A Tree Falls

Sixty people stand at the base.
They circle around it engulfing the trunk in their mass
They see it.
They come to it.
They include it.
Sixty people stand at the base.

Their voices rise in an outcry
Their chants fill the forest but have no impact
Each mouth is open
Each voice is sending out waves of stories
Everyone is speaking
No one is listening.
Their voices rise in an outcry

It stands in the center
Listening
Waiting
Inside, its spirit is filling
Its bark stretches and cracks to hold in its life
But it cannot withstand its inner being
It bursts and falls in the center

A tree falls in the forest and sixty people are there to hear it.
It does not make a sound.

Two hundred twenty-nine miles
She waits.
Not speaking she listens
Her mouth is closed and her ears are open
Her heart, her soul, exposed.
Two hundred twenty-nine miles

A tree falls in the forest and she is two hundred twenty-nine miles away.
She hears it.

It's all you need

Sometimes all you need is a goal.
Four hours.
Just four hours.
Just keep it together for four more hours.
Four hours of complete agony.
Complete facade.

Then relief.

Then complete and utter reality.
Reality to just let everything fall
Everything fall
Fall into a million pieces
Not trying to hold it together
Not squeezing tight
Not making sure everything stays in one piece

just Relief

Relief to be real
Relief to be vulnerable
Relief to admit everything is not ok

Relief will come
 just Four more hours.

Waiting to Fail

I'm a failure.--that's what I believed from day one.

Growing up, I had a select few things that I was good at.  I got all As and could even braid my own hair.  Outside of the things I knew I could do I really didn't try anything new.  I had learned that it's better not to try unless you knew you could deliver.  Even though I wanted to, I never played any sports.  Fear of disappointing people overwhelmed any desire I had to play.  The few times I was forced to play sports, I held back.  I tried just when I had to.  I figured if I didn't really look like I was trying, no one would recognize me as the failure I was.  I was yelled at for missing the ball or being in the way.  The worst was when my teammates simply didn't say anything.  They tried to be nice, but all they could muster was keeping their mouths shut and just not being mean.  I always preferred the yelling to be honest.  However, I shrugged it off acting like I didn't care and wasn't really trying.

Tonight I played broomball with a bunch of boys from my dorm.  If you've never played broomball, it's basically hockey in street clothes with a softball sized squishy ball--on ice! Can you say disaster?!?!  If you can imagine the clumsiest person in the world, that is basically my life.  I was always the girl who carried band-aids with her everywhere just waiting to fall on her face.  I have permanent scars and bruises on my legs from reoccurring tripping and falling over my own feet.  I'm not sure why I agreed to play broomball.  I immediately regretted it after the words left my mouth.  I felt impending failure creep over me, and I wanted to run. But I couldn't.

To my surprise, they never yelled at me.  I waited for it, cringing at every mistake I made, but it never came.  I slipped; I fell; I missed shot after shot, but they were never disappointed in me.  To me I was failing.  I was just a waste of a player always getting in the way and rarely contributing to any plays.  I was the same clumsy, nonathletic, chubby girl who couldn't block a ball to save her life.  I tried to push back my fear and worries  of letting the team down.  I tried to push through everything and play with my whole heart putting all my effort into every swing, but I still missed. I still fell. I still failed.  I waited for the disappointed sighs, but all I heard was encouragement.  They cheered me on every time I went for the ball.  They even passed me the ball! I've never had anyone actually pass me the ball.  Most times I even tell them not to, trying to limit the failure a little, but these guys just didn't seem to listen.  They continued to include me in everything, cheering me on and giving me hints.

At the end of the game, we had tied.  I was glad I hadn't completely ruined the game and cost them points, and they were excited because it was the first game they hadn't completely lost.  After all our equipment was put away and we were headed  home, my boys surrounded me.  In that eight man huddle with all of them cheering and thanking me for playing, I have never felt more loved in my entire life.  I didn't feel like a failure.  Yeah, I had missed several shots and spent a good portion of the game on my butt, but I tried.  I had played with my heart and risked failure.  And I was still loved.  We were a team and nothing I did affected the love that held our friendships together.

There's a lot of places in life where I feel like a failure, like I can't do anything to keep my head above water.  Like it's an impending doom that's better to just be avoided.  But how can my life be fully lived if I don't jump.  How can I die knowing I lived my life to the fullest without taking chances.  Tonight's game reminded me that no matter how many times I fall and fail, there's always going to be someone to help me up and brush me off.  As loved as I feel by my boys, I know God's love is far greater than I could ever know.  He is the one that will never see me as a failure.

So I will jump.  I will leap. I will take a chance, and I will fly.  No matter how many times I fall on my face or scrape my knees, one day...I will fly.  I will succeed.  And one day I will die knowing I have lived.

I will Live all the days of my Life.

A Cluttered Mess

Warning, this may be a cluttered mess--a reflection of the thoughts filling every open space of my mind.

This fall I have been, for lack of better terms, lost.  I feel as though I don't have a purpose in being on this campus or even in this city.  I have no idea what my job is here--what I need to be doing in God's great plan.  This summer it was easy! I was in South Africa devoting every waking moment to serve God and the people of Africa.

