I had the most vivid picture of what the relationship between me and God often looks like on Sunday, and I can't get it out of my head. I've heard and seen it described a lot of ways, but never like this before.

I was having a really tough day Sunday, dealing with a lot of emotions regarding things that are going on with me and with people around me. As I've described it before, it feels like going through withdrawal. I've never been addicted to drugs and so I've never had to deal with going through that kind of withdrawal, but I've heard it described as something you just have to let pass. The feeling comes, you hurt and struggle through it, then it passes on. That's how I was feeling about my emotions on Sunday. A thought or emotion would come, and I would just have to brace myself to let it come and then pass.

During one of those moments, the clearest picture came to mind of me and God. Sometimes, when in the middle of one of these times, it's difficult to understand where He is, what He's doing. But I saw God holding me, like a baby. I was kicking and screaming and crying, wanting to be released. And He didn't say a word. He just held onto me, tightly, and let me kick and scream.
And if you think about it, it makes so much sense. I've been at the doctor's office and witnessed many times a mother holding her child like this. Babies have to get shots that hurt and they don't understand. And they don't want it. But the mother just sits there, overwhelmed with the scene, hurting and devoid of words, tears right behind her eyes. Because the baby needs it. It must have it.

Silence does not mean neglect or disappearance. Instead, I think it means an overwhelming knowledge of what must occur coupled with an overwhelming desire to keep it from happening.

it's not enough to be a good person.
it's not enough to speak truth when no one else will.
it's not enough to wait, in anguish, for truth to be revealed.
it's not enough to know you're being the "bigger person."
it's not enough to be loving when they come back.

it's who you are good to.
it's how and why you are speaking that truth.
it's how spirit filled and selfless you are while waiting.
it's how humble you are.
it's how loving you are while they don't.


philippians 2.1-11
luke 6.32

in Luke 15, there is the all too famous story of the Prodigal Son. As the story has been told time and time again, most of the focus being on either the son, who is considered the prodigal here, or the older brother. But rarely has emphasis been put on the father. And it wasn't for me until last semester.

In case you haven't read it, there is this family consisting of 2 sons and a father. Neither son has a great relationship with his father. One, the older brother, sees his father as a task master, maybe feeling like he could never measure up. The other son, the prodigal in this story, kind of walks all over his dad. He's sick of it, doesn't really care about his dad, and says, I want my inheritance, see ya later. (As pointed out to me last semester, this is an unbelievable show of disrespect).
And the father lets him go.
We aren't told why the father and sons didn't have a good relationship. We aren't even really told they don't. But the actions of the sons, the nonstop work to please the father and the absolute rebellion against him, speaks for itself.
Eventually, the prodigal comes back. He realizes, only after losing all his money, pride, self-respect, and anyone to care for him, that he misses his father. That he loves his father. That that's the only place he needs to be. So he returns home, fully expecting to be a slave. In fact, he even told his father to make him such. He wasn't worthy.
But the Father runs to him. He sees him coming and all the time he has been anxiously awaiting his return has finally come to an end.

I am reading a book for bible study called, "He loves Me!" and in it, the author states about the father, "...waiting is far more difficult than prodding or nagging. But wait he did, for a marvelous thing to happen-to let the son come to his senses."

Many times in my life are designated as "waiting periods." I'm in one now. Often, it is seen most in times of suffering, or when a big decision needs to be made. But sometimes, God just needs you to wait. To wait and see what He is doing, what He has ALREADY done. And waiting truly is the hardest. For God, I think, as He watches us writhe around in anxiety, but mostly for us. It's not easy to wait. To relinquish every ounce of control, fear, uncertainty, and just to be still. But then you picture the inexpressible joy that comes from the image of the father RUNNING after the son, even though men of this time did not do this. And the son is welcomed back with jewels and robes and so much more love than he could have ever imagined.

Sometimes following in the footsteps of Jesus is hard. Almost blinded to everyone and everything around me besides Him, I just hold on for dear life.
And somewhere along the way, I trip over a rock and when I look down, even for that brief moment in time, I become acutely aware of everyone and everything I've had to leave behind.

"come, follow Me"
"And they left at once and followed Him."

There is absolutely no other life to be had. But it's not easy.
And when I feel frantic and start to drown from unbelief, I am pulled out of the pit and just carried for a little while. Just long enough to regain my footing.

"Quiet down before God, be prayerful before him." Psalm 37.7

"I know exactly what I need to do. I know what God wants. Surrender is required, yes, but I don't want to."

I arrived in Memphis with a backseat full of stuff, heart on the edge of freaking out, and healing just around the corner. Behind me was a semester of hard knocks, bad relationships, and a very confused family in a whirlwind of change. And I wasn't ready. I shut myself up so tightly, nothing was getting in. I was determined.

Saturday night, I cried myself to sleep. "What am I doing here?" "I take it back, no no no this isn't right." An overwhelming feeling of discomfort was settling in, and it was true. I was about to be really uncomfortable. The next morning, the sermon was on Micah 6.8. The usual preacher wasn't there. It was just a random fill-in. But it wasn't for me. Because Micah 6.8 is taped to my computer. Micah 6.8 had been on my heart the whole week before I even got to Memphis. God showed me. I knew I was supposed to be in Memphis.

I learned I stumbled I loved I hurt I fell I got up I walked tall I walked even taller I loved some more I was loved I hurt I doubted I cried I felt angry I felt alone I fell. I got up. I fell. I stayed on my knees I begged and begged and begged I learned I loved. I was loved.

