go to
the doctor. He told me he was afraid. He told me that if it was a
spider bite, the doctor would cut open his foot and squeeze all of the
poison out. I think that is what this is. I think that we fear per
suing help, healing, because of the pain we will have to go through to
get it. The pain might even be worse then the actual wound in the
first place. So, we are left with a choice. We can let the poison
fester and build, cripple, and potentially destroy us. Or we can
choose to face it, fight it, cut it out and let it truly heal. all the
way.

The other key component to this path, is who will walk with me. I, in
all of my determination and willpower, could not endure such pain on
my own. We aren’t asked to do this alone, but our cruel little minds
would like for us to forget this. I know mine would. It is my mind
that would like to destroy me, it’s the place upstairs that is driven
to destruction, and on it’s own it would surely succeed. However, when
I choose to go there, and I invite someone else in with me, to hold my
hand, to carry me when I am beaten down, that is when healing is
possible. This is where I believe we find community and its value in
our lives, and this is also the role we are asked to take part in. We
are not asked to be the doctor, or the scalpel, we are asked to be the
ones who will stand by and hold your hand, when our hearts are not on
the table themselves.

We were never meant to live with poison. We aren’t asked to walk
around with it determined not to let it impede us. We are not intended
to be crippled from our wounds, but we are left with the option of
accepting it, or biting down and getting dirty and feeling our pain in
all of its awfulness in order that we may be restored. This is one way
that bloodletting is good. Maybe that’s where I got onto the wrong
track. I took that concept in my life and literally tried to cut out
my pain, I was a terrible doctor! But here, two years later, I’m
handing the knife over and asking my God to help me let out the
poison. I will not walk away this time, in shame or isolation. I will
move forward in love and community and with a new found strength, a
new kind of hope to offer. I want this healing, first for my own
heart, and secondly so that I might offer it to you, my dear friends,
dear hearts out there, walking around with spider bites, desperate for
healing and afraid of the pain. I spend my Mondays on a couch with a
blanket fighting to hurt, to heal, and it is my hope that you might be
encouraged to do the same in your own way.

So, hi. This is me. a human being, in all of my frailty. laying myself
out for you, that we might walk through this beautiful, awful, strange
thing we call life, together. I have exchanged my knife for a pen and
some dead trees. I am fighting to turn my will over and put myself on
the table. To not just admit that there are some things that need
fixing, but to see them for all that they are. It is possible. to
heal. to walk away restored from trauma. to acknowledge pain without
letting it own you. it is OK to be weak. it is OK to be powerless. it
is OK to be afraid. as much as we love to hate anything that isn’t
pretty and presentable, sometimes we need permission to just, be. as
messy as it may seem, as sticky and heavy and slow as it may be, we
have to remember to be patient and gracious with our hearts. It is
worth it. There is so much more than merely surviving, and that is far
more beautiful than any cleaned up pretty version of ourselves we’d
like to walk around with. This is my where my heart is, and this is my
hope for you.

I spent the past five years of my life writing out my pain, my joy, my
struggle and the drive to find a new life on paper. Part of recovery
is finding new solutions to our problems and this has continued to be
one of mine. I always thought I’d be your modern-day Emily Dickinson,
that some tragic event would take place and I would die and people would
find my journals and publish them… instead I am still alive and happy to say
that there are some very exciting things in the works…but I’m pretty
sure Emily would have me beat any day…anyway, stay tuned, there
is definitely more to come.”

nightmare.

The eyes stood thick
and lingered with them
the hint of pompous redemption.

A strange sight
befalls one when
forced to view
themselves.

What fool’s gold
did drench the ponders
of yesterdays.

Perhaps, there is
no untrodden route,
but rather strict, but
finicky screaming lines.

Or maybe rather,
the march of this
forsaken follower
treads on infinity.

Slice of apple.
Slice of noise.
Slice of silence.
Slice of joy.

And the wall
keeps on growing
tall and pompous.

protest.

When did we forget to use our voices?
How did this become a country run by a few rich white men, and supported by the masses who can barely pay rent?
In the past we hear of the civil rights movement, the woman’s movement, the labor movement.

Are we so lazy that we cannot move at all? Has our american obesity engulfed not only the health of our hearts, but the cares of it too? Have we become so placated that we cannot think “what if this isn’t how it is suppose to be?”?

Why should it be “I dare shouldn’t”… this is our damn country, and hell… we are humans, this is our damn world. God never drew borders, we did!

I’m frustrated with the way the world is going. And no, I don’t have answers… but I do have a voice. And I know that mindless screaming won’t do anything to help the situation.

I just kind of wish the rapture would happen soon, because this world is one giant mess.

elimination.

I know we live in a secular society, I know that not everyone believes in the God I believe in, in the salvation that I rest my heart in. I know this.

But, as I was watching some random reality show this evening, I wonder how many of us try to play God with each other. It seems like it is all the rage in “reality tv” these days to offer an amazing career, a million dollars, a photo-spread, etc (think american idol, america’s next top model, america’s last comic standing, top chef, project runway, so you think you can dance, america’s best dance crew, etc). These shows immediately appeal to our “American Dream” set of morals and desires, an unnoticed, yet incredibly talented person stumbles from try-out to episode to finale, walking away with the entire package.

Ever think about the people who don’t make it? I mean, maybe we have a favorite and they get cut, and it is lame for awhile. But what about their lives after? One missed note, one bad day, one mis-design, one lagged joke… it just takes one mistake (”at this level of competition”). In this society, one day you are in, and next you could be out.

I’m sure glad God doesn’t work like that.

Something is wrong with the way we judge (huh, huh?), thinking that we are somehow righteous in our determining what happens to people’s lives by our lengthy experience, or our already designated abilities, making us able to play God and change a person’s life in the blink of an eye (or between 30 minutes of advertisements). What if Michael Kors, Paula Abdul, David Hasselhoff, or any of our favorite judges never got their chance? What if they made one little mistake during their audition, or their portfolio wasn’t up to snuff?

I wonder if anyone else ever thinks about these things. Could our entertainment be the insight to our brokenness as a society? I’ve never understood the concept that our entertainment is responsible for the downfall of our society. It makes much more sense that our entertainment is the reflection of the state of our culture.

It will be a strange day,
When we decide to change .

costco.

today was tiring.
but good.
it was one of those days, when I’m with the right kind of people, who always can make me forget about everything, and just be in the moment.
I’m beginning to understand that I love to work. And work hard. I mean, physically work. Clean, lift, organize, make, paint, build, create. I love the feeling of right after you have moved something huge, the lightness that your body feels. I love to feel real burdens, they make me forget about my own for awhile.