Now, I'm back at school.  I'm attempting to graduate in three years so a heavy work load is a must, and on top of everything I'm working to save money for my next mission (more to come in a much later post).  I hardly see any of my friends, most of which I wonder if that relationship still even exists.  I see myself as a grain of sand being pulled to and fro with the waves, never building a castle binding to others around me or simply basking in the warm sunlight of life.  All of my energy, motivation, and emotion goes into school and work.  How do I find another supply to do God's work? What does God even want me to do?

While all this worry and frustration is plaguing me, God somehow manages to fit more learning into my already exploding schedule.  Through all different people, some of which I will never meet again in this life, he has been teaching me about myself.  I know right? What could he possibly be teaching me that I don't already know about myself?  Well....A lot!  This past Sunday the speaker told us that wherever there's faith, there's fear.  Some fear must be overcome to put your faith into action.  My biggest fear I've found is myself.

For several years I have struggled with depression, and have been successfully overcoming all the thoughts and addictions that come with it.  However, I'm still terrified of returning to how I was.  I'm afraid of those thoughts entering my mind again and doing things that I know will only hurt me more.  I'm scared of losing myself to that again.  This fear has taken over my life without me even realizing it.  Everything I do or think is done as a precaution keeping me from going backwards.  I worry about my own well-being and mental stability. While it's important that I'm doing better, I have unfortunately left no room for my love for others to shine.  I heard somewhere that you should love God first, then others, and finally love yourself.  I have slowly gotten that completely mixed up.

I still don't know what God's purpose for me right now is, but I'm not as lost as I may feel.  God is still giving me direction one turn at a time.  I may not know the destination or even the road I'm on, but he'll let me know when to turn and when to continue.  Right now, he's telling me to regain my passion for people--to love others around me like I've never loved before.  As a child, I loved people more than anything else in the world.  If anyone needed a friend I was there.  Anything I could do for someone, I did.  I want that back.  I want to return to my childhood love and embrace it more than ever!  I want to be the woman God is forming me to be.

I don't know where I'm headed or where I'll end up, but for right now, I'm learning to love again.

Just a Small Town Girl...

I was born in a town of 200 people.  My family knew everyone in town and it seemed as though everyone knew us.  Later, I moved to a town of 1,000 and then again to a town of 5,000, but it was always the same--close knit, annoyingly nosy, and overwhelmingly loving.

Now, I'm in a city of over 200,000 people, sharing a campus dorm with 500 people who this is the smallest city they have ever lived it.  200,000 people, and for the longest time I couldn't figure out why I felt so alone.  This city has hundreds more shopping stores than any other town I've lived in.  There's more street lights than I can count, and I have more friends than I have in my entire life combined.

But I'm alone.

What I love about home is there's always a family.  Whether I'm at school, camp, home, work, or whatever, we always have a close little family of our own wherever we go.  We know each other inside and out and would not hesitate for one moment to laugh with each other or cry on each others' shoulders.
Here I don't have that. I may have had at one time the makings of a family, but as always people are caught up in life and slowly scatter away. But I understand.  It's hard to form a family with people you don't know well, and it's hard to get to know them without mutual understanding and tolerance.

I say "tolerance" because it is the minimum I am asking of the people around me.  You don't have to understand why I crave country music in the middle of the night, and you probably never will.  You don't have the memories of my grandfather driving in his old beat up orange pick-up truck and my grandmother watching CMT all morning long as she spends hours on a delicious dinner (not lunch) made from scratch.  You don't know the comfort that music brings me, but I do ask that you be tolerant of it.  Don't make cracks about my "hick" background or "country cowgirl" tastes. It's judgement and intolerance like this that makes it so you will never know me.

The smell of cow manure may completely disgust you.  I understand, but don't wrinkle up your nose when I talk about working cattle with my daddy or cleaning horse stalls with my little brother.  It's what I've grown up doing.  It's taught me many life lessons, and it's strengthened my relationship with the two best men in my life to unbreakable bonds.

I'm sorry.

But I will always drive with my windows down blaring Jason Aldean pretending I'm surrounded by corn fields.  I will always take a deep breath when passing by a pasture of cattle. I will always country swing dance at every opportunity.  I will always believe the wild flowers growing in the untrimmed ditches are far more beautiful than anything that could ever be grown in a greenhouse. And I will always love my family with an unhindered passion and unbreakable love.

I will always hang on to what my family and my past have given me.  It strengthens the love being stretched over miles and miles of road between this city and my little town of home grown family love.

The Drop-In Center

June 14, 2011

Today we also visited what is called a drop-in or feeding center.  There are several of these in various villages in South Africa.  The ministry we are working with is even building one of their own. After school, children who have lost one or both of their parents come to the drop-in center for a big meal and Bible stories.

