The Girl With the Walls

I saw a girl walking down the street today.

Her eyes were ringed with charcoal

Her being was seemingly drenched in black cotton

Her feet were covered in black leather boots

And she was clearly dejected, despondent.

Under some examining I dubbed her downcast and I wondered what her story was as I watched her trudge, step after step.

I could see the walls she had surrounded herself with

Eyes ringed with charcoal

Feet covered in black leather

Being drenched in black cotton.

It made me sad, as I watched this girl fighting back fountains of tears.

The kind of tears that once cried leave you feeling wounded, hurt, and low.

Not the kind that relieve stress, overwhelming circumstances.

I could see why she wanted to keep them inside - they hurt when cried, the aftermath of their release reopened wounds that she had tried so desperately to hide.

Their release reveals weakness and leaves you feeling absolutely bare to the cruel world that we live in.

-

I wanted so desperately to tell her that she didn't need those walls to carry on.

I wanted so badly to tell her that the love of the world will always be shaky and lacks a depth and constancy.

I wanted to run up to her and help her to see the love that I had found when human love failed me.

I wanted to hand her the words I depend on every day and tell her the treasures that l had found.

But, I couldn't.

I watched the charcoal begin to run and then I saw the “strong” hand swipe the salt away in the blink of an eye so that she wouldn't leave her heart naked to the streets.

I was sad because, I knew she felt alone

even though she wasn't.

To the girl with the dark walls that hides those tears:
I know it hurts. Believe me, I do.
I have felt the urge to put walls around those wounding tears because they hurt so much.
I have been stripped down to the bare minimum because of those same tears and I have felt the world pushing me away because of them when I so desperately wanted to be held and told my worth.
I have known what it's like to feel that there is no place to turn in the darkness.
But I have also found that all my feelings are contradicted by the love of the Father.
He is my Prince of Peace. He causes me to walk beside still waters when the world trembles. He has guided me to a feast though I was stumbling through a chasm unknown to the world. He has shone light into dark situations and removed those walls I had placed around my tears. He has allowed me to find healing on his lap that stitches up those wounds for good. He has allowed me to cry out to him.
And He has shown me just how much he loves me.
I have found all I need, I have been fixed despite this broken world at the feet of the I AM.
And you can too.
Can't you see?
You're not alone, my darling.

He is with YOU.
Be not dismayed for He is YOUR God.
He will strengthen you.
He will uphold you by his righteous right hand.
He will fight for you
You need only be still.

The sea and the shore.

I could spend weeks upon weeks by the sea and never get tired of how the sea refuses to stop kissing the shore, no matter how many times it is sent away.

I like to think of the sea as a silent lover. It’s fingers reach out to the edge of the shore apparently trying to hold onto the melancholy being of the sand like a nostalgic lover unwilling to let go.

Perhaps their story is a tragedy like Romeo and Juliet. Or perhaps it had similar plotlines to the stories detailed by Jane Austen. Or maybe they’re more of the quirky childhood lovers of the play explained by Thornton Wilder

He’s not a Romeo and she’s not a Juliet.

He’s not a Mr. Darcy and she is by no means an Elizabeth Bennett.

But He’s not a George Gibbs and She’s not an Emily Webb.

I think it’s a story all of it’s own, however.

As the creases of its vastness peak and fall, I watch it’s tragedy unfold.

The mountainous peaks seem to speak and call to the shore in the soothing monotonous tones.

It’s waves embrace the sand seemingly cooing out words of affirmation.

“I love you dearest.” It roars.

“It’s been much too long…” It seems to sigh.

And then it’s sent away.

Banished from the sand.

I watched, awestruck, as it’s thunderous roar turned to silence.

I saw the vastness subdue from it’s monotonous tones to soft silence.

And this repeated.

Over and over and over again.

The most beautiful part of their story is the way the sea returned every time it was sent away.

It’s love story is the same every time I happen upon it.

I hear the sea’s call and tones and I am readily reminded of it’s unceasing love and affection for the beauty of the shore.

The Past.

You see, you go days upon days without thinking about it.

Hour upon hour and not one second is spent pondering it's happenings.

When the name or the instance is brought up you simply shrug it off, smile, and say, “I’m totally over it.”

The tears, the wounds inflicted, the pain that was felt, the darkness that was experienced, they all feel little and so far away from where you are now.