Sometimes I think I should have been born a guy, but God made me a girl so I could prove the guys wrong. I think that working hard makes me understand what it feels like to be so exhausted that you can’t move.
I can think of nothing better than that. To sleep because you worked so hard that nothing in your mind could ever keep you up.

Anyway, this was not exactly the intent of this blog… this blog is about costco.
I’ve been to Costco with Todd and Melinda lots of times, the most notable times being DCLA ‘06 and… today. DCLA is a funny story, that is probably only funny to those who were there… and today, well, today at Costco was a good day. Free food galore. It was demo day… the days around the holidays that there are, literally a good 15 to 20 booths of samples to help market their products to wholesales people, large families, and in our case, youth groups.

They had rootbeer floats (like real ones, with ice cream and kegs of rootbeer (so cool, right?)) and hot dogs filled with cheese (apparently they were really hot), hot links, ribs, 4 stations of tri-tip, apple pie, hagen-dans bars (I can’t spell), chips and guac, chips and nacho cheese, pita bread, odwalla, soda, monster…

seriously.
and they could care less how much you ate.

ah, brillence.
it made working today so much more glorious than it already was.
I sort of wish the hard work isn’t over.

audience.

if I had 10 minutes to talk to 10,000 people, what would I say?
——————————————————————–
This is what I would say:
“I’m broken. I’ve been hopeless. I’m scarred. I’ve been to the point where living didn’t matter, and I’ve walked back from that place. I’m a sinner. I’ve screwed up a million times before, I’ve screwed up now, and I’ll screw up again many many times. And while I don’t have it all figured out, I’m loved by God and covered, completely, by His grace.

Many times that I’ve felt alone, I discovered that it was I who rejected the love that surrounded me. I was not alone, but rather I was hiding. I feared the conversation, I feared the truth that my life was a mess and I couldn’t control it anymore. I ran about the subject like cat and mouse… but, in the corner of the room, there was still this big elephant who was in fact afraid of the mouse, and could care less about the cat. And when the chase stopped, the mouse captured, and the cat controlled, the elephant still remained.

To love takes bravery, honesty, compromise, and a unique understanding that one is not always right. To love is to be, in the greatest of ways, our truest selves, because through loving another, a reflection is created, and not only are you loving another, but through that love, you are in turn, beginning to love yourself. It is not to love our scars, or the memories, the track lines, or the bruises. It is not to love the abuser, the rapist, the cheater, the drug dealer, the bully, the condemner. It is to love ourselves, the quirky side, the way we laugh, the color of our eyes, the patterns of our fingerprints. But we must first be brave enough to approach those we love, ready and willing to love ourselves as we are.

It is okay to be who you are. No one can deny you of yourself. They may try, but they cannot. You are not powerless, and as soft as it may be… you have a voice. You have a song, you have a sign, you have a written word. You have a math problem, a scientific equilibrium, a mile to run, a drawing, a photo, a beating heart. You have yourself, and while I have often felt myself to be my greatest enemy, longing only to run away from me, I have learned that that our voice, our gifts, our abilities are never worthless.

I once thought that if I could only recover… that there would be this vastly infinite place of opportunity and success and giddy happiness, of something glorious and beautiful and if I just got there I would finally feel alive in the greatest sense of the word. That if I finally reached that place, that my life would be completed and I would be content.

Little did I know it was right in front of my eyes. A solid masterpiece of promise and love. Grace. A fire that could not die no matter how hard this world and I try to put it out. Redemption. A promise, regardless of how many times I relapse, or fail, that I am loved. Little did I know I was already complete, whole and living, and that it is now that matters, not tomorrow, nor yesterday. It is the now that determines not only who we will be and who we are, but who we were.
A new now is always on the horizon, A new lesson is always in front of our eyes.
A new story to read,
A new star to know,
A new life to live,
A new day to greet,
A new song to whisper,
A new hope to create,
A new color to discover,
A new conversation to have,
A new word to relate,
A new elephant to shoo,
A new soul to encourage,
A new habit to break,
A new message to speak,
A new friend to meet,
A new angel to welcome,
A new hand to serve,
A new struggle to conquer,
A new sight to see,
A new now to seek.

And maybe, I’ll need to be reminded of these things again.
And maybe, the lows will engulf me again.
And maybe, the sadness will end my passion again.
And maybe, I’ll lose those who created my world again.
And maybe, tomorrow is known only to those who desire to destroy it.
And maybe, yesterday is lost to only those who desire to keep it safe.
There are a million maybes and there are few certains,
For it is in the maybes that community is born.
But this I know with all my heart…
I will carry on.
I will carry on towards a new now.
I will seek joy, peace, truth, love, hope, rescue, honesty, community, forgiveness, self-control.
I will seek them amidst the chaos, amidst the maybes.

Care to join me?”

#506.

Dear Future Roommate of Trinity 5th South, Room 506,

Hi, I’m Marielle Kipps. For a decade I’ve been called Marz, but I’m changing over for a change, and it is pronounced mar-E-LL, with mar sounding like car. I love colors. I think scribbling is the best way to let out frustration. I think gravity is lame. I love reading, but do not do it nearly enough. Milk should just be put in IV form, I drink a gallon a week. I love frozen corn. I have more plastic and metal in my left ankle than I do bones and muscles. I have two sisters, Alaina and Corinne, they are 12 and 9 years older than me. Corinne is getting married September 27, 2008. My favorite colors are black and turquoise and lime and olive and fun greens. I love neon colors too. My birthday is June 2nd, and I was born at 2:04 in the morning. I used to hate movies, sometimes I still say I do, but I don’t. I have a short attention span when watching things though, so I often multitask. I’m almost 90% deaf. If I got three wishes, one of them would be that I could sing. I’m right handed but I throw with my left. I played the piano once a upon a time… but who didn’t. I wish I knew how to play the guitar. I call people “punk” a lot, as a term of endearment. I’m social awkward most of the time. I’m straight shooting, I say what I mean, and I mean what I say… unless I don’t.

