Late Night Keya

Sometimes I stay up really late at night. Well if 12:30 is late. It is to me now, but in my earlier days it was so not late. Those were the days when I wanted to be out all night, considered myself the queen of the after party, always locating the next stop after bar time. The party never ended. Always laughing. Always talking. Always listening. Always running around. Those were wild days. But those were, in some ways, fun days.

           

Sometimes still I try to stay up really late at night. I’ve always been a night person and think that I’m my best version of myself after the sun has gone down. After the children are all in bed. After the third shift has begun. After the highways have cleared and it’s mostly semi-truck drivers and people who are almost home.

That’s when I am my true self. The me that is full of life and fancy. The one who is constantly charming and charismatic. The me who is a joy to be around. Not the morning me. The one who would cut you for a cup of coffee. The one who barks out answers to dumb questions at eight in the morning, because to her, every question is dumb at eight in the morning, who chokes down breakfast, and although appears to be moving around with her eyes open, isn’t really awake yet.

But night me is awake. Night me is alive and on fire. She is funny, she is coy, she is sweet, and she is fun. 

            I push her to the limits, trying to keep her around for as long as humanly possible. I feel my eyes straining to stay open, my mouth growing dry, and my body falling asleep, while my brain tries it’s best to stay awake. To keep producing thoughts.

It’s at this time of night when I get my brilliant ideas for writing. The ones that flutter into my mind like a whisper of the Holy Spirit. And I’m always convinced I will remember them in the morning. So in that moment, I can allow myself to go to sleep.

But then the morning comes and the thoughts are always long gone, floating into someone else’s mind somewhere down the road.

           

As I write this it’s 12:18 am. My back is aching after slouching on my bed for the last two hours, staring back and forth between the screen on my computer and on my phone. My eyes are burning and my body just keeps shouting, “For the love of God please go to sleep woman!!”

But instead I type. Because it’s at this time of night when I get all of my writing inspiration. Who knows if this will be brilliant? Who knows if this is written proof of the whispers of the Holy Spirit?

But at least I wrote it down. At least I listened and obeyed. At least I thought up a sentence and let it live a life, seeing how far it could go down the page.

So now I can go to sleep, knowing that I engaged my psyche. Knowing that I wrote. Knowing that the day wasn’t wasted on Google and Facebook and obsessing over my latest possible career move.

But, instead I followed the passion burning in my heart. The one I tend to ignore or push aside for fixations on new and better flickers of the flame.

Right now. At the end of this day. I came back to her, my loving friend, the one who lives and breathes inside of me, and I gave her a breath of fresh air, allowing her to speak into the night.

Listen to your heart

I really like this devotional.  I found it here  Purpose Driven Life 
Ill copy it from the website and paste it below.

Enjoy Friends! I have a million thoughts going through my mind right now so I haven't even comprehended this yet but Ill write something later.

Love.

"

A man's heart reflects the man. Proverbs 27:19 (NIV)

The Bible uses the term "heart" to describe the bundle of desires, hopes, interests, ambitions, dreams, and affections that you have. Your heart represents the source of all your motivations -- what you love to do and what you care about most. Even today, we still use the word in this way when we say, "I love you with all my heart."


The Bible says what is in your heart is what you really are, not what others think you are, or what circumstances force you to be (Proverbs 27:19). Your heart is the real you. It determines why you say the things you do, why you feel the way you do, and why you act the way you do.


Physically, each of us has a unique heartbeat. Just as we each have unique thumbprints, eye prints, and voiceprints, our hearts beat in slightly different patterns. It's amazing that out of all the billions of people who've ever lived, no one has ever had a heartbeat exactly like yours.


In the same way, God has given each of us a unique emotional "heartbeat" that races when we think about the subjects, activities, or circumstances that interest us. We instinctively care about some things and not about others. These are clues to where you should be serving.


Another word for heart is passion. There are certain subjects that you feel deeply passionate about and others that you couldn't care less about. Some experiences turn you on and capture your attention, while others turn you off or bore you to tears. These reveal the nature of your heart; listen for inner promptings that can point to the ministry God intends for you to have.


When you were growing up you may have discovered that you were intensely interested in some subjects that no one else in your family cared about.


Where did those interests come from? They came from God!


God had a purpose in giving you these inborn interests. Your emotional heartbeat is a key to understanding your shape for service. Don't ignore your interests; consider how they might be used for God's glory. There is a reason that you love to do these things.
Listen for inner promptings that can point to the ministry God intends for you to have."

writing prompts

I used to be in this writing group and the whole time I felt so legit. I was so incredibly honored to be asked to be in this group of actual writers by my friend Jen who writes and then teaches her writing, for a living.

In the group we would get a prompt, a short phrase or sentence randomly found by one of the members in a magazine or online and we'd all have twenty minutes to write on it. Continuously without lifting up our pen. It was great because this is how I always write anyway, so I finally felt like my form of writing was validated. Like it's okay to write in a stream of consciousness.

Afterward we'd each go around and read what we'd written. It was so scary. Sharing my writing with a group of women whom I had just met. All of whom I felt were so different from me. But then we'd read what we wrote and I'd realize that we really weren't that different after all.

Right now I wish so much that I was still in this group. I wish that I could at the very least reassemble another group of intelligent, emotional, real women and we could write from some place that seems so foreign to us, but is actually so deeply apart of us and read it to each other.

I used to do writing prompts on my own. I'd Google "writing prompts" or I'd discover some sentence in my brain and I'd write on that until I felt like I was done. It's so incredibly hard and it feels like your body is physically creating something, like something deep within you is being drawn out and you have no idea where it's coming from or how it got there. I always write in some sort of stream of consciousness, but when writing within parameters but also through the flow of a stream, it is incredibly difficult.

So I'm going to start doing this again. Even if I no longer have a group of women to sit around with and drink tea and eat coffee cake. I have a good friend who always reads these posts and to her, the other Jen, I am so incredibly grateful!

