tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85461491270425793002024-02-08T05:58:59.333-08:00Writer's ToyboxBlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-37310092436153728682015-06-09T14:58:00.001-07:002015-06-09T14:58:23.622-07:00Homeschooling Took Over My LifeI just checked this thing out of curiosity about when my last blog was... it was July 8th of last year. It turns out I really did need to "break up with facebook," because if I hadn't, there's no way I would have been able to focus on homeschooling my daughter.<br />
<br />
I have found there are several things in my list of things I "used to do," including writing stories, posting blogs, drawing/doing artwork, reading books on a regular basis... lots of creative things that I found going by the wayside once I realized I was going to be homeschooling, working, taking her to Community Day (a weekly meeting for her charter), and taking my youngest to Speech Therapy.<br />
<br />
The funny thing is, I'm not really upset about the fact that I haven't been able to express myself as I normally do. I mean, I still think about it every so often, and I'm grateful for Summer Break as I'll hopefully be able to do a little bit more of it, but it hasn't "broken" me. I'm not resentful for the fact that I've had to put some things on hold: I'm just grateful I've been able to get her through the school year pretty well, in spite of the fact that there were some crazy changes in our family (not the immediate family, but family nonetheless) and our church that I was definitely not expecting.<br />
<br />
We have another (unexpected, but fun and exciting) change coming up: I found out in January that I was pregnant again... this time, it's a boy! We're going to name him Isaiah. It's the name Daddy has always wanted for his son (ever since we found out we were going to have our first). I'm totally excited and I'm a little bit bound and determined that he's gonna be a Momma's Boy. :P My wonderful husband has always enjoyed going on "Daddy-Daughter Dates," and they certainly adore him quite a bit (our youngest even more so than our oldest), so now it's my turn for some "Mother-Son Dates". (Well, not yet, of course... he hasn't even been born yet!)<br />
<br />
Anyway, those are a few updates... Amber's homeschooling doesn't actually end until next Wednesday, so I'm going to help her get a few more lessons knocked out.<br />
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If you're reading this, thank you. It's pretty easy to get bored with a blog (especially when the blogger doesn't ever post something new), so I appreciate that you took the time to read this. :)BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-32191584947536687932014-02-05T08:56:00.001-08:002014-02-05T08:56:54.381-08:00Yesterdays MishapsYesterday I found myself as I find myself fairly often lately: overwhelmed. I took my two-year-old to get blood work done, then went straight to Walmart to purchase some wipes and rice milk for her. After that, I drove to the other side of town to pick up my sweet momma-in-law and take her home. <br /><br />It was only when I was back in my driveway, starving for food (since I'd, of course, skipped breakfast in order to do the other things) that I realized I'd left the groceries in the cart. I'd been so involved with my baby girl (trying to cheer her up and carefully buckle her into the carseat), that I didn't realize I'd left my things until almost thirty minutes later.<br /><br />I freaked out. It may not seem like a big deal, but our family has been struggling financially as of late. That "six dollars and some odd cents" was a huge deal... and the fact that I'd have to spend ANOTHER because of my own dumb carelessness was almost too much to bear. I left my momma-in-law in the driveway with my daughter, and hopped back into the driver's seat.<br />
<br />
I rushed back to Walmart, hoping that maybe, just MAYBE, with the temperatures as cool as they were, the rice milk would still be good and the wipes would be in my cart along with them. Of course, when I arrived, they were nowhere to be seen. Frantic, I hurried inside the store and asked a cashier if anyone'd brought in a bag of wipes and rice milk, and she referred me to Customer Service.<br /><br />While in line at Customer Service, I called my husband to let him know what I was doing. He told me not to worry and that things would be fine, and maybe someone just really needed those items. I said goodbye and that's when I lost it: tears streamed down my face just as the woman called "Next" for me. I approached, totally ashamed of my utter tearfulness, and tried to explain to her my situation. I brokenly asked if anyone had brought rice milk and wipes inside the store, knowing it was a long shot. She looked around and saw nothing, then asked if I had a receipt. I told her I thought it was in the bag, but then remembered that I may have put it in the diaper bag I had on me, so I searched for it. Miraculously finding it, I thanked God for having me put it in there rather than in the bag of groceries. I handed it out to her and she checked it, then left to ask a coworker or boss of hers a question.<br />
<br />
