"I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself, it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father's commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this; Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit--fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other."
For the past twelve days I have read this chapter everyday and everyday a new portion is highlighted. Today as I read that Jesus calls me friend, I started crying. Friendship has always been important to me. It is not something I take lightly. I hold dear those that I call friends and I cherish those that call me friend. It is a comfort to know, in the mist of friendship lost Jesus reminds me that I am His friend, that He chose me to be His friend. I think that is the hope of everyone's heart--to be chosen by someone to be their friend. As I read that portion tonight I felt like a little kid standing in the big group as two really cool kids choose teams. I am the kid that usually gets picked last but today, the coolest of the coolest kids just called my name first!!! I am his friend! I get to play on His team!!! And no matter what has happened today, or yesterday or last week, even though all of the other times I was picked last...Today trumps all else! Jesus calls me friend! and not only that, HE chose me! AND, His joy is in me so my joy may be complete. Now, I don't know about you but that's a good day. :)
To my friends, you know who you are :) I love you and I cherish you. Oh and one more thing...I am your friend!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
the story continues
Here is the next "installment" of my story...enjoy!
My story isn’t worth reading because I am simply the most fabulous writer. The truth is I’m not and my story may very well not be worth reading but I want to share it so I can share something even more than my simple words. I want to share the story of a friend of mine and how He shaped my heart and brought me through me journey--His name is Jesus. I have spent many nights crying on His shoulder, asking Him to ease my pain. Through the years I have made mistakes and walked away from Him. Every time I know He cried as He watched me turn the corner and every time He dried my tears when I came running back to Him. He is the one who pressed on my heart, He showed me that my hurts, my scars were there for me to use. That every pain wasn’t experienced in vain, but He would use them for His glory. I just didn’t know what that meant at the time. I simply held on to the hope that maybe the mistakes I made would bring good.
The events of that night would be just as meaningless as the night of Alex’s birthday had I not gotten a text from Shawn the next day that made me smile and feel as if I truly was someone special. I cannot recall the exact words of the text, but I can for some reason remember exactly where I was, how I was sitting, that it was sunny outside and that I was not expecting to hear from him. My phone rang letting me know that I had a text and on the screen there was Shawn’s name. Any girl who has gotten that call or email or text message or letter or some form of communication from the guy she really likes knows exactly how I felt in that moment. In the moments right after that text and even days after, my heart was full, I had a smile on my face that would not go away and butterflies that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my stomach.
The next month and half is a blur of happy memories. I remember never feeling as cared for and loved as I did when I was with Shawn. Our first kiss was one of well…to be completely cliché, of magic. Like most magic tricks, I can’t tell you the details, can’t reveal how it happened. I honestly cannot remember what was going on in my head the moment before, what we were talking about, or what we had been doing. I am fairly certain we were sitting on the couch in my living room and Shawn had biked over that night to see me. I remember times of sitting on his front porch, I remember taking walks with him. I remember Shawn’s strength, the way he ran on his toes, the way he climbed a ladder and I remember his eyes. Those eyes that were not green and not brown but somehow both. A circle of green that flowed into a circle of brown. Those eyes who pierced my heart from the first moment of our journey. Those eyes who held me captive. Two weeks into our relationship we shared those three words with one another. I always laughed at those movies where two people meet in the beginning of the movie and a few days later say, “I love you!” but in that moment of my life…I knew what it was to fall in love so quickly.
I know there are skeptics out there--people who believe that Love takes time, it must “slow roast” so to speak. But there are times that Love is thrown into a “pressure cooker” and what does blossom is true. Some would say its infatuation not love that forms, but what I have become a firm believer on is no one can judge another’s heart. What may be true for one is not true for another. Some create a huge mess when using a pressure cooker while others end up burning whatever they are slow roasting. You can control your heart, you do have power over emotions, you do have say in what it does and says but I have come to the conclusion that I would much rather not have control in my hands but someone has to fly the plane. During the time of Shawn my heart wasn’t being piloted at all. It was out of control and in the beginning it was thrilling but logic shows that eventually it has to crash.
My story isn’t worth reading because I am simply the most fabulous writer. The truth is I’m not and my story may very well not be worth reading but I want to share it so I can share something even more than my simple words. I want to share the story of a friend of mine and how He shaped my heart and brought me through me journey--His name is Jesus. I have spent many nights crying on His shoulder, asking Him to ease my pain. Through the years I have made mistakes and walked away from Him. Every time I know He cried as He watched me turn the corner and every time He dried my tears when I came running back to Him. He is the one who pressed on my heart, He showed me that my hurts, my scars were there for me to use. That every pain wasn’t experienced in vain, but He would use them for His glory. I just didn’t know what that meant at the time. I simply held on to the hope that maybe the mistakes I made would bring good.
The events of that night would be just as meaningless as the night of Alex’s birthday had I not gotten a text from Shawn the next day that made me smile and feel as if I truly was someone special. I cannot recall the exact words of the text, but I can for some reason remember exactly where I was, how I was sitting, that it was sunny outside and that I was not expecting to hear from him. My phone rang letting me know that I had a text and on the screen there was Shawn’s name. Any girl who has gotten that call or email or text message or letter or some form of communication from the guy she really likes knows exactly how I felt in that moment. In the moments right after that text and even days after, my heart was full, I had a smile on my face that would not go away and butterflies that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my stomach.