While I was there I met four little girls around the age of seven years old. Two of the girls shared the name Dimingasto, and the other two were named TeBorgo and Mapaseka.  When I first saw these girls, another lady Shauna from our group was talking with them.  Well, I suppose "talking" isn't the best word to use.  She would ask them a question, and then they would look at each other with "ornery" written all over their faces and break into a fit of little-girl-giggling.  After awhile Shauna must have assumed they simply didn't speak English and as she left, I took her spot at their table with Brad. 

These girls were just constant giggles, and their laughter was infectious!  I giggled at their giggles which seemed to surprise them.  After several tries at conversation on my part and excessive amounts of laughter on theirs, I finally did get them to talk to me.  I learned their names and made them laugh as I tried unsuccessfully to pronounce them correctly, and of course they frowned at how I said my own name.

When they came back to the table with their food, they seemed to have settled down.  I asked about what they were eating and what they usually had and their favorites, but they only responded with one or two word answers.  They seemed almost embarrassed that they needed to come to the drop-in center to get a decent meal.  Maybe they were just focused on eating, I don't know.

After their dishes were put away and the Bible lessons began, they were back to their giggling selves, but they were excited to learn.  The lesson that day was on Peter the night Jesus was betrayed.  They followed along in their little lesson books and soaked in every detail.  They told me about every person they had studied in the Bible and retold the stories with overwhelming passion in their eyes and voices.

When I went to leave, I took one last look around the building.  There was so much joy in this tiny space.  It was easy to forget that these were all "at risk" children.  All of them had lost one or both of their parents and experienced hardships in their lives that I couldn't imagine.  Nothing in all my life could compare to the horrors they had experienced at such a young age, yet they were smiling. They were smiling and laughing unhindered by everything life had thrown at them.

Whenever I think of these four girls, my entire outlook on life is changed.  They taught me life can be full of joy no matter the obstacles you must overcome. Nothing can deter God's love and joy.  Over mountain and rivers, death and pain, God's love reaches every person.  They just have to open their hearts and lives to the love and joy that changes everything.

The Creche

June 14, 2011

***

In South Africa, the preschool is called the creche.  Little kids run to and from a small building with light coats and empty backpacks.

When we arrived, I could not see the ground beneath my feet.  All I saw were their bright eyes and smiling faces.  They didn't know who we were, but they loved us.  Their laughter and shouts of joy overpowered our voices so that all we could do was laugh right back.

Some of us were mauled by small children--I think of 6 foot Brad sitting on dusty ground (which he later got up from as kids swatted his bum "helping him clean up") with only his white face peaking out among the sea of brown.

Despite the roaring wave of excitement, I, of course, found a way to separate myself to take in the full scene and enjoy the love that poured from every living being. Before long, a little boy about two years old caught my attention. Sitting on the ground I simply reached out my hand to him.  He stared at it for the longest time, but then his little hand peaked out from his olive green coat and came to lay in mine.  His name was Prayer.  He never said a word and didn't want to play. He was content to sit on my lap and watch the other children run by chasing a flat soccer ball. 

We sat for what seemed like the longest time as white American adults chased the smiling South African children.  It crossed my mind that maybe I should get up and try to convince Prayer to come and play with everyone else, but everytime I moved, Prayer frowned.  I figured this meant playing was not an option, so we contently sat in the dirt and watched everyone pass by.  One little boy waddled past us several times in a green overstuffed coat, bright colorful backpack, and a red and blue stocking hat.  He had an apple in his hand with one bite taken from it and tears streaming down his face.

I watched him walk by several times, but no one else seemed to notice this little child crying out for comfort.  The rest of my team were surrounded by dozens of children and didn't see him. Even the women working at the creche walked right past him without so much as a glance in his direction.  I couldn't just sit there five feet from this crying boy.  I picked up Prayer (much to his dismay) and carried him over to where the other little boy stood.  I didn't bother asking him, I simply picked him up and placed him on the other side of my lap across from Prayer. 

As I rubbed his back trying to provide some comfort, I noticed the writing covering his backpack.  Robbie was written several times in various places in all different sizes.  Using what I presumed to be his name, I talked to him and Prayer and commented on the other kids playing, but neither one was interested in my musings. However, Robbie's tears slowly dried.

As we sat staring off into space, another child came and accidentally bumped into Prayer.  This of course started another wave of tears from both boys on my lap.  Not knowing what to do I began to sing.  I knew the boys probably didn't speak English and it really didn't matter to them what song filled the air, so I simply sang in the language God had given me.  Whatever melody crossed my mind I let flow from my mouth in words it seemed no one understood.  Often, it was just some little phrase of music I made up on my own and would repeat with a few variations.  The singing seemed to calm both boys.  They stopped crying, and Prayer's eyes once again followed the children chasing the soccer ball.  Robbie, however, stood up and left my lap.  I thought he was leaving for good now that whatever upset him didn't seem too terrible.  He started walking behind me but was never more than an arm's length away. He circled around watching the other kids and took a bite of his forgotten apple.

