Falling from Grace or from Sight?

Do you see me?
Do you see me?

I am sincerely stunned by the reverence some people give me. Then I am terrified because I know this pedestal: I've lived on it and I've fallen from it. I'm not keen about doing so again, not when it cost so much, hurt her so dearly to watch my plummet. Because, you see, I took her with me; I watched her bleed and I laughed at her wounds, thinking them false or weakly inflicted.

Because the real me is terrifying. My ideal self is the one that looks like she's got it all together, yet she doesn't care; she's adaptable, sarcastic, hilarious, calm, patient, harsh when called for--authentic.

Ironic, then, that my real self is not at all authentic when all painted up for another's vision.

Don't Rain on My Parade and TRUTH in progress

Two of the many art pieces that I've been ignoring are in progress! Actually, they're almost completed. I used a couple new techniques that I picked up off of Pinterest.com (killer site to get the creative juices flowing). I'll probably end up redoing the pieces now that I kind of know what I'm doing. I think I'm most excited about Don't Rain on My Parade because I didn't absolutely hate the girl that I painted last year while I was home. Usually I look back on my stuff and I want to rip it to shreds.

I think I'd like a portfolio for my stuff, but I have no idea what to get. Hmmm, good thing Christmas is just around the corner!

It's about time I finally got back to my art stuff. I haven't done anything paint-y for some time. I also need to work on a Tennessee Williams collage for a teacher, and I haven't done mixed media for the entire semester either.

Time to root through the craft box and get busy!

Pencil thin lines

Well, we had a coffeehouse event this weekend, and for the coffeehouse, I decided to read a piece I'd revised earlier in the week. It's based on a real event, and the Lord provided all of the imagery and words; He knows I haven't written anything in who knows how long.

So here it is.

_______________________________________________________________

Pencil- thin- lines

            Inside your forearms, on your shoulders

I play them like a xylophone until

You shiver and shrink away

            I’d forgotten in that instant—your story.

Not branches, scratching or clawing, because of your work.

No.

Razorrrrsss

Hissing one- after- the other

How couldn’t I have noticed this ‘til now?

These faint, distinct battle scars

            Each telling a new story of blood

                                                            Terror

                                                                 Self-hatred

A hatred so strong

    You scrub against your skin until you’re raw, until you rip apart, and you’re nothing again.

But you don’t see what I see.

Mirrors- on your wrists-

    Revealing nails instead of blades.

Shamed no more,

    But redeemed.

So I’ll play the xylophone until your beautiful music plays,

And you wear your heart—instead of your hate—on your sleeve.

A Beautiful Mind, A Beautiful Love

Haven't posted in a while. Guess it's appropriate that my resurrection post is on a topic that is rather dear to my heart--love.

Now, don't get me wrong:  I am not at all lovey dovey (though I will admit that A Walk to Remember did make me cry because that was legitimately love, not crappy infatuation like The Notebook or Titanic), I don't have a dream wedding planned, and I am not at college to find "the one"; I have a very strict view of love which is why I'm so harsh on people about their so called relationships.

I do not believe we are halves of a whole person, only made whole through that soul mate connection. (That's just stupid rationale in my opinion. I mean, why the heck would God create us just to find each other? Dumb.) Heck, I barely believe in soul mates. (I'm of the opinion that God will bring you the exact person that fits your "list" of specifications, but I also believe--thanks to a Bible professor--that we are perfectly able to choose from an exclusive group of people which meet our basic standards.)

I'm not a huge fan of dating, which may contradict my soul mate theory, but I'm not anti-finding-your-chemistry-matches either, though I do believe too much dating creates too much baggage for your final choice in marriage (and sex in those relationships is a GIANT NO for the same devastating reasons).

That's another thing- marriage is permanent. End of discussion. No divorces because of finances, none because "you don't love each other anymore" (total b.s. for the record since love is a choice and action, not just a feeling). There is only one exception which cannot be created or imagined or nitpicked just so you have an excuse to divorce: abuse (which also includes cheating since that could be sexual/emotional abuse). I am a firm believer in therapy, so that will always be my first recommendation. If therapy doesn't work, then it seems to me that you have a legitimate reason to dissolve the marriage.

Which brings me to the actual point I wanted to make in this post.