Until the past greets you.

With a nonchalant “Hey! How are you?”

Or a slight wave.

A glance at the cafe where so much went down.

A read through of old journals.

A little prod.

A little nudge.
And suddenly everything that came along with a past circumstance comes tumbling on top of you.

The bulletproof vest that you thought you had towards this particular instance suddenly is ripped from your body and you are left with a heart that’s wound is able to be seen by the naked eye.

What you thought you had placed so far into the solidity of the dirt suddenly rises up to the surface with ease and an insanely fast pace.

Surprising, right?

Wind knocked out of you kind of surprising.

Every emotion felt towards it, all the feelings that you had of it, all the memories that came along with it flood your being and a cold sense of nostalgia creeps into your bones as you are met with a reminder of the hurt of the past.

The question that burns in my head is this: “Why?”

And the answer is this:

Because I needed the pain.

I needed to experience a certain darkness so I would be able to see the light.

That darkness caused me to go running back to the person of Jesus.

It caused my weary arms to depend upon the one who is always strong.

It allowed shade to feel like sun because I found all that I needed at the feet of the I am.

That situation was not what was best for me, and all the signs in my life that had said “Say no!” just increased my desire to say yes. Disobedience and deception clouded my mind and I was no longer traveling on the path to the one to whom angels sing.

And He saw my disobedience and deception and cut me off from the place that spurred it on.

Now, I rest.

Then, I didn’t but now I do.

“Why?”

Because I felt that pain for one reason: So I would run to the person of Jesus.

As my soul struggled with that short question of unrest, the Lord reminded me that he gave

me pain so I would know his healing. I found love in him(or rather, he helped me find love in Him) just as he planned it all along.

And there was no other way I would’ve learned the depths of who he is without it.

Thank you, Lord that pain is not felt in vain.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11

No Sweeter Name

The night was dark. The kind of darkness that cripples, inducing more and more fear the further you walk. I couldn't see my hands, I couldn't tell where I was walking, I didn't know if the next step would send me falling into oblivion. So, I took my time. I yelled and I cried for the light to come. I screamed as nothing was felt before me.

I looked behind me, nothing.

Beside me, nothing.

In front of me, nothing.

Nothing but the horrible darkened emptiness.

He told me that he would guide me, but I felt nothing.

Nothing told me that he was there. No hand was felt guiding my frame along the path less taken.

I chose this path because he said there was blessing.

Blessing!

There is no blessing, no strength, and no light.

When the decision was first made, I had heard music up ahead and had seen light and I listened to the blissful sound the brass pumping out glorious melodies. I had heard the plinking of the piano in scores and measures I could have never imagined and I was at ease.

And then it stopped, the music was silenced, and I haven't been able to see since then.

I began shouting into the emptiness.

“ Haven't you have seen me fumbling in this darkness. Aren't you watching me suffer? Don't you see the fear within my soul, don't you? And I took this road because of hope. I took this road because of promise. I took this road because of blessing. I took this road because of life.

“I made this decision so that I might live!”

I scream, my voice breaking and cracking as tears begin to stream down my contorted face.

“This doesn't feel like life!” I sob, my frame sinking down onto the stolidity of the floor.

The sobs overtake her weary being, moving her body in fierce trembles, they made her hands quiver and her voice shake.

She was under attack. The daggers of betrayal, the nuisances of this path, the thorns of disapointment, the darkness of this path dug itself into her flesh.

And then the darkness began to whisper.

You will not live. Death is imminent.

Maniacal laughter.

This was a horrible decision, a mistake, and he made you make it!

He hates you.

Hates you.

You could've chosen me, I would've loved you. I would've helped you along the wide path. Sure there would’ve been thorns, but that's life.

No rest, no peace, no blessing.

Hell. That's what this is.

I should've chosen the other path.

Perhaps, if I turn around now...I could...?

The whispers continued to pierce through the silence.

Ha! You think that you'll get out.

You won't.

A pause.

Well, perhaps I could make an exception. Just for you...

I could help you out.

Those words sounded so sickeningly sweet, they oozed and dripped with manipulation.

But I, in my weary state, heard them and wanted to feel them.

The instructions that followed were simple.

Turn right, you won't be able to see until you get on my path. But once on my path, I will open your eyes and you shall see.

