There is a person in my life whom I share almost all of my secrets with. And any that I haven't shared with him? Simply because they've never come up. I trust him completely, and I don't mind him knowing. That being said, I am a fairily open person as it is. I allow people to know me, and I am honest in most senses. However, there is no other one person that I run to to tell everything when I need to let it all out; when I need to drain my thoughts and my dreams somewhere other than my head. You see, writing helps me clear confusion up. It helps me make sense out of things that don't. And writing to him always helps me. And I usually cry while I'm typing. It's a funny thing really. I want to say thank you to him, for always reading, and for always caring. I hope you may know how grateful I am.
Kasandra
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Calamity and Sleep
Preface
Seeing your face in front of my window when I wake up in the morning creeps me out more than you could know. However, I do find myself admiring the handsomeness that was unjustly yours. You ruined so many lives, yet God saw fit to grace you with a countence greater than any other being I had ever met. How could such beauty be allowed to contain the ugliest thing any of us ever knew?
Why I don't buy curtains, shades or at least a thin sheet to keep your face from penetrating my mornings, I do not know. I cannot help but believe that when I see you, I am reminded by all the pain you caused; reminded of all the horrible things that I can never let happen again. You serve as a memory, a shameful, painful memory of how life once was. And I have decided to allow myself the discomfort of seeing you often so that generations after me will look at you with little to no reaction. So that my children will not flinch at your beauty, your horrible beauty. I am glad that I will be able to raise them in a world without you.
Seeing your face in front of my window when I wake up in the morning creeps me out more than you could know. However, I do find myself admiring the handsomeness that was unjustly yours. You ruined so many lives, yet God saw fit to grace you with a countence greater than any other being I had ever met. How could such beauty be allowed to contain the ugliest thing any of us ever knew?
Why I don't buy curtains, shades or at least a thin sheet to keep your face from penetrating my mornings, I do not know. I cannot help but believe that when I see you, I am reminded by all the pain you caused; reminded of all the horrible things that I can never let happen again. You serve as a memory, a shameful, painful memory of how life once was. And I have decided to allow myself the discomfort of seeing you often so that generations after me will look at you with little to no reaction. So that my children will not flinch at your beauty, your horrible beauty. I am glad that I will be able to raise them in a world without you.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
A Short Note on Happiness
I’m dreaming of a life where everything makes sense. I’m thinking about the way we have to pay for mistakes that aren’t ours, or worse, mistakes that we made when we were younger and much stupider. I’m dreaming of a fairytale. As a child, I never would have imagined that I would one day believe fairytales to be cruel. I never would have guessed that some of my favorite books and stories would torture me when I was older. But now I know.
I have filled my mind with so many dreams and wishes for happiness, that I have lost the real definition of happiness. I know now that I never really knew what happiness was to begin with, but was lied to from the very beginning. This leads me to assume that there are many people in the world who believe in a happiness that does not exist. Is it any wonder that we have so many people who are on medication for depression?
There should have been more to this, but I couldn't think anymore.
I have filled my mind with so many dreams and wishes for happiness, that I have lost the real definition of happiness. I know now that I never really knew what happiness was to begin with, but was lied to from the very beginning. This leads me to assume that there are many people in the world who believe in a happiness that does not exist. Is it any wonder that we have so many people who are on medication for depression?
There should have been more to this, but I couldn't think anymore.
A Tribute to Burger King
Kasandra
September 26, 2008
English 12
Anecdote
The Burger King Screamers
Because teenagers are very productive and diligent, we had few customers to wait on. We stood relaxed at our stations; poised and ready for a customer (truthfully we were messing around in the back squirting ketchup at each other). Slowly business started to pick up until we were going at a steady pace. We had your average Joe’s who ordered, “A number 12 with a coke,” your slightly more picky Kenny’s with, “A Whopper with cheese meal. I want no pickles or onions, and I want a root beer,” and finally your complicated Jesse’s, “Can I have a number 4 with cheese. Cheese is extra? Never mind, no cheese on that. Are extra onions extra? Okay, then add onions. I don’t want ANY mayo on my sandwich. Make sure that absolutely NO MAYO touches it. Oh yeah, and can I get a nine piece cheezy tots with that? Yes, instead of the fries. And a Mocha BK Joe. Or a BK Mocha Joe. Oh, I don’t know what it’s called, an Iced Coffee. Can I do that? Great, give me that. Oh yes, that’s all. Wait, add a Hershey’s Sunday Pie to that. I’m sorry. Yes, Thank you.” All of these types of orders we learned to handle well, and usually we could even make the customers enjoy their time at our Drive Thru. We strive to maintain a pleasant atmosphere, and passing smiles around to people is always a happy event (plus people are fat and love their BK). Even with extensive training, there are still going to be those orders that no one can handle with a smile on their face. I have one such order.
A woman pulled up to the drive-thru window and when prompted with a, “Hi, May I help you?” from my manager she yelled, “ONE MOMENT PLEASE!!!” The three of us with head-sets on flinched and pulled the ear piece away from our ears. We all turned towards each other and grimaced our disgust at the woman’s blatant disregard for other people’s hearing orifices. Kiley replied a nervous, “Go ahead when you’re ready,” and we all prepared for the worst headaches while turning the volume down. Before I continue with the woman’s order, let me inform all of you. A Drive Thru is made to be a Drive Thru. They are made so that we can hear you, communicate with you, and get your food to you fast. I don’t know what it is that people don’t understand about this. If we can’t hear you, you are either a) whispering b) sitting in a very loud truck or van c) talking to someone else d) not sitting in the driver’s seat or e) the fryer is beeping, there is a person at Front Counter yelling at us, we are trying to tell the kitchen what food we need, and the drink machine decided to go nuts and spray coke everywhere. Under normal circumstances, you do not have to yell. This customer didn’t understand that.
After a minute of deciding that she wanted two $1 sandwiches she yelled, “CAN I GET TWO SPICY CHICKEN SANDWICHES! AND THAT IS ALL!!!” We were all disappointed that she barely ordered any food; if we are going to suffer ear trauma, make it worth our while. Even with this $2 let down, we were glad to see that she would soon be gone. Or so we thought. She went on to yell, “AND ON MY SECOND ORDER I WANT A MEDIUM--.” We all looked at each other. Kiley stalled time by saying, “You have a second order?” It turned out the question wasn’t worth the time because the customer yelled that yes, she did have a second order, and though she didn’t say it, was getting very mad at us for not understanding her order. “A medium what?” we all silently mouthed to each other. We knew it ended with a long “e” sound, so Kiley asked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you, did you say a medium Icee?” This was a perfectly logical guess I thought, but apparently the people in the vehicle did not agree. The three or four of them all yelled at once, “A MEDIUM --.” This time we didn’t understand because they were talking so loud it was coming out of the speaker distorted. Kiley politely responds, “Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but I cannot understand you. I can hear you just fine; you don’t need to yell. Please just say it one more time: clearly.” The tension was palpable between the women in the vehicle and the crew inside the building. The women again yelled, “A MEDIUM HI-C.” That time some of us caught it; although it wasn’t from any clarity on her part. Kiley however, unfortunately for us, didn’t hear it. She replied, “An Ice Tea?” An innocent enough response, but that was it. We were done for; according to the women in the car at least.
The driver started swearing and yelling very harsh things at us. I don’t think she knew that everything she said was being broadcasted throughout the entire kitchen. We were halfway between shocked and hysterical laughter. She angrily spat, “That’s it I’m coming around!” This made us giggle, but we laughed even harder when she said, “HERE I COME!” with the air of someone we should fear. We mostly contained our smiles when they arrived at the window, but lost composure again when they started asking Kiley for the manager. Kiley’s name tag says manager. Kiley is a manager, and she quickly filled her in on this fact. Along with that, she also asked the woman to leave and eat somewhere else. The woman in the driver’s seat told her, “You can’t tell me you aren’t going to serve me! I am a paying customer! YOU HAVE TO SERVE ME! This isn’t your restaurant! You aren’t the boss!” We watched as Kiley politely told the woman to leave again. They asked for a number they could call to leave a complaint, and then left. They didn’t take their food with them (or pay for it); we saved it for later consumption by one of us.
We thought the whole ordeal was over, and went on with our business. Some of the customers from Front Counter asked what happened and shared their opinions on the “crazy Drive Thru people.” Approximately three minutes later the driver and a much bigger woman came barging into our store and demanded a different phone number. Kiley explained that she gave them the only number we had, and told them to call and complain there. The women made a scene and stormed out. The other customers made fun of them, we made fun of them, and we all got a good laugh. The moral of the story is never let your anger get you so out of control that you are screaming at someone who works at BURGER KING. Also, if you MUST yell irrationally at someone, do it while there aren’t a whole bunch of people watching.
September 26, 2008
English 12
Anecdote
The Burger King Screamers
Because teenagers are very productive and diligent, we had few customers to wait on. We stood relaxed at our stations; poised and ready for a customer (truthfully we were messing around in the back squirting ketchup at each other). Slowly business started to pick up until we were going at a steady pace. We had your average Joe’s who ordered, “A number 12 with a coke,” your slightly more picky Kenny’s with, “A Whopper with cheese meal. I want no pickles or onions, and I want a root beer,” and finally your complicated Jesse’s, “Can I have a number 4 with cheese. Cheese is extra? Never mind, no cheese on that. Are extra onions extra? Okay, then add onions. I don’t want ANY mayo on my sandwich. Make sure that absolutely NO MAYO touches it. Oh yeah, and can I get a nine piece cheezy tots with that? Yes, instead of the fries. And a Mocha BK Joe. Or a BK Mocha Joe. Oh, I don’t know what it’s called, an Iced Coffee. Can I do that? Great, give me that. Oh yes, that’s all. Wait, add a Hershey’s Sunday Pie to that. I’m sorry. Yes, Thank you.” All of these types of orders we learned to handle well, and usually we could even make the customers enjoy their time at our Drive Thru. We strive to maintain a pleasant atmosphere, and passing smiles around to people is always a happy event (plus people are fat and love their BK). Even with extensive training, there are still going to be those orders that no one can handle with a smile on their face. I have one such order.
A woman pulled up to the drive-thru window and when prompted with a, “Hi, May I help you?” from my manager she yelled, “ONE MOMENT PLEASE!!!” The three of us with head-sets on flinched and pulled the ear piece away from our ears. We all turned towards each other and grimaced our disgust at the woman’s blatant disregard for other people’s hearing orifices. Kiley replied a nervous, “Go ahead when you’re ready,” and we all prepared for the worst headaches while turning the volume down. Before I continue with the woman’s order, let me inform all of you. A Drive Thru is made to be a Drive Thru. They are made so that we can hear you, communicate with you, and get your food to you fast. I don’t know what it is that people don’t understand about this. If we can’t hear you, you are either a) whispering b) sitting in a very loud truck or van c) talking to someone else d) not sitting in the driver’s seat or e) the fryer is beeping, there is a person at Front Counter yelling at us, we are trying to tell the kitchen what food we need, and the drink machine decided to go nuts and spray coke everywhere. Under normal circumstances, you do not have to yell. This customer didn’t understand that.