I watched the movie A Beautiful Mind a couple of hours ago. The movie's about this math whiz who is eventually diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. The big issue is he has been living in illusions for most of his life because of this disorder. The one constant, however, seems to be his wife. Now, I hate love interests. A lot. Because they are never ever interesting or moral or pertinent to the plot. So when I saw the initial interactions between the main dude and his student (yes, he was a college professor, and she was in his class; creepy, I know, but I guess it's not illegal) I rolled my eyes. Their following encounters were super awkward because he is socially awkward, and she seems like a skank to me. Eventually they get married, and he's diagnosed with this mental disorder. He gets medication which makes him unresponsive to any of his wife's advances and unresponsive to his own child. He stops taking the meds which bring the illusions back; one such illusion causes him to shove his wife and child against the wall (he was trying to protect them from the guy who turned out to be an illusion, but the wife tripped out). Flash forward to, what, thirty years later, and this dude has basically conquered his disorder, and he tells his wife he could not have done it without her.

I gave this love interest serious props for staying with him through this degenerative disease, especially since she could almost call her husband's actions abuse (if she were squinting for a loophole to get out of the marriage). Of course, it helps that the main guy finally realized that one of the people he'd been imagining must have been an illusion because she never aged. This realization drives him out to his wife's car just before she takes off down the road, and it convinces her that he wants help.

I don't know if she would've turned the car around had he not had this revelation. All I know is that she did, and she stuck with him. That is the love I'm talking about.

At the same time, something doesn't quite sit right with me. Maybe because their relationship really was flashing red flags for potential abuse, and a lot could've changed, and in that case, I definitely would root for her to get herself and her child the heck out of the house.

I guess I say all this to say that marriage and love are cut and dry, but only you can make the final decision to push through or call it quits when love stops acting and becomes twisted.

Ignorance is...?

I don't think I have ever nor will I ever again experience pain like this one--sucking at my chest, collapsing my lungs, shredding my veins. My voice disappears, and my balance wavers, so I try to hold myself up against the door frame, but I can't look away. It's awful but morbid, so I just keep staring, watching, until my eyes blur with tears.

The man I thought I loved, kissing my best friend.

My mind reels so desperately I can't quite put two and two together, but I force myself to do so because I'm sickly masochistic, and somehow I will find a way to blame myself for this.

Instead of feeling enraged, I despair because I realize neither is at fault- I am. She had no idea we were dating; I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want our relationship to be broadcast to the world and subject to the spotlight. He must've resented me for that, and she's so beautiful and outgoing and their chemistry is pretty outstanding while I'm-

at fault. This is my fault. I'm ugly and boring; how could I have possibly even imagined holding his attention? I'm stupid, even more so for believing such a lie.

For what feels like minutes but must only be seconds, she returns his kiss; neither is aware of my presence in the door way, so I back away quietly, trying to smile, to hold it together. No one has to know that I saw this. I'll casually tell him our relationship isn't going to work out, but then I'll say I bet she'd be interested. I'll pretend like I have no idea about their feelings for each other, like I'm giving chipper advice.

But I'll always remember how I fell for it, how I believed I could ever exceed her. She looks even greater when she's next to me; I'm just her foil, her means of comparison. They should be together; I shouldn't have interfered.

Ok, then. Instead of waiting to break up with him, I'll get it over with now. I stomp back down the stairs, singing, making a lot of noise so they know I'm here. Now they're just talking, but I can see now that their body language is more intimate than they realize. I call him over to speak in private, tell him exactly what I said I'd say.

I walk away, but before I leave I hear, "Well, I guess this was meant to be then, wasn't it?" followed by what I guess is another kiss.

I try to avoid letting the door hit me on the way out.

A Glimpse Into A World Unlike My Own

I keep thinking about how you told me that he was in a knife fight recently. I keep thinking about how incredibly interesting that would have been, whether I was a spectator or another fighter. Then I start wondering why it happened, how often it happens, where do you keep the knife, how many times have you gripped it only to realize you were not in danger, or how many times didn't you swing it fast enough.

And what about you, the girl who spends what seems like hours applying makeup. Don't you know you are beautiful, with or without the makeup? I wonder what your wound is, what you're trying to hide or make up for with glorious shades and blushes.

Fascinating. I hope to meet you both again; I'd like to learn more. My observations may not be keen, in which case I want to ask that you clarify, but these words stick between my teeth, and they refuse to exit my imagination and enter reality.