Then I will play music for you, and cloth you with my robe. I will pull you out.

They sounded so good and they were exactly the words that I had longed to hear for so long.

Yet something about it seemed wrong.

I stopped where he told me to turn right, and all I heard was screams. Screams that sounded very similar to the ones that I had just voiced.

“He said he'd help me!” I heard a woman cry.

“They said it'd be worth it!”

“Where's the happiness I was promised?” A man’s voice.

“What blessing? All I see is darkness!”

I broke down again.

There was darkness on that road, too.

Where do I turn?

What do I choose?

The road I've walked on for so long is dark.

The road he offered is filled with screams of sorrow, betrayal.

There was no place to turn.

No where to go.

No light to guide.

“Jesus.” I whisper. “Jesus!” I cry. “Jesus!” I scream.

It was then that my heart calmed, then that I realized that all this was fleeting.

Then that I remembered his promise to me.

“My daughter. This path will be dark and filled with hills, valleys, occasional darkness, blindness, weakness, and sickness. But, in the midst of it. Remember my name. Remember that from dust I made you, from dust I breathed life into you. From your wonderful beginning, I have sustained you. Remember these things when this road becomes narrow and dark. Remember these things upon the temptation of darkness. Remember the music and the choirs that I promised you – they will always be there. Remember the hands I promised would guide you – they will. Remember the strength I promised to give to you – I will. It's the road less traveled for a reason, but, the ending is worth more than gold. There is no sweeter name than mine. Call upon my name. Use “Jesus” and remember what I have promised you.”

-

Hands reached down, I could feel them pressing on my back, guiding me away from the path of destruction and screams.

Strength was fused into my weary muscles.

Peace filled my soul, and happiness filled my being.

The road was dark but I could feel the light helping me to press on.

When the light finally came, it was because of his name.

And when my eyes adjusted to the brilliant rays of it, I realized that there had been a tattoo written on my hands.

A constant reminder of the night, of the darkness, and of the pain.

But also, of the light, and of the name.

-

There may be pain in the night, but joy comes in the morning. I promise.

Yours forever, Jesus.

Words and Pictures

Words and pictures. Words and pictures.

Mere scratches of the pen, a mere click of the lens.

He never told me they would be this hard.

He certainly never told me how much it would hurt to stand so far away and want to be so close.

He never told me the ache that would fill my soul as the distance between so close and far away remained.

The words remain on the tip of my tongue - so much to say, not enough time to say it.

So much courses through my mind when the distance is long and large and doesn’t promise that it will grow smaller.

Of course, these things happen.

Of course, I never charted it to in my funny, little, overactive mind.

Of course, there is more than this.

Of course.

I know that.

But it still hurts, all the same.

I still cry just as much.

My head still aches when distance is evident.

My heart still hurts, as the ache turns to salt in my lids.

My lip still trembles as I try to hold that ache-y saltiness back.

My knees still shake as I try to hold myself up.

Words and pictures. Words and pictures.

Mere scratches of the pen, a mere click of the lens.

They sure do hurt when used a certain way.

-

Fire, ice, ache, hurt, tears.

They’re nothing to me, my love.

I created and I control them.

I look at the darkness, I see it next to you.

A certain darkness is needed to see the light.

But, look!

Up!

Here I am, my darling.

I am here.

Yes, that’s it.

Sit upon my lap. My chest is strong for you to lean against, my ears are ready to hear, my hands are ready to fix.

Show me your hurt, daughter.

I am here, my darling.

Don’t try to lift yourself up - it’ll never work. The arms you use for hoisting are easily wearied and hard to strengthen unless they are strengthened through me.

I know because I made them.

Fearfully and wonderfully, I breathed life into your being.

I will carry you, strengthen you, and sustain your feeble frame.

Don’t try to stop the tears - they’re beautiful, and I’ve counted them all.

You feel alone, but you are not.

From where I stand, from what I see, you are surrounded by the heavenly courts, for you are mine.

My protected, my own.

I have made you.

I will carry you.

I will fight for you.

I love you.

You need only be still.

Seeing sunshine in the rain.

“Are you ever sad? It seems like you are always smiling, always laughing.”

