tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81398402938161794762024-03-04T23:13:11.019-08:00And I Feel AliveUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger186125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-12372404481306316812016-01-24T21:36:00.000-08:002016-01-24T21:36:13.255-08:00A return. Almost 3 years ago I wrote what is probably my most popular post. (see <a href="http://marezie.blogspot.com/2013/05/prone-to-wander-lord-i-feel-it.html">here</a>)<br />
<br />
At the time I was someone else entirely. A little lost, a little confused. A little unsure of what the heck to do next.<br />
Would I go on a mission? Find someone to marry? Get my masters? Or even finish my undergrad?<br />
Would I be lost forever? Would I continuously feel like I'm wandering?<br />
<br />
I have always taken comfort in my favorites lines of my favorite hymn:<br />
<br />
Prone to wander.<br />Lord, I feel it.<br />Prone to leave the God I love.<br />
Here's my heart<br />Oh, take and seal it.<br />Seal it for Thy courts above.<br />
<br />
I remember the day I wrote that post. I was humming the song over and over again. The lines repeated in my mind. A prayer of sorts. <i>Oh Lord, I am so prone to leave you. But here's my heart, please take it and seal it to you. Don't let me go. Don't let me go.</i><br />
<br />
Today I find myself in the same mindset, the same prayer echoing out to Him. The song is on repeat in my mind, my heart beating in rhythm with it.<br />
<br />
But I am not the same as I was.<br />
<br />
At the time I needed to be okay with not knowing.<br />
I was unsure, and terrified of what that meant. And I just needed to breathe, and tell myself over and over again that it was okay to wander, and that no matter where I wandered, I would eventually end up in the right place. I needed to believe that it was okay that my testimony sometimes wavered. I needed to believe that it was okay that sometimes my faith lacked and sometimes I had no idea where I stood with Him.<br />
<br />
Today I don't feel that.<br />
My testimony no longer wavers like it used to. I don't have days where I think God must not be real. I do still struggle with my faith in timing, but it's no longer that I worry He won't take care of me but more that I worry that I won't take care of myself.<br />
<br />
So here I am 3 years later singing the same lines, and they have an entirely different meaning.<br />
I am so prone to wander, as we all are. But I can no longer wander aimlessly. I no longer believe that wandering will get me were I am supposed to be. There needs to be a path. A direction I am heading. And I need to know where I face.<br />
<br />
We are so prone to wander. We are so prone to leave. It is our nature to second guess, to doubt, to be so, so scared of what is to come.<br />
And that is okay. Really.<br />
It is okay if you are still wandering right now, or if you wander around for years. If it takes you a while to figure out what the heck is going on, that's fine.<br />
But eventually you need to stop and look at the direction you're facing and make sure it's where you want to end up. And if it's not, turn around and wander some more until you find the right one. But don't wander forever. Don't let your natural instincts take over and waste your life away. What we are prone to do is not always what we are meant to do.<br />
<br />
I am prone to wander, and I am always finding myself wandering a little bit. But I know now where I am heading. And that is the best knowledge I have ever had.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-6132886274051427092014-09-05T00:13:00.001-07:002014-09-05T00:13:23.573-07:00"It's going to be okay." <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"It's going to be okay." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I know that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I know that tomorrow the sun will rise and I will wake up and I will go to work and I will feel things both good and bad in the moments before I sleep again and then it will repeat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There will be hard days and there will be good days. There will be boys who make me cry myself to sleep and there will be boys who make me want to stay up all night talking. There will be moments of completely desperation and hopeful moments. Moments where my Savior makes his presence know. And moments when He will pull back a bit and let me feel it instead. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And sometimes I cannot tell which moments are the more important ones to me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The moments when things feel perfect or the moments when I ache all over?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The moments when my Savior holds me or the moments when He asks me to just try to remember what that feels like instead? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I know these moments are fleeting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Oh how I have been taught this year how fleeting every moment actually is. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One day you are 15 and scared to kiss someone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One day you are 21 and scared to look to see if there's a second little pink line. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One day you are awake and alive and laughing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One day you are gone and you've left people in a pile of destruction behind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One day you are kissing while the sun does down behind you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One day you are alone in your bedroom with the lights out, crying. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And just like the other days, one day this will be gone. A memory. Maybe not even a significant enough moment to make the category of a memory. So much of your life will go un-noted. This feeling. This moment. This situation. This day. This might not even make the cut. One day, this may be gone. A feeling your mind won't cling to anymore. More important things will come up, take it's place. More important things will attach themselves to your soul and you will no longer have time to waste thinking about how you felt that one night when you could hardly breathe. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And it will be okay. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It's always going to be okay. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Okay isn't some distant thing, far off in the horizon. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Okay is found multiple times, in many different places. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In the midst of the hardest day of your life, there will be tender mercies. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There will be people who will bake you food so that you don't have to. There will be friends who buy you 30 pounds of chocolate that you don't need. There will be notes left on windshields as encouragement. There will be people who will call you beautiful. There will be life around you. There will be flowers blooming in weird places and clouds shaped like horses. There will be classes that get cancelled. There will be movement, and progress. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Okay is found in those things. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It will be okay. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And it will be okay tomorrow. It will be okay tomorrow maybe 4 or 5 times. And then the next day maybe 3 times. And then the next day 8 times. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It will be okay so many times one day that it might finally outweigh the not-okay again someday. </span><br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-11908125599093772092014-02-23T21:24:00.000-08:002014-02-23T21:24:46.533-08:00An echo from another time, another place.<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Sometimes (all the time) I think about what I will forget. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm really bothered by the idea that I go throughout full days, living my life, and then weeks from now or maybe even just days, I won't remember 90% of what I did today. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This action. Right here. My fingers on these keys and the way head itches and the way I'm looking at the room trying to think of what to type... I won't remember it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I think about this all the time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm obsessed with what I will forget. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I know on Tuesday I woke up, took a caffeine pill, went to spinning, came home, showered, and made a smoothie. But I don't remember if waking up was hard that day or what we did in spinning or what exactly was in that smoothie. I don't remember what it tasted like or if my muscles relaxed instantly in the shower or if I was relieved to be able to lay down finally after class. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I remember my life in snap shots, as I think most of us do. And it bothers me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But then there are weeks like this last one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And days like today. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Where I realize that it's sometimes better to not remember every detail. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I hope that on my death bed I won't be bothered by the fact that I don't remember what I did on the 11th of May when I was 14, though that bothers me slightly now. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But instead I hope I'll remember the important parts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I hope I will remember watching a close friend marry the love of her life</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I hope I remember the first time I read Harry Potter and how much it made me want to write. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And then the movie premiers I went to with my friends. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The nights spent with a best friend in the Fred Myers parking lot. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Winco runs at 3 in the morning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Singing (and sometimes talking to friends instead) in a choir. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The time a friend brought me mini Saltines and general conference talks because my heart hurt.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I hope I remember that one time I bought 30 pounds of chocolate and watched Boy Meets World for 4 hours instead of doing homework so that a friend wouldn't be alone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I hope I remember that my 90% of my life was forgotten in a haze of the mundane. And I hope I finally come to terms with that and realize that it's okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I hope I accept that forgotten 90% as just a bunch of stepping stones to the next big memory. Things that don't actually matter all that much leading to the things I'll never be able to forget.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I hope I remember that my life was beautiful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Because it is. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-23247259869273876772013-12-23T22:10:00.003-08:002013-12-23T22:11:55.837-08:00Some Writing. <span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">I wanted to return to you. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">As I closed my eyes I pictured everything I could remember about you. Your hair. Your smile. The shirt you were wearing. The way you smelled. Your arms around me. Your laugh. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">I pictured everything until you were almost there. Just almost within reach… </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">I wanted to grab your hand. I wanted to follow you into warmth of my mind. I wanted you to lead me through the narrow hallways and the too small rooms and the places with no light. I wanted to walk through the movie theaters full of my memories and I wanted you to close my eyes when it got to the bad parts. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">I wanted to watch you walk. I wanted to walk after you, a few steps behind. I wanted to let you wander on your own but then I wanted to find you later sitting in a stairwell with a friend, laughing and telling stories. I wanted to walk up and sit with you and say nothing. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">I wanted to think you were real. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">And then it got to the point where I couldn’t figure out how you’re not. I’m infinitely clever but I do not believe I could have created the way you smelled or the way your hair fell on your forehead. If I created you, then I would know your story; you wouldn’t be so fascinating. Your laugh wouldn’t have mesmerized me. You couldn't have said, touched, thought things that I never considered before. You’d be just another part of me that I already knew. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">So I wanted to follow you. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">I wanted to know who you were and how you got in to my mind. I needed to know what trapped you there, both because I wanted to let you free and because I needed to know how to reinforce it.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">But mostly I wanted to return to you. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.59375px;">To fall asleep and find you over and over again.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-14731316808665982722013-12-18T22:52:00.002-08:002013-12-20T23:56:46.805-08:00you were supposed to keep the disease between you and me. I have a memory of something that never happened.<br />
Blood splattered on tile and someone, anyone, crying, kneeling in it.<br />
Me, behind them, arms around the shoulders, shifting razors away slowly so that they won't notice.<br />
Bandaging them up. Telling them it's going to be okay.<br />
And I've had this memory for as long as I can remember.<br />
And it's never happened.<br />
Maybe I dreamed it once. Maybe I have heared one too many suicide threats that my mind built a memory out of the fear they brought.<br />
Maybe I just need to save you.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-73663970902910988762013-11-28T21:54:00.000-08:002013-11-28T22:29:47.555-08:00EndingsIf even for a second someone starts talking about school this week I am first to jump up and list off all of the homework I have to do over this Thanksgiving break. Which is a lot. While working full time. While trying to fit in friends that are home for break. While dealing with car problems. While making time for family. It's extremely overwhelming.<br />
<div>
Seriously. I've had no less than four panic attacks about it already. And have I even started the three papers I have to do this week? Of course not. Which means I have three papers to do within the next three days. Joy. </div>
<div>
I often get just so... overwhelmed. I get so hung up on all of these little things that I am stressing about and life just seems awful when I do that. </div>
<div>
But today... This Thanksgiving I am so extremely grateful that things end. </div>
<div>
I know that sounds weird. But it's the truth. </div>
<div>
I am SO grateful that in the next three weeks, after five papers, one workshop, one revision, four finals, and a lot of crying.... it will all be over. This extremely busy semester will just be done. </div>
<div>
I am so grateful that even though this year started off terrible and my dad broke his hip and then had to get his kidney removed because of cancer and it was SCARY... it ended. And my dad is fine and the surgeries are over and the fear is gone and everything is fine now that that's done. </div>
<div>
I am so grateful that after 17 days of self torture, I finished a book. </div>
<div>
I am so grateful that even though I got hit by a car and I didn't get my new car for a month because of repairs, the repairs are done. (mostly... just gotta take it in one more time!) </div>
<div>
I am so grateful today that all of the stresses, terribly classes, bad relationships, horrible heartbreaks, numbing fear, huge projects, periods of lost faith.... End. </div>
<div>
Today I'm full of gratitude. </div>
<div>
Today I know things are going to be okay. Because all bad things end eventually. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-57319434204603817522013-11-09T00:17:00.001-08:002013-11-09T00:17:41.294-08:0020,000 words. <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm 20,000 words in with my latest novel and as I reach the halfway mark I feel half empty. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Not fully. Just almost half empty. Like all I have in me is words and I threw 20,000 of them at a blank screen and left them there, leaving their places empty inside of me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm 20,000 words in with my latest novel and I feel like the most real parts of me have been hidden underneath those 20,000 words and now they're unearthed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Like all of that anxiety and self hatred and those dreams and hopes and plans and repressed memories and all that love was always there but buried underneath 20,000 words. Just waiting for me to find it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm 20,000 words in with my latest novel and I feel alone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Like for the last year there have been voices in my head telling me a story and now I'm 30,000 words away from putting them completely on paper, giving them a home, and they won't be here anymore. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm 20,000 words in with my latest novel and I have spent so much time already forming and creating and planning these people and this world and everything about them that I have forgotten who I am. I am 20,000 words closer to realizing that I've never known who I am without these made up people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I don't know how to handle the real world. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-1294746464185623102013-09-23T23:13:00.001-07:002013-09-23T23:13:10.527-07:00For now. It's midnight on a school night and I'm staying up to write a post because I'm a 21 year old college student who doesn't know what she's doing.<br />
<br />
Being 21 sorta feels like being blindfolded and shoved in a group of people who are all walking in different directions and having to pick one.<br />
There's people all around me moving quickly and there's people moving very very slow and there's people who are walking in circles and there's people who are screaming at the top of their lungs as they go and... and it's like a constant buzz. A constant slew of directions to take and people to follow and advice being thrown at me.<br />
And I have no idea where I'm going.<br />
I just have a blindfold on and I'm just sorta walking.<br />
I wish I had some sort of advice or words of knowledge or just <i>something </i>to pull from this and share with you.<br />
I wish I could say that walking blindfolded is okay and everyone is doing it and you'll figure it out one day.<br />