When she came back, she said that she'd been told to have me find the items again and then come back to Customer Service. I was so full of relief that I literally said, "ohhh... thank you!" to her, and went to get the things. I stood in line again (the line had gotten longer since I'd been retrieving my items), and waited until it was my turn again. She rang up the items and then zeroed them out... and I said thank you a couple more times.<br /><br />I was and still am so thankful that there are people out there who care about individuals. It may have been "just six dollars" to some people reading this, but to me, it meant the world. I'm so grateful to the woman who helped me and I hope some day I can help make her day brighter as well.BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-34215921663052691302013-08-29T10:51:00.003-07:002013-08-29T10:51:52.224-07:00For Everyone Who Might be the Teensiest Bit Jealous of Sarah Horn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
If you haven't seen this video yet, I'd doubt you're jealous. But if you haven't (and you just watched it), <u>there's a possibility you could be</u>.<br /><br />This is a video of a recent performance of Kristin Chenoweth at the Hollywood Bowl. The woman who was randomly picked from the audience is my friend Sarah Horn. Since I met her a few years ago, I have known she was a beautiful and talented singer... but since her video went viral, the rest of the world knows too. I think it's great - she's put a lot of work into what she's done and it's fantastic that all of that work (and the prayer her father uttered over a decade ago about singing with her) would pay off.<br />
<br />
Yet, when I thought about it, I realized I have had the good fortune of knowing MANY lovely, talented young ladies. Many who have <u>sung onstage right next to Sarah</u> at my favorite theater of all time (Lifehouse Theater), BEFORE she was a internet sensation. So if you're one of those people, you may be wondering, "What's wrong with me? I've been trying so hard... just as hard as she has. I have put hours into my singing and could have even done what she did, if I were given the opportunity. So why wasn't I?"<br />
<br />
I don't claim to have the answer to that, but I hope I can provide some encouragement.<br />
<br />
You ARE a fantastic singer. I want you to remember back to your own performances. What did people say when it was all over with, when you were greeting fans? I bet you had some kids come up to you and tell you they loved it. And I bet you also had some adults who are theatre fans (like myself) who were <u>gushing so much about your performance</u> that it looked like they were trying to shut up and just couldn't.<br />
<br />
What about your acting chops? Yeah, those rock too. People like me sit on the edge of their seats, totally with you in everything you do on the stage. You transport them into your part, and they feel what you feel and see what you see. This is why I almost always emerge from Lifehouse Theater with a new pond's worth of tears on my face. You execute the part so convincingly... so poignantly... that we just can't help ourselves.<br />
<br />
Although I didn't struggle with jealousy this time around (I figure there's no WAY I could have come close to that kind of performance and can't afford tickets to a Kristin Chenoweth concert anyway, so why not just be super-happy instead?), I HAVE been known to have the little green bug bite me. Prominent times in my life. In fact, just after my daughter was born, I decided I wanted to be a Hollywood actress. I contacted an amazing photographer about headshots and he was extremely kind. He offered me an enormous discount after my family and I visited his studio. Not long after I did all of this, I had a dream (that I believe was from God) basically telling me that I had a choice: my family or Hollywood. I was brokenhearted because I wanted both... but of course I went with my family. That was when my husband suggested Lifehouse Theater to me in the first place. It's probably good that I didn't jump into it right away, because God still had a few kinks in my character to work out before I would have been ready.<br /><br />Anyway, enough about me. This post is about YOU. I don't blame you for being jealous. You've worked hard, probably for most of your life. You might also teach voice lessons, or maybe you took lots of singing lessons when you were younger. Musical Theatre is probably your world... something you can't imagine life without. I felt the same way about acting. What I was able to come to the conclusion to (with the Lord's help) was that I'm not right for fame. At least not the kind of fame I would have gotten from being in Hollywood. Some people can handle it, but I found out it would all go to my head.<br />
<br />
I would have spent more and more time away from my family, doing what "they" wanted me to do, and less time listening to that still small voice and the Word of God. I discovered that God chooses the meek to inherit the earth, and that some of the people we will see in the highest places in Heaven will probably be people we know little to nothing about. I found out that I had important little things to do.<br />
<br />
Once I learned not to be jealous, I found that the best thing to counteract it, for me, was just being happy for people. It's that simple! In the Bible, Johnathan was the one who had the claim to the throne, but he was willing (although he didn't get to see it with his own eyes) to stand aside and let David, his friend, take the throne. I'm sure he had plenty of reason to be jealous... so why wasn't he? I think it's because he chose to celebrate with his best friend rather than sulk. I found out that I had a choice: I could join the party and eat cake and have a blast dancing like a crazy white person with no rhythm; or I could sulk, refuse the cake, and let that awful feeling in the pit of my stomach rule my life for the next few weeks. I actually learned that from Lifehouse as well - surrounded by beautiful, talented people who were nothing but humble and kind. You can BE that gorgeous, gifted person (in fact, you probably already are, for me)!<br />