So today my dear Jenny, I wrote this one:

(I found this Here writers digest)

Love. 
 

Write an episode where you and your favorite fictional character meet accidentally.

It was a chilly night for June, so I grabbed my white shawl before heading out the door. It was sheer so it didn’t provide a great deal of warmth, but it was so pretty I liked to wear it whenever I could. Mama had left me that shawl before she ran out on us. She laid it across me while I slept in my bed and when I woke up I could smell her so I thought she was in the bed right next to me. When I looked down, I saw it was the shawl, and I knew in my heart that Mama was long gone.

On this night in June I needed my Mama. I needed to be reminded of her. To feel her beauty and for a few moments to feel like I was that beautiful too. So I grabbed my shawl, wrapped it around my bare shoulders, and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” My Daddy asked as I opened the screen door.

“I’m going out to meet some friends by the peer” I lied, knowing Daddy would worry if he knew I was wandering around town alone.

           “Ok Hunny Bunny don’t be out too late, it’s a big day tomorrow.” He said, as I walked out the door letting the screen squeak behind me.

Tomorrow was a big day. It was the wedding of my oldest sister Sarah to Thomas Brady an architect from New York City. Next would be Dorothy’s wedding and then, soon after, my own. That’s how it always worked in families with all girls. We got married like stair steps, one after the other. Dorothy was looking forward to her wedding day. For two years she had been in a serious relationship with Jett Barry. He was the first black Pharamcist on the North Shore and his family was one of the richest in town. Dorothy was pretty lucky to get picked up by such a distinguished and established man. Having grown up without a mother, she wasn’t exactly considered the top of the line. None of us girls were. Three little girls raised by a Farmer Daddy from the South.

Daddy moved us up to the North Shore from Georgia thirteen years ago. Before this Depression. He moved us out here because he had a cousin who was looking for a handy man in his car shop. My daddy was a farmer, but he’d always been really handy around the house. So he took the opportunity to get us away from all the rumors. All the whispers while we walked down the street. All the judging glances. All the history of a Mama who left us because she was sick of being a mom. 

Daddy always said he moved us out here because “Uncle” Joe had such a great wife and daughters of his own and he knew that we could all be raised together. But I think the reason he really moved was because he knew Mama wanted to be a Jazz Singer, and New York City had the best Jazz business in the whole country. We never did run into Mama out here though. A few weekends a year Daddy and Uncle Joe would go to New York City to get parts for the shop, but I think Daddy always went out there hoping he’d run into her. Hoping he could get her to come back. Hoping he could get her to realize what a big mistake she had made. Daddy always carried around pictures of us girls in his wallet, probably hoping he could run into her, show her her daughters and then she’d want to come home. But, fifteen years later she still hasn’t returned.

            
We turned out well though. Sarah graduated from William and Mary, Dorothy is at Wells and I was in my second year at Annhurst. Daddy is so proud of his little girls. All educated. All successful. And all engaged to be married. What more could a single father ask for?

            Daddy thinks I’m engaged. And I guess I am. Although Anthony never really asked me the way a gentleman does. He just said to me one day, “So I guess we’ll end up getting married too” and that was that. Now I guess he’s going to be my husband. I’ve known Anthony Meyers since we moved out here thirteen years ago. We grew up with each other, always in the same class at school. He just told me one day when I was sixteen, “You’re my girlfriend” and from then on we’ve been going steady. We’ve never kissed. We spend time together, but not even as much time as I spend with my best friends Lila and Margaret. I guess he’s my fiance but it’s more like he’s my brother. 

Something’s missing. I want romance and fireworks. I want to get butterflies in my stomach when I see him and to be jealous when he talks to other women. I want him to sweep me off of my feet with passion and excitement and I want him to kiss me. All the time. But not with Anthony. With him we just spend time together, and know that one day we’ll be together all of the time.

           

So that’s why I headed out tonight. It was too much talk of weddings and engagements and Anthony and Sarah and Thomas and Dorothy and Jett and I just needed to clear my head. So I walked down to the peer and just stared down at the water. Trying to see if I recognized my own face in my reflection.

As I stared down at the water I saw the waves start to ripple. There were boats all over the water and I could feel one getting closer to me. I got a little nervous. A young colored girl out on the peer alone could end up missing. As I raised my head I could see a well-dressed man on the biggest and most beautiful boat on the water heading towards me. He began waving so I turned around to see if someone was behind me. No one. Was he waving at me? I wondered. 

As he got closer I could see he was smiling and indeed waving at me. “Hello there.” He said as his boat approached the peer. “Are you okay Madam?” He asked. “Me? Yes I’m fine.” I said as my cheeks grew warm. “If you don’t mind me saying it Madam, You don’t look like you’re fine. You look...sad.” I dropped my head looking at the water. “I’m sorry Madam. I hope that wasn’t impolite of me. It just saddens me to see someone so beautiful look so unhappy.” My cheeks grew warmer and my head grew light. I smiled while still looking at the water. I recognized this man from his billboard in town. It was really him. The Mr Gatsby. 

Mr Gatsby was the richest man on all of the North Shore. Even during these tough economic times he somehow managed to have fabulous parties every night, the talk of which were all over town.

            “Madam?” He asked. “Would you like a coat? It’s quite chilly tonight and your shawl, as lovely as it is, doesn’t seem to be keeping you that warm.” He said pointing to my arms which were covered in goose bumps. I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the fact that The Mr. Gatsby was standing in front of me, on a yaht, telling me how beautiful I was. I looked up at him and nodded my head. He gestured towards the boat steps. “Why don’t you come on board? I’ll give you this coat and you can have a drink with me.” Part of me thought this was a horrible idea. Me a twenty-year old practically engaged colored woman from Georgia climbing onto the yaht of a thirty year old single rich white man from New York City, but he was the well-known Mr Gatsby, offering me a coat, a drink, and a ride. So who was I to refuse?

temporary roadblock

Last night my sister told me a story: She was driving home from work the day before and got cut off by a driver. She was really mad and couldn't believe this horrible driver had the nerve to cut her off. Soon he turned off of her road and she kept going. Moments later, three deer ran in front of her car. If the car hadn't cut her off she would have sped right into the deer. Her story gave me chills. I asked her if she prayed right then and she said yes.

