Mitchell and Evelyn

I remember growing up and always having a sort of resentment towards my parents. It wasn't always this way, like when I was a kid my dad was the greatest dad in the world, and my mom was the most perfect mother that there was. I don't know when it all changed, but I started to lose respect for them and their opinions, I was so disrespectful even when outwardly I acted respectful. I remember sitting in the living room and telling them everything I hated about them and how I just can't wait to get out of there.

I remember this one day my dad took me with him on one of his usual hikes, and we got into an argument with him about something or another, I told him he was so prideful. I wont ever forget the look on his face when I said that, he just looked back at me and said "oh you think I am prideful, huh?" I think we ended up settling our issue before we left and even made a detour to Dairy Queen on the way home, but even as I liked my dipped cone of victory I remember thinking he wasn't the prideful one, it was me.

I remember the fights and the arguments, I remember so many of the horrid thoughts, I can't forget the terrible intentions I had towards my very own parents. Tonight I was kept awake thinking about all of these things, and suddenly as if a veil was lifted or the story was finally told in full, I saw it and I felt it. Like a rush of rapids flowing into my very being so I felt a pure love for my parents. I cried thinking of all the beautiful moments that I missed so caught up in my delusion of bitterness.

I was so overwhelmed with love for my dad, how humble he is. He is always serving and giving of himself, and he never asks for anything, just love. I can remember the times he would come into my room and wake me up by rubbing my back and asking if I wanted some pancakes. I think of the twenty mile bike ride we went on, just the two of us, and we stopped on this bridge that was above all the trees and it was so narrow. On that day I declared that my favorite spot in the entire world (that I have seen so far). I think about all the nights he tucked me in and spread my little blanket over me and gave me whiskers. I even remember when my sister and I were supposed to be taking our nap we would stay awake talking about how much we loved dad. I think of the times my mom would yell at him and later I would find him laying on their bed and he was so hurt. He wasn't so prideful that he couldn't show emotion, ya know? I even remember the time my mom was going to leave us, and my sister and my dad and I sat in the living room and he gently told us that he loved us, and that everything is going to be ok, and to not worry about a thing. I remember believing him in that moment, I was so safe with my dad. I am so safe with my dad.

Oh and my mother, we have had our fair share of intense moments, but then again we have had such wonderful ones too. I notice one thing about me that is odd, I share all of my mothers favorites. Our favorite animal is a koala bear, and our favorite smell is eucalyptus, and our favorite color is green, I think I do this so I can feel closer to her. Even with my dad I love Alfred Hitchcock because we watched so many of his films together, just him and I. I love writing because my dad was in journalism for awhile, I even love photography because he took pictures. When I have my own car I will change the oil myself because he showed me how, and when I have my own lawn I will mow the yard (I would always do the back and he would do the front).

I don't know if it is the Christmas air that has got me thinking about my family so much, but I do know that for the first time since I was maybe 8, I felt a pure deep and irrevocable love and appreciation for my beloved parents. I miss them, finally I really miss them, after being on my own for 2 years, I have an ache in my stomach to be held by my dad and listen to my mom hum as she cooks. I have always loved them, and I think it is time I show them my affection in a more tangible way.

Don't get me wrong, it hasn't always been resentment and bitterness all these years, but I think even one day of ill advances towards my selfless and admirable parents would still have been altogether undeserved and utterly ridiculous.

Golden Grams

She grew up in a town called 'Hope'
"That's beautiful, isn't it?" She said as we sipped our Chai Lattes in the over crowded Barnes and Noble, I laughed to myself as I watched the people franticly searching through the titles on the jumbled shelves for the contents of Christmas lists so lengthy. "Hope, Michigan. It is beautiful, Grandma. It suits you." She really isn't my Grandma, but I call her that because she feels like one to me. How loving and lowly she is.
I always thought you could tell alot about someone by knowing where it was they grew up, or came from. I think it is why I can't stay in one place for too long, because I haven't come from one place. I believe I will be destined to wander all the days of my life in wait of a place called home, which I know I will not find here in this world. In this case, Hope Michigan, was altogether Fay Wilson.
She spoke of her divorce, the man that ran around on her for ten years and then told her to leave, and she did. She moved into a little trailer in lynchburg serving her children and seeking the Lord. Unlike most who have lost loves, Fay never loved another. She stayed faithful to him unto his last breathe and I suspect unto hers too.
Beautiful Fay never lost hope, trusting that in the end everything would be fine. She had hope for her children, she had hope in her Lord, she had hope for herself. I think back to last week listening to Grandma talking about her life as if it was so far away yet it all happened so fast, and I honor her. I honor her for her selflessness, I honor her for the elegance that was never lost, I honor her for never being in denial but approaching every situation with a hope so strong that even Michigan acknowledged it!

AHHHHHHHHH

I AM GOING TO ROMANIA FOR CERTAIN!!!!!!
I AM BUYING MY TICKET TODAY!!!!!
I'LL BE GONE FOR 2 MONTHS!!!

BLESS THE LORD!!!!


theend

50 never looked so good

I think there are certain instincts given naturally to different genders. I am noticing these things in myself as of late. In a way it is kinda of scary, because it reminds me I am growing up. I think that's why 'peter pan' is so wondrous, to stay in the ecstasy of child-likeness where happy thoughts make you fly and the only dreadful thing to worry about is pirates. Yet, In a way, it is comforting seeing the change in myself, the maturing.
When I watch her, the way she folds laundry or even the way she makes me smile no matter what battles are raging inside of me, I find I am taking notes. She has her adorable and child-like qualities too, like before she does her shopping she always finds a bag of chocolate and opens it right there in the store, before any official payment as been made. She says "shopping is more enjoyable with chocolate" so we walk along sucking on our chocolates, as little children jealously stare. The cashiers always gives a confused look when we put an empty bag on the conveyor belt for them to scan.
I think above all, it is her presence, everyone knows when she walks into a room. The Joy that surrounds her like an invisible glow lighting her eyes. When she walks in, any tension that was once there disappears, as we all gawk at her beautiful elegance. 50 never looked so good.
I pray that I will grow to be a woman like her someday, perfectly adorable even her flaws, subtly confident, dramatically generous, and lowly in all her ways. Even if I should not have the beauty, I find that I am striving to become a woman as lovely as Nanette Taitt.

easy isn't always best

I will never regret having faith in someone. Even if all the odds are against them, or they have done it a thousand times so surely they will do it again, or the situation is impossible. Even if in the end all of those come to pass and everyone was indeed right. I will not regret having hope, however small it might be.

I stand on the other side of the gate, and I look back and see that had I said 'no' in the beginning it would make it alot easier to keep walking forward now. Yes, but easy isn't always best now is it. The most rewarding things I have ever had the pleasure to experience have been anything but easy.

I told you as you said you 'don't want to hurt me' that it's life, anything you invest your emotions in takes the risk of leaving you hurt. I believe the worst hurt of all is if you didn't take any risks and was content to keep your heart in a safe, combination lost, destined to beat it's last drum in the confines of a lonely metal box. Yes, you were worth the risk. I told you then and I say it now, I do not regret and you were worth the risk.

Of all the things my heart should feel, I can't find one of them. The only thing I can find is gratitude. I am grateful for the time, I am grateful for what I have learned, I am grateful that the Lord still reigns and He will never let me down, I am grateful oh but I am grateful that you are not the one. Even though I have dreamt of you in that way for 5 long months, you are not the one, and I am grateful. So thankful that the Lord in His mercy, made it known to me now rather then later.

I still find myself hoping, though. No, not for you and I, never again for you and I. I am hoping and it's all in the name of the Lord. I am not sad, oddly sadness has not come over me. I think it's because all this time I was still more in love with the Lord then I ever dreamt of being in love with you, I have not lost anything because He is still my portion and satisfaction, and through His grace I never allowed you to become that.

So I end this post with this conclusion, never again will I think of us as two lovers hopeful in future and tales of glories. You are just a man, one I thought about for a long time, but still just a man. I do not regret having faith in us or even the risk. I pray that another will cross your path and she will be found more hopeful and faithful then even I was. So I am done looking back, I am on this side of the gate now and it will be hard for a time, but my Lord will sustain me, He always does.

I have neglected you...

Taciturn- [Tas-i-turn]
-adjective

1.	inclined to silence; reserved in speech; reluctant to join in conversation.

2.	dour, stern, and silent in expression and manner.

If one word could describe now in my life, love, and desires....it's this one.

Synonyms
silent, uncommunicative, reticent, quiet.

I am sure myself will come back soon...
until then, watch this and find the vocabulary above in the glorious lyrics
Joanna Newsom is wonderful

sun or sleep

I couldn't get to bed last night. I sat there, sleep and even tiredness had abandoned me. I was left, just me and my clock, to wait for an intervention, whether that meant sun or sleep.
I am not so blessed to have patience as a virtue. I will not, however, give up trying to obtain it. So as the red numbers stared at me, switching ever so slowly, I felt frustration grip the inside of my stomach.
I know!! I must try to relax and think of nothing, that should help. So I switch sides, putting my stubborn clock to my back, and try to lay as still as possible. I deepen my breathing, and pretend relaxation is overcoming me. It starts at my toes, creeps up to my heels, into my ankles, and through my shins. I think of my body sinking deeper into the mattress with each exhale, as the weight of relaxation calls to tired to come back.
The surest way to insure that tiredness will not come, is to think of him. Now that I look back, I see this is in fact where I went wrong. For just when relaxation was numbing my shoulders, I thought of tired, and that is indeed when he ran away from me for the second time.
I try to win the battle against my clock and not look at him, but of course in my undeniable defeat, I face him and his mocking red numbers ablaze that read 3:26. I sigh, completely beside myself in frustration, and then it happened, something I haven't done since I was a small child, completely forgotten in it's on little world. It brought a wave of nostalgic pleasure into my heart, in turn making me smile.
When I was a little girl, I had a yellow baby blanket. It even had a zipper, so that you could make it into a sleeping bag, should I wish it. Around the edges was stitched thick durable white lace. My dad would tuck my sister, Courtney, and I in for bed at night, and I remember he would always spread my yellow blanket over me.
My dad did this thing where he would rub his cheek on ours, so that we could feel his whiskers like sandpaper against our skin. Courtney and I loved getting whiskers before bed, after that Courtney would contentedly pacify her thumb and drift right to sleep. When I was on the verge of sleep I would always grab the corner of my yellow blanket and rub it between my fingers as my cheek tingled from my dad's whiskers.
Last night in my desperate fight to sleep I subconsciously grabbed the corner of my comforter and started to rub it between my fingers just like when I was little. When I realized it, a flood of childhood memories came back to me. I lay there in the sweetness of my treasured times, remembering when it was all so simple. It was almost tangible, my childhood, and then I finally fell asleep as my clock, defeated, blinked 4:00.
I should like to find my yellow blanket, so that when I have children, I will have something to cover my little daughter with. I smile thinking about this, and now, I feel I am in need of a nap.

Like a Bird

Whenever I am having a hard time, I sometimes imagine where I would venture to if I could go anywhere. Somehow I always end up in an airport amongst all the other possibilities. I have often wondered why an airport would be the one to bring me solace or comfort...
When I am watching that movie, you know the one that is created to make your heart long for something? Sometimes it is the movies about love, or even loss, and often times adventure. It is this epic story about finding something that is worth all these undignified actions. Well when I get to the" airport scene" of the movie my heart nestles in this place of amenity. Even as the characters are walking away from each other, I confusingly find a sort of solace in the scene. I find sometimes I even rewind and watch it again to enjoy every second of it.
I found myself in my beloved airports these past weeks, and as I walked through the terminal to my gate I felt the buzz of adventure and the tingle of nostalgia. It is an odd thing, standing in a room full of perfect strangers. Yet, somehow you all have the same intention that is a destination or concourse that you will all embark upon. All of us, like a flock of birds, are going somewhere.
I muse ideas of where the Amish looking couple sitting in front of me will be going. Newspapers expertly unfolded as if they were home in there small drawing room, as always. There was a sort of captivating essence about the make-up less face that the woman wore. Her stark white tresses pulled loosely back in a small bun at the nap of her neck, you know the kind you only see in prairie movies. Her husband in his itchy Grey woolen sweater had a fanny pack fastened safely around his middle. How perfect they looked on the orange padded chairs that we shared.
I wonder how it would feel to be a Nun, like the two sitting behind me. They sat laughing in their polyester and grey-blue head coverings complete with rosarys latched around their necks. One had a battered guitar case next to her, which made me think of Julie Andrews and The Sound of Music. I thought about the ugly dresses this Nun would wear if she hadn't decided to swim in her polyester and celibacy. Nuns are interesting, indeed, I would like to become acquainted with one someday.
As I stood to board, I noticed the guy in a black hoodie with two beautiful women standing on both sides of him. There was an impressively large trophy in the youngest girl's hands. 'World Champion' was etched on the plate of the glorious golden statue of a man with raised arms. The guy in his hoodie had scars on his face, and the women were all too beautiful. I understood his agitation and his emptiness. Even though the world declared him champion and he had two more beautiful trophies on his sides, he had a desperation in his eyes. I remember how it felt and I even felt it only briefly as he walked past me to his seat a few rows behind, girls giggling in there onomatopoeias.
There is a blond boy sitting on his papa's lap in the front left seat. He likes to look at me, and I give him a smile that says "we have a secret". He agrees to my proposal of friendship. He is maybe three years old, and I decided he would make a good "Connor" or maybe an "Emmit". We played face games for awhile, all the time his dad completely unaware of the social butterfly perched on his lap. Connor fell asleep looking at me. It was a sublime and perfect moment, one I hope never to forget.
I sit back as the plane takes off. Mr. married next to me grasps the arm rests as if they can save him from his undeniable queasiness. Later he asks if he can buy me a beer, and I reply "umm I'm 19, thanks though" The screen entertains us with a movie about a man with aspergers syndrome, and a beautiful woman that fall in love. Through their awkward romance yet strangely powerful with emotion and harmony, Mr. Married sits closer to me resting his arm against mine, no longer clutching his arm rest, but completely safe resting against me forgetting all about the turbulence. For a moment I didn't even notice, I was so caught up in the screen that displayed such beautiful and honest affection that I didn't even recognize the hazard and red lights that started flashing when his left hand rested on my wrist. As the credits scrolled towards the ceiling I looked down, and came to my senses, standing up with my seatbelt still on I acted like seabuscit in desprete need of the commode. Needless to say after that he kept to himself as did I.
Through all these, I still don't know why my heart longs for terminals and checked bags. I don't know if it is the adventure I long for, or the escape. I don't know if it is the love story locked away waiting just for me to step unto the screen, or the feeling I get in my chest as I fly with the sun. I don't know if it is the way my imagination gets drunk off of all the things and people my eyes drink in, or peeing 40,000 ft in the air. My heart is determined to live in a suitcase, and for now I will not object.

"I walked in the mountains, and it was Autumn, you see. Yes, the mountains that are up north from here." You began as if you were telling a story to a king, instead of just little me. "I love the way the leaves fall in the mountains as if they were snowing. To just sit and watch the snow fall would be enough to content me. Oh, but the way the trees themselves would take your breath away." As you spoke I noticed our own trees towering around us, as i am sure they were listening too. I thought I saw them grow a little taller as you prod them on with your words and staggering compliments.

"I wouldn't trade all the world, little sister, if I could but know how to express the overwhelming sensation that is the wind blowing the scents of fall all around as the sun stares at you through the leaves of gold and crimson. To bring understanding to those who only smell the moth balls rot away in their closets, and the green paper that seems to be out of reach for most who desire it." He had a twinge of frustration in his eyes, but not a hopeless one. It was mostly a frustration that is the kind to press one onward into attempting the goal (no matter just how impossible).

Whenever he speaks I like to repeat in my head his sentences that I admire. At this point I was still repeating "I walked in the mountains, and it was autumn, you see." It seemed that every time he spoke he did so as if the words were his friends, each one carefully examined, and tested perfect for their own use. He never misplaced a word, and rightfully so.

It is by him, my dearest brother, that I have just barely understood the beauty of words. I have only been just acquainted with them, but I feel as if they shall be very faithful and loyal companions to me for the remainder of my life. Each one it's own beauty, and particular meaning. I could fondle their meanings all day long in my head and never grow weary! Mostly I love how sacrificial they are. For hardly any admire the actual words, but what they are intending to communicate. I have come to hold the highest respect for the words (even the ill-used ones) and it has given me the joy of being delighted in their proposals.

It was on this day as my brother spoke of an autumn so indescribable in the mountains of the north, that Words allowed me to relive actual experience. I captured the wind that blew the scent of fall all around, and yes even the sun stared at me through the leaves of gold and crimson. My entire being was caught up in the sweet elation of that perfectly described moment.

As I have told myself I would try, so I have, to convey this moment I experienced in all it's glory. I used to believe words could never be enough, that they would always fall short of true meaning and experience. I stand corrected, and most gladly!! Even though I fall quite short of mastering this technique of placing words in their correct and most rightful of places (yes, I daresay it is a technique) I shan't become discouraged, for I have the rest of my life to become more acquainted as friends.

Awake my soul, and REJOICE!!

I have been sleeping on my knees as of late.
Attention has run off to a place where time isn't old.
In the younger time it moves faster, so fast in fact that your eyes only comprehend a few pictures.
Most in which never actually did happen (something of a dream). Yet, some of course are just a mere reflection of desire. It is when attention runs to a more youthful and irresponsible place that we have given away our very will for ignorance. (oh what "bliss")
This child, Attention, is not easily persuaded, entertained, or even controlled.
It is almost as bi-polar as the menopausal pharmacist behind her raised counter or even the weather.
(Autumn, how I long to feel your brisk wind)
I also have another that accompanies me on occasional outings, Discipline, is his name.
He doesn't come out much, (though I know he's there) because attention constantly harasses him.
I don't blame discipline for his cowardice for it was only his upbringing that was the cause of such an attitude.
The thing I keep pondering is, what if Attention (like all young girls) only puts on this front of dislike towards Discipline and is actually in love with him?
Yes I know hardly even a plausible thought that should even be considered.
Yet, If the arrangement could only be made THEN I should stay awake on my knees as I pursue the one whom I love!
I am dreaming of a romance between two lovers that they might become one.
Then Attention would become mono-polar and discipline would lead the way of my desires, carving a path in this untredged ground under my feet.
Oh if the love would bud and bloom then (and only then) could I meet with my love, and in a time much older then even now.
That I would sit in a room in the heart of the house of my Love.
There would be pictures on the wall and even furniture elegant and quaint.
I would sit in the chair (or kneel at it rather) as He sings in my ear (a song I have never heard).
The melody would be so stunning that my heart would keep it's tempo (almost as if it was created to do so).
I would sit silent, quieted by a love so tangible.
Quieted by truth often misunderstood and misrepresented, as I sit there on my knees.
I would be wholly and irrevocably consumed in a pleasure, as the pictures of my heart (that He painted of course) hang on the wall.
I would not fall asleep. Yes, the time would be ancient, and finally I would not fall asleep.

edgar allan poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me -
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud one night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we -
Of many far wiser than we -
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling -my darling -my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea -

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

book sale

I have always loved the smell of books. A scent often scolded for it's lack of perfumed elegance. It is one that brings me a great deal of comfort. It is the smell that sings me to sleep, that asks me about my deepest wanderings, and that has been there through all my days of learning.

Today I breathed it in as I walked down rows of literature for sale. Half off a dollar fifty hardly seemed to do the masterpieces justice. Don't get me wrong, dear friends, I always try my luck at any local used book sale I hear of but today, well, today was different. I saw a sort of injustice as I walked the tattered carpeted floors to the "fiction" section. I saw Genocide, a slaughter of pages. I heard their screams as I browsed over unfamiliar titles and still others only too familiar.
I looked around and saw that I was the only person under the age of 60 in the room. These veterans of book clubs understood the desperation of this unruly situation. I stopped suddenly feeling like a 5 year-old puppy obsessed little girl in the middle of a dog pound. I wanted to save them all, to guarantee each of them that
"Yes, you shall be read again someday! Yes, you will sing another to sleep. Yes, you will teach a college student about the absurdities of the Vietnam war. Yes, you will encourage a young boy to be the captain of a fishing boat. Yes, you will give solace to the depressed. Yes, you will ignite the fires of love between two awe-struck teens."
These are the dreams of books. I stood there in the middle of the hopelessness that was this situation and suddenly understood. We are all books, you and I. We sit waiting, content to be read when the time is right. Content to wait for the perfect reader. One who understands the beloved content they are beholding. While others still have prettier covers. They have many readers. they open themselves up to anyone's eyes. They long for the adoration. Yet still others that shall never be read except by the one who they themselves created the inhabitants. Yet isn't the story all about they author anyway. I shall live my life living to please my author and not my beholder whoever they might be.
I hand 3 dollars to the cashier as I take my treasures. My head dizzy from the sweet elation of aromas and adventurous thoughts. Tonight I will drink deep of these weathered pages. yes, I will always love the smell of books.

I am in love with Billy Collins!!
I am at a point where every word I write feels wasted. So, as to not disappoint the very few who take the time to read my humble blog, I will try to entertain you as best I can. I wouldn't want your click of the mouse hinting in my direction to be all for not. Enjoy the pure genius that is Billy Collins, and maybe (hopefully) next time you decide to visit this rather dull and poor impression of me, you might find something that is actually written from me. It is hard to tell from where I stand, it seems an utter impossibility (as most blocks writers stumble upon do).
Enjoy!

splitting wood

by Billy Collins

Frost covered this decades ago,
and frost will cover it again tonight,
the leafy disarray of this woodland

now thinned down to half its trees,
but this morning I stand here
sweating in a thin shirt

as I split a stack of ash logs
into firewood
with two wedges, an ax, and a blue-headed maul.

The pleasures here are well known:
the feet planted wide,
the silent unstoppable flow of the downswing,

the coordination that is called hand-eye,
because the hand achieves
whatever the concupiscent eye desires

when it longs for a certain spot,
which, in this case, is the slightest fissure
visible at one end of the log

where the thin, insinuating edge
of the blade can gain entry,
where the shape of its will can be done.

I want to say there is nothing
like the sudden opening of wood,
but it is like so many other things—

the stroke of the ax like lightning,
the bisection so perfect
the halves fall away from each other

as in a mirror,
and hit the soft ground
like twins shot through the heart.

And rarely, if the wood
accepts the blade without conditions,
the two pieces keep their balance

in spite of the blow,
remain stunned on the block
as if they cannot believe their division,

their sudden separateness.
Still upright, still together,
they wobble slightly

as two lovers, once secretly bound,
might stand revealed,
more naked than ever,

the darkness inside the tree they shared
now instantly exposed to the blunt
light of this clear November day,

all the inner twisting of the grain
that held them blindly
in their augmentation and contortion

now rushed into this brightness
as if by a shutter
that, once opened, can never be closed.

this is my favorite poem!!!

Only one more week!!!!


I surprisingly get to go to the Passionate Pursuit Conference as well, in Atlanta :D

I just can't wait

I am going on a missions trip to Romania, and I just can't wait. I will be working with a camp there that is associated with BHOP and IHOP-AC. I am so excited that I have constantly been looking up information about the country and it's history. I am amazed at what these people have been through.

This guy named, Nicolae Ceausescu, became president of Romania and made it a Communist country. He kind of reminds me of Nero a little bit because in 1974 he started this "systematisation" process and basically that was completely destroying Romania so he can rebuild it all in his own style. Thankfully, he was overthrown like twenty years ago. Communism has left it's mark on alot of the older generation though.

They have real gypsies there. Alot of them travel in wagons going from town to town stealing things from the flats or apartments. Some of them adopt land that was left abandoned due to lack of expenses, until they are taken off by the government. Some of them will trick you right beneath your nose. All the people I ask about gypsies too say they are easily identifiable. That You will know a gypsy when you see one. Here is a picture I found online. I can't wait to take my own :D

I still have alot to learn about Romania. It's too bad I can't speak the language. I will be over there for twenty days so hopefully I will pick up on a few words. I can't wait!!!!

I will be thankful

It's been awhile since I wrote on here...sorry folks!

I went back to Georgia for a wedding and some graduations this past week. I haven't felt that alone in so long. These people that I got to see are wonderful, I love them all so much. We had a pleasant reunion, but amidst all the "I miss you!'s" and "how have you been?" "what have you been up to?'s" I still felt a loneliness. Not in the sense that I felt companionless, but in the sense that I now stand apart. I am not apart of what they are apart of anymore, and they don't agree with what I am standing up for. I stood in a room full of people that I once felt a kindredness with and felt lonely.

I know this move is where the Lord wants me. I know that my loneliness will only serve to make me rely more on Him and His love. So I am truly thankful. As I see my friends graduating and getting ready for the next step, as I see my friends getting married and having babies I will be grateful for where the Lord has me. I know my calling isn't normal. I know I stand alone. but it is in this solitude that the Lord has made His presence known, so I will be thankful.

I have chosen to be apart of the prayer movement here in North Carolina. I am slowly and sometimes painfully being transformed. Nothing compares to one day in the presence of the Lord. I choose to give it all up for the sake of knowing Him in a greater way. He is worth it. In Him I have found my rest, my song, my hiding place. I will be thankful as the Lord sets me apart. He is Holy, and so I desire to be Holy!

108 things I miss

I miss...
G.I. joes in the backyard
bear shaped ice cubes
sours
ice cream man in Germany
bubblicious bubble gum
s'mores with best friends in the living room
talking on aim
swimming with the Petersons
walking to kroger
Lord of the rings on christmas eve
dodge ball on the trampoline
camp... old spice!!
wal-mart with grandma
dinner at pastor Jeremiah and Bianca's for family nights
prayer with the staff on tuesday morning
being lazy at heather's house
making pizza with hillary and chris at sammys
la fiesta with zach and ashley
every single conversation with Lindsay Anne
swimming with the magic man
dinner at 5:30 with the whole family
popeyes
new orleans
playing in the creek with the neighborhood kids
making stuff on the table saw
truth or dare
Wisconsin
string cheese
watching zorro at midnight
rent-a-crew
the seven projects
joking around with mike hult
Mathew, Jessica, Andrew, Jon, and Mike(FTC)
going to suretha's with Mrs. Cindy
playing in the snow with brooke and the fowlers
catalyst
8:00
special delivery pizza when I'm sick
the rocket summer in summer
tennis
hopping fences at sweetwater
playing with gobbi
shopping at the mall with charity while they fix the car
all the pastors at cch especially Pastor Jeremiah and Bianca
biking
makani jane stingl
trying to learn Jessica's dances
crochet group with Mrs. Dorris
Hacky sack small group in the winter
s3
transit
wesley guys
staying on the internet all night with jenna
lunch with briana
laughing with heather
being in the bus with FTC
laser tag and skating rinks
sidewalk chalk
overhead projectors in elementary school
easter egg hunts
charity falling in the pool while trying to practice the dance
memory verse tests
monterrys
adullam christian fellowship
movies with bethany
phone conversation's until 4am :)
fishing in milford lake
Mrs.Jill and Pastor Randy
crave
listening to music in the car with chris
watching that scary movie with austin and elizabeth
making movies all night with pidge
weird snacks with hillary
stephanie freeman
talking on the phone with susanna and montana
pastor Bianca's small groups
heather's christmas parties
bicentennial park with the wesley kids at christmas
taiwan
working at the skate park
capture the flag after saturday night bible study
hanging out with kristen smith
backstage with briana
wesley reading to me
jenna's smile
napolean dynomite
vote for pedro shirts
decorating cch for christmas with FTC
creative planning meetings
honduras
taking videos of ftc, something hilarious would always happen
trans 56
xanga
transits got talent comedy routine
neewalloh
silent football
courtney corrin huth
the tea room with kristen
savannah with my mom
lock-ins
trey and brooke in baseball nets
starbucks with friends
dollar coffee with briana
the office with chris
murder in the dark at that castle playground with transit
church at chapel hill and everyone in it

I am so thankful for my memories. I look forward to the new ones that have yet to happen. Praise you Lord for blessing me in my life!!!!!
Kirsten

I am a monster, yet He loves me

I tend to be a selfish person.

I am selfish when it comes to my time, my brother, food, sleep, conversation, friends, and much more. How easily I turn to my self every single day. At times, I see it. Mostly, I feed it. Those scarce moments when truth sheds the thick lie from my eyes, I see the way I really look. This disgusting fat monster that is on its own island of pleasure while the things that need help drown in the ocean surrounding me. It is a vivid and repulsive image.

Some of you might be thinking I see you help all the time, Kirsten. Yes even when I am helping it is still mostly due to my selfishness. I help only to prod myself, to make myself feel like a good person, or to make myself look good for other people. There are such rare occasions in which I actually serve for God, because I love Him and He told me to.

This truth about me is unnerving, to say the least. Not only is this selfishness at the expense of others in need around me, but it also takes the God I proclaim to worship off of His throne and me in it. I constantly serve myself. I am a glutton for pleasure. I worship the things that give me gratification.

I am, however, thankful for the things the Lord uses to reveal this to me and to convict me. He uses Love and sometimes art. He uses a woman with exceptional character. He uses His word and teachers. He uses my brother. I want to become more sensitive to my selfishness, it has grown into a natural thing for me. This is a feat that wont easily be won. In Christ the victory is mine. I will spend my life dying only to make Him more powerful in me.

I am not God! I will not be the Lord of my own life. I refuse to stay on this Island of pleasure and feed my massive stomach. I repent, Lord, for my wrong motives and disgusting habits. Teach me how to be selfless out of Love for you. Teach me humility that seeks after your heart and not mine. Father align my will with yours, that I will never do anything that doesn't please you. Father teach me a love that looks past my pleasure and my emotion. I choose to love you! I choose to be faithful to you! Thank you, beloved, for showing me truth. May I always love your truth more than my ignorance!

Kirsten

change and immutability

One thing I have been thinking about these past few days is the mystery called "change". This is one thing I just don't think I will ever get used to, I am not really supposed to either, that would defeat it's name. I am so puzzled by this thing "Change" that plagues our lives. I mean if you think about what the word means, it's making something different then it would be if it were left alone.
We have all been victims of change. Some we would say are for good, others more depressing, and still others we would in fact like to "change". I try to imagine my life without it. If I was just a baby for the rest of my life left alone, in one constant state. I would never die, eat, sleep, or laugh. So we see change is mandatory even for rocks and things not living, they too experience change. Either by erosion or man's destruction.
Looking at this impossible thought more practically, there are more recognizable changes that happen to us, ones that we think upon that we are either thankful for or ones we curse. I have come to appreciate change, even in the most frustrating terms. These sort of shiftings and imbalances that redirect my path only make me more aware of that which is greater then me. This God that never changes, this immutable King that is my foundation and my firm rock that I can hold onto while everything around me changes. I am thankful, even for the changes that set me in a more sorrowful or empty direction. I am thankful for the changes that set me towards happiness and opportunity, for they all only seek to make me more aware of that stillness in my Lord.
Yet still this is a thought that will keep my mind meddling. It is insane!!

Birth and Poetry

April 28th was my brother's Birthday. He is 22 now. I wrote him this...

We are poetry, he says
Step after step
Under bright lights that drown out the stars.
You commission them to turn off.

defeat takes his seat
back on the brick sign

We are poetry, I reply
glance after glance
over the cement guard rails onto the highway, we tower.
Vertigo takes it's toll.

fears too subtle for fears
along we walk again.

We are poetry
Smile after smile
On abandoned soccer seats we tell of
lullabies our futures tease.

songs we hope will play along
until another tune catches our ear.

You are poetry, the moon shouts
We scream "we love you, moon!"
We hold the jealousy of Robert Frost, the admiration of an
only child, the appreciation from words that have so long been
ill-used. The declaration of never-ending train tracks. The
motivation of inspiration and understanding hearts.

Yes, my brother, we are poetry indeed.

I finally found where I belong

Safety and Normalcy

I have been here already 4 weeks. The Lord has been so faithful in making this transition non-existent. I find that everything I have given up there, I have received in greater quantity in different ways here. Of course I have irreplaceable relationships at home, but I find the new ones are just as irreplaceable and meaningful. To Love with out reason is so freeing.

I do about 40-50 hours in the prayer room. I really thought that this would be the hardest transition. To go from the racing and running to sitting and waiting. From the first minute I sat down in the old fashioned ill-lit room, I fell in love with it. It feels so normal to just sit for 8 hours a day and do nothing but talk to the Lord. I feel like I really have found where I belong. There have been no bolts of lightening or thunderous rapids but in the slowness of His speech I have found a safety and a love completely undeniable, unbearable, unexplainable, unthinkable and I will never let go of it.

I praise God for His faithfulness. I have obediently followed what He spoke to me, and He has not left me high and dry. Thank you Father!!!

Twine and Yarn

My life is comprised of a variety of relationships. some as strong but brittle as twine. Some soft and flimsy like yarn. Both useful and beautiful. I find that in a few days, shears will threaten my attachments.
I am a scared and useless balloon, all I can hope for is to find what I am looking for.
In my head I know this decision to move is the right one and that it is worth it. In my heart, it feels like a finality I have never felt before, like the death of something given up.
This has, by far, been the longest goodbye. I find that I silently say farewell to my favorite trees on familiar roads. My eyes constantly burn and yearn for more saltwater. I have never in my life felt so divided against myself.
I heard somewhere that one who is trying to move to some place against something can never be at peace. I feel like I am moving against myself...I can't wait to let go...to be at rest...to be free

Lord, if you must, I will let you cut every attachment...no matter what that means. You are worth everything!!!

death and concussions

...10 facts...
I'm in Oklahoma for my Aunt's funeral
I haven't met more than half of my cousins
I wish I lived closer to my family
My grandma Beth is the cutest person on the planet
I fainted today
I almost got a concussion
My brother is superhuman
blue bunny ice cream is the best
music is magical medicine
I miss Georgia