After a minute of deciding that she wanted two $1 sandwiches she yelled, “CAN I GET TWO SPICY CHICKEN SANDWICHES! AND THAT IS ALL!!!” We were all disappointed that she barely ordered any food; if we are going to suffer ear trauma, make it worth our while. Even with this $2 let down, we were glad to see that she would soon be gone. Or so we thought. She went on to yell, “AND ON MY SECOND ORDER I WANT A MEDIUM--.” We all looked at each other. Kiley stalled time by saying, “You have a second order?” It turned out the question wasn’t worth the time because the customer yelled that yes, she did have a second order, and though she didn’t say it, was getting very mad at us for not understanding her order. “A medium what?” we all silently mouthed to each other. We knew it ended with a long “e” sound, so Kiley asked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you, did you say a medium Icee?” This was a perfectly logical guess I thought, but apparently the people in the vehicle did not agree. The three or four of them all yelled at once, “A MEDIUM --.” This time we didn’t understand because they were talking so loud it was coming out of the speaker distorted. Kiley politely responds, “Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but I cannot understand you. I can hear you just fine; you don’t need to yell. Please just say it one more time: clearly.” The tension was palpable between the women in the vehicle and the crew inside the building. The women again yelled, “A MEDIUM HI-C.” That time some of us caught it; although it wasn’t from any clarity on her part. Kiley however, unfortunately for us, didn’t hear it. She replied, “An Ice Tea?” An innocent enough response, but that was it. We were done for; according to the women in the car at least.
The driver started swearing and yelling very harsh things at us. I don’t think she knew that everything she said was being broadcasted throughout the entire kitchen. We were halfway between shocked and hysterical laughter. She angrily spat, “That’s it I’m coming around!” This made us giggle, but we laughed even harder when she said, “HERE I COME!” with the air of someone we should fear. We mostly contained our smiles when they arrived at the window, but lost composure again when they started asking Kiley for the manager. Kiley’s name tag says manager. Kiley is a manager, and she quickly filled her in on this fact. Along with that, she also asked the woman to leave and eat somewhere else. The woman in the driver’s seat told her, “You can’t tell me you aren’t going to serve me! I am a paying customer! YOU HAVE TO SERVE ME! This isn’t your restaurant! You aren’t the boss!” We watched as Kiley politely told the woman to leave again. They asked for a number they could call to leave a complaint, and then left. They didn’t take their food with them (or pay for it); we saved it for later consumption by one of us.
We thought the whole ordeal was over, and went on with our business. Some of the customers from Front Counter asked what happened and shared their opinions on the “crazy Drive Thru people.” Approximately three minutes later the driver and a much bigger woman came barging into our store and demanded a different phone number. Kiley explained that she gave them the only number we had, and told them to call and complain there. The women made a scene and stormed out. The other customers made fun of them, we made fun of them, and we all got a good laugh. The moral of the story is never let your anger get you so out of control that you are screaming at someone who works at BURGER KING. Also, if you MUST yell irrationally at someone, do it while there aren’t a whole bunch of people watching.
Notes From Facebook
Previously to this blog, I posted all of my writing on Facebook using the "Notes" function. It is being posted here for your reading pleasure, if you desire.
From Oldest to Newest:
Passion
Originally Posted Thursday, November 13, 2008
Passion?
Passion.
Passion!
Passion…
Passionately.
Why yes, yes I would like to.
A fire crackles and sparks fly onto my feet. I do not move.
Your hand runs up my arm, but still, I do not move.
I feel something tickle the back of my ear; I do not know what. I do not move.
The light dims and the air gets warmer, a strange combination; yet, I do not move.
I feel my hair fall down around my shoulders. I do not know how it happened, and I do not move.
Things are moving in front of me. I see shapes, dark shapes, all around me. I do not move.
I hear my name being called. Or is it being whispered? I cannot tell, but I do not move.
I am in a daze, and I do not move because I cannot move.
I strain to see, to open my eyes, but they are already open.
I try to focus. Slowly I cross and uncross my eyes. I feel like someone has placed a dark film over
them, directly over my retinas. Is there nothing in the world anymore?
I work to turn my head to the left. It moves, but the scene doesn’t change. That is very odd.
I can feel your presence more clearly now; I can see your face. It is pale, and your features stick out at me like I’ve never seen anything but darkness before, but I can see you. My eyes are wide, and I try to find you with my hands. My hands aren’t moving. I look at them and will them to move. One of them twitches. That is very odd.
Have I heard that phrase before?
I know something is wrong, and I know that you are trying to help me out of it.
My reflexes are sluggish. Have I been drugged?
“Drugged by the world, maybe.”
I’ve heard that voice before, a long time ago. I do not know when, and I do not dwell on it. I am not thinking clearly. My thoughts explode like little mini-bombs. I do not know what is happening.
Wait, wait a moment. I was trying to discover something. Passion! What is passion? Why was that so important a few moments ago? Why don’t I know?
I try looking around again, but everything is still so dark. “Please…” my voice rasps. I heard it. I know I heard it. And if I heard it, that means you heard it, doesn’t it?
“Please.” I say it a little bit stronger this time.
I feel your hands caress the back of my neck, they are warm and firm, but as soon as they are there they are gone once again.
Were they ever really there? Are you here?
“Yes, I am here.” I hear you say.
I did not speak that out loud, did I? No, I know that I didn’t. My voice barely got the please out.
I think for a moment, and I try again. Are you in here mister? Are you a mister? What are you?
Your hand that is both very heavy and very light brushes my cheeks. There is moisture there. Was I crying?
“Yes, you were.”
Why can you hear my thoughts?
“I am a part of you.”
My first thought is comically, “But you’re a guy,” but you let that pass. I decide to sit and listen to you.
You don’t talk much when I don’t provoke you. “I only talk when you need me to.”
Wouldn’t it be easier if you just told me what was going on?
“Probably.”
That baffles me, but I remain silent (as if I have a choice).
I think about the room again, and I try and look around some more.
I see more and more dark shapes, they are surrounding us, but they don’t seem to notice or care.
What are they?
No answer.
“Wha…” I cough. “What are they?” My voice is still raspy and it hurts.
“You will see, child.”
Child? What? Since when am I a child? That angers me, and with the flow of anger comes a flow of darkness. I can no longer see shapes.
Perhaps that is what happened.
I fight to remain calm. If it is what happened, I don’t want to do it again. I feel ill.
I feel a firm pressure on my throat. It doesn’t hurt. It actually has a calming effect.
I breathe a little more and begin to see shapes again. I like your presence here. Please stay.
“I’ll always be here.”
Those words stir my heart a little, but I cannot quite figure out why.
I feel your gentle hands wipe more tears off of my face. Why am I crying?
Slowly I become aware that I am not sitting as I thought, but kneeling. I also sense warmth on either side of me. And your hands come from behind me and rest on my shoulder and neck. You’re curled around me, aren’t you? Why?
“You needed to be saved, so I saved you.”
And with those words, my eyes finally see fully.
With this newfound sense of sight, I learn I could see before too. I just could not perceive.
We are in the middle of what I know to be a battle, only there are no guns, no swords, and no weapons of any kind.
How did I know it to be a battle? I cannot answer, but that is what it is.
The figures around me, I cannot quite call them people, rage. Rage at what, I do not yet know, but their very aura suggests anger.
They don’t seem angry at each other, nor do they seem to be trying to harm one another. That is very odd.
Have I heard that before?
“They are fighting me,” you whisper.
But you are here behind me; they couldn’t possibly be fighting you.
“You fought me too.”
When? Why don’t I know?
“Because I have made you forget. I have made you clean. The battle doesn’t affect you anymore.”
If it doesn’t affect me, then why am I still here? Why are you making me remember?
“You’ll need to know in order to help me, but you don’t have to know your own wars; your own scars.”
Your finger runs over my cheek and I can feel a slight pain there. I know that will become one of the scars you speak of.
Why are they fighting you?
“Because love is painful, love is real. I can’t give them the watered down version they want. I have
to give them the full dose, if I don’t, they will die.”
I feel a drop of liquid on the back of my neck. It rolls down my back. I whisper, “Don’t cry.” It is becoming easier to speak.
Your arms wrap tighter around me at my words, and I feel your head leaning on my shoulder. The warm tears are soaking through my ragged shirt.
Your muffled words don’t quite reach my ears, and though your grip on me is becoming painful, I know that if I moved away now your heart would break. I remain still.
Why does it have to hurt?
You cough and your words once again become audible. “It was never meant to. I made it so strong because it was meant to be a good feeling. When pain first came about, I nearly threw it all away. All of this almost never was.”
Why didn’t you? It is easier to speak through thoughts.
“I knew you would be here. I knew…that there would be others like you. I couldn’t throw you all away too. I had to have you. I was already in love at that point.”
Why did you have to make the others?
“I had to give them a choice to choose. I couldn’t decide for them. And although they may hate me for it, and I may even hate me for it, I had to give them the right, even if they didn’t want it.”
This makes little sense to me, but I remain quiet about it. I’m going to have to be out there aren’t I?Without your arms I mean.
“Never.”
What?
“You will never be without my arms, without my love, without me. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
What if I don’t feel you? Will you hold me like this again?
“Perhaps.”
What do you want me to do?
“You’re going to have to find out when you get there.”
I start to reject that, but you interrupt me. “Ah, listen.”
We are both quiet for a few moments and I hear my heart beat. When it is all I hear, I protest.
Your arms wrap tighter around me still, and I am almost crying from the strength in your arms.
“I gave you that heart. I made it pump. The blood that you feel in your face because I am crushing you is a product of that little organ that I created for you. No one else has one like it. No one else has one with quite that kind of power. It is unique. I will use it to contact you.”
I remain quiet hoping you will explain more, and when you don’t, I sigh.
How will I know it is you?
“You will listen.”
That simple, eh? Well, if it’s that simple, why aren’t all of these…things…following you?
“I never said it would be simple. In fact, it will be quite hard. You just have to trust me. I’ll get you where you need to be.”
I start to speak, but stop. Your finger traces my jaw line as if to say, “What?”
What if I don’t hear you and don’t listen because of that? Or what if I blatantly don’t listen? What will happen to me?
“You will go through a lot of pain. It will probably very nearly kill you, but you will find your way back to me.”
How can you be so sure?
You place a soft kiss on the top of my head and respond. “Because I created you silly. I know you. I know what will happen to you, and I know where you will go, who you will meet, and where you will end up.”
If you know already, why must I go through it?
“You aren’t living for just you. There is another specifically, and several more beyond that one.”
Will they face the pain that I do?
“The same pain? No. They will face their own.”
What if I can’t do it?
“You can.”
I decide to accept that. He made me, he should know.
How long can I be here with you? I like it here.
“Only a few more minutes… Look at them, do you see the hunger? Do you see the power? What about the glares?”
I see, and I am frightened. I’ll have to be among them, won’t I? I will. I don’t even wait for you to answer, I already know.