The next month and half is a blur of happy memories. I remember never feeling as cared for and loved as I did when I was with Shawn. Our first kiss was one of well…to be completely cliché, of magic. Like most magic tricks, I can’t tell you the details, can’t reveal how it happened. I honestly cannot remember what was going on in my head the moment before, what we were talking about, or what we had been doing. I am fairly certain we were sitting on the couch in my living room and Shawn had biked over that night to see me. I remember times of sitting on his front porch, I remember taking walks with him. I remember Shawn’s strength, the way he ran on his toes, the way he climbed a ladder and I remember his eyes. Those eyes that were not green and not brown but somehow both. A circle of green that flowed into a circle of brown. Those eyes who pierced my heart from the first moment of our journey. Those eyes who held me captive. Two weeks into our relationship we shared those three words with one another. I always laughed at those movies where two people meet in the beginning of the movie and a few days later say, “I love you!” but in that moment of my life…I knew what it was to fall in love so quickly.
I know there are skeptics out there--people who believe that Love takes time, it must “slow roast” so to speak. But there are times that Love is thrown into a “pressure cooker” and what does blossom is true. Some would say its infatuation not love that forms, but what I have become a firm believer on is no one can judge another’s heart. What may be true for one is not true for another. Some create a huge mess when using a pressure cooker while others end up burning whatever they are slow roasting. You can control your heart, you do have power over emotions, you do have say in what it does and says but I have come to the conclusion that I would much rather not have control in my hands but someone has to fly the plane. During the time of Shawn my heart wasn’t being piloted at all. It was out of control and in the beginning it was thrilling but logic shows that eventually it has to crash.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
the challenge
The challenge was to first spend time with Jesus for 30 minutes everyday for 30 days and the second was to write 30 minutes everyday for 30 days. Needless to say I failed on both accounts. I sit here in front of my computer writing for the first times in a while. To give the excuse that I am too busy would be a lie. I have the time to watch a few TV shows a day, I have time to play on our Wii...Super Mario Brothers is addicting. But at the end of the day the things that I know will enhance my life, will make me a better person lay on touched. Most days I havn't spent time with Jesus and almost everyday I haven't written more than two words, let alone created a sentence. My natural tendency would be to see myself as a failure and come to the conclusion that I will never accomplish what I set out to do. But the truth is this, I am not a failure. I could spend the next hour or so spouting of scripture and telling all the "churchy" answers about how God has redeemed me and all of that. As true as all of that is, I don't want to just be cliche. I don't want to be the writer or person for that matter that only speaks the things that are the typical sayings. And more than that, those typical words no matter how true they are, are the easy ones to say. I desire to be vulnerable, to put my story out there for others to read. See the truth is, is I have been trying over the past few months, to write about anything but what I know I am suppose to write about, what I haven felt called to stare for a couple of years now.
One of fears is actually having to remember those times, remember the pain, remember the mistakes in order to write about them. I mean who wants to relive the hardest parts of her life? It was bad enough the first time around. Another fear is, well I am afraid that this picture that people have painted of who Amy will turn out to be a false one and then I am left with feeling like I have falsely represented myself to those around me. I also worry that people will read it and think, "Why in the world did she just share that big old mess? Now everyone just knows her business and nothing good came of it...I just feel uncomfortable." The truth of the matter is honestly my story will make others uncomfortable, it may even offend some people. But if I make you uncomfortable you have to ask yourself, "Why does this vulnerability make me feel this way?" So here goes, here is the first part of my story...and to be honest no I did not write this tonight, I wrote these words about two years ago...its just taken me this long to have the courage to share them. Please let me know what you think. You are my audience, I want your feed back.
I have started this paragraph about a hundred times trying to figure out the best way to start this story. First off, I can’t truly call this a story, even though it is a telling of specific events—these words, these sentences are more about a journey than a story. A journey that I lived out everyday. I felt every pain, enjoyed every laugh, and partook in every tear. Even now as I reread what I just wrote I wonder if I should trash these sentences and find a better way to start—a more professional way, a more literary way but then if I did than I would start this journey off not being true to who I am. Putting oneself out there for the whole world to see is a tough thing to do—especially if you are going to write about it. Look at it this way, if you write a book about your own story and people hate it, you are either a terrible writer or just not that interesting. Either way I look at it it’s hard to swallow. But I figure I have two choices in this life—I can be real with the world, put all I have out there or be stuck wondering if I ever could.
I met Shawn the night of my friend Alex’s birthday. I remember calling her up that night to tell her to stop working on her paper, go out, and have fun. Little did I know, she already was out having fun and she actually pulled me away from my mundane night to enjoy some fried pickles and karaoke. Shawn showed up with Jesse, who sadly enough did not make the cut for the telling of this journey—a fact that will make several of my girlfriends happy when they partake in this reading. Don’t worry this is not another story about how two people locked eyes across a dimly lit room and found themselves talking into the wee hours of the morning and declaring their love for one another as the sun rose. No, this simply begins with two strangers who start up an awkward conversation at the end of a long table, in a smoke filled room while their friends sing very badly and old people cheer them on. And the night ends with a standing ovation after a beautiful and touching rendition of “Summer Lovin’” by the whole group. Had the journey of Shawn and I ended that night I would not remember the look on his face when he sang, or the way he walked across the room towards our table, or even me leaning over to Alex asking her who the guy was with Jesse. Of course, it wasn’t until months later that our paths actually crossed again but that first encounter with Shawn is still some how ever present in my memory.