That Which Was Once Resilent Becomes Softened

First time seeing you again in however many years. (I kept saying four, but I think you're right, maybe it was three. Then again, if I was hittin' up summer college stuff, maybe it was only two.) You're definitely the same. Well, there are some changes, some differences, but our personalities have remained in tact. It was like we picked up right where we left off, something that both surprised me yet didn't.

Yeah, I'll probably come over tomorrow. I'm glad this is working out.

What, February already? Nope, just Summer Flings

The other day, I was watching Lemonade Mouth, one of Disney Channel's original movies, with a friend. There's this one scene with this kid Wen (whom I happened to have in a couple of my classes and thereby am famous by association) and his father; Dad plans to marry Girlfriend Sydney and tells Wen this. Wen isn't happy about this because no one could ever replace his mother, especially not his dad's girlfriend, whom he's come to demonize, but in reality she's perfectly alright (typical kid reaction to potential new parent). When Wen asks why Dad is marrying Sydney, Dad replies, "Because she makes me happy."

...For real? That's your answer? The more I thought about it, the more I realized this is a typical answer for that question.

And it's a pretty stupid answer.

So she makes you happy. I'm assuming your statement means she consistently makes you happy, all day, every day, all the time. She never pisses you off? Ever? Like, you've never gotten into a fight where you've desperately wanted to tear each other's hair out? I call b.s.

So what if she makes you happy? A LOT OF PEOPLE make you happy. Clearly your son does; you're not thinkin' about marrying him too are you? 'Cuz that might get awkward.

That answer needs to be expanded. You can't tell me you're only gonna marry a person because he makes you happy. What does that even mean? HOW does she make you happy? What does he do when you're upset or depressed? There has to be something else, some other reason.

"Well, I love him/her." Um, ok? And? Wait, that's it? Marriage is hardcore; you better be friggin' sure you can handle that mess, that weight, that COMMITMENT. Yeah, I said it- CUH-MIT-MEANT. I'm pretty sure you're in that "in love" stage in which you think this individual is perfect, amazing, and stupendous. Now, is any of that necessarily wrong to think? Of course not. But you must realize that this person is human and therefore
 fails at something at some level at some point; this person probably pisses you off at some point.

What do your arguments reveal about your characters? I'm a firm believer in members of a relationship fighting. Am I talking abuse? Of course not. But words will be said, actions will be taken, and feelings will get hurt. I think that's great for a relationship. It means real issues are surfacing and need to be dealt with accordingly. It gives each member a chance to say, "Wow, can I really handle someone like this?" Then they go at it again to work it out or eventually dissipate the relationship. Fights are a great tool for understanding perspectives and how to correct grievances made against those perspectives.

So for the "love" of all that is sane, please come up with a better excuse than "she makes me happy" unless you want me to go ballistic on your illogical reasoning.

What are your reasons?

Quality Time

"You first," I urged.

"Oh no," he sighed. "Ok, well, there were several." After deliberating for a moment, his tone brightened, "Oh, I know. Alright, remember when we were out getting groceries so you could, ah, delight us all with your cooking?"

I elbowed him in the side. "Shut up! You said yourself it was a great meal!"

Chuckling, he continued, "You and I split up, and when I finally found you again, you were in the office supplies section, just staring in wonder as though you'd never seen paper before."

My face reddened, and I was suddenly glad we were sitting back to back. "I told you then, and I'll say it again now-"

"I know, I know, let me finish," he said between laughs. I huffed and rammed myself into his back. "Let me paint this picture for you the way I saw it. You were standing there like a child, your guard was down, your awe was evident by the sparkling in your eyes, and I knew you were trying to think of uncommon ways to use all of those supplies in your crafts. It was one of the first times I'd ever seen you express unrestrained joy. For a moment, the veil parted so your beauty became clear to me. Then you noticed me, and instead of trying to pull your guard back up, you said very sheepishly, 'Have I ever told you how much I like office supplies?' At the time I really wanted to kiss you, but I settled for saying-"

"'No, you haven't. You're so strange,'" I finished while I chuckled. "Yeah, I remember that. Geez, I felt like a total geek after that."

"I thought you were rather adorable."

"I'm kinda glad you didn't kiss me right then and there. We weren't exactly dating then, so I would've been super confused and probably suffered a heart attack."