<br />
I get the jealousy thing... believe me, I do. You see the celebrities getting things handed to them on a silver platter just because everyone knows who they are, and you might think, "Why don't people know ME yet? I want to walk a red carpet, get those crazy-awesome gift bags you see at award shows, go to the front of the line just 'cause I'm famous..." It's hard to live a life without immediate reward, or in the spotlight where everyone notices when you're awesome.<br />
<br />
(But did you ever think about this: that same spotlight also captures you in your worst, most embarrassing moments. The times when you made a poor choice, and wish it never happened? I have a feeling a certain Cyrus will be older and wiser one day and wish the VMA incident hadn't.)<br />
<br />
God has done things in my life that I haven't wanted Him to do. On the flipside, there have been times where He's done nothing and my prayers have been crying out for Him to help, asking Him why there is silence. I have learned that although I don't always like it, He does know what's best for me. And His timing is perfect. You never know... you might have your moment, too. And wouldn't it be funny if that moment came through Sarah Horn herself. :)BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-60642464183609108272012-11-02T23:01:00.001-07:002012-11-02T23:19:45.007-07:00I'm Gonna Wreck It!I am a discourager.<br />
<br />
It's probably contrary to what most people would say of me. See, I make every effort I can to encourage others, especially my more supportive friends. I find myself pouring into their lives with reckless abandon.. I'm unable to see them or hang out with them, usually, so instead I choose to do it via facebook. Lots of my friends say, "You're so sweet!"<br />
<br />
They have no idea.<br />
<br />
They don't realize that in my head, I am constantly degrading myself for every little perceived failure (and there are a lot of them). I'm not sure if this is something women do in general, or a side effect of having a personal history of depression and a family history of mental illness. I'm not sure what ingredients go into it, but I do know how it makes me feel. <br />
<br />
Here's an example. Yesterday, my daughter and I were talking as we got ready for our "Mommy-Daughter (speech therapy) Date". I can't remember why, but as I was leading her by the hand, I said, "Don't you trust your Mommy?" I was frustrated with her (probably because she was asking a lot of questions I'd already answered), and I didn't pay attention to where she was going and she ran into a rearview mirror in a car. Right in her bad eye. RIGHT after I'd gotten onto her case for not trusting me, I lead her into a mirror. Wow. Mom of the Year award, anyone?<br />
<br />
I don't do her hair cute. It's a good day if I brush it out. I don't bake bread from scratch (in fact, for years, I didn't even make dinner... someone else made it for me). I can't sew on a sewing machine and I get irate far too easily with my kids. My house is usually a disaster and I snap at my husband if he even <b>remotely</b> seems to hint that I've done something wrong. Stress gets to me in a ridiculously vast way, and if my husband hints that I ought to do something, I snap at him because it's easier to do than hate myself for a full three hours because I disappointed him. I am SO worried about disappointing him. In fact, I feel like I somewhat conned him into marrying me, and I need to do all I can to "save face" and keep him from leaving me (he has never done anything to make me feel like he'll leave: it's my own paranoia). <br />
<br />
SO imagine how it felt to me, knowing that my husband requested two and a half weeks off work for my hernia surgery. I felt loved. I felt cherished. I felt... like I didn't deserve it. Yes... I still struggle with this frustrating self-loathing that I'd hoped I killed as soon as my teen years had passed. I think of my job, which I love, and my wonderfully sweet boss, and I think to myself, "They must secretly hate me there. I don't do my job right. I'm a lousy employee." The truth is that I stress far too much. <br />
<br />
In fact, I'm sort of nervous about this surgery. Not only am I nervous I'll be in pain, or how hard it's gonna be not to pick up my kids (not to mention no driving for two weeks!), but I also think about how bored I'll be. How will I ever survive not stressing myself to the point of frantic panic? <br />
<br />
I watched "My Sister's Keeper" the other day, and I came upon a realization: I am high-strung. I'm almost as bad as the mom in that movie! I related with her and cried as she freaked out about her kids. The thing is, though... my kids aren't dying. They have a condition called NF that CAN be fatal, but it hasn't affected them too much. <br />
<br />
So why do I freak out so badly? And will I be able to check myself through prayer, before I wreck myself? <br />
<br />
<br />BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-28108198119556936492012-10-24T09:48:00.000-07:002012-10-24T20:51:47.947-07:00Life Gone Awry<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">The prison cell
was dark and dank. It smelled of urine. The small, hard cot on which
she attempted to sleep at night was full of fleas or bedbugs (she
couldn't tell the difference, and really, did it matter?) and the
thin blanket could not keep her warm at night. The wardens constantly
harassed her, reminding her of her crimes and making sport of her for
it. Aury never suspected that her life would turn out like this...