“I will be with you.”
This time it is my arms that hold tighter to you.
Please don’t go.
“I will never leave.”
Where can I find you?
“In the quiet place.”
That’s very informative. Where will I find this quiet place?
You don’t answer. I have a sneaking suspicion that I will have to find it myself. I look around me. The things here are almost people, but there is something just not right about the way they look. I cannot put my finger on it.
What are these things?
“People. Don’t look at me like that, they are. Well, no, I guess, they aren’t the people you know. They are people with no masks. This is how they look when they are stripped of their walls. This is how I always see them; I forget that they look different usually.”
I’ll say.
You chuckle and kiss my ear lightly. I savor the affection.
Will I see them like this?
“Sometimes.”
That’s when I go to them, isn’t it?
“Sometimes.”
You are very unhelpful.
“I try.”
I look at you helplessly.
“Honey, relax. You will feel me talking to you. When you feel me, trust me. Let me lead you. You will do fine.”
I’m afraid.
“That’s okay; I will get you through it.”
I’m hurt.
“I can get you through that too.”
I have to go home now, don’t I?
“Soon. Dance with me before you go.”
“Dance?” I am so surprised I speak out loud.
“I want to hold you a little while longer.”
“Okay.” I whisper.
Your hands come up to hold me, and slowly we swirl. I never knew you could dance so well. I have never seen this side of you.
“I know you.” You speak and I am startled. I look up and see a burning in your eyes. This is what started the whole thing; that burning. That…that…that-
“Passion.” I finish out loud.
That is very odd.
My head tilts sideways in confusion. Why do I keep thinking that?
“Things don’t always make sense. Sometimes you just have to follow your heart.”
Follow your leading, you mean?
“Precisely. We have to part now.” You start to back away and fade from sight.
Wait!
You hang in the balance of here and where ever it was that you were going.
Don’t ever let me go. Even if I run away from you, even if I fight you, even if I kick and scream, don’t you ever let me go.
Your form is fully here again, and you step forward and embrace me. I revel in the feeling of my head on your shoulder and your arms holding me close.
“I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
You fade from view, but I can still feel you in my heart. I know you will always be mine. I know I’ll always be yours. I start to walk. Where I’m going I’m not sure, but it feels right. On the way I see a face that calls out to me. I step up beside them and begin to chat.
“That is very odd.”
What is? I remember that no one else can hear my thoughts. “What is?” I ask.
“You just seem very familiar; almost as if you are supposed to be here.”
I smile and say, “Maybe I am. Yes, odd though.”
The two of us walk side by side, and I have the distinct impression that there are not only two, but three of us. I smile and I repeat, “Very odd indeed.”
A Confused Soul
Originally Posted on Friday, December 5, 2008
I'm trying to figure out why.
And my brain stops.
And I have to think. And think. And think.
And I never fully understand why I have to figure everything out, and I never fully understand why I have to think on things.
I don't get why I can't just live my life the way most people live their lives, and I don't know if I'm just trying to be different or if I actually am.
It's not really that I want to break the mold, and it's not really that I don't like to conform. I'm fine fitting in, and I'm fine being me. Either way will work; either way will do. Something is pulling me and telling me not to listen. Something won't let me be just another kid who goes through high school, then through college, then grows up to be a practical-minded person. I have nothing against practical-minded people, in fact, I would love to be one. I feel like I might be throwing away my future the way it is now. I'm smart, I'm athletic, I'm, I'm, I'm. I'm pretty sure that God doesn't care that I'm all those things, he can make us into whatever he wants us to be. He gave me my talents for a reason, and I'm going to try and use them for him, not for the world.
"Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will."
Romans 12:2
It's not that I want to step out of line and run my own life. It's not that I want to be radical and do crazy things. It's not that I want to throw away my college career. I am a crazy, radical, different person, but I'm not begging to be out of line. I feel like God is gently holding my hand and tugging me in one direction and the world viciously has ahold of my other arm and is clinging to me for dear life. The gentle tug is so much more persuasive, and I really want to follow him. I like approval. It's just the way I am. I perform WAY better if I know that someone is watching me. I have to show off. I have to do my best. I have to kick butt, and if I don't it really bothers me. (That fact in itself bothers me, but that's another story for another day.) If I like approval, wouldn't I want to finish high school and go on to this big huge college and marry a BMC approved young man? And when I say a BMC approved young man, I mean a guy about 18-20 who is a very strong Christian, who I can trust to "lead" me spiritually, who will always lean on God, etc...What if I don't feel like that is the type of person God is pushing me towards? What if I'm different?
Here is where I ask myself if I'm begging to be different because I like it. Well, yes, generally I do like to be different. In this case though, it hurts. It's hard. It's like pulling teeth, and since I HAVE HAD that experience, I am allowed to say that. I feel like I'm sitting in a chair, numbed to the point of not feeling, and I'm having bones ripped from my skull. When I say, "numbed to the point of not feeling," I do mean it. It has gotten to the point where I feel like I'm punching my heart so often that I don't really feel the pain anymore. I realize that God isn't the cause of that pain, and I also realize that the pain he is the cause of is the type of pain that forces me to grow when I don't want to. I can't stay spiritually the same forever.
More to the point though, I don't think this is me talking to myself. And the reason why this is such a question is because the events in my life are highly HIGHLY unusual. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. And when you did believe me, you would slap me, tell me that I'm hearing things, and tell me to get right with God. Now HERE is the REALLY unbelieveable part. I think I AM right with God. I think this is HIM! (Here my brain does all sorts of spasms and ocassionally I throw things.) This wouldn't be the first time in the world that God has asked someone to do something seemingly insane, and it won't be the last. What I struggle with is, "IS THIS HIM?" And yeah, you can tell me to read my Bible and pray all I want; I will do it. I have. It's been nearly two years now since this has been plaguing me, abeit in different forms. So if I do all that stuff, what is the next step? Faith I assume. "Faith," I hear from God. "Faith," I read in his word. How do you have faith that it is him when it seems so unlike something that he would approve of? I guess that faith and trust are really the issues here. That and my inability to attend church regularly and stay with God. [I often find myself standing (metaphorically) on the wrong side of the fence. And not only standing on the side of the fence that God is not on, but also I stand there wearing the most rediculous outfit and dancing the polka. That is to say, whatever it is that I am doing, it makes no sense.] That being said, now I feel like I am standing here dancing the polka ever so elegantly while wearing mickey mouse gloves, sparkly puke green converse, and an orange bikini over a man's double breasted suit with a "freedom for the spidermonkeys" hat on my head. And God is TELLING ME TO.
This makes no sense to me.I'm not sure if it supposed to, and I suspect that it is a trick of some sort...not by satan, but by God.
Does God play tricks?
Maybe trick is the wrong word.
TEST.
If I can dance just the right jig, and look just the right amount of rediculous, I love him that much. I'm willing to give up all I tend to care about just to be who he wants me to be.
And while I think that this may be a very wise test indeed, I cannot be sure that that is what it is. What confuses me so much is the pressure of the world. And when I think about it that way, I'm not so confused. I just think of that verse again, "Do not conform." I can do that, but can I do it for God? Can I not conform to the things that I desire to conform to? Oh, and there are things: feel free to be in shock and awe. Generally these things have to do with "Chruch" and "Right" and "the Pastor says it's okay."
In fact, you'd never know it, but when I get embarrassed, I get REALLY embarrassed. I feel BAD actually for the next several days. I guess the buttons you have to push to make me feel that way are just different from most people's. I could walk around in my underwear all day and not even blink, but the moment someone...nevermind, I'm not giving anyone ammunition.
I guess I'm nearing the end of my writing, and if indeed I am (sometimes whole pages sneak up on me), I guess I'm not so lost anymore. Yeah, I'm still not entirely sure on much of anything, but I feel better for having written it down. I do hear God's voice in the path that I will probably choose to take, and that gentle tugging on my hand feels a lot better than the death grip on my arm the world has. If I have to amputate my arm to follow the gentle tug, I don't even think I'll hesitate. The left arm isn't as important. I could still play soccer. I'm willing to take a chainsaw to that arm if need be, but I still feel a lot of pain and hopelessness a lot of the time. I saw a sign on a church today on my way to college..."Enter here to find Hope." I seriously almost cried because I feel like I have lost my hope a lot of the time. Sometimes I'm just entirely too ready to curl up and die. That doesn't sound like so bad of a fate. I feel love just fine. That one I've got no trouble with. Hope. That's the one that plagues me.What is there to have hope for? I can hope in God, but on this planet? PSH, as if. I'm trying, I really am. People say, "Grow up, fall in love, get married, have babies." They say all sorts of crazy things. I'm just not sure if I'm normal, because those things don't sound like things that I could do with my life. Sure I could. I'm capable. But I don't think it's what I'm being asked to do; even if I wanted to. I would prefer some of that, somewhere along the lines, maybe even now, but I think God wants me to do something big. Something crazy. Something puke green and shiny. It's not very pretty to look at, but BOY does it catch your attention. I don't know. Maybe? The point I was trying to make was that the things that most people plan for and have hope for don't seem to be the things that I see in my future. I've got to have hope for something else. And I'm not to know what it is yet because God hasn't seen fit to tell me. Which is his perogative, but I wish he'd tell me what is going to be there. If for no other reason than to make me stop crying all the time. Stupid depression. He has his reasons, and he'll do what he wants. He'll do what is best and I know that.
I just want to know what he's doing so I can be lazy and not have faith. But I know, it DOESN'T work that way. I get it.
I get it.
But it still hurts, and it still sucks.And by the time I grow out of this darn outfit, I just know that he's going to have something else for me to wear, and it's going to be EVEN BETTER. And while I do not fear this-it excites me somewhat-I'm nervous. I'm God's kid, and he's got an eye on me, but my heart feels a little funky a lot of the time.
Perhaps things that it shouldn't, or perhaps just things that he will see fit to use in the future. Who knows?
I am going to follow him, I'm going to try. And no matter how rediculous or stupid I look in this outfit, I'm going to wear it and dance PROUDLY. I may feel like an idiot a lot of the time, but I think he'll hold my hand and get me through it. He's gotten me this far hasn't he? Well. I think I'm done now. For real this time (what did I tell you about that page?). Someone come give me a hug.
And the rest of you pray for me.
Please.
Dandelionaphobic
Originally Posted on Monday, December 8, 2008
It seems to me that I can never start a note or an email or a letter the way I want to. Whenever I try I just sit and stare at the screen for a few minutes until I give in and write whatever will come out on it's own. Does that mean that my consciousness cannot write? Does it mean that I have to shut up to be able to talk? Perhaps; perhaps it does...I love that word by the way. I use it way too much simply because I love it.
I am wondering...for you drivers out there...When you see a car by the side of the road with their blinkers on, do you stop? What if they are alone? Female? Male? Do those things make a difference?
What are you afraid of? And I don't mean spiders or dandelions...I mean what type of things make you stop taking steps in the right direction and turn and run away? I am speaking in metaphor (fyi). Fyi always sounds rude to me, but I don't mean it like that (btw). And I feel the same way about btw. lol.