Seeing that he no longer seemed sad and upset, I decided I would try to get him to smile.  As he walked near me, I quickly leaned towards him opening my mouth and pretending to eat his apple with the most ridiculous biting sound effects I could muster. It sounded like something between a sick dog growling and a baby's babbling.  At first Robbie seemed shocked.  I had truly  surprised him, and as I repeated my silly antics over and over again and he realized that I was purposely sounding like a wild animal, a smile crept over his cheeks.

After awhile he came over and sat next to Prayer and me and played in the dirt that seemed to cover everything in sight. His little hand grasped the dirt and let it fall between his fingers. He grabbed another handful of dirt and my hand enclosed around his. As I let go, he poured the dirt onto my extended hand. I gasped in fake surprise and frowned at him.  His smile once again returned in its full beauty, and as our game continued that smile evolved into the most beautiful quiet laughter I have ever heard.

As time went on, Prayer, not amused with our games wandered off towards the teachers and the building. Robbie and I played until it was his turn to have his face painted. He wasn't overly excited about the work of art that was about to be placed on his cheek and seemed disappointed about the break in games.  So of course we started another one.  As we stood in line, Robbie took to leaning to one side and then another.  I stood behind him with my arms around him pushing his leaning to the limit.  Just as he was about to fall over, I'd lift him back up and the leaning would begin again.  His laughter got louder and louder with each near fall.

A river of children flowed towards the small building as one of the ladies emerged with a giant kettle of food.  One by one each child took a overflowing plate of food back to the little red chairs set up near by.

Robbie and I slowly wandered over to the black basins of water to wash his hands.  He was hesitant at first, but with his hands in mine they were washed without a fuss.  Back to our leaning game we waited in line for his plate of food.  The line slowly dwindled, but no food was put in Robbie's hands.  Teacher after teacher passed over him. Robbie's mood had dropped exponentially and he began crying, so we sat down and I held him tightly in my arms.  It was warming up outside, but every attempt to take off his coat or stocking hat was met with a new burst of tears.

We continued to sit there next to the kettle as all the other children sat with their plates of food. Finally, one lady came back and silently handed me a plate not even half full.  Robbie refused the spoon of food I offered over and over still crying.  The melody from our first interactions returned to my head and I began singing.  Slowly Robbie became more receptive, and two spoonfuls were emptied into his little belly.  We pressed on alternating crying, singing, and eating, and the food on the plate was disappearing with each cycle.  I looked up to see one of the African ladies running towards us.  "Praise God! Praise God!" she shouted.  She was so overjoyed I thought I saw tears in her eyes.

***

Robbie had started at the creche the Wednesday before.  He had refused to let anyone remove his coat, hat, or backpack no matter how much sweat dripped from his face. And he turned every bite of food away except for that small apple they had given him. Even the apple had been barely touched.  He spent each day crying endlessly.  They had never seen him smile or heard his beautiful laughter--until today.

Leaving him that day was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.  Reluctantly, I handed him to one of the ladies as a new reservoir of tears burst open.  I climbed into the car reminding myself he had a family.  He had a group of people that loved him.  While his transition to the creche school days had taken a tremendous toll on his small spirit, I new he had overcome so much today.  With that small plate of food and joyous laughter he moved into the light.  I am blessed beyond words to have met such an extraordinary boy and to have witnessed God's work in just a single day of his life.

***

For Robbie a thousand times over.

Why can't I forget my worries instead?

I've never really had a consistent friend. I couldn't tell you who my friends are at home because they come and go without warning.  Besides my family, there's never been anyone I could rely on or knew they'd be there for me tomorrow. Then I went to college.

I found friends that I believe love me for who I am.  I'm able to be myself around them and don't have to hide anything. For the first time in my life I have a strong sense of freedom. Freedom to live. Freedom to change.

This summer, I have dreaded being home. I even counted down the days until I move back for the first month or two.  I thought it was because I was stressed with being dependent upon my parents again and living with all my siblings for the first time in two years, but it's more than that. It's more than the change of scenery and atmosphere. I'm scared to be home. I'm not scared of anything that may enter my life but everything that might leave. I'm scared the friends I grew to count on will be like everyone else in my life. I'm scared I'll have to start over.

I've started over what seems like a hundred times, but never on my own. I've always had my family to come home to, and they supported me in everything. I was never alone, out of reach of my mother's comforting arms.  I'm worried about going back to school and having no one. I'm worried I'm going to spend  hours studying in my room alone simply because I have nothing else to do. They've spent all summer growing and laughing together, and I'm worried I'm going to be left, not out of spite or anger, but simply because I'm forgotten. I tell myself "It doesn't matter, I'm only going to be here 2 more years and then I'll be gone", but I can't take two years alone.

Now, I don't regret living at home this summer for one moment. I have felt more needed by my family this summer than I have in my entire life. I love them with my whole heart and I would do anything to make each day a little easier for them. I hate thinking how I won't be able to be there for them each and every day. I would take them over anyone in the world.  I simply wish I could have my friends and family all at one time.

I know they don't mean to, but I still feel forgotten.  Every experience in my life has taught me that I am the kind of person who provides truth for the statement "out of sight, out of mind."  I couldn't make it to the last party so why invite me to the next? I wasn't with him 24/7 so what made me his girlfriend? It wasn't really cheating then was it?