We laughed against each other until I finally said, "Ok, so I first realized you were the hottest man alive when-"

"Oh no." I felt his head fall into his hand as he nervously chuckled. Good naturedly embarrassing him is always a plus for me.

I continued, "You and your brothers were outside plucking weeds and doing yard work. Let me, uh, paint the picture for you. It's hot outside. Like, blazing hot. You guys are sweaty, shirtless, but look like you're having a jolly ole time. I step outside to take you guys a pitcher of icy water when, lo and behold, the, ah, veil parts, and I notice you are ridiculously handsome even when you're sweaty and stinky, and some not-so-pure thoughts run through my head." I feel him shaking his head as though he either doesn't believe a word I'm saying, or he is very embarrassed by the way I'm telling this story; I'm hoping it's the second one, and I'm almost wishing it were possible to see him blush.

"Anyways, I back inside the house to let my heart pound a bit and compose myself. Then I enter the backyard again with a loud shout so I know all of you notice me so I don't fall back into your spellbinding daze again. I mean, I always knew you were cute, but this was the first time I realized how frickin' sexy you are."

His face must have been in his hands because his speech was muffled. "You are ridiculous."

"Oh, don't be modest. You're fine, and you know it."

"Ridiculous. So ridiculous. I can't even- there are no words to describe how I feel right now."

I laughed and relaxed against him. "Is it that weird for me to call you sexy? Because you definitely are."

"You know when I call you bel in front of your friends, and they ask what it is I'm saying, so with beaming pride I tell them, but you put on this mask so you can hide your embarrassment?"

I was quiet for a moment before uttering a small, "Oh." Another second later I amended, "But that's different!"

With a heavy sigh, he fell into laughter, and soon after, I followed suit.

Controversy: You Think Love is Easy?

For the sake of getting my philosophical writings out of my notebook and onto the computer, I hope to transcribe and elaborate some of the debates I've been having with myself, Papa, and the general public.

Here's to the first of several entries about love.

We were having a question and answer session at youth group about homosexuality, and my thoughts were still reeling before I tried to go to sleep. So here are some rationalizations of mine, both written that night and further considered as I type, sprinkled with the debate at youth.

~*~

Homosexuality--how do we as Christians explain why it is wrong? Because "the Bible says so?" Yeah, great, but why? Why does the Bible call it wrong?

A good friend brought up the point that he can't imagine how God could judge someone based on how they were born.

Paul tries to defend this kind of answer towards the beginning of Romans while he talks about predestination and God choosing whom He loves based on what colonists called sovereign will. While I can't really understand Paul's answer, I'm hoping to look into it more once I get my hands on a Bible commentary for Romans.

Our panel of pastors and in-house-missionary replied that everyone is born into sin, because sin is permanent in this life until Christ's return revolutionizes everything, and everyone has a different weakness which can develop into a chaining habit of sin.

Then the good friend said that gays don't choose whom they are attracted to, just like he doesn't choose to be straight. To which our panel answered that virtually no one chooses to sin. They just do. I rationalize this as follows: I don't consciously say to myself, "Yeah, you know what, I am gonna break God's law by taking that candy bar, and I don't care that I'm sinning. I want it, so I'm doing it."

In fact, I think very few people consider their actions as sin; instead, they justify them or label them less offensively. If we really thought about our wrong actions as sin, I think we'd be less likely to do them. Think about it. Just that word sin. Kinda makes me shiver. Instead I'll think about stealing as a "bad action God will forgive anyways." Yeah, gives me less of a sickening, convicted feeling in my gut.

The panel replied that while few, if any, homosexuals say to themselves "You know what, Imma try hitting on my own gender and have sex with that person and see how that goes," they do choose to entertain those thoughts, then act on them, just like straights choose to survey that hot person then jack off or have sex with him/her. In which case, the brief thoughts are not entirely the problem nor are they necessarily the sin; running with those thoughts instead of making each thought and action captive to Christ is the real issue.

Thinking about this homosexuality issue brought me back to my next big thought--unconditional love. The way I see it, homosexuality is sexual immorality just like cheating affairs, masturbation, lust, and so on. The reason I think it's such a battle between opinions boils down to love versus lust, both of which are tied into our inherent sin natures and our spiritual rebirths.

