Melindanicity

Fairy Tales, Facts, and Faith Like Potatoes

2012-01-10T18:09:00.000-08:00

"Cinderella lied to us. There should be a Betty Ford Center where they de-program you by putting you in an electric chair, play "Some Day My Prince Will Come," and hit you and go "Nobody's coming... Nobody's coming... Nobody's coming..."
-Judy Carter

Dear Little Girl Slipping In and Out of Pages:

When you grow up, you will love quotes like the above mentioned. You will laugh, you will roll your eyes, you will probably even put them on your blog - but you won't believe a word of them. And you shouldn't. Because someone is coming.

You will learn to relish getting your heart broken because that experience is twenty times more pleasant than breaking someone else's.

You will laugh one minute and cry the next. Dance and then fall absolutely, remotely, still. Babble on for ages and then slide into impenetrable silence.

And speaking of that word impenetrable - it will never be used to describe your heart or your head and always used to describe that relentless iron will of yours. You will love absolutely everyone that lets you just as fiercely as you stand by your ironclad decisions.

Sometimes the decisions will not turn out so well. Sometimes the loving won't either.

You will always read books. In fact, you just might write them.

Boys will sign their letters with the phrase "forever yours."

The dictionary definition of "forever" is: "Everlasting time, eternally, at all times, incessantly."

Boy's sometimes define it as: "Until Saturday."

You will forgive them.

You will wonder what the phrase "faith like potatoes" means but you will accept it regardless of understanding because you think you might be allowed to have potatoes during your Daniel's fast - if you eat them raw or something.

Prince Charming will pump your gas, open your doors, dance with you to the radio, cherish and pray for you, make you breakfast every Thursday, and inform you that "He still loves you - even if you're not his Cinderella." (Payton Rae sings our song - it's linked.)

Life will not make sense, love will not make sense, people will not make sense, God will not make sense, and all of those things will be wonderful.

You will listen to genres on end but none will ever truly compete with country music. And no matter how much you love sushi and cities - the same will probably be said for country boys - although negotiations will not be closing on that for quite some time.

That childhood best friend that used to send you letters typed out in Old English and French poetry that you could not decipher - the one person who truly stuck with you most of your life - will call you to tell of his upcoming nuptials. His voice will be sunshine and you will cry, then laugh, then cry again. Because happiness is a good solid love story acted out in real life.

You will watch The Bachelor and ponder the idea of randomly handing various males through out the school a single red rose and expressing to them that they have "Made it to the next round!" Congratulations.

You will express these plans to your best friend and she will think you're brilliant likes it's her job - even though you aren't and it isn't.

You'll wish you were half as vibrant as she is.

You will remember the time you watched The Scarlet Letter even though you should not have. (You love your Hawthorne.) And how Hester remarks to Mr. Dimsdale:

"Your sermon was compelling. It's rare to see a man so young speak with such passion." (Or something like that.) And his emotionally charged reply:

"It seems I was strangely inspired this morning."

And you will suddenly understand exactly what it means without having the faintest idea what on earth the understanding means.

But you won't think about that. You won't think about much of anything. Because you'll come to realize - that's okay sometimes.

Then you'll probably call Austin (because that's what you do these days) or walk a couple of miles (because you've also been doing that these days.)

Sometimes you surprise yourself.

And sometimes life surprises you.

All is inevitably glorious,

Goodnight.

There's a Christ in "Christmas"

2011-12-24T12:31:00.000-08:00

"We stutter and we stammer 'til You say us
A symphony of chaos 'til You play us
Phrases on the pages of unknown
'Til You read us into poetry and prose
We are kept and we are captive 'til You free us
Vaguely unimagined 'til You dream us
Aimlessly unguided 'til You lead us home.
And by Your wounds we are healed."
Nichole Nordeman - Healed

They say it was a "Silent Night." And it must have been, because there was no hope to sing about until He came.

He came.
There's a Christ in "Christmas."

I forget what that means. How "A Baby Changes Everything." How He makes all things new, and works for good, and how any time with Him is "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year."

The world no longer so silent. And a good thing too, because pain screams loud, and we all experience it.

"The Gospel of Christ, it's a messy, bloody thing and this is how God is born, bloody and bruised, and that's how God chose to die, bloody and beaten. And our God, He knows the comings and goings of our bloody battles, and that is exactly where He meets us." Ann Voskamp

He came.
There's a Christ in Christmas.

And His birth ended in death.

To ensure that I am always "Home for the Holidays" with a Wonderful Strong Tower to run to. That every days end comes "Upon a Midnight Clear" no matter how stormy it looks because He is a Prince of Peace. That there is always somewhere to take your troubles because He is a Counselor. Something to keep no matter what you say goodbye to because He is Everlasting.

"A Shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit. The Spirit of the LORD will rest upon Him." Isaiah 11:1-2

He came.
There's a Christ in Christmas.

And His death ended in life. All kinds of life. Life available to anyone.

"A Shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse..."

Hope blooms best from the very roots of the dead impossible.

This Christmas falls on a Sunday. Before presents, pictures, or pie - we worship. My blessings this year are truly innumerable but at the very top is this:

He came.

There's a Christ in Christmas.

His love keeps me. His wounds heal me. His faithfulness to me in the midst of my humanity never ceases to amaze me.

He came.

And He stays.

I'm With You

2011-11-17T18:17:00.000-08:00

You and me, me and you
Where you go, I'll go too
I'm with you. I'm with you
'Til your heart finds a home,
I won't let you be alone
I'm with you. I'm with you.

Nichole Nordeman and Amy Grant have outdone themselves with this one. "I thought at first it was a love song and then I realized, it's our song" she says. Then we lay in her room, listen to it, and cry so much that we're ashamed of ourselves. Especially at this part:

We can shake a fist, in times like this

When we don't understand - or we could just hold hands.

It is an extremely unfortunate reality that the best thing in your life can so quickly become the worst. That the best friend that you have can so swiftly turn into your worst enemy. That the hands that used to harbor your heart safe can twist out of nowhere and crush it.

All the laughter and the dreams,
All the memories in between
Washed away in steady stream.

We could rehash it over and over. We could write letters and send texts and dial numbers. We could be swallowed up by bitterness and rage.

Instead, we just hold hands.

It is a complete enigma to me how girls subject to the tidal waves of such intense emotion can freeze and become so numb in an instant. How roller coasters can be so placid. How someone could be looked at all the time, and never really seen. How a plethora of options can assault a person, leaving them without one single choice.

Love is a hurricane in a blue sky

Didn't see it coming, never knew why.

We could become frustrated with the confusing mess we're living in. We could be discouraged by the lack of results around us. We could scream out a million questions and forget about being any one's answer.

Instead, we just hold hands.

Sometimes things end and we don't know why. Sometimes things die when they should still be living. Sometimes there are more questions than answers, more problems than prayers, more confusion than clarity, and more bad days than good ones.

We could complain about this. Instead we clean, HeyTell in British accents, and eat sushi.

Instead, we just hold hands.

He's calling her deeper. I can feel it. She can hear it. He's calling. And while she wrestles with the burden that threatens to break her, her world seemingly fights within itself. Everything crumbles. Nothing makes sense. And we witness first hand why they call war ruins "desolation."

When the dust is cleared we will
See the house that love rebuilt
Guarding beauty
That lives here still.

We could talk about this situation for hours, we could cry until we're dry and ring our hands until we're bloody. We could read a bookshelf of philosophy and never understand. We could stock our rooms with duck tape and draw plans and brainstorm and still have no idea how to fix this situation. Instead we stay still till He moves us. We wait till He tells us to jump.

We just hold hands.

The thing that used to make us giggle now gives us grief. Lots of it. Fifteen words. I wish it were half as easy to add up all the tears. He promised me he knew what he was doing - and I trusted him with her. He promised her he knew what he was doing - and she trusted him with her heart. I'm not so sure he knew. I'm not so sure we know him.

Now I'm on my hands and knees
Trying to gather up my dreams
Trying to hold on, to anything.

We could be bitter, we could scream, we could say cruel words with our cellphones and shoot cruel looks in the hallways.

Instead, we just hold hands.

Her left hand looks a little different these days. ;-) And we are beyond excited.

We could moan about the long road it took to get here, stress about the future, lament the time we might not have, or cry about our opportunities lost. But we laugh instead. We eat Keebler Rainbow cookies. We look at pictures of flowers.

Instead, we just hold hands.

She says yes to Him when it isn't easy. She says yes to Him when it's hard. And I wish I could report that these choices have made life roses. But it seems like most of these days, we're dealing with rocks instead.

You do your best to build a higher wall

To keep love safe from every wrecking ball

Being open isn't the safest choice. Being willing isn't the easiest thing. But both of those things are wise. And both of those things are good.

We could gripe about the things that we can't do. We could cry about the things we think we can't do. We could continually look back at what we've lost. Instead we look forward to what He is giving.

Instead we just hold hands.

She gives and gives without measure. She gets untold heartache for her trouble.

Love is a famine, a hunger in your soul

I thought I planted beauty, but it would never grow.

We could scoff at the unfairness of it all. We could wallow in self pity. We could close ourselves up and lock ourselves down.

Instead, we just hold hands.

I learned about her in school yesterday. He taught about how the Associates in Missions program was being piloted and he finally got the approval to send two AIMers, just two AIMers. How the fate of this entire program rested on just two. And how one of them was a single young woman with spunk from Opp, Alabama. How she proved the program would work by packing her bags, going to Africa by herself and staying there. A husband, two children, and untold souls later, she's still packing and unpacking.

She packs boxes and leaves a home and unpacks boxes to build a new one and sooner than we would probably like she will pack her daughters bags and remind her about her passport and send her straight back into her own footsteps. There are no better footsteps to follow.

We could spend time trying to wrap our minds around the ridiculous irony of it all. We could let our hearts sink low due to the impending pain of separation. We thank Him grateful instead.

Instead, we just hold hands.

Who can say I've lived for nothing

When I have all of you - all of you

In the way you've always loved me

I know He does too.

It would be foolish for me to spend too much time thinking about what I don't have when I do have all of them. To think about what I'm lacking when I'm blessed beyond belief. To worry about tomorrow when they fill up my today. Besides,

We hold hands.

He holds us.

31 Days

2011-10-05T14:20:00.000-07:00

These are the "31 Days Of" blogs I am reading.

31 Days of Transition

31 Days of Now

31 Days of Promises and Truths

31 Days of Pink

31 Days of Rooting Deeper

31 Days of All Things "Woman"

31 Days to a Better Ordinary

31 Days to Inspire a Child

31 Days of Our Lives

31 Days of Letters to My Daughter

31 Days to Nurture Her Self Esteem

31 Days of Love

31 Days of Singleness

31 Days of Pretty

31 Days of Remembering

31 Days of The Proverbs 31 Woman

31 Days of Forgetting Myself

31 Days of Singleness

31 Days of Love Letters

31 Days of Creating Home

I See You

2011-10-01T20:24:00.000-07:00

Rapunzel doesn't even know that she's a princess. She's been stolen away from her kingdom and locked up in a tour until now, when Flynn Rider spirits her away for a daring adventure - her first in the real world. Every year she has watched the lanterns light up the sky on her birthday, inexplicably drawn to the beauty of the lights, wanting nothing more than to experience the splendor in person - outside of the confines of the cold walls of her tower. And there she finds herself, floating along the river in a boat with the best looking man she's ever seen, as the lanterns take flight. She's finally experiencing the real world.

And as often happens in the "real world," the couple breaks into song:

"All those days, watching in the windows
All those years outside looking in
All that time, never even knowing
Just how blind I've been
Now I'm here, blinking in the starlight
Now I'm here, suddenly I see
Standing here, it's all so clear
I'm where I'm meant to be

And at last I see the light,
And it's like the fog has lifted
And at last I see the light
And it's like the sky is new
And it's warm and real and bright
And the world has somehow shifted
All at once everything looks different
Now that I see you"

I love that song. Of course I do. Doesn't everyone long to be seen - truly seen?

We've been discussing it lately, being "seen." One of my friends has worried that men only seem interested in her because she's beautiful. They never say

"You're so smart."

"You're so wise."

"You're so anointed."

"You're such a good person."

"You're kind to animals."

They seem focused solely on her outer beauty. No one seems to see her.

(Ironically my own frustration seems to be the exact. polar. opposite. of this. Feel free to inject as much bitterness into that statement as you desire.)

The point is, I don't feel seen either. We rarely do.

Tammy Maltby says:

"Under all these reasons, all these motivations, I believe, is that deep desire to be seen. Really seen. To be fully, intimately known... and loved for who we are."

Not what we look like. Not what we do. Not how we sound. Who. We. Are. Loved. For who we are.
We find Hagar in Genesis 16. She has been abused, impregnated by a man who is not her husband, slapped by Sarah, and is now wandering around in the desert. She is at the end of her rope - and this is a metaphorical rope mind because she doesn't even own that much. Genesis 16 finds her on the backside of the sands of nowheresville. Genesis 16 also finds God speaking. And while He does not relieve her of her pain or remove her from her situation (He sends her right back into the exact same problems actually) He does promise her hope, a future, and a light at the end of the tunnel. It's Genesis 16:13 that catches my attention:

"You are the God who sees me. I have now seen the One who sees me."

She might as well burst into song:

"All those days, chasing down a daydream
All those years living in the blur
All that time, never truly seeing
Things the way they were

And at last I see the light
And it's like the fog has lifted
And at last I see the light
And it's like the sky is new
And it's warm and real and bright
And the world has somehow shifted
All at once, everything looks different
Now that I see you"

Dear Heart:

I wish you (I pray you) moonlit boat rides, sparkling lanterns, and romantic moments with that one - the one - who truly sees you and loves you and cherishes for who you are. I wish you butterflies and shivers and knees like jello. But before you ever lock eyes with him, I wish that you lock eyes with the One who truly sees you. I hope the world shifts, and things make sense and that your love affair with Him lasts forever. Because it's the only love affair that truly can.

One of the best things about that kind of fairy tale is that when you truly see the One who sees you - you start to see yourself better than ever before. You might even discover that your dreams can come true, that the lanterns were for you the whole time, and that you were a princess all along.

The final scene of the movie begins and as Flynn announces that "Rapunzel was a princess worth waiting for" DaronDarling looks at me meaningfully and repeats the phrase with drama and gravity:

"A princess worth waiting for."

I roll my eyes and proclaim "I get it Daron. I get it."

And you know what?

I do.

Some things are worth the wait.

I'm totally one of them.

So are you.

Hugs Like Band-Aids

2011-09-29T15:21:00.000-07:00

Running down the stairs to work while most of the school's population flocks to what promises to be a rockin' Junior Class party, my hand slams into a broken stair rail. My index finger immediately swells, goes numb, turns blue, and starts bleeding.
It is things like this that make this school year so ridiculously hard.
And if oversleeping, over scheduling, overspending, and over planning do not make this time in my life hard enough - my emotions? They look like the index finger on my right hand right now.
I do not know what's wrong with me.
I know exactly what's wrong with me.
Dallas Davis sees me through the window. And, knowing full well, (one of few who do) how someone else has just been handed exactly what I wanted, he walks into the office, scrunches down six feet+ of muscle, squeezes the life out of me, and walks wordlessly out the door.

It is things like this that make this school year so ridiculously easy.

Other things that make this school year easy:

Kevin Burzynski and cheesecake.

Cheese Eggs and Michael.

Late nights and Candra.

Kari and Kirsten in the altar.

Kait Anderson. That's it. Just Kait Anderson.

Jana returned to me.

Dustin Moore, YouTube videos, scribbled notes, and jokes beyond ridiculous.

Jose. Papi Vente Paca.

Texts from Micole sending prayers for good days.

Deandra. Always Deandra.

And hugs like band-aids.

Who Needs Paris?

2011-09-12T12:36:00.001-07:00

Kait Anderson texted me. (I would like to pause and point out that those are four simple words but they house

a world of meaning and bring great joy and happiness to my life. I am so thankful Kait is here to text me. And walk with me. And make me laugh.) She was asking if I was okay, because I had been quiet at the party. And then remarked on the way that I love my people. I'm a loving person in general, but the reason that she remarked on the subject on this particular day is because these people are different. These people are mine. They belong to me, and I belong to them, and that doesn't change when a person moves or grows older or gets a new job. Kait said she loved watching the love flow. I love that it's noticeable. I love my people. And most of all, I love Cameron.

I have often wondered, what I would say to you when I finally chose to write about Cameron. There's a lot to say on the subject. I fail to comprehend where to begin. Annie Downs mentioned on her blog today that friends can come along and clean up the messes in your heart that someone else has made. And that's the important thing to know about Cameron. That I saw him once and he was so absolutely gorgeous that I lost my breath for a second and then hated him instantaneously. (Mostly because I was of the firm conviction that nobody that outwardly gorgeous could be half as inwardly beautiful as he turned out to be. And partially because he comes off as less than saintly. - Much. Less.) And he just threw open my heart's door and walked right on in and made himself at home. This might seem obnoxious to you (and it was slightly obnoxious) but, I do have to say for him that one of the ways he made himself at home was to clean up the mess someone else had made. It wasn't his mess. I was not his problem. And there he was anyway. There he is anyway.

I read a book once that talked about all the things this woman's best friend did for her. Made her laugh when she wanted to cry. Told her she was beautiful when she looked ridiculous. Ect... And then she said "Who needs Paris, when you can have a hug?"

There are quite a few things that I wanted (and still want.) But there are just a few that I need. And Cameron is one of them.

I love Cameron. And he loves me back so much that I can't help but love me just a little myself.

When you've got all that, who needs Paris?

When Your Name Is Not on the List

2011-09-05T09:05:00.000-07:00

Let's not lie to ourselves - I was never picked first for sports. And, while I made up for it eventually by being the first picked for a lot of other things (I won't bore you with my awesomeness - and yes, one of those things I excel at IS sarcasm! How did you know?) I sometimes wonder if I won't always be six standing outcast on soccer fields.

Last school year I remember that mixed feeling of delight and dread as names for an outing were listed on the official legal surface of a Styrofoam cup and thinking to myself "Anyone who writes a list of people to include will exclude you from the next writing." I hoped I was wrong - but I wasn't.

I can see the list posted still on the wall by the chapel. Semester following semester following semester when my name wasn't there. I hate that list. (This year was the first I've gotten courage to look for myself without making someone check first.)

Here's the thing about lists:
They don't mean as much as we think they do.
And there's only so much room.

Sometimes exclusion does not make sense. There are no logical reasons. It isn't fair. And there is no explanation or grouping of words that will bring it to light. Sometimes there is nothing but an empty space where your name should be. Or where you feel your name should be. Or where your name used to be. As humans, we struggle with that. We struggle with endings of any sort. We want to live in a world that is fair so try as we might we fail to understand how everyone can't be chosen. Because there are only so many lists and only so much room.

Being listed in lines is so important to us I think, because we need affirmation. We need confirmation. We need to know that we deserve to be listed and that everyone else knows we deserve it.

I'm on some lists. And I'm left off of others. That's the way that it is. That's the way that it will be just as long as I keep singing or preaching or going to Chilli's. As trite as it may seem, here's the important thing to remember:

Your anointing, your talent, your personality, your skill, your impact, and your ministry are never defined by the absence or presence of your name on a list. Besides, when it comes right down to it, there's only one list you'll really want your name on.

Revelations 20:15 "And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire."

He chose you.
And there is always room.

Do It Anyway

2011-07-26T13:58:00.000-07:00

He said something stupid. The male race often does. He who speaks lifewords to me at all hours reached out the harsh hand of language and slapped me straight across my face right down to my heart.

He didn't mean to. He didn't even know he did it. This face mask of mine was mastered by time so sometimes, even he doesn't see me. My words are much easier to read than my face.

Speaking of my words, his letter is down in the deep dark of my purse. Like the deep dark where his words just registered. And it stays there. Because God knows that I love this boy best. God knows because He gave him. But good. God (and God is good) I don't feel like loving him today. Not today when I'm so homesick I could walk around crying. Not today when his presence reminds me of how often he'll be absent. Not today when the words he just spoke in jest match the voices in my head and everything's screaming. Not today when I realize how much he can hurt me. Not today when I remember how wounded I am.

It's like when a child you adore punches you and runs away. Even platonic love is a killer. It slices in innocence.

Love letters paper cut just as sharp as term papers and here comes life with lemon juice.

Speaking of letters, she has just written me one. It was beautiful. She commended me in it because I've been abandoned, rejected, sliced at with paper, and jabbed at with words and yet I still love like I do. She reminded me to keep on loving. Because I have to.

Timely Jenny. Timely.

So this is the moment wherein I want to withdraw. The moment I want to lock up my words, my heart, and my personal life where nothing can get at it. The moment when my brain screams "PROTECT YOURSELF!" If you think you're halfway smart enough..." (My brain is cruel. The world taught it.)

Your brain is too I bet. A brain is an interesting thing. It can take twelve words meant to be humorous and magnify them until they're much more significant than hundreds of others. It can take twelve words that sliced at your heart and set them against pages of words that kept it beating.

And your heart is just as bad most likely. It will constantly beg you to shield it when it senses the potential for damage. (Whether said potential is imagined or not.)

What to do?

Remember

Not all the pain that you want to remember, but that this message we walk in is paved out with love. That the truth that we live in is based all in love. (That's also a good thing to remember. Truth. If the voices in your head don't match up to the words in His book then you should shut them up. No matter what else seems to agree with them.) And when you don't feel like loving, especially when you don't feel like loving,

Do. It. Anyway.

For something that life manages to complicate so well and hinder so often - love is surprisingly easy.

The simplest task can be a form of love.

For example, right now I'm searching for stamps.

See, I have this letter to mail...

Summer Time Stronger

2011-07-11T09:25:00.000-07:00

I sat on a blanket waiting for fireworks and I told her:

"It's just that in Summer, I remember things that I would normally forget."

There's a lot to remember. Especially if you're someone who has spent most of her life waiting for fireworks.

This life thing, it gets harder as time goes on. And it wasn't super easy to start with.

Money matters, love hurts, and faith wavers. Burying the young - that's hard. Burying their mistakes - that's not half as easy. Ropes snap, bones shatter, and hearts - they shatter too. And a distance of 5,762 miles can sometimes seem much, much farther. Also, (and this is a lovely reality) the universe is never in short supply of pain. In fact, if pain were water - a woman could drown in it.

What am I saying?

She could drown in it anyway.