It's never intentional, but then again it's always the accidents that leave the biggest scars.

My Apologies

I'm very sorry I haven't been continuing to post during my trip in South Africa.  The internet here is quite slow and as I would like to post pictures along with my writing, I am choosing to wait.  I promise I am journaling about all my exciting experiences and will later post with the correct dates just as soon as I get home and collect my thoughts.

Can My Love Hold All of Africa?

I am now ending my third day in the wonderful country of South Africa.  Since being here I have felt like a tourist. We have gone on several game drives (one of which we were nearly charged by an enormous elephant!) and met several people only stopping for two minutes to shake someone's hand. I wondered whether I was on a mission's trip or a vacation--until today.

Today my heart was gripped by 70 small dirty precious hands and then laid to rest in the sick aged hands of a dying man.

Their bright smiling faces still shine in my heart.  Today, we spent the majority of the day inside a tiny old church building.  While it is no longer a church, it is now the school and safe haven of thirty-five disabled children.  As we walked in the door, their smiles and joy filled the room as living sunlight.  I have never loved so many children so instantly.  Drool covered every surface in sight and meal time was quite the adventure, but nothing could stop these kids from smiling.  Even the kids who didn't speak English or couldn't communicate at all were simply overjoyed with holding your hand or learning patty-cake for the hundredth time.  I have found that no matter where you go children are all the same--disabled, African, white or another.  They all love having their picture taken, feeling beautiful, getting their face painted, and being loved.  One little girl who stole everyone's hearts, Pretty, went back again and again to add another beautiful painting to her arm (beautiful was her new favorite word I taught her. Everything was BEAUTIFUL!!!)  These children, though they faced many hardships throughout their lives and still have many more to come, had such a beautiful outlook on life.  The smallest things gave them joy, and everything is, as Pretty would say. . . beautiful!

In the evening, I met a man named Moses sitting outside is small tin house content with watching the sun slowing creep beneath the mountains.  While he refuses to accept it, he has AIDS. It broke my heart to know that while I can give him food like we did the children, there is not much more that can be done.  I was told that soon his wife and son will be left to fend for themselves, and in about four years later the boy will be alone.  Every part of my inner being breaks with the knowledge that Moses is not the only person suffering from the sickness.  I am at a loss for words and actions.  All I know how to do right now is pray.  With God, I know that can be enough.  And with the Coca-Cola we promised to bring him tomorrow, his heart will smile.

Today it has become abundantly clear God's love spreads over every boundary--never holding back.  I see it in each animal, plant, and child.  My love for God's people stretches and expands with the knowledge of each individual child, man, and woman I am privileged to meet. As WM. Paul Young says in his book The Shack, "So many believe that it is love that grows, but it is the knowing that grows and love simply expands to contain it.  Love is just the skin of knowing."

For You a Thousand Times Over

If you have never read The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini, you must open your schedule and your heart to his wonderful story.  In The Kite Runner a young servant boy Hassan tells his master's son "for you a thousand times over" as he runs to catch a kite.  In this one act for his friend, Hassan takes on an immense burden to try to lift his friend's.

This is what I want my life to be--not a chase after fame or fortune, but a fight for others. Tomorrow I leave for South Africa.  Honestly, right now I'm not excited, but I know this is what I'm supposed to do, not what's expected of me, but what is going to change my life and hopefully change others'. I am leaving with the best heart I can muster hoping to leave everything behind.  If I can make a difference in one person's life while I'm there, it doesn't matter how I feel now. I want to look at God every day and say
"for You a thousand times over."

Finding Sunshine in the Summer

Week 3 of summer and I ask, "Is it time to start classes yet please?"
I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hate summer break.

I've moved several times in my life and on very distinct intervals.  I have moved every six years of my life like clock work.  It was never planned like that.  Life just moved us as it pleased.  My final move, at the end of six years in my Podunk little town, was my move to college in the city.  Now, I'm home again.  I have never moved back to a previous place in my entire life, and I have to say it is one of the worst feelings I have ever felt.  In each town, in the sixth year, I always began to feel restless.  My friends seemed to dissipate, and I just got extremely bored with life.  This boredom and unhappiness made moving fairly easy.  I always got excited to see the new house and meet new friends.  It was like I was starting over, and I could be anyone I wanted to be.  It was a new journey.  Moving home from college for the summer was not like that at all.

I didn't have time to become restless in college before I had to leave.  I miss living in the city.  The crowded streets I once despised now linger in all my favorite memories.  Out in the country, I feel secluded and alone.  I miss everyone running up and down the hallways.  I miss seeing my friends and people who love me.  Don't get me wrong; my family loves me very much, and I have never doubted that.  However, I spend many hours alone when I'm home.  Even though I enjoy my alone time, I miss having it be a treasure.  At college it was something I had to search for, so I treasured it so much more.  It was special.  At home I spend my days hunting for social interaction.  If I get bored, I instantly go to Facebook to see if anyone's online that I can talk to.  Sadly, I even call my mother periodically throughout the day simply because I need to know I'm not the only person on Earth.