but then, she was never really good for anything in the first place.
<br /><br />Aury grew up in a small town full of drunkards and
womanizers. Many of the women had turned to prostitution or adultery
to try to fill the emptiness in their lives. Looked at as pieces of
meat, the women thought they might as well make some money while they
were at it. The men were bawdy and wild, so the women followed suit.
Kids were left to fend for themselves, as parents were usually too
hung over to deal with them. At least, that was her experience. <br /><br />The
only group that didn't wear their wrongdoing like a badge on their
arms were the preachers, whose crisp cleanliness stood in stark
contrast to everyone else. Now that she was in the clink, they
reminded her a lot of the wardens. No one could hope to breathe in a
church like that, for fear of contaminating the preachers' air. (Not
all of them were actual preachers, but the straight-laced believers
had earned the name by condemning others and quoting
conveniently-intolerant scripture.)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">When her dad
started hitting her, and before she knew better, Aury tried to go to
the preachers. They told her that she must have done something wrong,
and insisted that she pray about it and find out where she was to
blame. Aury was just seven at the time, and was horrified that it'd
been her fault. As she grew older, she searched her soul and did
everything she could think of to please him, trying to treat him as
the father he should have been rather than the one he was. After a
hard day's work for her father, she brought him his slippers. He hit
her. While her mother was drunk and passed out, she prepared his
dinner (and burned herself in the process). He saw the burn on her arm, called her a “stupid, mangy dog,” and hit her. Aury went
back to the preachers and told them what had happened. She said she
didn't think it was her fault after all, and they quoted scriptures
at her about how <span style="font-style: normal;">evil begets evil,
and that everyone will be repaid for their crimes. She tearfully
stormed down the steps of the church and vowed never to go to that
awful place again. <br /><br />Aury abruptly laughed, thinking back to
Joshua. She'd met him at school when she was fourteen. By that point, she'd already headed down her path in life.
She did drugs with her friends every morning before school, and laid down with any young man who took an interest. It always left her feeling
more broken, but she didn't care. By that point, she wasn't sure she
wanted to live anymore. She was secretly hoping the drugs would take
her life. <br /><br />Joshua sat down in her class one day, beaming with a
smile that could light up the room. It was his first day, but he
already had friends following him around. The girls noticed him too,
but he was aloof, in a good way. Girls in Aury's town were always
treated one of two ways: noticed because a man wanted someone to hit,
or noticed because a man wanted someone to lie with. Joshua's way of
dealing with girls was respectful, so of course he wanted them to
feel comfortable. From his first day, Joshua was very involved in
class. In fact, he corrected the teacher a few times, which impressed
Aury and made her stifle a laugh. The teachers were awestruck by his
knowledge, and began asking </span><i>him</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
questions. It was one of the most enjoyable things Aury had seen in
her entire life. <br /><br />As Aury got to know Joshua, she realized he
was genuinely nice. He was the first person who truly cared about
her, and they became fast friends. He was a believer, but his beliefs
differed from those of the Preachers. Although Aury was part of
another scene, and sometimes felt like he didn't understand her, they
stayed close through the years, and with all of the changes that they
went through. The Preachers' kids (Aury's other friends called them
PITS: Preachers In Training) hated Josh though, and it puzzled Aury a
little. Josh was a really good guy, and you had to be perfect to join
their club. Josh was more perfect than anyone Aury had ever met. <br /><br />Josh
didn't seem to like the PITS either, though. He corrected them (the
best-performing students in the school, since none of them were drunk
or doing drugs most of the time) and called them proud hypocrites.