 

I’m human. Of course I get sad. I get a bad grade on my geometry test, I may not look sad on the outside, I may give my shoulder a shrug, smile, and say “I just can’t think this way!” jokingly to the boys that sit next to me. They’ll laugh. But that number in the top hand corner sure does make my face fall a little, it sure does dull the sparkle in my eye, and it certainly does make me feel inferior.

Sometimes, I stub my toe. Here I am, sauntering down the hallway, when out of nowhere a chest pops up and into that mahogany does my toe go. Not only do I feel the need to scream out every colorful word I know, I also gallop around the room, clutching the ache and maybe just maybe a little salt will creep out of my lids.

Sometimes, days don’t go the way I would’ve liked them to. The things I'd thought up in my head don't go the way they "should've", heartaches are felt, disappointments are in abundance.

Sometimes, I remember times of old. Times of youth, times of childhood, times of laughter long gone, of faces not seen, of memories forgotten - those feelings can cause any happy child to become fallen and sad.

Sometimes, I worry. I worry so much that I have a panic attack - my digestive system shuts down, I feel like everything is falling around me, I’m drowning, I can’t get out. The fingernails dig into the skin,

“Stop worrying,” they say.

It’s not that easy.

You wanna know the secret to being happy? The secret to always smiling, always laughing even when toes are stubbed, love doesn’t work, memories are forgotten?

The Lord’s face shining upon you, granting you peace like a river.

Making your soul well.

Covering your bad days with good feelings.

He says that he gives strength to the weary.

You know what? It takes strength to smile when you’re down. But he gives it anyways. Maybe so people can see that having a Lord whom I can call ‘Daddy’ is enough to cause any ache to stop.

Tears aren’t bad, you know.

He holds them all, you see.

And it’s okay if your face turns as red as a tomato and your nose runs and your eyes scrunch up.

You know why?

Because, at the end of the day, you can call him daddy. You can run up to him, sit on his lap, rest your head against his chest, close your eyes tight. And in those arms, in that light, on that throne, sitting on his lap, you receive peace like a river even when sorrows like sea billows role.

He has taught me to say that in the midst of the bad days, it is well with my soul.

So, I smile. Because my soul is well.

Even when my physical being isn’t.

because i lust after summer 24/7

see what i mean? 

welcome to the world of summer lust.

43 days, guys. 43 days. 

we can do this.

before she could

she didn’t get to see her soccer team win their last game.
she didn’t get to see through teary eyes, him on one knee, his arm extended with his hand holding that velvet box and the ring she always imagined.
she didn’t get to see him waiting at the end of the aisle dressed in that smart tuxedo and bow tie.
she didn’t get to hold his hand as they took their first steps as a married couple.
she didn’t get to fall asleep on his shoulder as they flew to their honeymoon destination.
she didn’t get to experience the joy of looking into her baby’s eyes for the first time.
she didn’t get to hold her screaming child after the little one fell off her bike and scraped her knee.
she didn’t get to buy a house with him.
she didn’t get to pick out furniture with him.
she didn’t get to pick out the color of the house with him.
she didn’t.
she didn’t.
she didn’t.
~
she died before she could.
she took her last breath before she could.
her heart stopped before she could.
her eyes closed before she could.

::known facts.

facts found out during the course of 2 hours: 4
fact 1: taking clear pictures of small children playing on a porch with scooters and tricycles with a point and shoot is one of the hardest tasks known to man.
fact 2: i can consume a LOT of graham crackers in the course of 2 hours.
fact 3: i'm always tired when i babysit.

fact 4: i only got one picture of a human. ONE STINKING PICTURE! if that does not prove that fact 1 is correct, i don't know what else can.
ALSO, i've decided point and shoots are terrible at portraits.
amen?
amen.

:just a suggestion

The Book Thief by Markus Zusack 
Set during World War II in Germany, 
Markus Zusak’s groundbreaking new
 novel is the story of Liesel Meminger,
 a foster girl living outside of Munich. 
Liesel scratches out a meager existence
 for herself by stealing when she encounters
 something she can’t resist–books.
 With the help of her accordion-playing
 foster father, she learns to read and 
shares her stolen books with her 
neighbors during bombing raids as
well as with the Jewish man hidden
 in her basement before he is marched to Dachau.
~
Honestly, the best book i'd read in a while! it was incredibly refreshing, and easy to read. and it had a certain depth to it that many books lack. TWO THUMBS UP!