But uh, I'm walking blindfolded. So for all I know, I'm about to walk off a cliff.<br />
<br />
For now, I thiiiink it's okay. I think most everyone is doing it. And I think you'll figure it out one day.<br />
If not, I'll meet you at the bottom of that cliff.<br />
But I guess, at least you're walking. Right?<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-62478647724249239542013-07-07T22:48:00.002-07:002013-07-07T22:48:16.146-07:00Smiling in Winco (and why you should do it)<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The other week, I went to Winco and there was this lady pushing a cart. A little girl next to her, whom I assume was her daughter, reached up to take her hand. She grabbed it for a moment and the mom shook it off, looking extremely miserable. The little girl just looked up at her and looked so, SO sad while her mom just continued walking, not even looking down at her.<br />And after months of feeling pretty okay and happy and like I have control of my life, I felt like the world was so much sadder than I ever thought it was before.<br />I walked through Winco after that just hoping I'd see a happy face there. And, I mean, it's Winco, not Disneyland, so I wasn't expecting pure joy or anything like that. But maybe just a small smile after finding the perfect bananas or a slight laugh when the person you just passed made a joke about the meat or just... something. I just needed something to show me that the world wasn't so sad.<br />And I didn't get that. Instead I saw couples yelling at each other over which oatmeal to get and husband and wife walking ten feet away from each other and grown men making fun of their teenage sons who kept begging them to not do this is public. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">By the time I got back to my car, I was so sad it was hard for me to breathe. And I know that sounds ridiculous but I'm also the girl who cried during The Incredibles once, so it's not like it takes a lot to push me over the edge.<br />And since then, I haven't really figured out how to forget about this. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It's like, I'm there one second having this great time with my great friends, and the next second my mind is like, "No wait Maren remember Winco?" and suddenly my heart hurts.<br />There's just so much sadness in the world that I can't fix and I don't know how to just accept that. With my ridiculous and constant need to help people and give advice and make sure people are happy, I don't know how to deal when I can't do it all.<br />And then it hit me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm one of those people. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">While I'm walking through Winco looking for a smiling face, I'm not smiling. If there was someone else walking through Winco right then noticing all the sad things I was noticing and praying to see one happy person, I wasn't that person for them. I was just another sad face. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And maybe this is what they mean when they talk about the domino effect.<br />Maybe all we need to change is ourselves. Maybe I don't actually need to fix everything, maybe I just need to be that one smiling face for the other people out there like me. (Except I'm starting to think I'm just insane, I dunno.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But really. Maybe that's it.<br />Maybe if you just smile you'll make someone else smile and then you're not the only one in the room smiling. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I guess... I guess I don't know if this is what I really learned from this, or at all what I was supposed to learn. I've figured out a few other things about myself because of this too, actually. And I don't know which thing I learned was "right" or anything. But I'm just going to put this out there because if I go to Winco and you see me there, I want you to know that I need you to smile at me so that I don't feel consumed with all the sadness in the world for a week after.<br />That's all. </span><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-22530498653989227532013-05-26T21:50:00.000-07:002013-05-26T21:50:18.259-07:00Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it. <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Prone to leave the God I love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Here's my heart, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Oh, take and seal it.<br />Seal it for thy courts above. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel so lost and so everywhere at once that things get... confusing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There's all these questions about who I am and where I'm going and what I even want to do with my life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">On one hand, I know the answer to all of those questions. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">On the other hand, I'm constantly wondering what if I'm wrong. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Because there's so many places to go and people to meet and jobs to take and words to write and things to learn, how am I ever supposed to know if I'm in the right place? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I think we put too much pressure on knowing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We spend too much time asking people what their major is or what school they're going to or how their love life is or what types of jobs they want or where they see themselves in ten years or when they are putting in their mission papers or when they are planning on having kids and things such as. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And we spend hardly any time asking about dreams and feelings and the complete absurdness of it all. The complete <b>lack </b>of knowing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Why aren't we comfortable with not knowing? Why aren't we comfortable with the idea that what I want and love today might be 100% different when I wake up tomorrow? Maybe I simply don't know what I'm doing at all. Maybe I'm just sorta doing it.<br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And maybe this isn't just about whether I'm going to go for my masters after I finish my undergraduate or if I'm gonna join the peace corps or if I'm gonna get married or if I'm gonna serve a mission or whatever. Maybe I'm unsure about a lot more things than what I'm going to do tomorrow. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Maybe my testimony isn't always a sure thing.<br />Maybe my love for God isn't always a sure thing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Maybe my faith in God's plan isn't always a sure thing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Maybe I have no idea where I stand in His eyes and maybe tomorrow I'll be a saint and maybe two months from now I will be crying and praying and wondering who I am. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And why aren't we okay with that?<br />Why do we get uncomfortable when people tell us that they don't know? That they've faltered, fallen off the wagon, were never totally sure? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And then why do we try to explain it and make sense of it?<br />If someone comes to you and says, "I don't know if God exists today," you don't need to question it. You don't need to make sense of it. Because things like that don't always make sense. Sometimes there's no reason. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We are prone to wander. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We are prone to be confused. About anything and everything. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Things don't always make sense and they don't need to. We don't need plans and structures and timelines set up for us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We just need to live this messy life and be confused sometimes and know exactly what we're doing other times. We need to change identities on a sometimes weekly basis.<br />And most of all, what we need is to know that this is okay. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And that in the end, we will always end up exactly where we are meant to be. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Just wander, and you'll get there. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-26682101392466600872013-05-20T21:46:00.002-07:002013-05-20T21:47:05.285-07:00On being forgotten. <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There are some people that just walk into my life and the moment I meet them I know that I will never be the same again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It's not like things change right then, but over time, they kinda just ruin everything. They take things I've known all my life and make them in to something entirely different.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It's things like french fries and NyQuil and rubber-bands. Places like stairwells and seminary buildings and drama sheds.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And then they just kinda leave. Not all at once, just, you know, they slowly fade away. And that's just a part of life. One moment they are teaching you that you should never wear brown shoes with a black jacket and then the next thing you know it's five years since he said it and two years since he died. Time passes and the people who changed everything are just sorta gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I think, sometimes, I spend too much time thinking about them. I just spend all of this time thinking about how they changed everything and now they are gone and I think that they probably don't even remember me. I'm just little insignificant Maren. It happens all too often that I'm walking through Walmart one day and I see a face of someone who hugged me when I was sad in the hallway one time and instead of saying hi, I look down and decide not to bother them. Not because I don't love them still, but because I think they've forgotten me and how awkward would that be to have to remind them of everything when it meant so much to me?