Anyway, What makes you want to sit on your couch and vegetate until you start to become a part of it? Until your brain hasn't functioned beyond Facebook (or whatever your outlet is) for days?
Sometimes I know what I'm afraid of, and sometimes I don't. I'm not afraid of death, in fact, most of the time I welcome it. I was driving in my car today, and the roads were kind of slippery. And I thought to myself, "Man, if I crashed, that would really suck. Unless I died." My car is only about $2,000, but my initial thinking process would still rather die than be in debt by $2,000 and have nothing to show for it. That's how necessary and important money is.
I don't really mean that how it sounds...It's not really that important to me. Everyone tells me that it is important to me, and I'll realize it when I don't have any, but as of now, I don't really care. I could get hit by a car tomorrow and die. How is money going to serve me then? I could go the rest of my life hand to mouth. I could sure use some money at that point, but still, I'd be living right? I understand that hand to mouth is really no way to live, but it's possible. It isn't the end of the world.
So if a crappy job that doesn't pay well isn't the end of the world...What is?
At what point in my life do I throw up the cards, burn the dice, and dig myself a hole to die in?What could be that bad?
I'll tell you what I think.
I get urges sometimes to give up and "ruin my life." I'm not going to go out and murder someone, I just get the urge to quit. To swear at the world, throw my grades in the garbage, make my parents incredibly angry at me, quit my job, crash my car, and murder my dog. I'm not sure if those urges mean some psycological problems (with my luck, probably), but they happen. There is no way I would be capable of killing my dog, for those of you who are a) actually reading this and b) believe that I could commit such a horrific act. I would probably sooner kill my brother than my dog.
Cleaning up after that mess wouldn't be fun, but it could be done. I'd still go on to live a successful if unhappy life.
I think that it's time to throw in the towel when...
And once again, I cannot write. My brain knows what it's thinking, but I can't compose it. That usually means I haven't found what I need to say yet, so I will continue. Excuse me for not doing what I said I would do (tell you what I think).
What do we base our own importance on? Generally it's the world's views of us. And if not the world's at large, then it's our parents', our friends', or some other person in our life. Hardly ever do I hear someone say, "I am a teacher because God thinks I'm good at teaching." Or "God doesn't think my butt looks good in those pants, so I don't wear them." We look instead to much lower standards. We look at the world. We look at the sin. We look at the parents (Who are supposed to know it all, but don't. And if you have truthful parents, they will tell you this.), the grandparents, the siblings, the guy who washes our car. We always look to these people first. Now, there is nothing wrong with asking mom how your butt looks in a pair of pants, I'm not sure if God will say, "Oh yeah honey, you look great," but he might. He's unpredictable, you never know. My point is, when it comes to making really big decisions in life, who do we go to? Who do we go to first? Who's opinion do we put the most weight on?
It should be God, most any Christian will tell you that. If you proclaim to trust in God and follow his teachings, you should probably do it, right? Then why is it that I see so many Christians chasing after money? The Bible tells me that I cannot serve two masters. If in fact he is the master I have chosen to follow, I am lead to believe that I cannot make my decisions based on money, but on God. So what does God say? What does money say? Where could I go wrong? Where are the stumbling blocks?
1) The Bible has several verses on loving money. Or rather, avoiding the love of money. (Ecc 5:10; 1 Ti 3:3, 6:10; 2 Ti 3:2; Heb 13:5)
2) It tells us that we can't serve both God and money. (Matt 6:24)
3) Jesus told the disciples not to take money (and other things) with them on their way to "Preach the kingdom of God and to heal the sick." (Lk 9:2-3)
4) It also mentions that we should not be greedy for money, but eager to serve. Hmm...curious, in the next verse here it mentions not "lording it over those entrusted to you, but being examples to the flock." (1 Peter 5:2-3)
"God is fantastic. He really is. I love Him and he makes me laugh everyday. But he’s not going to send you a check in the mail and he’s not going to email you with what to do with your life. I think there’s maybe three or four times tops in everyone’s lives where God REALLY cares what decision you make but mostly He knows that you’ll be ok either way and it won’t matter."
A trusted adult in my life told me that...It was part of this person's response to my "I'm ranting" email that I sent around a while ago. (If you didn't get it and you're curious, ask.) This person said that to me and it really discouraged me. I read that and I just wanted to quit life right there. If God doesn't care, what's the point? God cares, doesn't he? They always taught me that he did. The God of the Bible definitely cares, that's what it says. He appears to be there every step of the way in these people's lives. I refuse to believe that they are stories and it was the old days and it can't happen like that anymore. God is still the same God, and he can still kick butt as good as he ever could. And from what I've read, he can kick some major butt. God tells us that his word will never pass away, and that's what I choose to believe.
And yes, I agree that I'll be okay whatever I choose, but not because of who I am or life or people. I believe that no matter what I choose I will be okay because of the grace of God and his ability to forgive me even when I've stomped on his name and decided to make my own choices. I know he'll take me back no matter how pigheaded I've been. That's the ONLY reason I'll be okay.
Now, as for a check in the mail...Well, maybe he won't send me a check in the mail, but that's okay. The Bible tells me not to base my life on money, it tells me to serve God first. If in serving God I don't get paid, do you think he will make sure I get food to eat? Sure. In my life, in the Bible, and in friends' and role models' lives I have never seen God let anyone down. And even when they thought he let them down, there was a reason, and he came back bigger and "badder" than before. I refuse to believe that he won't supply my needs.
With the knowledge that he will in fact supply things for my needs, he doesn't let people down, he never lies and never passes away, he always forgives me, he kicks butt, among other various things, I am not afraid of anything. Or rather, when I am with God, I am not afraid of anything.
Which leads me to what I was trying to say before: I am afraid of not being with God.
I am afraid of getting out of his presence and not being able to find my way back. And even though money is not a big thing for me right now, working to get it is. My job gets in the way of church, my college gets in the way of life, and "trusted advisors" all want me to be able to make $100,000 a year. Trusting God is all well and good; until it gets in the way of the money that you have to make to live. Why can't God make the money for me to live? Shouldn't I trust him to do that? Where did Jesus work? What did he get paid an hour? When did I stop trying to be like him? When it started interfering with obligations of the modern adult world, that's when. And I think that's crap. Probably every "trusted advisor" that I would ask would tell me that I should try and be like Jesus, but I bet every one of them would probably give me a dazed look if I told them I wanted to hang with murderers and quit college.
I'm not saying I'm lazy and I don't want to go to college (which is probably true, but I would do it anyway if that were it). I'm saying that I feel like I'm wasting my life in the halls of Kent State when I could be out there teaching people about Jesus. Sure you have to have money to do those things, but WHO rules MONEY? GOD! Wow, what luck! I want to serve God with my life, and college probably is the best option for me right now, but something is telling me that it's not the focus. It's not what life is all about. It's not the make-or-break it deal for me. I could serve him with or without a degree. I could serve him with or without a job. I could serve him standing on my
head and dancing the hula (I'd like to try this). It doesn't matter what level of the social ladder I climb to, it doesn't matter how much I make a year, it doesn't matter if I'm the president of the United States. It simply doesn't matter. God tells me I'm worth something, and even if everyone else says I'm not, he's right.
I choose to believe him.
And maybe that makes me a crack pot who doesn't really fit in with this world, and maybe I'm silly and stupid and ignorant. Actually, the way the world is now, I'm pretty sure I'm more afraid to be considered "cool and normal" by their standards.
But even if I am rediculous and I just don't get it...Even if I am young and naive...Even if I'm wishfully thinking, And even if I'm going to fail...
I want to follow God with my everything, first and foremost. I want to give it all to him, and expect that, "Alright God, you've got it all now. I'm either going to die serving you, or you're going to feed me."
I think it's okay for me to trust him with that. Some may think I'm greedy and that God has better things to do, but I think that he'd rather me give him my all and trust him to take care of me than to give him none of myself and work and slave to attempt to take care of myself. He wants all of me, how hard is that?
Very hard actually, but he does make it worth it.
So what makes me important? What makes me matter? What makes me make a difference?
If I knew, I don't think I'd still be working at BK, but I'm absolutely sure that God knows. I'm also certain that he's going to do an awesome job taking care of me. He's going to put whatever it is that makes me something he wants to work, and he's going to rock my world. And I'm going to let him.
On the Nature of Making Your Life Better
Originally Posted on Thursday, January 1, 2009
A person told me the other day that he had begged and begged and cried face down on the ground to God for help. He admitted that he was lost, confused, broken, and weary. He asked God to pick him up and to help him out. He asked God to make his life better and he promised anything in return. He promised he would do whatever God wanted if he (God) could fix him.
He then expected God to begin to build his life back up.
When God did not comply, the man broke. He stopped believing in God's goodness. He stopped hoping. He stopped loving.
When I think on this I am confused at first. I wonder why God did not help the man. I wonder why God wasn't there. I wonder what he could be doing instead. I pray and think some more on it and I realize the problem. Obviously it's not that God isn't there and isn't willing to help. Obviously God isn't just "too busy." The man had the right idea in his prayer, but he never followed through.
In order for God to help and to make you grow as a person, you have to be willing to let him. In order to let him, you have to obey him. Crying out to God to be there is a good thing, but there is a next step. The next step is allowing God to pick you up off of the ground, dust you off, and set you on your feet. Once you're on your feet, you have to allow God to lead you. You do this by reading his word, praying to him, seeking out more of his children, and most of all: Spending time listening to him.
The man took a step, but he stopped after the first one.
Say a brand new driver is sitting in the car, their sparkly permit is sitting in their pocket, and their dad is sitting in the passenger's seat. The kid has seen this done a million times, so he steps on the brake, turns the car on, and pops it into gear. He begins to drive while dad sits calmly in the seat knowing what will happen. The kid gets out to the road before he encounters any problems. Once on the road, he is having trouble staying there. It's not a big deal, he just tends to drift to the right every once in a while. He is calling to his father, "Dad, help me. What's wrong? What can I do?" and his dad calmly explains how to watch the lines and hold the wheel, but the driver never hears. Instead he starts speeding up and starts yelling, "Dad! WHATS WRONG DAD!? What can I do? How do I fix it!?" and all the while his father is sitting there trying to explain to him how to do it right, but the kid is just yelling over him. The young driver continues to freak out and eventually his dad is forced to grab the wheel to keep him on the road. They switch seats and the dad explains where the boy went wrong and he explains how to fix it and he tells him not to worry. He explains that next time the kid just needs to listen.
Sometimes in our lives we want our life to go a certian way and we do our best to make it follow that path. We work and run and strive and beg and cry. Sometimes we are able to achieve what we want on our own, but more often we are not. God is willing to work in your life and take you far. In fact he wants to. God WANTS you to do big things. He wants you to be great for him. Look at the people he backed: David, Solomon, Samuel, Rahab, Esther, and the list goes on and on. He didn't care that David was a sinner, he made him great! He didn't care that Solomon, Samuel, Rahab, and Esther were sinners, he made them great too! He didn't necessarily give them everything they desired and everything they thought was good; he gave them what he knew they could do and he made them great people for him.