There are moments in life that for some reason stick with you for a lifetime. These are the moments that you can remember specific words that were said, exact details of the setting, the scent still lingers in your nose, and most of all the emotion still stirs in you. If it is a heart wrenching sad moment, you can still feel your eyes welling up with tears and the churning of your stomach. You can remember the moments right before your heart was ripped out of your chest and the naïve way of thinking that everything was going to be just fine. In those joyful moments you can still feel the laughter flowing through your veins, the look in someone’s eye as he glances at you. The butterflies still flutter through your stomach as you recall the exact moment his hand brushed against yours. Its funny how not every moment in life is remembered so clearly. Life is filled with sadness and joy but why is it that some are imprinted so deeply they become a part of your soul and others simply fade with time?
I encountered Shawn for the second time at an all day concert event. I cannot recall the various hours in between meeting him once again and the moment my phone rang and it was him but I do recall the moments after the phone call. We were simply feet away when he called and to this day I still do not know how he had gotten my number. Thus starts the journey. Never would I have imagined that night as I am sitting listening to the bands, talking to Kay and flirting with Shawn that in the next few months my life would change drastically. In the matter of months, certain events would occur that would alter the way I viewed myself, would send me in a downward spiral but on that night all I could think about was sitting beside Shawn on the grass. All I could think about was the cute text messages he kept sending me. All I could think about was the smile on my face that this boy had placed there. Who would have guessed that maybe this time I should have just walked away?
It has taken me a long time to come to the point in my life where I can look in the mirror and not be repulsed by the reflection staring back at me. For most of my life I either saw a chubby, plain girl, who would always be stuck in the best friend status or I saw the girl who just sold herself to feel loved. It is hard to admit the mistakes I have made—I never want anyone to look at me and see the sin I have committed, see the stains that were once there. And if I was completely honest I have a hard to time putting myself out there because for so long I simply imitated the person those around me expected me to be. Sadly though all people truly want is to encounter real, honest human beings. If we were all honest with one another, wouldn’t we find that the girl sitting next to us in class also struggles with loving herself or the guy passing us on the street has the same thoughts of suicide as we have? I have held these secrets in for so long because I was ashamed of what I had done—ashamed of who I had become but it is time for them to burst forth in truth. Some may say I am crazy for laying it all out there but the one I am concerned about is the one that I may help. So you can think I am crazy, you can dismiss these words as meaningless and never think of me again…and that’s okay by me, you were not the one I sat pouring out my heart for.
One of fears is actually having to remember those times, remember the pain, remember the mistakes in order to write about them. I mean who wants to relive the hardest parts of her life? It was bad enough the first time around. Another fear is, well I am afraid that this picture that people have painted of who Amy will turn out to be a false one and then I am left with feeling like I have falsely represented myself to those around me. I also worry that people will read it and think, "Why in the world did she just share that big old mess? Now everyone just knows her business and nothing good came of it...I just feel uncomfortable." The truth of the matter is honestly my story will make others uncomfortable, it may even offend some people. But if I make you uncomfortable you have to ask yourself, "Why does this vulnerability make me feel this way?" So here goes, here is the first part of my story...and to be honest no I did not write this tonight, I wrote these words about two years ago...its just taken me this long to have the courage to share them. Please let me know what you think. You are my audience, I want your feed back.
I have started this paragraph about a hundred times trying to figure out the best way to start this story. First off, I can’t truly call this a story, even though it is a telling of specific events—these words, these sentences are more about a journey than a story. A journey that I lived out everyday. I felt every pain, enjoyed every laugh, and partook in every tear. Even now as I reread what I just wrote I wonder if I should trash these sentences and find a better way to start—a more professional way, a more literary way but then if I did than I would start this journey off not being true to who I am. Putting oneself out there for the whole world to see is a tough thing to do—especially if you are going to write about it. Look at it this way, if you write a book about your own story and people hate it, you are either a terrible writer or just not that interesting. Either way I look at it it’s hard to swallow. But I figure I have two choices in this life—I can be real with the world, put all I have out there or be stuck wondering if I ever could.
I met Shawn the night of my friend Alex’s birthday. I remember calling her up that night to tell her to stop working on her paper, go out, and have fun. Little did I know, she already was out having fun and she actually pulled me away from my mundane night to enjoy some fried pickles and karaoke. Shawn showed up with Jesse, who sadly enough did not make the cut for the telling of this journey—a fact that will make several of my girlfriends happy when they partake in this reading. Don’t worry this is not another story about how two people locked eyes across a dimly lit room and found themselves talking into the wee hours of the morning and declaring their love for one another as the sun rose. No, this simply begins with two strangers who start up an awkward conversation at the end of a long table, in a smoke filled room while their friends sing very badly and old people cheer them on. And the night ends with a standing ovation after a beautiful and touching rendition of “Summer Lovin’” by the whole group. Had the journey of Shawn and I ended that night I would not remember the look on his face when he sang, or the way he walked across the room towards our table, or even me leaning over to Alex asking her who the guy was with Jesse. Of course, it wasn’t until months later that our paths actually crossed again but that first encounter with Shawn is still some how ever present in my memory.
