- Write down question.
- Bite the white tip off, and eat that with only your front two teeth.
- Slowly nibble away at the orange, literally carving it with a tooth to fully appreciate the waxy texture.
- 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.
- Eat way to many then puke them all back up.
- 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
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.
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.
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.
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 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.”
Music. Lights. Bright colours flying through the air. Twirling skirts. Swirling air drenched in the smell of roses and chocolate.
Her feet tapped out the rhythm, swaying and gliding her body to and fro, her eyes closed and mind oblivious to the stares following her around the room.
Hour after hour she danced, the music filling her with bursting energy, urging her on. The crowd thinned out, ladies finding rest in corners to gossip about something or other, the men filling themselves with the refreshment lining the banquet tables.
Still she danced.
One after another the guests dispersed, leaving to their homes and their families. Soon it was only her and the musicians, and eventually even they packed up their instruments and left.
It was only her.
The music continued to echo in her ears. His arms surrounded her in a loving embrace, guiding her each and every move. Willingly she followed him, lost in his gaze. She never wanted to stop. And she never had to.
Others might not recognize him now, but she knew exactly who he was. The fact that he, the King, would love her amazed her, and at times even made her weep. With joy, of course.
He loved her, and that’s all that mattered.
She loved him,
So she danced.
People skills. Is that all my family cares about these days?
I was having a perfectly wonderful day today: slept in, got a shower, sat out in the sun with a pen and paper, and basically figured out what I want to do with my life. Then I bounce into the house, ready to tell my favorite person on earth just what my wonderful plans are, and he says: “Well, first you’d need people skills.”
I don’t know why they think I don’t have people skills. When they aren’t around I can handle myself just fine. When I’m forced to be independent I can manage on my own. And when I’m following my dream, doing something I’m passionate about, I can do incredible things.
It’s only when I’m forced to get close to someone that things start falling apart. It’s then that I feel I have to put on a mask to protect the relationship in the long run, to make it last. I continuously hurt those closest to me.
I feel like Elsa today. My brother was only trying to help, to make things better, but while I was trying to save him from myself, I ended up hurting him even more. At first I just asked him to go away, told him that I needed to think for a bit. But as he persisted to knock, I soon found myself screaming at him to leave me alone. Then he did. And I do believe it hurt me more than it hurt him.
Alright, maybe I don’t have people skills. Maybe I stink at communication. But I don’t want to. I want to change, to show my real self to the people who have been watching my mask for so long. But it’s not that easy. I can’t be completely open to anyone. I can’t. People get hurt when there is nothing hidden. Then again, people get hurt when something is hidden, too. But who can I trust? Who will love me even when they know my most foolish fantasies? Who will support me in chasing those fantasies? No one. There is always some layer of criticism, always something they don’t agree with. And maybe they’re right. Maybe I should give up all my hopes and dreams, and simply be a stay-at-home missionary mom. But that seems so lame (no offense). If I surrender myself to that life, I’m afraid I will have nothing to work for, no challenge, no goal. Is that how life is supposed to be? Am I simply supposed to lay myself down and surrender to fate? Am I not encouraged to find something to be passionate about and to chase it? I guess some people find their complete passion in just day-to-day living, and ministering to those they come in contact with then. Some people are wholly satisfied by that. I cannot be. I need something else, something creative and unique, something beautiful to work towards. For me it is that castle, that party venue, that worldly dream. Am I not permitted to be human? Am I not permitted to have a secret joy? Then tell me: must I be a robot? A monotonous copy of a Christian? I think not.
Hear Ye, hear Ye; Here follows the ramblings of an almost-15-year-old girl:
Gowns. Dances. Charming princes, Lords and Ladies. Evenings never to be forgotten, evenings spent in the company of mannered folk.
On the other side of life – Rags. Campfires. Friends and family, a loyal dog. Evenings never to be forgotten, evenings spent in the company of the sick and dying.
Which side to choose? There is nothing in this world that I want more than to be a real-life princess, to dress in gowns and host balls. To build my own castle, and to live the luxurious life. I argue that I want to use it to teach young girls about their inner princess, and about the Prince waiting for them, but a voice nudges the back of my mind, reminding me that I would choose this life out of selfish desires and dreams. Another part of me, a part buried deep and often forgotten and ignored, screams that I want to go out and minister to the lost, sick, weak and needy. My human desires fight back: can there not be a compromise? Can I not have the castle and tiaras and gowns, and at the same time minister to the least of these? Can I not bring the poor into the castle and spoil them for a while? Any simple logic tells this cannot be so. How could I live this hypocritical life; the life with two sides? But then, what is the answer? What is the answer? Can anyone answer me? Can anyone know what is right for my personal life. It is said that the rich and famous need Christ too, and their children especially. This creates my excuse for building my castle and ministering to them. But it would make it all the harder to fight the temptations of this world. I feel that working as a rural missionary might be easier in certain aspects. That thrusting myself so drastically and noticeably out of my comfort zone would force me to lean more upon my Savior. And it would. But could I be strong enough to do the same being surrounded by those whom have heard the gospel and turned a deaf ear? Both ways have equal benefits and equal struggles, the only problem is finding out which path my LORD would have me pursue. I feel more guilt in following my dream, although I fear I will not be satisfied in any direction I follow. I realize this falls somewhat because of my weakened relationship with my Creator. I tend to think and meditate on these things alone, when in all reality I know I cannot discover the answer without searching it out at God’s feet. This is merely the struggle between my stubbornness and my salvation.
If only everything were clear. If only the guide plan for our life was written out in simple steps with the consequences of the wrong choices in warning. But how can I find peace with myself while still “following my dream” as most people insist upon these days? Must I find a way to add my dream into God’s will for me? Must I pray that my dream IS God’s will for me? Must I discard my own dreams completely and simply accept the drastic and radical choice instead? If only there was a clear answer. If only thinking didn’t tear my heart in two so. If only I had no foolish dream of my own except to please Christ to the fullest. He did not chase fantasies, did He? His sole mission was for that of God. Ultimate love.
Alright, enough ramblings for now. If only the LORD replied in writing…