And again, I am back in Nashville. God brought me full circle. There are no words intimate or expressive enough to provide the details. But if there's one thing I've learned is that there's no point in frantically searching for solid ground all the time when instead...I'm being carried.

paraphrasing this morning's sermon:

"they have a Brynn-sized [a two year old] playground at this park that we like to go to. it has 4 foot slides that i know are safe. but you see, my Brynn is adventurous. she likes to go to the playground for kids 5+ and ride the 10 foot and 15 foot windy slides. and i know it will be ok because i'm there. i am with her. i am the one that grabs her leg when she's sliding down head first, catching her before she hits the ground. and honestly, as she gets older, i would be devastated if she went back to those 4 foot slides. if she went back to what she is comfortable with."

you can figure out the analogy, i'm sure.

"You've already had that bathroom moment. He has already come to you saying, 'I am your God. I am a lap. I've got you back and can offer you far more than anything this world can.' Now, you must speak truth into their world. You may be the only one that ever has."
-Susan Rubio

Thank you.

workcamp

I couldn't sleep. So instead, I just laid in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling and listening to the Galloways prepare for the beach. As I laid there, my mind drifted over this past week: Memphis Workcamp.

See, this is another thing that I have never been a part of but had to throw myself into. Crazy sounding, yes, but usually...ok always, worth it. But to be honest, I wasn't too confident about the positivity of this week. Monday night, surrounded by a lot of people I didn't know, I figured this was just something I would have to get through.

But then a moment came where it hit me. I look through human eyes a lot, and it wasn't until I was alone, covering up chipping, hunter green paint on the side of a house in a poverty stricken neighborhood that my eyes were opened for the first time.
I was a "co-crew leader" for a team of 10. Meaning, I goofed off with the kids and occasionally took care of some responsibility. And it was hot. And we had to scrape paint off of a house. On ladders. And there were wasps. But I will never forget this week. I will never forget the miracle and evidence of Jesus in that kids from all over the place, who have never met before, can come together and not only get along, but revive a house. From start to finish. I bonded so much with these kids and loved every minute I got to spend with them. But more importantly, as I put a coat of fresh, white paint on top of a decaying, old, chipping wall, I saw Jesus.
"He makes all things new."
And as I looked around and listened to all the voices crying out for Him in earnest on nights of worship, I felt alive. I felt incredible gratitude for existing in a place where kids are desperate for Him, and you can see it on their faces. You can see it in their closed eyes and softly swaying bodies. George said it almost every night, and it is so true. Hearing these kids reminds me of why I believe. I was so grateful that they haven't become jaded by the trials of the world just yet. That they can still worship and love in innocence and with their whole hearts. Because every time I see this and every moment spent with these kids is like rewriting my history. Mending my heart and fixing the broken.

I have been here (in Memphis) long enough for my nightstand book to collect dust, mail a letter, and do my first load of laundry.

It's been a long time since I have felt truly at home. Nashville, where I was born and raised, is foreign to me now. I'm not there long enough to even buy a decent cup of coffee.
Searcy has its hints of home. A familiar smile, the occasional fried okra in the caf, southern accents.

But that rich, deep homey feeling is not something I have felt in a long time. And although you may not think it, that has more affect on a person that I could have ever guessed.

But last night, hands were laid on me. Soft hands, rough hands, old hands, young hands. Hands with wrinkles that tell of time and hurt and work. That tell of memories, laughter, and a love for a Savior that is thicker than anything I've ever experienced. The moment was not lost on me. The elders wanted to pray over Cooper and I. For our summer, for our work with the kids, but mostly just for US. And I opened my eyes as the thought struck me. A smile curved on the edges of my lips, and my heart felt at peace. Peace. Something almost as foreign as a feeling of home. I was surrounded, physically, emotionally, mentally, metaphorically, by love and safety and warmth. Tears fill my eyes. That feeling you get right before you cry, the one that forms behind your cheeks and acts like it's going to take over: that's what helps me write these words.

Sure, I'm only here for the summer. I have no idea what it will bring, what God will do. But as He reminded me the second day I was here, He is here. And when all else fails, I rest in that. If nothing else, even for a brief second, I felt home.

Excerpt from Life of Pi, Yann Martel

"This Son, on the other hand, who goes hungry, who suffers from thirst, who gets tired, who is sad, who is anxious, who is heckled and harassed, who has to put up with followers who don't get it and opponents who don't respect Him-what kind of god is that? It's a god on too human a scale, that's what. There are miracles, yes, mostly of a medical nature, a few to satisfy hungry stomachs; at best a storm is tempered, water is briefly walked upon. If that is magic, it is minor magic, on the order of card tricks. Any Hindu god can do a hundred times better. This Son is a god who spent most of His time telling stories, talking. This Son is a god who walked, a pedestrian god-and in a hot place, at that-with a stride like any human stride, the sandal reaching just above the rocks along the way; and when He splurged on transportation, it was a regular donkey. This Son is a god who died in three hours, with moans, gasps, laments. What kind of god is that? What is there to inspire in this Son?

'Love,' said Father Martin."

I Am Second

One of the most amazing, powerful, and passionate things I have ever been a part of.

The faith of this little girl rivals any I've seen.

Mertonian Prayer

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following Your will, does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore, I will trust You always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Sometimes I feel like life-changing experiences are not something to be ready for.

Because then, if you were, they couldn't really be that life-changing, now could they?
That's like getting ready during a flash flood warning.
You can pack your things, lock the doors, and adorn yourself with rainboots. But, will you ever realllllly be ready for a flood to come?
After the fact, its traces are everywhere. You can see the change.
But before and during,
all you can really do is float along.

i want to write about Harding
i want to write about this year
i want to write something profound
i want to talk about how much i have been shaped
so much so that it amazes me sometimes
how everything has been preparing me for
this
very
moment
in my life.
how i am looking forward to this summer
how much things have changed
how much things will change
how sad i am about some of that
how so very happy i am about some of that

but i cant.

its not enough; words fail

"kiss me on my shoulder, tell me it's not over. i promise to always come home to you. remind me that i'm older; to be brave, smart, sweet, and bolder."