They didn't like that too much, but it thrilled Aury to hear them
spoken to like that. No one else dared question them. She felt bolder
when Josh was around, in a good way. It felt like, if he was around,
nothing could hurt her. He always knew just what to say. She knew
that he cared about her well-being, and didn't want her to continue
hurting her body with her awful habits, but the drugs seemed to help
her forget about her life. She didn't </span><i>want</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
to remember that her dad was never there for her, and that her mom
constantly manipulated and demeaned her. Bad habits helped her forget
her hard past, but they made way for a hard future. <br /><br />Aury
scoffed. It was her habits that got her into this mess. She'd dropped
out of high school and started working the streets. As she continued
using, she needed a stronger fix. She used all of her money on drugs,
and they became all she thought about. The withdrawals were torture,
and she spent sleepless nights trying to solicit customers. She never
thought herself pretty, but as the drugs got more intense, her
appearance suffered. Aury soon found that no one wants to sleep with
a drug-addicted prostitute. She wasn't the only girl selling herself,
and many of them held up better than she had. <br /><br />She was shaking
one night, sweating through her eyeballs and desperate for a fix. She
walked through the rundown streets for hours, and stopped at a closed
liquor store. She knelt on the ground, by the front of the store,
head down as she panted for her drugs. When she lifted her head, she
saw a drug dealer acquaintance she knew as Jerry and offered the only
thing she could give him: her body. </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-style: normal;">No
one wants you, crack whore!” he spat, smiling a grin that said he
wished her dead. She weakly approached him, repeating her offer. He
ripped off her dirty clothes and laughed at her nakedness. Then he
brought out his heroin syringe and waved it at her. He saw the
desperation in her eyes, and his lit. “This could be fun...” he
said to himself. He humiliated her by having her get on her hands and
knees and bark like a dog. He made her urinate on herself and eat
rotted food from a nearby garbage can. Finally, she asked for the
syringe. He held it out of her grasp, saying, “Wanna know why I
made you bark like a dog? Because that's what you </span><i>are</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
Aury. All you'll ever be.” <br /><br />He turned and began to walk
away. Aury snapped. She jumped on his back and clawed at him,
punching him with an anger that multiplied her strength. She tried to
grab at his syringe and he spun, unknowingly knocking his pistol from
his pocket. He grabbed her off his back and threw her down on the
ground. He backhanded her face and spit on her. “Trash,” he said.
Once again he turned to walk away. Aury hated him with all her being.
She spotted the gun, and before she could think, she watched as her
hand reached for it and aimed it at his heart, pulling the trigger.
She gasped as he watched him double over, touching the wound and
examining the sticky deep red stain it left on his hands. She
stumbled away from him, the shock of what she'd done registering as
her footsteps pounded in her ears. </span><i>“You just killed a
man, Aury!” </i><span style="font-style: normal;">she thought, </span><i>“What
are you gonna do now???”</i><span style="font-style: normal;">She
tried to outrun the terror that seized her throat. Grateful that no
one had been around to see her, she hoped that he didn't have any
family or friends who would come looking for him. She told herself
that it would be alright; that killing him was understandable, given
the circumstances. Yet she found that every time she tried to sleep
that night, she woke with a start, panting and slick with
perspiration despite the cold temperatures. Through the night, she'd
had about twenty nightmares in which she died a grisly, gruesome
death. In her nightmares, Jerry''s family sought vengeance for her
death, and he personally haunted her sleep that night. Finally she
gave up efforts to sleep, huddling and shivering through the night in
her thin coat. <br /><br />It didn't take long before people started
looking for her. She'd been caught on surveillance tape outside of
the liquor store. A warrant was put out for her arrest, and the video
footage was everywhere. When officers finally found her, bringing her
in for questioning, she hung her head and walked with them. She
suspected that one of her former friends had seen the video and gave
her up for a reward, but the sliver of betrayal didn't matter now.