Love is meant to be unconditional no matter what relationship setting you put it in. Romantic, parental, friendly, family, whatever. Love is corrupted, however, as soon as we're birthed from the womb. Even after we are reborn, love struggles against lust--the flesh, the sinful man we leave behind yet hounds us. Because we're human, we confuse the two, serve two masters, "love" impurely, whether we "love" ourselves and masturbate, "love" others and have sex with them, or "love" our fantasies and create idols, all of which are mentally fed further through different media: porn, erotic literature, movies, or even our own strange thoughts. Pick your poison.

I think the real issue across the board, homosexual or heterosexual, is this wire cross. We rarely, if ever, love each other, no matter the relationship. We almost always hold grudges, become impatient, selfish, controlling, jealous, and fall prey to our deceitful hearts. (Which, as another youth group member brought up, even if we love the Lord our God with our whole hearts, Jeremiah tells us our hearts are incredibly deceitful; thus, we may even "love" God without realizing.)

If we can't even fathom the love Christ had--has--for us by dying on our crosses for our sins when we nailed Him there, spit on Him, and mocked Him, how do we expect to love each other? I think most of our relationships, romantic or not, are founded on lust, the "natural," sin-natured, twisted version of love.

But as Christians, I feel every once in awhile our true God given heart shines through, and we love inexplicably, unconditionally. But most times, the sin nature bites back, and now our "love" again becomes self-centered.

So how do we correct this? What do we do? Well, here's to finding those answers, practicing what we preach, and living in love instead of lies.

I feel like our society needs a serious makeover regarding love. Love is not always sex, nor is it always happiness, sunshine, and ponies. Love is frickin' hardcore. Take it or leave it, fight for it, step up to the plate; it'll change you, grow you, and REVOLUTIONIZE you. I mean, come on, Love is even in the word revolution. It's backwards, but how fitting since that's our perception of it.

What do you think?

Let's Get Started

I've been thinking about love a lot recently. Been journaling it, trying to study it in the Word, but I keep coming back to 1 Corinthians 13. I think I've come to several conclusions. Unfortunately, one of them is the futility, fruitlessness, and pointlessness in loving at all. I think that's the one that bothers me so much. We are human; therefore, we are fallible. While we have access to unconditional love, we will screw it up. Often.

I think that's why I've become terrified of marriage. At the same time, I've come to terms with it if it is in The Plan (which it's totally likely it isn't, which I think I'm okay with as long as I have Something in The Plan to commit time to). There is love, no doubt about that; I have seen it overcome, seen its power, so much so that I felt ashamed to look upon such intimacy. I have seen her embrace upon his return early in the morning; in his eyes, I have seen the hardened resolve at her fate, yet relieved joy in the thought of seeing her again after death.

I have known much of what people call love, but they are often sadly mistaken. "Maybe this time," "maybe this guy," "oh, this is different." Yeah, but are you certain? Are you loving for yourself? If so, you're not loving at all.

I have learned love shows itself in many different forms. Just because I do not frequently speak with a person does not mean our relationship is nonexistent. Just because I often speak to someone does not mean our relationship exists.

Ahhh, I haven't stretched my philosophical fingers to type in a long time. Here's to more updates, some more of what I've learned, and maybe some more of what I've created.

Entertaining Strange Possibilities

Geez, it's weird thinking back. I don't have any references to our stories anymore--"The Thing" as we dubbed it, since we could never figure out a name for it. I can't really remember the last time we had contact before this last incident. I remember we decided to be civil but that didn't hold apparently. Haha, my fault really; most of our problems were my fault.

But I don't feel such overwhelming guilt anymore. I've grown, changed, found new problems to tackle, and I get the feeling you'd say the same. MAN, what I wouldn't give to talk to you. I know we'd talk for hours and hours; if only I had an entire day of free time, remembered your number, and had the courage to follow through, we have so much to catch up on.

What are you doing now? I know you didn't walk at graduation. You probably have no idea that I know that. I'm fairly certain you're working and not in college. If you don't perfect your craft, your talent, I will call you on it (maybe; again that courage thing). Maybe school's not your thing; fine, just don't regret it several decades from now.

I don't really remember the whole process, the exact details to how we unraveled. I remember bitterness and hatred; I've gotten over it. Why not you? Why am I the center of your universe? What an ugly world I must create for you. Losing your sanity, mental instability- I will not be able to befriend you until you let me go. What are you expecting? Me to center you, to balance you? I can't do that; that's not in my power. I have no authority to validate you. Only He does.