So here's my version:

I’m driving down this road.

Trying to get to my destination

As

Quickly

As

Possible.

I can see it.

And I know that as far as I’m concerned

I’m already late.

So I speed up

Pushing my foot against the gas pedal

I need to go faster because this is just taking

Way too long.

Suddenly

Out of nowhere

A car comes

Cutting me off

“Who does he think he is?”

I say to myself

He has got some nerve

I think

As I’m forced to step on my break

Slowing down my car

Ultimately slowing down my getting to where I need to be.

I think about following him closer

Creeping up to his bumper

Just inches away from his car

Showing him that he can’t treat me that way.

But I don’t

Instead I just slow down

And drive normally.

I’m angry

I cannot believe someone would have the audacity to think he could do that to me

Doesn’t he know how to drive?

Doesn’t he know I have places to be?

I’m fuming in my seat

My whole body shakes with

Rage

I want to flick him off

I want to pull him over and give him a piece of my mind

But instead I drive

Normally

Continuing down the road.

Soon he turns off

Turning right while I continue to go straight

I’m relieved that he’s no longer in front of me

But still angry that he could do that to me

There’s no way I’m going to get there in time

Now

All of a sudden I see something

Running across the road

It’s a deer

After him comes two more

Trotting along the street

They’re beautiful

But so close

And their proximity to my car

Terrifies me

When suddenly I realize something

If I had been going my normal speed

My previous speed before that jerk cut me off

I

Would

Have

Hit

One

Of

Them

If not the first one then the second one

If not the second one then the third one

I would have at least hit one of them

If not all three

And my car would be totaled

And my life might be

Bruised

Or

Over

The thought of this gives me chills

My eyes start to burn with tears

And my vision becomes blurry

So I pull over to the side of the road

Lay my head on the steering wheel

And

Cry out to the One who sees what I can’t

Who always knows what lies on the road before me,

My Savior

“Thank You"

My sister's story made me realize something. I've been driving along this road I'm on, trying to move so fast to get to my destination. I feel like I'm going the right way, and I probably am, but sometimes something comes along that seems to slow down my driving.

Recently I've experienced a set back. It's made me angry and confused and made me feel like I'm off course. When that driver cut my sister off she was so angry. She felt like she was wronged and this wasn't fair. And it wasn't. That person should have known better than to cut her off. But then again, God used that. He used this driver to slow my sister down.

God uses our wrongs. He uses the injustices we are faced with. He uses these things that come out of nowhere and seem to really set us back. Although I've been temporarily slowed down, there is probably a reason that I can't yet see. God knows what's further down the path. And maybe, if I had kept going my way, full speed ahead, I would have crashed right into that obstacle or devastation that lies just around the corner. But now that I've been slowed down, I'll just watch the obstacle pass me by.

God sees everything. He sees the entire road we travel down. He knows every bump and deer and ice patch and everything that could possibly cause us a huge accident. And sometimes God uses these temporary injustices to keep us from having a fatal crash.

Thank you God for knowing more than I do. Thank you Lord for keeping me safe. Thank you Lord for slowing me down so that I can get where you want me to be, in your perfect timing. Not in mine.  I love you Dear One.

Love.

Domestic Violence

I went to a prayer meeting tonight at this church I go to sometimes. I've been having a really hard week and am so confused right now and really need some clarity from God. At the end of the meeting this woman stood up and asked for prayer. She said a woman she knows had just killed her own husband. She said he'd been abusing her. I grew up watching those Lifetime movies about women who were abused and they always really got to me. I HATE domestic violence. I mean I'm sure most sane people do, but it makes me so angry. And sad. And sick to my stomach. I hate when men yell at women. I hate power struggles. I hate intimidation. I hate emotional abuse. I hate all of it. I remember those movies where the woman is so abused and then she has to go into hiding because her husband is after her. It always makes me so angry. Why should she have to give up her whole life because some JERK won't leave her alone? I know that it can go both ways. I know that sometimes men are abused by women. And believe me I hate that too. But usually it's women, being beaten by men, feeling trapped, and then having no way out.

I'm not advocating the fact that this woman killed her husband. It's such a tragic story. It just makes me so sad that she felt that desperate. That she felt like she had no way out. I wish she had run. I wish she had gotten so far away from him he could never find her. The woman at church said this woman is in jail for first degree murder. She also said that her husband had almost beat her to death the night before. If she had killed him then it probably would have been self defense. But instead, she waited to the next night. Who knows what happened that night. So like I said, I'm not advocating murder. I just think it's a tragic story.

There's this website called echoprayer it's awesome! You can sign in and enter prayers and then the website will email or text you reminders. So one of mine is for women who are being abused. I have this passion for ending sex trafficking and prostitution and this just seemed like a logical choice for a prayer. The interesting thing about it is that I got that prayer request today.

So I went to prayer so lost. I asked God for direction and then this woman stands up and tells this story. I know in some way I'm going to end up working with survivors of domestic violence. I have a heart for these women (and sometimes men) and it makes me so sick to my stomach.


I wrote this story tonight:

The sound of footsteps echos down the hall

I can hear them

Coming closer

To me

I hold my breath

Hoping that maybe you won’t hear me breathing

Hoping that maybe you’ll forget that I’m alive

Hoping you’ll think that

Somehow my life has already been

Taken

By another before you

I search my mind

Scrambling for thoughts

Looking for some sort of remedy

An escape route of sorts

Searching for some way out.