There are moments in life that for some reason stick with you for a lifetime. These are the moments that you can remember specific words that were said, exact details of the setting, the scent still lingers in your nose, and most of all the emotion still stirs in you. If it is a heart wrenching sad moment, you can still feel your eyes welling up with tears and the churning of your stomach. You can remember the moments right before your heart was ripped out of your chest and the naïve way of thinking that everything was going to be just fine. In those joyful moments you can still feel the laughter flowing through your veins, the look in someone’s eye as he glances at you. The butterflies still flutter through your stomach as you recall the exact moment his hand brushed against yours. Its funny how not every moment in life is remembered so clearly. Life is filled with sadness and joy but why is it that some are imprinted so deeply they become a part of your soul and others simply fade with time?
I encountered Shawn for the second time at an all day concert event. I cannot recall the various hours in between meeting him once again and the moment my phone rang and it was him but I do recall the moments after the phone call. We were simply feet away when he called and to this day I still do not know how he had gotten my number. Thus starts the journey. Never would I have imagined that night as I am sitting listening to the bands, talking to Kay and flirting with Shawn that in the next few months my life would change drastically. In the matter of months, certain events would occur that would alter the way I viewed myself, would send me in a downward spiral but on that night all I could think about was sitting beside Shawn on the grass. All I could think about was the cute text messages he kept sending me. All I could think about was the smile on my face that this boy had placed there. Who would have guessed that maybe this time I should have just walked away?
It has taken me a long time to come to the point in my life where I can look in the mirror and not be repulsed by the reflection staring back at me. For most of my life I either saw a chubby, plain girl, who would always be stuck in the best friend status or I saw the girl who just sold herself to feel loved. It is hard to admit the mistakes I have made—I never want anyone to look at me and see the sin I have committed, see the stains that were once there. And if I was completely honest I have a hard to time putting myself out there because for so long I simply imitated the person those around me expected me to be. Sadly though all people truly want is to encounter real, honest human beings. If we were all honest with one another, wouldn’t we find that the girl sitting next to us in class also struggles with loving herself or the guy passing us on the street has the same thoughts of suicide as we have? I have held these secrets in for so long because I was ashamed of what I had done—ashamed of who I had become but it is time for them to burst forth in truth. Some may say I am crazy for laying it all out there but the one I am concerned about is the one that I may help. So you can think I am crazy, you can dismiss these words as meaningless and never think of me again…and that’s okay by me, you were not the one I sat pouring out my heart for.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
to be known...
Day two...fail... It's okay though, I will not let myself get discouraged. Today is a new day and that is what I live for. I cannot go back and write yesterday all I can control is what I am going to do today. So welcome day 3.
As usual...I have nothing. I looked back at photos from a few years ago and although they brought laughter and a smile to my heart--these pictures also brought sadness and tears. I miss the connection to people that I had in my life, I miss community, I miss "wanda", I miss la bamba monday, I miss the pool house, I miss hanging out with friends and feeling connected to them. What was it about this group of people that made it so amazing? And why after 2 and half years in a new place have I rarely felt that?
I have wonderful friends, don't get me wrong. People that I cherish and love dearly but there is just something that keeps us from truly connecting in the way that community connected. And I would say that for most of my friendships they have grown father apart since I got married. I am no longer a part of the single women crowd, I am no longer welcome and never will be again. I am also not a mom, I am not welcome there and won't be until I have a baby. So here I am in the middle longing to have someone know me but there is no one and I begin to wonder, "Will there ever be?"
Have you ever known someone and you are just filled with this longing to be there friend; to know her story and for her to know yours? There are a handful of women that I know that I wish I could know better...but no matter what there is nothing I can do. I am not saying all of this to have people feel sorry for me because I know that I have friends, I know that there is nothing wrong with me...I simply have a longing to be known. And I feel that the culture of this town denies that and I just simply don't know how to cope with the reality.
How do you mourn the loss of a friendship? Not the loss of a friend through death, not the drifting apart kind of friendship but still talk once in a while...no the kind of loss that comes when one of you says to the other, "I can't be your friend anymore"? I had this best friend who knew me and supported me and I supported her. This friend was the best a girl could ask for, seriously. She was the kind of friend who would drive two hours for your birthday and bake you a cake. She was the kind of friend that you would do anything for you at anytime of the day no matter what. The friendship you thought would stand strong through any storm that poured down; one day came crumbling down. How does one heal from that?
I admit I am someone that wants to fix everything. I want to stop peoples' pain. I want to say the right thing or do the right thing to ease whatever someone is going through. I want to be liked, accepted and loved. I know that everyone wants those things but I go so far as, if someone seems to not like me I search out the reason why and try to change his or hers opinion. And until that occurs I wonder what it is about me that is keeping them from liking me and accepting me. I know I am a people pleaser and I know that that is not a gift but a curse. The thing is with this particular friendship there is nothing I can do to fix it, there is nothing I can say to change the fact that this friendship is something she doesn't want. Maybe I shouldn't even be sharing this but it was so strong on my heart. I miss this friend and I wish I could tell her that and have her believe my words.