My Heart

burnout

BURNT-OUT (adj): exhausted as a result of longtime stress.

It has been a hard year.
Situations like this are difficult. Because no matter how good one may be with words, no word can envelop the pain, joy, hurt, or expression of any kind that a word attempts to describe.
But that doesn't keep me from trying. Usually.
More times than not, I am silent. Silent through the frustration of knowing that words can't describe. Frustration at knowing that even if they could, people don't understand. People don't want to understand. I'm not supposed to write. Certainly not about what's going on.

But right now, I am showing all the symptoms of burn out.
I am tired of people taking from me.
I am tired of giving, receiving nothing in return.
I am tired of suffering.
I am tired of others suffering.
I am tired of physical pain.
I am tired of being tired.
And these things shut me down. They cause me to coil up. It is out of self-defense. Not letting people in by default doesn't allow them to take from me.

And as I sit at a small table in the corner of Midnight Oil, I know all these things to be true. I feel them more intensely than I ever have. But I also know that these feelings do nothing. They are not profitable for me, for others, for God. And right now, they wont go away. And I know that people can't possibly understand, completely. And that's ok.

Because I sit and reacquaint myself with the overwhelming blood of Jesus. That even though I sometimes get irritable at the madness around me, the hurt around me, JESUS HAS OVERCOME. And tears fill my chocolate eyes, rimming my eyelashes. Sometimes, I run from Him. Sometimes I forget to believe Him. But He doesn't run from me. He doesn't forget to believe in me. And He never will.

So thankful for Jesus who seeps into the deepest, darkest, crustiest crevices of my heart and soul and redeems this child from the depths. So thankful for His promises. For His death. For His life.

My Gemtoe. Whom I will miss terribly.

Easter

Jesus has overcome, the grave is overwhelmed.

the grave. . .

adultery
pornography
self-doubt
self-pity
insecurities
disappointment
promiscuity
alcoholism
drugs
abuse
neglect
broken hearts
suicide
life.

there's a peace I've come to know though my heart and flesh may fail...

sometimes

i am overwhelmingly GRIEVED by the actions of the church.

"We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that He has already thrown open His door to us! We find ourselves standing where He always hoped we might stand-out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory. Standing tall and shouting out praise!"
Romans 5:2

$2300

$2300.

I could probably plant a tree just from the amount of letters I get from Harding telling me my payments are due. Yes, I know it's their job, but those letters aren't making the payments come any faster. You see, my mom is a secretary at Lipscomb University in the counseling center. She is one of the hardest working women I know, but the fact is, secretaries don't make much money (I equate their jobs to those of teachers-overworked, underpaid). My dad. Now, I could write a book on him. I love my dad more than really anyone on the planet. He is so much like me and so much of who I want to be. He too works himself to the bone. He has two jobs and works seven days a week. But more than that, he is a landscaper. The hot sun beats down on him, draining his energy, as he does all the things that no body really ever wants to do. And I attend a Christian university. One that I am proud, honored, and excited to be attending, but one that costs a LOT of money.

$2300

I have had a financial hold on my account at least twice that I can remember, but never this much before. The spring is difficult. There are a lot of things to be paid for. Besides all that I listed above about my parents, my younger sister attends a private high school (careful before you criticize) and my dad's job relies solely on the weather. If you know anything about Nashville weather, you know that it is unpredictable, to say the least. One day it could be freezing, the next, 75 degrees. That makes it extremely difficult to maintain a job.
I have said all this to say: we owed a lot of money. $2300 to be exact, and I wasn't going to be able to register for classes. My parents attempted to put my mind at ease, saying that I would just have to register late, that it would be ok. But what they didn't know, was that it wasn't with me. I love Harding, but I love my parents and I can't bear the thought of the pain in my dad's heart because he feels like he can't provide. So I was going to leave. I was just going to go back home and take classes in Nashville for a semester.

But the power of the Almighty was working on different plan.

I had sat at His feet many times, BEGGING for a way to pay. Mostly because I didn't want to hear the pain in my dad's voice anymore. I didn't want to receive another text from my mom saying "we managed to scrape up $80 that we're going to put towards Harding."
So I kept praying. I kept fasting. I kept telling my community that I needed their prayers. And I kept trying to keep my faith strong, keep my heart from any moment of doubt. But it was becoming difficult as the days drew nearer to Monday, the day I was supposed to register for classes. My anguish was evident and my heart was weary.
Monday rolls around, and I am doing my best to keep my chin up. I knew that God had a plan, but of what? I went to check my mail after lunch and nearly fell out when I received (yet another) letter saying the hold on my account was about $2300 (I thought it was more like $2100). Walking back to my dorm, I was angry.

Until I checked my phone.

"The hold is removed from your business office. Anonymous payment was made-you have $165 left to pay."



And He has still left me nearly speechless, in awe, completely enraptured by His power.

i have so many thoughts coming.

I am a Tree

Something that I have always had trouble with is relinquishing control. I am very much a do-it-yourselfer. The way I see it, if I do it, I know it will get done. I have an independent streak a mile long. But this is not the way of God. And it's honestly ironic, because the idea of giving up this control, of never bothering with it because Someone greater, wiser, bigger, is taking care of it, is so beautiful to me. I love that. Because I've seen Him prove it to be true. But there are days that it is so difficult to remember that Truth. To remember that it is nearly commanded for me NOT to grasp for control.