I'm over living here.  I'm ready for a new environment-I had a new environment! Moving back is incredibly hard.  It's like returning to an old class you've already taken.  You know everything the professor is teaching.  You've done all the homework before, and the projects are no longer new and exciting.  I'm bored.  I know if I try hard enough I could learn something-grow somehow.  It's just easier in a new and challenging place.  It's hard to challenge one's self in a place and time when others discourage change.

I want change. I want life! I don't want sameness and routine.  I find no joy in any of those things any more.  I am a different person from when I left this place last fall.  Now, I have to learn to live in this town as the person I am now against all obstacles while at the same time trying to enjoy my summer (as I cannot handle unhappiness and boredom for long).  I have to find the sunshine in the summer.

One Little Girl

I just finished the book Singing Songs by Meg Tilly.  I never realized how much one person's thoughts and ideas could so fully affect my life.  

Singing Songs tells the story of a young girl, Anna, who is raised in a less than ideal home.  Her and her sisters are sexually abused; her brothers are beaten, and no one steps forward to stop it.  These kids are left to defend themselves with the one goal in mind- staying alive.  

In the second semester of my freshman year in college, I declared myself as a Family Science major.  What can I do with that major? That's always this question I hear from everyone as they stare at me with a quizzical expression.  I was recently labeled as "one of those people". And by those he meant, I'm not the student you find at 4 am still beating out my research paper or the student in the chemistry lab for hours on end mixing chemicals and spilling acid on myself.  He meant that I won't have to work as hard in college to earn my degree.

One of my friends declared a major because he thought it made him sound smart.  He knew it was going to be hard and that he was smart enough to get through it, but where's the passion in sheer ability?  I know I'm capable of earning any degree. I just want this one.

I didn't choose Family Science for the easy tests or the lack of chemistry classes (although I'm sure my lab partner from high school is glad I'm dodging any class where I could light someone on fire again). I choose my major because when I finish books like Singing Songs, there is a heart-wrenching pain that boils up from the pit of my stomach!  It makes me completely nauseous, and I would give anything to change that one little girl's life even when I fully understand it's just a fictional story.  I always wonder where the inspiration for such a story came from. Was there a little girl who went through the same challenges as Anna? or was it a combination of hundreds of children's lives?  

It's when things make you so sick you can't sit still, you can't stand by and watch it happen over and over again.  It's when there's an overwhelming pain in your heart, that you know you have to stop it; you have to do something to make someone else's life just a little better!

I'm not slacking off.  I'm saving the world- one little girl at a time.

A Colorful World

Singing along to Disney songs during "dead week" is by far my favorite past time. Disney movies have this magical ability to steal me away from my present activities and take me to all parts of the world. Lion King....I'm  chillin' with a warthog and meerkat in Africa. Aladdin...flying over the Middle East on a magic carpet, and in the Aristocats I'm wandering through the French countryside. Classic Disney movies are set all over the world! Children don't have to stay in their American suburbs; they can go anywhere.
Unfortunately, now that I'm older, I'm beginning to see flaws in my beloved childhood movies.  Has anyone else noticed almost all Disney characters sound American? Very few have any sort of accent! The only thing that seems to hint at all about the setting is the background and clothing (if the character are in fact human!).
As a blossoming college student, I am intrigued by different cultures.  I love hearing different accents and learning about others' beliefs and traditions.  Nothing excites me more than when I walk into my first classes and see people of at least five different ethnicities sitting together in the front row.  I love seeing everyone together--sharing their lives and thoughts with each other.
I often feel like media (whether movies, books, or music) are not completing one of their main goals--cultural transmission.  The world seems to keep getting smaller and smaller.  Everyone seems to be adopting the same culture--the same culture that's being reflected in nearly all the media. It saddens me that the world is losing so much of its color, its zest and flavor! God didn't make us all different so we could conform.  We're different because that's what makes life so interesting and enjoyable! People are the most exciting part of life!
Breathe in the different cultures of the world like a breath of fresh air!
Notice the diversity in the people around you and be inspired!
Life is thrilling! Embrace every aspect of it!

What Are You Really Doing

I need to be involved. I need to step in and stop it.

I always feel this way when I encounter evil in the world around me.  I want to be directly involved and stop the violence. I've always wondered how journalists could stand in the middle of a riot in a war-torn country and not do anything to help the people around them.  Well one of the students who contributed to the book, The Freedom Writers Diary by the Freedom Writers with Erin Gruwell, felt the same way.  When listening to their guest speaker, Peter Maass who was a war correspondent during the Bosnian War, the student stood up and boldly asked the same question that has been running through my mind all this time.  His response was this:

"He wasn't letting evil prevail by watching and doing nothing.  By writing about the images he saw in Sarajevo, he was ensuring that no one would deny that ethnic cleansing was taking place, and that thousands of innocent men were being taken to their deaths." - The Freedom Writers Diary 

Maass wasn't standing by letting it happen.  He had his own way of fighting the violence of this world.  He used his writing to fight back and never let anyone forget that it happened.  Each person has a place and a purpose in this world.  It's not always one's place to be in the action stopping the violence. I've learned that sometimes, like journalists, we have a different job. Our job whatever it is is not insignificant or less important than any other job however. Every person works together in some way to make a difference.