What mattered was that she had blood on her hands, and nothing but
cold, hard justice would bring peace to the situation.<br /><br />She
looked down at her hands now, imagining them covered with blood. She
was awaiting trial in her cell; the prosecutors didn't want her to be
able to run anywhere. “I'm dead,” she thought to herself. “No
one's gonna care about posting bail or getting a life sentence for a
scourge on society like me.” <br /><br />The thoughts within her heavy
heart were interrupted by the clack of the warden's dress shoes as he
strolled to her cell. <br /><br />“You have a visitor,” he said
gruffly. “Must be here to say goodbye.” Aury winced. Even the
wardens knew she didn't stand a chance. <br /><br />But wait, did he say
a </span><i>visitor</i><span style="font-style: normal;">? “Are you
sure it's for me?” she said, eyes narrowed. <br /><br />“Look, I
don't care if you ever see another living person. But there's some
guy out there askin' for you, so find out who it is or just rot in
here till they make their verdict!” <br /><br />Aury's blood ran cold.
</span><i>Could it be one of Jerry's relatives? Would they be seeking
vengeance before the trial? What was she going to say to them? </i><span style="font-style: normal;">She
wrestled with her choices, but ultimately decided to face the man who
had come to see her. The warden yanked her down the hallway to the
visiting room once she'd relented. It had been her fault that his
loved one had died; the least she could do was provide closure. If he
hit her, he hit her. She was just going to die anyway. Her body went
rigid as she steeled herself for whatever was through those doors.
<br /><br />But to her surprise, when the door to the visiting room
opened, a smile greeted her. A sad, genuinely compassionate smile,
shining from Joshua's face. It only took an instant for her to lose
her brave composure, and she almost ran to him, weeping loudly and
melting into her best friend's arms. For the first time since she'd
met him, she became aware of how great the divide between their lives
and personalities. He constantly helped others, while she used them.
He gave generously to those who had need, while she stole from them.
After high school, he chose to become a doctor (healing others), and
what did she do? Kill a man for a cheap fix. Suddenly, it was as if
he were a parent figure, and she, the misbehaving child. The effect
his presence made on her was all at once overwhelming. <br /><br />“I'm
sorry, I'm so, so, sorry...” she began, crying in his arms. “It
happened so fast...” she stopped, realizing that though it happened
quickly, she was fully aware of what she was doing the day she chose
to kill a man. Yes, her hatred had gotten the better of her, but it
was still </span><i>her </i><span style="font-style: normal;">hatred.
Had she the wherewithal and self-control to contain her anger, she
would not have acted so impulsively. </span><i>If I were more like
Josh, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">she thought, </span><i>I
would have given him a blanket instead of a gravestone.</i></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Josh
was already comforting her, though, stroking her hair in his
best-friend way, and “shh-shh-shh”-ing her. He politely waited
until she was through crying. Then, he gently started to whisper.
“It's OK, Aury. I know you've had a hard life. Your Dad, who was
supposed to protect you, beat you senseless, even after you'd done
your best to make him proud. Your mom was never around, always
sleeping with other men instead of your father, hoping someone would
give her a feeling of self-worth. They destroyed your perception of
what a relationship should be like. Remember when you used to come
over to get away from all of it?”<br /><br />“Yeah, I do,” said
Aury, eyes glassy at the remembrance. “I rode my bike all the way
to your house in the middle of the night. I threw rocks at your
window, and after you woke up, we would just sit outside talking.”
She realized that they were sitting the same way they used to, all
those years ago. For a moment, it was like being fifteen again. She
stared at his arms folded across his knees, which were pulled up to
his chest. That was as high as she wanted to look; it was like he
could look into her soul, and she didn't want him to see the ugliness
there. Despite herself, she stole one glance into his eyes. His were
full of love. She looked away, embarrassed by the genuine care that
she never felt she deserved. “You always help me feel so much
better, just by being there” she brokenly whispered, after a long
pause.<br /><br />“For feeling as good as you say you did, I didn't
seem to help much,” he said softly. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">She
felt like she had to have an answer for her actions. “Well, of
course you did... I mean... as much as you could. You come from good
stock. Your parents are perfect, as far as I can tell. A person as
messed up as I am tends to want to stray away from perfection. Makes
me feel worse. But, like I said, you had a great life. Of course you
turned out okay. You're the first good thing that ever happened to
this town; must be nice to be a hero.”<br /><br />“Do you think I
actually like living here, after all these years?” Josh asked,
emotionally charged. “Do you think my parents kept me here for the
great neighborhood? I stayed here because I </span><i>wanted</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
to stay, Aury. Because I care about the people here, even if they
don't care about themselves. There's so much pain here...” His
words were choked, voice thick. <br /><br />For the first time, Aury
realized that Josh could have gone anywhere to pursue his doctoring
profession, but he chose their wretched town. Anyone in his right
mind would have moved away, but he stayed. </span><i>Why on earth
would he stay </i><span style="font-style: normal;">here</span><i>?,
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">Aury asked herself. Afraid of
the answer, she remained silent. <br /><br />As if in answer to her
question, Josh spoke again. “It was for you, Aury. I stayed for
you. I care about who you are, and who you could be if only all of
these awful things hadn't happened. If only you were strong enough to
make it through in spite of them. I wanted to be there for you, in
case you ever needed my help. Only you didn't seem to want my help...