I wear a necklace every day that is a tree. I've gotten a lot of questions about it, and my response is always the same. Originally, I bought it because of the song How He Loves by David Crowder Band, or others, depending. The lyrics I love from the song, the reason I bought it, are:

He is jealous for me.

Love's like a hurricane, I am a tree.

Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy.

But this morning, it developed a whole new meaning. I was in the library rather than Midnight Oil, and as I was thinking about this whole control thing, I looked out the window at some naked trees; probably cold, too. Immediately, a thought sparked: "just like those trees." Trees have no control whatsoever. They are planted without being asked. Watered, hugged, sat on, climbed up, broken, neglected, and gazed upon; all without consent. They have no control, yet they grow to be huge beauties, providing shade and comfort. I realize that a tree is not a human, but that tree gives up all control to something, Someone, greater than itself, without hesitating.
I [want to be like] a tree.

This morning I woke up and my mind was already reeling. Sometimes I have days like this, and I'm really unsure why. Before, I would cave into my self-attacking thoughts, but Abba has brought me so far on this journey. And this morning, He provided again.

In my house church on Wednesday nights, we are reading Jesus Wants to Save Christians, by Rob Bell. We usually read a chapter a week, and last night's chapter revolved around basically what we, as Americans, are doing with the resources we have. It wasn't until this morning that it bothered me, though. I am very much a person of action. I hate "talk." If you aren't going to back up your words with actions, don't say them to me. I will have more respect for you if you don't. And this morning, Satan was planting thoughts into my head of insignificance. He was helping me feel extremely guilty, coming face to face with all the things I don't do. I don't give enough money, I don't sacrifice enough, I don't spend enough time doing fill-in-the-blank. But the calming Spirit of Christ overwhelmed as He put these thoughts into my head:

"I desire mercy, not sacrifice." Matthew 10. This particular passage is talking about Jesus' relationship with sinners and those who think they're righteous, but I feel like it similarly applies to the false concept of works that I often have.

Hosea 6:6:
"I want you to show love, not offer sacrifices.
I want you to know Me more than I want burnt offerings."
This passage wrapped my heart in peace. I'm not trying to negate the importance of works; however, I AM trying to negate the burdens that come with "not doing enough." We will never be enough. That's the beauty of it.

Lastly, I was brought to the story of Mary and Martha. I'm just going to write it. You read it. You come to know it. You take from it what it means to you.

"As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at the Lord’s feet, listening to what he taught. But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, “Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.”

But the Lord said to her, 'My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.'" Luke 10:38-42

Take heart. Let your works bring honor to Him and for no other reason. He chose us WHILE WE WERE STILL SINNERS.

how beautiful is His love
how powerful is His grace
how relieving His forgiveness

Kevin.

It's time to share. Not sharing only does a disgrace to this beautiful little boy.

If you don't know, I spent my spring break in Honduras. My team and I worked at an orphanage called Por Los Niños constructing a new roof for one of their four houses. When we weren't working, we were playing/bonding/becoming attached with the kids.

I loved every single one of them, even Erlin who always acted like a punk to me. But one little boy holds my heart. Kevin.

I don't remember meeting Kevin, really. Looking back, I remember taking a picture of him when he and the rest of the kids were exercising on the basketball court, but that was it. I didn't think anything about it. I didn't know his story and never thought he would have had such an impact on me.

Kevin was born with what was described to me as fibrodisplasia (but after some research, I'm not sure that's exactly it...what do I know.) When his biological mother discovered this, she wanted nothing to do with him. I cannot speak for her, but I imagine she saw him as a burden. Life in Honduras is difficult enough without a crippled child...right? So she placed Kevin in some reeds on the side of a mountain. In some reeds. Much like another story of a little boy I have heard countless times. A little boy who was put in some reeds on the side of a riverbank, only to one day deliver God's people from oppression. To redeem them. Incredibly fitting for Kevin's story, too.

Another woman, whom Kevin would come to know as "Auntie," found Kevin one day and apparently recognized him as the child of this woman, Kevin's biological mom. She went to her, asking what she was doing with Kevin. When she said she didn't want him, this "Auntie" asked her if she could have him. Well, his mom didn't want him before, why would she now? With that, "Auntie" took Kevin as her own, making him one of eventually four children.

That is, until she realized just how much medical attention Kevin would need. Before the age of six, Kevin had been in and out of the hospital countless times. I say "countless" because Por Los Niños doesn't even know how many times. They were only told by the people where Kevin lived that he was in and out of the hospital all the time. Not only that, but "Auntie" always submitted him under a different name, making it significantly more difficult for Les and Jeanell (the couple over Por Los Niños) to find his medical records in the future.

As time when on, "Auntie's" husband left her alone with her three biological kids, and Kevin. The pressure became too much for her and she made the decision one day that Kevin had to go. She couldn't take care of him anymore. Bringing him to Por Los Niños around 2004, she left him. The second time he would be given up in only six years of life. Les and Jeanell quickly acted, taking Kevin to hospitals all over the country. Time after time, Kevin was mistreated. One time, a metal pin was put in his leg to hold it up, for no beneficial reason. Jeanell could only be with him from 7AM-7PM, and when she would come in the morning, she would find him lying in filth because no one would take him to the bathroom. The doctors refused to tell Les and Jeanell what was wrong, saying they didn't deserve to know, getting so bad that Les finally called their lawyer in Texas to see what options they had. Because God is good, because He redeems, because that's the story of Kevin's life, he applied and was accepted to Scottish Rite hospital in Texas. By age six, Kevin's left leg was only an inch shorter, but he had gone through so many surgeries, so much pain. In fact, he had a large scar across his back, of which I've seen, that was there before he even came to Por Los Niños. There is no telling what was done to him. They could only this Texas hospital would bring hope.