I hear you getting closer

Your footsteps are hard

I bite my tongue

Trying so hard to pass out

Hoping that maybe I won’t have to feel this

Thing 
I am about to endure

I hear you reach for the doorknob

It starts to turn and so does my stomach

My heart beats so loudly I swear you can probably hear it through the door.

I steady my breathing

Trying my best not to panic

But here you are

In my room

Waking me from my sleep

You don’t care

I could be half dead and I would still "get what's coming to" me

You have no mercy for anyone

Especially for

Me

I don’t understand why I married you

The person I saw back then is not the person who stands here

Now

Hovered over me

I try to remember back to the time when your face showed compassion

The time when I could see a future in your eyes

The time when I looked at you and saw

Love

But I know that time was brief

Together only a few months before I walked down the aisle

I should have listened to my gut

To the still small voice inside of me that kept saying

Don't

Do

It.

But I didn’t

Instead I listened to the loud voices all around me that said

“You guys are so cute”

“He is such a great guy”

“You two are perfect for each other”

“You don’t want to be single forever”

“Everyone gets married...eventually”

So I ran to you

Hoping that maybe you would be my way out

My way out of this town I grew up in

My way out of this head that I’m stuck in

My way out of these 
“You’re not good enough” chants 
That run through my mind

My way out of this 
Crippling 
Feeling 
Of 
Loneliness

You seemed so great

Then

But I knew somewhere deep inside that

Nothing 
Is 
Ever 
Perfect.

I believed your smile

I believed your handsome face

I believed your strong hands

That held me so tightly

So comforting

Then

Who knew what used to cause me such 
Joy 
Could now cause me such

Pain?

So now I lie here

Trying my best not to move

Hoping that maybe you’ll change your mind this time

Hoping that maybe you’ll come to your senses this time

But I feel you hovering over me

Breathing deeply the way you always do right before

So I tense my whole body up

Anxiously anticipating

Your

Next

Punch.

Praying for people who are being abused. Praying that they don't make a big mistake. Praying that they are delivered. Praying that they get out. Praying for peace. Praying for mercy. Praying for courage. Praying for boldness. Praying for love.


Love to all.

Feeling God

It's funny how the times when you feel the lowest are usually the times when you feel God the closest. I know it's because he is carrying you through those times, because you are humbled and fragile and weak and need the righteousness and strength from your Father and Savior. But it still always surprises me. It's funny how we want to avoid these times the most. We fight and fight for comfort and stability in our lives, for calm waves and soft blue skies, for smiles and encouragement and peace of mind, but during these times we often forget about God. However, during those uncomfortable, teeth-clenched, emotional, turbulent times we remember who God is and how much we need a Deliverer.

So that's how I feel now. Comforted by my Creator. I feel closer to God than I have felt in the last several months. I feel like a weight has been lifted and like blinders have been taken off. I can finally stretch and feel free again and I am able to see Him more clearly. I never realize it when I'm in the darkness. Part of me always knows something is off, but the rest of me is too afraid to face it, confront it, and remove it. It's easier and safer to just keep the chain on than to face the pain of taking it off. But once it's removed, I always feel so much lighter.

So thank you God. Thank you for your persistence. Thank you for your compassion. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your deliverance. Thank you for your presence. Thank you for your constant constant love.

I love you Dear One.

Love.

Be careful what you wish for...

Today was filled with a topsy twirl of emotions. It was angry and harsh, cold, hard, and mean. It was sad and solemn, tear-stained and somber. It was ruthless and cruel, compromising and humbling, feeling grateful and duped, relieved and knocked out. Today was one of those days when all signs point to one thing, yet everywhere you look the wind is blowing and snow is flying all around. I can't explain today. I don't want to feel today. And at the same time, I don't feel anything. I feel happy and almost at peace. I feel rescued. I feel set free. While at the same time, I feel tricked and taken advantage of. I feel lied to and used. I feel partly to blame and I feel guilty. 

I'm not going to go into the details of what happened today. I just needed to get my words out, I needed to know that I could write about it. I've been trying all day and the words are jumbled and mismatched and I feel like I have a block to how I'm really feeling. And part of me really feels completely differently than how I think I should be feeling. That part of me feels happy. That part of me wants to sigh deeply a huge sigh of relief and lay back in my beach chair and stare at the ocean. That part of me wants to put on big black sunglasses and drink a fruity drink and listen to Reggae. That part of me is so relieved.

So it's like I should feel bad. And I do. I feel legitimately sick to my stomach. But then, at the same time, I feel content. Like that feeling you get after you've been out in the cold all day then you get home and take a nice warm shower. You wash the dirt off of you and put on a comfy pair of pajamas. That part of me. That content part of me feels so guilty. Like I should care more. Like I should let the hurt resonate within me and it should click. Like I should realize that injustice was done and I'm really ticked off. And I am. But then, at the same time, I know it's for the best.

When I was a kid, my family home was on the same plot of land as an elementary school. The school and the park took up most of a square block, then right there, smack dab on the corner was my house. After we'd lived there for twelve or thirteen years, the city decided to kick us out. Eminent Domain they called it. The school was being expanded and we, unfortunately, had to leave. It was awful. I remember that time in my life being one of the most emotional. It was chaotic and short-noticed. It was rude and cruel the way they kicked us out. My childhood home was torn down by bulldozers, and to this day, I can't look at that plot of land for fear that I might lose the memory of my house sitting there. 

At the time, it was the worst thing that could possibly ever happen to us. We didn't deserve to get kicked out. We didn't deserve to have our house bulldozed. We didn't deserve to have only three months to look for a new home. But it happened and we did. It was a horrible thing that happened, but at the same time, it was just right. I love my parent's house now. I love their neighborhood, and living in that house completely changed my high school years. For the first time in my life, I could walk home from school. My friends came over often, I could carpool easily, and we were close to restaurants and stores that we'd lived so far away from before. None of us wanted to move out of our old house. And I still miss that house terribly. But our new house turned out to be a really great thing. And I think we all knew it at the time.