My favorite shows are Scrubs, Newshour with Jim Lehrer, The Office, Ugly Betty, Gray’s Anatomy, & Law and Order SVU, & CI. I watch the food network for fun. I have hearing aids that allow me to hear almost as well as normal people and I feel blessed to be able to have them. I’m fluent in American Sign Language and currently am learning Spanish Sign Language. I’m also learning French, and I know some Polish. My dream is to open a Christian school for learning-impaired children, including deaf, blind, & mentally handicapped kids, and which also is a rehabilitation center for not only the physically impaired, but also for “troubled kids”, by counseling and working with the impaired children to instill an understanding that compassion love is necessary in living a full life. I want to be a TWLOHA intern, and I hope to live in Africa for at least a year, particularly in Tanzania. My plan directly after college is to move down to Mexico for 9 months and teach at Rancho Sordo Mundo, a school for the deaf there.

I love people. I do. But I like alone time. I’m learning how to be quiet. I write constantly. My three passions in life are writing, designing, and studying scripture and theology (which are reflected in my majors and minor as I’m an English and Biblical Studies major and minoring in Graphic Design). You can learn a lot about me from just reading my blogs/poetry/insights to things (relifeagain.wordpress.com). I’ve been a believer for four years, and it’s been quite a ride. I have a lot of past and I’m looking forward to college as a new and fresh start. I’m not a clean-freak… in fact my room is a little bit in a disarray… but I’m an imperfect perfectionist and if I am feeling overwhelmed and such, I clean. I have 6 best friends. We are a weird group of people, but I love them a lot. I like a lot of music, I can handle country (and kinda of like it) and even some rap (not really)… but not a huge fan of either. I usually listening to something mellow, and christian, or alternative… although I have to say I have a weakness for Linkin Park and Between the Trees.

Worship is one of the most important things to me, and spending a lot of time with Him and reflecting, praying, and dwelling in Him is a big aspect of my life, although I don’t do it nearly enough. I sleep with a ridiculous number of pillows and like playing board games (I dominate in Clue). I’m decent at remembering names, but terrible with birthdays. Numbers are the bane of my existence. I hate math. I have calclexia… which is like dyslexia with numbers. I’m sorta of a grammar nazi, but I can’t spell very well. I like to read the dictionary, and expanding my vocab is really important to me.

I’m a morning and night person, and most of my classes first semester are in the afternoon, and I’m most productive in the morning. I’m in the honors program, which I don’t really know if that’s going to be harder or not than regular classes. I’m not bringing a car to campus, but I’ll have a bike. I like TV but I can live without it. I like to be outside as much as possible. I get antsy when I study and like to move around a lot. I don’t snore, unless I have a cold (so my friends say). I’m a klutz. I can’t wait to meet you! I’ve been praying for you.

Alright…. that’s pretty much all I can think of right now.
Can’t wait to meet you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

shush.

I want to be quiet.
In so many ways, I mean this truly.
I want to be quiet, and soft. Peaceful. Graceful. Careful of word and deed.
I want to speak only when I have something to say,
not just when I want to fill the silence with nothings.

Perhaps when we speak,
we must realize each word
holds weight, and that we should
rather carefully place our burdens down light.

rhyme.

the fair.
a brilliance found vivid lights
a peace amidst the preceding sights
an inspiration lingers along the sounds
a new perspective while on this merry-go-round.

a direction changed by changing direction
a renewal, a repair, a resurrection.

thinker.
oh, my fist is getting tired from empty inaction,
oh, my lips are dry and parched from useless mumbling,
oh, my eyes want nothing more than a distraction,
oh, my foundation under me is simply crumbling.

oh, I am done with stone-hard thinking for now,
done with this transparent stare with nothing behind,
what have I done, what have I made in this time of Thou,
has my solid state been sordid amongst Your mankind.

oh, so much has passed my downcast eyes,
without action, could my thinking just been lies?

atlas.

Something has been on my mind, I think because I’m reading The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis…. and he’ll probably talk about this later in the book, but it is on my mind now…

Do you think that the poor, disaffected, marginalized people of, perhaps, southeast asia, or sudan, or even our next door neighbor, mexico, do you think they suffer from insomnia, clinical depression, eating disorders, SI addictions? We know that alcoholism and drug abuse runs world-wide, but do the others? I dare to wonder, for either way a pedestal and a pit are created: One view assuming, yes, all people, of all social statuses, of all color, rank, job, sex, and age suffer from the maladies of emotional fatigue and stress and the other is the only the rich, endowed members of society (I’m talking world-wide here, not isolated to America’s social hierarchy) have these afflictions, which leads one to think that perhaps it is our lifestyle that is creating these diseases (& the cynic in me presumes that we create such negatives results of our lavish, work-filled lives to feel justified and entitled to more than another… but don’t worry that’s just my cynical side talking).

So I did some research, through the WHO (World Health Organization), and found the results surprising… unfortunate, but surprising. The truth is that we all fall into the grips of mental stresses.
And as much as I love TWLOHA, and their message of hope, and they really are trying to bring it across the world… we need more of these groups, these stories, these people willing to stand up and say “Hey, there is rescue, there is hope, there is a path to recovery”… and people willing to say “That path isn’t easy, it is long and hard and a struggle, but you were never meant to go it alone, and we are here for you”.

Is that my commission?
Ah, Atlas, I understand just a bit of your burden now.

commissioning.

What is our mission?
Is it to love?
Is it to grow into what He designed us to be?
Is it to show our light, not hide it, to friend and foe?
Is it to live?
Is, our mission, our reason, our meaning, our life summed up in the giggle of a baby?
Were we designed to live this way, the way we live now, whomever you are, wherever you are.

I spent the day doing nothing but the things I liked to do. I played computer games, I baked yummy treats (without eating them which is truly the best part of baking is having people to feed the result to), I watched in amazement at the sun set and the hot air balloons that inspire me, I painted, I drew, I laughed, I thought, I listened to piano that drifts about this place for hours, lingering in all the corners and making me smile, even after the player is through.

If I could be honest with myself, I would say that I don’t want to leave. It is peaceful here. There are no sick mothers, or sad fathers, or hurting grandmothers, or concerned friends, or angry bosses, or distracting foes, or sad weather, or devastating fires. There are books filled with wonderful words, and paints, and pencils and pens, and sketchbooks, and cute puppies. There are beautiful aunts, and kind cousins, and nothing to keep me away from the road I want to walk, other than myself… something I’m quickly learning to get over.

I woke up one morning, the light was pouring in from the windows and it was soft and it felt true, like this was reality, beautiful and grace-filled and alive. I wondered if this was my commission then. To be infiltrated with truth, and to be alive, at peace and amidst perfect grace.