But it brought more of the same. Kevin left Texas with the heartbreaking news that he could not be "fixed." All they could offer was a prosthetic to go in his shoe that would give him the appearance of standing at the same height. He has to go back about every six months for new experiments and another inch to his prosthetic. Today, it is four inches tall. He goes back to Texas in April or May for yet more diagnosis'.

But when I met Kevin, I didn't know about his disease. He was a quiet little boy with a sweet smile. By day two, he had given me a least five drawings, another reason we clicked so well, and I would later find that giving is what Kevin does. It's his love language. As we spent more time together, I became aware of his disability, more so than he ever would. He couldn't run and play like the other boys, often getting stuck as goalie in soccer, or not being able to play at all. When the other little boys would kick the ball away from Kevin because he couldn't get there fast enough, I would almost get angry. Defensive of my little one, almost like a mother. But Kevin was never phased. He never spoke a harsh word. He never got angry and always kept that sweet smile.

Kevin continues to teach me. He has seen more life in his now eleven years than I probably ever will. But when he looks at me with his chocolate eyes and dimples, when I see him ride his bike as fast as all the other kids, I believe even more in Redemption. He is Redemption.

"He redeemed my soul from going down to the pit, and I will live to enjoy the light."
Job 33.28

you are free from every single thing that threatens to take hold of your mind
of your heart

you are FREE. it's not even a question
i so desperately want you to know that

deep in our hearts the light of Heaven is shining
upon a soundless Sea without a shore
oh, happy they who found it in resigning,
the images of all that man adore
-Rumi

i walk up the three flights of stairs to third floor Kendall, mind racing, heart beating slow. suddenly my eyes fixate on a bike pump laying haphazardly on a stair of my journey...

i look up from my cool seat on the bodega floor: dirty, sweaty, and so full of joy i might explode. we have been pumping these bike wheels for what seems like forever and they are still flat! i look around me, room filled with bikes and people attending to them, barely able to wait for the moment we will give these to our kids. only imaging the elation that will cover their faces.

sitting at the red light on the corner of main and some other street that i don't care about, my head is hurting, but it cannot even enter the competition with my heart. "thank you for loving Kevin." behind me, someone's music is blaring...

i lazily sit in this yellow chair, wishing this could go on forever. sitting at house number 1, i am waiting for a task to do, but more eagerly waiting for the kids to get out of school. from inside the house, i hear the blaring songs of Akon and the Black Eyed Peas, chuckling to myself and allowing the angelic voices of those singing along to soothe me into rest.

today, it will be ok. ipod playing music that i love, laundry in the washer, watercolors awaiting me in my bag. today, i will be ok. i desire coffee, i desire anything that makes me feel normal. pouring the grounds into the machine, i pray that it will be a strong cup...

"un cafe, por favor." the beautiful lady behind the counter hands me a saucer and white cup filled with dark brown coffee, matching the depth behind her eyes. i sprinkle non-dairy, powdered creamer, which i don't even like, along with big grains of caramel colored sugar into the cup, watching it sink to the bottom and disappear. slowly, confidently, i lift the coffee to my lips and drink. it may be the best coffee i have had in my entire life.

I sit in the yellow chair, worn from rain and weary bodies
The breeze blows my stray stands of hair as I doze off, listening to ladies singing along to Akon and other popular American music.
The rich smell of beans and some other fragrance, reminding me of Thanksgiving, fills the air.
To my left, a joyful game of soccer; to my right, purple, brown, and black mountains whose tips kiss the clouds.

Honduras.

the brown dust hits my feet, filling my lungs with sweet memories and lost dreams.

dust becomes mud in the never-ending gaze of deep-set eyes in faces of angels.

mud becomes velvet in the matted hair of loose braids, belonging to whirling dervishes.

a smile creeps across my teeth, reaching my lungs, heart, soul.

dust to dust.

you are me.

i am you.

Honduras. how i’ve missed you. oh. how i’ve missed you.

i meet the parts i left here, stepping back into the fading footsteps.

remembering this rock, remembering this Sun, breath fills the corners of my mind.

relief

warmth

peace

love

home.

March 7th

I read a book called Jesus Calling ever day. Basically, it's a daily devo. I got it last year around the time I started school and journaled in it nearly every day. It's been really interesting, and a whole slough of other emotions, to read where I was last year compared to where I am now. Anyways, here's today's:

"Let Me help you through this day. The challenges you face are far too great for you to handle alone. You are keenly aware of your helplessness in the scheme of events you face. This awareness opens up a choice: to doggedly go it alone or to walk with Me in humble steps of dependence. Actually, this choice is continually before you, but difficulties highlight the decision-making process. So consider it all joy whenever you are enveloped in various trials. These are gifts from Me, reminding you to rely on Me alone."

And this is what I wrote below it:
"A preface maybe for this week.
Finding out my diagnosis today."

Last January, the beginning effects of what I would later find out to be "5th's Disease" attacked my body. Slowly but surely, it reached the point that I was essentially an invalid. I couldn't even switch on my heater without cringing and wanting to cry. It was the last straw of my Job Journey. By spring break, they had taken 4 tubes of blood out of my arm, testing me for Lupus and Rheumatoid Arthritis, and this day, March 7, 2010, I was going to find out the results. If that doesn't sound bad enough, remember that I am an artist. If I had had RA, my ability to draw would have become increasingly more difficult.
But my blood came back "perfect."
In two months I would find out it was 5th's Disease, something that would mostly go away within a year.