Not Me but You

I am a worrier.  Full on out constant worrying about everything from my classes to the legacy I'm going to leave behind in this world. But more than anything I worry about others.  I worry if they're unhappy or if their lives seem to be torn to shreds and spiraling down the drain. It literally breaks my heart to see anyone in pain, emotional or physical.  More than worried, I am overwhelmingly compassionate.  God has always taken care of me.  I travel through valleys and over mountains but where ever I am in my life, God has always held my hand through everything.  Now, I just have to trust in him to hold others' hands.  I can only help and comfort them so much before I just need to leave it to God.  He is the comforter and healer.  Only he truly knows their hearts and what they need at each moment.

Hollywood Recycles

Have you ever noticed that the same people are in every movie? No matter what genre or era it was made in, the personalities are always the same across the board.  There's usually a troubled person (either boy or girl) and another who tries to change them.  Then often times you have an eccentric or funny friend that releases the tension, and always somebody completing against the protagonist.  It's the same thing every time.  You have the generic bad boy or the sweet, caring girl, or the awkward, nerd boy, and the not so sweet slut.  People in movies always have to same personalities.
It's when you begin to group the people in your life into these "movie star" personalities that you're really missing out on life.  Walking down the street I see all kinds of people--old, young, tall, short, quirky, shy, thug, nerd....
But as much as my mind wants to, I can't generalize these people like that. They don't fit into any of Hollywood's classic characters.  Some of them my remind me of a character, but they're not that person.  Each person is unique, and it's just a result of lack of creativity that every movie character has the same personality.
Life is too big and too extraordinary to reuse personalities! While I am all for recycling plastic, paper, and the like, I can't say I want to recycle a character. I am who God made me--100% unique.  That's who I am, and no matter how many times Hollywood tries to tell me only this type of girl gets the happily ever after.....I have to say:
I am who I am
Inside and out
I live my life
Without a doubt
Never knowing the ending
But enjoying the route.

For those who both possess and strive for strength

You are strong.
You are loved.
You are supported.
And you will change the world
One step at a time.

http://www.true2ourselves.com/video/viewing/900/Hillsong--Desert-Song

Dependency

So much of life is centered around being independent.  Children learn to walk; teens learn to drive.  Everyone is running away from dependency, but it's a fruitless endeavor. No matter how hard I try, I am never going to be independent.
I wasn't made to be independent.
I've come to realize I am a strong person, but I am not able to stand on my own.  I am always going to be reliant on my God and my family.  People weren't made to stand alone. We were made to be companions, to love and be loved.
I give up the struggle to be independent.  I give up striving to hold in my feelings and fight my battles alone. I wasn't made to withstand the trials of life by myself.
And there is no shame in help and support. I love to be there for others and offer my love and support, so why shouldn't I expect the same loving care from others? Can't I believe others will love me as I love them?

Can't

Never have I found a word that I hate more than can't. Throughout the world's darkest history it has been there. "Jews can't visit theaters." "Blacks can't sit in the front of the bus." "Women can't vote." "Drug addicts can't stop." "Children can't make a difference." "You can't ..."
This list goes on and on.
Each time I hear can't, it's an instant challenge to me.  If you tell me I can't as in I'm not capable of doing something, you better step back because it's going to to happen, and no one could stand in my way. I am not going to have my talents and abilities hindered by another person's impression of me. They don't know what's in my heart. They don't know what I'm capable of, and they don't know my God, with whom anything is possible.

http://www.webdesignerdepot.com/2010/03/the-amazing-art-of-disabled-artists/
These people never listened to the can'ts in their lives.  They didn't stop doing what they love simply because the world through an obstacle in their path. Writers don't give up on their novel when the publisher turns them down, and journalists in Egypt and Libya aren't turning back, even though the people are turning against them.
Life is continually throwing obstacle in your path that have the potential to keep you from your dreams. Whatever you do in life, never let any of these bumps stop you from chasing after your dream. God has given you those dreams. He has placed them in your heart for a reason.  He is not going to let you trip and tumble down the cliff of failure.  He is always there. If you stumble, his hand is always there to catch you and lift you back up again.  Reach out and go for your dream! Never stop chasing, never let anything or anyone hinder your passion and drive.

Hope

http://journalstar.com/news/state-and-regional/nebraska/article_cfb478a8-489e-5249-b548-31533860b3cd.html

I read this article yesterday, but it wasn't the word "abortion" that stopped me in my tracks.  It was the lack of the word "hope".  I couldn't understand how this mother was willing to give up any chance for a miracle. It didn't make sense.  How can someone be completely devoid of hope at a time like this?
Then I found this article.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-1306283/Miracle-premature-baby-declared-dead-doctors-revived-mothers-touch.html

I am completely inspired by this woman's faith and hope in a time of great sorrow, and I'm more inspired by God's grace and compassion. However, I can't help but feel for the women who give up so easily.  When times get hard, no matter how much I want to just lay in bed and give up, I am always the person who refuses to do so.  I know God is watching out for me, and in his guidance and love I can to anything and get through everything life throws at me. I pray that this first woman and everyone else will someday find that hope in Christ and always look for the miracles in every situation.