As usual...I have nothing. I looked back at photos from a few years ago and although they brought laughter and a smile to my heart--these pictures also brought sadness and tears. I miss the connection to people that I had in my life, I miss community, I miss "wanda", I miss la bamba monday, I miss the pool house, I miss hanging out with friends and feeling connected to them. What was it about this group of people that made it so amazing? And why after 2 and half years in a new place have I rarely felt that?
I have wonderful friends, don't get me wrong. People that I cherish and love dearly but there is just something that keeps us from truly connecting in the way that community connected. And I would say that for most of my friendships they have grown father apart since I got married. I am no longer a part of the single women crowd, I am no longer welcome and never will be again. I am also not a mom, I am not welcome there and won't be until I have a baby. So here I am in the middle longing to have someone know me but there is no one and I begin to wonder, "Will there ever be?"
Have you ever known someone and you are just filled with this longing to be there friend; to know her story and for her to know yours? There are a handful of women that I know that I wish I could know better...but no matter what there is nothing I can do. I am not saying all of this to have people feel sorry for me because I know that I have friends, I know that there is nothing wrong with me...I simply have a longing to be known. And I feel that the culture of this town denies that and I just simply don't know how to cope with the reality.
How do you mourn the loss of a friendship? Not the loss of a friend through death, not the drifting apart kind of friendship but still talk once in a while...no the kind of loss that comes when one of you says to the other, "I can't be your friend anymore"? I had this best friend who knew me and supported me and I supported her. This friend was the best a girl could ask for, seriously. She was the kind of friend who would drive two hours for your birthday and bake you a cake. She was the kind of friend that you would do anything for you at anytime of the day no matter what. The friendship you thought would stand strong through any storm that poured down; one day came crumbling down. How does one heal from that?
I admit I am someone that wants to fix everything. I want to stop peoples' pain. I want to say the right thing or do the right thing to ease whatever someone is going through. I want to be liked, accepted and loved. I know that everyone wants those things but I go so far as, if someone seems to not like me I search out the reason why and try to change his or hers opinion. And until that occurs I wonder what it is about me that is keeping them from liking me and accepting me. I know I am a people pleaser and I know that that is not a gift but a curse. The thing is with this particular friendship there is nothing I can do to fix it, there is nothing I can say to change the fact that this friendship is something she doesn't want. Maybe I shouldn't even be sharing this but it was so strong on my heart. I miss this friend and I wish I could tell her that and have her believe my words.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
30x30 Challenge
Sunday at church our pastor gave us a challenge--for the next 30 days spend 30 minutes a day with Jesus. Through these 30 days we will learn discipline and among that we will find delight. I am taking this challenge and I am ready to see the Lord work in wonderful and amazing ways. I have also taken this challenge to a new level. I dream to be a writer, that's all I have ever truly wanted to be but in order to call myself a writer I must be devoted to writing, everyday. So, for the next 30 days I am also going to challenge myself to write 30 minutes everyday. WELCOME TO DAY ONE!
For the next 28 minutes I am going to write...whatever is on my mind. The outcome--who knows. The quality--who knows. I have learned that until I am disciplined I should focus on just getting words on the page. That with words and sentences and paragraphs you can edit, and reform and reword. But if the page is blank there's nothing. Whats the point of saying, I am a really great writer if you have nothing to show for it?
Its hard to write without a vision, without a thought to go on, why is that? I guess I have never been that good at the free for writing. Until I have vision for what I should write I am stuck either writing about how I don't know what I should write or running on and on about well...nothing. I know it should not be about what will be profound and what others will want to read but man...any writer will honestly say that they desire to have their words read and if that never happens then are they any good?
I struggle with comparison which I know are lies from the enemy that entrap us and create skewed images of reality. This past weekend at the create conference, during the opening worship session we were all given a blank sheet of paper and a crayon. The vision behind the crayon was as children we draw uninhibited by the world. We don't care if no one understands or sees what we see, we draw out of delight. The instructions were to draw a line down the middle and on the top portion draw our weaknesses, the way we view ourselves. My picture came out with a drawing of a small girl on one side who has a paper with an F, a book that is blank and words around her are nothing, nobody. Beside the small girl is a tall beautiful girl who has an A paper, a best seller and has a crown on her head. She is everything the small girl is not. For most of my life and even some days now I see myself as the small girl. That I am nothing, I am no body, and no matter how hard I try I will never be able to amount to even a fraction of what the other girl can. So the thought, "Why even bother?" floats around in my head and pretty soon that thought becomes "truth" and I soon believe that I should not even bother.
On the bottom part of the paper we were to draw the truth of God in our lives. Here I drew God breaking threw the chain of darkness and brokenness and on the other side, I am in His arms, there is light and growth and love. After drawing the truth of God we folded the paper in half, lifted our hands up and placed the paper so when we looked through our hands we saw the truth of God and the truth of God held our weaknesses. What I noticed was when I look at the truth of God I counldn't evenn see the lies that I believed. His Truth covers all lies!
I prayed that the Lord would help me to not let others talents, gifts and dreams keep me from following my own dreams and using my own gifts. Throughout the rest of the day those words were said in several different ways. Jesus wanted me to hear His truth, and He wanted me to really get it.