And so it is with this day. Feeling used and angry, but feeling free and relieved. All at the same time. I know that God is Sovereign. I know that His ways are good. I know that I can trust Him. And most importantly, I know that He loves me. So incredibly much. 

Love.

Isaiah 44

Israel the Chosen

 ¹ “But now listen, Jacob, my servant,
   Israel, whom I have chosen.
² This is what the LORD says—
   he who made you, who formed you in the womb,
   and who will help you:
Do not be afraid, Jacob, my servant,
   Jeshurun,^[a] whom I have chosen.
³ For I will pour water on the thirsty land,
   and streams on the dry ground;
I will pour out my Spirit on your offspring,
   and my blessing on your descendants.
⁴ They will spring up like grass in a meadow,
   like poplar trees by flowing streams.
⁵ Some will say, ‘I belong to the LORD’;
   others will call themselves by the name of Jacob;
still others will write on their hand, ‘The LORD’s,’
   and will take the name Israel.

wreath

So I've been sick since Friday. I think I was actually starting to get sick on Wednesday, but didn't know I was sick until I woke up with a sore throat Friday. Blah. I've had to call in sick twice this week to work, which shouldn't make me feel guilty, but it always does. I asked my sister if she feels guilty when she calls in and she gave me an emphatic, "No." Ha! She said she used to, but not anymore. So then, in order to ease my guilt I googled "When should I call in sick to work." Yes I really did this. And I found an article that said when you have a stuffed up nose or cough or a fever you should definitely call in sick. I had all three so I think I'm good.

So I've been pretty bored at home this week. I've been trying to clean out our DVR and catch up on shows I need to watch. I've also been writing a lot. YAY. Working from home like always. And trying to actually do creative projects. So all in all it's actually been a really productive week. But I've still been feeling a little behind. It's funny because I really haven't been resting at all. I've constantly been working on SOMETHING. So...maybe I should start working on resting. :)

Here's a fun project I did this week. My mom has always made wreaths at different holidays and I've never really been interested in doing it myself. But over Thanksgiving, my sister asked me to come in and help my mom because she was frustrated over the wreath and when I sat down and started working on it, I actually really enjoyed it. So I told my sister we should make one for her place. She was not at all interested. So I took it as a challenge and became determined to make one of my own.

I stumbled upon this wreath on a blog Monday and absolutely loved it.

Marta's yarn ball wreath tutorial


So I decided to tackle this as my first wreath. It was a lot more work than I thought. And I did find my OCD alter-ego trying to come out, but all in all I enjoyed it. I really like the way it turned out.

So now I'm kind of obsessed with wreaths. I'm thinking New Year's wreath, Valentine's wreath, Easter wreath, Birthday wreath, Mother's Day wreath, Father's Day wreath....

Love.

searching for validation

 

            It’s a funny concept. This thing called “validation.” When we care so much about what other people think of us. Trying so hard to win their approval. Wanting them to like us and tell us how great we are, how pretty, how creative, how funny, how simply fabulous we are. We try to perform for each other. Creating new identities or trying so desperately to share what’s special about the identity we have. We wait. And wait. For phone calls returned or text messages worded in just the right way. Saying all of the things we want others to say. To us. In that exact moment. We live our lives this way. Hoping so much that other people will get us or want to be around us. Will say all of the right words and compliment us on our new clothes and laugh at our funny jokes and tell us everything is going to be okay. We look at them, expectantly, even if it’s over the internet or through the phone lines, and we wait. Wait for them to tell us, to show us, to prove to us just how much they love us. And at the same time just how great we are.

But they can’t. No one person can show us how great we are at all times. No one has just the right words to say. No one hears your jokes clearly every time and just gets them, just gets you, every single time. Sometimes your outfits will just not be their taste. Sometimes they’ll like what you’re wearing or saying or doing but just not express it. Out loud. Sometimes they are distracted by the millions of thoughts running through their heads or by their lack of energy or by that sparkly thing over in the corner and they won’t respond in just the right way at just the right time. So we move on. Looking for another person who does everything just right. We start spending more time with other people who understand us better. Who laugh louder. Who listen closer. Who have better taste, are more cultured, are less cynical, are more adventurous. And then, they get us. For a while. But then, suddenly, they don’t anymore. And so we move on. Again.

Or we start to shift. We start to hide parts of ourselves that weren’t accepted by him or her. We stop wearing bright colors or leggings or crazy hats. We stop painting. Stop crafting. Stop singing. Stop making jokes. Stop talking. At all. We get rid of those parts that weren’t validated. Those parts that weren’t appreciated by him or her. And we start to think that those parts are what’s holding us down. Those parts are what’s holding us back from being that special person that we truly could be. If it weren’t for that.

But what we don’t realize is that no one can validate us. Not one single person on this earth can be all that we need them to be at every moment. Not one person gets us all of the time. And we can bounce around from relationship to relationship or friendship to friendship wishing for a person who sees us. All of us. But we’ll never find that person. We can even have twenty different that persons who we go back and forth between, but even all twenty of them will never see all of us. They’ll never get all of us. They’ll never allow all of us to be who we really could be if they just encouraged it a bit more.

But there’s God. God is the only one who can see all of us and understand all of us. He is the only one who really enjoys us. Completely encourages us. Sees our real potential and corrects us in order to get us there. He truly loves us. And that validation. That wanting someone to just tell you how great you are, only comes from Him. I’m considered a “People person” and sometimes I get so worn out by people that I just have to sit in silence. Sometimes my nerves are on edge or I have pms or I have a headache or I’m preoccupied with the millions of things floating through my mind at any given point and I’m just not much fun to be around. Sometimes I smile and laugh and am very polite. Sometimes I say all of the right things and am the most-charming leading lady in the movie going on in my head. But other times. Probably most of the time. I stumble over my words. And I hear things wrong. And I don’t laugh. And I forget to return emails. And I don’t answer my phone. And most of the time it has nothing at all to do with that person or me thinking that he or she is not that fabulous, but has everything to do with something completely different. And if other people looked or look to me as their source of validation, then they are going to be or are constantly being sorely disappointed.