The next time you feel the vehicle spinning out of control, be quiet and listen. The next time you find yourself crying out to God and not getting an answer, spend a few days alone just talking to him. God wants to help you out, he wants to make you great in his eyes. You are his kid and he loves you. The next time you feel the need to freak out and yell and scream and cry, do so to God. Talk to God. He is always there, he always hears, and he always understands. And when you are done yelling and screaming and crying, be still. Be quiet. Allow God to TALK BACK. Listen to his voice, and follow through. If YOU want YOUR life to be better, then YOU have to obey God and follow his paths. Even if you can only take baby steps at first, at least you're moving. Concentrate more on God and less on the world and yourself.
"Lives, like money, are spent. What are you buying with yours?"
Roy H. Williams
Fighting Inevitability
Originally Posted on Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I’m cold. And it’s dark outside. I hear the snoring of my husband in the background and I’d like to think that it comforts me. Maybe it really does. In any case, I need to get out of here; I need to run. The bottoms of my feet are prickling. Does that mean they want me to do this or are they are opposed? I suppose it doesn’t matter. Since when do I listen to my feet?
Running. Thud. Thud. Thud. I’m running from myself. I’m running from the air. I’m running from all of the things that I can’t run from. I’m running from God. Thud. Thud. My chest hurts. Why am I doing this to myself? I can’t go on. Thud. Thud, Thud. Thud. Almost tripped there, jeeze. I need to stop this.
Panting, I slow down and rest at a conveniently placed stump. “Hello stump,” I say as I sit down. Leaning down I try to touch my toes. I can’t reach. I’m not even close to reaching. I feel that way about my desires and dreams much of the time. I shouldn’t even try. I get up and begin to walk home. When I get there, I grab a pair of gloves and pull them on. What an oddity I am. Running in shorts in the winter and wearing gloves in my house.
I kick off my shoes and walk through the house. I’m supposed to be here. I’m supposed to feel this. But what am I feeling? I open the fridge and pick up the wheat germ. Why can’t I make sense of any of this? I look down at the wheat germ in my hand and wonder why I picked it up. I close the fridge with the jar still in my hand.
As I walk to the cupboard, I realize I’m not hungry. I’m not hungry at all. I’m feeling. Feeling what? Who knows, I’m just feeling. I place the wheat germ in the cupboard and walk away. I pull off my shorts on the way to the bathroom. I sit down on the toilet and I pull off my shirt. I place them both on the counter. I finish going pee, wipe, and walk back through the house. I peek in my room and am relieved to see that my husband did not notice my absence.
I walk into our home office and sit down at the desk. I place my head on the cool wood. I still can’t figure this out. These feelings are too much. They are too confusing. Silently, I pray. God, what am I running from? I feel nothing. I haven’t felt anything from him in months. I decide that if he isn’t going to listen, I’m not going to talk to him.
Suddenly I get this picture of myself as if I were looking in from the door way. I see myself sitting at the desk with my forehead on the wood. I’m naked aside from a pair of black socks and black gloves. I watch myself look at my hands from across the room. Across the room, I look at my hands. I pull the gloves off and lay them in a drawer. What an oddity I am, walking around in just socks
and gloves. I’m glad no one is here.
I get a feeling that someone is there. I try and remain calm. I resist the urge to wheel around in my chair and stare at the window. I tell myself that believing in a creepy feeling is giving it power over me. I stand up and watch the doorway where I had been watching myself from a few minutes before. I don’t see anything, but I have a feeling that something is there. Something is there watching me. I inexplicably begin to cry.
I whisper, “God? God, is that you?” I get no tangible answer, but my chest twinges. “Please leave me! WHATEVER YOU ARE, LEAVE ME!” I do not shout, but it felt like a yell; a gasp perhaps. I whisper again, “I tried this once. I tried to follow! You were not there! You never helped me!” I still hear nothing but silence. For all I know, nothing is there. I sit back down. I tell myself I don’t want him anymore. He isn’t there anyway.
I shake my head quickly as though I am trying to get rid of a particularly ugly thought. My hands clench and unclench. I put my gloves back on and pull on the fingers, straightening them. Nervously, and somewhat out of breath, I stand and walk to my bedroom. My husband is still snoring. How unaware he is. I lie down and pull my gloves off again. This time I just toss them. Who cares where they are. Who cares.
When I wake up I am clammy. I feel awkward. As I walk to the bathroom, my husband hears me and asks me why the wheat germ is in the cupboard. I tell him I don’t know. I don’t really know, do I? I pee and follow my feet to the kitchen. I sit down at the counter and he just looks at me.
“Not going to put clothes on today?” he asks. No, No I’m not, I think. I’m not going to put anything anywhere. I’m just going to sit here. Contrary to my previous decision, I put my head on the counter. He ignores my oddness as he is prone to doing and goes on talking. “I had a funny dream last night.” He pauses a few seconds. “I was dreaming that I was standing in the bathroom looking over at the door to the office. I saw something standing there. It almost wasn’t even a person, more like a ghost...A spirit or something maybe.”
I pick my head up and look at him. “Did it do anything?” I ask. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he says, as if a spirit standing by the door is ordinary. “It just kind of looked in that room for a few minutes. I got the feeling it wanted something.” I was a little creeped out and a little awed. I was pretty sure that the spirit thing was God. And he wanted me. I wonder why he didn’t say anything.
My husband looked at me. He knew I understood something he hadn’t. “What happened last night?” I didn’t know what to say, so I just said as much as I could. “I-I had a feeling yesterday. Just a feeling. I didn’t know what to make of it, but it made me restless. I had to run.” “And?” he probed. I told him about sitting in the room and my out-of-body experience. He just looked at me for a minute, then he spoke, “Do you think-” I cut him off. “No, I don’t think it was God.” He looked at me and blinked.
I walk out of the room and make my way back to the bedroom. I climb under the covers distinctly knowing that God had called out to me last night; and this morning. Instead of peace, I feel anger. Anger, malice and spite.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I hiss to the air. “You weren’t there when I wanted you, and now you’re here offering me something? What am I supposed to do?” I look around the room and receive no response. I look down at my covers and feel my heart harden. I feel cold. I feel angry. “I’m not coming to you without some type of feedback. I’m sorry, I can’t keep chasing the wind like this,” I speak to him roughly. Surprisingly, he still doesn’t answer. I roll my eyes.
I turned him down that day. I haven’t sought him out since. Now I hope that someday he comes chasing me again. Maybe I’ll have the strength not to run.
From Oldest to Newest:
Passion
Originally Posted Thursday, November 13, 2008
Passion?
Passion.
Passion!
Passion…
Passionately.
Why yes, yes I would like to.
A fire crackles and sparks fly onto my feet. I do not move.
Your hand runs up my arm, but still, I do not move.
I feel something tickle the back of my ear; I do not know what. I do not move.
The light dims and the air gets warmer, a strange combination; yet, I do not move.
I feel my hair fall down around my shoulders. I do not know how it happened, and I do not move.
Things are moving in front of me. I see shapes, dark shapes, all around me. I do not move.
I hear my name being called. Or is it being whispered? I cannot tell, but I do not move.
I am in a daze, and I do not move because I cannot move.
I strain to see, to open my eyes, but they are already open.
I try to focus. Slowly I cross and uncross my eyes. I feel like someone has placed a dark film over
them, directly over my retinas. Is there nothing in the world anymore?
I work to turn my head to the left. It moves, but the scene doesn’t change. That is very odd.
I can feel your presence more clearly now; I can see your face. It is pale, and your features stick out at me like I’ve never seen anything but darkness before, but I can see you. My eyes are wide, and I try to find you with my hands. My hands aren’t moving. I look at them and will them to move. One of them twitches. That is very odd.
Have I heard that phrase before?
I know something is wrong, and I know that you are trying to help me out of it.
My reflexes are sluggish. Have I been drugged?
“Drugged by the world, maybe.”
I’ve heard that voice before, a long time ago. I do not know when, and I do not dwell on it. I am not thinking clearly. My thoughts explode like little mini-bombs. I do not know what is happening.
Wait, wait a moment. I was trying to discover something. Passion! What is passion? Why was that so important a few moments ago? Why don’t I know?
I try looking around again, but everything is still so dark. “Please…” my voice rasps. I heard it. I know I heard it. And if I heard it, that means you heard it, doesn’t it?
“Please.” I say it a little bit stronger this time.
I feel your hands caress the back of my neck, they are warm and firm, but as soon as they are there they are gone once again.
Were they ever really there? Are you here?
“Yes, I am here.” I hear you say.
I did not speak that out loud, did I? No, I know that I didn’t. My voice barely got the please out.
I think for a moment, and I try again. Are you in here mister? Are you a mister? What are you?
Your hand that is both very heavy and very light brushes my cheeks. There is moisture there. Was I crying?
“Yes, you were.”
Why can you hear my thoughts?
“I am a part of you.”
My first thought is comically, “But you’re a guy,” but you let that pass. I decide to sit and listen to you.
You don’t talk much when I don’t provoke you. “I only talk when you need me to.”
Wouldn’t it be easier if you just told me what was going on?
“Probably.”
That baffles me, but I remain silent (as if I have a choice).
I think about the room again, and I try and look around some more.
I see more and more dark shapes, they are surrounding us, but they don’t seem to notice or care.
What are they?
No answer.
“Wha…” I cough. “What are they?” My voice is still raspy and it hurts.
“You will see, child.”
Child? What? Since when am I a child? That angers me, and with the flow of anger comes a flow of darkness. I can no longer see shapes.
Perhaps that is what happened.
I fight to remain calm. If it is what happened, I don’t want to do it again. I feel ill.
I feel a firm pressure on my throat. It doesn’t hurt. It actually has a calming effect.
I breathe a little more and begin to see shapes again. I like your presence here. Please stay.
“I’ll always be here.”
Those words stir my heart a little, but I cannot quite figure out why.
I feel your gentle hands wipe more tears off of my face. Why am I crying?
Slowly I become aware that I am not sitting as I thought, but kneeling. I also sense warmth on either side of me. And your hands come from behind me and rest on my shoulder and neck. You’re curled around me, aren’t you? Why?
“You needed to be saved, so I saved you.”
And with those words, my eyes finally see fully.
With this newfound sense of sight, I learn I could see before too. I just could not perceive.
We are in the middle of what I know to be a battle, only there are no guns, no swords, and no weapons of any kind.
How did I know it to be a battle? I cannot answer, but that is what it is.
The figures around me, I cannot quite call them people, rage. Rage at what, I do not yet know, but their very aura suggests anger.
They don’t seem angry at each other, nor do they seem to be trying to harm one another. That is very odd.
Have I heard that before?
“They are fighting me,” you whisper.
But you are here behind me; they couldn’t possibly be fighting you.
“You fought me too.”
When? Why don’t I know?