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Of course this isn't exactly logical. But don't we all sorta do this to some extent? Convince ourselves that everyone else can make these huge differences in our lives but we can't do anything to theirs?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Wouldn't it be interesting to know who you've changed though?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Just for a moment I want you to realize that there are probably people who think about you on a weekly, if not daily, basis. They tell stories of you and laugh about the good times. They stalk your facebook occasionally to make sure you're alright. They miss you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You're not just someone who remembers everyone and was forgotten.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">People leave, but that doesn't mean they forget.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Sometimes you walk into someone's life and they just know they will never be the same again.</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-48542961943569000892013-03-10T22:09:00.002-07:002013-03-10T22:09:40.155-07:00Did you think this would all be much easier than it's turned out to be? <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">So here I am.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">just like always. </span><br />
Wondering, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">like always, </span>when it will be my turn.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Dear love of my life, </span><br />
Hurry. I want to love you.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I want you to know how much I already do</span>.<br />
<strike><span style="font-size: xx-small;">please.</span></strike><br />
Love,<br />
Maren.<br />
<strike><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-72130153178448678772013-03-04T22:58:00.002-08:002013-03-04T22:58:36.031-08:00left over wordsAnd what if I ran out of words years ago but I keep pulling from my piles and piles of already used thank you's and I'm sorry's and hello's and nice to meet you's and I love you's and goodbye's?<br />
What if you're only getting hand-me-downs out of every word I speak, nothing original, nothing meant for you, nothing fitting just right?<br />
What if I hand you a "hello" with a hole in the side, only big enough for a finger to fit in but that you're still able to see right through?<br />
What if the "you look good today" doesn't fit in the shoulders, almost there but you just need to grow, gain a pound or two to fit in it like he used to?<br />
What if the "I'm alright" looks like everyone in the town has thrown it on the ground and stomped on it before returning it to me, moments before giving it to you?<br />
And what if I ran out of any original words and thoughts and emotions to give you? What if I'm using the left overs, the stuff no one wanted, the stuff they gave back?<br />
Would you take it anyway?<br />
What if it's all I have, and I want to give it only to you?<br />
Can you wear a torn and sewn back together "I love you"?<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-15088595539061995842013-03-03T22:03:00.001-08:002013-03-03T22:03:05.746-08:00And what if I'm still here? What if, when it all comes down to it, I'm still standing in the same place as I was 3 years ago?<br />
While everyone else walks on, passing glances, momentary visits, hurrying off to where they need to be, and I'm still here.<br />
Because I'm too scared to go anywhere else.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">but what if once upon a time I felt like this was where I was supposed to be and how do I go against that so close to the end when I have no desire to be anywhere else?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">what if I'm just freaking out because I feel like you're looking at me as the girl who never moved.? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>maybe I am just the girl who never moved.</b></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-63647693458825965612013-02-06T00:02:00.003-08:002013-02-06T00:02:45.087-08:00How to be broken Revision (AKA How to be happy) <br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">
So here I sit. Completely... happy. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">
You know, I knew it would be alright. I knew it would be the most trying thing thrown at me thus far in my life, and I knew I would get through it. I could feel it in every fiber of my being while I prayed. I guess, I just had this undying hope that it would happen sooner, faster. And that hope consumed me.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">
So here I am to write it out. And the "how to" format seems to have escaped me for two years now as I look at the keyboard. How could I talk about the lessons I learned as if it were simple enough to write a guide to? I couldn't, and can't still, explain any of it accurately enough. I don't even know how to describe it. Where would I start? Would I begin with explaining what it's like to think the Lord has abandoned you completely? Or do I begin by first explaining the answers I received much later? Or maybe I could just start explaining the way it feels to sit in a car and pray and pray and wonder when the answers are going to come or the love is going to be felt or the trial is going to be over. See what I mean? I have no idea where to start.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">
I've cried harder than I've ever thought possible. I've hurt more than I thought I would.<br />And I wouldn't take any of it back.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">
Now, don't get me wrong. Yes, I probably hated it at the time. That's usually how it goes. Although, I don't anymore. Not like I used to. But I understand now how it worked for my life. How it aided the overall plan. But there's something about the way it felt that nothing else had ever felt like before. Like part of me was missing. I thought maybe it was my left leg. Then realized that no, maybe just the left lung. That's what was making it hard to breathe. But in reality, it was my testimony that was missing. My faith in His plan. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">
I did learn something from it then. That I'm my own person and I should rely on myself and no one else. That life moves on. That the Lord knows what He's doing. That faith is all it takes sometimes. That time passes even when you don't move. That life is lived better outside of my bed.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">
I didn't feel like I was learning anything except for that I would never be good enough. But I've reached that level of goodness that I want in my life. Not perfect, no. But a level I'm content with now and a level that is a good enough foundation.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">
So yeah. I moved on. But I didn't want to. I wanted to miss everything. I want to feel it. I wanted my life to stand still. <br />But that was my time to be sad. So heartbreakingly sad. (My computer still thinks heartbreakingly isn't a word. I'm still fairly sure it is.) But I was on the mend without even knowing. Life moves on.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">
And for now, I'm gonna go crawl in bed and dream of days that are waiting on my horizon. And when I wake up, I promise to appreciate every moment that I breathe a thousand times more than I did today. But if I forget my promise... I'll repeat this process again tomorrow night. Maybe one day I'll remember that I am loved. <br />And I am happy. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #020202; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-34448674324068684652013-01-02T23:28:00.000-08:002013-01-02T23:28:36.565-08:00Understanding the way someone else's heart breaks. <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I want to talk about everything.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Sometimes, I want to sit down with someone and tell them my life story. Tell them everything, just to make them understand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The nice thing about friends is that they already know most of it. So when something happens now, they should understand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The terrible thing about friends is that they don't really know. It's not enough.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">When a heart is broken... it's very individualized.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No one situation is exactly the same as another. If my heart has been broken, it's not the same as yours.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So when people try to hand out advice, it's easy to turn your head, roll your eyes, and nod. Because it's almost like you could talk all day, explaining every single detail about how you feel and what led up to that and how you think you're going to feel tomorrow and all the little details but no one is going to understand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">They'll nod and they'll cry with you and they will say "When I went through something similar..." and then try to give you advice. But that advice isn't going to work for you. Not always.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Almost two years ago I sat right here in this exact place with this exact light on with this exact computer under my fingertips and I typed out my heart break. And almost every day for a few months after that I sat right here and wrote.