Oh, Lord, show her Your Light, Your Love. Become her Center, Purpose, Meaning. Only then will You be able to repair her, repair us. I would like to be friends again; I miss her dearly, miss hearing from her. I miss who she truly is, not this version, twisted by anger, wearing a mask to hide the gaping wound.

Lord, do what You do best- Your work.

Have Faith, Young One

I'm exhausted out of my mind, but I can't sleep because the pain is so incredible. I try not to show it since I know he's hurting much worse than I am, but he refuses to show it. He's fascinatingly strong, mentally, emotionally, physically; his endurance is remarkable. Guess that's how he put up with me for so long before we embarked on this crazy mission.

"Hey," he whispers. I don't want to give away the fact that I haven't been sleeping, but I've been fidgeting too much to have played it off.

"How's the pain?" I ask.

He laughs, and I'm surprised at how natural it sounds; it almost makes me forget we're locked in this cell, chains around our ankles and wrists. "Nothing He didn't take. If they decide to crucify me, then I'll be afraid."

I chuckle. "Idiot." I reach for his hand in the dark, and his closes around mine. "How are you not in pain? Not terrified?"

"We knew we were getting into this; we knew when we were married when come here, rebuild my home, strengthen it, all to glorify the Kingdom. We prepared for rejection, hatred, betrayal, and torture. Besides, aren't you the girl who told me when we were dating that you have a strange fixation for battle scars?" I laugh while pressing my lips to one of his newest scars on his hand. "That's my girl." After coming together in an embrace, he asks, "Are you afraid?"

"I'm okay with dying," I say, "but I'm horrified that they'll kill you and let me go."

"Don't be concerned with that. We'll always be together, whether we're alive or in heaven. Death can't part us, not forever. Focus on our Savior, do His work, love our persecutors. Stop focusing on me, on our escape. If we live, we live. If I die, I die. If you die, I will mourn, but I will move on for the greatest good. I know you'll do the same."

"You're awfully confident in me."

"Not you, particularly. Spirit will support you, will hold you up, hold you together, explode your growth. You are the branch, forever connected to the Livegiver, the vessel filled with His power, bought by His blood, meant to serve."

A stitch in my side causes me to intake breath, and I feel his chest heave as he coughs up dried blood stuck in his throat. Although I'm in so much pain right now, and I hate this weird position the chains force me into, I don't let go. "Vessels," I murmur. "Okay then. Let's take the pain with everything we've got. They brought it down on Brother; guess we should be honored to receive half as much."

"That's the spirit."

A pause then I smirk. "I think you're secretly a masochist."

"Just ever dependent on Papa to bring me through, whether to complete a purpose here or live at His side. I'm ok wherever He wants me."

His voice drifts into a gentle whisper, and I'm relieved that he will sleep. I hold him close to me, waiting to protect, to hold, to support. "Mwen renmen ou." I feel him smile against my neck.

"I love you, too."

This I Solemnly Swear

The taste of copper shocks my body as I feel blood drip over my lips. Coughing, I force it out of my throat, red spraying the ground.

"Kote yo ye?"

I don't answer, not because it hurts to exhale the words or my throat is raw despite its recent coating of blood; I hold silence because I am defiant.

"Si ou pa di nou kote yo ye, nou pral touye ou."

I know you will, I almost say, but I remember my silence, my vow.

"Nou pral touye mari ou tou."

I know. My eyes mist over, and I try not to imagine the soldiers murdering him. Separating us was wise; they know of our love for each other; they know I am weaker without him. But I've promised. I have sworn I will never forsake my King and His kingdom, even if this defiance kills my husband--my heart, my flesh, my soul along with him.

I will survive though I wish upon wish, pray and pray, that I will die, and he will live. I fear my uselessness, my apathy, my bitterness will rise up again in me when my link to this world is shattered.

Suddenly my shackles rattle as the soldiers yank me to my feet. Knees shaking, I try to find support again the stone wall of my prison, but the soldiers swing a staff at my head, and my vision blurs. I pray that I black out, so I will not have to endure further torture for the night.

If only I were so blessed.


[English Translations]
"Where are they?"
"If you do not tell us where they are, we will kill you."
"We will kill your husband too."