He Redeems.

the worst thing you could ever do is ignore a person, without explanation.
no one deserves that.

Redemption.

Situated under the covers of my queen-sized bed, I am surrounded by mounds of pristine white, cloud-like pillows and prints of lavender sending an air of serenity off of their places on my bedspread. The smell of jasmine, sweet pea, and vanilla fill the air as my candles flicker to the beat of memories on my nightstand.
I am home.
I close my eyes after taking a look around the room and wonder how much longer until my heart bursts.
I SERVE A REDEMPTIVE GOD.

Two months ago, this room held a different kind of scenery. One of ruin. One of desperation. One of loss. The remnants of that picture, of that time, still slightly remain. Even my heart skipped a beat as the first scent of my candles filled the air, reminding me of the countless nights I lit them, only in hopes that the smoke from their flames would curl around me and hold me together. I look at my antique couch, now light with my two small bags and worn, gray boots, remembering a time when it was sagging, perhaps not literally, under the weight of a brokenhearted woman's belongings and tangible stress.
The air is quiet, the story is thick.
I SERVE A REDEMPTIVE GOD.

Not two months ago, I sat on this very same bed as my eyes searched over the crevices of ones that couldn't look at mine and the sagging skin under them, due to sleep that teased her, screaming far more than she ever could. I sat here. And I listened to my sister unpack the horrors and tragedy her heart was undergoing.
Not even a week ago, she was sharing a new found treasure in the Words of her King as she is learning about His love.
HE REDEEMS.

A little over a year ago, I laid on the cold tiles of my bathroom floor, letting my tears seep into the cracks. Empty, numb, desperate, hurting, angry. I begged, I prayed, for life to be whispered away.
Now, I sit in a warm bed, surrounded by love, once again letting tears speak; only this time, ones of joy, peace, and hope.
BECAUSE HE REDEEMS.

One of my best friends lived through years of hell, complete with drugs, sex, abuse, a close relation's suicide, and an eating disorder.
Wednesday, she went to counseling for the first time ever, completely diminishing the long trail of Satan's lies.
HE REDEEMS.

One of my very good friends has a roommate with a heart of gold and beauty to match. But she struggles to know her worth and therefore acts accordingly, letting filthy people and strong alcohol dictate her life.
A few weekends ago, she stayed in. The first time in 2 years she hasn't had alcohol on the weekends.
HE REDEEMS.

I am humbled and in awe at the work of the Creator. These are just words to you, but these are STORIES, REAL stories. This is my life, BECAUSE HE REDEEMS.

Let all that I am praise the Lord;
with my whole heart, I will praise his holy name.
Let all that I am praise the Lord;
may I never forget the good things he does for me.
He forgives all my sins
and heals all my diseases.
He redeems me from death
and crowns me with love and tender mercies.
He fills my life with good things.
--Psalm 103.1-4

don't go chasin' waterfalls.

Faithful

He provides. I've seen Him do it soo much concerning money lately.

I wrote a $54 check for my jersey on Monday night, only to realize I only had $52 in my account. I frantically asked my mom to put some money in my account so that my check wouldn't bounce, but she wasn't able to until Wednesday. I checked my account everyday to see what was happening because I talked to the Treasurer and she had ALREADY deposited the checks by TUESDAY. Meaning, the $54 should have been already taken out of my account by the time my mom put the money in Wednesday. The deposit and credit didn't show up until today.

As soon as the $50 my mom put in showed up, the $54 was taken out EVEN THOUGH it should have been taken out earlier this week. GOD IS FAITHFUL.

There's something Abba's been showing me a lot of lately.
All my life I have seen Christianity as a one time decision.

Let's start at the beginning.

Baptism.
A one time thing that proclaimed what I had already decided. It changed my eternity. And although I knew it wouldn't magically change all my decisions from that moment on, I somehow secretly hoped it just would.

Now.

When I face struggles, I want to stare it in the face, decide it's not right, and let that be enough. I don't want to keep struggling. I want it to be enough that one time.
For example: Two of my biggest struggles are making Abba the center of my everything and NOT putting worth in people (in general. (although I guess these two actually kind of bleed into one)).
And as I go throughout my days, perhaps coming to the realization that I have in fact done quite the opposite of these two, I'm angry. I'm spiraling into the rabbit hole of frustration. Of desperation. Why is this still a struggle?!
Because, you see, subconsciously or not, I view Christianity as a one time decision. When in fact, it's an every day decision. It is an all the time decision. In fact, it's really a minute by minute decision, I think.
It all occurred to me when sitting at The Underground, once again asking Abba HOW to put Him as Center. "Every Day" was brought to the forefront of my mind.
Every Day.



SIDE NOTE: it's really almost humorous the way Abba teaches me sometimes. Some of my biggest lessons seep from the Spirit filled words I recite to others for THEIR needs. Hah.

Oh he said it's crazy
How love stays with me
You know it hurts me
Cause I don't wanna fight this war
It's amazing to see me reading through this scene
Of love and fear and apologies

My love is like a blanket
That gets a little bit too warm sometimes
I wanna wrap somebody in it
Who can hold me in his arms
Cause when it got a little too hot in there
He was always stepping out for air and he froze
Oh he froze

-Apologies, Grace Potter and The Nocturnals

love is not passion. it is the pulse of sacrifice.

-ann voskamp

"People sell themselves out for You. Wholly, completely, soul and all. They give themselves to a Being they've never ever known. Kids, thirteen years old, commit their whole lives to following you. They can't even drive. Of all the characteristics I know of You, Love is the most difficult to truly know. To remember. I have a really hard time making that fit. It's not hard to see you as powerful. It's not hard to imagine you creating everything. But what is STILL so hard for me to know is that You are present."