The Great Commission:

“Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”
-Matthew 28:16-20

“Later Jesus appeared to the Eleven as they were eating; he rebuked them for their lack of faith and their stubborn refusal to believe those who had seen him after he had risen. He said to them, “Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation. Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned. And these signs will accompany those who believe: In my name they will drive out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.”
-Mark 16:14-18

“He said to them, “This is what I told you while I was still with you: Everything must be fulfilled that is written about me in the Law of Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms.”Then he opened their minds so they could understand the Scriptures. He told them, “This is what is written: The Christ will suffer and rise from the dead on the third day, and repentance and forgiveness of sins will be preached in his name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. I am going to send you what my Father has promised; but stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”
-Luke 24:44-49

“On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.
Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” And with that he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone his sins, they are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.”
-John 20:19-23

“On one occasion, while he was eating with them, he gave them this command: “Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about. For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.” So when they met together, they asked him, “Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?” He said to them: “It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”
-Acts 1:4-8

(While the Mark passage is contested, as modern scholars argue that Mark ends at 16:4).
I must go back to the scripture… for that is where I started, and where I must end.
So our commission is to spread the good news, to observe his grace, to be doubtful, to fellowship together, and be peaceful, to fill ourselves with the promise of His mighty resurrection, to be joyous, to be forgiven and forgive, to be inspired, and to be insightful of where He is working.

So in essence, yes, my morning waking up with the His light pouring in… was, for that moment, my great commission.

typography.

I’ve been studying letters this week on my down time.
They are fantasinating creations, letters are.
Not the “Dear…” kind… the actual letters, that make up the words that we see on these pages. The construction of type is delicate, & fonts themselves are fine machines, tuned to the precision (or character) of its deemed mechanic.

I’ve been so immersed in the land of art, and typography, and color, and layout… that I’ve simply forgotten to write. Today I was reading some of my older writings, in particular one about my beliefs (Picasso had nothing on God) and I wonder how many words we use that we have forgotten that we have said, how many letters have we scrawled out, typed out, that have thrown to the wayside, because either we move on in our too-scattered lives to respect our own ideas, or we talk to damn much.

I’ve learned this week… I do both. Mostly, I just talk to damn much. I’m a verbal processor, but I think I need to change that. It is not necessary for me to constantly have output. I believe it comes from the stems of my fear of silence, another thing I’ve been working on since the beginning of lent, and also my fear that if I don’t talk a lot about the meaningless things, people might actually expect me to talk about things that matter.

To concisely communicate an idea, a creation, a creative vision is, within itself, one of the hardest challenges of art… and life. I suppose this is true in all medias, per-say, of communication: writing, drawing, talking, signing.

Words are important to me. They are in fact, my everything. I live to write and write to live. Yet, as I sit here in this cool San Diego night, I wonder if we dissolve the credibility of words by using too many of them. I watched Akeela and The Bee tonight, and those vocab words blew my mind. I more than anything wanted to be that 11 year old girl, jump-roping and memorizing all those words, not because I wanted to win (although I’m fairly competitive… hah) but because… imagine all the possibilities that come with such a great word base. Everything is enhanced by knowing when and where to use such words.

Perhaps it is rather the learning of the when and where that overshadows the knowledge of millions of words. I wonder, if we think of words, not as simple structures to communicate things, but rather, like we consider typography… an art within themselves, that we would respect the things we say, and more carefully choose to say them. Convey emotions with 5 words that are drenched in meaning, rather 45 pithiness words that tell of feelings. Conrad verses Dickens.

Or can we tell a story in silences? Can we control our need have input about everything? Can I? Perhaps I may receive some “It’s not like you to be quiet”s, or some “are you okay?”s… but maybe that is for the best. Honor the words that have crafted my world by using them sparingly.

Maybe silence isn’t so terrible after all.
Perhaps it is the noise that is truly terrible.

This lesson is hard, and I might screw it up. I’m not comfortable with silence, without my story-telling, and letting everyone in the room know I’m here. I’m uncomfortable with that because I worry I’ll be forgotten, left behind, and swept under the carpet. But perhaps if I let the silences speak for themselves, if I let my actions reflect my heart, rather than the words that can so easily deceive or glorify, neither a true reflection… then I may not be known, but rather heard. Perhaps if these lips stayed shut more often than not, I would actually begin to hear myself.

Let us start with that.

scattered.

the morning was spent reeling.
empty.
the lines faded into the thick skin.
a game of waiting.
but the tug, the urge, the bite
that surfaced always from beneath
never was.

drifting in salted air.
stumbled across
clumsily
against ashes
scattered.

may I dream?
may I sit upon this swing,
suspended in between
these rung-out halos?

could these be,
for my peace of mind,
the black remains
of redemption
that is brighter than
this worldly sun?

contrast.

a pillar of white dances,
while this streaked shadow shouts
of actions of a feather and ink
that transports me to this foreign womb.

brillant darkness shines out of
this dreary cape of distant who suffocates
and frozen blood gushes, melting glass eyes
fallen between the hands of a broken clock

a piece of sunset swallows by birds
takes a fundamental end to joy.
a light switch laughs deeply,
a gee-filled seranade to apathy.

shuffled cards spell out the rest,
and discarded eyelashes keep this beat.

Oh, the contrast,
stark and cantering me.

abba.

today is father’s day, or was father’s day… since father’s day seems to happen only between 9am to 3pm… maybe even 6pm if the family really likes him.

today, also, happens to be the first father’s day I’ve ever experienced. Yes, I’m 18, and yes, I have a father, who lives with us under his roof… but yes, I am correct in saying that this is the first father’s day (I remember) experiencing.

My dad has always been working on father’s day, and my family has always been in separate parts of the country for most of my life. But this weekend, by (in all seriousness) some miracle, not only was my dad off for father’s dad (and my graduation… spooky I know!)… but all three of his girls were home (and on good terms with each-other, which in itself is another miracle). Today, I wonder how good I have it. No… I haven’t had the most involved father, nor the most positive experiance… but I have a father who is a good man, a broken man, but a good one. Who spends his days in the dreariest of dreary places aka the hospital, saving peoples lives. He has a mind that, honestly, would put Einstein to shame. I mean, ask him… anything, literally anything… and he’ll most likely have an answer.. and if he doesn’t… he will find out, and then remember it forever.