Iron Sharpens Iron

After discussing religion versus relationship in devos tonight, I think I had an epiphany. Religion is trying to reach God on one's own; relationship is letting the Lord reach the person. We release control, stop trying to do everything ourselves, stop trying to rectify our brokenness. Because we broke the relationship back in Eden, we're trying to reconcile it ourselves. We broke it, so we want to correct it.

But we can't. When we broke it, we were conscious of our decision, perfect up until that instant. Now we're imperfect, unable to reach Papa ourselves because we constantly screw up, despite our actions and good intentions.

We can't do good just because we think it'll score us brownie points with the Creator. We do good because, well, because that's who we're meant to be, meant to glorify Christ because we have been saved, made perfect once again.

But our good deeds weren't what made Jesus say, "You know, they deserve to be saved. Ok, you're a good kid, so I will die for you." If we were so good, we wouldn't need retribution. We do good deeds because He did the ultimate good deed, the most pure, altruistic deed. After we betrayed Him, He shed His blood when we whipped him, took our insults, took our cackling and mockery as He died in sheer agony. He took the spear through the side, took the nails we drove into His hands and feet, sneering because we thought we were doing a good deed. We thought we were preserving peace, using social justice.

But we were wrong--again. Surprise, surprise. Luckily, we were wrong to think He'd just stay dead. Instead He forgave us, welcomed us home, and gave us His Spirit to do good deeds. But these deeds are immeasurable; they don't give us more grace, more mercy, more forgiveness, more "good karma" to store up so we can do something heinous and evil.

His Spirit inspires us to do good for good's sake--intrinsic motivation. Because He did good first, He loved first, He died first. We want to follow that example because He did those things to and for us first. Now we want to make everyone else feel this inexplicable joy, overwhelming love, and passion for the adventure.

Do it to it.

Division

I stand pressed against the glass wall dividing us. Our hands reach for each other's against the glass. My forehead is creased, pressed to the window, and my teeth grind. I hate that he's taking the blame for this, for me, the punishment is mine.

"Idiot," I bite at him. In Creole I ask, or rather mouth, "How am I supposed to save you?"

He smiles at me, his forehead matched against mine. His right eye is swollen, blood dried to his face. "You can't," he mouths. My face goes livid with rage, and I'm about to shout at him when he looks up then flicks his gaze back to me. "He will."

My countenance calms, and I pull back. He raises his fingers to his lips, presses his fingers against the glass, and I'd give anything to feel that warmth growing from his vitality, not the blood running cold on his flesh. I settle for kissing the glass before the guards yank him away to be tortured anew.


I'm in our study, head in my hands, frustrated out of my mind trying to figure out how to release him, when I hear Him. "You're trying to save him," He whispers.

"Obviously," I snarl. "And what are You doing? Nothing! Letting him fall apart in there!"

"He's not falling apart; you know that. He's relying completely on me. You're just trying to make me feel guilty, which is rather silly, don't you think?" I don't reply because I know He's right; He always is. He continues, "You should be relying on me too."

"I am!"

"Then why are you trying to save him?"

"What are you talking about? What else am I supposed to do?"

"Why are you trying to save him?"

"I just said-" the reality of the statement hits me, "Oh." He lets me stew on that one for a bit. Finally I say, "I'm sorry; You're right -obviously. I- I give this up to you. I want to help him, help You help him. Lord, if you take him away from me," I start to become hysterical.

"That's not up to you. I don't need your help, though I appreciate the sentiment; let Spirit move in you, and this process will go smoother. But my ways are not your ways; I will do as fit."

I try to hold back the attitude in my statement, "That's not fair. He's done everything for You. I should be in there; I haven't stayed nearly as true to You, done nearly as much as him in Your name." I've tried this argument before, and I've felt the same response. My time isn't up yet. I can only hope that means my husband's time isn't up either.

Happy Valentine's Day?

The following short story was based on the following "like" from Facebook:

14th February:
Girl: Happy Valentines Day!
Boy: Um... yeah :)
-Girl passes him a big box of chocolates-
-Boy passes her a tiny box, to which she looks disappointed-
Boy: Now, before you open this, I want you to know something... I don't want to be your boyfriend anymore...
Girl: (Shocked) -Opens box- *Gasp*
Boy: Because I want to be your husband.


~*~

"I hate Valentine's Day," I said, exhaling against the too-long-but-not-quite-long-enough hair that was ever present in my face despite the ponytail I was prone to wearing.

He smiled. "You're only in it for the chocolate I suppose?"