-prayer from this morning

I have literally seen myself being used lately. By God. It's like He's removing me from my actual life, allowing me to look AT rather than THROUGH, as I've said before. It's the weirdest experience. And suddenly, nothing makes any sense. I don't feel like I am in danger of leaving "Christianity (there really should be another word. I'm just not fond of that one lately)," rather, I fear I'm in danger of staying in something that I do not know the first thing about. Sometimes, I think it's necessary to be absent, to be silent for a time, in order to ever be present.
Wow. Sounds a lot like how God's looking right now...I just thought of that as I was typing.
Weird.


To be continued

Irrelevant

Fidgeting with the keys in my hand, I felt the breeze sweep through my pink hair. Each step closer to my car dissolved the hard plastic covering of my frame, and the pulling of the handle of the car door dissipated it entirely. As I reversed out of the lot, I searched for a song on one of my many CD's to compel my thoughts onto another path.
"DO SOMETHING."
It's funny that those words always seem to be the ones I utter.
I didn't know where I was going, literally and figuratively, but I just drove. So done. My eyes welled with tears as a flimsy balloon does, filled with icy water from a summer's faucet. But as quickly as they appeared, I banished them away. Not a single tear fell.


My thoughts trip over the words of so many "church songs" I have sang all my life. "Lead me to the Cross," "heart abandoned," "all my life and nothing less." Mouth (figuratively) agape, I now wonder to myself if the singer of those songs seriously knows what they are saying. Do I? Because if I had known, every time I sung those songs, what I am actually "signing up for," I would have needed a lot more courage to sing them. Honestly, I don't know if I would have sang them at all.
Last night, I sat in my car with two of my best friends, talking and doing our best to align with the Divine. I had just finished crying (it really does amaze me that I have any tears left) and doing my best to expose my heart when one of my friends said something so profound it will probably always stick with me. In fact, I remember looking at her in the rear-view mirror thinking, "Wow. God personified." (Don't freak out. Don't take that for more than it is...)

"Sometimes, it's just about being used."
To paraphrase, she said that there will be, have been, and are times in life that I won't understand. That I may never see the reason/lesson behind the trials I endure. But more times than not, it's because I'm looking at what it did for ME. And it's not always bad to look at it that way. Sometimes I really am trying to see what lesson I can learn from it. But as my friend so beautifully exclaimed, God brings glory, for HIMSELF, out of every single situation. There are times that I get to benefit from it, but mostly, I am IRRELEVANT.
It doesn't take me out of the situation, it doesn't by any means take the pain away, and it doesn't always make me feel any better. But I can't count the times I have prayed to be used by Him. I have even said "whatever that means." Let me tell you, I didn't mean that. At the moment of utterance, yes, I was sincere. But it was the same type of misleading sincerity that says, "I will take a bullet for you." When the gun is on your forehead, will you still mean it?

I have traveled the road, hitting every bump along the way. And sometimes, if only for a minute, a day, a week, I am granted a look AT rather than a look THROUGH. And as I stand on the other side of the Cross, seeing what it feels like to embody ignorantly sincere words, I can't help but wonder if I would do it all again.

heart abandoned
all my life and nothing less...
Lead me to the Cross.


To Be Continued.

praise God

Yesterday

I blink hard against the glass lenses of my black framed glasses, one eye watering and both burning, as if each has its own personal campfire behind my pupils.

I don't possibly know how to love You more,

I think to myself as I stare out of the antique windows of Midnight Oil, ones that capture and contain every small whisper uttered over a Fred. For one brief instant, my mind sets down its weapons to recall the story of Jesus in the desert. He had just received confirmation at His baptism as Heaven ripped open, declaring that He was, in fact, the Beloved Son. And now, He was dusting the dirt of a desert, physically and spiritually, off of His worn sandals.
I can't help but wonder why, taking some kind of twisted comfort in the fact that even Jesus endured trials from the One who He had been told, and believed, was supposed to love Him the most.

I don't know how to love You any more than I already do.

Slowly, the memory fades, bringing me back to my empty plate and mug rimmed with foamy remains, resting on the table in front of me. I reach for my red journal, small, yet full of loaded words and questions; ones I hope lift off the page to the One above. I pull the elastic band off, now stretched twice its original size, glancing at the frayed tassel marking my place.

A thousand words, accusations, and questions come to mind, but all my pen will allow me to write is one sentence:

You must be doing something good for me to be hurting this much.

I heard one time that when we endure trials, Abba wants so badly to intervene, to take it all away. But usually, He doesn't. Yesterday, that was not ok with me. And it wasn't until 9:30 last night that I even realized what the real problem is.
I am not complete in anyone or anything else.
And i try my hardest to be. I run away from Abba like daily. But every single time He brings me back to Him. And it is not easy. But is is necessary; not for His sake, BUT FOR MINE. Which blows my mind. Because in the middle of a storm when I am hurting soo badly, angry at Him for "not showing up," He is showing up more than I can even fathom.

you can only take from me what i choose to give

your gingerly chosen, love-laced words
are the same i feel for you.
Knowing every eyelash as i blink,
sometimes wishing i could undo.
Frantic running destroys the path;
i'm speaking of love, you're speaking of math.
i wouldn't require what you cannot give,
your heart is one i see.
drowning in your what-ifs;
trust, an idea you rid.
"Quit trying, just be."

I have no idea how this will come out.

