How to do math

  1. Write down question.
  2. Cry.

How to eat candy corn

  1. Bite the white tip off, and eat that with only your front two teeth.
  2. Slowly nibble away at the orange, literally carving it with a tooth to fully appreciate the waxy texture.
  3. Put the whole yellow bit on your tongue and leave it there for a few seconds, then eat it with your back molars so they can get some of the flavor too.
  4. Eat way to many then puke them all back up.
  5. Repeat! (Hopefully not with the ones you just threw up. But hey, I don’t judge!)

She was a lonesome old lady of fifteen years

She was a lonesome old lady of fifteen years

  So temporary, yet eternal

  So lost, yet the only anchor.

Her eyes laughed at the sorrow she had seen

  Too numb not to hurt

  And too placid to flee the pain.

Her wrinkled fingers clawed at her peach-fuzz skin

  Leaving scars too small to see

  But too deep to ignore.

Her legs sat in disuse, weakened by tears that wore upon them,

  Bore upon them, more — no more.

The wanderlust that waned and

  The adventure drained

  An empty, bleeding heart.

Yes, she was a lonesome old lady of fifteen years

  So temporary, yet eternal

  So lost, yet my only anchor.

Brutally Honest

I will tell you how I feel, even if I’ve just met you. I will tell you when I think you’re lying to me. I will tell you when I’m not fine. I will tell you when you are annoying. I will tell you when I think you’re being a coward. I will tell you if you are trying to be subtle and failing miserably at it.

I’m brutally honest. And I don’t plan to change.

The edge of a blade

Last night I dreamt. I dreamt I was in the position of so many of our brothers and sisters, surrounded by those I love, with a knife to my throat.

I have so many times said I’m willing to die for Jesus, but last night was the closest I’ve ever come to it. I know it was only a dream, but it felt so, so real.

I was faced with choices: do I run and try my luck getting past guards, showing my cowardice? Or do I simply wait in line, hoping something will happen to save us before it’s my turn to pass on? Or do I chose the most surely fatal choice, and volunteer to go first, to save someone else for now, to be a testimony? I have no idea what I would chose in real life, but in my dream I chose the latter.

They shoved eight of us into an area-type area, and pushed us to our knees. The cold steel was drawing blood, a man shouting at us, demanding we deny Christ. Not one gave in. He stopped, “All right then. Why don’t you tell us why you so love this ‘God’ that would let you die? Huh?”

So one by one we stood, telling all just what God had done for us. All who were nearby heard clearly the gospel eight times over. I’m surprised they didn’t stop us. It was surely the hand of God.

When I spoke, I found that I really was ready to die for my Lord. I was scared, yes, but I was willing. He after all did tell us it would happen. Overwhelming love overflowed from my heart and into my words, surely placed there by my Father Himself.

They had heard enough, and the knives sunk into our skin. One by one my brothers and sister fell before me, and soon I too joined them in the Heavenly Kingdom.


I have never been hurt. Well, never seriously, not that I can remember. So it’s hard for me to predict or even imagine how it felt for my Lord to be whipped, beaten and crucified, or how it will feel for me to die for Him as He died for me. But I pray with all my heart He will give me the strength to die for Him.

I pray with all my heart He will give me the strength to live for Him.

Time to awake

We’re sleeping. I’m sleeping. We’ve been living day to day, assuming that we have tomorrow, taking for granted what we have today that could very well be ripped away from us tomorrow.

I. I’ve been.

I go through periods that I completely distance myself from my emotions. I know exactly what my heart beats for, and that’s exactly what I avoid. Why? Because feeling is hard. Because more often than not, feeling hurts. But while I avoid a lot of hurt, I also avoid a lot of happiness. Of joy. Of fulfillment.

See, I was made to feel. We all were. But we’ve given up on that. Most (and not all) of us have made one of two decisions: to become utterly selfish, and stop feeling completely, trudging day to day, or to become utterly selfish and become drunk on temporary happiness, each time coming back for more and more, unable to get enough to feel joy.

There’s no rainbow without rain.

I must die to myself. I was not created to make sure I was happy, each moment determined by what would please me. I was created to do what God has called me to do, and find joy along the way.

To pick up my cross. Sign my death sentence. Ensure my future. Walk into the place I know I am to die. And do so not because it makes me happy. But because it fills me with joy I cannot explain. A feeling that makes you want to cry and sing at the same time. A feeling that crushes you inside, but a feeling that makes you feel more freedom than you’ve ever known.

I was recently asked a question: what are you holding back from total surrender. My mind told me nothing. I was willing to give up anything. But I couldn’t even make myself believe that lie. My heart told me that I was still clinging to my dreams more than ever. If I had to give them up, I believe I would feel cheated out of life. I was supposed to have an adventure, right? But I know no adventure could measure up for what lies in store for me after I surrender absolutely everything.

So here I am. More than likely, I will have to recommit to this daily, but today I am laying down the last thing I cling to: my dreams and plans. I will not pursue that which I desire, but that which is better than gold. I will trust God that He will love me and make my life, however far from that which I imagined, an adventure of its own.

I surrender all.

I want to live

I want to make my life something I would want to read about. I want to make memories, find love, and all the crazy things people in the books I read get to do. But there seems to be something stopping me.

It seems to be me.

How can I make friends closer than a sister if I never talk to anyone? How can I find an adventure if I’m scared of getting hurt? How can I fight when I have no cause?

I feel like a wasted lump of clay. I know I don’t have it bad at all, and that’s part of what sickens me. I have no right to feel this way. I have endless opportunities, hundreds of people supporting me, some pretty great friends, but what? Why do I still not feel like I have a purpose?

I struggle with the most basic of things. Often I’ll forget to take a shower, feed the dogs, or switch on my phone. Things that should come naturally. What is it that makes me want to change the world when I don’t even change my clothes sometimes? (I know, some brutal honesty coming out here…)

What is here worth fighting for? C’mon, give me something! A dark corner is rising and gaining power in me, and it absolutely terrifies me. For if there is no good left to fight for, what’s keeping me from flipping? From being drawn away like others I see daily turning away from this whole thing?

Give me something to fight for! If you call me a weakling, I will be. If you call me scared, I will be. But tell me I’m a soldier. Dress me in armor. Teach me to fight! I don’t want to be like the rest. The rest are idiots, living in mediocrity! Don’t let me die wishing I had never lived.

Don’t let us leave.

Never tell us we are too young. Don’t tell me to wait. Tomorrow is never promised.

“All who live, die; but not all who die have lived.”