Today Todd in sunday school asked us what we think of when we think of a good dad… and the first thing that came to mind, the one and only thing that stirred from my heart was “brilliant”. The others came up with “always be there for you”, “be involved”, & “strong”. But I’m realizing the gracefulness in my answer: Brilliant. In the past, even in the most recent past, I’ve harbored anger against my father for not living up to those three things the others came up with. I’ve watched with jealous and self-pity at the interaction of other daughters and their dads. And to be honest, those feelings still come up sometimes… it is a constant struggle for me to realize that no, I don’t have a perfect dad, because none of them are perfect. All dads are men, all men are broken. It is quite simple. But the grace in the answer ‘Brilliant’ surprised me. My papa, above all things, is completely and totally brilliant. Not just smart, or witty, or interesting. But brilliant. Strong-willed (aka a stubborn pole)… and thick-hearted… and brilliant. Resilient. Patient (well, most of the time… unless he’s on-call… but he’s more like Mr. Hyde then… no joke… haha).

Perhaps it was my first father’s day that made me realize what this society has done to fathers. It has made them villains or victims… neither of which I think true fathers are. I’ve learned so much from my papa, and I continue to be taught each day. And today in church… I felt such a thankfulness pouring over my heart that I have the father I have. Strong and Brilliant and Resilient and Broken. All in the same person. Imperfect, yet completely loved by my Abba in heaven. This year has been a major year for me in the senses of forgiveness and fatherhood, not just with my earthly father, but a growing awareness of my need to not harbor anger and angst against my heavenly one too.

It’s been a rough few years, and sometimes I just have to wonder how God has all these tricks up His sleeve. Where I’ve been, where I’m going, where I am right now. All these things planned, to stretch me to be the person God has called me to be. All the things I’ve walked through, am walking through, and will walk through, in order to allow me to reach those around me.

“It is a wonderful, frightening, completely unpredictable ride, ladies and gents, so hold on to your hats, and let go of your heart.”

gamble.

Gamble.
What a toss up this life is?
A crap shoot. Roll of the dice.
So many accidents that determine
who we were, are, and will still be.

Dealer? I’m not sure of what your game is.
Could you get a poker face that I could see?
Oh what cheating, lying scoundrels we are.

We don’t place our bets until
the dice are thrown.

—————————
I’m not sure why I wrote that… it just sort of came to mind. I settled down to write something about today… high school graduation. But I found myself staring blankly… Its not like I don’t have feelings about ending high school (the feeling of ecstasy comes to mind), but perhaps this is not the time to reflect on what has already happened, but on where I am going.

And maybe it takes sleep to figure these things out. So I leave you with these lyrics… that I believe sum everything up pretty damn well.

Never again am I gonna give my heart to a bullshit cause
I’ve had enough of lies and dark
Never again am I gonna waste my time on a bullshit road
It’s never been a friend of mine
Simple words from a simple man
Take me as I am ‘cause there’s no guarantee I’ll ever change
To feel like this, to know distress, to always wonder why
Ah, forgive me any way I go
Father, I know, I feel like I’m made to let you down
Brother, I know, I’m failing to come through
To feel like this, to know distress, to always wonder why
If you lead me anywhere I’ll go

Well it’s plain to see that I don’t fit in
And I tried to find a place to hide
My body’s always been too young for the soul that’s trapped inside
But I’d show the color of my eyes to everyone around
And it’d take an angel seven years to come and calm me down
I’ll never understand myself or know the reasons why
In my bed alone at night I learned to be afraid to die
My soul is frozen stiff inside my skin
Paralyzed by thoughts that I’ve let in
Father, I know, I feel like I’m made to let you down
Brother, I know, I’m failing to come through
To feel like this, to know distress, to always wonder why
If you take me…anywhere I’ll go
Wherever you are going…take me by the hand
If you lead me…anywhere I’ll go

windows.

Between my mom’s emergency hospitalization and surgery, having finals kick my ass, trying to pass high school, my grandmother’s knee going to hell, keeping the house clean, parties, taking care of my friends, cooking for my dad, not eating so I can fit into the bridesmaid dress, watching my town burn in different areas, worrying about college, preparing for VBA, and trying to keep myself from falling completely apart… I have forgotten to write. It seems that every time life gets messy, the one thing that helps keep my mind together goes to the wayside.

My ability to write, or rather the gift of writing seems almost like the Cross to me. Or rather a tangible reminder of what the Cross represents. Both are always there for me, always rescuing me, always redeeming me, always comforting, always present in everything I do. But sometimes, they are hard to approach with a heavier soul. These empty pages, the blank slate both provides seems daunting, intimidating, and chaotic. Because I know that both call for truth. When one writes truth, one not only gains a new appreciation for themselves, but when truth is written it resonates. It carries weight and a message.

But truth is hard to write. Truth is hard to tell. Truth is hard to bring up to the Cross. Because if I wrote out right now all the frustration, the jealousy, the feelings of entitlement and selfishness, all the sadness and the anger and the motivations. If I scribbled out my conscious, my memories, my realizations. If I scribed my dreams, my hopes, my changing attitudes, my hypocrisies, my lies…
these pages would be black, dripping ink, drenched in words, letters falling off the page.

———————————————————————————–
Deep in the thicket, wandering eyes deciding not, drifting empty glass,
Oh Frost, do I travel this road? I cannot decide between these grass groves.
I wish that clarity would find itself welcome, for this chaos is an unwanted pest.
Yet it is this chaos that helps me see, a shadow, a saint, a silent prayer.

Provided windows into the past, of smaller days and fresher air.
The voice still canters around that place, a shepherd to the lost.
I press against this thin thin glass, but OH! Sand drips on and will not break.
Collect my soul within these shards of soft whispers and dense approval.
One collision, another, and the same, a third and I am still.
Would you pay attention if there was another?

And a split in time, stop me from observing myself because I want to be blind.
Woven in-between doubt and fear, are these streams of tears.
I ask you this, “Do you believe my stories of this fearsome nightmare?”
How can you say you do with your vacant eyes?
No tourists travel these roads,
No, only those who know burden this empty space,
the footprints only of those who are seeking hell.

So Frost, may we travel together now?
Perhaps we shall reach another fork,
and then we will split our ways,
for you will go the way less traveled,
and I will follow some stranger footprints.

maybe.

maybe this is living.
and as I write that, I argue with myself… because how could it be?
these girls.
they have stories.
real stories.
dark stories.
stories that are hard to hear.
stories that are harder to tell.
blood-stained, hate-filled, abuse-dominated realities.