I have to remember that. When I’m waiting and waiting for someone else to notice just how great I am. I have to remember that people are Just. Like. Me. We’re just people. We can’t have it all together at all times. We can’t make anyone be all they could be. We are not the army. But more importantly, we are not anyone’s Creator. We are not All-Knowing and All-Powerful and Always Present. We can’t be there all of the time. But God can. And God is. All of the time. And He always WANTS to be there. He always wants to be the first one you call. He always wants to be your biggest support. He always wants to be your biggest fan. Because He loves you and me SO MUCH. He has already validated you. He has already validated me. So nothing anyone can say could ever add to that. And nothing anyone can say or do could ever take away from that.

Love.

Isaiah 43:1-7

The Savior of Israel

¹ But now, O Jacob, listen to the Lord who created you.
      O Israel, the one who formed you says,
   “Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you.
      I have called you by name; you are mine.
 ² When you go through deep waters,
      I will be with you.
   When you go through rivers of difficulty,
      you will not drown.
   When you walk through the fire of oppression,
      you will not be burned up;
      the flames will not consume you.
 ³ For I am the Lord, your God,
      the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
   I gave Egypt as a ransom for your freedom;
      I gave Ethiopia^[a] and Seba in your place.
 ⁴ Others were given in exchange for you.
      I traded their lives for yours
   because you are precious to me.
      You are honored, and I love you.

⁵ “Do not be afraid, for I am with you.
      I will gather you and your children from east and west.
 ⁶ I will say to the north and south,
      ‘Bring my sons and daughters back to Israel
      from the distant corners of the earth.
 ⁷ Bring all who claim me as their God,
      for I have made them for my glory.
      It was I who created them.’”

God and Dog

            Sometimes when I’m sitting, staring at my laptop, Brody (my sister’s dog) comes over to me and puts his head right on top of the keyboard. As if to say, “I’m here, pay attention to me.” Sometimes it annoys me, like when I’m working or writing or doing something that involves any amount of great attention. But other times, I look down at his brown nose and say, “Ok Brody, I’ll pet you now.” And I put away my laptop and rub his tummy.

I think this is how God feels. Although He’s way more of a gentleman about it than Brody is. When I’m so caught up in my life. When I’m searching the internet or worried about my next job or worried that I won’t be able to finish my current job or thinking about clothes or something someone said that hurt my feelings or my life in five years or if I should text whomever God wants to just put his head on top of whatever I’m preoccupied with and say, “I’m here, pay attention to me.”

I need to be reminded of that. That God is here. Right here. In the midst of my preoccupation with only He knows what, He is right here. And that whatever I’m going on and on about in my mind or with my mouth, God is here. Working in this. Resting in this. Handling and coping with this. Nothing is too big for Him. And nothing should preoccupy my daily thoughts more than Him. No matter how important it seems at the time. 

A few weeks ago I saw this video and it broke me down. I cried and I cried. 

Ever since I moved in with Brody, I’ve been learning a lot of lessons about God through this little Cock-a-Poo. God used this video to teach me another one. I’ll write about more of them a little later. I’m so grateful for the ways that God teaches me. I’m grateful that He takes the time to explain things to me in a way that makes these things finally click. Even though sometimes I forget them later and He has to reteach them to me again.

Love.

Shauna Niequist

Thanks to my dear friend Kayla for introducing me to Shauna Niequist.

In January 2010 I was in Haiti. It was a crazy, rushed, chill, chaotic, peaceful, heart-felt, emotional, lovely, scary, dark, and bright bright bright time and I don't even want to try to explain it right here in this blog. But the point is that I was there. And I was sick one day. Or I guess three days. But on the day that I was the sickest, I was lying in my tent, post puking, terrified of dehydration, and feeling completely alone. When I looked over at Kayla's sleeping bag and there lied the book, Cold Tangerines by Shauna Niequist. For some odd reason I decided to open it and begin reading, and the essay I opened it to was called "Broken Bottles." It was so God. In the essay, Shauna talks about her trip to Africa and how it affected her and right there, in that moment, lying on a sleeping bag, unbelievably hot, sweating, dehydrated, and so incredibly sick. In Haiti. I read her words and felt like I wasn't alone. I will always be so grateful for that.

I recently bought my own copy of that book and reading it has been so enjoyable. There's parts of it that I can't relate to, like being rich and going on trips to the beach and boating and all of that. But what I can always relate to is her tone. Her voice. The way she strings sentences together and the place from which she writes. It is so incredibly encouraging. It also shows me that no matter who you are, no matter what life you've lived so far and have yet to live, no matter how old or young or rich or poor or what race or what ethnicity or background you have, there are things in us that we can all relate to.

Sometimes you can have nothing in common with a person on the surface. But then after spending a few days with them, you realize that you have so much in common with them. You connect to each other from your heart. Which is the best place to be connected from. I felt this way while reading Shauna's words. And I feel this way while sitting next to my friend Kayla.

On the surface, it doesn't seem like we'd have much in common. She's twenty-two, I'm twenty-nine. She's white. I'm black. She's married. I'm single. She's demure and put-together. I'm free-spirited and flashy. It's like if Mary-Anne and Claudia from the Baby-Sitters Club had been close friends. Or maybe Mary-Anne and Jessi. :)

So here's to shared connections between people who have never met. Feeling the same emotions even though you're worlds apart. Looking different on the outside, but deeply connecting on the inside. Good writing. Encouragement. And cold fruit.

Thank you Shauna Niequist.

Thank you Kayla.

PS. When I was home last K gave me her copy of Bittersweet Shauna's next book. I can't wait to start reading it!


Love.

