Leave me. Retreive Me.

I write and erase. Hoping not to disturb people if I happen to open my heart too much on a measly blogging website that no one reads anyways. So I will write just what I need to. It will not make sense. Or maybe it will make too much sense.

Please listen to what I have to say. I want You to make me into who You need me to be. But, I need You to be with me through it. Don't leave me. I know for a fact that I will not make it on my own. I need to give You this situation. I need to give you my heart. And what fragile pieces lay around. Please lift this unforgiving and hurt nature from me. Because I can't do this. This is not who I am meant to be. I was told how awful I am, and what hurts the most is that I am beginning to wonder if You feel this way about me. But then you pull me back and remind me. What people say doesn't matter anymore. And only you know my real intentions. Help me to act justly. Help me to love mercy. Help me to walk humbly. Help me to move on. And when I move on, I pray it is in your direction. I am tripping on my thoughts. And I am too tired to lift my feet over them. God. I need you. Please come rescue my heart.

Human Race.

When I was younger, I thought the human race was a beautiful and broken sort of thing. And in some ways, it is. It really is. Of course it is broken. What isn't. But as I get older the beauty seems to be less evident. We live in a fast paced selfish world. And it's hard not to get caught in the strong whirlwind mindset that the world revolves on your very breath. Everyone is so conceited so selfish so unforgiving so human. And it disgusts me each time I see it. Where did this idea come from that if someone hurts you, you have the right to hurt them back just as much. "Why stick up for the kid who made fun of you?" Because everyone you meet is struggling. And everyone needs each other. And there's a reason that person is the way they are. And they are just as precious and fragile as you are. Maybe next time we see our breath evaporating into the air, we'll realize that everyone's breath is evaporating, and if we don't decide to help one another out and love each other, our breath won't have to evaporate. Because we won't be here. This world is dependant upon love and care. Not only of the world itself, but of the people who roam it. The people who are just like me and just like you. So next time you decide to let that kid get bullied, cause he obviously deserves it, think about how they are human and so are you. Get up and stand up. Maybe if we stop living for ourselves, we would see what life is really about.


Do not say, "I'll do to him as he has done to me. I will pay that man back for what he did". Proverbs 24:29

Choosing Someone's Life for Them is not a Life.

I have a life, but I have not lived. I have a heart and a brain. But I have not loved. I have not thought. I have feet. But I still await the day I take my first steps. I have lungs but I do not know what a breath of fresh air tastes like. I have eyes, and they are blue. They long to see the face of my mother and my father. I want to be. I want to be more. I have potential to be great. But it is up to you to let me be. Let me grow and become. Don’t give up on me.

Love that runs deep.

I was recently at an orientation for a job and the assistant manager says "okay, so to close" and I automatically thought we were going to pray. I seriously almost closed my eyes and bowed my head. Before the orientation I was talking to a girl I don't know who was also going to be doing the orientation and who had her first shift alone on cash the following day. I knew the feeling of fear of being on your own to do cash, it was coming to me soon, and I almost said "I'll pray for you". But then stopped myself. Would it have been rude? Or maybe awkward if I'd said that. Maybe she would have laughed. But there's one thing to be noticed. I had prayed earlier that day that God would help me to constantly be thinking of Him. And that's definitely what was going on. I feel like God is a part of my DNA almost. And I got to thinking. I am so lucky, so blessed, that I grew up learning to love God. Learning about him and how to live my life for Him. It came so naturally. I never once doubted that what I was learning and believing was false. For me to love God, is almost as natural as the seasons changing or the wind blowing. It just happens. And I get to thinking. People who are trying to love God and learn about him at a later state in their life, how hard that must be. How hard to have lived your life without Him, and to possibly feel angry at Him for past things. How hard it would be to really love God unabashedly. My heart goes out to these people. I cannot even imagine how hard that might be.

Keep Breathing.

Yesterday I had an awful dream. I went to bed frustrated, uncomfortable and in pain, and was in the same state in my dreams. I remember being flustered and frustrated as I tried to get somewhere because I promised someone I'd be there. As I asked people for help, everyone left me high and dry to fend by myself. I finally, after struggling for what felt like hours in my dream, got to the place I needed to go, only to find that everyone who I asked for help to get to this certain place were all there. I was so frustrated, but they seemed mad at me. Now as I write this, I realize this is a common feeling I have throughout my week. People letting me down and then I find out they just had bad planning skills, or were inconsiderate of anyone's feelings but their own and I feel like I have no right to be angry. But then,

The dream switches over to a house I don't know. I'm with people I know, but I can't make out their faces, I don't recognize them. All of a sudden, a man with a scruffy beard and a red t-shirt with a bunch of other people bring out guns and tell us to get into this little room. So there we are, all these people I know, but don't know, waiting to die. We knew we were going to die. We all decided we would stick it out together, but I turn my back for a second and the big group turns from 10 or so people to 3. One boy and one girl and me. All of a sudden the guy with the gun says he's coming in. We know we're about to die. I have this unexplainable feeling of horror and sickness. But I'm not freaking out. I'm almost relieved. It's time. It's okay, I'm ready. I think to myself. No more let downs, no more struggles and moments to fall short. But the guy with the gun never does come in, so the boy and the girl and I walk out, to see what's happened, and we find our killer sitting on the couch eating chips and watching t.v. where he then says "I was just kidding". Even death let me down.

All we can do is keep breathing.

Messages in a cap

"I wonder if I should give my mum a call" I wondered to myself as I walked home. I passed by a Jones bottle cap that looked as if it had a rough go of life. It was squished and dirty. I picked it up, turned it over to find it full of dirt. I stuck my white mitten in and wiped a little circle to see what it said.



Why can't a lot of answers in life be this obvious.

A Run of Surprises

We turn the corner, going the long way home. He walks happily beside me as I think how awful the sidewalks are. With water skimming over top the ice just to make it that more lethal. So much for our run. But as I look up I see the long stretch home is clear. Maybe a little wet, but we're already soaked, no big deal. We start running, both of us exhausted before we even begin. He runs by my side. I think to myself how odd that really is. Usually he is way ahead of me pulling me along. But now, a few years later, I'm the one pulling him at times. I ask him if he's feeling tired. No answer. Which is how it usually is with him. But I don't mind. As his energy level sinks to a 5 on the 10 spectrum I tell him how good he's doing and how proud I am of him. His pace quickens a little. My voice retreats, and so does his speed. I find this interesting. I continue to encourage him. He quickens. I tell him we're almost there, excitement in my voice, he begins running harder, to a point where he begins to pull me so I don't get left behind. I laugh and we stop running. I give him a love slap telling him he's done wonderfully.



I begin thinking. If my words of encouragement and my happy tone can encourage my dog out of his old age, to run harder, to run faster, just because I'm telling him he's a good dog, how much more do words of encouragement and love mean to those who understand their meaning?