I desire to write a book, to share my story and I hope that I will hold on to His truth, that no matter how many people around me desire to do the same thing, it does not negate what The Lord has called me to do. Several years ago I said that the reason why I wanted to write was to share my story with other women and if one woman's life was touched it was worth it. That is still my desire...To help transform lives of the women around me and if even one woman's life is changed because of the words that Lord has spoken through me then well...I have accomplished what I set out to do in the first place.
For the next 28 minutes I am going to write...whatever is on my mind. The outcome--who knows. The quality--who knows. I have learned that until I am disciplined I should focus on just getting words on the page. That with words and sentences and paragraphs you can edit, and reform and reword. But if the page is blank there's nothing. Whats the point of saying, I am a really great writer if you have nothing to show for it?
Its hard to write without a vision, without a thought to go on, why is that? I guess I have never been that good at the free for writing. Until I have vision for what I should write I am stuck either writing about how I don't know what I should write or running on and on about well...nothing. I know it should not be about what will be profound and what others will want to read but man...any writer will honestly say that they desire to have their words read and if that never happens then are they any good?
I struggle with comparison which I know are lies from the enemy that entrap us and create skewed images of reality. This past weekend at the create conference, during the opening worship session we were all given a blank sheet of paper and a crayon. The vision behind the crayon was as children we draw uninhibited by the world. We don't care if no one understands or sees what we see, we draw out of delight. The instructions were to draw a line down the middle and on the top portion draw our weaknesses, the way we view ourselves. My picture came out with a drawing of a small girl on one side who has a paper with an F, a book that is blank and words around her are nothing, nobody. Beside the small girl is a tall beautiful girl who has an A paper, a best seller and has a crown on her head. She is everything the small girl is not. For most of my life and even some days now I see myself as the small girl. That I am nothing, I am no body, and no matter how hard I try I will never be able to amount to even a fraction of what the other girl can. So the thought, "Why even bother?" floats around in my head and pretty soon that thought becomes "truth" and I soon believe that I should not even bother.
On the bottom part of the paper we were to draw the truth of God in our lives. Here I drew God breaking threw the chain of darkness and brokenness and on the other side, I am in His arms, there is light and growth and love. After drawing the truth of God we folded the paper in half, lifted our hands up and placed the paper so when we looked through our hands we saw the truth of God and the truth of God held our weaknesses. What I noticed was when I look at the truth of God I counldn't evenn see the lies that I believed. His Truth covers all lies!
I prayed that the Lord would help me to not let others talents, gifts and dreams keep me from following my own dreams and using my own gifts. Throughout the rest of the day those words were said in several different ways. Jesus wanted me to hear His truth, and He wanted me to really get it.
I desire to write a book, to share my story and I hope that I will hold on to His truth, that no matter how many people around me desire to do the same thing, it does not negate what The Lord has called me to do. Several years ago I said that the reason why I wanted to write was to share my story with other women and if one woman's life was touched it was worth it. That is still my desire...To help transform lives of the women around me and if even one woman's life is changed because of the words that Lord has spoken through me then well...I have accomplished what I set out to do in the first place.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Create....
Today I learned something so profound it blew me away..."If you want to be a writer you have to write something...." I mean WOW! Why is it so hard for me to admit that I am a writer. I'm not published, there is only a hand full of people besides my professors that actually read what I write...but none of that makes me a writer. The mere fact that I think thoughts and put them into sentences makes me a writer. And today I got to live a dream of mine and I haven't felt that alive in a long time. Today at the "Create" conference in my breakout session we were asked to write something over our lunch break. Nothing perfect, nothing edited...but a piece that was raw. As I tried to think of what to write I did what any "good" writer does...I just started putting words on the page until I felt inspired. As I am struggling to put words together and running out of time I hear the Lord speak, "Write your story...that's what is real, that is what needs to be heard..." I went into the breakout session excited to share my piece. After our small group time of sharing our leader asked if there was any brave souls in the room that would like to share with the group. I found my heart racing and that feeling I get only when I know I need to take the risk...the question was, was I willing to leap? My hand went in the air and the next moment I found myself once again where I feel the most alive...sharing my story with the people around me.
This piece is inspired from a vision the Lord gave me a few years ago on the day I call "My Freedom Day"
I was once this broken girl who was locked in this dark damp room. My arms were in shackles chained to the wall. The only light was a slit at the top of the ceiling that wasn't a comfort but a mocking voice saying you will never feel the warmth of my rays or see the brilliance of my color because you are nothing. My hair was unkempt and my clothes were merely rags. And my feet, no there were not shoes on my feet because I would never go places. I was shut up and locked away because I was unlovable! True, men would come-proclaiming their love and my heart would swell, I saw hope, but in moments I found myself back locked away with nothing--no even less than that...emptiness. Yes emptiness. True, women would come in and give vision of wonderful friendship but in the same moment I started to feel my chains loosen, I found another link being added and more "truth" of how I wasn't even worthy of their conversation. Unintelligence crowded around me. There was nothing and no one.