My face brightened. "Of course; as though there are any other reasons." We both knew I was being difficult on purpose; he'd grown used to it and usually played along until he caught me and exposed my tough-girl front.

"Because you and I both know you are desperately in love with me, as I with you, you got me something which was probably homemade, I got you something, and we will have some form of a sentimental moment where we shall admit these things to one another without pretense."

Yeah, exactly like that. I faked an irritated sigh, opened my bag, and handed him a bag of cake balls. "Here," I bit, though I know he saw the smile I was trying to hold back. After retrieving his gift, he pushed a box across the table to me without a word. My face fell flat. "Really? After all that chocolate talk, you bought me, what, four pieces? As long as they aren't weird flavors." I opened it.

I examined the contents carefully; I couldn't figure out what I was looking at. "Pretty sure this isn't chocolate," I muttered.

"Alexandrite."

The word snapped me out of my confusion, and my gaze shot up to his. "Wha-"

"Amethyst."

"Wait a sec-"

"Pearl. I almost wish they'd figure out which is your actual birthstone, but I admit I like the colors together. Good choice, bel."

My face was twisted into something mixed between confusion, dreamlike, and terror. Confused because I wasn't sure what was happening, barely dreamy because of what I thought it meant, and terror because I didn't want to be utterly wrong and humiliated. He smiled, somewhat knowingly but mostly gently.

"Marry me."

Not a question, not a demand - a statement of the obvious, now being when the time was right, when our proverbial ducks were in a supposedly straight row. Even though I was panicking, sweating, and shaking, I knew he knew my answer.

This Was RADICALLY Unexpected

To start, I totally failed today's task because I totally forgot to talk it over. Maybe it's because I was totally blindsided today, and I have to get this public.

I have finally welcomed my brother home.

Explanation? Let's backtrack first. This week's theme was peace. The first day? Forgive someone you've been bitter towards. The first person to pop into my head? The subject of an earlier post, the one where I mention I need to apologize. I never did apologize to him until yesterday. I got his email, wrote him a quick note, mentioning that I was a jerk for hating him even though he was a jerk to me.

A reply? Didn't want to open it. I was scared out of my mind. But I had to; the suspense was killing me. I was stunned. I'm still breathless. The reply specifically encouraged me and followed up with an apology for his actions as well.

I have a new brother in my Papa's family! I'm so excited it's ridiculous. I didn't believe anyone when they told me he changed, but this email reply is evidence. If there's a God, I know Him for certain now because He's changed his heart.

Wow. I'm...I'm just stunned. I almost cried because the response was nothing I expected, and I want to greet my brother in person. Hopefully I'll see him over the summer.

THANK YOU, LORD! Wow. Wow wow wow. Totally new perspective on this kid. Take him places, Lord. I want to see this kid explode. Wow. The bitterness is gone, and I can't stop blabbering about how COOL this experience was. UGH and I know my words are EPICALLY FAILING! shdiohfdkcnak;dgfahc. Ok, I need to sleep. (But I'm so ecstatic, I don't know if I'll be able too, hahaha.)

My Plans are Falling to Pieces

This semester has honestly swamped me. I feel like I'm drowning, only able to come up for air every couple of topics. Sometimes I get epiphanies that lead me confidently into the next topic. Then I struggle again as the waves crash over my head, and I'm left spinning beneath the surface.

Everytime I teach something, I feel utterly useless. I feel like this is a huge mistake. Then again, maybe I am overreacting. But everyone else seems so good at this, like they've just jumped in, yet it appears they've been teaching all their lives. I feel like I have no structure, like I have no idea who I am as a teacher, my style, my abilities. I feel like I'm talking to walls. If the walls happen to speak back, I can't answer them because of my extreme inexperience.

But it's too late. I'm locked into this major, and there's no way I'm starting over. I guess I'll keep fighting, keep trying. Maybe someone, somewhere, can use a small group tutor instead of a large classroom teacher. Maybe Haiti doesn't give a rip if I'm an English teacher; I'll still be stuck on the outside looking in.

I think I'm going to stop caring about the future so much. I feel like that's all college is - future career, future jobs, future graduation, future wife/husband and kids - futurefuturefutureFUTURE. I can't take it anymore. I swear if I hear Jeremiah 29:11 one more time...

Live for today. Breathe. Take everything one step at a time.