Before you hate me for writing this blog I should tell you - in all of my other remembering I remembered something interesting:

I remembered listening to the Left Behind audio series while doing my math homework. And I remembered when the Rabbi (Ben... something...) lost his family and one of the other characters (Buck probably) was with him as he received the news. I held my breath as the emotion packed moment played out. It was definitely the lowest moment in that man's fictional life. Buck asked him:

"What do you know?"

And he choked out:

"That my Redeemer liveth."

"What else do you know?"

"That He who started the work in me, will be faithful till the completion of it."

I also remember last summer. Last summer with love and family and heat and home and knowing that there's always something to miss - no matter where the map finds you. I remember how I would listen to him sing Freedom and pray cry and worry that he would not be free again. I remember the difference a year can make. I remember how God holds when my faith falters. And then, well then, I just feel like dancing. So I play Mandisa's "Stronger" and I do dance. Like. A. Crazy. Person. I always get extra happy around the bridge:

"Cuz if He started this work in your life He will be faithful to complete it - if only you believe it."

Whether you've broken something, been broken, buried your past, or buried yourself under it - take a break. Forget what you remember. Remember what you forget.

Know that He lives when other things die and that even when you feel like you're finished - He's not.

Whatever is happening and whatever isn't - this, right now, this is making you stronger.

Summer time stronger.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some dancing to do.

Coming Soon to a Blog Page Near You:

Waiting for Fireworks

And

How to Forget What You Remember - to Remember What You Forget.

And What About the Lady?

2011-06-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

The following is not my own - but something I StumbledUpon the other day. I found it interesting as most pieces of this sort are directed at the male spectrum of society and I often do wonder: What about the lady?

I needed a picture and I chose to include one of Fergie and Andrew because they are by far my favorite royal couple ever. Even after divorce. I loved them so much I was inspired to read autobiographies and biographies as a girl and believe you me - that never happened otherwise.

Does the lady deserve a man who will climb the walls, swim the moat, and fight the dragon for her?

Yes.

But what does he deserve?

He deserves a woman of sound mind, who refuses to let the tides of her feelings drag her out into the waves of insanity.

He deserves someone who is patient and true to her word.

He deserves someone who won't talk about him behind his back every time things don't play out the way she plans.

He deserves the honor and respect of someone willing to wait for him to act as he's promised he will.

He deserves someone who is not focused solely upon her own needs.

He deserves the kindness, company, and encouragement of someone who does not dwell only on the negatives.

And even if he doesn't keep up his end of the bargain and climb that wall, swim that moat, or slay the dragon - that doesn't mean he wasn't a good guy.

It means that it wasn't meant to be.

At least the lady stayed a lady.

The rough corners of her character received some serious smoothing.

And she will survive.

But let's hope for the time being that maybe, just maybe...

Maybe

Banquets, Boys, Bold Faced Honesty, and Blessings

2011-06-06T09:14:00.000-07:00

"This song is so you!"

My sister was referring to a song by Jason Mraz called "A Beautiful Mess." (At least she thinks I'm beautiful?) There are several lines in which, I will admit, she has a point. And one of them is this one:

"It kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives."

It is true that I may not be entirely lacking in the ability to stab at others with my rhetoric (or my eyes.) But in the case of this blog, that is not my intention. The following piece of writing isn't "about" anyone but me. And the reader may rest assured that I would never write it unless I were veritably certain that someone somewhere needs to read it.

Besides. I wear a mask too often. We all do. (Although, as a side note, I feel it important to mention in this blog in particular that once I wore a mask and it was a positively perfect night with some of those that I love most.)

I was fourteen and it was my first real dress. It was, of course, my favorite color - black. The long flowing skirt was split and filled in by this shimmering material that flashed green or blue depending on the light. It was a dress made to twirl in, I felt like a princess, and I truly loved it.

There was a lot of preparation, a banquet, and a boy. Of course, this was not just any boy. This was that boy. The one whose eyes are easy to drown in and who compels you to wrap your hopes, dreams, and life around him just by merely existing.

I will never forget the moment that he pulled me aside and looked straight into my eyes. The room faded, the world slowed, and my heart forget how to continue in normal rhythm. He stared straight into me (an awful habit which he continued through many years of close friendship by the way) and sought my advice about a girl. That girl. The one whose laugh sounds like the ocean in all it's glory and whose smile could compel a man to cross it.

I swallowed. I still have no idea how I swallowed. Who knew the in taking of air could be so painful?

Then I gave a glorious inspirational speech. "Who could NOT like you?" (blah blah blah) "Go for it!" (blah blah blah) "Sieze the moment or regret it!" (blah blah blah)

Surprisingly, it was a lot more eloquent at the time.

He went to put all of my great advice to use.

I went to the bathroom.

It wasn't a very romantic scene. Me locked into a stall with my face in the toilet, the full edges of my skirt spilling out under the walls. I didn't feel very much like a princess. But here's what you need to know:

Even when your dreams are shattered and you are overlooked. Even when no-one notices the beauty of you and you wonder if there's even any there. Even when you hate your new dress because you are still you in it and you is never good enough. Even when you wonder what the point of hoping at all is. Even when your world breaks and breaks you with it and you feel like less than nothing and you cannot, for the life of you, stop sobbing in despair - you are Princess. (Or a prince - if you will.)

I finally stopped crying and started breathing. I pushed myself up off the floor. I dried my eyes and splashed my face with cold water. Then I put on my very famous "I'm having a lovely time smile" and exited the rest room. It was painfully obvious that I'd been crying. This had been the kind of cry impossible to hide. Yet no-one said anything. I think it's because, that night in particular, no one really saw me.

I remember making it back to the hotel room and locking myself in the bathroom yet again. I cried some more and then attempted to pull myself together as everyone was hanging out downstairs and I needed to be down there.

I remember the moment exactly. I relive it in my mind all the time. I remember grasping the sink with my hands and leaning forward and looking into my own splotchy face and horribly bloodshot eyes. And I remember hearing it. Hearing it clearly echoing in my ears and mind and heart - reverberating through my very soul:

Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things shall be added unto you.

I smiled a real smile for the first (and probably last) time that night.

I can honestly tell you that - I have sought Him ever since.

Here's the thing:

I'm assuming at this point you're waiting for "The Happily Ever After" and the joyous fulfillment of God's promise.

Honestly?

My banquets didn't get all the much better as a whole.

And what was "added to me" were a lot more boys who talk to me about other girls.

I was looking back on that moment and my life as a whole today and you know what?
It's okay. It's more than okay.

Why? How?

Because life is not about the world's perception of you or how many men are pursuing your attention.

Because that boy wasn't ever meant to be that boy.

Because that boy is still out there.

Because awhile ago I prayed a life changing prayer:

I don't want You to give me the desires of my heart. I want You to be the desire of my heart.
I don't want You to bless me. I want You to be my blessing.

And while that prayer meant, for awhile, that I did without some other things I wanted - I would pray it again. In a heartbeat. Because He has completely honored it.

Because those boys that talk to me about other girls? I'm thankful for every one of them.

Because I still buy black dresses and I still twirl around in them because I am still a princess.

Because, of course it isn't "Happily Ever After."

Because it isn't "The End."

Tattoo

2011-06-02T09:33:00.000-07:00

Making his way home from work, Toby ran out of gas. Of course, this was unbeknownst to us at the time and we stopped for that oil with the "40" in it, Googled what could be wrong with the vehicle, tried to start it multiple times, and sat in silence by the side of the road for long quarter hours on end before we knew it.

The thought occurred to me while we were getting the oil. I was watching people walking in and out of the gas station when I realized

I don't have enough tattoos to live in my neighborhood.

I kept watching them, these people walking by in multiple shapes and colors and I realized something else. A lot of the tattoos were the name ones. Tattoos for love. Tattoos for memory. Tattoos for death. Scrolled across wrists and shoulders and ankles and forearms name after name of those gone but not forgotten.

How many tattoos would I have to get?

If I didn't count the people who had really lived. Lived to have spouses, and careers, and children. Lived to raise them. If I counted only the young, and only got a tattoo for the lives cut short (or cut at our view of short) I would have at least three. One every hundred days or so the last 365. (If I count everyone - it's more than one every 50.)

Holly
Kristen
Chase

My heart sank at the thought. Which is no curiosity. It does that these days.

But I am growing to realize:

He made the world and gave us choices and knew they would only come to end in destruction. He mixed languages, flooded the globe, asked for the death of long awaited children, made good on His promises at the last possible moment, and watched generation after generation embark upon a vicious "sin-captivity-deliverance-repentance" cycle before He ever came to put an end to it. He robed Himself in flesh, was born into a barn, and ran around from country to country to fulfil every one of the manifold prophecies foretold. He gave His parents nightmares, turned water into wine, made His creation baptize Him, and washed the feet of more of His creations. He slaved, He served, He suffered, and He died.

I do not follow Him because He makes sense.

I follow Him because nothing makes sense without Him.

I don't need to understand to love Him and I don't need a tattoo to remember them, and when Toby's car started - we kept on going.

That's what we do now.

We keep on going.

The Wounded Spirit

2011-05-31T07:07:00.001-07:00

"You're gonna have so much fun! You''ll get to color and play games and listen to stories! You'll love it."

That was Frank Peretti's Mom describing all the wonders of that wonderful place "school." And I cried when I read it, sensing what was coming and being no stranger to dressing up and going to a "wonderful" place knowing - they'll just torture you when you get there.

"The Wounded Spirit" is a must read. I am not playing here. Go get it and read it. It is written from an honest, informed, and raw point of view. You'll read about the problem of pain and suffering, questions about God and why God He doesn't answer questions, worries about what He must be thinking, the anatomy of a wounded spirit and what it can cause. You'll see the Columbine shooters in a whole new light, get a painful look at what it feels like to be wounded, and take a second glance at the areas where you might be inflicting pain yourself.

This book will grab you. I mean it will reach into your heart and really get you. Here's the paragraph that got me:

"For example, let's talk about those squeaky clean, born again students attending Christian colleges. Hey, they know their Bibles. They worship and pray at all the chapel services. They're out to spread the good news of Jesus Christ and change their world for the glory of God. And yet, when you get the chance to observe the social fabric on campus, it's sad to discover that things haven't changed much since junior and senior high school. The upperclassmen - yes, those fine men and women who claim to be followers of Christ - find it easy to put the underclassmen in their place. The jocks laugh and needle the non athletes; the girls establish their social cliques and close the door to outsiders. Derogatory names and rumors float around freely. The very mention of certain names produces snickers among the elite in the student lounge."

This book made me think. It made me re-examine my life. It sealed up some old wounds. It gave me ideas for new behavior.

Starting Small

2011-05-25T12:48:00.000-07:00

He has moved me for three years straight. Moved me to write. Moved me to sing. Moved me to get out of bed in the morning. And after all that moving, now he moves for real. Making his way across the continental US right as I type these words. Moving out of old and leaving me, leaving this, leaving pictures like these behind. It aches a little. It aches more than a little. But I hug him long and let him go because I know:

That when you move out of old, you can't help but move into new.
And "the holy ground - isn't it always where we least expect it?" - Ann Voskamp
And where God sends you? Well. That ground is holy.

I have left and I have been left and this life is made for leaving. Leaving the world behind and leaving something for it when you go. And this is the moment I've been given to live. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Today. Now. And the place, people, and yes, the amount of my proverbial purse are just right. Just enough.

"Our enough is always in the now because He never leaves us." Ann Voskamp

This summer my sister and I gather our small possessions, count up our small earnings, take our small talents, and move into our small apartment. And we laugh with glee because "we can have all the water we want!" - because it costs such a small amount. We put our small change in her piggy bank till it turns into something bigger. And we get out of bed with prayer and get into it with a shared scripture just like when we were living at home. Just like when we were small.

"Do not disdain the small. The promise of feast is within the moments." Ann Voskamp

So I whisper prayers for my traveling Brandon. And I smile.

Because small seeds grow new life.

And States apart we experience that.

Somehow still together.

Say Hello to Mrs. Christensen

2011-05-23T13:32:00.001-07:00

She's my best friend. It's obvious. Everyone knows it. I know it. But for some reason typing the words on today of all days makes me cry. I've been doing that a lot lately. At banquet. At graduation. In the car with her just thinking about it. On the way to Minnesota. In her house. In the bathroom of the church she got married in. On the way back from Minnesota. Ironically (and thankfully) I did escape tears during the wedding song. (Thank God, as this kind of thing only happens once and a sobbing soloist would not have not been so conducive to the overall atmosphere.)

Tears are a good thing. And every time I have cried about this blessed event, more than the actual emotion, I have been overwhelmed with gratefulness that I have a reason to cry. See - I kinda love her. A lot.

Becca loves to remind me that early on in our relationship, we were going out and I turned to her and said "Would you be embarrassed by my African apparel?" She laughed her head off. She still laughs about it. The idea of Becca ever being embarrassed by me in any way was completely foreign to her belief system. In fact, she's generally so proud of me that it's ridiculous and her constant love and support have gotten me through more than one rough spot. (And kept me breathing through multiple speeches, try-outs, solos, and sermons.)

PS: I've never been "embarrassed by Becca's apparel" either.

Becca is the only reason that I ever go to the canals, or the mall. Ever. I will greatly miss her trying to talk me into either excursion. She is also the reason I eat sushi, talk about certain topics on certain streets, love to "walk the walk", and went to the McDonald's further from the school in the early days when we didn't want Dustin to know that she ate.

We have a myriad of "friendship things" including Build-A-Bears that we made for each other. (They have an intense relationship and kept up a regular correspondence for awhile. Duncan even came to class with us and took notes at his own desk one day.)

We have a lot of "friendship things" now that I think of it. Things that only the two of us have, only the two of us do, and only the two of us know.

It's been a great three years. I'll miss all of our times in Religious Education club and classes together. I will miss all of the things that we do together. I will miss the intense planning sessions we used to have regarding all of the things we do together. I will miss making her late and keeping her waiting. I will miss our therapy sessions venting about every aspect of our lives. I will miss our minor disagreements. (Becca is the best person in the world to argue with because she is sweet and nice almost to a fault but she's not giving up her ground or opinion either.) I will miss stopping her from stealing all the beautiful children that cross paths with her.

I don't remember the exact moment that I knew Becca had fallen in love with Dustin but I remember the moment that I did. She told me how he had said that she "wasn't just beautiful - she was Beccabeautiful." I was a goner. Truer words have never been spoken. Becca is gorgeous. And her little moments are nothing short of adorable. She tip toes around her own bedroom for pities sakes - she's one of the cutest things I've ever seen. But more than hair, lips, and eyes, is the intense beauty of her spirit. She is one of the most wonderful, giving, and truly beautiful human beings that I know. Her beauty does deserve it's own name.

She is without a doubt Beccabeautiful.

Saturday I sat in a church while a bride walked down the aisle. I didn't look at her once during those few moments because I was watching her prince charming struggle to breathe, thanking God for an imperfect world packed with perfect moments, and (of course) crying.

Saturday I realized that if I loved Becca and Dustin anymore, I would probably be morally compelled to get a permanent tattoo signifying the matter.

Saturday I found the tongs to serve the chicken with. (Yes. This was, without a doubt, a blogworthy victory.)

Saturday I said goodbye to late night talks, s-waved hair, Thursdays at BW's, trips to the mall, hours of tortuous exercise, midnight McDonald's runs, and my best friend. It was beautiful, perfect, and wonderful. It also hurt like mad.

But.

You know what? It was a smile price to pay.

Because Saturday, I said hello to Mrs. Christensen.

I Have

2011-04-25T09:27:00.000-07:00

I love all things Narnia. Those five words house the makings of an incredibly gross understatement.

This weekend, I heard from the perfect lips of one Prince Caspian:

"I have spent too long wanting what was taken from me and not what was given."

That phrase hit me. It didn't reach into my heart, it didn't settle upon my senses, it hit me with a tangible force that knocked the breath from my lungs and called instantaneous tears into my eyes.
(Why is it that with breathless lungs and blurry vision we seem best able to see Him?)

I am missing so much these days. Some things have been wrenched from my grasp. I miss some things I was never even holding.

There are a lot of things I don't have. Like easy access to my parents, a place to stay over the summer, a drivers license, plans for my future - the list goes on and on.

But I have

A Savior who never leaves me, and never stops working on me.
A family that loves me.
A support group that fans out far beyond my grasp and keeps on grapevining into prayer, and cards, and letters, and phone calls.
Friends who color the otherwise dreary canvas of my life with laughter and smiles.
Three blondes in particular who are continually making my life worth living.
A beautiful sister who whips around right along with me in the whirlwind of my hours.

Easter egg dye. Curls on Tuesdays. An Easter Basket full of goodies. Four journals filled with secrets, shared jokes, and sentiment. Sushi on Mondays. BW's on Thursdays. Two miles a night. A good, flexible job. Books waiting to be read and shelved. StumbleUpon and free audio goodness. At least some money in the bank. A moving vehicle. And a nap this morning.

And memories. I have wonderful memories.

As it turns out, I've got quite a lot.
A lot more than I haven't got.
Depending on how you look at it.

Cancer Can't Kill It

2011-02-08T14:28:00.001-08:00

"But because He is mine I know I can't quit Him. And because I am His I know I must worship.

'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.'

They always say that. And they always will. Because He will always give. He will always take. And He never has to explain.

No matter what your circumstance there is always a choice.

I choose to wrap my mind and heart around whatever He gives - no matter what He takes."

Those are words I wrote in October, when I realized I would never understand. Those are things I said early last semester, before my hopes were dashed, before things changed, before Dad got sick - before two more were taken.

And I believed Him, we believed Him. And full of faith, faith I could feel for the first time in forever, I held my hopes up high. And when I truly felt that He wouldn't - He said no.

I still believe Him. If you don't - there's nothing left.

I never officially met her, this pillar Kendra Sharp. Except in my prayers countless times. And except to see her from a distance at random occasions. But every time I saw her I swear she was glowing. I imagined her to be like Kristen, her daughter and pride, and I wondered often if she was. Friday at the funeral, the goodbye, the celebration I discovered so much. Things I won't ever be able to formulate into words. But I discovered:

That she could make people feel like royalty in a matter of minutes - like Kristen can.

That she sang with her whole self, straight down to her toes - like Kristen does.

That she never apologized for being herself, and she truly was who she was - like Kristen is.

They asked me on Thursday, when I returned from the viewing, how was Kristen? How did she look? And I told them the truth:

"I swear she was glowing."

There are a lot of things I don't know. The older I get the more that I know it. I don't how our Kristen walks through the daughterpain. How she's so strong. How she's so beautiful. I don't know why this. Or why now. Or why He takes what He takes.

But I know that He did give her a miracle.

I know that He gave her a song.

I know that Kristen sings it.

The song. I. Know. There. Is. A. Song.

Death can't destroy it.

Time can't change it.

Pain can't cripple it.

Chaos can't silence it.

Hate can't shake it.

Philosophy can't contaminate it.

And cancer can't kill it.

I wear pink.

For Kristen - who has truly changed my life.

For her mother - who "Fought Like a Girl."

And for everyone still fighting.

With Heart

2011-02-07T09:04:00.000-08:00

When I was young I took pen and paper and scribbled line, after line, after line. All this was before I could read or write. I started then and I haven't stopped scribbling. It's more than the feeling of pens scratching paper. It's more than the smell of ink changing page. It's the way that words can change a person. Way that words can change a place.

When I was young I opened pages and sighed in contentment and stepped into the world that Jane could create. She could create such pretty worlds. But oh, the world she lived in. They call it not so pretty.

She weaved the greatest love stories of all time - but she weaved them alone. Perhaps the greatest love of her life was love she wrote on paper. Love she stepped into and out of between two hardback covers.

Brilliant, witty, confident, lonely.

Jane, will all of my wishing come true? Will I make myself just like you?

I think about her words, the ones I make my motto.

"The world may know my words but it has no such privilege with my heart."

I thought this so profound once. So powerful. So... perfect. Now I think it lonely.

What are all of the words in the world if your heart isn't in them?

What is all the time in the world if a heart isn't touched?

We all put on black and I wore pink ribbon in my hair. Now, every day, I wear a pink heart on my finger. To honor her and to remind me that everything, absolutely everything fades. Except the things with heart in them.

I never formally met her, the strongest woman I've heard of. But then again, I never formally met Jane either. I've almost always known Jane's words. But now I know something better.

How a true heart, when exposed, can know pain beyond words and yet, keep on singing.

I've found both a better mantra, and a better hero.

Jane's words - they lie dead on their pages.

Her heart - it sings forever.

She. Keeps. On. Singing.

So will I.

With heart I hope.

Choosing "Thankyou"

2011-01-24T16:35:00.001-08:00

My father will give anyone anything that he can - so those multi-colored, quilt patched purses have found their way across the school. He bought them himself in a hot humid market and they testify about the little things that he does every day. Always giving. Always touching. Always changing lives. The one I look at is mine. It's been confusing lately but I can tell it's mine because my aqua blue "Thankful" journal is sticking out of the top. I heave a sigh that sounds like anguish and I confess to her:

"I know that it's wrong. I know that I am failing. But every time I try to chronicle the thanks for his healing I just can't seem to do it because I still don't get it - why he had to be sick in the first place."

That one question throws open the doors to a thousand others all lurking and I who long to be thankful - am angry instead.

I read her book. Ann Voskamp is the reason I have a "Thankful" journal in the first place. The reason I open up pages and ramble off thanks and smudge all my fingers with ink black as night. Her earliest memory is the death of her sister and the blood all pooling and many years later she stands talking to her brother in law. The man still serving who has lost two children to the same disease and she asks him how he can know that God is good. And he tells her, and breaks me, when he says that maybe we don't want to change the story because we haven't read the ending.

She tells of the Israelites and how the lived daily on Manna. A food that meant "What is it?" And how for blessings they did not understand they thanked Him and they

"Ate the mystery

They ate the mystery."

It's hard sometimes, to know that not one, but two beautiful, giving, wonderful, life changing women are dead - but I thank Him for their lives. I thank Him that I knew them.

It's hard sometimes to know that people are not at all who you think they are - but I thank Him for vision. I thank Him for sparing me ahead of time.

It's hard sometimes to know that I may never feel again the way that I did in my home, with my friends - but I thank Him that I had them. For every crazy dance. For every silly song. For every written line. For every. single. lingering hug.

And I thank him for doctors who know what they're doing. Cysts on the kidneys that point to the danger. People who put their lives on hold to speak, to call, to visit, to pray, to love. I thank Him for changeable tickets, Christmas cookies, games of Quelf, polka dotted sunglasses, strength for the day and benign.

I don't get to decide.

I don't get to choose.

And I don't get to change the course of destiny most of the time.

But I do get to be thankful.

So I am.

So I will be.

140 Characters (The Story of Us)

2011-01-24T16:29:00.000-08:00

One: I muster up my courage and step out on a limb trying to reach for Serena Edward's siblings. We're at Hayfest and no-one is talking to them. Rhonda was, as I only imagine that she is at all times, absolutely darling. I thought Eric hated me. This caused me to dislike him. A lot. But to be fair, I would like to point out that in my mind anyway, he didn't like me before I didn't like him and like it or not - that's the way it was. (Dislike) Two: Eric moved here. And I was not a fan of his presence. At all. I felt that I would probably never have reasonable cause to speak to him. Unfortunately (and fortunately) he was talking to my darling Rachel on the balcony one day at the same time that we were about to head to Barnes and Nobles. Sensing a sort of undercurrent in the works I invited him to come with. It was at Barnes and Nobles that I discovered that he had vocal chords and no problem using them, and that he loved Jane Austen. (Still. Dislike.)

Three: We went to the school library lots and lots. Like, everyday lots and lots. There, for the most part, Eric spent most of his time laughing at me. I spent most of my time ranting, railing, throwing things, speaking in cryptic sentences, and being "miffed." There were letters shaped like boats and random dance sessions. I fell in love with Mayer and he fell in love with my blog. (Some people will try to tell you that it was during this time that we friendfell in love with each other. And it probably looked like that. But I still wasn't sure. Not even then.)

Four: There was an MSA. There was a game of 20 questions. There was honesty. There was also drama of all sorts. You know, normal bonding stuff. (At least when you're bonding with me...)

Five: There occurred in our lives a trinity of moments. Three specific events that cemented my love for Eric in the concrete of time.

1.) I had been gone for a weekend, just a weekend. And when Eric saw me (on a day when I hadn't been feeling so top notch as a whole) his face lit up and he enveloped me in this life saving hug. I potentially cried a little when he walked away. (Heartwarming.)

2.) He let me listen to this song he wrote. I was so delighted I laughed out loud. (Heartmelting.)

3.) He opened up for chapel the day I spoke and I was an absolute nervous wreck. He said something so profound and so perfect, something that fit so well with what I was going to say that I forgot to be nervous. (Heart? What heart? Oh. The one the birthday boy with the microphone now permanently carries in his pocket...)

Six: Eric took a shortish sort of sabbatical from my life recently. But that's okay. He was obtaining a sort of permanent "plus one" in the process. :) The important thing isn't even that he's here again actually - it's that he always will be. Had you asked me after Hayfest if I ever thought my days would be filled with hand hugs, secret codes, letters, and smiles courtesy of one Eric Edwards I would have laughed in your face.

As much as I love it when I'm right, sometimes I love it even more when I'm wrong.

Dearest Eric:

I heart this whole thing. I heart that I didn't like you at first. I heart that you know which pens are good and which ones aren't. I heart that I yelled about being "miffed" before I thought to stop and consider the consequences. I heart your random need to dance in random locations. I heart your hugs. I heart that silly voice you do. I heart that glorious mixed CD in your car. I heart your need to sculpt things using whatever materials are at hand. I heart the drawing of a city road you did that's still in my Bible. I heart when you think I'm ridiculous and you don't care. I heart the way you sound when you have a cold. I heart your obsessions with no-bake cookies. I heart the Lady Love. I heart the way you react to things. I heart your relationship with Cait. I heart your way with words. I heart your extreme intelligence level. I heart your commitment to making me see the benefits of "brevity." I heart your love for Jesus. I heart the way you adore your family. I heart our inside jokes. I heart it when you find me so funny that you come quite close to choking. I heart that "140 characters is more than enough."

I heart you.

So much that I don't want to stop writing about it.

So much that I don't think I ever will.

(Side note: That entire section implemented the use of the "less than symbol number three" and then the internet deleted and destroyed it. I can't talk about it. I was miffed.)

PS: I love you. (Just in case you missed that.)

Receive

2011-01-18T13:54:00.001-08:00

My mother is the best person in the world to give a gift to. I still fail to understand how she can be so absolutely perfect at receiving things. I mean, you could give her anything and she would open it with wide eyed wonder and genuine squeals of enthusiasm.

I've never been all that great at receiving things.

Sometimes, I don't really receive because I feel unworthy. Like this Christmas, when my sister got me two presents in addition to a stocking gift and I got her nothing. Both of her gifts were my favorite because they just were. I didn't do anything for her but she blessed me anyway.

Sometimes, I don't really receive because the gift is less than what I would like it to be. Like a pair of socks when you were expecting a sweater. Or a sweater when you were expecting a party dress. Or a party dress when you were really expecting a camera. You get the picture... Yet "every good gift comes from God." I would hate be so busy pining after great that I missed all the good in my life.

Sometimes, I don't really receive because I'm afraid that I'm going to love my gift, and then I'm not going to be able to keep it. Like a new iPod you won't use lest it get destroyed. Or a new journal you refuse to write in lest you lose it somewhere. But you can only live your life like that, if you're okay with not really living.

It's been a long time since I stood in a room by the beach in Africa and Tonya looked into my eyes and talked to me about opening my life and heart to things. It's been a long time since she impressed upon me the importance of the choices at my disposal. That I can choose what I receive into my life and what I reject. It's been a long time since she pointed out that I far too often receive the negative into my heart and reject the positive. It's been a long time since she taught me to verbally receive a compliment. To take a deep breath and say with purpose (at least to myself) I receive it.

It's been a long time - and I'm still learning.

I can reject the words "You're looking fine" on a day when I literally rolled out of bed, threw my hair on top of my head, and ran to class, mentally listing the reasons they cannot be true - or I can smile and murmur "I receive it."

I can sit around worrying about not making the overdubs list for chorale while I allow myself to be consumed with self doubt and insecurity - or I can recognize the fact that I wouldn't be able to go see my parents if I did and whisper "I receive it."

I can obsess over every hug, shared story, or cup of coffee, terrified throughout the whole ordeal that it won't lead to more hugs, more shared stories or more future cups of coffee - or I can live in the moment I'm given and enjoy it while I breath "I receive it."

I hope this year is life changing. I hope it's phenomenal. I hope that God blows my mind with unexpected gifts, anointing, relationships, and opportunities. But more than anything I hope that this is the year that I take the time to drink the cup I'm given and actually taste it on the way down.

I hope that this year, I receive.

"Writing, living, it is learning the art of waiting. It’s all a gift and gifts can’t be rushed, only received." Ann Voskamp

Sick of the Shattering

2010-12-13T11:59:00.000-08:00

The last present I ever received from my grandmother on my Dad’s side was actually a Christmas present I bought for myself because she sent us the money and we picked it out. It was this elaborate pink and perfect replica of Cinderella’s carriage. And in the carriage on a porcelain pillow there was a porcelain shoe that spun round and round as the strains of “Chariots of Fire” emanated from inside of the trinket. I felt like a princess every time I looked at that. I felt like a champion every time I heard it. It fell off of the dresser and broke when someone was cleaning one day.

That’s what today feels like.

My parents bought me this beautiful snow globe once. I mean, it was beautiful. They bought it at this Christian book store and it had the nativity inside of it. The town of Bethlehem was etched and carved out all along the outside of the base. It was my favorite present that year and when the next rolled around I was so excited to get it out of its box and unwrap it. The box was dropped as it was being carried in from the storage room. I can still see the water stains on the cardboard that told the sad tale of the trifle’s demise.

That’s what today feels like.

My friend Zenna brought me a snow globe from London awhile ago. It had this Ferris wheel in it and it was all blue and happy and perfect. I returned back from my first Christmas break at school to find the remains of my shattered snow globe back on my book shelf. No glass anywhere. No water. No explanation. This is still a sore/surreal spot with me.

That’s what today feels like.

There is nothing on the list of what I would like to do today. That thing is as blank as humanly possible.

Now on the list of things I don’t want to do today however there are darling points and paragraphs such as:

Think about snow globes and other things that break.
Ponder snow globes and other things that I can’t fix.
Try to understand how that last snow globe incident happened – Example: Did it break and clean itself up?
Re-evaluate everything that I could have done to keep my treasures from breaking.

I refuse to do any of that.

No. I do not want to talk about it. No I do not want to discuss how I feel. Yes, I am shocked that something of this nature has happened yet again. Thank you, I am quite aware that I probably shouldn't be. I realize this now. I also realize:

I am absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sick unto death of things shattering.

And I’m sure that you are expecting some brilliant metaphor about how Jesus takes the shattered pieces of the snow globe of our lives and makes us whole but honestly – it doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes He points at the dust pan and watches as you sweep up that thing you loved and longed and hoped for and opens the lid of the garbage can for you so you can throw it away.

And while you trust in His infinite plan, and lean on His unfailing wisdom and remind yourself that He probably has something better to go on that shelf anyway – you don’t feel it every day. Sometimes you don’t feel much at all except sadness.

Life is a fickle mistress. And people are stupid – especially the smart ones.

And I really don’t have much to share with you today. Except that I am absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sick unto death of things shattering.

Heaven Sent Hannah

2010-12-10T08:00:00.001-08:00

Confession #1: I have been dying to get back to school.
Confession #2: This is probably because while (people wise) I had an amazing semester last year all the actual mechanics of my life were off kilter. It's a new year now and I want my own routine, and my own bed, and to get back to my job, and to go to my classes, and (of course) to be with my people. I want a new fresh start. And I want it now. BUT
Confession #3: As of today - I don't ever want to leave this spot, much less go back to school.
Confession #4: I will probably never blog about the many reasons for this. Sorry? But I'll share one.
Confession #5: I. Hate. New. People. The funny thing about confessing that you hate meeting people to others is that they rarely question this. Few people ever ask "Why?" They just nod in agreement and state that they "know what you mean" most of the time. Even if they're extroverted. An aversion to meeting new people, as it turns out, is not that uncommon. Today, however, I'm going to answer the unasked "why" question. I am going to be honest and tell you about why I am not jumping up and down at the thought of new people in my school hallways.
Confession#6: I'm insecure. And I'm spoiled. See, I am surrounded by people I love, who, (for the most part) love me. And they are forever expressing all sorts of undeserved niceness, making my day, and surrounding me with heartfelt warmth. They know me. I know them. And it's a happy sort of love fest. New people clearly don't do that. New people think: "Who is that girl, why is she so loud, and does she ever get tired of hugging people?" If, by chance, they bother to think anything of me at all. This puts me out of my element. This makes me feel nervous.
Confession#7: "Nervous" is far from my favorite emotion.
Confession#8: But that's okay for two reasons.
1. Not so very long ago, almost everyone in my life was a "new person."
2. Heaven sent Hannah.

Last year, Hannah was a dreaded "new person" and she is now an incredibly key player in the drama that is my life. Hannah is more than some person I didn't think I would ever like and now love, and she's more than someone to exchange pleasantries with in the hallway or to laugh with over a bad note in choir - Hannah is dear because she was more than welcome - she was needed. We found her once at Barnes and Noble and that was that, I took her home in my heart like a book in my pocket and she has been absolutely indispensable since then. I could waste a world of words on Hannah. I could make this blog so long even she wouldn't read it. I could tell you about all the things we share: experiences, interests, passions, and the general appreciation of life you won't find in most people. I could tell you about the secrets, the laughter, the letters, the lunches, the lifetime we've lived together in a few short months. I could tell you how she inspires me, and encourages me, and how she's changed me just by being her. But I think that one of the things that I personally appreciate most about Hannah is the way she has

Seen me when absolutely no-one else was looking.

And understood me when absolutely no-one else could.

So I was thinking this morning about how much I appreciate Hannah. Her warmth, her wit, her intelligence, her charm, her beautiful self, her expressions, her ability to breathe fun into any atmosphere, and her heart. It occurred to me that I, at the very least, have one less reason to dread my return to school. After all,

Heaven sent Hannah,
Who knows what's next?

What Matters

2010-12-02T13:21:00.001-08:00

When you read this, picture me up on my bed that is higher than necessary, immersed all in pillows and comforter, sedate pewter slippers swinging, silver buttons flashing, rustling petticoats settled down in a heap. I sat in my banquet dress for a very long time. I sat there and remembered.

We had just had a meeting of Soul Sisters and we sat and mourned together for the loss of the one enjoyed such a short time. I tried to wrap my mind around it. I tried to squeeze my heart dry of it. We all prayed together and then I let it go.

Because I can't fix this pain.

Because I can't bring her back.

Because there is no human reason.

Because this was such a reminder of what really matters.

Random weekends full of fun and four wheeling, watching two strangers click - meant to be, sitting on dark couches and laughing at the horror, understanding looks shot across classrooms, mourning together the results of elections, laughing at nothing in the late early morning, wondering if that man will ever propose, the ensuing celebration when he finally did, the ride to graduation, and that horribly heart wrenching goodbye hug. That's what matters.

What matters, when it's all said and done is who you smiled at in the hallway, whose arm you grasped when you walked by, who you laughed with, who you prayed with, who you loved.
(And how you loved them.)

What matters, is the memories you created, the lives you changed, the precious notes scribbled in yearbooks, who you included in your days, and the smiles that can still be caused by a simple "Save the Date" on someones refrigerator.

So I got up off of the carpet, and I found everyone I could and spent several solid hours forcing everyone to model their banquet dresses and talked shoes, hair, accessories, and choices until I was blue in the face. Because in the end, what really matters is moments like that, and pictures like these.

So I sat in my banquet dress for a very long time. I sat there and remembered.

A Few of My Favorite Things

2010-11-20T19:16:00.000-08:00

1. It feels like Christmas already. I know that some people consider this the complete ruin of Thanksgiving but I think those people should get their jolly on and just be thankful that it feels like Christmas already.

2. Dave Barnes has a rockin' Christmas CD out. It's doing well on iTunes. Top ten well. The sister and I (die hard fans of the man Dave) are extremely happy about this.

3. "A Very Merry Christmas," "Christmas Tonight," and "All I Want for Christmas is You." On that same CD. Okay, and "Meet Me at the Mistletoe." Just for the title.

4. The music video for "Christmas Tonight." It's precious. And Jennifer Love Hewitt is in it. I wasn't sure she was still living.

5. All the ways our boys are asking girls to Christmas Banquet. Pinatas, YouTube videos, library book searches, signs, songs, snowflakes, and even a cake built by my boy Gideon - it's ridiculous. But wonderful.

6. How my banquet date is one of my absolute favorite people. Probably because he's one of the best people I know. I'm straight up banquet blessed.

7. Caitlin Harrell.

8. Caitlin Harrell's birthday party last night. Location, table, Pope, people, hats, scarves, down town, candlestick - fabulous.

9. Class and club Christmas parties. I. Love. Christmas. Parties. And I don't like parties.

1o. Gideon and I are writing a song. And even if the world hates it, I love it enough that it makes the whole experience incredible.

11. Christmas has once again wrapped itself around Starbucks cups! YES!

Also:

THE PARENTS ARE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And will be all season.

Dear Blogworld:

I'm happier than I've been in awhile. Just thought I'd let you know. I know I've been neglecting you but let's face it - Melindanicity is more than thinking semi-deep thoughts and attempting to post them for you.

Melindanicity is also spraying Dr. Pepper all over the Killmon kitchen, spilling ice everywhere while trying to clean up the first mess, and then ripping my skirt in an unfortunate place in the middle of the Sophomore party.

(See - if I hadn't been out partying instead of blogging I would not be able to share that story!)

I'm loving this season in my life and this year.

It's probably one of my favorite things.

I Know and He Knows

2010-11-02T10:21:00.000-07:00

We load up early (after 7:27) and we drive down long roads and the front seat speaks of God's amazing power and the backseat sits in quiet reflection and then most of the car drifts off into sleep. We're headed to a place I've never been (once again) and I know the day will brim overflowing with my favorite things: worshiping Jesus and being with people.

The church is full of life, and laughter, and not a little madness and I throw out my heart to embrace it because madness is sanity in the strangest of ways. We throw up our hands and we open our mouths. We all give out and recieve in return.

And man Preston talks about a journey without baggage and a command to "take nothing with you" and my heart is pricked. And baby Preston celebrates his very first birthday and my heart is melted. I wait for the chilli to finish and steal the child away from his mother and hold him as close as humanly possibly and am warmed by small laughter and realize:

I want one.

Or two.

Or seven. Who knows?

I think to myself that I want all of it. A church full of people, picnics on Sundays, and children to love with all that I own. I had not known that I want it and now that I do I want it so much that when I wake up on Monday my arms just ache empty. And I ask Him every chance that I get:

What on earth are you doing with me and to me?

And I wonder if what's happening is even on earth at all.

Then I've poured me out in worship and someone else is speaking and they're talking about His design so plainly and perfectly that it just about hurts me and I find myself back in my spot asking all the same questions and sobbing His name.

Then there she is with sure hands and strong voice and a faith that waited eight years for a dream slow in coming and she lifts me up to Him and I fall into my corner and cry rivers of grace as she asks for direction and I can tell that He hears her.

And when she leaves me in silence I hear Him the loudest and I am rocked to my core by the thing that He says:

You wake up with empty arms every morning. But you fall asleep with full ones.

I see all the faces that He gives me to love and I know how it's true. That my arms are filled up again - time, after time, after time through the day. And He has done what she asked and I know I belong.

I know my maker.
He knows my heart.

And Lancaster, Ohio - well, it's always been good to me.

Just So You're Updated: I'm Laughing

2010-10-29T08:55:00.000-07:00

I have been saying the wrong thing, tripping over things, causing other people to trip over me, and there was an incident involving a Chinese Buffet and my attempt to gracefully/sneakily/saucily steal a piece of Jose's chicken that I can't even talk about.

I have fallen in love with fall. Literally. There has just been so much beautiful outdoor leafy goodness that I can't help but smile. When I grow up, I'm becoming a tree.

My week was filled with wonderful. I got midterms out of the way. I turned things in. I spent a lot of a time with a lot of people. And my weekend was perfect. (I'm that person who says things were "almost perfect" and then fills in the blanks with the things that are hindering my happiness. I'm learning to squeeze each moment as tightly as I can and love it for the things that are in it - not hate it for the things that are not.)

So my weekend - it was perfect.

I love taking pictures. Of everything. And every one. I am my mother's child.

I am also my father's child - I wrote poetry on my pumpkin.

Those people I just mentioned - that mother person and father man? I will be holding them in less than a week. I am going to cry so hard...

Cameron and I were downtown minding our own business when another car just hauled off and hit us. It was quite the jolt but we are both fine. The car is fine. And we now have the memory of how we sat and waited for the cop - Cameron all comforting and in control, me all shaken and sitting in my hair curlers. We will always have the joy of remembering watching the people exiting the pub and staring at the accident... and my curlers... We will also harbor the memory of how the young Saudi Arabian man who hit us had no insurance. Or licence. Or working brakes.

To be honest, I'm crying a lot right now. But I'm also laughing. I choose not to focus solely on the intense frustration, the nagging heart ache, or the questions rumbling around in my brain in this season. I choose to repeatedly give all of that to Jesus. Then laugh on top of it.

And when I look back on this season, I don't think the "hard stuff" is what I'll remember. I think I'll remember how I truly loved, lived, and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

And laughed.

Job 8:21 "He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy."

Journey

2010-10-18T23:34:00.001-07:00

The other day I opened up a text message to read: "This is an exciting journey M!"
I resisted the urge to type back and ask the question: Why?
I shouldn't be like this, but I have never, ever, ever, been excited about life. I cried when I turned ten because it was all double digits from there. I never wanted to get older. I never wanted to keep moving. I had no desire to grow. In fact, for the majority of my life I have wanted nothing more than to freeze time. (Ironically, it didn't matter if the time were good or bad. I was often comfortable in less than stellar circumstances. Because they were safe. Because I knew them.)

John Mayer so accurately describes how I feel:

No I'm not color blind
I know the world is black and white
Try to keep an open mind but...
I just can't sleep on this tonight
Stop this train
I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly won't someone stop this train

(I know this is a picture of a train wreck... But isn't it beautiful somehow?)

This year is supposed to be different. It's the year I walk out on limbs, don't run away from the things I want, and actually step through the open doors presented to me. So why on earth am I still begging: Someone stop the train!

I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that ever since I was a little girl, I haven't felt like I really get to keep anything.

See once in a while when it's good

It'll feel like it should

And they're all still around

And you're still safe and sound

And you don't miss a thing 'til you cry when you're driving away in the dark.

Singing stop this train

I want to get off and go home again

I can't take this speed it's moving in

I know I can't

Cause now I see

I'll never stop this train

My Sisco's came to see me (Specifically me. It had nothing to do with Mission's Conference. Or Candra.) and it was a much needed time of fellowship. It might also have been a reality check of sorts for two reasons:

1. Uncle Nick said something so profound Wednesday night. (Okay. He said a lot of profound things.) He said that everything in life "Is just part of the journey." This probably does not seem so profound to you. But it just really clicked with me that everything I go through - good, bad, happy, sad - it's all a part of the journey. What I do with it, how I respond to it, wether or not I squeeze the life out of every moment - that's all up to me.

2. Aunt Pam is always good for the dose of reality - let me just tell you. Merely being around her reminds me of reality. And that (while there is nothing wrong with feeling things deeply or being concerned with the plight of others or wanting to change the world) some things are still black and white. And this train is not stopping. The people that love you - love you. The people that stay in your life - stay in your life. And the moments that are gone - those moments are gone. She doesn't view all this as such a complicated scenario. And neither should I.

This is all so simple.

This all took so long.

All of a sudden, I sort of love the train.

And you know what? I'm excited.

Close

2010-10-18T23:33:00.000-07:00

When arms ache for arms they can't reach. When love yearns for love that won't be returned. When days are too long. When nights are much longer. When you laugh in the face of each moment's misery - know He is close.

If you've lost something greater than many attain. If you've never even dreamed of calling it your own. If you're so bruised and battered you can't dream at all. If you've talked and you've prayed and you've cried and you're right back where you started - know He is close.

When you are afraid of how it hurts to feel. When you're mourning how it hurts not to. When you're undecided. When you are alone. When things that come simply to the world around you reach you late hours, months, or years past their due date. When you wonder if they will ever reach you at all - know He is close.

If all the words in the world can't make sense of it. If all the hugs in the world can't hold it. If all the hope in the world can't save it. If all the time in the world can't heal it. If all the pain in the world seems to pulse through your veins. If you're crushed 'till you're broken and collapse underneath the weight of your own heart - know He is close.

When there is nothing else to do, when all else has failed and no plan brings relief go and open the truth that can't fade from existence. Let your eyes fill straight up with it. Let your mouth speak it strong.

Psalm 34:18 "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

When you don't remember this word "happy" and can't see it in your future and wonder long nights if it ever even existed in your past, you push everything out of that troubled mind and know. Know that He is a God never slack concerning His promises.

And that He is close to you, beautiful broken heart.

He is so close.

Blessed

2010-10-15T13:23:00.000-07:00

My entire being slammed into this dream Wednesday night. I know of no other way to describe the sheer force of it, other than to use that word "slammed" like I was propelled through a barrier. There was confusion, and screaming, and running for a bridge yet the dream itself did not so much stand out to me as the feeling of it. The panic. The despair. The ache of the dream. Maybe a minute, and I slammed back out of it and into consciousness. I could not make myself feel better and I spoke verbally in the darkness. I whispered His name and asked Him what it was I was to pray for. Nothing came to me except a sense of finality. The deed was done. The world had already lost something.

The next day I wandered into the prayer room and I found her. She delivered news that shook everything in our world and we lay on the floor and let the pain rip our souls. Sometimes there isn't anything else to do.

I couldn't speak to Him. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wasn't angry. I was wounded. Because I will never, ever, ever, as much as I love Him or as long as I live understand this God that I serve.

But because He is mine I know I can't quit Him. And because I am His I know I must worship.

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."

They always say that. And they always will. Because He will always give. He will always take. And He never has to explain.

In this time when my head aches for the trying to make sense of it. And my heart aches for the sister pain hundreds of miles away. And my arms ache for the ones I can't reach - I have to choose.

No matter what your circumstance there is always a choice.

I choose to wrap my mind and heart around whatever He gives - no matter what He takes.

And as long as He gives me strength I will rise up and call this day "blessed."

God help them. God help me. God help us all.

Wishing

2010-10-08T08:19:00.000-07:00

I had finally been coaxed into the hot tub. This was a big deal because I am not generally an adventurous sort of person. (I would rate my sense of adventure on a scale of one to ten for you but I'm assuming the fact that I consider hot tubbing "adventurous" kind of speaks for itself... It was a little chilly out if that helps.)

We turned the porch lights off and sat in the tub 'til our skin needed ironing and we just were. I sunk into the warmth, snuggled into the love, and waited for Mufasa to speak to me. As I began to lose myself in thought a line from a song kept playing over and over in my head:

"Could we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? Cuz I could really use a wish right now, wish right now, wish right now."

I could have used a wish.

I kept thinking about how perfect that moment was and how I wished all of my moments could be perfect. Then I started thinking about all of the people I would love to share said moment with that were not there. Then all of the people I will never share things with again. Then all of the people who no longer wish me to share anything with them at all and vice verse. It went on and on.

Something checked me that night in the hot tub. I understood something I never understood before. I understood how so many times, instead of enjoying the moment, I was thinking of all the things that could be done to improve upon it. It's a habit of mine actually.

And it's choking me.

Anything can be improved upon.

And more often than not -

We could all use a wish.

But I will be hanged if in my life, I continue to spend so much time wishing, I cannot appreciate the beautiful moments that are handed to me. Because He hands me so many.

Find something to be thankful for today. And when you find it, lay back in the warmth, snuggle into the love, and wait for Mufasa to speak to you.

Embrace each day, live each moment fully, and as often as possible think to yourself:

"What else could I even wish for?"

You'll be surprised how your wishes come true.

Secret

2010-10-07T13:05:00.001-07:00

They tell me their secrets. They always have. And I love it. I am a secret keeping, secret telling, secret loving woman. I love secret jokes. I love secret looks. I love secret hiding places. I love the companionship of secrets.

Our school library is a veritable coven of secrets. It's a place stocked full of books, deep thoughts, and mad love. Secrets are passed around in that place like Dove chocolate and the strains of friendship waft through the air. (Friendship, if you didn't know, sounds like John Mayer.)

This sounds like a perfect set up you think? "Are you merely writing this to torment us because your friends are awesome and you delight in throwing that fact and the fact that our lives are void of both them and a special Coven of Secrets in our faces?"

Actually. Yes.

But also there's a tiny little problem.

There's a lot of "secret" going on inside of me - and I'm not telling.

"Really? This doesn't sound like you..."

"Is this Melinda Poitras or did someone hack into your blog?"

"Does this in any way have anything to do with why you haven't been writing so much as of late?"

Yes. Yes it's me. And probably.

I get it. This is unusual. No-one knows this more than me. And honestly, I have no idea what is going on, or why on earth I have been so closed off because frankly, information you don't even want to hear about usually flows forth from my mouth (and fingertips) in a stream of constant thought comparable to the rush of Niagara Falls.

I've been rather silent for awhile. (Metaphorically - I am never actually silent.) I've been rather shut down. I've been inside of myself. I'm not sure why.

That's a lie. I know it's a lie as I type it. I do not share my secrets because I no longer feel

That I could possibly be worthy of my own dreams.

I don't want to be closed off. I don't want to be isolated. I want to give and recieve love freely. (For there is no such thing as too much love.) So I sought the Lord yesterday and asked Him how He felt about me opening up to one or two people. As I asked this I opened up a Dove chocolate which read:

"Share your dreams with others to make them reality."

You would think that would be enough, especially since I know full well I am called to be open anyway. But it wasn't. I woke up this morning so closed off I didn't even want to talk to Jesus.

I tried to tell a secret this afternoon and I couldn't. Not really. Not open. Because there was too much. Or maybe too little. And so I came down here and I asked for direction and I thought to myself and Jesus:

"Wouldn't it be wonderful if Ann wrote a blog today that completely and perfectly fit my situation?" I typed in her URL and the blog popped up

"Why It Really is Worth It to Tell Your Secrets."

So know three things:

1.) Jehovah - He kills me with awesomeness.

2.) I remember now. I remember how it is important to share.

"Because our story is who we are, and if we deny it, we deny not only our own selves – we deny the very Author Who’s writing this redemptive epic." Ann Voskamp.

3.) I have to stop writing now. I'm off to share some secrets.

No Such Thing

2010-10-05T13:41:00.001-07:00

Where do I begin? At what point could I even start to tell you? Of the old faces with old memories and the new faces with new laughter and the library, and the coffee, and the books, and the salsa. The flowers, the wrapping paper, the inside jokes, the lists scribbled on cups, the party hats, the crowded bedrooms, the four in the morning, the phones blowing up texts. The too crowded couch, the normal, the crazy, the "Fire," the tweezers, the hugging, the happy.

The prayer, the Jesus, the message, the ministry, the unity, the bonding, the words, the wonder. The purpose, the passion, the focus, the driven, the hunger, the longing, the inspiration, the tear drops, the worship, the conviction, the healing, the hope.

The caramel milk tea, the reunions, the bad movie choices, the hugging, the birthday's, the ribbing, the joking, the late, the early, the quiet, the crashing. The guitar, the hot-tub, the stars, the stairway, the morning, the night. The curls, the confidence, the sleeping on floors more comfortable than featherbeds. The wishing, the wanting, the waiting, the holding, the laughter - sweet laughter. The bacon wrapped hotdogs, the long talks at Chilli's, the radio Disney, the cone of silence, the home.

I cannot say it enough, my lungs can't scream it loud, my heart cannot escape me thus cannot express the truth that I'm learning, the thing that I know.

Though it may punch you and kick you, bite you and hurt you, betray you or leave you, confuse "dream" with "disappointment" and cause rivers of tears:

There is no such thing

There is no such thing

There is no such thing

As too much love.

About the Blue

2010-09-08T14:20:00.000-07:00

When I was young I wondered why they say: "Only the fireborn know blue." I thought it beautiful and young ears echoed with it and young brain swelled around it and tried to understand.

The word explanation taught me that it has to do with how the hottest part (the deepest part) of fire is actually the blue and people who have never been touched by it don't really know flame.

The life explanation taught me how the hottest part (the deepest part) of feeling is the blue and people who haven't been touched by that - they don't know flame either.

I don't want to shut it down. I don't want to turn it off. Would that be easier? Yes. Would it hurt less? Yes. But I who care too much about most could care less about that. I want to love Him with the blue. Him - and everything else He calls me to love.

I used to wonder why they say "Once in a blue moon." I understand perfectly. Because I miss the blue. Blue shirts, blue ties, blue folders, blue iPod headphones, blue eyes. And I know they say what they do because that kind of blue doesn't just come around every day. I've already stopped wishing and soon I'll stop missing but sometimes there is little left to do but carry on and wait for blue to fade.

I wonder why they say "In a blue funk." .... I can't figure out why they say that. But this guy who usually stands on the outskirts of my life looked at me recently and asked me if I've "ever been in a funk." Why am I writing about this? A.) Because I have discovered I love him and the basic Poitras sister plan is to fold him up and keep in our pocket. Forever. Graduation? What graduation? B.) Thank GOD someone was actually honest about their life instead of flitting down the hallways going "I'm AMAZING!!!" when they feel anything but. C.) He asked if I'd ever been in one. Ever been. How long did I live there?There's a lot of blue in the world. It reaches out into the ocean. And into the sky. And into our hearts. I don't know where I'm going with this - with any of it lately. But I do know that no matter what happens or what I understand or what I don't -

He is the God of the whole color wheel.

Especially the blue.

Listed

2010-09-06T09:01:00.000-07:00

1.) I've missed you guys. If I'm even remotely doing a half way decent job you've probably missed me too. I'm sorry.

2.) I go to bed every night praying two things: A.) Do not let me trip and die on the way to the bathroom. B.) If it is Your will for me to trip and die on the way to the bathroom let someone find me quickly. And while they are finding me, if you could also reveal to them where my hairbrush is...

3.) I need to clean my room.

4.) I finally made chorale.

5.) I finally got to tell my mother I made chorale.

6.) I feel like I'm in love. Whether with book, boy, or beverage - I am not sure. I'll tell you when I figure it out.

7.) Some of you might be wondering - will Melinda get a big head now that she's in chorale? I have a story for you:

Recently, while exiting a car I have gotten out of a million times I got tangled up in my purse, got nervous, decided it was a good idea to back out behind first (let's pause and ponder: is this EVER a good idea?), then tripped and fell on the horn. Fell on the horn and couldn't get off it. Horn is blaring. I'm struggling. I'm in a church parking lot. At this point I'm also pretty humble. And laughing hysterically. And no one was laughing with me. Awkward.

8.) Deandra and I have been working out. This is fabulous because she will get excited and yell things like "I LOVE your hips and the fact that we are minimizing them RIGHT NOW!!!!!" while hopping around. I work out nightly because of the side show. I'm not even gonna lie.

9.) I've walked 70 miles since school let out last summer. Clearly, this is way below my goal. But 70 miles is 70 miles people! In distance that's from here to Bloomington BUT it feels like here to Timbuktu - so 'ima be happy 'bout it.

10.) Greek is killing me. But I love it.

11.) My sister is the new music director for our Ministerial Student Association. She's a beast. Learn to embrace it.

12.) I'm in a good mood today. I'm in a real good mood.

13.) I listen to Miley Cyrus' "Ordinary Girl" every single morning. I love it. And I am unashamed.

14.) I'm not writing a point "15." I know that's gonna bug someone something awful. That's why I'm not doing it. Even though I had a point "15."

What's Your Porn?

2010-07-28T10:39:00.000-07:00

How I feel about Porn:
Hate. Disdain. Loathe. Abhor. Despise. Abominate. All of these are words that barely scratch the surface of how I feel about the dilemma, addiction, disease that is porn. The word makes me want to cry. And for once in our journey together dearest readers - I am not exaggerating in the slightest.

Why I feel this way:
Porn takes something created to be pure, holy, and beautiful and turns it into filth. It objectifies women. It somehow manages to make a few moments of fleeting pleasure seem worth years of shame and guilt. Also, I can't get my head around it. I just cannot comprehend how a picture or video can wrap gnarled hands around a persons existence and slowly choke the life out of it. How a computer screen can swallow up ministries, talents, marriages, families, friendships, jobs, and entire lives with a few clicks of the mouse. That's the thing that bothers me the most I think, that a trip online can become more important to someone than anything else.

How do I feel about porn addicts?
Porn is a painful addiction that is not content having ensnared the men AND women who watch it but worms it's way into their lives until it touches the lives of people they touch as well so I think this is the question Christians, or people in general, find the easiest to answer. If there is an answer then the only right one (yes - there are still black and white, right and wrong answers to life's questions) would seem to be "I love them." Because although sin is always sin and we have to be careful to guard our own selves against it, I don't seem to remember Jesus spending a lot of time calling Christians into a life of judging each other. In fact, when looked at in that light, it becomes debatable whether or not those not enslaved should be asking that question at all.

What if you have to ask that question?
Someone you know might be wrestling with porn. Lives you are connected to might be tumbling to the ground. Hearts you beat with might be hurting. That, in turn, has the potential to hurt you quite deeply. The struggles of others sometimes cause us to struggle. To wrestle with our feelings. To doubt. Your pain is certainly not something to be ignored and it is certainly no sin to question but a better question than "How do you feel about porn addicts?" might be:

What's your porn?
I mentioned that the thing I hated the most about porn was the way that those enslaved by it can love it more than anything else in their life. I was reading a book this summer that made me stop and think for a minute about the things that I might love more than anything else in my life.

"God knows all about our addictions to power and pride and gambling and pornography and cocaine and depression and anger and Cheetos." - Steven James

Steven was talking about the things that enslave the human race, and how God knows our chains. I read that sentence over, and over, and over. Because sin is sin. And we can remind ourselves of that constantly - and still tend to forget it.

What's a bigger problem than porn?
I read a book called "Flashbang" this summer. It is now easily in my top five. It was hilarious and deep and power packed with truth that just sneaks up on a body unawares. The author wrote this whole book, and then, at the end, when you least expected it BLAOW he talked about his problem with porn. It was raw, and well worded, and yes, I bawled like a three year old mourning the loss of a candy bar. You know what enabled his addiction to keep eating away at him for years on end? The same thing that enables our addictions (large or small - taboo or accepted) to keep hold of us - he kept it a secret.

You know what I think? I think if the attic is dirty it needs to be cleaned. And if it's going to be cleaned the lights need to be turned on. And when the lights are turned on guess what?!?! That attic is going to be dirty. This sounds so simple but it ends up being complicated because we don't like to talk about dirty things do we? We don't like to touch "dirty" people. And when forced to look at the attic the typical Christian response seems to be to stand on the sidelines and shout guidelines on how to get it clean. To advise that "we just turn the light back off." To lecture and expound greatly on all the ways that someone could have avoided this mess in the first place. To pretend the attic doesn't exist at all. Well guess what else?

"Depression, eating disorders, fear of failure, backstabbing, promiscuity, pride, obesity, shame, midlife crisis, pornography, codependency, gossip, addictions, phobias, compulsions, gender confusion, anxiety, panic attacks, sexual abuse, raging anger - these aren't simply psychobabble terms created to drum up business for the local Christian counselor. These are real-life struggles of the body and bride of Christ. Within every church and every pew, these problems live, sapping the strength and effectiveness of God's children." Dr. Julianna Slattery

Sweeping things under the rug does not get rid of the dirt - it moves it under the rug.

Invisible chains are still chains.

Problems exist - whether they are dressed in their Sunday best or not.

Porn is just as often found behind the pulpit these days as it is anywhere else. So,

What to do:
My advice would be to turn your own attic lights on.
And in regard to your neighbor's attic either
A.) Shut up.
or
B.) Slap on the latex gloves of prayer, the protective goggles of Scripture, and the rubber apron of support and help clean if you must do anything at all.

We all have issues you know. Public or private, they exist just the same. There seems to be a growing mentality that if we look perfect we must be okay. Yes? No.

Besides - ugly or not, wounded or not, dirty or not - we are the body. When the hair is dandruff ridden the hands should wash it - not cut it off.

This world grows darker each day but we are not without hope. We are more than conquerors you know. We have to believe that for two reasons.

1.) The Bible says it.
2.) Love believes all things and hopes all things - and we are called to love.

And before you go hunting out the speck in your brother's eye, it's not a bad question to ask.

"What's your porn?"

Earthquake

2010-07-27T04:24:00.000-07:00

Gabriel rushed through the gate on our porch amid a flood of words and a blur of waving arms. He was an ever present help in my young life. He taught. He interpreted. He told great stories. Any Twi I speak is thanks to him. Thanks to him I was to star in a Labadi Church production of "Queen Esther" that fell apart after a few practices. I was in his wedding in the only yellow item of clothing I have owned to date. It wasn't long before he asked me the question I knew was pending from the moment I saw him (Thank God he asked it in English...)

"Melinda, do your remember the earthquake?"

It had been awhile since I thought about it but yes, I definitely remembered. When someones schoolroom pantomimes as if it has been placed in the middle of an ocean simulator set to "hyper drive" one does not easily forget it. If I close my eyes and think hard enough I'm there again, lying on the floor as it shakes and slants as if it were a perfectly normal thing for a floor to do.

It was definitely an earthquake to remember.

Rats slithered to and fro across the damp floor of the prison. It was impossible to tell where the leak was coming from or what on earth was actually dripping but drip it did in steady precision.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

It was absolutely impossible to force the body into a comfortable position. Beaten until the skin is stripped from your back, stretched far past the point of exhaustion, and being bound and shackled does not leave much room for comfort.

Knowing that you are the recipient of all this wonderful treatment because you attempted to do as your God commanded you does not leave much room for positive thinking.

Ironically, this particular brand of prisoner was not seeking comfort. They were not overly concerned with discovering why or thinking deep intellectual thoughts at the moment. They were singing.

And somewhere, in the midst of all that singing - perhaps because hands that formed man from dust began clapping, a voice that spoke light into existence began singing, or feet that carried a sinless Savior to a cross began stepping in time - the floor began to move like an ocean simulator set to "hyper drive."

It was an earthquake to remember.

When it comes right down to it, it doesn't matter what physical state you're in. What situation you've gotten into. How you have managed to wind up in your particular brand of prison. Or how easy it would be to blame God for your residence there. It's amazing what praising can do.

Or how often it results in an earthquake to remember.

Shower

2010-07-24T04:52:00.000-07:00

I have had exactly three hot showers this entire summer. This has not been a problem until last week when, all of a sudden, I started dreading the cold showers. I mean, really dreading them. I mean - tear up thinking about them, do anything to avoid them - dread. As we all know, (because it's a great life lesson that our mothers taught us): You have to take showers. Unless you're taking a bath, or willing to stand outside in torrential rain with soap and a loofah - showers are a must. Lately though, for me, showers have become this painful process:

1. Realize I have to take a shower.
2. Talk to Dad.
3. Talk to Mom.
4. Read a book.
5. Start an unnecessary fight with Candra.
6. Make up.
7. Read some more.
8. Pray.
9. Go on Facebook.
10. Wash the dishes.
11. Make a cake.
12. Write a song.
13. Try to think of something, anything else to do.
14. Sit around and dread the pending shower.
15. Turn the shower on.
16. Get in the shower and stand on the edge.
17. Sing fifty verses of "Sally Waded in the Water" complete with actions.
18. Splash some water on my face.
19. Get in the actual shower.
20. Jump out of the actual shower.
21. Muster up determination from unknown force.
22. Get in and stay there.
23. Grin and bear it. (Literally. The grinning minimizes the teeth chattering.)

The funny thing is, about two minutes into the actual shower - I love it. I feel like I'm standing under a waterfall in Tahiti. Blue is bluer. Birds sound better. The future looks brighter. I'm thinking of moving into this shower and wondering why on earth I do not shower all day every day because the cool water is amazing. I have to force myself to get out like I forced myself to get in and then, the next day, it starts all over again.

Maybe this school year will be like that. Since I have to do it, maybe if I get in, all the way in, and stay and grin and bear it, it will be more wonderful than I ever could have imagined.

It's possible. Right?

Finding Mr. Right

2010-07-13T15:21:00.000-07:00

My sister walked out of the Christian bookstore in Ghana this week and proudly presented her findings to me. Among her purchases was the book "Finding Mr. Right." She knows I like to read such things for their anthropological value and this one seemed to be a very scientific approach to dating. It's actually geared towards women who are interested in actually pursuing a life mate so (Yes, Danielle, I am changing my religion) I only skimmed through the chapters that I felt to be beneficial. (It's not a bad book. Maybe if I'm still single when I'm forty...)

It wasn't long before my sister and I came to the conclusion that it probably targeted a more agressive approach than we would ever consider but the great shock of the read came five minutes ago when I read her the list of bulleted tips on nabbing a Mr. Right.

1. Expect that you can make a silk purse out of a sows ear.
2. Expect to find Mr. Right in all the wrong places.
3. Expect to "hook up" now and find fidelity and intimacy later.
4. Expect Mr. Right to make up for what Daddy did not give you.
5. Get too friendly with a married man.
6. Seduce a man into leaving his wife and children.
7. Ignore the fact that your background, beliefs, and values are complety different.
8. Get involved with a man who has already abandoned a family.
9. Get swept of your feet in a whirlwind romance.
10. Have sex on the first date, or any date, before the wedding.

(You will notice that I have highlighted my favorites.)

Hello "Mr Right" or whatever you call yourself. If these are the ways one is expected to meet or hang on to you I think I'll just invest in a farm of cats.

Clearly, my "skimming" caused me to misunderstand and this is actually a list of "don'ts" but we laughed so hard that we cried so I felt led to share.

Who knows? These tips might come in handy sometime.

Ghana vs Uruguay - My Thoughts

2010-07-06T06:14:00.000-07:00

"Uruguay" - if I were the kind of person that referred to things I don't like as "gay" I could do so much with that. But I'm not. Because I feel like that's mad disrespectful to the homosexual persuasion. And while I clearly believe homosexuality is a sin - I'm pretty sure needlessly bashing my fellow members of the human race might be as well. Just saying.

During the first 20 minutes of the game Richard Kingson made me wish I was a soccer ball.

This was kind of an education because I had no idea that you could get carded for talking to the ref. Or is that just if you're Ghanaian? I'm understandably confused.

Speaking of the referee.... Well, I just said I don't believe in bashing my fellow human beings didn't I?

I think our boys play beautifully. Our team is a mixture of old and young players who give it their all and who truly play as a team. I love watching them pass that ball.

I am well aware that we did not do so well at the beginning. I figure it must have had something to do with trying to focus and run back and forth across a field with thousands of people watching and the weight of an entire continent on your shoulders.

I'll give it to them - If Kingson weren't such a beast and Uruguay wasn't so incredibly inept at actually getting the ball into the actual net we would have been completely void of hope by halftime.

I was thinking that Uruguay handing the ball (an incredible display of poor sportsmanship that might have resulted in an automatic goal for Ghana had we been blessed with a different referee) was kind of like sin. What you do effects other people. And while you might be punished (or red carded) and forced to make restitution (free kick) the consequences remain.

Which reminds me, if I were the people bashing sort of person I would have quite a few things to say about not one, but two unnamed persons who confuse their hands with their feet and don't know the difference between "striker" and "goalie" yet profess to be soccer players.

When Gyan missed that goal and the hopes and dreams of Africans everywhere shattered against the goal post I teared up, ate a cookie, laughed, and threw up. In that order. True story.

Speaking of Gyan - I feel awful.
A.) I feel awful that he dropped the ball. (No pun intended. It actually wouldn't be a true pun anyway because you play soccer with your feet. Unless you're the goalie. Or from Uruguay.)
B.) I feel awful because he played like a beast that entire game and all everyone is going to remember is that he lost it - not the part he played in keeping us in it in the first place.

Essian, I just want you to know that your knee injury is a personal inconvenience to me. Rude.

Mensah - Thank you for reminding the referee to watch the game. That little part of his job seemed to have slipped his mind and as I was not there to do it myself I greatly appreciate your efforts. ... Sorry about the yellow card. Maybe you should have written him a note?

The announcer said something about how we missed our chance to make history. That's not true. It might not be the history they wanted but pulling themselves up out of a birthplace with few options and earning a place in the top eight soccer teams in the entire world seems to make history to me. They reached for the stars and became stars themselves and loss or no loss - I am incredibly proud of them.

PS: When The Black Stars do make history by winning and progressing to the final four next cup it will be because they are blessed to have the support of the best people in the world, because they're an excellent team, and because they know the difference between their feet and their hands - a rare and valuable quality these days.

Let Me Tell You

2010-06-16T06:47:00.000-07:00

I am not okay. I am not always strong. I do not have all the answers - I don't even have half of them. If I love you at all I've probably hated you with a passion at least once. I'm not always happy to see you - but I am always glad you're there.

I am home.

And I am missing things I thought I'd let go of. Battling things I thought I was okay with. Loving things I never thought I'd like.

I'm surprisingly calm. I'm surprisingly old. I'm surprisingly quiet.

I am not doing one little thing I don't want to do. If I am reading a book for anything but sheer pleasure I put it down. If I don't want to get out of bed I don't. If I don't want to go I stay home. If I am annoyed, bored, or restless I get up and walk away. And for once in my life, I actually don't care how you might feel about that - whoever you are.

And even though every moment of these last two years has been filled with love, God, and promise. Even though I was blessed beyond reason. Even though I cannot thank Him enough for all the love and laughter He brought into my life -

It was long. It was hard. It was confusing. It was lonely. It was rough. It was changing. It was exhausting.

I am exhausted.

Mentally, relationally, spiritually, emotionally, physically - exhausted.

I've decided that's okay. It's okay that I'm tired. It's okay that I don't have it all together. It's okay that I'm struggling with things I thought I was okay with.

It's okay because I'm home.

It's okay because He's here.

And I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, with the exact people I'm supposed to be with, at this exact time.

If I do nothing more this Summer than love strong, talk deep, think long, and simply be then I'm okay with that.

Because mentally, relationally, spiritually, emotionally, and physically:

I came home to heal.

Prince Charming

2010-06-02T07:03:00.000-07:00

In my circle of friends, when someone brings up something painful or awkward or just flat out burns someone else in the group with a sharp, well phrased group of words one of us will more likely than not declare:

"You went there. You actually went there. You brought that to the table."

I am going to go there.

I'm Pentecostal. I'm 21 years old. And I'm single.

Shoot me.

I point out the aforementioned fact in order to make sure that everyone knows I am in this instance most definitely preaching to the choir. (I am the choir. In case you missed that. Now I'm just stalling.)

I recently read the scripture verse that I'm saving for the end of this blog and I've been obsessed with Prince Charming ever since. You'd be surprised how many people are obsessed with Prince Charming - especially if they don't have one yet. We would never, ever call it an obsession - but it is one. The books we read, the places we go, the things we say, the clothes we wear, the music we listen to most of the time is colored by the awareness that we are single (heaven forbid) and whatever tactic we're employing to (hopefully) guarantee that we don't have to stay that way.

Sometimes, we even focus on a "hopeful" in our sights and that can turn sour quickly. We tend to hope so much that we read into everything. Most of the time, I'll give it to us, it might genuinely look like there's something to read into but more often than not "he's just not that into us" and we're left with very broken, very confused hearts.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with "dreaming of a true loves kiss" - we were created to want to share our lives with someone. Our desires are natural and human. I think the actual problem involves our focus.

The focus on every new man we meet as a potential life mate.

The focus on the man we just know would be the perfect partner if he would just open his eyes to us, or his heart to love, or his wallet to a dinner date or something.

The focus on the fact that we're single. Or somehow lacking. Or completely alone.

Hey beautiful girl, precious daughter: Did you know that you're a princess? That you were created uniquely with your own special design, purpose, and talents? That every day is a treasure, a gift, and an opportunity for magic? Did you know that anything can happen not only to you but through you? Have you heard that "it is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in princes?" (Psalm 118:9) You will never, ever truly be happy until you realize that no prince, though he be as charming as they come will ever fulfill you. That the only person that will ever complete you is the Lord anyway. Check your focus and make sure that it is fixed on the Prince of Peace. Live every day to it's fullest. Don't waste your time looking for love in things that will never complete you. By all means, wait for the right one but don't spend your life waiting. Go ahead and live. If you want to dance - go ahead! You don't have to wait for a partner to do it.

Follow that advice, focus on the Lord, and it won't be long before someone "cuts in" to dance with you.

Loving God, and enjoying life with Him. "So This is Love."

I know that you would feel better if I threw out the testimony that I followed my own advice and that by the time I finished this blog I was honeymooning in Australia.

Nope. Still dancing alone. But I'm not all that concerned about it.

For one thing, I won't be for long.

And for another, that's not the point anyway.

Day 9

2010-05-24T05:30:00.000-07:00

G - is for Gynyame

*Coincidentally: "D" is for Drum - which the church was not allowed to play on our first Sunday back because the land the church was on was owned by the Ga's and this time of year they don't allow any drum playing - it's tradition. I don't know why. ... This was not a very educational rabbit trail at all...

Anyway!

Gynyame is the word for the symbol that you see on the drum. It means "except God." Like "except God build the house." I did a little research and apparently it was established to say "without God there is nothing." "Besides God there are no others." "No-one but God has the answer." Ect. It's the most popular symbol here and it was created to remind us that we're nothing without God. That all things lead to God. That God is the point.

Gynyame means a lot to my sister and me wherever we see it. Etched onto the Owari game in my dorm room; tattooed onto the bicep of a thug in an episode of "Psych"; crafted into the earrings of a grieving mother on "Bones"; or carved into the "chief's stool" here in our living room at home - Gynyame reminds us of the point - God.

There is no point without Him.

No point, "except God."

Day 8 - Just Journal

2010-05-24T05:04:00.000-07:00

We're converting Moments with Melinda into "Conversations with Candra" for Day 8. Partially because I've always wanted to have a guest blogger. Partially because she's brilliant. Partially because - it's not like we do something exciting every day and I thought you would enjoy this more than reading about me brushing my teeth.

All of us have embarrassing moments from our pasts or childhoods that we wish we could erase. Someday what I wouldn't give to go back in a time machine and erase the past. Stupid statements made without thought, crushes on the most ridiculous people ever, some really crazy hairstyles - the list goes on and on. Why is life not made with an edit button? Things would be much easier.

To this end, I came up with a very ingenious but simple solution to our little dilemma a few years ago. Here is the deal: Just pretend it didn't happen. If that fails, come up with a great psychological reason that you went through that phase in your life. It's foolproof. Oh! And in twenty years no one is going to remember anything anyway, so it is quite possible that the only record of your former life will be any journals you wrote during that time period. Therefore, all it takes to have a spotless, perfect record of your life are some creative journaling skills.

For instance, if you had a fight with your parents, put gum in your sisters hair, built a monument in your back yard to symbolize your undying love for some punk that you'll be over two days from now and ran over your cat with a lawn mower - write about flowers that day. If you forget to journal for six months, just throw it out and get a new one - you don't want people to think you only do things half way. If you wrote about the love of our life Bob in the beginning of your journal and now you want to write about the new love of your life Tom - just throw that out - you don't want people to think you're flighty. If your journal makes you look like anything less than the perfect, happy person you want people to perceive you as just get rid of it. You wouldn't want people to think ill of you.

Above all, the best plan of action is to always write in pencil. Preferably invest in a journal that you can tear the pages out of and always write as inspirationally as possible. Great plan!

Right?

Candra answers her own question a few days from now in the next installment of Conversations with Candra - Just Journal Part Two.

Day 7

2010-05-20T15:24:00.000-07:00

Today Candra and I completed the long journey to Bake Shop Classics to pick up Dad's birthday cake. Candra had to solve the complex problem of how to maneuver through some mud (really Princess?) but finally made it to the actual cake and brought it out to the car. She said it was "ridiculous." I love it. Just in case you can't tell it says "Over the Hill - On Top of the World." That's Dad in the balloon waving. (As you might have noticed this cake was clearly not on the pages Mom was looking at in my earlier blog - have to throw the birthday boy off of the trail somehow.)

The Richardson's were here for the day and it's always wonderful to get to spend some time with them. We had dinner upstairs at Colleen's and cake downstairs at our house. It was all really good and b-boy seemed genuinely happy with all of his presents. We got him journals from Barnes and Nobles and are glad that they are such a hit.

I wonder where I get my facial expressions from?

It was really good to be home with Dad for his birthday. There are more words than that but I would cry and I just got up. (Yes. I'm cheating and writing this on the morning of "Day 8." Don't judge.)

I'll tell you one thing about "Day 7" though, this is the last time we ever let Dad decorate for his own party.

Day 6

2010-05-19T11:49:00.000-07:00

Lovely day today. Not much that was bloggable - it was just extremely nice.

We went to the Korum's and had dinner. It was extremely nice - did I mention that yet? It was good to be back in the old house and just hang out. Dinner was incredible. (Especially the rice - 0-mazing.) We met a lot of new people and got to spend some time with the old ones. Our old friend David Glover was there - he leaves to go back to California tomorrow and he starts college on Monday. He's grown up into a great young man and it was good to see him again - it's definitely been a trip highlight thus far.

Well, that's about it unless you want to hear all the intense details of how I cleaned my room this morning. Yep. Didn't think you did. :)

Loving here, Missing there;
Melinda

Day 5

2010-05-18T13:56:00.000-07:00

Mom and I went to order Dad's birthday cake today. It took us roughly three hours to get there, order it, stop by a wood carvers shop on the side of the road, and come back. Three hours. I have not missed the traffic.

We order our cakes from Bake Shop Classics. It's a bakery ran by a woman from New York that creates the best birthday cakes ever. (In my opinion.) You'll see Dad's cake on Thursday - I picked it out. I would describe it - but that would ruin the surprise. (Hint: It's on the pages pictured here.)

When we went to get the new dresser for our room (that would be why we stopped by the side of the road) we met a man named Frank. I'm mentioning him because communication was crystal clear and when we asked him where he had traveled and spoken English he told us he developed his superior skills right here in Ghana. Either he was lying because while he was learning his English in Europe he was also on a secret assignment for the government or he's super intelligent. I'm a big fan of intelligence. He does beautiful work as well. I'll post a picture in ten days when he's finished.
The food pictured above is not an African dish but a dish the family has sort of Afro-engineered to suit our own interests. We call it "creamy tacos." It's taco meat, cow cheese, and whatever else Colleen put into the mix today. We eat it with tortillas and I put fresh tomatoes on mine. Delish'.

It's good just to be with the family. Not to have to worry about anything. Not to have to go to work, get up on time, meet deadlines, or make it to class on before the second bell. And while I miss and love everyone I left behind deeply, I have to admit that for the first time ever, I'm actually enjoying being just a little removed from the rest of my world.

Loving here, Missing there;

Melinda

Day 4

2010-05-17T14:20:00.000-07:00

This morning after breakfast (which was actually technically lunch - but who cares?) I found Mom's collection of Nona Freeman's books and I tried to figure out which order they belonged in so that I could read them chronologically. While I was doing that, I stumbled across an inscription to "Our great friends the Poitrases." I opened up the front covers of the rest of the books and found signature after signature scrawled on the front of each one.

One of the books had this note pasted into the front cover:

"Lovely to talk to you. Trust all goes well. Will be anxiously awaiting word. Much love, Bro. & Sis. Freeman."

There was something about that note that captured my attention. Then I started remembering all of the birthday cards that would always come with a longer letter to Mom and Dad. Birthday cards that I had forgotten.

This missionary woman was an icon of our Christian faith and a grounbreaking missionary. Her ministry has touched the lives of thousands of people. She sent me a card every birthday. There is no doubt in my mind that she prayed when she sent it. And I didn't even know enough to appreciate it. If I had known then what I know now I would have cherished them all, I would have kept them, I would have written back. I don't think I ever even wrote back.

It occurred to me thinking about this that it is the sad lot of humans that we so very often miss the greater glory around us. I am inexplicably humbled (now that I know so much more about her) by the thought that someone who has made so much difference in the world took the time to care about me. And rudely awakened by the fact that Ididn't even notice. We are often a part (no matter how insignificant) of something much greater than ourselves and we would see that if we only took the time. Stop. Look around you. Flip through some old books today. You might be surprised by what you find.

I had been planning to blog about this all day but reading the note again I thought to ask Mom what was happening. What anxious news they were awaiting. The note was written in 1988. The news they were waiting on - was me. Yep. Inexplicably humbled.

Quiet day here on the homestead. Mom went shopping. Candra and Colleen went to check out photo-copiers and risograph printers. I did some laundry, helped Mom put the groceries away, ate dinner, and partook in a rousing game of Phase Ten. (Which I WAS winning until I hit Phase Seven - which completely destroyed me. Two sets of four. Impossible.) Somewhere in the middle of all of this the rest of the ladies put the palm tree wall paper border up in Mom's bathroom. All in all, a very pleasant day.

Loving here, Missing there,

Melinda

Day 3

2010-05-16T15:10:00.000-07:00

Today, as you know, was Sunday. Church was lovely. Dad did an exceptional job preaching on "The Banqueting Table in the Desert Place." I know that I should have made more of an effort to take mental notes and photo-document the experience but honestly - I was up most of the night and had to be forced out of bed this morning so I didn't really feel like bothering. I. Hate. Jet lag. But I think I might have mentioned that.

We went to Le Bouquet - my favorite Lebanese restaurant - for lunch. They had moved it since I last was there so it all looked completely different but it tasted the same and the new surroundings were a step up in my opinion.

Fried kibbi, french fries, (chips) and garlic chicken wings later - I was a happy person. Everyone made a big deal about how gross the chicken looked.
A.) We live in Africa people. You'd think you'd be able to handle this by now.
B.) It's what I always get.
C.) Thank you Mother, for reminding everyone that it was Sis. Lund's favorite lunch dish. I should be like her in all aspects of life but I suppose this is just as good a place to start as any.

(Clearly, there were hummus as only Le Bouquet makes them but they are a given and not pictured here.)

Colleen and I ordered pineapple juice. It may come in a bottle but it's 100% pure juice and it tastes like "just like heaven. Just like heaven on earth."

The rest of the day was spent peacefully not sleeping (because my brain wouldn't shut up) and hanging out around the house - mostly with Mother.

Loving here, Missing there, Off to seek out a cupcake;

Melinda

Day 2

2010-05-15T13:15:00.000-07:00

I officially hate jet lag. That's right. Before, it was just a thought, now, it's official. Candra, Olivia, and I all went to bed around midnight last night. I talked. A lot. I kept coming up with things I just had to share. At first, they were actively involved in the conversation. After awhile - they were just asleep. After about an hour of endeavoring to join them, I gave in to the night (Not this night clearly. The night in Indianapolis. The one that hadn't yet arrived because it was still daytime there, and in my brain.) and went into the living room, played around on Facebook, and finally ended up in Mom's office reading Volume III of "Great Stories Remembered."

The first story was a war love story involving letters - so I loved it. The second was about a little boy who heard an African missionary preach "for three hours - but nobody minded." The pastor told the kids that they could spare a toy for the poor, needy, children in Africa. But that they shouldn't give any old toy - they should give what was nearest to their heart. He didn't really have any toys anyway because he lived with his grandparents and they were dirt poor but he did have a beautiful German Shepherd that a rich woman had once given him. The dog had been with him his whole life and had always protected, loved, and comforted him. To make a long story short, he decided that Rex was nearest his heart so he must give him up. Then he realized that Rex wouldn't make it all the way to Africa so he must sell him and send the money instead. The "man who liked dogs" had asked him to sell Rex to him many times but he never would so when he took him this time, told him the story, and sold his dog the man was quite sure that he would want him back again by the next morning and he didn't give him near what the dog was worth "just to be safe." The boy went home and cried himself to sleep in the cinders of the fire place and the next day the man brought Rex back. The boy fell on his dog's neck and burst into tears asking "Why, oh why did you bring him?" (Yes. I had already fallen over the emotional ledge at this point.) He said that he knew how much the dog meant to him, that he could have the dog, that he could keep the money and send it to the Africans, and that any church that inspired that kind of fervor (though he had never darkened the doors of a church in all his days) he would just have to visit.

Obviously, this story is a beautiful illustration of the truth "give and it will come back to you" and it definitely touched my heart. It also touched my heart because two of the things very nearest and dearest to it are already in Africa. And I had to have a come to Jesus meeting to stop myself from waking them up and crawling into bed with them - because, you see they aren't always just down the hall like they are now, and were last night. I was thinking in the moment that I would blog about it. (I am constantly blogging in my head. It's sad.) And it occurred to me that few people realize how hard this is. But that's okay. Because few people really realize how blessed we are either.

I didn't ever really go to sleep. I went back to bed and stayed there until eight when Mom got up (I know. My Mother. Up at eight.) and made Dad and I breakfast. Then I crawled into their bed and slept hard for two hours until Candra came and woke me up - multiple times.

We went to a restaurant close to our houses that we used to go to after Youth Group. I felt like Anne of Green Gables visiting "all of the old haunts." Our friend David (who left us for California long before I left for College) is here for a week so we got to spend some time with him. We also got to meet Olivia's new friend Cody. (Also from California - but apparently in Malawi before this. We had a short chat about Malawi. Short because the most detail I could give you about my trip there is what Lauren and I made for dinner. I don't remember the names of any place.)

In case you were wondering we had plantain, yam chips, chicken kebabs, banku, and okra stew. So. Good. (Will picture and describe later.) It all tasted perfect. Speaking of perfect:

C is for Coke. Coke does not taste the same in America. Sometimes, I even like Pepsi better there. (Never give me a Pepsi here.) It's something about the bottle and the way it's made and the type of sugar - I don't know. But coke is one of the things I craved the most and I was so thrilled to walk into the pantry and discover a whole carton of it. It did not disappoint.

This is me after I drank the coke.

H is for Happy Dance.

The rest of the day was lovely. Hung out with Dad. Ate dinner up in Colleen's house. Hung out with Mom and Colleen for awhile. Came down here. Took a shower. Got locked in - this time by the actual door to the bathroom. Why is our shower trying to eat me?

Loving here, Missing there;

Melinda

Day 1

2010-05-14T14:01:00.000-07:00

I'm exhausted. Which is funny because today I did... well.... Basically I did nothing.

I did get up close to one in the afternoon (and by "got up" I mean I laid awake in bed while the energizer bunny - Candra - got up and ran around and unpacked things and talked in loud, shrill tones.) Last night I strangled my inner American that screamed for a hot shower and fell into bed just as I was complete with the residue of two days of plane travel so today I finally managed to stumble into the shower around three. Which was interesting, because the shower door locks behind you and it took forever for me to figure out that it slides open from the right side too so you have to go in the left side and out of the right. In other shower news: (since my shower is incredibly fascinating apparently) our old shower in our old house would let loose an amazing stream of water - both hot and cold - like a torrential flood. Our new shower spits out lukewarm water.... like.... Jesus. ......... Thinking of hanging up my analogy's... Anyway.

Today I did nothing except go to the Korum's house and see all of them. (Their house is literally home sweet home - you have no idea. Also, for the first time in recorded history I left there without borrowing a book. But only because I didn't have time to look at them.) Candra and I picked up Olivia and we came back to the house and had dinner. They discussed (as they usually do) how ridiculous I am and how funny all my faults are. Lord. I've missed them together. Since then we've been chilling out and talking and just... being home.

I'm sitting in the darkened living room. Candra and Olivia are in our room. Mom and Dad are in their bedroom. I just heard Mom laugh - beautiful sound.

Two things happened:

1.) Laurissa Wolfram went back to the field and wrote incredible blogs about everything she was eating. (Blogs I will never be able to compete with mind - but they inspired me.)

2.) The most asked question I received in America was "What do you eat there?" So a lot of what I will blogging about will be just that - what we eat here.

This is Milo. It's hot chocolate mix. I generally avoid turning it into hot chocolate.

I eat it on my ice-cream. Like this:

See. I told you I wouldn't even be able to touch Laurissa's fabulous food blogs. Sigh....

Loving here, Missing there;

Melinda

Hi from Home

2010-05-13T15:01:00.000-07:00

I cried twice. Once when we boarded the plane in Amsterdam and the map popped up and I realized how far Africa is from my home in Indianapolis and all of the people I have come to love there. And once when I looked out of the window and I could see the city lights of home. I wish I could take you there with my words. I wish I could take you through this experience. But all the words in the world wouldn’t do it. You would have to have lived it. You would have to have been raised here with these sights, sounds, tastes, and ways of life. Then you would have to cut it all off cold turkey for two full years and move to a completely different country – country? – continent and scratch out an existence (with the help of God and many, many, many, people who took the time to care about you). You would have to give up your whole life and miss it, and grieve for it, and count the days until you could visit it again and then all of a sudden, finally , see the lights of the city. It’s sort of a “I guess you had to be there” thing.

I am going to do my utmost best to keep you updated (hence the blogging tonight when I am worn out and cross-eyed). And I know this has not been so very informative and you would probably be more entertained by tales of the jovial Swedes we met. (And by “jovial” I clearly mean “swearing” and “drunken.”) But I just thought I would tell you that I’m safe. And if the sobbing over the distance from here to Indy is any indication it is quite possible that my “home” might be a house divided.

I shall endeavor to introduce you to as many of the sounds, sights, tastes, and ways of life here as possible in the upcoming months. But for now, I will close my laptop and my eyes and let the sounds of the ceiling fan and the silence lull me to sleep.

Loving here, Missing there,
Melinda

Before She Writes

2010-04-19T07:12:00.000-07:00

I promise I'm usually paying attention to you but my brain works faster than I do, or you do, and swirls around in a blended mix of thoughts that have a life of their own. Don't think I'm trying to make myself look intelligent - the thoughts are often about fairy tales, books I want and "who was that woman who had that show with that lamb puppet? So I'm thinking how he's always been smart but he's gaining wisdom every day. How I hope that he knows this struggle is birthing a life greater than he's ever imagined. How if you had asked me to tell you so many Summers ago who would still be in my life his name would not have been the most list likely. And has he always been this tall? When he tells me I should write.

Because it's what I do.

He's right of course. He often is. I tell him I haven't felt like it. He tells me it doesn't matter. And I hear what he isn't saying.

When you have a gift, there is never a reason good enough not to use it.

He speaks to more than my writing.

Before I write, I love. In fact, I only write at all when there is so much love (be it for person, book, event, candy, or life) that I just can't handle it and I have to share it. Hopefully, you think that's beautiful - because it usually is. Lately, it's been a problem.

When I was a little girl, my dream job was to be a waitress because they got to write on notepads all day long. My life has been a journey from childlike innocence, to harsh reality, to deep depression, to saving grace, to childlike wonder. So when I discovered love, and how He loves me, and how I love things, and how wonderful the whole love concept is and how amazing it is to feel things I purposed to color the whole world around me with as many invisible crayons as possible. I would write love on everything.

When you're writing love on everything: Sometimes your hand cramps. Sometimes people erase what you've written. Or crumple it up and throw it away. Or simply don't see it sitting in their mail box. Sometimes they don't like the way you've formed the sentence. Sometimes you write too much. Sometimes you write too little. Sometimes they get tired of reading. Sometimes you're writing at a time when no-one wants to read in the first place.

That shouldn't matter, when you're writing love on everything. But sometimes it does. Especially when you can't stop people you love from hurting each other. Or themselves. Or you. And you get so frustrated that you can't seem to stop yourself from hurting them. SO.

When you're writing love on everything - don't forget to write it in the Master Author's way.

Because if you're going to write love on everything then it has to be for Him. And if it's for Him then you lose the right to write for you.

I am called to love. Not just the heart swelling with joy over hugs in the hallway, ecstatic with excitement over a new journal, can't believe someone would say that about me enjoyment of being. Not just the overwhelming protective tendencies, or the she-bear instinct to scratch out the eyes of whoever hurts one of my own, or the ready frustration at things that are wrong that I can't make right. Not just the crying over pictures of Europe, thrilled that my friends are being blessed, weak kneed he just smiled at me in the lobby it's meant to be never mind that I could fall in love with a potted plant enthusiasm. I was born with that. Let's not lie.

I mean the "love is patient, love is kind" selfless, never failing, constant sort of love. That kind, I'm discovering, I might need some work on. So I'll work on it.

Because before she writes - she loves.

After all, I can't give either up.

It's what I do.

Green Eyes, Brown Eyes

2010-04-07T20:39:00.000-07:00

I promised myself that I would never let a pair of green eyes get this close to me again. Yet there I was, on the couch at two in the morning and there were those green eyes soul searching and my brown eyes all leaking and we just were. He looked me full in the face and asked me hard questions. Questions that would have been easy for anyone else to answer. Questions that he usually wouldn't think to ask or make me answer. And I threw it all out there. The terror. The inadequacy. The homesickness. The love for here. The hatred for now. The struggles. The insecurities. The loss. The fear.

I didn't say much at all when I think about it, just let it all leak out through brown eyes and hurt heart and safe presence. And he let it leak. And didn't try to fix it. This boy I love, this man that leaves soon, all typical male and best friend - protector, for once didn't even try to fix it but just let it be. And it was. And I was. And we were. He didn't let me apologize for any of it - how I am or how things are. He just let me cry over the past, and the future, and sat with me in our precious now. Then he walked up the stairs and I called my feeble "I love you" just in case he'd forgotten and he answered with silence because he knows that I know.

They have always said that we're an unlikely pair. We're completely opposite in every way and yet insanely balanced - each totally loyal. I cherish this friendship more than most because it came out of nowhere, and he made it happen with the help of Him and it works like a clock, gears moving and time turning on it's own even when we don't bother to look at it's face for a week.

That moment changed my life a little. He has changed my life a lot.

Green eyes focus forward, to a future uncertain, with purpose, strength, and bullheaded determination.

Brown eyes look upward, like he always reminds them they should.

And no matter the future I smile. For in the world there are green eyes, and brown eyes, and some things that last.

On Interracial Marriage

2010-04-02T09:05:00.000-07:00

Faceless Friend: Really? You would do that?

Me: Oh, you mean marry the man I loved and felt God had made for me despite his skin color or what anyone thought or said about it? Let me get back to you...

Will I end up marrying a black man? I don't know.
Will I do everything that I can to help create a world where pictures like this or not only possible, but celebrated? Absolutely.

I Want Home

2010-03-19T07:26:00.000-07:00

I am unbelievably thankful for my life here. For my friends. For my school. For God and how He's blessing me. But I want home.

I'm tired. I'm tired of hearing everyone talk about their home and when they're going there and who they're taking with them. I'm tired of being politically correct and smiling and chatting it up with people. I'm tired of getting up and going to class and going to church and going to bed. I'm tired of cafeteria food and restaurant food. I'm tired of wearing shoes.

I'm tired of explaining myself. Of explaining why I say this. Or why I do that. Or how far Africa is. Or how long I've been there. Or if and when I'm going back. Or why I have rarely ever felt like I belong anywhere - even beautiful Africa. Or why I'm crying.

I don't care anymore who has the big name or who gets the big solo or who writes the big song. All those things are composed of smoke and mirrors, and worse than that, they don't last.

Don't they understand that it's not some mission field or some duty or some responsibility - but that it's my life?
Don't they understand that there are places that aren't this one?
Don't they understand that everyone. Everyone. is beautiful, wonderful, and worthy of the love God has given us?

Actually. They don't.

But blessed, blessed, blessed (I would bless them a million times if I could) are those who try.

And now I'm back to unbelievably thankful. I'm thankful for my friends that have become my family. I am thankful for every one of them who has opened up their own home knowing full well that I have none. I am thankful for every single question requiring an explanation of my life - because whoever is asking them cares. And when they ask questions they choose not to ignore my past. Bless them, because my past is whole huge chunks of me. I am so thankful for those who don't understand me and don't understand what I'm "going on" about and don't get where I'm coming from - and yet sit and listen and console and... remain.

Most of all, I am thankful for this overwhelming, strangling, draining homesickness. Nobody could be this homesick unless they had a really good home.

It's Time!

2010-03-01T12:12:00.000-08:00

I happen to like it when things and people are born - when the world is new and when things are coming to life. I like planting, healing, and building. I'm a big fan of laughing, dancing, and gathering the fruits of harvest. I adore embracing the world and most of it's inhabitants with open arms. I delight in searching out the answers. I long to hold on to every single good thing life hands me. I like mending things that are broken. I like talking. My heart takes sincere pleasure in loving all kinds of people and things. And I'm all about peace prevailing. (Cough. Unless you make me mad.) There's a time for all of those things - and it's a good good time. I feel like I am good at all the things I've just listed. Know what I'm not so good at?

I'm not so good at letting those things that I love and have tried to cultivate die. I'm not so good at getting down on my knees and digging up vines rooted in things I don't need to be holding to, or allowing myself to be uprooted and moved to a new locale. And although I feel like committing murder sometimes - I'm all about letting things live. And it's hard to tear down things I've spent energy building. I don't like weeping or mourning. And while I'm awesome at hugging (if I do say so myself) I'm not so awesome at refraining from embracing when I need to. I don't like giving up. I straight up suck (Yep. I said it.) at throwing things away. I don't like being quiet. And I would rather mend than tear any day. I would rather love you than hate you. And in war - don't people die?

So here's the thing: Whether I like it or not - there is a time for everything. It's so true that some times are harder than others. But I think that every time is beautiful because every time is an opportunity to get closer to God, His will for you, and your own purpose on this planet. Every time is a time to get smarter, stronger, and better.

So whatever time you're in right now, know that it is always time to live.

Not So Secret Valentines and Better Roses

2010-02-27T10:51:00.000-08:00

Here's how I like my roses: If you're going to buy me red ones then I like them long stemmed and leafy. I like one. Or at the most, three. Because red roses at their basest form mean "I love you." and if you gave me a dozen I would feel like you were over doing it. Because love is as simple as it is beautiful - and so is a single, long stemmed red rose.

If you're going to buy me a dozen, I like white ones. Because white roses can say almost anything about friendship, purity, innocence, reverence, secrecy, or silence. The more white roses the merrier. Still long stemmed. Still leafy.

Here's what I'm pretty sure I wrote on my Secret Valentine form thing for "Favorite Flower": "Roses. (red)." That is true, although there is more to the story. (But if I had written that entire paragraph you see above I'm pretty sure my Secret Valentine would have thought I was high maintenance. .... Because I am.)

Here's what happened: (Disclaimer: I adore my Secret Valentine and he ended up mad spoiling me. But that's another story. Probably not for another blog. (: )

It was Thursday and my Secret Valentine had still not done anything for me. I had figured it was somebody I didn't know and wouldn't really care if they didn't do anything for me but by Wednesday night and definitely by Corinthians class Thursday I knew who it was. And then I clearly cared (but didn't I mention that this part of the story... was another story?) So Mark and Carla (whom I was so glad to see) were here to interview us for MK Ministries about all those wonderful/hard to talk about topics like leaving home and transitioning ect... (I was also sending my parents back to Africa that weekend unfortunately. I couldn't even spell "emotional wreck.") So Mark and Carla knew my Secret Valentine hadn't done anything yet (Mark even made me a notebook paper poster and stuck it up in the hallway.) and "Freddy" (whose identity I am protecting) walked into the office with roses and chocolate from my Secret Valentine. A dozen red roses, short stemmed and stuffed artfully into a vase complete with babies breath and a cute little box of chocolate. I was uneasy about this for two reasons:

A.) Honestly - you read what kind of roses I really, really like. (Although I WAS grateful.)

B.) I did not feel like these were from my Secret Valentine.

But, I convinced myself I was being dumb (about Point B. - I was thankful just to have roses - I'm not THAT picky about Point A.). Carla took a picture. I showed everyone in the student lobby. I took them to Deandra's room to show her. "Freddy" yelled "MAN ON THE FLOOR" and knocked on Deandra's door. Candra, "Freddy", and Jose all solemnly gathered around me and informed me that the roses were not for me. I'm not gonna lie. I still get a little sick when I think about that moment.

A.) I felt so bad that "Freddy" had to deliver this awful news because he felt so bad about it.

B.) I was trying to act like I didn't care while choking back tears while I was sure I had gone completely ashen.

C.) Jose and "Freddy" kept telling me how they were going to beat up my Secret Valentine when they discovered who he was at banquet and I was at this point (ridiculously I might add) so worried and upset. Not that they might actually beat him up - that he might actually deserve it. (Because as I said - I knew who it was.)

D.) The roses were like my life has been lately.

How the roses were like my life: It has just seemed that's how things have been lately. I get really excited about roses (read: possibilities of things that look they're going to happen for me) and then they aren't for me (read: nights of heart ache and tears.)

What happened then: Well, then of course the roses I didn't even really like in the first place became the most important thing in my world. A world that (I might add) was clearly cruel, cold, and unbearable. I felt every time this school year that "the roses haven't been for me" fresh and new. I went to the prayer room and cried my eyes out. Then I went to my room and kept crying. (New levels of pathetic...) And then I did something completely against my nature.

What I did that was completely against my nature: I walked right through the lobby I had just paraded my roses through - splotchy, blotchy, red faced and all. I walked through the business lobby. I walked into the Mooney's office area. And I sat down and got my interview for MK Ministries over with.

Why it was important that I did this: Because even when the roses aren't for you, even if they never are - life goes on. And you can live it out appreciating what does belong to you - or you can stay in bed and cry. Each day is filled with a million opportunities to choose life.

In conclusion: "Freddy" brought me roses to banquet. And they were perfect roses. On a purely obvious level they said "I'm sorry. You matter. You truly do deserve to smile." They also said what Jesus took the time to whisper as I walked away with them.

"Sometimes, there are better roses."

You see, not only did He form me. Not only does He knows how much hair I have on my head. Not only does He treasure every tear I cry in a bottle. But also, He pursues me daily. He orchestrates my days to bring me closer to Him. He treasures me - and He treasures time with me. He takes the time to make plans for me. Because His plans for me are important to Him. Because He loves me and He creates them to give me hope, and a future beyond my wildest imaginings.

And when I don't know why, and life doesn't seem fair, and I don't understand - He's holding better roses.

When I clutch the second rate in greedy hands and refuse to let go of the less-than-best for me - He's holding better roses.

Beauty. Happiness. Blessing. I haven't seen anything yet- Because He's holding better roses.

Stable

2010-02-26T10:18:00.000-08:00

I am a hurricane. They tell me that the hurricane is beautiful. If so, this is my saving grace.

My whole life I have hungered after stability. A home that didn't change. Friends that didn't leave. A personality that didn't spiral out of control without warning. A placid environment. A family that remained close and stationary. A world of love that wasn't a vibrant screen of ever changing people and places. I wanted something that was certain. Something sure. Something stable.

And there He was. He made me. He molds me. Once I knew Him my whole world changed. The more it changes - the more I know. And I thought for sure that I had finally found stability and then wondered what on earth I was doing wrong. Because there was this misconception that I had. I think a lot of Christians have it. You see, He isn't as stable as I thought. He isn't stable. And He isn't safe. He doesn't promise that bad things won't happen. He doesn't promise that my world won't change. That I'll always be happy. That I'll always feel loved. That He won't ask me to do things I don't like. That I won't cry. That things I love will stop dying. When it comes right down to it, He promises little that I thought He did. And He isn't stable.

But He is there.

He has never once left me. He pours out blessings on me that I could not have even imagined. He speaks in the dark so clearly. He is a force for the good in my night. He is my hope for a better tomorrow. He is my strength to get through today. And if I never, ever understand why He chooses to hold me through pain instead of stopping it I will live my life in gratitude because I have lived a life that was held.

I am a hurricane. I am held in stable hands.

Set - Apart Feminity (Books of 2010)

2010-02-21T19:51:00.000-08:00

Why I read it: Because the cover was so cute. I mean, the outfit matches in a weird sort of way and the whole thing was just so pretty.

Why I loved it: Because it wasn't just one more of those "How to catch a perfect prince charming in 20 days" books. Forget prince charming. Forget worldly acclaim. Keep forgetting things until you have nothing left in your memory but You, Jesus, and how best to serve Him. That's what the book was about. That's why I love it.

Why it changed me: It was about changing your point of view and your whole lifestyle to revolve around Jesus. It was a beautiful picture of what my world could become and of what I, as a woman, can become in it.

Why it was perfect for now: Because throughout the book Leslie shares her journey from a seemingly "normal Christian life" to something deeper. And a major part of that journey was how she severely limited her media intake, how it changed her life, and how she wasn't sorry. (We start a school wide Media Fast Tuesday.)

A point that stuck with me: You hear all the time about how media objectifies women. How it presents us with false ideas of how/who/what we should be. How it effects the way we view ourselves. Nobody ever talks about the way media effects our men. The way it directs their tastes a certain way. Or how the world has a "boys will be boys" mentality that isn't healthy.

N.O. No

2010-02-10T12:08:00.001-08:00

I didn't ever think about what it meant, that red circle slashed by red line. I didn't know how it cut. How it's harsh. How it hurts. This "No" painted sharply over the dreams that I've carried. My wants. My hopes. My maybes.

It seems all He's saying is "No."

And I want - how I want - to say it back.
No. I will not go. I will not give. I will not sing. I will not try. I will not work. I will not speak. I will not reach. I will not express. I will not move. I will not laugh. I will not create. I. Will. Not. Love. Fine then! No. NO!

But I put up this sign instead:

For He knows. He knows me. He knows my days. He knows His plans. He knows the best.

And I know. I know that when I love, I do the work that lasts forever.

And this forever work - I cannot say "no" to.

Show Me

2010-01-16T11:51:00.000-08:00

The movie musical "My Fair Lady" is actually one of my earliest memories. (See. The random singing on the sidewalk is in my blood. I can't help it!) My favorite part of the whole movie is when Freddy (who was infatuated with the ever vocal, oh-so-surprising, genuinely lovely, completely original Eliza) stops his pacing "On the Street Where She Lives" and meets up with her face to face and declares his love for her (how else?) through passionate song:

"Speak and the world is full of singing, and I'm winging higher than the birds. Touch and my heart begins to crumble, the heaven's tumble, Darling, and I'm..." It is at this point that Eliza interrupts him with:

"Words! Words! Words! I'm so sick of words! I get words all day through; first from him, now from you! Is that all you (ahem - people) can do? Don't talk of stars Burning above; If you're in love, Show me! Tell me no dreams filled with desire. If you're on fire, Show me!"

And that's how I feel. Because I realize that people can say nice things all the live long day and it won't ever make a difference in my life unless they mean what they say. And I don't know that they mean what they say if they don't show me. I love words, but you'll have to forgive me because honestly, sometimes:

"Never do I ever want to hear another word. There isn't one I haven't heard. Here we are together in what ought to be a dream; say one more word and I'll SCREAM!"

Words make a difference. They weave dreams. They also can be incredibly deceptive, and build up hopes that were better left dead.

And in the middle of my pity party - I wonder. Is this how He feels?

Matthew 15:8 - "These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain, their teachings are but rules taught by men".

I have to mean what I say. My mind has to praise Him. My soul has to praise Him. My body has to praise Him. My talents have to praise Him. And yeah, my lips have to praise Him too. If all of that's not working together, well, it doesn't mean much does it?

"Sing me no song, read me no rhyme - please don't "expline" - show me! Don't touch talk of June, don't talk of fall, don't talk at all - show me!"

Flood of Faces

2010-01-15T11:59:00.000-08:00

There's an amazing song called "The Word's I Would Say" by the Sidewalk Prophets that I just happened to hear right when I needed it last week. I had the best come to Jesus meeting I have ever had in my life. See, the song is about someone who can't sleep thinking about someone else. It's about encouragement, and belief, and prayer at three in the morning. The singer states that if he could tell the subject of his thoughts anything he would say:

Be strong in the Lord and,

Never give up hope,

You're going to do great things,

I already know,

God's got His hand on you so,

Don't live life in fear,

Forgive and forget,

But don't forget why you're here,

Take your time and pray,

Thank God for each day,

His love will find a way,

These are the words I would say.

I can't describe it. It was that moment where I got it. Where I finally got it. And it rained down like a flood. A perfect flood of faces. I started going through the list of people who feel this way about me. I'm ashamed by the bounty. Because it's such an undeservedly long list y'all. I am inexplicably wealthy.

And I may not make chorale, and my song may not be used, and I may never write that book everyone assumes is in my future. But I will do the very best I can do, to be the very best I can be.

Because I have been showered with love, encouragement, belief, prayers at three in the morning, and ,of course, a flood of faces.

Thanks for praying.

Conversations at Kulvers

2009-12-31T23:19:00.000-08:00

Christmas Break - I could write a million odes to thee. So far, I have hugged my family - a lot. I staged my own personal war against mass text messages. (If you got a text message from me and all it said was "Merry Christmas" you better believe I typed that out fresh and new just for you. - Not to say I didn't appreciate any mass text you might have sent that I might have received. Because, I did appreciate the... This is what happens when you don't blog for long periods of time, it becomes a confusing and difficult task - like digging your own grave.) I read, watched, and listened until my eyes and ears were overtaken by - well, a lot to think about. I got pretty presents! And I played in the snow. Beautiful (sparse) but B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L snow!

Also, the Sunday before last shall henceforth be referred to as "The Sunday Full of Surprise People I Love!" I saw so many people I adore - and I had no idea I was going to! These people included, but were not limited to, both sets of Blake's, the Guttridge's, and the Williams'. (Praise the Lord.) And while seeing these people is always like coming home, this time it was also life changing. Because of something Steven said.

The back story: This semester was nice. I met new people. I learned new things. And I have never in my life felt more like a failure. (Isn't it cute how I can drop sentences like that and never have to tell you why they're true? I think so.)

This is how it went. Roughly:

Steven: And how are things going at IBC?

Melinda: Silence. Accompanied by a look that I can only imagine communicated confusion, horror, and a brain scrambling blanket of blank blackness. But mostly distress at being asked a direct question by someone I'd rather not lie to. Even if it would have been just the general "Great!" everyone employs when asked a question like that.

Steven: Allow me to rephrase: Are you winning?

Melinda: Excuse me?

Steven: Are you winning?

Melinda: What do you mean winning?

Steven: Well, are you going to chapel?

Melinda: Yes.

Steven: Are you skipping out on church?

Melinda: Nope.

Steven: Are you doing your homework?

(And that's when I made the sarcastic comment about how I haven't been doing my homework that was mostly a joke, my sister said something I don't remember, and we all moved on to order our food. But the point was clear. And the damage had been done. A simple conversation changed what books, blogs, sermons, times of prayer, and inspirational radio talk shows hadn't shaken. My point of view.)

I feel much better. Which might mean that you hear from me more often. But even if it doesn't, it's okay. You can all rest in the knowledge that I know now what I should have never forgotten:

I'm winning.

By His definition anyway.

And isn't that what matters?

Reinhold Niebuhr Got it Right

2009-11-30T11:54:00.000-08:00

Beth Moore has written a new book that would be on my Christmas List fo' sho' if it were coming out before February. The title is "So Long Insecurity: You've Been a Bad Friend to Us."

Isn't this kind of harsh? I mean - wow. Insecurity might not have been as good as security would have been but I'm sure it was trying at least! I mean it might have put me through proverbial hell but at least it saved me from boredom and I mean - the insecurity was crippling but MAN did it fill the lonely nights I otherwise would have spent feeling content and loved.

That paragraph sounds stupid. Because it is. It also sounds like the conversation I have in my head all the time. Because it is. I do not let things go. I do not let anything brush off of my shoulder. I love all. I keep all. I fix all. Which would be wonderful if "loving all" didn't mix with an obsessive need to protect, defend, and justify. If "keeping all" didn't weigh me down with a LOT of things I don't need to keep. And if I were actually physically capable of fixing it all. But I'm not. Every once in awhile, as harsh as it sounds - it's okay to say things like "So long. You've been a bad friend to me." Especially if it's true. Because lies are pretty. But they're empty. And frustrating. And exhausting. And making things what they're not - it's impossible.

Step One: Pray this beautiful, wonderful, necessary prayer and let it go.

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can;and wisdom to know the difference."

Step Two: Move on to the rest of the prayer.

"Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will."

Someone asked my sister what I enjoyed doing. She couldn't tell them. I couldn't tell her. I have allowed all of the enjoyment to be sucked out of my life. People did things. Things happened. There are circumstances I cannot control but I can control this one. And I'll take the blame. I have allowed all of the enjoyment to be sucked out of my life.

I have been immensely blessed. And I need to realize it. So,

You may see me. You might not. Because I'm about to head off to enjoy my life y'all. And I realized that many of the things I enjoy don't effect you at all. I enjoy them because they are for me.

Writing - in my journal. Singing - in the shower. Dancing - in my room. Lounging - in my pajamas. Visiting - the girls in the dorms after curfew. Photographing - insignificant moments that used to matter. Typing - e-mails only one other person will ever see. Sharing - my opinion with a single voice on the other end of the phone line. Texting - my best boy at 2 A.M. Reading - with Deandra after midnight. Praying - in the prayer room.

And I am going to be "reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him Forever in the next."

I recently discovered that I don't have to answer the phone. And I don't have to answer the door. But I do have to answer for what I did with my days. And I don't intend to spend the rest of them miserable.

"Amen."

Grace in the Graveyard

2009-11-27T08:28:00.000-08:00

They piled up and waved and yelled laughing goodbyes and drove away. I am used to this. An excursion I didn't want to go on still leaves me left behind.

Steven's words echo in my head. "Have fun. By yourself. In the dark. In a graveyard. On Halloween." So I do. The moon is full, the graves are deep, and the day is dark. I linger. I walk as far as I dare coming back to walk as far the other way as I dare heart pounding, leaves crunching - still. The ring of my cellphone is not so still, my voice cuts the quiet night.

True Father, I am surrounded by dead people. But they are dead and being near them is comforting somehow. I am surrounded yes - but by people who will never make me cry. People who cannot walk away, or shut me out, or use me till there's nothing left. People who can never touch me. People I will never be forced to love. Worry for my safety when the wagon gets back.

Harsh words? Harsh happenings. Harsh tears. Harsh feelings. Harsh mistakes. Harsh regrets. Harsh heartache. The world is harsh to things that are soft like hugs, and truth, and sweethearts.

My inward rant continues long after the cellphone is silent.

These people are through. Their worries are done. Their decisions have been made. They don't have to worry about living or loving or losing because they are finished with it all. They can't worry anymore.

A voice not mine pierces the wounded corridors of my heart and holds fast to the very edges of my spirit.

Neither can they change.

And they can't. Their reality is settled. Their eternity is decided. They will sleep in the same bed for the rest of all time. And wear the same clothes forever. They are silent, and resting, and untouchable - they are also done.

My reality can change.

And as I live with the grace I have found in the graveyard - I know that it will.

Happy Birthday Tyler!

2009-11-22T22:16:00.000-08:00

I have discovered that I run out.

Of patience, heart, get go, stamina, prayers, steam, purpose, drive, reasons, rhymes, energy, laughter, strength, and the will to keep my eyes open.

I have also discovered that I will run out of love for the place this picture was taken long before I even think about running out of love for the face that's in it.

And in case any of you are as tired as I am right now I will just recap my full and clear meaning:

I will cease to care about Africa before I cease to care about Tyler.

That's an intense amount of caring people. And it's not just present because it's his birthday. It's there because he's Tyler. And he's that amazing. And smarter than me. Sometimes.

Goodnight.

Goodmorning?

The Corner

2009-11-21T10:11:00.000-08:00

She slams through all three doors to get to her parents bedroom. Tears fill her eyes. Not heartbroken tears - she didn't even learn how to cry those till much later - no, these were tears born of anger. You know the kind. The kind that starts in your heart and boils your blood and crowds your veins until it overflows and spills out of the corners of your eyes. She slumps into the corner and fumes. She is there because her father didn't like the way she threw her napkin down.

The way she threw her napkin down.

Her mind struggles with the ridiculous unfairness of her reality and she cries many more bitter tears before she settles down to truth:

There are worse things than standing in the corner - no matter the reason.

Maybe, just maybe - her father knows a lot more about the dynamics of napkin throwing than she does.

She is surrounded by the scent and sight and sound of everything that makes up her parents lives. She is in the place where they live out their days, she is hiding in the recesses of the inner sanctum. And even in the corner - she is safe.

She quiets because she knows that in a few moments it won't matter. When she finally leaves the corner she will run straight into the arms of her father. Because there is no place better.

She forces herself to attend student body prayer. To will her body to walk down the stairs. To discipline her mind to focus. To bind her thoughts to the place they belong. She changes positions several times - restless, unable to break through, until she finds herself in a corner of the room. She prays for a little while and then lifts her head to move when the invisible force stops her, the silent voice urging her to stay - there is a lesson here. Wait.

Her befuddled mind searches for the lesson. Her thoughts scramble at a concept just beyond her reach until the tangled grasp of reason stretches out in quick motion and pulls light from the hazy clouds. She is called to live, and love, and laugh, and to do all this with joy - even in the corner. (Attitude dahling - attitude!)

Her mind struggles with the bitter unfairness of her reality and she sheds many more bitter tears until she finally settles down to truth:

There are worse things than standing in the corner. There are thoughts higher than hers. There is wisdom greater than words. She is where she belongs, and even in the corner she is safe. And at the end of it all she will run to the arms of her Father - for there is no place better.

"I've been studying Hebrews 12, where the scripture says, "Do not make light of the Lord's discipline." Make light means two things in the original: To shrug off, or to despise. Don't resent God's discipline. Don't rationalize, don't walk away, don't tune it out. Pain is an intervention, and God is the One calling the meeting." - Brad Huebert

Becca

2009-11-20T17:08:00.000-08:00

The reason that I'm smiling

The crusher of my dreams

The builder of my hopes

The shoulder that I quite literally cry on

The sweetness in my sundae

The lights lighting my eyes

The hand that holds me up

The shuffle on my iPod
The parmeson garlic on the my boneless buffalo wings

The melody in my head

The defender of my heart

The calmer of my fears

The quiet in my screaming

The perfect anti -depressant

My laughter, my heartwarmer, my constant, my dependable, my beautiful:

Becca

Multitude Monday (Once)

2009-11-16T08:28:00.000-08:00

Every Monday from this point forward, is Multitude Monday where I will be working on my "1,000 Gifts" list a little every week. You can scroll down to the bottom of my blog and click on the logo to read more about the project - I am seeking to implement the power of thankfulness. I begin now:

1.) The sun comes out tomorrow
2.) Leah with coffee
3.) Safety in childhood
4.) Piles of fresh laundry
5.) Kaylen with quarters
6.) Mouthed "i love yous" 'cross tables
7.) Honey lemon cough drops
8.) Ninjas with daggers
9.) Headbands that are scarves
10.) "Replay"
11.) My Becca, her "shorty"
12.) Waiters with lemons
13.) Credit cards
14.) Staples and footnotes
15.) Denim jackets
16.) Hand shakes with meaning
17.) MK's ruling basket ball tournaments
18.) Crocheting and yarn
19.) Library card
20.) Places to go

Things About CHRISTmas (Christmas Red)

2009-11-09T10:21:00.000-08:00

I. Love. Red. It makes me happy. Although purple has been my favorite color for as long as I can remember thinking of colors (we'll talk about that in a later blogpost) I absolutely adore Christmas red! It makes me so happy! Fun facts about Christmas red:

1.) I bought my bedspread - because it was Christmas red and would look good for deck the dorms. (My sister is still marveling over this.)
2.) Christmas red ribbons make me feel like a Christmas red ribbon. I don't know how else to describe it but y'all - it's a good feeling. (I'm weird)
3.) I envy girl's whose toe nails are Christmas tree red. (I'm just sayin'...)
4.) I want to be married in Christmas tree red. (My Mom hates me every time I bring this up.)

I am so thankful for the joy Christmas brings me - because it's a holiday that is literally all about joy in the small things. Most of all I'm thankful for that baby and His blood - Christmas red.

Voice Mail

2009-11-04T06:56:00.000-08:00

Before you feel the need to press 4 - you're going to want to read this until the end.

You have reached the Voice Mail of Melinda Poitras. I'm sorry I'm unavailable right now, my head is most likely in the toilet - they don't let us have ovens at school.

If you would like to file a complaint, press 1.
If you would like to chew me out for no reason, press 2.
If you would like to chew me out with a list of reasons press 3.
If you would like to judge me, press 4.
If you have information useful in the research for that wonderful book, "The Magnification of the Many Faults of Melinda", press 5.
If you are not speaking to me, press 6 and explain, in that case, why you're even calling.
If you would like to enlighten me as to why I am to blame, press 7.
If you are calling to make me feel guilty, press 8.
If you have dissapointing news, press 9.
If I have dissapointed you, dial 10.
If you are calling to inform me of my dandruff problem, dial 11.
If you're backing out on a promise, dial 12.
If you just need someone to listen, an inamate object with no problems of her own, dial 13.

If you're calling because you love me, think I'm amazing, and are concerned with my well being - hang up. I'm probably ignoring your existence at the moment.

There are things in life that we cannot change - other people being at the top of that list. So when you've done all you possibly can then all that's left to do is stand there. And while you're standing there to focus.

Focus on:

The good, not the bad.

The pure, not the tainted.

The blessings, not the curses.

And those who love you and want the best for you - those who deserve your focus - not those who don't.

Because it Makes Me Happy

2009-11-02T07:41:00.000-08:00

I've been looking at this picture a lot. Because it makes me happy. It's pretty. And cheery. And Christmasy. And potentially alcoholic... But that's not the point!

What is the point?

The following are some options that answer that question:

Loving others. Loving God. Getting it done. Getting it done right. Being a good student. Presenting myself well. Forgiving. Helping. Cleaning. Listening. Straightening.Writing. Walking. Praying. Seeking. Learning. Working. Fixing.

Pretty much everything I do I do because something on that list is "the point." All of those things are good points. BUT The scripture from yesterday pointed out that the best thing you can do is not to strive for perfection - but to be happy. (And to do good.) So I'm starting a new way of life.

A.) I'm going to stop thinking so much. When I'm in class, I'm dwelling on the class. When I'm with my friend Alison, I'm going to dwell on Alison. (Not the rest of my friends or world hunger, or the state of my laundry - Just. Alison.) When I'm in the shower I'm going to dwell on shaving without cutting half my leg off. When I'm in the prayer room I'm going to dwell on Jesus. (shocking!) I'm going to focus. I'm going to get things done. And when I'm not doing that - I'm going to dwell on being happy.

B.) In keeping with my new found pursuit of happiness - I'm going to do things just because they make me happy. I'm going to talk to people I haven't talked to in awhile because they make me smile. I'm going to stop worrying about the world and write my bi-lingual besties everything I've been thinking. I'm going to read books that have absolutely no point. I'm going to go back to writing that mindless drivel I delight in - poetry. I'm going to buy "happy music" on iTunes.

And I'm going to sit here and stare at this picture for as long as I want to.

Because it makes me happy.

Seasonal

2009-11-01T16:14:00.001-08:00

(Ecclesiastes 3)
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:
A time to be born and a time to die,
A time to plant and a time to uproot,
A time to kill and a time to heal
A time to tear down and a time to build,
A time to weep and a time to laugh,
A time to mourn and a time to dance,
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
A time to embrace and a time to refrain,
A time to search and a time to give up,
A time to keep and a time to throw away,
A time to tear and a time to mend,
A time to be silent and a time to speak,
A time to love and a time to hate
A time for war and a time for peace.

It's time for Christmas y'all. I wanted to enjoy fall but it's just time. I need me some Christmas. And I need it now. I have a feeling that I will be blogging from this passage of Scripture again because I had no idea how amazing it was until I read it again today. I also have a feeling (because I've already told you that there are at least twenty posts) that I will be blogging about Christmas again as well, but there are two things I want to communicate with this blogpost.

One is that seasons change. Good or bad - nothing stays the same for long. I've been in a season for awhile and it has definitely changed. It was sprinkling - now it's flat out hailing - and that's okay. (Because of point two.) But the point is that this situation I'm in (and the situation you're in) good, bad, mediocre - it's going to change. Maybe for the better. Maybe for the worse. But change is coming. And, as Taylor Swift says in her song about change (not that I would know anything about that...) "We'll sing Hallelujah!"

Two is that this same chapter of Ecclesiastes says this: "I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live." (Verse 12) It's possible I've been wondering what to do and what course of action to take in many areas so it's amazing that this verse just spells it out for me. (And I'm going to deliver these again in my own words.)

1.) Be happy because you can be.
2.) Do good until it kills you.

So, just in case the devil is reading this (there are worse things he could do with his time... I'm just sayin'...) here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to allow God's workings to be birthed in me, and not let the heart of me die. I'm going to plant, because I'm as sure as Christmas not uprooting or going anywhere. I'm going to restore and heal, not destroy. I'm going to build where I'm tempted to annihilate. I'm going to laugh when I'm tempted to cry. I'm going to gather things I've scattered. I'm going to embrace with an open heart. I'm going to search, keep, mend, be silent, love, and above all else - promote peace.

Because it's a season for peace in case you've missed the whole point of this Christmas thing.

It is that season because I say it is.
It is that season because He does too.

Thoughts You are Welcome To

2009-10-30T10:31:00.000-07:00

I typed in "friend" online. This picture popped up. Africa will always be my friend - even if I don't get to see things like this picture very often.

Enjoy the fall while it lasts. I know that I shouldn't rush the winter. I know that it will come in due time. But we're going to have to forgive me - my blog is one of the few things I have control over - and Christmas is coming. Quickly.

Speaking of Christmas coming, there are as many as 20 blog posts in the making. All about various aspects of Christmas. They're not going to be that profound. They're not going to be all that interesting. I debated not even writing them but then every fiber of my being stood up and screamed NO! - that's because, I've discovered, I write because I need it. It's not for you at all.

"Every fiber of my being" is a phrase I use a lot. That's because I have trouble separating. I do whatever I do absolutely, positively all the way.

It was pointed out to me earlier this week that I reach a point in relationships where I take a step back and re-evaluate things. That's because I love deeply quickly - and loving some people in some levels of deep, well, the levels have to be changed sometimes. For my own emotional health. That's the way it is. I don't write people off or anything. I write them into my soul actually. It's just a question of how long and how detailed the chapter is going to be. And, in essence, how many chapters certain people will have the lead in. I write a longer more expansive book than most people - hence, it does tend to require more editing.

Take criticism. Look at it from all angles. Sometimes it's valid. Sometimes it's not. Sometimes - you need to change. Sometimes the quality criticized is not necessarily a bad thing. Always insert with a grain of salt. Always move on.

Be careful who you allow control of your heart, mind, and emotions. Keeping that in mind - love. All you can. However you can. It's good advice people.

Try. Even when failure is highly likely. Even when you're not sure of the future. Even when you're not all that good at it. There is power in trying. He can use pliable clay.

Drama Club. I think I like it.

The words "Sometime you're going to have to begin to warm to the idea that you're worth looking at." are pretty much my favorite movie moment word wise - ever.

That flirt? The one that sends mad mixed signals, sits too close, lingers too long, drives you crazy on multiple levels, and has no intention of ever taking any course of action other than to be an idiot? Punch him. Jehovah knows.

Dear John

2009-10-26T08:24:00.000-07:00

I was over at incourage yesterday. More than once posts read there have spoken to my life but never so much as Mary's post "The Wow Factor." Mary said these exact words which sound exactly like the words that have been running through my head for, I don't know, months?

"Maybe I can't write. Maybe I don't have leadership skills. Maybe I'm not smart. Maybe I'm boring. Maybe I'm not cut out for this. Maybe I should just quit. Maybe I can't sing."

I was thinking about this and how all of these things are things I've been thinking and how all of them are lies when I realized something. I realized: John.

(At this point you are either thinking I've lost my mind - or going crazy wondering what on earth I'm about to confess.)

I realized that the day I was thinking maybe I suck at singing - John said my YouTube video showed that my voice was incredible.
I realized that the day I was thinking I maybe wasn't so witty and should never hold a microphone again - John said that I needed to preach chapel.
I realized that the day I was thinking I should change everything about myself - John said I am absolutely wonderful, just the way I am.
I realized that the day I was thinking I might have no future - John said God had great things in store for me and that he couldn't wait to see them.
I realized that the day I was wondering if I had any words left at all - John said he just wanted me to know I was a gifted and inspiring writer.

You're thinking "So what? The chick complains to some man named John a lot."

Except no.

I never told him I thought my voice sucked. Or that I was thinking I would never attempt public speaking again. Or that I felt the need for a personality/appearance/spiritual/mental makeover. Or that I was feeling "future less." Or that I was panicking because I'm terrified of running out of words and never having had any good ones to begin with.

I never told him. And he was there with just the right words. Whenever I have come close to hitting rock bottom this semester - John's words have always popped up in my message inbox. Right on time. Every time.

Because he's amazing.
Because God knows.
And because John prays. For me.

Dear John:

There are a million things I could tell them about you. Your incredible sense of humor. Your amazing hugs. The anointing on your life. Your ability to make me smile perpetually. Your fabulous preaching. Your heart for God's work. The list goes on and on. I am so blessed to have you in my life. And of all the things I could tell my readers (all five of them) about you - I'm going to stick with two:

A.) I love John Braam.

B.) He makes me love me.

Once, There Was a Corner

2009-10-23T07:57:00.000-07:00

Once there was a corner, where she used to sit and cry. Troubled, stressed, burdened, depressed - for absolutely. no. reason.

Once there was a time, when her world looked like the picture - no matter how many people tried to splash color into it.

Once there was a place, she thought she would never, ever, get out of.

Once there was a dark world. One day. And the next day. And the next. Until she became convinced the words she believed in were lies - and that there would never be anything else.

Once, all this was because: "Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world." C. S. Lewis

Once, God shouted.

She has heard Him more clearly ever since.

She will not sit down. She will not shut up. She will not stop believing.

She will keep her crazy ideas.

She refuses to be embarassed.

She will love to the fullest extent that her heart can bear it.

She will get out of bed in the morning - and she will do it happily.

Because she lived in the dark when no-one could see that she was doing it.

And she who lived in a graveyard is confident that she will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

She is strong.

She takes heart.

And she waits on the Lord.

For she can see the light so clearly.

The darkness showed her how.

"A pearl is a beautiful thing that is produced by an injured life. It is the tear [that results] from the injury of the oyster. The treasure of our being in this world is also produced by an injured life. If we had not been wounded, if we had not been injured, then we would not produce the pearl." Stephan Hoeller

Courage is Sitting There

2009-10-22T07:25:00.000-07:00

I read a blog this summer over at www.incourage.me that talked about how courage is sometimes just sitting there. I wasn't sure if I agreed with that. But then I thought about how I was going to the dentist to get a cavity filled. (I have never had a cavity - and I hate needles. I wasn't worried about the drill - I was worried about the needles.) All of a sudden courage being manifested in being absolutely still made sense to me.

(I looked for pictures of scary dentists online. They scared me. You think I'm joking? I had to walk away from the computer and come back. So then I looked for nice dentists. Literally I Googled "Nice Dentist." Some of those were still scary - I don't know what's going on in the world of dentistry but I'm pretty sure that I don't want to be a part of it. I finally found this one. I'm actually not sure what these people are doing. But he's a dentist and they look happy so. Yeah.)

I didn't realize how soon my new found realization would be strengthened by an even more profound example. Because I got to the dentist. My mother left me. (She is not forgiven.) I sat in the chair. And the nice man (I stress "nice" because apparently some dentists wield bloody chain saws) informed that my cavity was tiny and I did not need Novocaine. The man wanted me to let him put a drill in my mouth - without numbing me...

Here's the good part - the part where you should read what I'm not saying:
I had a choice at this point. Common sense told me that you do not drill someones mouth without a numbing agent. All I knew about dentistry told me I needed a numbing agent for this procedure. So I could make him give me one and we could do it my way.

OR

I could acknowledge that I am not a dentist - and allow him to do his work - because he knows what he's talking about.

It took courage to trust my dentist. It took courage to sit there. But when it was over my cavity was filled, my bill was a LOT cheaper, and I didn't have to deal with the dreaded needle.

I have more courage than I knew. It's Missions Conference this week and I've been thinking about my first semester a lot - and how it was courage just to sit there. This picture is what I felt like every single time I walked down the hallway.

Courage can be doing what He's told you to do - like me coming here and moving continents and speaking in chapel for the first time during my first Missions Conference here and praying the whole time that the German Shepherds wouldn't eat me. That's what courage looked like my first year. Stepping out. Standing up. Making a new life. Sitting in the cafeteria. (Lord in HEAVEN that last one took courage!)

Courage can be not doing what He's told you not to do - and that's what this year looks like. Not doing what I feel is best. Not pushing or shoving or trying to make things happen. Sitting. And waiting. And trusting Him with a looming outcome I might not like.

It's all walking in faith. It's all courage. And hopefully in the future, it won't involve dentists...