“Because I have made you forget. I have made you clean. The battle doesn’t affect you anymore.”
If it doesn’t affect me, then why am I still here? Why are you making me remember?
“You’ll need to know in order to help me, but you don’t have to know your own wars; your own scars.”
Your finger runs over my cheek and I can feel a slight pain there. I know that will become one of the scars you speak of.
Why are they fighting you?
“Because love is painful, love is real. I can’t give them the watered down version they want. I have
to give them the full dose, if I don’t, they will die.”
I feel a drop of liquid on the back of my neck. It rolls down my back. I whisper, “Don’t cry.” It is becoming easier to speak.
Your arms wrap tighter around me at my words, and I feel your head leaning on my shoulder. The warm tears are soaking through my ragged shirt.
Your muffled words don’t quite reach my ears, and though your grip on me is becoming painful, I know that if I moved away now your heart would break. I remain still.
Why does it have to hurt?
You cough and your words once again become audible. “It was never meant to. I made it so strong because it was meant to be a good feeling. When pain first came about, I nearly threw it all away. All of this almost never was.”
Why didn’t you? It is easier to speak through thoughts.
“I knew you would be here. I knew…that there would be others like you. I couldn’t throw you all away too. I had to have you. I was already in love at that point.”
Why did you have to make the others?
“I had to give them a choice to choose. I couldn’t decide for them. And although they may hate me for it, and I may even hate me for it, I had to give them the right, even if they didn’t want it.”
This makes little sense to me, but I remain quiet about it. I’m going to have to be out there aren’t I?Without your arms I mean.
“Never.”
What?
“You will never be without my arms, without my love, without me. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
What if I don’t feel you? Will you hold me like this again?
“Perhaps.”
What do you want me to do?
“You’re going to have to find out when you get there.”
I start to reject that, but you interrupt me. “Ah, listen.”
We are both quiet for a few moments and I hear my heart beat. When it is all I hear, I protest.
Your arms wrap tighter around me still, and I am almost crying from the strength in your arms.
“I gave you that heart. I made it pump. The blood that you feel in your face because I am crushing you is a product of that little organ that I created for you. No one else has one like it. No one else has one with quite that kind of power. It is unique. I will use it to contact you.”
I remain quiet hoping you will explain more, and when you don’t, I sigh.
How will I know it is you?
“You will listen.”
That simple, eh? Well, if it’s that simple, why aren’t all of these…things…following you?
“I never said it would be simple. In fact, it will be quite hard. You just have to trust me. I’ll get you where you need to be.”
I start to speak, but stop. Your finger traces my jaw line as if to say, “What?”
What if I don’t hear you and don’t listen because of that? Or what if I blatantly don’t listen? What will happen to me?
“You will go through a lot of pain. It will probably very nearly kill you, but you will find your way back to me.”
How can you be so sure?
You place a soft kiss on the top of my head and respond. “Because I created you silly. I know you. I know what will happen to you, and I know where you will go, who you will meet, and where you will end up.”
If you know already, why must I go through it?
“You aren’t living for just you. There is another specifically, and several more beyond that one.”
Will they face the pain that I do?
“The same pain? No. They will face their own.”
What if I can’t do it?
“You can.”
I decide to accept that. He made me, he should know.
How long can I be here with you? I like it here.
“Only a few more minutes… Look at them, do you see the hunger? Do you see the power? What about the glares?”
I see, and I am frightened. I’ll have to be among them, won’t I? I will. I don’t even wait for you to answer, I already know.
“I will be with you.”
This time it is my arms that hold tighter to you.
Please don’t go.
“I will never leave.”
Where can I find you?
“In the quiet place.”
That’s very informative. Where will I find this quiet place?
You don’t answer. I have a sneaking suspicion that I will have to find it myself. I look around me. The things here are almost people, but there is something just not right about the way they look. I cannot put my finger on it.
What are these things?
“People. Don’t look at me like that, they are. Well, no, I guess, they aren’t the people you know. They are people with no masks. This is how they look when they are stripped of their walls. This is how I always see them; I forget that they look different usually.”
I’ll say.
You chuckle and kiss my ear lightly. I savor the affection.
Will I see them like this?
“Sometimes.”
That’s when I go to them, isn’t it?
“Sometimes.”
You are very unhelpful.
“I try.”
I look at you helplessly.
“Honey, relax. You will feel me talking to you. When you feel me, trust me. Let me lead you. You will do fine.”
I’m afraid.
“That’s okay; I will get you through it.”
I’m hurt.
“I can get you through that too.”
I have to go home now, don’t I?
“Soon. Dance with me before you go.”
“Dance?” I am so surprised I speak out loud.
“I want to hold you a little while longer.”
“Okay.” I whisper.
Your hands come up to hold me, and slowly we swirl. I never knew you could dance so well. I have never seen this side of you.
“I know you.” You speak and I am startled. I look up and see a burning in your eyes. This is what started the whole thing; that burning. That…that…that-
“Passion.” I finish out loud.
That is very odd.
My head tilts sideways in confusion. Why do I keep thinking that?
“Things don’t always make sense. Sometimes you just have to follow your heart.”
Follow your leading, you mean?
“Precisely. We have to part now.” You start to back away and fade from sight.
Wait!
You hang in the balance of here and where ever it was that you were going.
Don’t ever let me go. Even if I run away from you, even if I fight you, even if I kick and scream, don’t you ever let me go.
Your form is fully here again, and you step forward and embrace me. I revel in the feeling of my head on your shoulder and your arms holding me close.
“I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
You fade from view, but I can still feel you in my heart. I know you will always be mine. I know I’ll always be yours. I start to walk. Where I’m going I’m not sure, but it feels right. On the way I see a face that calls out to me. I step up beside them and begin to chat.
“That is very odd.”
What is? I remember that no one else can hear my thoughts. “What is?” I ask.
“You just seem very familiar; almost as if you are supposed to be here.”
I smile and say, “Maybe I am. Yes, odd though.”
The two of us walk side by side, and I have the distinct impression that there are not only two, but three of us. I smile and I repeat, “Very odd indeed.”
A Confused Soul
Originally Posted on Friday, December 5, 2008
I'm trying to figure out why.
And my brain stops.
And I have to think. And think. And think.
And I never fully understand why I have to figure everything out, and I never fully understand why I have to think on things.
I don't get why I can't just live my life the way most people live their lives, and I don't know if I'm just trying to be different or if I actually am.
It's not really that I want to break the mold, and it's not really that I don't like to conform. I'm fine fitting in, and I'm fine being me. Either way will work; either way will do. Something is pulling me and telling me not to listen. Something won't let me be just another kid who goes through high school, then through college, then grows up to be a practical-minded person. I have nothing against practical-minded people, in fact, I would love to be one. I feel like I might be throwing away my future the way it is now. I'm smart, I'm athletic, I'm, I'm, I'm. I'm pretty sure that God doesn't care that I'm all those things, he can make us into whatever he wants us to be. He gave me my talents for a reason, and I'm going to try and use them for him, not for the world.
"Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will."
Romans 12:2
It's not that I want to step out of line and run my own life. It's not that I want to be radical and do crazy things. It's not that I want to throw away my college career. I am a crazy, radical, different person, but I'm not begging to be out of line. I feel like God is gently holding my hand and tugging me in one direction and the world viciously has ahold of my other arm and is clinging to me for dear life. The gentle tug is so much more persuasive, and I really want to follow him. I like approval. It's just the way I am. I perform WAY better if I know that someone is watching me. I have to show off. I have to do my best. I have to kick butt, and if I don't it really bothers me. (That fact in itself bothers me, but that's another story for another day.) If I like approval, wouldn't I want to finish high school and go on to this big huge college and marry a BMC approved young man? And when I say a BMC approved young man, I mean a guy about 18-20 who is a very strong Christian, who I can trust to "lead" me spiritually, who will always lean on God, etc...What if I don't feel like that is the type of person God is pushing me towards? What if I'm different?
Here is where I ask myself if I'm begging to be different because I like it. Well, yes, generally I do like to be different. In this case though, it hurts. It's hard. It's like pulling teeth, and since I HAVE HAD that experience, I am allowed to say that. I feel like I'm sitting in a chair, numbed to the point of not feeling, and I'm having bones ripped from my skull. When I say, "numbed to the point of not feeling," I do mean it. It has gotten to the point where I feel like I'm punching my heart so often that I don't really feel the pain anymore. I realize that God isn't the cause of that pain, and I also realize that the pain he is the cause of is the type of pain that forces me to grow when I don't want to. I can't stay spiritually the same forever.
More to the point though, I don't think this is me talking to myself. And the reason why this is such a question is because the events in my life are highly HIGHLY unusual. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. And when you did believe me, you would slap me, tell me that I'm hearing things, and tell me to get right with God. Now HERE is the REALLY unbelieveable part. I think I AM right with God. I think this is HIM! (Here my brain does all sorts of spasms and ocassionally I throw things.) This wouldn't be the first time in the world that God has asked someone to do something seemingly insane, and it won't be the last. What I struggle with is, "IS THIS HIM?" And yeah, you can tell me to read my Bible and pray all I want; I will do it. I have. It's been nearly two years now since this has been plaguing me, abeit in different forms. So if I do all that stuff, what is the next step? Faith I assume. "Faith," I hear from God. "Faith," I read in his word. How do you have faith that it is him when it seems so unlike something that he would approve of? I guess that faith and trust are really the issues here. That and my inability to attend church regularly and stay with God. [I often find myself standing (metaphorically) on the wrong side of the fence. And not only standing on the side of the fence that God is not on, but also I stand there wearing the most rediculous outfit and dancing the polka. That is to say, whatever it is that I am doing, it makes no sense.] That being said, now I feel like I am standing here dancing the polka ever so elegantly while wearing mickey mouse gloves, sparkly puke green converse, and an orange bikini over a man's double breasted suit with a "freedom for the spidermonkeys" hat on my head. And God is TELLING ME TO.
This makes no sense to me.I'm not sure if it supposed to, and I suspect that it is a trick of some sort...not by satan, but by God.
Does God play tricks?
Maybe trick is the wrong word.
TEST.
If I can dance just the right jig, and look just the right amount of rediculous, I love him that much. I'm willing to give up all I tend to care about just to be who he wants me to be.
And while I think that this may be a very wise test indeed, I cannot be sure that that is what it is. What confuses me so much is the pressure of the world. And when I think about it that way, I'm not so confused. I just think of that verse again, "Do not conform." I can do that, but can I do it for God? Can I not conform to the things that I desire to conform to? Oh, and there are things: feel free to be in shock and awe. Generally these things have to do with "Chruch" and "Right" and "the Pastor says it's okay."
In fact, you'd never know it, but when I get embarrassed, I get REALLY embarrassed. I feel BAD actually for the next several days. I guess the buttons you have to push to make me feel that way are just different from most people's. I could walk around in my underwear all day and not even blink, but the moment someone...nevermind, I'm not giving anyone ammunition.