Ignorance

It only bothers you when you think about it.

My Journey

All books and movies are about journeys.  Sometimes the character leaves his or her current place to arrive on the other side of the world, and sometimes it is just a journey of the spirit that changes the present.  Whatever it is, the character and the world in which he lives is never the same.  Everything in this world is changing.  Every day is a new and exciting journey.  I recently met someone from a different country.  Even though she has lived in my nation for several years, she still holds on to her accent.  She believes it's a part of who she is and by changing that she would be giving up a part of herself.  I thought about this for the longest time.  It ate at my heart every day because I am not content with staying as I am.  Like everything around me, I want to change. I want to grow.  Then I realized, I am not me.  I am not complete.  It is my experiences and relationships in life that make me who I am! I will not be complete until my life in this world is over.  By changing, I am not losing a part of myself but adding to me.  Each day I add something new and wonderful or even something horrible, but either way I never go to bed the same person as I was when I woke up. I am still becoming me.

What you see is not me.

What you see is not me.
The pitch of my voice does not reflect my thoughts.
The disarray of hair above my eyes is not the landscape I see.
The color of my eyes does not determine the passion in my soul.
And the inches of my waist does not measure the love in my heart.

What I see is not you.

Change cannot hinder Love

When I was in the third grade, my music class was interrupted by an up roar in the front row.  After Mrs. D finally got the class focused, I discovered the commotion was caused by a computer--Annie's first Gateway computer.  Everyone was asking where she got it, what she used it for, and everything imaginable.  It's weird to think that my generation saw the integration of the personal computer with our own eyes.

Even though I hate to admit it, I like to be in control.  I like knowing each turn when I drive.  I like planning my days to make sure everything gets done, and I like cutting my hair whenever I need a change in my life.  Having the world around me change abruptly, however, distresses me.  My family bought a PlayStation, and two years later we could not find a single game that was compatible with it.  PlayStation 2 had come out, and the original games were discontinued.  It amazes me how fast technology can change and improve. Land lines to car phones. Car phones to cell phones and now cell phones with TV, Internet, video, and who knows what else!  There's even electronic forms of books.

E-book, Kindle, Nook
Shining computer screens and silver cases.
I'm sorry, but I am not impressed with any of these.  For me nothing can compare to the ruffled pages, crackling binding, and the smell of ink that comes with every physical book.  What if technology takes the place of these beautiful works of art? What if there are no more libraries, book stores, book shelves, or even book ends for that matter?  Instead, we would have a little tablet with all of our books electronically downloaded, and we pop open our laptops to download the latest Jodi Picoult novel.  For the longest time, I was terrified that my favorite from of media may be lost forever.  Then I realized the stories that I love so much and the characters that claim my heart would not be lost.  Mr. Darcy will still fall madly in love with Lizzy in a Nook.  Romeo and Juliet's obsession will still nauseate me through a computer screen, and Sara Crewe's reunion with her father will always bring me to tears no matter how I read the text.  The advance of technology can never change the stories that have stolen my heart, nor the love that I have for each and every one of them.

Sometimes...it's just life

Women's need to be beautiful can become the most important thing in their lives.  They will do anything to have someone look at them as if they are the brightest star in the sky.  Magazines tell us we need to be a size 3 with big boobs and long flowing wavy hair, but God made us how we are.  We can't change that.  Why should we even want to?
It took a music video depicting some "uncomfortable" situations to draw some people's attention to the crisis we have.  We need girls to understand they are beautiful the way God made them.  They shouldn't idolize these models or actresses.  God sees each and every person as gorgeous and beautiful beyond comparison!

http://music-mix.ew.com/2011/01/20/pink-new-video-f-ing-perfect/

Psalm 45:11 "The King is enthralled by your beauty."

Beauty

Twirling in my little dress
Covering my lips in color
Curtsying as people pass
I am beautiful.

I have wanted to be beautiful ever since I could remember.  It's this desire each woman is born with, but it's not just physical beauty I desire.  I want deep, inner-soul beauty that explodes with every smile, penetrates every soul.  I want to be a beautiful person.  By feeling beautiful, I feel loved.
Dancing has provided a way for me to feel beautiful.  I twirl and spin and dip, and I feel like the prettiest woman in the world.  In this video, it's not the woman's hair or eyes or figure I envy.  It's the look in the man's eyes when he holds her tight.  It's the smile that shines across his face when she spins into him.  I want to see that same look in someone's eyes when they see me.  To see their face light up when I walk in the room.  I want to have the Love God intended me to have.

You belong among the wildflowers

You belong in a boat out at sea

You belong with your love on your arm

You belong somewhere you feel free.

           -Tom Petty

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCIgukrwztI