Day Two Hundred and Twenty One - My Kids' Dad

I have a feeling I'm starting a mini series within the blog. I don't mean for it to be rants, but rather explanations that can be a little heavy on the sarcasm. Singleness is not my ideal, but it's what I've chosen. For so, so many reasons. The one we're going to focus on today is - you guessed it - My Kids' Dad.

Today, after I got off work, I decided that I was going to celebrate the 4th with my dad. It was his favorite holiday, and his birthday is right around now. So I bought some sparklers and bottle rockets and went to his grave and shot them off. That's the glorious thing about being buried in the country - no one could have cared less. It was good. I had a little cry. I miss him, and this grief will seep out of me for years. I will never be able to say to myself, "This is the last cry." It'll never be true.

And I loved my father, I did. We got good years together. But all the same, I want my kids to have a better dad. I want my kids' dad to be able to show them how much he loves them, I want him to be invested in their lives. I want him to show our sons how to respect women and be a knight in shining armor to our daughter. I want him to teach them about God from passion, not duty. I want him to protect them and provide for them. I want my kids' dad to be the dad I never got to have growing up. Stability, commitment, and love.

I will never intentionally put a child through what I went through. And I don't mean to whine at all, I had a lovely childhood and can't complain. And my dad and I reconciled when I was an adult and had a very good relationship before he died. But he was missing from my life for about 12 years, 12 very formative years, and I wouldn't wish that upon any girl. I would have killed for a daddy growing up. And damn it if my daughter won't have one.

And yes, these are things I think about when I think about dating someone. Because while I believe people can change, and maturity does come as responsibility grows, it's important to me that I'm not marrying a man who wants to be and act like a bachelor. I want to marry a man who wants to be a husband and father.

This is why I never understood people who said, "Well, your standards are too high." Really? What sort of standards should I have for the father of my children? Lower ones?

Day Two Hundred and Twenty - That's Sort of the Point

My brother called me about a week ago, distraught. My brother is a strange sort of person, he really is. I love him, but there is no getting around that the boy is just... strange. Anyway, so he called me. This is what he said. "So, I know that you want to get married someday, right? But... well, you're single. And frankly, Kid (He and his wife have called me "kid" since I was 10. It will never go away. I've accepted it. I'm oddly fond of it.) you have been single for a really long time. Like, years, right? Anyway, so I was thinking. I know I'm a guy, and I'm sort of insanely jealous. I know I shouldn't be, but I am. Luckily, {my wife} doesn't ever give me a reason to be. But I'm a good guy, you know? Good guys can be jealous too, and if someone like me was interested in someone like you that guy would never even approach you. Cause you're surrounded by dudes, all the time. You're always talking about this guy or that one, and I get that they're just your friends but... don't you think that's a little intimidating for a guy?"

Um... yes. I do. That's sort of the point. Nut up or shut up. If you won't approach me because I have good male friends, then it was never going to work in the first place because I will always have good male friends. I will respect my future guy, I will not put myself in compromising situations, I will not be closer to any man than him, but I'm me. And me gets along with guys better than girls. It's just part of who I am. And I need a guy that can handle that.

In the meantime, I'm surrounded by people, men, who love me for who I am, not for what they can get from me. They protect me, they teach me, they toughen me and soften me at the same time. They teach me to laugh louder and work harder. And they'd never let anyone who wasn't worth my time stay in my life. Well, most of them wouldn't. The OSM would just tell me 'that it's probably not a great idea but you've got to fall on your own ass to learn this lesson'. Unless, of course, some guy decided to hit me. And then the OSM would... well we wouldn't want incriminating evidence to be posted for the public to see, now would we?

Anyway, the point of all this is simple: I never set out to be an intimidating girl. I'd love to be approachable. But I'm not changing who I am to be that way. If anyone finds me intimidating, then I better find them courageous or we'll never meet. I will not give up my friends or change my personality so that I am less intimidating. I'll just have to work on attracting guys who are not easily intimidated.

Day Two Hundred and Nineteen - Priorities

How many times have I ranted about people in this blog? Well, this is day two hundred and nineteen so for two hundred and eighteen days, I've ranted about people. I really, truly, have a hard time with them. They drive me crazy. Especially Christians. I really cannot stand them. They're a divisive group, usually bent on outshining each other in false piety and seeing who follows a completely arbitrary set of rules best. They're judgmental, hypocritical, and I am completely one of them. And so are my best friends. Because deep down, there is a love that draws us together. We're each an ember of a raging fire, and when we're alone, it starts to die. Given long enough, probability states that it will go out.

I've been a lone ranger in the Christianity thing for a very long time. You can only get burned so many times, ya know? But I was wrong. You keep trying. I need these people. I need their faults, I need their pettiness, I need their forgiveness and their quirks. I need them to push me, to humble me, to walk this life with me. I need to love those God loves and as annoying as all humans may be, God loves them. He especially loves His church, so I must as well. And the more I'm around them, the easier it gets. When bible study got cancelled tonight, I was actually disappointed.

Because God has been really big on changing my priorities. He has two. His Word and His people. He wants me to share them. And I've fallen in love with God's word, I have. But I don't give it any priority. I make sure I read a little each night before bed, which is the equivalent of only ever sending a goodnight text to the one you love. And we all know how I feel about groups and Christians and Christians in groups but that's been changing too. I need them. We all need each other. And that means even when my legs ache and I'd much rather be doing anything else, I'm going to go. Because His word and His people are my priority.

So... now I'm gonna go read my bible a little. Have a great night!

Day Two Hundred and Eighteen - Walk Away

*note* This blog is NOT about Alex. I will never walk away from that and never want Alex to either.

Every time someone asks me how I am, my initial thought is usually 'tired'. Sometimes, it's 'exhausted' and sometimes it's 'stupidly happy because I'm tired'. Most times, though, tired is somewhere in there. I was exhausted last night. And a dear friend decided it was a good time to pull out some really passive aggressive bullshit.

He started off the conversation by saying 'miss you' and within minutes was proposing that we got together again. I flat out said no. I've walked down that road before, and every time it has been a horrible idea. It can't work. It will never work. I was very upfront about that. As soon as I said no, he went OFF. How I've destroyed his trust before (though wouldn't tell me what he was talking about, only generalities and dodging), that I treated him like a toy, and that our friendship was disintigrating and it was my fault.

No. Hell no. I'm not taking responsibility for this shit. How am I treating you like a toy by telling you flat out that I'm not interested in anything more than friends and that I never will be? Pretty sure that means I love you, as a friend. No toying around. Just honesty. I haven't betrayed his trust, unless you count that one time 4 years ago that I have apologized endlessly for and if we're not over that yet, we're never going to be so I'm over it. Our friendship is not what it once was, and I don't visit as much as I used to, but he doesn't ever just visit me. We don't talk like we used to. We're both changing. And sometimes, I don't know who he is anymore, but I don't want to ask him to change because our friendship has always been based on taking each other exactly as we are.