Kirsten

silence and surgery

So over this past week some of the most horrifying and the most incredible things have happened to me. I had my tonsils and my adenoids taken out as well as some chisling done in my nose. Never in a million years would I consider surgery and the thereafter to be pleasurable, and belie me it wasn't.
Aside from the nauseating I.V. and the pain killers that have made me feel like I am from another planet . Aside from the pain that I feel every time I swallow, or the nasty taste in my mouth after trying to eat anything. Aside from my diet consisting of sorbet and water, this time has brought me so much peace in my heart aside from all that.
I obviously have been very silent in the past few days, at first this was frustrating. If you know me at all you know I love to talk, so being denied that pleasure was frustrating. But I began to listen and I really heard so many things I didn't even know made noise. Like Selflessness; my mom and dad have been the most selfless people this week. They have slaved over my comfort and making sure i had my medicine on time even when it meant waking up at 4 in the morning to give it to me. It was a beautiful sound, I am so challenged by my parents beautiful selfless love that they have shown me.
Also peace, It has been like the eye in the middle of the storm. I think someone told me that in the eye of the storm it is completely calm. I was always flabbergasted by that, amongst all the voilent wind and choas there would be this perfect calm in the center. I have heard the sound the calm makes this week and it is beautiful.
And the sound of companionship, my dad held my hand through every minute of pain. I always thought that when I was in pain or scared at the hospital that someones hand to hold would be the last thing on my mind. My dad's hand being there made it all feel like a peice of cake...well maybe not that easy.
As much as I would love to resent this week of pain and hungering torture I can't help but be thankful for it. It has shown me a love that is deeper then I have ever felt and it has sang a song I have never heard before. I am content, even if i have to sit here for another week until I get better it's worth it all.

A weird sort of complacency

Lately I have been feeling still. Just no progress at all, I feel like I am going in circles and going through all the motions but not really getting anywhere. Like a treadmill or a stair master. I know this isn't always a bad thing and that sometimes it's the waiting that makes it good. I know that just because God is silent at times doesn't mean He doesn't exist. spell check just informed me that I have been spelling "exist" wrong all my life.
It's gotten to the point where I wont listen to any new music. It is an odd form of complacency but I used to hate it when people were closed minded about listening to new music. Now I just want what I know and I'm good. I want to thirst for the unknown again. To crave a new beat, to dance to something different. I mean that in more ways than one.
They say that after you do something the same for three weeks it becomes a habit. i read that in a book called the newspaper or the internet or something :]]. I have noticed all the random habits I have been building. just like routines that I am getting into, and honestly as comforting as that should be it dismantles my brain. I just want to run and be spontaneous and see that what I am doing is making a difference.
I am scared of this, but it in it's own way it is sort of adventurous. I don't know what it means to stay in one spot...i am just going to make sure it doesn't last any longer than 21/2 weeks...I don't want to make a habit out of this.

Today I woke up super late. Like two! I was not happy about it! I told myself the excuse that my body was making more blood that it lost yesterday when they stole some at the hospital. I decided to go on a walk with my dad at about 3. We just talked about my new job at abercrombie (ehh) and he told me some stories about his most recent marathon and I told him some stories about my 120 mile bike ride. It was wonderful.
The simplicity of just walking with someone you love, has the power to make you appreciate even the little things. The weather outside was incredible! I had not realized how much my skin missed the warm air outside until it tasted it today. I do hope the cold stays away, I hate being teased with bipolar weather tantrums. Also the smells outside. My nose has become very accustom to either not being able to smell at all or smelling gasoline or mall people. Today I felt like my nose had a five course meal, The smell of the trees and regrettably the hormonal, shirtless, highschool boys cross country team that passed by us a few times. The smell of the water and humidity. I forget about those tiny joys. As I walked alongside my dad today I praised God for His intricate and most beautiful creation. I am enthralled with the masterpeice He has designed, it brings out a reaction from every part of my being. Only a true artist can do that.

So go outside, dear friends, and praise Him. He deserves it!
-Kirsten

I'm Kirsten Anglea!! I'm a writer for the right reasons, I am a realist for the outlet it has become. I am an artist for the perspective. I am surrendered for the empowerment. I am in love with a living love. I am a wisher for the sound the penny makes when it hits the water. I look through clover patches for the chance that I might get lucky. I blow bubbles for a glimpse of my childhood. I run to break free. I sing to humble myself. I laugh to live. I live to love and receive love. I jump to the forefront for the attention. I slip to the back for the perks. I smile to cover up my embarrassment. I worship to proclaim. I dance to become melody. I strum to hear the sound. I am despondent at times. I bask in the sunlight of my kitchen floor for solace. I daydream to pretend. I bike to feel fast. I cry to let go. I am alive, but only in Him. He is my rock, my hope, my depth, my sanity, my eternity, my peace, my challenge, my redeemer, my victory, my need,my future, my everything!!!

I read something like this a long time ago, I thought I would make my own!
It's been awhile...

I should write on here more often.
-Kirsten