Today I wrote Shauna this letter:

December 6, 2010

To Shauna Niequist

           

            Thank you for writing. Thank you because your voice is so much like mine and it gives me hope that I too might be a writer. Even though I’m not published. Even though I’m so afraid of sharing the thoughts in my head and the twisted, personal way I look at and feel the world. Even though I write in secret. Even though when people ask me, “So what are you going to DO with your life?” I hardly ever say, “write.” And when I do, I usually say it apologetically. Thank you for using run-ons, fragments, and starting sentences with “And.” Because I was always told to never write this way and I always told my English students to never write this way, but this is how I actually write, when I’m only writing for me. This is the way I write when I’m not writing to impress anyone, but only writing from my heart.

I say all of this not to degrade your writing. I hope you don’t take it as that. I say all of this because your writing inspires and encourages me. It shows me that writing is supposed to be fun and deep with feeling. The words are supposed to be real. And that I can write about my every day life and maybe just maybe someone will actually want to read it. While reading Cold Tangerines I kept thinking to myself, “She sounds just like me.” And that very thought is so comforting. You give me courage to write my feelings out. To not edit or limit myself. And to let the words and phrases run across the screen on a path of their own. So thank you for that. Thank you and please keep going. :) With Love. 

Paranoia Strikes Deep

I get randomly paranoid about sharing things that I write. Or create in any sort of way. I feel like someone's going to steal one sentence and turn it into something completely different, but that one sentence, or paragraph will be my words floating out there somewhere in cyber space. Agh. There I've said it. The thing about fears is that once you admit them they no longer have power over you. Right? At the same time I have another fear that I'm going to end up like Emily Dickenson. That I'm going to die one day and my family or relatives or neighbors are going to discover hundreds and hundreds of poems, essays, stories, and characters that I wrote but never shared with anyone. I guess it's about time to decide which fear is worse. Either way parts of me are getting stolen.

It's tragic to think about someone living a secret life. Of paintings or quilts or music or words that have been tucked away into a secret corner of their life. Things that have been created that no one else gets to see or hear or read. I imagine if I knew someone who was creating all of this stuff that just gets piled and filed away but never shared I would be so sad. I would want to look at all of it. I'd want to rifle through all of it for days and weeks and years on end until I knew every part of this person. And then, after I'd seen and listened to and read it all, I would give him or her a big hug and say "Wow I love you even more now." I wouldn't think he or she was crazier. I wouldn't be more afraid of him. I wouldn't want to have less to do with him. But instead, I would want to spend more time with him and hug him more and look into his eyes more.

Because the people who mean the most to me are the ones who seem so crazy. The fanciful dreamers who live wildly and on edge. The ones who speak the truth. And who feel emotions incredibly deeply. And if those are the people I love the most, then why am I so afraid of admitting that I am indeed one of these people. One of the crazy people. We all know that quote by Jack Kerouac. I'll list it below:

I mean it's so great someone made a magnet out of it. And if we believe this. If we all truly feel this and know it's true then why are we all running from it? Why do I keep running so far out ahead of who I am? It's time to admit both to myself and to the world that I am indeed a wide-eyed, fanciful, exaggerated, deeply sensitive, and indeed crazy woman.

Love.

You Enjoy Myself :)

Something bothers me about being single. It’s not the actual state of being single in and of itself. Nope. It’s the look on my married friends’ and coupled friends’ faces when they ask me if I’ve “met anyone” or if I’m “seeing anyone.” As they ask me this question, they always have such hope in their eyes, then as I tell them no, I see the disappointment spread across their faces. I never understand this. As if me being single means that I am not actually meeting people.

Single implies lonely. Single implies sitting in my house alone eating bon bons or Ben and Jerry’s out of the carton. Alone. With a bunch of cats. And wearing a worn tattered house robe and house shoes that have seen better days. Single always implies sad. It implies looking. But not ever finding. It implies incompleteness. So for the record married and coupled friends, I am not sad. I am not lonely. I am not searching. Or on the hunt. I meet people every day. And I am not incomplete.

Last night after my down blog about the girls’ group, I was searching around on Google for other blogs and came upon this video. It was random because I think I looked up “Christian writing” or something like that and one of the top posts was a blog that had this video listed on it. I really like it. Not only because it expresses some of the sentiments I listed above, but I also just enjoy its presentation. I love the quirkiness of the doodles and the magical quality of the words flowing across the screen. I actually enjoy the presentation more than the actual content of the video, but I like that also. I think it’s funny that this video was apparently posted in July 2010 and already has over two MILLION hits! I guess it resonates with a lot of people.

It kind of has a sad quality to it so I'm a bit hesitant to put it on here, but I think the point of the video is very positive. To me this video is less about being "single" and more about learning to be alone. As much as I enjoy people, and apparently am an extrovert, I really do enjoy my alone time...

Love.

Growing Pains

Tonight was rough. I don't know if it's my prayer trying to make me tougher or what but tonight was crumbling. It was frustrating. It was intense. It was loud and anxious and confrontational and rude and hurtful.

I'm envious of those people who have Teflon skin. Those who can let things bounce off of them, sliding down their backs, flowing away from their hearts. I'm not one of those people. I'm more of a sponge than Teflon. I absorb whatever comes into contact with me. These emotions sit here, festering inside of me, growing mold, and are starting to stink. Even writing this is too much for me tonight. I've never had a blog before because my writing is so personal. Writing on here I'm censoring myself and I'm writing in a style that I don't usually write in.

I wonder how other people do it. How people can go on and on in blogs, how people can keep their same style going when there's the chance that someone else might read it without them knowing it. So perhaps Ill keep this casual. Just post video clips and images and not go on about my heart. When you absorb the hurt around you your heart is always filled to the brim, always on the verge of overflowing.