“The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.” Exodus 14:14

Hayfest: Because

2009-10-14T15:10:00.000-07:00

Because pictures like this are more than priceless. If there is even a word that IS more than "priceless."

Because friends come, and friends go, but she has never truly left me. And she has never looked more adorable.

Because this year I actually got close enough to our class pumpkin to take this picture (and get pumpkin "goop" flung on me...)

Because once in everyone's life, random ninja's should appear.

Because we need magic moments, hot chocolate, and each other.

We'll Call Him Clark Kent

2009-10-08T12:11:00.000-07:00

This blog post is dedicated to Kevin Blake who may still cry - out of embarrassment for me.

So, I'm at General Conference. And I can't help but notice this young man there. (Not that this was the only young man I noticed mind but one I noticed more than I noticed... what shoes everyone was wearing? I don't know...) We'll call this young man Clark Kent. It's a good solid name. At any rate,

I have been wanting to meet this man the entire week. I really just wanted to meet him. Well, it's the last night of conference and I am walking through the outer hallway of the arena to get to the booths. I have to stop and wait for someone and it's so crowded that I just stop and stand there right where I am. All of a sudden in the crowded area I sense someone standing next to me. I am looking down at my feet and my eyes find the pair of dress shoes right next to the cream pumps that I probably should not have been wearing after Labor Day (or outside of my bedroom.) My eyes travel all the way to his face (it was a substantial ways up if anyone is wondering) and I am thinking that this moment could totally be a movie "meet cute." My eyes make it up to the eyes of Clark Kent who is miraculously smiling down at me. So I look up, and he looks down, and we stand there for a time just... smiling.

At this point I'm thinking that this IS a movie "meet cute" and someone needs to be filming this. Filled with confidence, (because that smile was confidence inspiring y'all) awe, (because - well - you'd have to see him), and a sense of extreme thankfulness to Jehovah (for the situation, the moment, and His marvelous creation) I open my mouth and let out a breathy

"Excuse me."

Then I half walk, half glide, mostly run away.

Too bad one of the things I was so "filled" with was not the ability to form intelligent conversation.

"Excuse me?" I mean, there was NO reason to say "excuse me" - especially after all that smiling. One would think that "Hi" might have popped into my head. But of course not.

God gives me a moment like that - and I say "excuse me." And run.

I of course respond as anyone would and... think this is hilarious. So I decided to tell my Father and my Uncle Nick this story as we are walking to the booths. But I have those pumps on and my hair was curled so there was a lot of extra bounce in my step and I'm walking a foot ahead of them. And it's crowded. So I'm yelling. And I'm not paying attention. I begin my story with a description such as:

"So, you know that tall good looking man who works at the Daily Planet and sits at the desk next to Jimmy Olsen?" And then there he was. He was just there. I mean, what can you do? You're yelling about someone with an unmistakable description and they are just - there. In front of you. Right. In. Front. Of. You.

What do I do? Do I apologize? Do I make some witty comment that cleans everything up? Do I ignore him? Of course not!

I look at him, laugh, pick up my speed, and brush past. Oh yes, I also throw up my hands at the moment I pass him and proclaim

"Oh Jesus!"

Maybe that would have been a good time to employ the use of "Excuse me?"

In retrospect - I probably should have just chimed in with a verse or two of "Will You Be My Superman?"

Blog poll: Would that have hurt or helped the chances of this:

ever happening?

I have to go. Or should I say:

"Excuse me?"

Oh Jesus...

The Mask in the Morning

2009-10-06T11:50:00.001-07:00

I am not often "that girl." The one that is super spiritual, standing on the very front row of the altar at General Conference, begging by her very demeanor for prayer from anyone that walks by, reaching out to God, and becoming the startled recipient of dead accurate Words of Wisdom, and Knowledge. Except for this year. This year God did a serious work in me. Leaving conference was so confusing because the whole event was wonderful yet uneventful but I left feeling like a lot happened. And it did - you just can't see it.

I was standing in the altar of the youth service when a woman came up and began to pray with me. She said a lot of dead on, hit home, slap your mother (as my Mom would say - lol) things but the first thing she said was

"You don't have to put on that mask in the morning."

Now, you might be thinking "Melinda seems to be a pretty open person... Pretty honest about her short comings and failings (which are manifold). She tries to be real and genuine to every one and she doesn't live a lie or hide things so why on earth is she standing in the altar bawling. Snot is not attractive."

I am pretty open. I will tell you like it is. However, I realized at that moment that I have been putting a mask on in the morning lately.

I discovered a long time ago that if I show you enough - you won't look deeper for anything else.

And yes, sometimes we have to project the attitude we want to have in order to actually have it - but I was standing there and I was so sick and tired of wearing a mask I didn't even know I kept on the shelf by my bed.

I'm lying to myself.

"It doesn't matter. It's okay. It doesn't matter. It's okay. It doesn't matter. It's okay. It doesn't matter. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."

I'm lying to her.

"Everything's okay. I'm not bothered by your snide remarks. Or your dramatic eye rolls. Or your complete disregard for my feelings. Or the way you act like I'm stupid."

I'm lying to him.

"I'm self sufficient. I don't need you. I don't need your compliments. I don't need your time. I don't need you to speak to me in the hallway. I just need you to leave me alone."

I'm lying to them.

"It's going great! Wonderful. I love it! I love it! I love it!"

I'm lying some more.

"HI! How's it going? Hope everyone is having and AMAZING day! Sorry I'm late. You're right - that was my mistake - I'll fix it."

I'm lying to my Father.

"Here I am again! I'm going to weep and cry and feel sorry for myself and I'm going to do all of that because I'm so spiritual. Everyone else would not even bother coming to see you with their problems but I am so amazing that I am here. And I'm crying a lot. So I'm even more amazing!

SHUT!!!!! UP!!!!!!

I realized that the reason I'm never "that girl" the really spiritual one that's crying in the front row and receiving all the prayer at conference is because "that girl" is not up there because she's "spiritual." She's up there because her mask is broken. And so is she.

Once I had a poem published in the Pentecostal Youth Conqueror. It was something about how "when the lamp of life grows dim - you can live because of Him." I wrote that when I was planning to kill myself. And I knew I should believe it. And I knew that it was true. But I didn't believe a word of it. I believe it for others - I didn't believe it for me. Weaving a word mask - I learned that at a young age.

I wear a million masks
There are a million 'me's'
The few that you might know
The one nobody sees.

I wrote that for my best friend - the French one. It wasn't about me. It never applied to me. Not to my life.

My mask is broken. So am I. And it is truthfully the best feeling in the world. The best part about it is that me and Jesus - we're not pretending anymore. Because you see -

He never loved the mask.
He has always loved me.

(Disclaimer: In case you are thinking now that every blog of mine you have ever read is a complete and total lie - that is not that case. lol I've just been struggling this semester and trying not to show it. I am who I say I am. My name is Melinda. ... Maybe...)

Broken Dreams

2009-09-21T07:57:00.001-07:00

I own the soundtrack to the Imax film about Jane Goodall. I love it. One of my favorite tracks is a musical interlude. Not far into it Jane starts speaking. She begins by saying "I dreamed of Africa." I used to listen to that all the time. Several times a day - every day.

The above picture stuck out to me while I was going through images associated with the word "dream" because I also own a jar of dirt. It's my most prized possession. My past is in that jar. My roots are in that jar. When I first came here I would lay in my room and curl myself around it. It was all I had left of my dreams. All I'd ever really dreamed about in the last couple of years - was home.

I know that's odd. But my home, well it was familiar. It was exotic. It was diverse. It was entertaining. Things were always changing. Things were always happening. I was always involved. I was always important.

I was always loved.

And love - well, that's the best thing in the world to me. What else could I want to dream about?

Yet, God is God. We are not. And life is life.

Sometimes - your world just shatters.

I adore the above picture, because it communicates to me more clearly than any word grouping I could hope to come up with a plan that is higher than mine. You see, I still cherish home. I still miss it. But I have bigger dreams now. Dreams I didn't even know existed. Dreams I never could have thought up on my own. Dreams more extravagant than any previously imagined. This picture looks like hope to me. It doesn't look like an end - it looks like a beginning.

I want you to know, as I do:

There is beauty in your broken dreams for while you hold on to what you see - He is dreaming for you.

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you an expected end. (Jeremiah 29:11)

Even If It Breaks Your Heart

2009-09-19T16:05:00.000-07:00

I'm in Memphis, Tennessee. I'm in a tiny concert venue with my Ashley, I'm surrounded by people, and I'm finally enjoying the strains of Will Hoge's music after a century of waiting. The only picture I take is the one of the empty stage because once the music starts I am too enthralled to remember the definition of the word "camera." I need this. I need this moment. I need to be among people I'm not usually around. I need to be places I don't usually go. I need to be reminded that the world is bigger than myself.

And I'm looking. I am looking for the same thing here as I am looking for everywhere else. God. His presence. Direction. And answers.

Will tells us that he's going to sing a new song. The music begins to play and he opens his mouth to sing:

"Way back on the radio dial

A fire got lit inside a bright eyed child

Every note just wrapped around her soul

From steel guitar, to Memphis, all the way to Rock and Roll

Oh, Oh I can hear them playin'

I can hear the rhythm of a beat up old guitar

Oh, Oh I can hear them sayin'

Keep on dreaming - even if it breaks your heart."

Then he looks right at me. And he smiles.

I knew then what everyone should learn - that dreams are worth it. A heart without dreams is dead. And I'd rather be broken than dying.

I have this habit. It's a hidden habit. One of the reason's it's hidden so well is that people tend to see me as a bit of a "go getter." I am. To an extent. However, when I really, really, really want something, I generally run away from it. Because I'm afraid to want it. I'm afraid to hope for it. I'm afraid to try for it and end up without in the long run. I'm chill with the whole "dream" concept. But I don't really dream for things that are out of my reach. Until recently.

Recently, I've gone after my dreams. Boldly. Without repentance. Without regret either. And the without regret thing - that's a TRUE miracle because I wish I could tell you that because I've gone after my dreams without fear they've all come true. They haven't. I've fallen on my face. I've bruised various limbs, appendages, and parts of my personality. And I've definitely broken my heart. But I refuse to stop trying. And I really refuse to stop dreaming.

I've read the books. I've read most of them actually, and it seems to me that there are moments after all the heart ache when dreams come true. And those moments - are worth it all. And even if they aren't - Jesus will be.

So I'm dreaming. Not only in my head but with my actions. And my heart. And my soul. And everything else I've got. And it's so worth it. Because whether my desires have been delivered to me in a pretty purple box or not - I've already come out stronger.

(As a BTW - This blog is not about singing - I mean, singing is one of my dreams but I wanted to make sure you understood (considering the "bonus" you're about to read) that it's about so much more than that. Singing is just the dream I'm willing to write about. For now.)

Bonus: Say Indiana Bible College is the world (which it is not - it's clearly more amazing...) - then I've compiled a short list of people who did not, as it were, "make Chorale."

Melinda Poitras :) (Yes. I might have been avoiding mentioning this... lol)
Harrison Ford
John Grisham
The Beatles
Beethoven
Thomas Edison
Albert Einstein
Marilyn Monroe
Julia Roberts
Walt Disney

And that was the short list. We'll end it with my personal favorite and a piece of advice:

If you get cut from your High School basket ball team, it's completely okay to go home, lock yourself in your room, and cry. As long as you get over it and keep playing - you never know, you could be Michael Jordan.

Keep on dreaming - even if it breaks your heart.

Our Reality 2009 - Day Two

2009-09-16T09:47:00.000-07:00

We know that we’re righteous - if we’re bringing forth life.
We know that we’re wise - if we’re winning souls.
The Lord asks “Who will go?”

He can send us.

The Lord has called us.
He will keep us.
He will hold our hand.
He will give us as a covenant to the lost.
He will use us to open blind eyes and release prisoners.

We are His witnesses.
We are His chosen.

We.

Will.

Go.

We praise. We pray. We walk. We go.

We live out our reality - to give others a chance to do the same.

(Proverbs 11:30 /Isaiah 6:8 /Isaiah 42: 6-7 /Isaiah 43:10)

Our Reality 2009 - Day One - Psalm 67

2009-09-16T09:05:00.000-07:00

God has been merciful to us.
He has blessed us.
He has caused His face to shine on us.
He does this so that His way can be made known on the earth
So that we can share His saving, healing power everywhere.
"Let the people praise thee o God; let all the people praise thee."
The nations should be glad and sing
Our God is a righteous judge.
He governs all the nations on earth.
"Let the people praise thee O god; let all the people praise thee."
When we praise God then the earth yields her increase
Then God our God will bless us.
And when God blesses us - people will fear Him.
The good kind of fear
The reverent fear
The fear that comes from an encounter with a Savior.
People on all ends of the earth
Will.
Fear.
Him.

We praise. We pray. We walk. We go.

We live out our reality - to give others a chance to do the same.

This Summer God

2009-09-06T14:30:00.000-07:00

This Summer God...

... had a plan.

... completely rebooted my heart. (The silly thing had crashed.)

... re-awakened my dreams.

... re-minded me how to write - and why I love doing it in the first place.

... sent me roses from my past.

... laid out clues for my future.

... wove just the people I needed to see into just the places I needed to see them.

... gave me strength to sing.

... gave me words to write.

... showed me beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am both loved, and amazing.

... took my blunders and turned them into beauty.

... held me through pain instead of healing me.

... told me to chill.

... gave me back my caramel babies for a few precious days.

... worked in mysterious ways.

... assured me (so that I know, that I know, that I know) that He's going to keep working.

This Summer I

2009-09-06T13:27:00.000-07:00

This Summer I...

... rode up into the mountains of Canada listening to David Phelps and marveling at the handiwork of God and the love of family.

... did not go to Alaska. And, ultimately, wasn't sorry.

... let go of old relationships, cultivated some new ones, and strengthened current ones.

... met someone who was pleased as peaches just to stand near me. (Not the someone - but someone special nonetheless.)

... saw my tattoo, my Roman holiday, and the boy that will always be "just my cup of tea" a couple of weeks before his wedding.

... splashed around with some of my very best girls in very different locations - and nearly died of sunburn. Twice.

... chose to be alone.

... realized (not just with knowing but with feeling) that I never really am.

... endured an awful cold, a torturous ear ache, a cavity drilling, and a sprained foot.

... remembered why I loved a lot of things.

... forgot why I ever liked a few.

... wore heels - and liked it.

... went to Nashville, Tennessee. Twice.

... sang like I never have outside of a shower.

... wrote the lyrics to Alison's beautiful melody.

... forgot to remember.

... remembered to forget.

... learned about the Gifts of the Spirit, the imperfection of women, and what God can do with a year from one of my favorite people.

... went to a funeral that reminded me of life.

... attended a lot of churches, two camps, a Congress, a wedding, and a bachelorette weekend.

... found home, and found out that I never really have to leave it.

Fairy Tales, Facts, and Forward Thinking

2009-08-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, in the land called Perfection, the long awaited Prince led Princess Resplendent out of the Forest of Despair and into the Vale of the Fairies. The Princess Resplendent had never felt safer, or more at home, and as she looked up into the Princes' eyes she new she had found true happiness at last. Then an arrow flew out of nowhere - and killed him.

I'm thinking of turning that little segment into a book - don't lie - you know you think it will be a best seller too. Here's the thing: (and we're going to discuss this - and me breaking a tea cup with a hammer - in the next blog) I feel like all of my fairy tales end this way. Not even necessarily romantically, I feel that everything will be going great and I'm just about to get there (wherever "there" is) and then everything just comes crashing down.

I love living, and walking, and serving the Lord - but I've really been looking for "Happily Ever After." It has to get here sometime right? I realized that other day that:

There is always an after, after Happily Ever After.

Charming proves to be charming - and not much else. The queen leaves the king for the swineherd. The duke and the duchess lose everything but their titles and struggle to survive. The fairy princess who said "I do" at fourteen finds herself standing over the coffin of her prince after fifty years of marriage.

Life is rough.
Life is not a fairy tale.

But it is strung together with magic moments that remind us that one day, we will come into our Kingdom.

I just recently quit looking for Happily Ever After. Life is not about experiencing only magic moments, but rather about reminding ourselves that there is a Kingdom waiting and that all points on the journey are leading us there.

You miss out on what you have when you're looking for what you don't. Besides, one day Fairy Tales will die and we'll truly start living in the after, after "Happily Ever After."

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28

A Drama Queen's Prayer

2009-08-15T20:48:00.001-07:00

(Because Drama Queen's pray in the snow. In May. With their hands on their hips. Clearly.)

Dear Lord:

My life is a day to day struggle. A constant war with my failings. My wants. My emotions. My dreams.

I am all too aware of the things I am missing. The things I have lost. The things I lack. The times I have fallen short.

I forget to be grateful in the now while seeking after the later.

You have given me so much and so often.

Yet so often I waste my days in wanting. In worry. In wondering.

I wait. I wait for You.

Yet my mind leaps to one hundred different plains and one hundred different possibilities.

I wonder. I worry. I wind down. I talk it over with You. Then I start it all over again.

Where are you?

Everywhere

Where am I?

Right where I belong.

I don't wish to be belong here. I don't wish for anything accept happiness.

Yet I can think of a million ways to get it.

Many our just out of my reach.

Those that I grasp fail to sustain.

So I crawl back to You.

Again.

Offering little more than discontentment, disillusionment, and delirium.

They all rest in Your hand where my "proper" soul would be.

If I had one.

I am decided and confused. I am devastated and delighted. I am alone and accompanied. I am afraid and resolute. A manifold mixture at the mercy of the moment.

But I am Yours.

All of the feelings moving to form me - are Yours.

All of the colors weaving to make me - are Yours.

You know them better than I.

You know better than I.

I am calm at the moment.

You smile.

I frown.

We both know it won't last.

For now, we rest.

You with Your plan.

I with my many.

We, in our love.

Oh, how You love me.

And, Dear Lord, would you mind pouring an extra blessing on Gabe and Steven today?

Though they mock me (and my endearing dramatic tendencies), yet will I love them.

2 Many

2009-08-15T19:40:00.000-07:00

My thoughts are 2 many to toss out on you.

Exactly 2

2 many.

Goodnight.

What Cory McCool Said

2009-08-14T12:12:00.000-07:00

I was in the balcony during Indiana Bible College Music Fest the night that Cory McCool sang. I will never forget what he said. He told us that the bad news was that he had been diagnosed with the illness that so recently claimed his life. Then he said "The good news is: Jesus."

He didn't say the good news was that Jesus would heal him.
He didn't say the good news was that Jesus would give him what he'd been praying for.
He didn't say the good news was that Jesus would grant him a perfect life.
He didn't say the good news was that Jesus would work everything out and he (or his family) would never have to cry again.

He said that the good news, was Jesus.

Jesus is your future.
Jesus is all you need.
Jesus is what is left to say when there is nothing left to say.

Jesus. Is.
We are, in Him.

That's the good news. That's all we need to know.

"For in Him we live, and move, and have our being." Acts 17:28

We'll Call Him T. Elsey. No. Toby E.

2009-08-12T13:27:00.000-07:00

Many people think that I love everyone and everything and that I automatically think the world is wonderful. (She pauses for five minutes to verbally glorify the beauty of the big bee that nearly stung her earlier today - then continues with her writing.) I have no idea why people think that. I'm actually pretty wary when it comes to new people. And Toby Elsey is an incredible example of said wariness. It was second semester and I still hadn't decided what I thought of him - and then he started dating one of my girls. (The plot is thickening. There is theme music. Listen. You will hear it.) I wasn't so sure it was the greatest idea for "us to fall in love with Toby." There is a long story here involving many, many hours of prayer and talking it over with my formerly mentioned girl. But here are some highlights.

1.) I see him loving Jesus. Not only with what he says, but also with what he does.
2.) I see him loving my girl. Not only with what he says, but also with what he does.
3.) I see him holding strong opinions and convictions - while still being able to admit that he's wrong when the occasion calls for it.
4.) I see him endeavoring to be the best man that he can be.
5.) I see Juju loving him (please look at the picture and feel free to adore it as I do).
6.) I see manifested in every aspect of his life the truth that it doesn't matter so much where you've been. That, while slightly more important, it doesn't even matter so much where you are. What matters the most is what you're becoming and where you're headed.
7.) I see him headed great places.

Somewhere along the line, (probably right about the time he was being amazing and super encouraging about a song I had been mildly hesitant to reveal to the public in the first place) I realized that (and I do mean this in the most platonic sense possible):

"I'm in love! I'm in love! And I don't care who knows it!"

So, just for the record I thought I would say that "Us falling in love with Toby" did, in fact, turn out to be the greatest idea ever.

Feet, Falling, and Falsehoods (Or Lies)

2009-08-11T09:53:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, while she was visiting her cousins in the country of Burkina Faso, the young Princess Melinda went down a slide the wrong way. She landed on her ankle. Which she fractured. She didn't know, of course, that she had fractured it until six months later because that was how long it was before she got an x-ray. (Yeah. We're not making that mistake again.) The Princess has often marveled at the stupidity of this particular story - after all, slipping down a slide seems to be a relatively easy feat for most other human beings on the planet. Besides that, this injury has been a source of pain and punishment for many a year. Eventually, the clumsy (yet ,I would like to think, delightful) Princess began to rely on her Father to keep her upright, (something most people take for granted) and claimed as her own the verse "You broaden the path beneath me, and keep my ankles from turning. (Psalms 18:36)

The Princess did not fall for a very long time. Until a week ago. I hear that she was at a grand celebration called North American Youth Congress when she stepped off of a curb. Stepped, slipped, tripped, stumbled - she did something off of a curb. She sprained her foot. Badly. On the first night of Youth Congress. (Which was great, because you don't have to walk anywhere at Congress. haha Oh sarcasm. How I love you.) Worse than the fall itself, were the lies. The ones that always pop up when she's clumsy. The ones that dance through her head and host a party by trampling on her good spirits and crushing her self esteem.

You are so stupid you can't even walk. Seriously, who has trouble WALKING?!?

These people who rushed to help you don't even care that you've fallen, the most you matter to them is the disruption you've caused in their daily schedules.

Every wonderful quality in the world that you might begin to possess will never ever make up for all the things you are lacking. Such as the ability to successfully cross a street.

You know what?

The Princess is still a Princess. The devil is always a liar.

She may be limping, but she's still walking. And she won't limp forever.

Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise. (Micah 7:8)