I say realities because this is what I am discovering. There is no absolutely reality. If that sounds vague and quantum physics-like… good. Because life is. Life is merely our perspective, colliding with a whole bunch of other people’s perspectives, without which collisions, we would be entirely lost. Our experience. Our story. Our reality… is inherently different than anyone else’s… even if it seems the same. (Ownership has been a huge theme for me in these past days. What is greed, and what is protection of things rightfully given… in the spiritual, relational, non-materialistic sense? Owning my words. The sense of beauty in our individual interactions with others, relationships that cannot be copied. Unique.
Anyway….)

This individuality of our stories is the reason I ponder whether this is life? See, I am friends with a group of girls whose stories are… hard…(which I’ve talked about before on this blog). Whose life never came easy. Their days have long fingernail lines, from them just trying to hold on and claw their way through.

But if I could paint what they are to me, I would tell you they are flowers beneath Christ’s cross. They are beautiful. They are full of grace and truth. They are… through their brokenness, through their scars, and their tears… the picture of God’s love. To get to know one of these girls… to truly get into their hearts… to know their stories deeply… takes months (if not years), takes love and an unrelenting sense of the bigger picture. Their words can be hopeless. Their lives can be wilting right in front of you. Their will can be fading. Sometimes I want to give up, walk away, and say I’m not doing anything right… because they are still falling, and I can’t do anything about it.

It has been the most humbling, grace-filled experience of my life. To have to learn that all I can do is pray. Lift up the hurting in prayer and embrace the knowledge that I cannot fix them… might be the hardest lesson…ever. Sometimes I wish I had duct tape and glue I could reach right in there and fix their broken hearts… but then… the bigger picture must come into view, and I must realize each and everytime… that not only does God fix hearts way better than duct tape and glue… but that if I tried… to do anything but intercede, and pray, and offer love and hope from my own story, and from Him… that I would be getting in the way of what He has in store.

reposted.

This is Jamie T’s blog… I repost it here, not because this letter was in any way addressed to me… but because in all ways… it was at the very same time.

“for a broken heart.

i sent this to a friend yesterday, and my friend said it should be in a book, but books take a while, so here it is in a blog. the best sentences have been removed for reasons of privacy.

dear friend,

i am so sorry that your heart is hurting. i wish i was sitting on that curb outside whatever that hot place was called… anyway, that would be better than writing. i am sitting in the orlando airport, drinking that starbucks thing i always drink, about to drive to aaron’s bday party, listening to ryan adams, hiding in headphones…

i could say so many things. i could write 10 pages about all of this, as it’s where so much of my time and energy and focus has been in my own life over the last several months…

i will start with this:

i am so sorry that you had a panic attack. i don’t know what it’s like but i wonder if perhaps i’ve been close, perhaps i’ve tasted some of that…

i am sorry for your pain.

i am sorry that your heart hurts.

i can make little sense of a breakup or a panic attack except that we live in a broken world. children will die without food tonight in africa, and i suppose in many ways, it is for this same reason, this fact of “the fall”, this fact that we have an enemy and we live in a broken world.

and maybe also because true love requires risk. requires chance. we give our hearts away… we talk about forever. we believe. but many things end this side of heaven. we are fragile. our hearts break. we don’t know how to stop something that we said would last forever…

last night i sat with someone i barely know, on the back porch of an old house that rests against a perfect silent bay. everyone else was sitting down for dinner and we sat down to talk… i had met this person once before, and we had traded a couple emails about a year ago. he doesn’t know me (i keep saying this, i know) but he told me that he was sorry for my pain. he told me about his wife and his new baby. he told me that he thought he would marry two different girls prior to meeting the woman he actually married. he told me it hurt like hell, those other seasons. he was in love both times… but he told me there is no part of him, no fiber in his being, that would trade what he has found, what God has given him.

he told me that he believes beyond doubt that God has the same in store for me - to love and be loved by a woman, to love and be loved by a child that is half her and half me… he told me that he knows it must have been crazy, must still be sometimes - at this point, my eyes were full of tears - to let go, to believe this is how the story is supposed to go. the story made so much sense, he said…

he told me that the bible is filled with this theme:
a dream is born. the dream dies. there is great pain. there is redemption and new life. he gave several examples, his last being Jesus. he told me that i have been in a season of death, but that life would come back. new life.

he said that he believes in me.

i don’t know if that helps, but it helped me. i will never forget that moment on the back porch last night, this guy almost a stranger saying, believing, these enormous things for me and to me.

and then the fact that all of this was happening in a house filled with folks completely sold out on seeing the world change. dreamers willing to dream in the face of all the world’s pain. dreaming to see it change. guys who want to bring healing, to africa, to their city, to their church, to the environment. guys who believe we are part of a bigger story, a redemption story being told by God Himself… and believing that we exist to tell that story in our own lives, in our own spheres of influence.

and if that’s true, it gives us a bigger perspective. certainly, we have to be healthy, we hope for healing, we hope for love… but our lives are not our own. we should give them away. to God in Heaven, to the people we love, to the poor, the strangers we meet… someday to a husband or a wife, a child. we are part of a bigger story.

it was good to sit under God’s stars the other night, to sit and talk about ryan adams and paris, france. it was good to be reminded that other people exist, that there are beautiful people in this world… so for that i say thank you, for being some small reminder that life is still full of surprises, that God is still in the business of healing.

i believe this pain you’re in - i believe it breaks God’s heart. i believe He loves you. i believe that. and i believe you are 100% correct in your need and desire for friends. i believe we were meant for community. i believe people need other people, that we were not meant to walk thru life alone.

you must read Blue Like Jazz. i really really think you will love it.

i am off to pick up my bag. by now, the police are probably there with dogs, thinking it’s a bomb. oh wait, you can’t say “bomb” in an airport. i wonder if you can type it (?). probably not…

it’s gonna be okay.
: )
jamie”

mightier.

I’m a really slow learner. It’s like God is like waving the answer right in front of my face for a really long time and can’t seem to see it because I’m looking too hard. This happens time and time again. And then when I finally give up, hit my lowest point, He is like “FINALLY”, because I stop looking for things far away, and end up focusing on things that have been right beside me the entire time.

I don’t really like learning this way. But I’m stubborn beyond compare and I guess I must. So I hit my lowest again and again and again… and I end up learning something. Each time, I feel like I hit my lowest lower… I always end up learning something deep and deeper.