I guess I'm nearing the end of my writing, and if indeed I am (sometimes whole pages sneak up on me), I guess I'm not so lost anymore. Yeah, I'm still not entirely sure on much of anything, but I feel better for having written it down. I do hear God's voice in the path that I will probably choose to take, and that gentle tugging on my hand feels a lot better than the death grip on my arm the world has. If I have to amputate my arm to follow the gentle tug, I don't even think I'll hesitate. The left arm isn't as important. I could still play soccer. I'm willing to take a chainsaw to that arm if need be, but I still feel a lot of pain and hopelessness a lot of the time. I saw a sign on a church today on my way to college..."Enter here to find Hope." I seriously almost cried because I feel like I have lost my hope a lot of the time. Sometimes I'm just entirely too ready to curl up and die. That doesn't sound like so bad of a fate. I feel love just fine. That one I've got no trouble with. Hope. That's the one that plagues me.What is there to have hope for? I can hope in God, but on this planet? PSH, as if. I'm trying, I really am. People say, "Grow up, fall in love, get married, have babies." They say all sorts of crazy things. I'm just not sure if I'm normal, because those things don't sound like things that I could do with my life. Sure I could. I'm capable. But I don't think it's what I'm being asked to do; even if I wanted to. I would prefer some of that, somewhere along the lines, maybe even now, but I think God wants me to do something big. Something crazy. Something puke green and shiny. It's not very pretty to look at, but BOY does it catch your attention. I don't know. Maybe? The point I was trying to make was that the things that most people plan for and have hope for don't seem to be the things that I see in my future. I've got to have hope for something else. And I'm not to know what it is yet because God hasn't seen fit to tell me. Which is his perogative, but I wish he'd tell me what is going to be there. If for no other reason than to make me stop crying all the time. Stupid depression. He has his reasons, and he'll do what he wants. He'll do what is best and I know that.
I just want to know what he's doing so I can be lazy and not have faith. But I know, it DOESN'T work that way. I get it.
I get it.
But it still hurts, and it still sucks.And by the time I grow out of this darn outfit, I just know that he's going to have something else for me to wear, and it's going to be EVEN BETTER. And while I do not fear this-it excites me somewhat-I'm nervous. I'm God's kid, and he's got an eye on me, but my heart feels a little funky a lot of the time.
Perhaps things that it shouldn't, or perhaps just things that he will see fit to use in the future. Who knows?
I am going to follow him, I'm going to try. And no matter how rediculous or stupid I look in this outfit, I'm going to wear it and dance PROUDLY. I may feel like an idiot a lot of the time, but I think he'll hold my hand and get me through it. He's gotten me this far hasn't he? Well. I think I'm done now. For real this time (what did I tell you about that page?). Someone come give me a hug.
And the rest of you pray for me.
Please.
Dandelionaphobic
Originally Posted on Monday, December 8, 2008
It seems to me that I can never start a note or an email or a letter the way I want to. Whenever I try I just sit and stare at the screen for a few minutes until I give in and write whatever will come out on it's own. Does that mean that my consciousness cannot write? Does it mean that I have to shut up to be able to talk? Perhaps; perhaps it does...I love that word by the way. I use it way too much simply because I love it.
I am wondering...for you drivers out there...When you see a car by the side of the road with their blinkers on, do you stop? What if they are alone? Female? Male? Do those things make a difference?
What are you afraid of? And I don't mean spiders or dandelions...I mean what type of things make you stop taking steps in the right direction and turn and run away? I am speaking in metaphor (fyi). Fyi always sounds rude to me, but I don't mean it like that (btw). And I feel the same way about btw. lol.
Anyway, What makes you want to sit on your couch and vegetate until you start to become a part of it? Until your brain hasn't functioned beyond Facebook (or whatever your outlet is) for days?
Sometimes I know what I'm afraid of, and sometimes I don't. I'm not afraid of death, in fact, most of the time I welcome it. I was driving in my car today, and the roads were kind of slippery. And I thought to myself, "Man, if I crashed, that would really suck. Unless I died." My car is only about $2,000, but my initial thinking process would still rather die than be in debt by $2,000 and have nothing to show for it. That's how necessary and important money is.
I don't really mean that how it sounds...It's not really that important to me. Everyone tells me that it is important to me, and I'll realize it when I don't have any, but as of now, I don't really care. I could get hit by a car tomorrow and die. How is money going to serve me then? I could go the rest of my life hand to mouth. I could sure use some money at that point, but still, I'd be living right? I understand that hand to mouth is really no way to live, but it's possible. It isn't the end of the world.
So if a crappy job that doesn't pay well isn't the end of the world...What is?
At what point in my life do I throw up the cards, burn the dice, and dig myself a hole to die in?What could be that bad?
I'll tell you what I think.
I get urges sometimes to give up and "ruin my life." I'm not going to go out and murder someone, I just get the urge to quit. To swear at the world, throw my grades in the garbage, make my parents incredibly angry at me, quit my job, crash my car, and murder my dog. I'm not sure if those urges mean some psycological problems (with my luck, probably), but they happen. There is no way I would be capable of killing my dog, for those of you who are a) actually reading this and b) believe that I could commit such a horrific act. I would probably sooner kill my brother than my dog.
Cleaning up after that mess wouldn't be fun, but it could be done. I'd still go on to live a successful if unhappy life.
I think that it's time to throw in the towel when...
And once again, I cannot write. My brain knows what it's thinking, but I can't compose it. That usually means I haven't found what I need to say yet, so I will continue. Excuse me for not doing what I said I would do (tell you what I think).
What do we base our own importance on? Generally it's the world's views of us. And if not the world's at large, then it's our parents', our friends', or some other person in our life. Hardly ever do I hear someone say, "I am a teacher because God thinks I'm good at teaching." Or "God doesn't think my butt looks good in those pants, so I don't wear them." We look instead to much lower standards. We look at the world. We look at the sin. We look at the parents (Who are supposed to know it all, but don't. And if you have truthful parents, they will tell you this.), the grandparents, the siblings, the guy who washes our car. We always look to these people first. Now, there is nothing wrong with asking mom how your butt looks in a pair of pants, I'm not sure if God will say, "Oh yeah honey, you look great," but he might. He's unpredictable, you never know. My point is, when it comes to making really big decisions in life, who do we go to? Who do we go to first? Who's opinion do we put the most weight on?
It should be God, most any Christian will tell you that. If you proclaim to trust in God and follow his teachings, you should probably do it, right? Then why is it that I see so many Christians chasing after money? The Bible tells me that I cannot serve two masters. If in fact he is the master I have chosen to follow, I am lead to believe that I cannot make my decisions based on money, but on God. So what does God say? What does money say? Where could I go wrong? Where are the stumbling blocks?
1) The Bible has several verses on loving money. Or rather, avoiding the love of money. (Ecc 5:10; 1 Ti 3:3, 6:10; 2 Ti 3:2; Heb 13:5)
2) It tells us that we can't serve both God and money. (Matt 6:24)
3) Jesus told the disciples not to take money (and other things) with them on their way to "Preach the kingdom of God and to heal the sick." (Lk 9:2-3)
4) It also mentions that we should not be greedy for money, but eager to serve. Hmm...curious, in the next verse here it mentions not "lording it over those entrusted to you, but being examples to the flock." (1 Peter 5:2-3)
"God is fantastic. He really is. I love Him and he makes me laugh everyday. But he’s not going to send you a check in the mail and he’s not going to email you with what to do with your life. I think there’s maybe three or four times tops in everyone’s lives where God REALLY cares what decision you make but mostly He knows that you’ll be ok either way and it won’t matter."
A trusted adult in my life told me that...It was part of this person's response to my "I'm ranting" email that I sent around a while ago. (If you didn't get it and you're curious, ask.) This person said that to me and it really discouraged me. I read that and I just wanted to quit life right there. If God doesn't care, what's the point? God cares, doesn't he? They always taught me that he did. The God of the Bible definitely cares, that's what it says. He appears to be there every step of the way in these people's lives. I refuse to believe that they are stories and it was the old days and it can't happen like that anymore. God is still the same God, and he can still kick butt as good as he ever could. And from what I've read, he can kick some major butt. God tells us that his word will never pass away, and that's what I choose to believe.
And yes, I agree that I'll be okay whatever I choose, but not because of who I am or life or people. I believe that no matter what I choose I will be okay because of the grace of God and his ability to forgive me even when I've stomped on his name and decided to make my own choices. I know he'll take me back no matter how pigheaded I've been. That's the ONLY reason I'll be okay.
Now, as for a check in the mail...Well, maybe he won't send me a check in the mail, but that's okay. The Bible tells me not to base my life on money, it tells me to serve God first. If in serving God I don't get paid, do you think he will make sure I get food to eat? Sure. In my life, in the Bible, and in friends' and role models' lives I have never seen God let anyone down. And even when they thought he let them down, there was a reason, and he came back bigger and "badder" than before. I refuse to believe that he won't supply my needs.
With the knowledge that he will in fact supply things for my needs, he doesn't let people down, he never lies and never passes away, he always forgives me, he kicks butt, among other various things, I am not afraid of anything. Or rather, when I am with God, I am not afraid of anything.
Which leads me to what I was trying to say before: I am afraid of not being with God.
I am afraid of getting out of his presence and not being able to find my way back. And even though money is not a big thing for me right now, working to get it is. My job gets in the way of church, my college gets in the way of life, and "trusted advisors" all want me to be able to make $100,000 a year. Trusting God is all well and good; until it gets in the way of the money that you have to make to live. Why can't God make the money for me to live? Shouldn't I trust him to do that? Where did Jesus work? What did he get paid an hour? When did I stop trying to be like him? When it started interfering with obligations of the modern adult world, that's when. And I think that's crap. Probably every "trusted advisor" that I would ask would tell me that I should try and be like Jesus, but I bet every one of them would probably give me a dazed look if I told them I wanted to hang with murderers and quit college.
I'm not saying I'm lazy and I don't want to go to college (which is probably true, but I would do it anyway if that were it). I'm saying that I feel like I'm wasting my life in the halls of Kent State when I could be out there teaching people about Jesus. Sure you have to have money to do those things, but WHO rules MONEY? GOD! Wow, what luck! I want to serve God with my life, and college probably is the best option for me right now, but something is telling me that it's not the focus. It's not what life is all about. It's not the make-or-break it deal for me. I could serve him with or without a degree. I could serve him with or without a job. I could serve him standing on my
head and dancing the hula (I'd like to try this). It doesn't matter what level of the social ladder I climb to, it doesn't matter how much I make a year, it doesn't matter if I'm the president of the United States. It simply doesn't matter. God tells me I'm worth something, and even if everyone else says I'm not, he's right.
I choose to believe him.
And maybe that makes me a crack pot who doesn't really fit in with this world, and maybe I'm silly and stupid and ignorant. Actually, the way the world is now, I'm pretty sure I'm more afraid to be considered "cool and normal" by their standards.
But even if I am rediculous and I just don't get it...Even if I am young and naive...Even if I'm wishfully thinking, And even if I'm going to fail...