Tonight on my way to group I passed an intersection I pass every day I go to work. But I noticed something new there today. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a BIG brown teddy bear sitting on the curb. As I sat there waiting for the light to turn green, I realized why it was there. Yesterday a seven-year old child was run over by a city bus at that very intersection. The thing about it is that the Bear was not put at the corner of the intersection, but was a few feet away on the sidewalk. It made me think that the boy had been standing on the sidewalk when it happened and the thought of that made the whole situation feel even worse.

It was foreboding, sitting at that light, seeing that bear out of the corner of my eye, feeling the weight of this poor child's murder. It stirred up my insides and I carried that heaviness with me into group.

Group was filled with drama. Two of the girls went off because we told them they had to put away their cell phones. It reminded me of when I was a teacher and I hated being in a position of authority. I stood up for the rule though. These girls need to know how important it is that they are fully present. It's less about a cell phone and more about their hearts. It's more about us wanting them to grow. It's more about us wanting to help. It's more about us wanting to be a part of their lives.

There was more to it. More drama. More anxiety. More conflict. More heaviness. I know I'll have to keep going though. Keep praying. Keep hoping. Keep wanting everyone to grow, including myself. I know I have so much to learn. I know I have so much to gain.

Growing pains are the worst. Feeling yourself being stretched, wanting to fight it, but knowing that in the end THIS will be the best thing for you. Ill just have to stick it out.

I've been praying for that small child tonight. Praying for his family. It's so tragic.

I went from feeling so light and lovely today to feeling so heavy and hopeless. But there's God. I have to remember this. I have to hope in this. I have to know that he is working in all of this. I have to know that pain lasts for a night but joy comes in the morning.

Love.

First Aid Kit

It's cold outside. Yikes. Winter means sinus headaches, cold fingertips and a constantly frozen nose. I'm in a dreamy lovely mood even though my head is killing me. I kind of want to curl up in a blanket with a cup of cocoa and get super warm. But instead I am about to go out into the cold. I help facilitate a girls group on Thursdays so here's praying for words to say, empathy, patience, and love.


Randomly this post is for this band First Aid Kit. They are adorable! Their voices are so beautiful and clear and are so necessary in my dreamy, wintery, cold fingertips, frozen nose mood. Their cover for "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song" was recommended to me one day in my You Tube feed and for a week straight I listened to all of their videos and also pulled out my Fleet Foxes CD. So here's two of my faves!

Love.

Dangerous Prayers

Some prayers are just dangerous. Jesus said that anything that we ask for in His name will be given to us. I believe this. I hope in this. I wonder why when I pray for somethings they don't seem to actually come true. But then I have to realize that what I see may not necessarily be the truth. I mean, I may pray for something and get a different answer than I was looking for.

Tonight I wrote this prayer on my twitter
"Praying for patience to be still. Boldness to speak. Empathy to listen. Unrest to act. Strength to move. Confidence and love to keep going."


 Writing it sounds so cute. It sounds lovely and sweet. I can wrap it up in a little Tiffany blue box and tie a big white bow around it. But the implications of this prayer are actually huge. If I really mean this. If it's not just something I'm writing for the 140 characters of a tweet, but it's actually a real legit prayer, then This. Is. Huge.

Usually when I pray for something God has a way of giving me what I prayed for in a way that isn't exactly desirable. When I pray for patience I think, "Ok God help me so that I won't get so easily annoyed. Please help me to be able to wait things out. Please help me not to get so frustrated." In those moments I think God is just going to ZAP patience into me. Suddenly when I'm in a long line I will not longer be annoyed. When I'm waiting in traffic I will be able to amuse myself with other things and won't care that I'm incredibly late for work. When I'm listening to a really long story or waiting for my food to arrive at a restaurant or waiting to receive a call back or an email I won't be so easily frustrated. Instead I'll have a sense of peace that just comes over me in the midst of all of this. Magic. But prayer isn't magic. Usually when we pray for things God has to GROW these qualities in us. So if I pray for patience God is going to give me PLENTY of opportunities to LEARN patience. Meaning that Ill have plenty of opportunities to be inpatient. Grrrrrreat.

So I prayed for Boldness to speak. Now I'm pretty sure God is going to put me in situations that are incredibly awkward and uncomfortable where it's much easier to stay quiet than to speak up for myself.

Empathy to listen=learning that I have a lot of resentment in my heart, probably offending a few people then feeling really badly about it, hearing a lot of sad stories, being in a lot of uncomfortable conversations.

Unrest to act=being really really uncomfortable. Not being able to sleep. Other people's hurts keeping me awake at night. Feeling agitated. Finding myself in a lot of situations where people are being mistreated.

Strength to move=having to overcome fear, being bombarded with my weakness.

Confidence and love to keep going=feeling really insecure, people not agreeing with me, people arguing with me, being annoyed by people, feeling frustrated, feeling uncomfortable.


So basically by praying this prayer I have guaranteed it that I will be UNCOMFORTABLE for a while. YAY! Why do I do these things to myself? It's because I look at people like Rosa Parks.

Today is the 55th anniversary of her refusing to give up her seat. When asked why she made such a bold move she said that she was physically tired. But I think it was more than that. We all know it was more than that. She was tired. Tired of giving in. Tired of the status quo. Tired of injustice. The problem was that too many people were comfortable. Even though thousands of people had to know that this was wrong. That segregation is immoral and unjust people were comfortable with the way things were. Today we are still too comfortable. It's easier to do nothing that to do something. Even if that something could change the entire world.

We know that there is so much injustice in the world. That just because segregation as law ended with the Civil Rights Movement, that segregation as a system still goes on today. WE. All. Know. This. But we keep allowing it to go on. We are all too comfortable.

It's late so that's all for tonight, but my hope is that all of us start to pray more dangerous prayers. Because God will give us what we ask for. And in the end I will become stronger, more patient, more bold, more empathetic, more uneasy towards injustice, more confident, and more loving. And in this journey of becoming more of the woman God designed me to be, I will hopefully be able to stand up, to listen, to be still, to speak, to act, and to keep going.


Love.