Yet again I learn that the pen is mightier than the sword.

frail.

today I recognized I’m frail.
I can’t keep this wall up by my brute force much longer.
I’m tired, and tired of this again and again and again…

These lyrics sum up me right now:
Paul Alan - To Bring You Back

Are you thirsty, standing in the rain?
Not sure where you are or how you lost your way
Are you drowning somewhere outside of town?
Searching for something given not found
A crowd of people totally alone
At the front door
Worlds away from home
And light up the night’s last regret
Burn your only safety net
Step to the edge it’s such a long way down

And I left the ninety-nine to find the one
and you’re the one
I walked a thousand miles in this desert sun
Only to bring you back

Are you tired of chasing the wind?
Under water, do you aspire to breathe again?
Are you dying?
Is that the best that you can do?
Cause you can’t find your place in a world that wasn’t meant for you.

A left the ninety-nine to find the one
And you’re the one
I walked a thousand miles in this desert sun
Only to bring you back

Hello, it’s me i couldn’t sleep I was just counting sheep.
I’m missing you.
Hello, it’s me i couldn’t sleep I was just counting sheep.

I left the ninety-nine to find the one
And you’re the one
I walked a thousand miles in this desert sun
Only to bring you back.

I left the ninety-nine to find the one
And you’re the one
I walked a thousand miles in this desert sun
Only to bring you back
Only to bring you back

eighteenth.

today, actually, this morning, eighteen years ago… a little (well… somewhat little) baby girl was born. She was 28 inches long and weighed about 11 pounds.

Today is my eighteenth birthday.
I became an adult today…
And as corny as the whole “did you suddenly become older and wiser?” phrase is… I can say yes.

Today I realized what love means, what my hopes are, what living is for.
Love is the time that a person takes to say to you, out of the billions in the world that you are worth something, that you are special to them, that they care about you, that whether it last one hour or one lifetime they will be there for you through anything.

My hopes… my hopes are huge I recently realized. I hope to love. I hope to dream. I hope to know Him more. But, as this quote has come up time and time again… “Because hope is much more than a mood, it involves a commitment to action. Its moral character implies that what we hope for should be what we are prepared to work for and so bring about, as far as that power lies in us.” John Polkinghorne said this, when I do not know, but through out this year, this adventure, this active hope has been in my bones. I knew there was, and is, and always will be something stirring…
I can’t explain it. I know what I’m seeking. He’s building this castle in the sky, and I know what I have to do to reach it. Love hard. Hope true. Forgive much. Speak Truth, and Learn to know that Truth is more precious that gold.

So this love and hope come down to this… why was I made for this earth? Why did He craft me so?
This is a wild ride. An adventure that has just begun, and to sit here and write on my 18th birthday… that I think that I’ve got it all figured out seems ludicrous and immature and downright crazy.

It doesn’t included checklist, color-coded folders, or even a plan.
It’s a calling. A passion that burns without doubt that this is what I am created for.
It ties everything together in such a way that is totally unexpected yet amazingly complete.
It changes nothing, but changes everything.

This isn’t a phase, or a temporary fired up-ness.
It is this gut-wrenching knowledge that this is what I’m heading into, and this amazing peace that allows me to say okay and open my arms to embrace it.
So no, I don’t have a plan, a route, a map, or even any street signs… I have a destination, that currently forms itself in the wisps of my dreams.

This is my Hope Ranch story unfolding.
This is our story unfolding.
This story of ours.
Honest.
Released.
Childlike.
Beautiful.
Chaos.
Hurting.
Growing.
Changing.
Open.
True.
Written.
Sung.
Drawn.
Braille-ed.
Signed.
Screamed.
Whispered.
This story of mine.

——————————-
In other news… my friends are amaaaazing, and gave me the best birthday I’ve ever had.
I’m so excited to live on with them… by my side or miles apart, they’ll still be there for me, and this I know with all my heart.

I love you guys too!

The Crush-Mobile in It’s Birthday Suit!

I’m eighteen, and there’s nothing you can do about it!

young.

I was reading my old old blog (which really isn’t that old, but was the beginning of junior year)… it’s still out there floating along with the millions of abandoned blogs… like a shard of mirror reflecting this little piece of someone’s life. This blog, obviously is much more inclusive and in depth into my life, but it still made me think about this blogging culture.

One of my recent past times has been clicking the next button on wordpress.com’s home page. It takes you to a random site…. a snapshot of some stranger’s life. A world-traveler here, an expecting mother, a techie’s tips. I sort of feel like I’m ripping open this little window into their lives.

Like I’m some uninvited guest that the hostess is too polite to ask to leave. I don’t make an impression, or extend outside my personal bubble. But I’m there. Looking in. Observing, and learning about these people’s lives, that I know nothing else about. They could be complete lies… for all I know. I must take it as truth, and move on. I must appreciate or dislike in the glimpse of a few writings, maybe a few pictures, their blog layout, maybe even an about me page.

Could someone who stubbled upon my blog now see me as I am? How have I portrayed myself on this blog? Reading my old blog post… life was so desperate. A run in with a demon I suppose.
Life has been hard, in fact it still is. But I wonder at my words, remember the circumstances of those words… and see so much more beyond the sentences. Sharing my life, my burdens hasn’t been easy. In fact, I never thought some of those secrets would come out. In fact, I never thought a lot of things would have happened. I never thought I’d love the people around me so much.

I’d never think I’d say these following words: These are the best days of my life.
Tomorrow I turn 18. Eighteen years old. An adult.
And these are the best freaking days of my life.

I’ll admit it. Things are still tough sometimes. I struggling to stay clean, stay straight edge, stay safe. But in between those times… if I really am honest with myself… there is some real joy there.

When I look back on my youth… I see a lot of dark days. I see a lot of pain. I see a lot of things that I never want to see again. But these last eighteen years have crafted me, made me who I am. And who I am… is a person who I’m quickly growing to like. Which sounds strange coming out of my mouth, but it is true.

So on the eve of adulthood…. I saw to this… in the next 60 years… I hope to write with no inhibitions, love with no price tags, speak in full honesty, travel the world, live in Africa, start Hope Ranch, teach His word, love on kids, and draw my own lines and never color inside someone else’s.

I want to be like Arlyss. She’s my hero. Completely.

——————————————

Which is why I’m changing the name of my blog, again.
I’ve found my breathing space in Him.
So… Welcome to The Snapshot.

mismatched.

maybe that’s what’s changed.

I was mismatched.
One foot forward didn’t step the same as the last.

maybe that’s what’s changed.

I cannot compromise my beliefs anymore.
I cannot agree with someone just to make them comfortable.
I cannot nod my head while thinking they are totally astray.
I cannot be something I was never created to be.