I want to follow God with my everything, first and foremost. I want to give it all to him, and expect that, "Alright God, you've got it all now. I'm either going to die serving you, or you're going to feed me."
I think it's okay for me to trust him with that. Some may think I'm greedy and that God has better things to do, but I think that he'd rather me give him my all and trust him to take care of me than to give him none of myself and work and slave to attempt to take care of myself. He wants all of me, how hard is that?
Very hard actually, but he does make it worth it.
So what makes me important? What makes me matter? What makes me make a difference?
If I knew, I don't think I'd still be working at BK, but I'm absolutely sure that God knows. I'm also certain that he's going to do an awesome job taking care of me. He's going to put whatever it is that makes me something he wants to work, and he's going to rock my world. And I'm going to let him.
On the Nature of Making Your Life Better
Originally Posted on Thursday, January 1, 2009
A person told me the other day that he had begged and begged and cried face down on the ground to God for help. He admitted that he was lost, confused, broken, and weary. He asked God to pick him up and to help him out. He asked God to make his life better and he promised anything in return. He promised he would do whatever God wanted if he (God) could fix him.
He then expected God to begin to build his life back up.
When God did not comply, the man broke. He stopped believing in God's goodness. He stopped hoping. He stopped loving.
When I think on this I am confused at first. I wonder why God did not help the man. I wonder why God wasn't there. I wonder what he could be doing instead. I pray and think some more on it and I realize the problem. Obviously it's not that God isn't there and isn't willing to help. Obviously God isn't just "too busy." The man had the right idea in his prayer, but he never followed through.
In order for God to help and to make you grow as a person, you have to be willing to let him. In order to let him, you have to obey him. Crying out to God to be there is a good thing, but there is a next step. The next step is allowing God to pick you up off of the ground, dust you off, and set you on your feet. Once you're on your feet, you have to allow God to lead you. You do this by reading his word, praying to him, seeking out more of his children, and most of all: Spending time listening to him.
The man took a step, but he stopped after the first one.
Say a brand new driver is sitting in the car, their sparkly permit is sitting in their pocket, and their dad is sitting in the passenger's seat. The kid has seen this done a million times, so he steps on the brake, turns the car on, and pops it into gear. He begins to drive while dad sits calmly in the seat knowing what will happen. The kid gets out to the road before he encounters any problems. Once on the road, he is having trouble staying there. It's not a big deal, he just tends to drift to the right every once in a while. He is calling to his father, "Dad, help me. What's wrong? What can I do?" and his dad calmly explains how to watch the lines and hold the wheel, but the driver never hears. Instead he starts speeding up and starts yelling, "Dad! WHATS WRONG DAD!? What can I do? How do I fix it!?" and all the while his father is sitting there trying to explain to him how to do it right, but the kid is just yelling over him. The young driver continues to freak out and eventually his dad is forced to grab the wheel to keep him on the road. They switch seats and the dad explains where the boy went wrong and he explains how to fix it and he tells him not to worry. He explains that next time the kid just needs to listen.
Sometimes in our lives we want our life to go a certian way and we do our best to make it follow that path. We work and run and strive and beg and cry. Sometimes we are able to achieve what we want on our own, but more often we are not. God is willing to work in your life and take you far. In fact he wants to. God WANTS you to do big things. He wants you to be great for him. Look at the people he backed: David, Solomon, Samuel, Rahab, Esther, and the list goes on and on. He didn't care that David was a sinner, he made him great! He didn't care that Solomon, Samuel, Rahab, and Esther were sinners, he made them great too! He didn't necessarily give them everything they desired and everything they thought was good; he gave them what he knew they could do and he made them great people for him.
The next time you feel the vehicle spinning out of control, be quiet and listen. The next time you find yourself crying out to God and not getting an answer, spend a few days alone just talking to him. God wants to help you out, he wants to make you great in his eyes. You are his kid and he loves you. The next time you feel the need to freak out and yell and scream and cry, do so to God. Talk to God. He is always there, he always hears, and he always understands. And when you are done yelling and screaming and crying, be still. Be quiet. Allow God to TALK BACK. Listen to his voice, and follow through. If YOU want YOUR life to be better, then YOU have to obey God and follow his paths. Even if you can only take baby steps at first, at least you're moving. Concentrate more on God and less on the world and yourself.
"Lives, like money, are spent. What are you buying with yours?"
Roy H. Williams
Fighting Inevitability
Originally Posted on Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I’m cold. And it’s dark outside. I hear the snoring of my husband in the background and I’d like to think that it comforts me. Maybe it really does. In any case, I need to get out of here; I need to run. The bottoms of my feet are prickling. Does that mean they want me to do this or are they are opposed? I suppose it doesn’t matter. Since when do I listen to my feet?
Running. Thud. Thud. Thud. I’m running from myself. I’m running from the air. I’m running from all of the things that I can’t run from. I’m running from God. Thud. Thud. My chest hurts. Why am I doing this to myself? I can’t go on. Thud. Thud, Thud. Thud. Almost tripped there, jeeze. I need to stop this.
Panting, I slow down and rest at a conveniently placed stump. “Hello stump,” I say as I sit down. Leaning down I try to touch my toes. I can’t reach. I’m not even close to reaching. I feel that way about my desires and dreams much of the time. I shouldn’t even try. I get up and begin to walk home. When I get there, I grab a pair of gloves and pull them on. What an oddity I am. Running in shorts in the winter and wearing gloves in my house.
I kick off my shoes and walk through the house. I’m supposed to be here. I’m supposed to feel this. But what am I feeling? I open the fridge and pick up the wheat germ. Why can’t I make sense of any of this? I look down at the wheat germ in my hand and wonder why I picked it up. I close the fridge with the jar still in my hand.
As I walk to the cupboard, I realize I’m not hungry. I’m not hungry at all. I’m feeling. Feeling what? Who knows, I’m just feeling. I place the wheat germ in the cupboard and walk away. I pull off my shorts on the way to the bathroom. I sit down on the toilet and I pull off my shirt. I place them both on the counter. I finish going pee, wipe, and walk back through the house. I peek in my room and am relieved to see that my husband did not notice my absence.
I walk into our home office and sit down at the desk. I place my head on the cool wood. I still can’t figure this out. These feelings are too much. They are too confusing. Silently, I pray. God, what am I running from? I feel nothing. I haven’t felt anything from him in months. I decide that if he isn’t going to listen, I’m not going to talk to him.
Suddenly I get this picture of myself as if I were looking in from the door way. I see myself sitting at the desk with my forehead on the wood. I’m naked aside from a pair of black socks and black gloves. I watch myself look at my hands from across the room. Across the room, I look at my hands. I pull the gloves off and lay them in a drawer. What an oddity I am, walking around in just socks
and gloves. I’m glad no one is here.
I get a feeling that someone is there. I try and remain calm. I resist the urge to wheel around in my chair and stare at the window. I tell myself that believing in a creepy feeling is giving it power over me. I stand up and watch the doorway where I had been watching myself from a few minutes before. I don’t see anything, but I have a feeling that something is there. Something is there watching me. I inexplicably begin to cry.
I whisper, “God? God, is that you?” I get no tangible answer, but my chest twinges. “Please leave me! WHATEVER YOU ARE, LEAVE ME!” I do not shout, but it felt like a yell; a gasp perhaps. I whisper again, “I tried this once. I tried to follow! You were not there! You never helped me!” I still hear nothing but silence. For all I know, nothing is there. I sit back down. I tell myself I don’t want him anymore. He isn’t there anyway.
I shake my head quickly as though I am trying to get rid of a particularly ugly thought. My hands clench and unclench. I put my gloves back on and pull on the fingers, straightening them. Nervously, and somewhat out of breath, I stand and walk to my bedroom. My husband is still snoring. How unaware he is. I lie down and pull my gloves off again. This time I just toss them. Who cares where they are. Who cares.
When I wake up I am clammy. I feel awkward. As I walk to the bathroom, my husband hears me and asks me why the wheat germ is in the cupboard. I tell him I don’t know. I don’t really know, do I? I pee and follow my feet to the kitchen. I sit down at the counter and he just looks at me.
“Not going to put clothes on today?” he asks. No, No I’m not, I think. I’m not going to put anything anywhere. I’m just going to sit here. Contrary to my previous decision, I put my head on the counter. He ignores my oddness as he is prone to doing and goes on talking. “I had a funny dream last night.” He pauses a few seconds. “I was dreaming that I was standing in the bathroom looking over at the door to the office. I saw something standing there. It almost wasn’t even a person, more like a ghost...A spirit or something maybe.”
I pick my head up and look at him. “Did it do anything?” I ask. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he says, as if a spirit standing by the door is ordinary. “It just kind of looked in that room for a few minutes. I got the feeling it wanted something.” I was a little creeped out and a little awed. I was pretty sure that the spirit thing was God. And he wanted me. I wonder why he didn’t say anything.
My husband looked at me. He knew I understood something he hadn’t. “What happened last night?” I didn’t know what to say, so I just said as much as I could. “I-I had a feeling yesterday. Just a feeling. I didn’t know what to make of it, but it made me restless. I had to run.” “And?” he probed. I told him about sitting in the room and my out-of-body experience. He just looked at me for a minute, then he spoke, “Do you think-” I cut him off. “No, I don’t think it was God.” He looked at me and blinked.
I walk out of the room and make my way back to the bedroom. I climb under the covers distinctly knowing that God had called out to me last night; and this morning. Instead of peace, I feel anger. Anger, malice and spite.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I hiss to the air. “You weren’t there when I wanted you, and now you’re here offering me something? What am I supposed to do?” I look around the room and receive no response. I look down at my covers and feel my heart harden. I feel cold. I feel angry. “I’m not coming to you without some type of feedback. I’m sorry, I can’t keep chasing the wind like this,” I speak to him roughly. Surprisingly, he still doesn’t answer. I roll my eyes.
I turned him down that day. I haven’t sought him out since. Now I hope that someday he comes chasing me again. Maybe I’ll have the strength not to run.
Thoughts from an Unpublished Author
My name is Kasandra, and yes, it is spelled with a "K" and a single "S."
I have been writing as a hobby for about 5 years now, and I continue to use it as an outlet for my extreme emotions. A few years ago I decided that I wanted to become an author, and so I have begun my journey. I believe that I will eventually get published and make some money, mainly due to the fact that I'm awesome and can do anything I want. That's been my outlook on my life since I was about 5 years old; when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I bodly told people, "I am an artist." And so I was. And here I am, still doing just that. I'll keep my bio short because I know that most of you don't care who I am or where I came from, so I'll leave it at that.
I have been writing as a hobby for about 5 years now, and I continue to use it as an outlet for my extreme emotions. A few years ago I decided that I wanted to become an author, and so I have begun my journey. I believe that I will eventually get published and make some money, mainly due to the fact that I'm awesome and can do anything I want. That's been my outlook on my life since I was about 5 years old; when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I bodly told people, "I am an artist." And so I was. And here I am, still doing just that. I'll keep my bio short because I know that most of you don't care who I am or where I came from, so I'll leave it at that.
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