I know he's pushing me away because he's hurt by my rejection, but I think it was partly his passive aggressive nature, and partly bored loneliness and a beer. I've rejected him every time he's proposed it in the last year. It's not like it was a shock. But I'm tired of chasing after him and pulling him back into this friendship. I'm tired.

If you don't want to be here, then leave. If you don't want to read this, don't. If you don't want to be friends with me, don't be. Do what you want to do, but don't wait for me to make it better, not this time. I'm not angry, I'm not hurt, I'm apathetic. If you want to leave, just leave. I am too exhausted by life to deal with the extra drama you insist on creating because you're bored.

I'm sorry if you want to be chased and expect me to because I always have in the past. I'm sorry if you need that validation. Because you're not going to get it this time.

Day Two Hundred and Seventeen - Only He Knows

Today, as I was driving home, my shuffle stumbled upon a very good, fairly old (by my standards) song called "I Am" by Jill Phillips. One of the lyrics is "I'm the only one who knows your heart's desires." And it occurred to me that 'only one' is not hyperbole. Often times, I get confused about what my heart really desires. It seems to be ever changing. Some things remain constant. I want good for my friends, I want health for my family, I want to be a better woman. But anything more than that gets easily lost in my emotions.

So tonight, I asked God as I was driving, "What is my heart's desire?"

I love how blunt He can be. "You want to marry the man your heart is in love with, you just don't know who or where that man is right now." Dead on. And my eyes are still pointed in the wrong direction. I'm stubborn like that. I want answers to years old questions rather than looking toward the hope that is the future. I need to get my priorities straightened out. I need to remember what I'm really working toward. And He seems to be the only One that knows where my heart is and where it needs to go.

And the flat out truth is that I just don't spend enough time with Him. And He can't do all He wants to if I'm not spending time with Him. I'm just terrible at time management. I've been getting better lately, this job sort of forces my hand, but only with needs. And I haven't categorized time with God as a need, and it really should be.

Because only He knows me well enough to lead me, exactly how I need to be led. Change me, move me, grow me, love me. Only Him.

Day Two Hundred and Sixteen - When Anger Motivates

First of all, I'd like to give a shout out to my friend who works at Verizon Wireless. He did me a SOLID this afternoon and I am so incredibly grateful. He saved me a lot of money with no gain to himself other than being a legit human being. Because he literally profited nothing from his time spent on me (an hour and a half) he has made sure both me (and my friend, he helped us both) will never go anywhere else when we have cell phone money to spend. His commission check deserves my next upgrade.

If my mechanics treated me like he did, my car would run til 2030. Mechanics, in general, (my landlord and co-worker's boyfriend not included) are giant assholes. They seem to delight in taking advantage of people. And by people, I mean single women who don't have anyone 'mechanical' looking out for them to keep the bastards in line. They've gotten more advanced since 'headlight fluid' because we caught on to that. Most of us could even change our own tire in we really had no other choice. But when they tell me that I need a new radiator fan motor when really my vent door is jammed open with road debris, which means hundreds of dollars difference in the fix, it fills me with rage. I'm working my ass off to pay my bills, and end up with nothing at the end of the month each and every time. I need my car to get to and from work. And these fuckers decide that its okay to cheat me out of hundreds of dollars because they can?


No. That is not okay. Not to do to me, or to do to anyone else. So I had an idea. Why not get educated? I checked, the tuition wouldn't cost that much. It'd cost my average mechanics bills of three to five years. It would pay itself off in just a few years. And maybe, God willing, maybe, someone else, multiple others, would get just as outraged as I feel right now and help me change it. How amazing would it be to open a shop (with men and women who didn't feel like cheating anyone less fortunate) whose slogan was 'has anyone ever told you you needed headlight fluid? come see us.' Imagine being able to HELP single mothers and single women rather than push them further into debt. Imagine having the knowledge to donate time to these women who make the world go round. Imagine standing up for those who cannot stand for themselves. Imagine helping to educate them about their vehicles, about how to properly maintain it.

This anger is motivating me. I have had it with this level of unnecessary injustice. And I can fix it. With a few classes over the next year and a half to two years, I can start bringing an end to it, at least around here. This anger is pure motivation. I'm not saying I'll be able to open my own shop, but I can say that I am done being screwed over, and so are the women I love. I'll be the 'mechanical' person that watches out for them.

Out of sheer curiosity, what pisses you off? And what are you going to do about it?

Day Two Hundred and Fifteen - I Hate Summer

No, really. I do. It is my least favorite season. My favorite, by far, is autumn. My second favorite is winter. Spring is only third due to how much I hate summer. I hate summer so much I honestly cannot understand why other people like it. Other than parents, I get that. If I was a parent I'd like having my kids around to spend more time with them without school or homework. But since I'm not a parent, I don't get it. It's %$#%&# hot. The humidity is usually above 70%. It's sticky, my electrical bill goes through the roof because of my AC. I cannot excuse my paleness on the snow outside. Why does anyone like this season?!

Fall, on the other hand... if there was a place in the world that was perpetually fall, I'd do anything it took to move there. It is gourd season. It is turn off your heat and your AC and sleep with the window open buried deep under the covers. It is pumpkin pie and turkey and stuffing season. It is apple and sweater season. It is scarf season. It is cocoa and apple cider season. It is the perfect season.

And winter! Winter sparkles when it snows, and glitters every time you breathe. Winter is chock full of Christmas. And family. And pea coats. More scarves. And gloves. Savory soups and thick broths. Winter storms. Pink noses. Every day is a 'stay inside and read' day. Winter does kill my heating bill, but I don't mind as much. It's either a heating bill or the same gas goes into my stove. Either way, my house is never too cold.

Spring... spring has pretty flowers, chill mornings, and fresh fruit. And baby rabbits. They're cute.

And summer... summer is the devil.

Just thought you all should know how I feel about the subject. Feel free to tell me how you feel about the subject. I'm more than curious. I will not change your mind, you will not change mine, but I'd love to hear about it all the same.

Day Two Hundred and Fourteen - I Just Want To Talk With My Dad

And our very first guest blogger! Who wishes to remain anonymous :) Enjoy! I did. Although the blogger wishes to remain anonymous, and is talking about something very specific, I think the message applies to a lot of us. I know there are many days when I feel as if God has given me too much. As if He doesn't understand how hard it is. As if I feel like I'm screaming and no one is listening. But sometimes, at the end of our rant, comes the knowledge we sought. In silence. When we exhaust ourselves. When we can remember what we already knew.

At the beginning of this evening I was frustrated. Frustrated with myself for not understanding the gift He’s given me, frustrated because I felt so out of control. Frustrated because I seemed to be in an ongoing fight with God for control and I knew I shouldn’t be. I knew that I needed to just give Him control, but I couldn’t let go of the reins. 

At the beginning of this evening, all I wanted more than anything was to talk with my dad. He would understand, he has the same gift as I. I didn’t have to try and explain what I was feeling to him. He’s sat with me in the past and helped me understand the things I was feeling and experiencing. I always felt relieved and at peace afterwards. But he wasn’t here and he won’t be here for the next week. 

I tried to pray and found myself beating on Heaven’s gates in my mind, screaming out my frustrations and pleas for understanding to the God I couldn’t see but knew was there. I just wanted to know what I could do with this gift that felt so burdensome. “I pray and pray Lord, but still feel the cry fear and anguish of your children on my heart. What am I supposed to do now? You tell me it’s not a burden, yet it feels that way.” Silence. “Is this how you feel Lord? You have given me but a few of your children to feel, yet you carried the world on your shoulders. I can’t begin to imagine what that must have been like. No wonder. No wonder you retreated to pray alone so often. No wonder you cried tears of crimson blood in the Garden of Gethsemane.” 

It was in that moment that I began to fully realize that those tears were for us. If only a few of His children could bring me to tears, no wonder his tears were of crimson blood. He felt all of our fears, all of our anguish, anxiety, anger, sadness, loneliness…everything. He retreated because he wanted to talk with His Dad. 

After this whole conversation, I found the frustrations melting away. I got to talk with my Daddy, my Heavenly Father. He gave me peace that can only be found in Him. I found myself handing Him the reins and letting Him take control. I still don’t understand everything I am to do with His gift, but I am beginning to see why it is needed. There will still be days that this gift feels like a burden, but I know that my Dad is in control and He is there to talk to whenever I need it.

Day Two Hundred and Twelve - OLYMPICS

There are no grand revelations today, no lessons, just life. Waking up suddenly at 8am remembering that I had a wedding to attend that I had completely forgotten about. Taking my car in to get the AC looked at. Going to the farmer's market. {Insert wedding, which was lovely. If I can look half that good as a bride I will be tickled.} Picking up my car and cleaning it out. Going grocery shopping. Getting depressed as I went over budget. Making dinner and thanking God for how good I get to eat every day. Doing laundry. Watching Olympic trials. Soon I'll be off to bed. 

Today, there is only one thing I wish I had that I don't. That is a DVR. If anyone reading this would like to loan me one, just for the Olympics, I'll give it back when they're done. I'm just afraid I'll miss so much of it due to work and going to bed before the end of prime time. But if I don't get my hands on one, I'm thankful for what I will get to see. I love the Olympics. They are the best thing about summer.  

Day Two Hundred and Eleven - The Dream

I'm sitting in a chair. I've ceased to notice how uncomfortable the hard blue plastic is. I've been sitting here for hours, days, months, maybe years. I couldn't tell you. I can hear the water lapping over the stones near my feet. It's pretty calm for the ocean. Everything is still. Nothing breathes in this night. And it is night. The darkness is complete save for the stars above me. Even they are still, cold, and distant. Like they're frowning on me. But they, like me, are waiting. I don't know how long I've been here, perhaps I've turned to stone with waiting. I can't feel anything. I can't move. I just wait.

And then it comes, as suddenly as lightning. There is no warning, no gentle glow kisses the eastern sky, only a blood red sun rises in the dark, spilling over me. And in an instant, my heart shatters into more pieces than I could count in a lifetime, and my life pours out of me, staining the stone the same blood red as the sun. Out pours my grief and my hurt, my anger and my fear, I choke on my pride as it pours out, and regrets pour over me again as they spill out. Everything is laid bare. I fall to my knees, and tears stain my cheeks. This then? This is what I've been waiting for? Destruction?

I didn't think I could feel any more pain, but suddenly there is a hook in my shoulder, long and curved like a fish hook. It yanks me, forcing me to turn to the west, and watch as the crimson light spills toward the west as I pour out to the east. I have to follow the light. I have no idea what could await me, but I know that anything is better than here, where everything I touch is stained by what has poured out of me.

Not a single word was spoken, but the message was clear. And then I wake up. A golden light is spilling through my window, and I can hear birds singing. I'm breathing heavily, everything felt so real, yet as I look around my room, nothing has changed. Except me. I am not the same person that went to bed. The moment I opened my eyes, everything had changed.

Day Two Hundred and Ten - Wishes

I have an incredibly nasty habit. I wish. All the time. I wish everything was different. I wish I lived in a house instead of an apartment because I want a dog and a herb spiral. I wish I had a husband. I wish I made enough money to have a savings account. I wish I had a steady job instead of a temp one. I wish I wish I wish.

And that's no way to live. I have to focus on the positives, and turn my wishes into goals. In time, I'll be able to afford a mortgage payment. Those become easier when my student loans aren't eating hundreds of dollars from my paycheck every month, and that's only a few years away. The husband thing... I just need to focus on being a better woman right now. And jobs... take time. I can move up the ladder, and am thankful for the ones I have had. Money is it's own beast. The fact that I have enough is a huge blessing.

Wishes are useless. They just make not lead this stage of life as well as I ought. It makes me miss the opportunities in front of me right now. It steals my joy. Goals are good. Goals are motivation, goals keep us moving.

No more wishes. Only goals. And working hard for those goals, to get what I work for. No more wishes.

Day Two Hundred And Nine - What You Work For

I have been blessed with a good body. I have a high metabolism, I was taught very well as a child to stop eating when I'm full and not eat when I'm not hungry. I have a small bone structure on top of it. I've always been little, and I've never had to work for it. But it was all show. There was nothing there. I got winded faster than anyone my age has any right to. I couldn't run. I couldn't lift. Enjoying sports was a joke, they were a torment on the earth. I almost never sweated. I was blessed, but I never worked for my body. So whenever it came time to actually do something, I'd tap out before the first burn.

And then... then I didn't have a choice. The idea of working out always seemed pleasant, but I couldn't ever find the time. I wanted the body that was worked for. God knows my fitness guru friends encouraged me to do it. And I wanted to, I really did. But my ass stayed seated on my couch. And then I got my new job. I walk 11-13 miles a day for my job. The first two weeks my muscles would be so tight when I got home, I thought I could strum them like a guitar. Now, I don't really notice it. And I've stepped it up. I work out outside of work now. Baby steps, but slow and steady none the less. Adding a bit more, and actually going through with it, more and more. 

And I love it. I love the feel of it. I love watching my body get stronger, leaner, tougher. I love knowing that I've earned this body. I love knowing what it can do and pushing it to do more. Now, I'm finally more than show. I'm getting what I'm working for. 

I feel as if, at least in my life, this is an exact parallel to my faith. I've always been blessed. I've loved God since I was a kid. Theology came to me as easy as English did. I've never really worked at my faith. Sure, I've fought through some hard things, but the discipline, the actually setting aside time each day to STUDY and FOCUS and WORK as the Bible tells us to... nope. I've never done that. And my faith shows it. 

Like my body, my faith is capable of doing anything I could possibly desire... if I put the work in. Like exercise, the idea has always seemed good, I've always sort of wanted to, but just couldn't find the time. Now I will. I've watched my body change, felt it change, incredibly over the past 4 weeks with minimal effort on my part. I know faith, unlike the body, yields fruit that is exponential to what it sown due to the help of the Holy Spirit. 

I'm glad God blessed me with a good body, and with a faith that comes easy to me, they're fantastic starting points. But they're only starting points. I want more than this from my body, and I definitely want more than this from my faith. Because you get what you work for. And I'm ready to work. 

Day Two Hundred and Eight - Dawn

I honestly stopped believing this day would come. I was told it would so many times, that dawn would come. But year after year passed and I stopped believing. I forgot anything other than the night, I forgot what it was like to live in the day. I forgot what it was like to not struggle for every step, what it was like when the sun shined and made everything clearer. What it was like to not be walking under a raining cloud that haunted my every step.

It's... indescribable. I don't have to fight for this joy, just feel it. I feel new and clean and found. I feel soft. My faults have not faded away with the shadows, but their condemnation has. Their evil has been removed, and they are just unsightly shrubberies that need pruning and weeding. There is a distinct lack of utter catastrophes in the garden that is my life. But there is a lovely cup of tea and a wonderful God to talk to.

He's got plans. Certain things needed the night, I know that much. A lot needed to be tilled in the cold, in the dark. And now it is time for light, for dawn, for morning. Now it is time for dewy grass and bright rays and steaming cups of coffee. The night was allowed for a time, but it has been banished. And I am free once again.

To enjoy this beautiful life, my amazing friends, and my God without a thousand pounds pressing me down. To smile and just let things come to pass and pass. After almost three years, Dawn has arrived. And the promise that it would be so much brighter than I could anticipate... was completely true. It's beautiful. It's simple. It was all done for me.

Day Two Hundred and Seven - Enough!

"Enough!" He said to me, "I've had enough! I've had enough of these demons tearing at you, and filling your mind with lies! Enough! I am the shield in the night that blocks you from the arrows of the enemy, I am your protector by day that wields a sword against an army! And I have had enough! No more will they assault my daughter, no more will they torment you. You belongs to Me, and your judgement is mine alone. And I love you and declare you clean for I have cleansed you. No water, no tears, can do what I have done for you. It is already done.

And the time of harassment is over. I will allow no more. Remember, child, you answer to Me and Me alone. I have given you wise friends, but seek My voice first and My voice last. I have declared you clean. I've had enough!"

Day Two Hundred And Six - The Night

There is a man I hardly know, and yet respect. He is leaving a life that promises luxury for the life of a poor missionary. He leaves in a few months, not knowing when he will return. His soul motivation is for Christ and the gospel. This man, though I hardly know him, and never expect to know more, I know I will never forget.

And yet... I fear he goes unprepared. I'm an introvert by nature, an extreme one. I watch and listen very closely in new situations with new people. I watched and listened as a group of Christians prayed over him with the laying of hands. Their prayers were fervent and good, and yet my heart cried something entirely different from what they were speaking. They prayed that he have peace and joy, they prayed that he have wisdom and knowledge, they prayed that he would not speak but the Lord speak through him. They prayed he have humility and grace. They prayed for many good things, and yet... My heart's cry for him was different.

They neglected the Night. Some Christians don't believe in the Night, they believe that with prayer and preparation, the Night can be avoided. Some see it as a weakness. Others as a curse. Others as a myth of the weak, an excuse of the feeble minded. I do not. I have great respect for the Night. In all my readings, of all the great men of the Church, all have gone through a Night, a long Night, a lightless Night. Some have only ever lived in the Night with brief moments of day. The Night is very real, and it is the curse of the strong, not the weak. The Night steals your joy, and forces you to make the hard decisions when there is only your voice and the echo in your heart of the things you believe.

I do not know this man, and yet my prayer for him echoes in my heart day after day. I pray that in the Night, God be his light. I pray that in his discouragement, God be his hope. I pray that in his weakness, God be his strength. I pray that in his pain, God be his healing. I pray that in his apathy, God be his passion. I pray that in his confusion, God be his certainty. For what this man faces is unknown to us here in the lap of luxury. Don't get me wrong, I am poor. And yet I eat well each day, I have a comfortable, while small, apartment with air conditioning and a running car and a good job. What he faces is far darker. I pray he knows hunger, so that he may truly know what it is to be full. I pray he knows devastation, so that he may fully understand hope. I pray he knows torment, so that he may fully understand the peace that passes understanding. I pray the same for myself in my stronger moments. These things are necessary if he is to reach those he hopes to.

As Christians, we cannot neglect the Night of the soul, we cannot pretend it doesn't exist, we cannot pretend that with enough prayer and preparation it can be avoided. We can only pray to survive it. We can only pray to do His will through it. We can only pray for the Light to return. The Night will come. And when it does, we know who we truly are inside, and what we truly believe. There is no Christian social club in the night, encouraging you along the path. There is no happiness, there is not motivation beyond what your soul clings to.

I do not know him, and yet I pray he thrives in the Night. I pray he overcomes it. For when he does... he, and his message, will be unstoppable.

Day Two Hundred and Five - Something's Gotta Give

I love that movie. The first time I watched it, I had no idea why I loved it. The second time, I started to understand. The third, fourth, and fifth times, I began to understand that I would appreciate this movie more and more the older I got. That has proved very true.

"Something's gotta give" has been going through my mind a lot today. I woke up early, and yet very late. I spent the first three hours of my day in the kitchen and grocery store. Dishes and laundry and house cleaning and cooking. I spent all day today getting caught up from last week and preparing for this one. Which is how I spend most of my days off. Most of my time off, to be frank. Dishes, cooking, laundry. Preparing for the next day.

Ever since I started working, my body aches all the time. My legs ache almost every day. My arms, my back. Sometimes my head because I don't get enough sleep. I'm always tired. I barely have any time for my friends. Something's gotta give.

And then I realized, something will give. Me. I have to give. I have to bend. I have to learn and be humbled. I have to work hard and squeeze a lot into a little time. Life will not give. Money will not rain from the skies. A good house doesn't keep itself. But my muscles will build and eventually cease to ache. At least as much as they do. My body is already getting used to an early to bed, early to rise schedule. Every night at 7pm my internal clock starts counting down an hour and a half until bedtime, and truth be told, I don't mind it much. Even my house... I do dishes every night so I can put new food into my glad ware, but my laundry has decreased to almost nothing. 3 loads for the whole week now. That's including towels and bedding. Sometimes we don't have time to do all the things we want because we have to spend our time with all the things we need. That's life.

And it needs to be embraced. When I spend my entire day off getting ready for the next week, it is not time wasted. I do it because of the peace I get for the rest of the week. It is such a relief to come home to good food, and clean sheets, and clothes already folded for the next day. It is a relief to wake up and have my lunch already packed and my coffee already brewing. I spend my days off making sure that the rest of my days are not filled with unnecessary worries and hurrying.

I can make peace with a life like this. Especially as in time, I'll get better at my time management. Work hard, think less, do more. Yes. The only thing that has to give is me. And I give willingly.

Day Two Hundred and Four - Legalism

Yesterday, my dearest Miss Erica used her puppy dog face to get me to agree to go to a bible study. The people were actually surprisingly lovely. Especially the married couple. But two people stood out to me. One a tall, lanky, pale, gamer sort of boy. Fresh out of his teens. The other a short, tan, Hispanic boy with a thick accent. In the course of an hour, I grew to respect the Hispanic boy. His knowledge of scripture humbled me. His eagerness for it, and his joy in it were apparent from the get go. He radiated diligence born of need. His life had not been easy, and he had found the source of His strength and never let go. The tall, pale one on the other hand, in the course of an hour I grew to dislike him. From his blonde hair to his big feet, he is a legalist. According to him, Christians shouldn't drink, smoke, flirt, indulge in anything in anyway (except for video games), or swear. And they certainly don't have a sense of humor. At least one that is rated above G. I wanted to roll my eyes, grab him by the ear, and take him outside to show him that the real world has no place for his legalism. That salvation is not dependent upon how well I follow his rules. And in that moment I finally figured out why I hate legalists so damn much. Because I am one.

I love legalism. It's various forms have fascinated me since childhood. Priests, nuns, monks, the Amish. I like legalism so much I like it's abstract forms as well. Ninjas and knights. I dreamed of those lives. Living life by a rigid set of rules, whether Christian morality or another, it didn't much matter to me. I love the structure, the struggle. The honor. The peace of mind. And let's be real - the pride. Of knowing the secrets of the knights or ninjas, or the very secrets of God.

Which is foolish, childish, and self seeking. The only secret legalists keep about God is that there is no secret. He is for everyone and has no secrets. He did all the work for you. That's it. Did you know that nowhere in the bible does it say not to drink, smoke, or curse? Honest to goodness, cross my heart. Jesus actually had quite the sense of humor. The translation doesn't always carry it well, and the crowd was a little different back then, but even Jesus used sarcasm. So did Paul. In abundance. Ezekiel and Jeremiah used scattalogical language, and humor, a few times. Those are rules evangelical churches made up to outdo one another in misguided piety. Rules I make up so that I can tell myself that I'm better than everyone who doesn't follow my rules.

Don't get me wrong. God has rules. He loves justice and mercy, grace and love, purity and holiness. But He defines them, not us. He asks that we love His son and accept His gift. He asks that we love Him with all our heart, soul, and strength, and that we love our neighbors as ourselves. Everything else is a result born of those two things, not a law followed outside of them.

The reason I hate legalists so much isn't because I am so free in my Jesus and they aren't. It's because our set of rules differ and they don't want to bend to mine and I don't want to bend to theirs. That boys legalism shouldn't have made me angry, it should have made me sad. Believe me, the only person he is binding is himself. No one else feels the need to follow his fucked up set of rules. He is not convincing anyone of the gospel according to affluent american teen evangelicals. Nor am I. How many times, over how many years, have I preached that exact gospel? I preached in judgement and superiority. I tried to yoke others with my yoke and told them it was freedom. Thank God everyone I preached to was smarter than I, and handed the yoke right back, saying that it just wasn't for them. And I'm not through the woods yet, my mind is often bent toward legalism. It is something I often need saving from.

But he's not so different from me. I'd be willing to bet that he's angry that more people don't listen to his wisdom. "A 'cleaner' life would help so many! If only they would listen!" I was frustrated by people, and still am sometimes, for that exact reason. I'd be willing to bet he feels the weight of his guilt most days. I do. Most legalists do. That he beats himself up constantly because of his 'sexual sins' with his girlfriend, each time swearing that it won't happen again. That when he hears of other Christian boys doing exactly what he has done (and continues to do) that he immediately judges them. Again, that's me. Except for it would be with a boy, not a girlfriend. That he knows he should give as much attention to God as he does to his games but just can't find the time. That anytime he's ever heard someone speaking about video games being an idol he goes off into a rant about old men and how they just can't keep up with technology. I literally can't count how many times I've done that.

I don't know this boy. But I know legalists. Because I am one. And knowing that... makes me want to be very, very different.

Day Two Hundred And Three - Fool's Gold

A good friend of mine brought to my attention that I communicate in a very masculine fashion. I assume that if you want to talk about something, you will. I'm not good at asking questions, especially to delve deeper into a subject. Which, often, can convey a sense of disinterest to whomever I'm speaking to. She is, of course, very right. It doesn't take knowing me very long to know that I do that. It's compounded by the fact that I talk things out. If there is something in my life that I am unsure of, or need to think on, then I talk about it. Until I have a solid grasp on it. Feel free to ask any of my close friends. I know I've annoyed them all with this at one point or another. Though I have to agree with Miss Erica, "I would hate to think what bottling that shit up would do to you."

I'm truly sorry if you've ever felt that way when I've been with you. I do care about you, and what is going on in your life, even if I have failed to convey that. It's no excuse for my shortcoming, though. Communication style aside, I talk too much. I'm far too self absorbed. And for that I apologize. I appreciate my friends that have the kindness to point out my failings; without your honesty I might overlook them completely.

When I first decided to blog about this, I was going to put on a brave face and focus on how I need such constructive criticism to be a better friend, and a better person in general. I'm not the servant I long to be, and without the help of those who love me, I never will be.

That is very true. The thing is... I'm out of brave faces. I'm not asking for pity or confirmation. Please don't leave me a message to make me feel better. I'm not trying to talk my way out of this, or mask the truth with weakness. I'm not trying to blow it out of proportion either. It's simply something I need to be more aware of, and learn to properly convey the interest I feel in people.

To wallow is another weakness of mine, which has been pointed out to me before, recently. I have a tendency to be a martyr to my faults. I play the martyr, helpless in my defeat, seeking the confirmation of others when I need to flex some inner strength and overcome. And I know I'm wallowing now. You can stop reading if you like. I've got nothing to say that needs to be heard, not tonight. I'm not trying to be a martyr. I'm not helpless in this, I simply need to listen more and speak less. Advice which I'm not taking now. Another fault.

There is a song by Owl City called Gold. I love the song. I love pretty much all songs by Owl City. But this one... makes my heart hurt every time I hear it. "Cause what you've got is gold. I know. You're gold." All I've got is fools gold. I sparkle, but there is no depth. Those who once though I had gold have learned better. And I wonder when someone will find true gold in me, if ever. I'm so glad my friend shared her thoughts with me, I will use them constructively. But tonight, I feel so utterly defeated.

Words are my thing, and not only do I use them destructively and judgmentally, but I can't even seem to use them to convey the love I feel for my friends. Now that I am aware of it, I will earnestly try to change. God did answer my prayer on how to change. With the renewal of my mind. True humility is not self flagellation, but self abandonment. Nothing will get better so long as I am focused on my faults, since most of them would resolve themselves naturally if I simply focused more on others.

See? I have to talk it out.

Day Two Hundred And Two - To Learn, That's Why

Today, I spent 45 minutes scrubbing, boiling, soaking, scraping, and chipping a pan to clean it. Why, you ask? Well because I had to learn not to burn sugar in pans, that's why. And this time, when it came time to boil water and sugar in the pan, I didn't leave it for a moment. I learned my lesson. Because I never want to spend another 45 minutes of my life chipping burned sugar out of a pan ever again.

Consequences are there to teach us. They are not punishments, they are the glue that makes the lessons stick. I am very thick skulled. Everyone knows this. If cleaning the pan had been easy, I wouldn't have taken the lesson as seriously. But now, I won't burn it again.

Granted, consequences are usually a lot worse than a 45 minute pan. But they are so that we may learn. So let us scrub and chip and soak and get it over with and learn and continue.

Because let me tell you, the candied orange peels were totally worth it.

Day Two Hundred and One - Why Do We Run?

I swore this morning was going to be the end of me. I forgot my coffee and every muscle in my legs reminded me that I pushed them too hard yesterday. And yet, all I wanted to do today was run. Well, be active. I wanted to push myself. I didn't care that my muscles were already screaming, I wanted to breath hard.

A lot of times when I post something, in a week or so I've forgotten about it. Or at least its filed away in the back of my mind. But when I said I have only just begun to scream... that has not faded, nor been forgotten. It is still at the front of my mind most moments. It has been patient, I've been a bit busy for all consuming anger, but it hasn't gone away, not even a little. 

And I can't put it off forever. This anger, this rage, this need to scream, will never simply fade. It has to be faced, it has to be deliberately dealt with. It demands attention. And I want to give it. Anger is exhausting, but it's a hell of a motivator. I've never ran so hard as when I was angry. Unlike every other emotion I have, my anger will not be expressed verbally. It manifests itself in sweat and ache. 

That is why I run. That is why I push. That is why I don't mind the sweat or the ache. Because it's sure as hell beats being absolutely furious at everything. It's more than an endorphin rush. I know what those feel like, and am a fan. But when I'm breathing hard, when I'm dripping sweat, when everything hurts, I can taste the freedom. There is an end to all of this, I won't be angry forever. But the key to getting rid of it is pushing through it. 

There is no going around it. There is no going over or under. It has to be gone through, like most things in life. And so, one step at a time, one breath at a time, one 'sweet heaven, please let someone take enough pity on me to give me a massage' ache at a time, I will push through this. I'm not running away from my anger, I'm running toward it. I'm gonna hug it out with that rage. Push through, not run from. 

Why do you run? And where are you running?

Day Two Hundred - Hate and Love, Love and Love

First, I just want to say that I checked 3 of the 4 things on my Hundred Day list off, and the 4th I've made great progress on. I may have waited until the very last minute, but I did them dammit.

For today's blog, I wanted to talk about the difference between love hate relationships and love love relationships. I have love hate relationships with a lot of things. Running, for example. I love the endorphin high. I love the results. I love the stress relief. I HATE actually running. I hate everything about it. I hate feeling like I'm out of breath. I hate the burn in my legs. I hate the cramps in my gut. I hate pushing through it. I have a love hate relationship with change. I love change but it's exhausting. Whether it's the daily life changes, changing myself, actively changing my life, any and all change takes energy in one form or another. In most of my love hate relationships I long for montages. I want the results but not the work.

Love love relationships are rare, but they're amazing. I love love climbing. I love everything about climbing. I love the stretch, I love the burn, I love the tremble, I love the challenge. I love the results just as much as running. But I love the work. I love love writing. It is the single most entertaining thing in the world next to reading. I love love to cook. I love learning, experimenting, and eating the food I make. I even love failing because then I get to laugh at myself and try again.

Life is full of love hate relationships, but when you find those love love relationships, for all that is good and sugary don't give them up. Make time for them, pursue them. They are part of you. I'm a monkey and a writer and a cook. I'm okay with that. They soothe me when life gets rough. Because those are parts of me that can't be wrong. There is no sin in climbing, no character defect in writing, no one ever got mad at me because I baked. Yet life presses in, and steals my time. My nights are short, I have to make time to cook or it wouldn't happen. If it wasn't for this blog, it would have been months since I last wrote. Writing takes more time than I have to give, which is why I'm so very thankful for this blog. It keeps me sharp until I can sit on a beach and write a grand old story. Or at least start one and fill it in slowly. You get the idea. And I haven't climbed in years.

But I was thinking today, my friends are fitness freaks. I love you guys, but you are. And you're all a bunch of runners and lifters and things I either can't do or don't really want to. But I do want to get in shape. How could I do that and not loathe every second? Climbing. Climbing is my answer.

If there is something in your life that you want to do, but don't know how, simply ask yourself, what would 9 year old you have done? 9 year old you had love love relationships and school. Everything you did, other than school, chores, and visiting weird relatives was done because you loved doing it.

So go do it.

Day One Hundred and Ninety Nine - Providence

I know a lot of my friends don't believe in this concept, or not the same way I do, and that's okay. It's a belief. I very much believe in God's providence. I'm not saying it's something that happens 100% of the time, orchestrating my life just so. No. I'm saying every once in a while something happens through a set of circumstances that couldn't have been predicted in order to make something happen that just can't be coincidence. Nature never made a Rube Goldberg machine is what I'm saying.

Tonight, I think I'm in the middle of one. I don't think I've hit the end quite yet, because it continues to twist and turn in all sorts of unexpected ways. Let's briefly follow it from where I can pinpoint a beginning. An out of town buddy was in town the same day I happened to work a night shift. My one and only night shift for the entire month of June. I would have the time, and energy, to meet up with him. When I did, he and our other mutual friends needed a DD, which I was more than happy to provide. Being around alcohol all night made me have a few too many smokes, which everyone knows makes me sleep like absolute crap. Which is why I was able to bolt awake this morning rather than sleep the day away. Right as I'm about to get ready for bed, nice and early, around 8ish, to try and keep my schedule, two friends end up playing off each other to royally piss me off. Shattering any illusion that I would go to bed soon. Almost instantly, a friend texts me with an invite that sounds absolutely lovely. Rather than ruin it by staying angry, I goosfraba it and go do what I want to do. Now I'm up late and convinced this weekend is an elaborate Rube Goldberg Machine of providence.

Or maybe it's just easier to focus on that than it is to admit to myself that I still don't know how to change. It doesn't seem like much, in fact it seems like nothing at all, but during the week I have been working on... the lesser parts of me. In my floundering attempts at trying to be better, I try to pay attention more to what I do, and especially how I react. I can only change that which I am aware of. And seeing each working part leading smoothly from one to the other, a weight added here making more lightly to turn right rather than left, is when I first started to notice the Rube Goldberg-esque quality of it. The whole weekend has just felt... oddly, masterfully, orchestrated. It's the first time, in a very long time, that it has felt that way.

Oddly enough, it's a very good feeling.

Day One Hundred and Ninety Eight - The Bright Side

Today was full of ups and downs. Each moment had it's own sincerity, be it sweet or sour. But it's the sweet ones that stuck with me, that gently carried me through the day. Getting to sleep in, that was beyond nice. Getting to spend the day with my favorite coworker and learn more about her life. Meeting up with old friends. Having a seat specially saved just for me. Staying late because I wanted to be sure they got home safely. Having my high school crush ask for my number. Getting a text message, out of the blue, from a friend just to tell me he loves me.

These are the moments that will stick with me. These are the moments I will hold on to when I'm so tired I can barely function in the morning, when I'm getting a little heat for not giving a friend her keys back at the end of the night, when I'm still sad that my butt lost at least 2 inches and I don't know how to get it back.

Sometimes, the bright side is like that. Just focusing on the good. Sometimes, it's a little less obvious. Mark Driscoll (my favorite pastor in the whole wide world, he's rather well known, look him up) posted as his status today "One difference between an enemy and a friend is this: an enemy stabs you in the back and a friend stabs you in the front." I have never understood this concept better. I thank God for the friends that stab me in the front. Because it's not a stab, not really. It's an incision. The first of many. They make the first cut, and then hand you the scalpel. The surgery needs to be done, the inner workings need work. And you're the only one that can do it.

But let's face it, I'm too much of a chicken to really make the first cut. Your friends, your good friends, will do it for you. They will stand in front of you, to be the honest mirror for you that you can't bring yourself to look into, as you continue the surgery to fix yourself. Sure, it hurts like a mother trucker. But it's worth it.

The method may be harsh, but it's effective. And I'm not one to argue method, or at least I try not to be. I'm not always successful in that. I'm not a fan of pain. I wouldn't be opposed to some anesthesia in the future. But days like today, where the sweet moments were like dabs of healing cream, it hardly hurts at all.

And so, in the end, I'm thankful for four friends tonight. One made the cut, and the other three loved me enough to tell me that the surgery, the fixing, was indeed necessary. Not a single one tried to take the scalpel from my hand, exclaim that the one who had made the incision must be insane, and convince me that nothing needed fixing. Each one loved me enough to tell me to grip the scalpel tighter, and not stop what had begun. And for that, I am extremely grateful.

Day One Hundred and Ninety Seven - Deep Ache

I have no idea what it is today, but every single part of me is exhausted and has been since the moment my alarm went off at 5am. I got more than enough sleep, I was asleep by 8:30pm, and yet when I woke I was more tired than when I had gone to bed. Each step was dragging today. You wouldn't have known it, I kept a good pace, but it was harder than usual. When I got home, all I could think about was sitting down. My legs ached, each muscle in them protested. My back joined in their whining. Everything ached. My head pounded. My eyes squinted against the sun as soon as I left the building. I got home and sat on my ass for hours. I stretched. I ate. I drank tea. And still the deep ache persists.

I'm going to stretch more. And I would have collapsed in bed already if it weren't for the fact that instead of morning, I work tomorrow evening and would like to be able to stay awake on the drive home. But bed will come. And I don't think the deep ache is anything that a deep sleep, some deep stretches, and a deep cup of coffee in the morning can't fix.

But what cures the deep ache of the heart? The kind that just comes on you, not seeming to have a real source, and throbs away the day, leaving you spent. What makes that better? How do you stretch it, ice it, or cool it? How do you massage that pain away? Where does it come from? And who commands it? A sorrow that creeps into your bones. A grief that wastes your eyes. It saps your strength. Sometimes, it leaves with the morning. Othertimes, it can haunt you for days, weeks, months.

I pray this ache will leave me with the dawn. I pray it will turn into a smile or a lesson. I pray it doesn't linger. I need my strength. Perhaps the deep ache of the heart is similar to the deep ache of the muscles. It isn't the sharp pain that tells you something is wrong, but the deep ache that tells you it's a process. Muscles don't build themselves up overnight. No runner ever started at a marathon, no lifter started at 450lbs. You get there, gradually. Perhaps, the deep ache of the heart, is the best kind. Perhaps it is the heart's way of telling you that despite the fact that everything seems the same, you are changing.

Day One Hundred and Ninety Six - Conviction

Do what needs to be done, even when it's hard. Do what you believe is right, even when it means throwing yourself under the bus. Do everything today that you can, even when you're tired and want to put it off until tomorrow. 

I've always known those things, I was taught well. But most of the time, I just do what I feel. And sometimes, I feel like doing what needs to be done, doing what is right, and getting enough done to be able to sleep with peace of mind. Sometimes. Most of the time, however, I don't. And my life reflects that. 

Enough. Enough now. "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways." 1 Cor. 13:11 Being a child is easy. Growing up is hard. Being grown up is hard. But maybe, like tying your shoes, what once seemed like the most intricate puzzle ever made, will become a reflex motion. 

At the very least, I know I'll sleep well every night. And that's really all the time I have for writing because there are still things to be done tonight, and bed is rapidly approaching. 

P.S. I hope you all had a fantastic day and have an amazing night!

Day One Hundred and Ninety Five - Blueprints

There is a song I like, by Shawn Groves. It's called "Welcome Home". It makes the analogy that our hearts are like homes. We fill them with useless triffles, we hide away our nastiness in rooms with locked doors. We shut up the windows to keep out the light. 

God is good. I may be a petulant child right now, but that doesn't mean I think my Father is anything other than the definition of Good. He has been doing a good work in me for a long time, tearing my house down to it's very foundation. So that He may rebuild. I did not take into account my own stubbornness, my own pride. What He tore down, I rebuilt. The exact same way it was before. Everything He took away, I replaced. Every time He ripped out a wall to let the light in, I built it right back up again. I understood that He was tearing it down, but I liked how it was before. I wanted it rebuilt just how it was before. Only, you know, newer. 

...I'm an idiot. So finally, God in His infinite Wisdom and Kindness, used one of the very few people that can see right through my bullshit to the blueprints and can get me to listen, to show me the blueprints. And how incredibly fucked up they are. Let's just say it makes Willy Wonka look like a minimalist.

The materials are good thought. It still has it's pretty parts. The entire thing isn't ugly or rotten to the core, but it could be so much more. It needs to be redone, but the flavor of it can stay the same. It will still be me. He doesn't want me to change into someone else, He wants me to be the best version of me. He wants to let a little light in. Open some doors, clean out some rooms. Let the light in. It's not just my skin that could use a tan, apparently. I think my soul is a little pale as well.

So this time around, now that I'm aware of my stubbornness and pride, we're going to try really hard to keep those in check, and let the Carpenter do His thing. He will tear down, and He will rebuild. I will not put up the same walls again. I will let the light in. I will not find new locks when He opens the doors. 

I will not even argue with His methods. Sometimes, they seem a bit harsh, and I feel more than a bit fragile. But He knows best. I prayed for comfort, and got torn down. I was given what I needed, rather than what I wanted. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop praying for comfort. It'll be time for comfort one of these days. 

Day One Hundred and Ninety Four - A Lighter Side

The truth set me free. There is no arguing that. It also punched me in the gut and smacked me across the face a few times. The truth, especially the truth of who I am, isn't exactly pleasant. Liberating, yes. Necessary, definitely. Pleasant, not even a little bit. 

And when I got out of bed this morning, all I could do was lick my wounds. They were still raw, I felt like I was still bleeding. My eyes were still red, swollen, and leaking. I had no energy. I walked around like a zombie. I didn't make eye contact, and barely smiled. I just wanted to get through the day. I knew that I wasn't helping anything; I knew feeling low wasn't going to change me. So I tried to smile, to be friendly to strangers at least. By lunch I was doing fairly well. By the time I went home, I had genuinely laughed. 

When I got home, a friend texted me what will become my motto, probably for the entire month of June, if not the whole summer. He said, "You need to be held down and tickled until your priorities straighten out." In that one sentence, he pulled me out of myself. Yes, changes need to be made. Yes, there is a lot of work to be done. It'll push me and grow me and stretch me and break me more times than I can count. 

But I take myself waaaaay too freaking seriously. Life doesn't pause for big life changes, it keeps going right on through them. Having a straight face all the time won't make this go any faster. But being held down and tickled until I realize once again that I'm just a little girl put on this earth to LIVE will make this more pleasant for everyone. Putting my heart through it's own personal purgatory isn't going to help a damned thing. I will not be a martyr to my mistakes. 

But I will be held captive by laughter. I will be dragged into things I didn't originally anticipate doing (though I probably secretly wished I was brave enough to do the whole time). I will probably be thrown in pools. I may be held down and tickled. I will be teased to my wits end. Because I need to be, and luckily, my sarcastic ass friends get that. They need that they need to prick my ego, and make me laugh at myself. 

Because I'm not the center of the world, and shouldn't be the center of mine. And nothing really straightens out your priorities like realizing how small you are, how fast time flies, how much can heal with a laugh, and how good life is in the moment. Here's to maybe actually being able to change something because I chilled the fuck out and just laughed til I peed a little. 

Day One Hundred and Ninety Two - Carry Me

What burdens you? What do you carry? What do you put on your own shoulders? What do others put on your shoulders? Who do you carry? What burdens you?

I'm not going to ask you why you carry them, that is obvious. There are only two reasons why anyone carries anything. Either a) no one else will carry it, and it must be carried or b) you don't trust anyone else to carry it, and it must be carried. 

The obviousness of the why, and that so many people don't seem to grasp the obviousness of the why, often leads me to frustration. "Just let it go." People say. Because thank you, Captain Obvious, that had never occurred to me. It's not like I often dream of a time when I wouldn't have to carry so much. When I could just let someone else handle it for a while. It's something I wish for, often. In the quiet moments. In the moments when I don't have to be strong. I pray that someone would come, and not carry everything for me, but maybe help me carry. 

Until someone comes along, the burdens are still mine, and only mine, to carry. This city, this country, is full of people looking to shirk their responsibilities, their burdens, onto anyone who is willing to take them. The burdens of many are carried on the backs of a few. I will not shirk my responsibilities, I will not simply wait for someone else to carry me. It's not how I was made. 

But I wasn't made to carry so much, either. It's more than I can bear. There is One who is deserving of my trust, One who will carry my burdens for me, One who will carry me when I am tired. All I have to do is trust Him enough to let Him. I carry my burdens close to my heart, they are not obligations. They are dreams, they are people, they are responsibilities that I bear gladly. But they're heavy. I cannot do them justice. 

I want to give them away. I want to give them to someone more capable than myself. To give the burdens I carry for me, that's not so hard. But to give those I love to another, that requires a lot of trust. More trust than I think I have. I've never really had anyone to share my burdens with, or to carry them for me. For as long as I can remember, I have been carrying as much as I could handle. But after years of being brought low, rather inexplicably, He has earned my trust. And just in time. I'm exhausted. And out of options.

Because just carrying them is not enough. We carry them to lift them up. The bring them up. To raise them up. Facts are facts, I am only treading water. I am not raising anyone up. It's time to give them to Someone who can. 

So for the rest of the summer, I am only thinking one day at a time. Planning one day at a time. And not worrying about a single damn thing. I will only get through the day, and let Him take care of the rest. I am giving each and every worry to Him. Each and every burden to Him. I can't do anything anyway. I cannot change anything by myself. I know more will change than I can possibly anticipate. And knowing that I don't have to do a single thing but give it away. 

And He will not only carry my burdens for me. He will carry me too, and take me where He wants me to be. In Him only will I find the rest I so desperately need. 

Day One Hundred and Ninety One - The Most Attractive Thing About Me

Dear boys (notice boys, not men. I am not addressing men, they have already figured this out),

The most attractive thing about me is my mind. If that concept seems foreign to you, I am so far out of your league that I'm amazed you can even see me.

Don't get me wrong, I have a pretty face and a decent body, but those don't even come close to the beauty of my mind. It is my mind that writes these words, it is my mind that makes me smile in the quiet moments, it is my mind that you should want to get to know. My lips cease to be lovely if nothing good comes out of them, but their beauty is magnified when praise flows from them.

Understand this: My mind is the most attractive part of me. Without it, I am nothing but a face and a body. And I am not a doll. So do not mistake me for one. If my intelligence intimidates you, I would encourage you to be inspired instead. When I meet someone more intelligent than myself (which, truthfully, is rather frequent) it always makes me want to become more intelligent myself.

Do not be complacent in your ignorance and stupidity. Better yourself. Not only for your sake, but for the sake of those you interact with on a daily basis. For those you interact with... ever.

And lastly, dear boys, yes, I am a grammar Nazi. Because it literally makes me wince each and every time you make a mistake. It hurts me. However, if I know you possess the ability to write and speak correctly, chances are I'll let it slide. But if you text/speak garbled letters, numbers, and symbols, then yes, I will point it out because DAMN ARE YOU 12?! No, that's mean. That's an insult to the 12 year olds I know. Allow me to rephrase, are you a 12 year old on World of Warcraft?! Write and speak like an adult, or don't expect to be treated like one.

Sincerely,

Me.