Until one night I found myself laying in my prison when I heard a loud crash and a blazing light flooded my cell. There standing in what was once my prison door, stood my Saviour. He didn't talk, He didn't bring judgement--No what I saw were tears in His eyes. Was He actually crying for me? As those tears flowed down His face, He came near me and in a moment I felt my chains fall away. Not just the idea of them falling away, no literally the burden, the heaviness that these binds had on me was broken away. And then He did something I never thought anyone would ever do--He reached towards me and threw me into His arms, and not only did He take me out--He RAN out. He knew that by walking He would give me the choice to stay. No He Ran full out! The next moment I was in warm sun raze, smelling the most wonderful smells. And I look down at my self and see where I was once in rags, I was now in beautiful clothing. On my feet were sandals and I knew I was being restored. I tried to look back--but as I turned my head He whispered, " No my bride, it is no more, nothing, don't even bother looking back."
This piece is inspired from a vision the Lord gave me a few years ago on the day I call "My Freedom Day"
I was once this broken girl who was locked in this dark damp room. My arms were in shackles chained to the wall. The only light was a slit at the top of the ceiling that wasn't a comfort but a mocking voice saying you will never feel the warmth of my rays or see the brilliance of my color because you are nothing. My hair was unkempt and my clothes were merely rags. And my feet, no there were not shoes on my feet because I would never go places. I was shut up and locked away because I was unlovable! True, men would come-proclaiming their love and my heart would swell, I saw hope, but in moments I found myself back locked away with nothing--no even less than that...emptiness. Yes emptiness. True, women would come in and give vision of wonderful friendship but in the same moment I started to feel my chains loosen, I found another link being added and more "truth" of how I wasn't even worthy of their conversation. Unintelligence crowded around me. There was nothing and no one.
Until one night I found myself laying in my prison when I heard a loud crash and a blazing light flooded my cell. There standing in what was once my prison door, stood my Saviour. He didn't talk, He didn't bring judgement--No what I saw were tears in His eyes. Was He actually crying for me? As those tears flowed down His face, He came near me and in a moment I felt my chains fall away. Not just the idea of them falling away, no literally the burden, the heaviness that these binds had on me was broken away. And then He did something I never thought anyone would ever do--He reached towards me and threw me into His arms, and not only did He take me out--He RAN out. He knew that by walking He would give me the choice to stay. No He Ran full out! The next moment I was in warm sun raze, smelling the most wonderful smells. And I look down at my self and see where I was once in rags, I was now in beautiful clothing. On my feet were sandals and I knew I was being restored. I tried to look back--but as I turned my head He whispered, " No my bride, it is no more, nothing, don't even bother looking back."
Monday, November 8, 2010
Words that I wrote...
Life doesn't always turn out the way we planned does it? I know that I never planned on living in Waco, or Texas for that matter. I never planned on coming close to my third year at Target. I never planned on being 26 and still wondering what I am doing with my life. But what was it that I did plan on?
Comparison is truly the worst evil there is, at least in my own life. This evil has kept me from auditioning for plays , from sharing my dreams and ambitions with friends, from leading worship, from writing, from sharing my story. A good friend of mine wrote recently that you only accomplish if you do. I know that is why I am still sitting here with an ache inside my heart to share my story, to speak in front of a crowd because I stopped doing. Shouldn't the knowledge that a friend and myself share the same dream be an encouragement, that we could spur one another on? Instead its like a dead weight in the pit of my stomach and I hear the voice, "Your dream to be a writer, to be a public speaker is worthless because you can't put words together like that...and you don't want to be thought of as a copy-cat." I know these are lies, I know these are lies because the dream to be writer has always been in me. But why do I always feel the same way? Why do I always wonder..."Am I even good enough?"
I am my own dream killer. Somewhere down the road I started believing that to dream for the far fetched things of this world are just that...far fetched. I didn't want to be the girl with her head stuck in the clouds, always fantasizing about what she could become. I soon believed this "fact" about myself...I was merely average. I was smart but I had friends who were smarter and didn't even have to try. I was talented but my talent was overshadowed by ones with more talent. Things that I had wanted, things that I worked for it always seemed other people got to live them out.
I know the truth about myself, I know that I am a daughter of the Risen King. I know that I am His beloved, 'fearfully and wonderfully made', I know that He has gifted me and I know that I am used by Him for His purpose. Jesus has put in me, not an 'average' testimony but a mighty powerful one. I know the truth. I know that I am blessed. I have an amazing husband who I can't believe I get to wake up next to every morning. I know that I am surrounded by many single women who long to be married, to be cherished by a man the way I am by my husband. I know that I am blessed to have been born into the family I was born into, to have a mom and dad, brother and sister-in-law, grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins that I do. I am a mighty blessed woman. I know all of this. I know that my time at Target is where God is using me for this time. I know that I am suppose to be the size I am with the hair that I have. I know that I am not just average. But even in the mist of all of that...I still long.
I want my story to matter to someone. I want my words to be read by someone and to have them change her life. I want to feel once again the Holy Spirit truly pulsating through me as I stand in front of a microphone, looking out onto a crowd and listen as a hush falls over the room as words pour from my mouth. To see tears gleam in eyes, to know that what I have done and the forgiveness that followed helped heal wounds.
I long to not feel inadequate when I have to use a different word because I can't figure out how to spell the word I truly want to use and I can't even get close enough to the spelling for spell check to figure it out for me. I long to know the words to every classic piece of literature. I long to string together sentences that are worth publishing and not even worth publishing but worth reading. I desire to understand grammar and to know how to use it correctly. How about this for a deal...you tell me how to not use the passive voice (and why its so wrong) and I'll tell you how to make my spaghetti sauce...