I pulled onto the interstate, heading East. The only thing breaking the silence echoing off of the interior of my car was the British voice of my GPS, telling me to merge. I was finished. Another semester under my belt. Another GPA recorded, another week of finals finished, complete with little sleep and lots of reeses pieces and coffee. My car was silent, but my mind was screeching, in competition with my racing heart. My eyes, covered by my knock-off Ray Bans were painfully dry and swollen, a sure sign of the episode that had been the night before.
I was terrified. Absolutely terrified to enter battle.

"I have a history of making decisions very quickly about men. I have always fallen in love fast and without measuring risks. I have a tendency not only to see the best in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of reaching his highest potential. I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the highest potential of a man, rather than with the man himself, and I have hung on to the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own optimism."
-Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love

I love this book. I'm currently reading it for the second time. And when I first read that quote, I probably wore my pen out, underlining, starring, and boxing it in. That is me, in a nutshell. But not just with guys, with everyone.
Over the Christmas break, my mom and I somehow got on the subject of my childhood one day. I can't go into too many details, but my home is toxic right now. For all involved. It was a morning of hurting one Saturday specifically, although nearly every day was. The moment I woke up, Satan met me at the foot of my bed, following me into this conversation with my mom. At first, it was just comical things I used to do. e.g. when I would wake up in the middle of the night, needing to use the bathroom, I would ask my mom every time (she would come with me because I was still very young) if I should flush the toilet because it was so loud to me that I was afraid I would wake someone up. When I was done with nap time in the afternoons, I would knock on the INSIDE of my door, checking to make sure it was time for me to come out. It is embedded in me. I don't know if one would call it love, compassion, or insanity, but it is in my genetic coding.
It was then that the conversation took a turn for the hurt.
I love my older sister dearly. But lately, she has been the topic of conversation on the lips of many people back home, and that day, with my mom, was no different.
When discussing the nature of my sister, my mom said she could tell from a young age that my sister always wanted to please people. She had a hard time sticking up for herself, of going her own way. And so, she prayed and prayed for another child to come and take care of her: eventually producing me. She compared me to Samuel, declaring it was obvious that God had dedicated myself to Him.

In that moment, I couldn't decide which emotion was going to win. Anger, confusion, frustration, and just heart breaking pain. Because lately, the gift of love has felt like the heaviest burden, acting like the invisibility coat in Harry Potter: consuming me completely. The only way I even know how to express it is exhaustion. Spiritual, emotional, mental exhaustion. Love's not supposed to feel like that, right?! Why me? Why. I don't want strive to show perfect love anymore, especially when I had just convinced myself that even from birth I had no other choice.

And yet even in the most desperate of times, even in the most desolate spiritual deserts, Truth breaks through, usually in people around me, no less. I am reminded that Love is always worth it. Not the love that says, I'm going to do something nice for my friend today, I'm not going to give a dirty look to that nasty girl that I don't like, I'm going to call my mom. No, the Love that sits with a women who prays to die so that she can no longer wake up to her life. The Love that sits and tag teams the burden that's on a best friend, whom you love, when his heart is breaking from the weight of his love for another woman. The Love that comes back when everything and everyone around you screams to run away. THAT is Love. And that is what we are meant to be. I believe without a shadow of a doubt that that's what Abba intended. But it is the most difficult thing to even consider doing, and if done incorrectly, if done while relying on my own strength and will and selfish considerations of what I will get out of it, I will fail. I have failed. I will become burnt out and angry. I only know because I have done it. I was stuck in that desperation for too long. Abba is that Love. All the time. He is the example, He is the beginning, He is everything.



p.s. I have a best friend. He is a mirror of myself. A reflection of who I often become and who I am, bringing me back to the feet of Abba. Yea...you should be jealous. I'm very often humbled by his existence.

my heart is screaming but the words don't translate.

"I will be ok, of that I have no doubt.
It's the road to that destination I'm worried about.
How to let go of something I'm so certain of
Bending, breaking, under the weight of love."

a long time ago i prayed for patience. Abba delivers.
but it is not easy.


"Allison, no one ever knows that anything's wrong with you. You always seem so put together, so strong."

i promise that one day, i will be able to write again. i've posted a lot of unfinished thoughts lately. i fully intend on actually writing what i say i will, but i'm not done learning it yet, although i pray every day that i can be.

no titles needed

Stepping out of the skin; fresh terror, fresh hope
Wouldn't even call it mine, no idea how to cope.
Time has left me stunted, one size does not fit all.
Untouchable now appears to be the tripping to my fall.

Where to go from here, an unfair answer to my cry
The page is left empty, the canvas left wide.
A crossroads, just around the riverbend
At this point, I know my heart I'll have to lend.

----------------------------------------------------------

My eyes dart back and forth as Your breath washes over my cheek
Strong under Your Arms, but in this condition, so weak.
You are jealous for me, I heard you once say,
the tangible glitter and comfort of idols lead me astray.

Angry and ashamed, I cast my head downward
Constricted by these chains, instead of free as a bird would.
Lost in your Love, a sojourner of Your world,
feeling like a pebble when I know I'm a pearl.

burning bush

Filled with doubt as the bush burns in front of me
why is this so hard?
a love so perfect, people start running
too afraid to see that they're scarred.

It feels like a faint desire, burning around the edges
Unsure of what I was accepting
Only a spark, compared to the flame, gripping to where the ledge is.

A soldier in an old war with a bruised and broken helmet,
fighting for the loss of the innocent.
Overwhelmed with deception, blinded by Who dealt it
Destined not to cry, 'it is finished.'

Weary against the storm, battered against the losses
Tunnel vision now.
Impossible to turn back, impossible to go on...I've come to where the Cross is.

please just love.
i have so so much to say. so much...
but i'm emphatically exhausted.

and if you aren't going to love as you should then quit hindering it.