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I wrote to make people understand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But not just any people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I wanted my friends to understand in a way that I couldn't express through talking. I wanted them to read it and just get it and know what to say and how to say it and how to fix me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I wanted there to be someone like me in the world. I wanted someone to google something and run in to my blog and spend all night reading it and then message me and say "I'm going through the same exact thing." Then we could talk for hours and everything would feel okay because I wouldn't be alone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>"You know how in Once Upon a Time they take out people's hearts and crush them?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Yes. Yes I do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I imagine I know what it feels like. All the little stages. The moment right before when everything is fine. The moment when you're facing the terrible situation and know what's going to happen. The moment the hand is in your chest and is about to rip your heart out. The moment it's out, beating at someone else's mercy. And the moment they squeeze it, just enough to have you on your knees.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Here's the thing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No one understands. Not like you want them to or need them to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No one does and no one will.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But here's what you have to understand: Everyone knows.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A heartbreak is still a heartbreak. The stages are the same.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Whether your heart is broken because the world is evil or because you may lose a sick loved one or you're dealing with a death or because you lost the only love you want. It is the same at the core.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And people pull through it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Two years ago I explained it by saying that I felt as though I had lost a lung. You know, you can live with one lung. But it's uncomfortable, not easy. And it takes a while to get used to. It takes a while to figure out how to get enough air, how to live with one lung when you used to have two. How to get enough oxygen to your brain. How to function normally.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I don't feel like that anymore. But I did for a long time. I felt as if I couldn't walk as fast as I was once able. I couldn't dream far enough. I couldn't live deep enough. All I could focus on was breathing with my one lung.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And it was okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I don't know who exactly is reading this. I get a weird variety of people on this blog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But I need you to know, whoever you are, that you are going to be okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I need you to know that breathing is hard at first. Living is hard at first. And that's okay. Focus on that, learn how to simply breathe again. And then maybe next, focus on walking faster. And then after you have both of those down, focus on running again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A heartbreak is a heartbreak.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Don't expect too much of yourself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Don't expect to understand it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Just focus on breathing.</span><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-61746229603286921532012-12-09T22:05:00.000-08:002012-12-09T22:05:03.240-08:0011 days post-NaNoWriMo. AKA I can finally write again so here you go. Hello again!<br />
I took a break from my blog for a while, which isn't nearly as uncommon and as I would like lately.<br />
But this break was <b>big</b>.<br />
Because this break wasn't caused by my being lazy and not wanting to write. This break was caused by me being so busy with writing (and still not wanting to write...) !!!<br />
This break was not really a break at all. It was an abandon everything you know in life and work harder and write more than ever month.<br />
Yes. That's right.<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I wrote a book. </span></b><br />
Starting November 1st, midnight, and ending November 28th, around ten ish at night. I wrote a book.<br />
I'm not lying. I wrote 50,000 words in 28 days. Seriously.<br />
Okay, so you probably don't doubt me. All of the "I'm not lying"s and "seriously"s are mostly for me. I still feel quite a bit in awe over the whole thing.<br />
"Did I do that? What? I wrote a book? haha noooo."<br />
But really. It was.... It was a lot of things.<br />
1. It was exhausting.<br />
2. It hurt my social lie more than I would like.<br />
3. It killed my normal sleep pattern.<br />
4. It made me not watch Doctor Who as often.<br />
5. It made me stop reading. Period.<br />
6. It made me cry.<br />
7. It made me think I'm the worst writer in the world.<br />
8. It made me think I'm the best writer in the world.<br />
9. It filled me with some weird evangelical zeal.<br />
10. It made me go insane.<br />
and.... Yeah. That's a pretty good list. Covers just about all of my weird feelings for the month of November.<br />
It had plot wholes bigger than earth itself, characters with zero personality, random deaths simply because I hated everything, and typos as if I were writing as a 6th grader. Actually, that's a really good description. If someone tried to read it now, they would think it was a really bad 6th grader fanfiction of something. <br />
This is actually the first thing I have written for myself, not for school, since then. Which is kinda a long time.<br />
It was the most exhausting, draining thing I've ever done. I still get nervous and my heart speeds up uncomfortably when I think about it.<br />
But at the same time...<br />
<b>I finished.</b><br />
I really did it.<br />
And that is enough to make me happy.<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">“</span><span class="quote" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 19px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;">There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">”</span><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="background-color: white; border-collapse: collapse; border-width: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 10px; outline: none 0px; text-align: left; width: 100%px;"><tbody style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;">
<tr style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;"><td style="border-width: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 20px; width: 1px;" valign="top">—</td><td class="quote_source" style="border-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px;" valign="top">Ernest Hemingway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-84665521145016620822012-10-18T23:15:00.000-07:002012-10-18T23:15:18.462-07:00this is beautiful.And although I may be more unsure about everything right now,<br />
I still feel more confident about the way my life is being handled than I have been in a very long time.<br />
And this...<br />
This is beautiful.<br />
(Even if I'm depressed.)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-55874582560220954362012-10-13T23:30:00.001-07:002012-10-13T23:30:07.172-07:00The way things go.<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">With the way my life has turned, flipped, fell over lately, I have felt like this blog didn't fit me anymore. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And it doesn't. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Not really. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Not the way it used to. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I debated deleting it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I debated starting over from scratch. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I debated deleting just some posts and leaving important ones. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I debated starting a new blog and leaving this one to collect dust. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I even started a new blog (then abandoned that one as well).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ultimately I just decided to stop posting at all (or as often). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So for the last few months (actually pretty close to a year...) I have kept Blogger on my 3rd tab open, always open. And occasionally I'd switch over to it, check my stats, read through a few blogs I follow, then switch back to Facebook, Tumblr, Dr. Who...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Even more rare, I'd open a new post, sit here, type something like "ekjhdfshs" then exit out and pretend it never happened. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Last night, I blogged and it felt good. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But it felt weird, because it's like I'm trying to hold on to the way I used to do things but that doesn't fit anymore so what am I even doing, really. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ah. My life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And so here I am. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I have decided that instead of deleting anything, I'm going to put all those posts that would have been deleted in the back of my mind. I'm going to pretend they didn't happen except for on those rare nights that I have to remind myself what I've come form. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And instead of abandoning this blog completely, I'm going to abandon the way this blog has been set. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No more "How to" format/title. (Unless it actually fits...)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No more... Well you get the picture. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Hopefully things will be different now, and I can still blog without forgetting this blog. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Note to self: This is a good change. This is the way things go. This is the way life goes. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-73381914376458071842012-10-13T00:05:00.000-07:002012-10-13T00:05:06.627-07:00How to Imagine. <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I imagine we stood in line one time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We stood in line in the pre mortal world. And we waited. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Slowly, we made our way up to the front.<br />Up to where our Father was. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And we watched him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We watched him give out words of warning. Last minute hugs. Quick reminders. Expressions of love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Slowly, we watched as he told everyone in front of us about who they were. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You. You're a musician. You will work well with a piano if you put your mind to it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You. You're a romantic. You will work well as a wife. As a mother. Just keep me at the front of your mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You. You're a mechanic. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You. You're a dental hygienist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You. You're believer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You. You're...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And the line moved forward. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I imagine that as we got closer, we got more nervous. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">What am I going to be? What am I? What do I have the potential for?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We knew we had a purpose. And we knew that it would fit us perfectly. But for the first time ever, we were unsure about what exactly it was. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It was scary to know that for the first time, we would be without our Father's constant companionship. We would be in a world where we remembered nothing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I imagine that as I stepped up to the front of the line, He looked at me and nodded. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I imagine that he took me in to a hug and told me that I was going to be a writer. That I had many purposes, but next to being a daughter of God, I was a writer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I nodded. Remembering the moments I spent in line being fascinated with language, and the way words sounded. The way words sounded while they poured so beautifully out of our Father's mouth. Remembering how much I had wanted to make my words sound like that, too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And it made sense.<br />And I knew that I had one shot in this world to figure that out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So I nodded. And He hugged me again. And I promised to come back. And He promised to be waiting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I imagine that I stepped through that veil with confidence. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So what happened next? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Next... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I forgot. And I got lost. And everything He said I had the potential to be was lost on me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I doubted my divinity. I doubted a plan. I doubted that there was even a Father at all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But I made a promise. And there's something sacred about promises. There's something binding about them. Something so binding that it won't ever let me stray too far. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I know that I will never be out of reach of my promise. I will never stray so far that my promise will be permanently broken. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I will return. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Because one time, I imagine my Father in Heaven hugged me and told me of my divinity. Whispered words of love. Held me and told me one last time before sending me off in to this world that I am his daughter. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I will not let him down. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-28625812146122013422012-08-16T22:07:00.001-07:002012-08-16T22:07:08.124-07:00How to get your wisdom teeth out (and still love Thursday.)<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You know what this week has been? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It's been terrible. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It has been a pay $300 for a new tires for a car you don't want anymore type of week. And a get your wisdom teeth ripped out of you type of week. And a just plain crappy week. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And so here I was, sulking. Thinking about how I feel like death. And I just want more Vicodin. And I'm just so tired. And I started to annoy myself. Like, really bad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">See, I complain a lot in the first place. More than I should. Oh well. No big deal. But this week it has just been one thing after another and another and I don't even like myself like this. It's miserable and terrible and no good. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So I sat down and decided I needed to write some things down. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It has been well over a year since I last wrote a Things I Love Thursday list. And obviously, it is much needed today. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />~I got a new scanner at work. And it works a thousand times faster than my last one. And much more efficiently. Oh I just love it!~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~My mouth is healing (slowly but still.)~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~I ate Taco Bell today. Success!~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Vicodin. Nuff said.~ </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Tumblrstake chats about weddings.~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Darady Bannister's (what's the new last name?) Wedding was yesterday! So so SO proud of her!~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~My very first friend ever, Mattea, is getting married tomorrow! (So many weddings!) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~My dear friend Heidi got engaged to the love of her life!~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Watching How I Met Your Mother for the second time through!~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~SO MUCH ICE CREAM.~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~ice packs and ramen noodles.~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Extra sleep.~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~The Mortal Instrument Series. SO wonderful. Going crazy!~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Cupcakes and Craigos.~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Last few weeks of summer. Ah. Almost school time again.~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Radical Self Love journal is almost completely full. Less than a year!~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Starting RSLB all over again.~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Sedation. How I never would have gotten through that procedure without it.~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">~Raising Hope at lunch time. Heck yes.~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And um... I think that's good for now. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So there you have it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In the midst a very bad, no good, terrible week... I'm okay. And there are still thing I can love about this crazy life I live. </span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-38429393949005415102012-08-02T23:08:00.002-07:002012-08-02T23:08:57.256-07:00For a moment.<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For a moment,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My heart is still. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The pounding stops and I lose my breath. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The wind ceases to blow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But the sun doesn't feel so terribly hot. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I feel like I'm floating. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My feet are aching to land. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This is different. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The world isn't what I always thought. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You're with me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I dream. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I wake up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You're not with me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The world is what I've always known</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This is all the same. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I've landed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The sky is way up there. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The sun burns me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And the wind makes it hard to breathe. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Everything comes back. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And my heart breaks. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But for a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You're with me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And for a moment, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I dream. </span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-31319407867046544272012-07-25T22:52:00.000-07:002012-07-25T22:52:28.878-07:00How to realize that we are killing love.<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'm scared we are killing love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Not just me. Not just you. Not just the few people who go through relationships like underwear. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I mean us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">All of us together. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We are killing love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This isn't something I say lightly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This isn't just some line in Dan in Real life. ("You are the murderer of love!")</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Nope. I'm dead serious. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I don't know how it happened either. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We grew up being spoon fed love stories. We grew up with fairy tales and romantic comedies and dating websites... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We have grown up being told constantly that love exists and that it is out there for you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">That's what the movies say. That's what we keep telling each other. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Maybe we've becoming too.... too expectant. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We want someone to write us every day for a year in hopes that our love isn't over. We want a man who will let you have the life jacket and the piece of wood to lay on while he freezes in the ocean. We want someone who will do everything they can to remind you of who you are when you've gotten in a car accident and don't remember the last few years of your life. We want someone to save us from out wicked step-sisters. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We want love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We search for it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But we want those stories. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We want the stories that make you reach for more. That make your heart just swell with love. We want the type that make other people envious. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And I think when love comes in less obvious ways.... When it just sneaks up behind you while your watching a movie with your friend. Or getting hot chocolate before class. Or when you fall down the stairs in the mall... We don't think that's enough. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Suuure it's love. But it's not a beautiful love story. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It's not like Noah and Allie. Or Jack and Rose. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This is boring. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We each want the stories we read about. Not some real life story. Not something that can happen at any given moment in the most boring way possible. We want the real deal. The fireworks in the sky while you kiss type of love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But the thing is, real love doesn't always come in those type of ways. And that's the scary part.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We don't see the beauty in the "boring" love stories as much anymore. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And we don't think they are enough. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So we reach for more. We hope for more. And we ruin what we have. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We ruin the most beautiful love story while it's in the making because it isn't like the movies </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The reason it's not like the movies, guys, is because you're killing it before you even hit the climax. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The problem does not lie in your story not being enough. The problem lies in the fact that you are lazy and don't want to work to the end. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Yes. I'm speaking to you. I'm speaking to all of us. Because I think we all have a tendency to do this. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am worried. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am worried that my children one day will grow up in a world where people get divorced after a few years because they "just fell out of love." I am worried that my children will grow up in a world where people go in to a marriage thinking "well if this does't work I can always get divorced." I am worried my children will grow up in a world where one night stands are something the people aspire to have. I am worried my children will grow up in a world much like the one I live in now. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And I'm scared it's only downhill from here. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I want to believe in love. I want to realize it can come anywhere. I want to know it isn't as glamorous as movies make it out to be. I want to be excited for the messy fights and the irreconcilable differences. I want to be excited for a love story that isn't perfect. I don't want to expect something like the movies. I don't want to waste my life looking for something better than the most amazing love story that could ever be written for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I think we are killing love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I think we are expecting too much of it and then leaving it to die on it's own. And I think we are teaching children the wrong lesson. We aren't teaching them to endure. We aren't teaching them to learn and grow from someone totally different from them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We are teaching them that love can die. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And I don't want my children to think that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Because I don't think they, or anyone, should have to live in a world that love is dying in. </span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-32264323975063689412012-07-20T19:26:00.002-07:002012-07-20T19:31:50.306-07:00Aurora, Colorado shooting and how it changed everything.<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">7/20/2012<br />I'm sure you've heard already. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">How could you not have? It's on the news. It's on the radio. It's on your facebook. It's all anyone can talk about. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">12 people died today. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">When I say that, I feel almost ridiculous. People die all the time. People are murdered more often than we'd like to admit. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But these 12 people... These 12 people are different. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Let me tell you why. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">These 12 people... They are your parents. And your best friends. And your children. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And it could have been you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Imagine with me for a second. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Imagine standing in line for 5 hours waiting for the most anticipated movie of the year. Imagine laughing with your friends and getting custom t shirts made. Imagine the movie marathons and the popcorn and the staying up late... Imagine being excited. Imagine being happy.<br />And then imagine that suddenly being taken away from you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Imagine turning to laugh with your friend about the weird couple next to you, and then the next moment watching your friend's life be ripped away from her. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Imagine telling your son to get his feet off the seat in front of him, and then the next moment screaming for his life to come back. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Imagine being embarrassed to be at movie with your mom, and then the next moment wish you could be with her again anywhere. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Imagine thinking about how much sleep you'll be able to get before work the next morning and then hearing a gun shot and wondering if it's coming in your direction. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">These 12 people are different because it's us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I had someone ask me today why I care now and why about them? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">He spouted off some statistics about the war and how many people, roughly, died yesterday at war. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And he asked why I cared about these 12 people but didn't care about the 140 that died yesterday at war. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It made me wonder. Why? Why suddenly do we care? Like I said, people die all the time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Why these 12 people? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It's because this is home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It's because this is where we are supposed to be safe and suddenly we aren't anymore. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I support and care for and pray for all of the people in the war. And when they die, it's sad. But when it's close to home like this... It shakes your world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Soldiers sign up knowing there is a risk. These 12 people didn't buy their movie tickets knowing there was a risk. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And these 12 people could have been anyone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Suddenly we realize that this could be it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">For the first time in my life, I had to face the reality that even though I walked in to that movie with 3 friends, if that had been our theater, I might have walked out with only 2. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And it could happen anywhere. At anytime. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Life is so fleeting. But we don't realize it until something like this happens. Not really. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We don't realize that when you say goodbye to your parents as they are walking out the door for their date night, that could be the last thing you ever say to them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We don't realize that when you're walking around campus with your friend, that could be the last time you ever walk with them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We don't realize that this could happen anywhere. At any time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But I think we're starting to. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I woke up this morning so angry. I got on facebook to post a status about how I was so mad to be awake. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But then as I scrolled through my news feed, I realized how lucky I was to be awake. How blessed I am. Because 12 people didn't wake up today after going to the same movie I went to. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It was far away from my home. But it could have been anywhere. It could have been my theater. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It could have been yours. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">As I think about today, I pray for the victims. For the people still in critical condition. For their families and their friends. And I pray for you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I pray that you realize how blessed you are to be breathing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">How lucky you are to have life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I pray that now... This changes you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I hope we don't forget it in a few days and then act like it never happened. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This changes everything. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This changes what you say to people. This changes how you treat the people you love. This changes what you spend your time on. This changes your life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It's devastating. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But let it change you. Let it make you better. Let it make you see how beautiful your life is. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Because it is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You were blessed enough to wake up this morning.</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8139840293816179476.post-42164131208370482722012-07-09T23:44:00.001-07:002012-07-09T23:44:14.335-07:00How to write your story.<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"Has anyone ever told you that you're a romantic?" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Yes. Yes they have. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'd call myself an extremist in the field of romantics, actually. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">See, I have this problem. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'm a story teller. I love the way stories feel. I love the way they sound and the way they look and <b>especially </b> the way it feels to create one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'm not the best writer yet. I can tell a story like no one's business but writing one is incredibly hard for me lately. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But I think them constantly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I create tragic life stories for people I see in stores that catch my eye. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I imagine where people are driving too when they seem to be in a hurry driving past me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I plan out my friend's lives the way they would be if I was the author of their lives (It's a good thing that I'm not...)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And these stories that I create, I love them. I love everything about them. And they seem perfect to me. I can figure out the ending and then I create the next persons story. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But my problem lies in my own story.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I don't know anything about my story. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But I want to. I want to figure it out. I want to know where it's going next and where it's leading ultimately. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'd like to know the climax and the resolution and all the little stories in between. But I don't. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So I make up for that by create a thousand and one possible endings. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">All it takes is me seeing an attractive guy on the street and suddenly I have my life planned out with them. If I were to meet them one day, what would happen next, and how we would end up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I have about 25 claimed future husbands and the stories that go along with each of them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I've thought of every possibility. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I imagined it and thought it through and then I set them aside while I create more endings with completely different outcomes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It's not a bad system, actually, it's just how my mind works. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But people look at it and they see a romantic. And maybe that's what I am. I'm cool with that. But it's the only way I know how to think. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And these stories for my life are wonderful and great and happy. And I love them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But only one story can come true. And it's not going to be created by me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I think that idea bothers me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I think that's why I get so frustrated when my plans fall through. Because I want to be in control. If I wrote my story, things would be perfect. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I've been hurt. And I've been confused and disillusioned and scared. And I'm not in control. And it's harder for me to let go of control than I thought it would be. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And sometimes, sometimes the romantic in me gets angry and bitter and thinks love doesn't exist or that love stories... they don't happen. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But then sometimes, a story pops in to my head. And I see the beginning and middle and end. And I laugh at myself for being so ridiculous. But it reminds me that these stories... These stories could be real. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Sometimes true love stories actually happen. They don't just exist in my mind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">None of my stories for myself have taken place. I don't really care. I'm not ready for any of them to take place anyway. And that's fine by me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But sometimes, the Lord reminds me that they could. That a true love story could pop up at any moment and take me or you by surprise. And it will be perfect.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And it could be years. I could go study abroad like I plan and come home and get my masters and then be taken by surprise. I could be 50 with 20 cats when someone just comes knocking at my door for me. Or it could be tomorrow. Or the day after that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'm just at the rising action right now. The climax hasn't hit yet. And that's okay. The story almost gets boring once the climax hits anyway. A good story builds you up to it just perfectly...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I just hope that when my story folds out, I will be taken by surprise, but I want to be able to say "I planned this all along." </span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1