As I sit eating a gooey sugar cookie and try to come up with a great metaphor for the healing power these words have had (there's that blessed passive voice....) on my soul I think about the grand scheme of things. I am reminded of this puzzle my mom once put together. Once put together it was a picture of Winnie the Pooh but if you look closely each piece is a scene from the stories. Even though my mom had a hard time putting the puzzle together because there was no, these are clearly the "water pieces" and here are the "land pieces" but I remember her telling me that it wasn't just about getting the puzzle finished. For her each piece told her a story. Now how cliche am I being...and in writing I know I am not a huge fan of reading cliche after cliche but bear with me. If I think about my life, about my dreams, about the things that I have done and blessings I have as fun little pieces that tell a story and not just another nail in the board....maybe the wait to see the finished "Winnie the Pooh" won't be so hard. Or maybe this last paragraph is just a bunch of rambling and my way of trying to finish with some profound thought when in reality I really just want to eat my cookie and watch "Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives"
Writing tonight has reminded me of how it is my friend...my healing friend who comes and brings a soothing to my aching muscles and healing to my broken dreams.
(there you go...my beautiful metaphor.....now my cookie!)
Comparison is truly the worst evil there is, at least in my own life. This evil has kept me from auditioning for plays , from sharing my dreams and ambitions with friends, from leading worship, from writing, from sharing my story. A good friend of mine wrote recently that you only accomplish if you do. I know that is why I am still sitting here with an ache inside my heart to share my story, to speak in front of a crowd because I stopped doing. Shouldn't the knowledge that a friend and myself share the same dream be an encouragement, that we could spur one another on? Instead its like a dead weight in the pit of my stomach and I hear the voice, "Your dream to be a writer, to be a public speaker is worthless because you can't put words together like that...and you don't want to be thought of as a copy-cat." I know these are lies, I know these are lies because the dream to be writer has always been in me. But why do I always feel the same way? Why do I always wonder..."Am I even good enough?"
I am my own dream killer. Somewhere down the road I started believing that to dream for the far fetched things of this world are just that...far fetched. I didn't want to be the girl with her head stuck in the clouds, always fantasizing about what she could become. I soon believed this "fact" about myself...I was merely average. I was smart but I had friends who were smarter and didn't even have to try. I was talented but my talent was overshadowed by ones with more talent. Things that I had wanted, things that I worked for it always seemed other people got to live them out.
I know the truth about myself, I know that I am a daughter of the Risen King. I know that I am His beloved, 'fearfully and wonderfully made', I know that He has gifted me and I know that I am used by Him for His purpose. Jesus has put in me, not an 'average' testimony but a mighty powerful one. I know the truth. I know that I am blessed. I have an amazing husband who I can't believe I get to wake up next to every morning. I know that I am surrounded by many single women who long to be married, to be cherished by a man the way I am by my husband. I know that I am blessed to have been born into the family I was born into, to have a mom and dad, brother and sister-in-law, grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins that I do. I am a mighty blessed woman. I know all of this. I know that my time at Target is where God is using me for this time. I know that I am suppose to be the size I am with the hair that I have. I know that I am not just average. But even in the mist of all of that...I still long.
I want my story to matter to someone. I want my words to be read by someone and to have them change her life. I want to feel once again the Holy Spirit truly pulsating through me as I stand in front of a microphone, looking out onto a crowd and listen as a hush falls over the room as words pour from my mouth. To see tears gleam in eyes, to know that what I have done and the forgiveness that followed helped heal wounds.
I long to not feel inadequate when I have to use a different word because I can't figure out how to spell the word I truly want to use and I can't even get close enough to the spelling for spell check to figure it out for me. I long to know the words to every classic piece of literature. I long to string together sentences that are worth publishing and not even worth publishing but worth reading. I desire to understand grammar and to know how to use it correctly. How about this for a deal...you tell me how to not use the passive voice (and why its so wrong) and I'll tell you how to make my spaghetti sauce...
As I sit eating a gooey sugar cookie and try to come up with a great metaphor for the healing power these words have had (there's that blessed passive voice....) on my soul I think about the grand scheme of things. I am reminded of this puzzle my mom once put together. Once put together it was a picture of Winnie the Pooh but if you look closely each piece is a scene from the stories. Even though my mom had a hard time putting the puzzle together because there was no, these are clearly the "water pieces" and here are the "land pieces" but I remember her telling me that it wasn't just about getting the puzzle finished. For her each piece told her a story. Now how cliche am I being...and in writing I know I am not a huge fan of reading cliche after cliche but bear with me. If I think about my life, about my dreams, about the things that I have done and blessings I have as fun little pieces that tell a story and not just another nail in the board....maybe the wait to see the finished "Winnie the Pooh" won't be so hard. Or maybe this last paragraph is just a bunch of rambling and my way of trying to finish with some profound thought when in reality I really just want to eat my cookie and watch "Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives"
Writing tonight has reminded me of how it is my friend...my healing friend who comes and brings a soothing to my aching muscles and healing to my broken dreams.
(there you go...my beautiful metaphor.....now my cookie!)
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