My beliefs are who I am. And no… I’m not here to judge others.
I’m here to stand for what I believe.
Love on those around me.
My neighbors, my friends, my enemies, my community.

I’m finding that if I am to be free I must speak Truth.
Because it is already bubbling over and hard to swallow,
and it is emerging in unexpected angels.

I cannot be mismatched no more.
My beliefs got to be matched with me.
Who I am is Who I Love.
Who I Love happens to be the Divine Creator of the universe.

oxygen.

Breathe in deeply and take in life.
One second at time.

Fix your eyes on something Godly,
something good,
something beautiful
each second.

Embrace each smile,
learn to be a connoisseur of laughter,
and lover of flowers.

We fall,
we fumble,
we fail.
We are human.

We also dance,
we laugh,
we sing,
we write,
we love.
We love.

We are broken,
together we are broken.
None of us are perfect,
and this life cannot be.
But we are meant to dance.
We meant to dance in white dresses.

We are capable of such contrast.
Beauty and Broken-ness.
Healing and Hatred.
Love and Lies.

See… I’m not most girls. I’m just not. But to me, I believe that saying oneself is unique is just a matter of conforming to the status of alternative rebellious that plagues this modern world… So… I’m not unique either.

What am I?
I am a child of God, created with gifts, and passions, a perspective that is my own.

Think about this…
All the words we say have been used before but that’s not the issue… the way we think an original thought is by using our words to connect history to our story
I must say our platform and our perspective that in innately ours, definable because it was created to be so.

Have you ever thought about the fact that the same air we breathe now is the same air that was created in the beginning? Even the oxygen we can produce from chemistry, still comes from chemicals that were already here.
The air we breathe and the words we use
shakespeare breathed
adam
and eve
and moses
and jesus
breathed.

I believe that is beautiful.

Our stories, our breath, our words are merely part of God’s… history, God’s breath, God’s word.

We are all connected. We cannot avoid it.

Emerson once said that in solitude one finds their demons to be friendly and their angels nuisance but one must be submerged in solitude to find that they themselves are their own greatest demon and their own greatest angel.

I would argue with Emerson… I don’t think we can ever be really alone and I do not think that we can survive alone I do think that solitude is possible, only if we are without God. But as the psalmist writes “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?”

So in essence only an atheist can believe that he is alone because he chooses to believe that they are their own angel and demon all in one.

The fatal flaw in athetism (and this may sound anti-christian… but bare with me) is not the disbelief in God, but rather the belief in themselves. The concept behind Christianity, behind all religion, doesn’t fit in this day and age, because we are infatuated with ourselves, with our words, our ideas, our newest invention, our newest contribution, our newest addiction, our newest object of lust. It is truly all about us.

Unfortunately… that’s not what Jesus is about. True… He died for me. Specifically and completely covering me. But His message is about love. It’s about looking around you and seeing the beggar, the blind man, the widow, and the dead girl, the hurting Pharisee, the cheating Samaritan. It’s not about me. It’s about all of us. It’s about laying down our lives in order to follow Another. That’s what it is about.

I don’t always like that. I’m not comfortable with the fact that I can do things my way. That I can choose to leave His way behind me and continue to live life in a way that talks the talk and looks like walking the walk… but is completely disconnected from Him.

Sometimes it takes some rough words in the middle of the night, sometimes is takes meeting a friend in the flesh that you’ve never thought you’d ever set your eyes on, sometimes is just takes realizing that it’s not all about me all the time… to get through my thick skull… that He’s got a plan for me, and I’m not better at planning than He is.

So I leave you with this. The air we breathe and the words we say, we write, we sing are not ours. We do not own them, we own nothing. As much as our capitalist society tells us we do, this Creation belongs to the Creator, that’s all. So breathe deep, write strong, dance hard and remember that none of this belongs to us, and find freedom in that.

scribble.

I wanna write.

Then write!

But I can’t.

Why may I ask?

Because….

Because why?

You are my sub-conscious… you know why, right?

Yes, of course I know why… but until you say it out loud, you’ll make yourself believe it’ll just go away.

Well… won’t it just go away?

Marielle, how many times have things like that just… gone away. God heals them, works in them, straightens them out…. but usually that’s not easy nor fun. As much as you hate these valleys… you know you’ve found a comfortable rock, a nice patch of dirt to stay in…

Well… I mean… I guess. Maybe it’s easier than moving forward. If I stay here, then yes, I have this crap on my shoulders… but I can get used to it. I can get used to almost anything.

You are lazy. And if I wasn’t stuck somewhere in between your brain and your soul, I’d give you an ultimatum too. Yeah, that dirt might be comfortable, it might be easy. But it sure is dark, and the road isn’t getting any shorter, but time is. You know, YOU know this isn’t living. You know that, right?

I though we were talking about writing. Now you are just psycho-babbling.

Come on, it’s all connected.

You are right.

Well, that’s something I didn’t expect to hear.

It’s always been about them. Never about me. I’ve always done it for them, for their love, for their approval, for their respect. Disappointment may just be my biggest fear… well, that and abandonment. I’m seeking something… but maybe I’m just digging around in the dirt… the comfortable place down in the ditch. Maybe the thing I’m looking for isn’t around here. Maybe it’s somewhere else.

And… what does that mean?

It means I have to get up and start looking elsewhere.

But you’re already ahead of the game, Marz.

I am?

Yes… you know what you are looking for. You’ve just got to look some more. And it’s not their approval, or even their love. In fact, its got nothing to do with them at all.

It doesn’t?

Nope. And you full well know that. Well, at least, I know it… and seeing that I’m part of you… you know it too.

If it doesn’t have to do with them, any of them, right? Then it has to do with me. That’s uncomfortable. That’s frightening. That’s… that’s… not fair.

What?! Not fair? What on earth are you talking about? Not fair? For Christ sakes, Mari… it’s not fair to discover something about yourself? Its not fair to have to deal with an epiphany? It’s not fair for God to raise this valley for you? Really?

Oh all right. Quit your hollerin’. I’m not going to be able to sleep until I finish this thought process, am I?

I suppose that’s your choice.

What’s this all got to with writing? I get the whole thing of I need to get up and start searching… but what’s that got to do with writing?

You’ve always found yourself in words… maybe its time you stop avoiding your passion.

I have to wake up in 4 hours… cut to the freaking chase…

Sadly it doesn’t work like that. I’m just a voice you invented so you could analyze your deeper thoughts without feeling like you were drownin’ in them. Maybe you should talk to the Big Guy Up Stairs…

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scribble, scribble.
crap.