you seemed content to be miserable.”<br /><br />“Content to be
miserable?” Aury's voice was high-pitched with disbelief. “What
are you talking about? What options did I </span><i>have</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
Josh? It's not like I could just forget what happened to me. It would
have been impossibly hard to do that!” As she spoke, Aury knew it
would have been hard, but if she'd really wanted to, it would not
have been impossible. “And now that I'm a murderer, caught on tape,
I'll never see the light of day again! What point is there in
dreaming about the past when I have no future?”<br /><br />Josh paused
for a moment, considering her words. “So...” he started again,
seeming to choose his words carefully. “If you had another chance -
a chance to live life to the fullest in </span><i>spite</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
of the hard hand you've been dealt - a chance to live as generously
and lovingly as you could -”<br /><br />“Like you?” she asked,
without a hint of sarcasm. <br /><br />He humbly acceded. “Like me.
Would you?”<br /><br />“Of COURSE I would. If I valued your
friendship more, I probably wouldn't even be in this mess.” Her
face grew hot as she felt warm tears made their familiar path down
her cheeks. “But what good is it, to think like that? I have
nothing to show for my life but a dead man and this broken, addicted
body of mine. Just before I killed him, he said, 'You're a dog, Aury.
No one wants you.' I shot him because he hurt me, and because I
wanted a stupid fix. But all this time, I've been hurting </span><i>myself</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
and I didn't even care.”<br /><br />“Time's up,” the warden said,
reaching for her. <br /><br />“</span><span style="font-style: normal;"><u>I'll
miss you, Josh!</u></span><span style="font-style: normal;">” she
said, throwing herself into his embrace before the warden could lift
her off her friend. The warden tossed her over his shoulder like a
sack of potatoes as she reached for Josh, the only true companion
she'd ever had. </span><i>“Tomorrow is the day of the trial,” </i><span style="font-style: normal;">she
thought to herself, </span><i>“I'm never going to see him again.”</i></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">As
Joshua slid out of sight, Aury felt herself go limp. When she reached
her cell, she stared into her own hollow, dead eyes. Though only
twenty-five, she looked aged. Her once-shining, blonde hair hung limp
and dark with dirt around her shoulders. She hadn't had a good
night's sleep in who knows how long, and the purple bags under her
eyes proved it. Her eyes themselves were red and bloodshot, and her
skin was dry and worn-looking. Her lips parted in a thin line; she
was a shadow of her former self. “If I ever thought myself ugly
before,” she realized, “it was nothing compared to this.”<br /><br />She
fitfully tried to sleep, but of course, that was impossible.
Tomorrow, everyone would decide her case. “I'm sure the jurors are
sleeping well,” she thought bitterly, “No one will lose sleep on
my account. I deserve to die... ”<br /><br />Early in the morning, the
wardens came for her. They brought her into the courtroom, where her
orange jumpsuit stuck out among the professional suits and polished,
career-oriented individuals. They were all in place when it was time
for her to walk in, and even the glow coming off her jumpsuit
couldn't mask the shame as she felt all eyes on her. She didn't want
to, but she found herself looking at each one of the jurors and
audience members as she entered. Her eyes lit as she discovered she
was not alone with her accusers. <i>“Joshua!” </i>she thought,<i>
“He's still here, supporting me...”</i> </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">She
sat down, and right away she knew it would be a miracle to get out of
this alive. Allegations were thrown at her from all sides, and even
her public defender was so halfhearted, it was obvious her life
didn't matter to him. When a motion was made to review the video
evidence taken from the liquor store, her heart sank. After a short
recess, everyone in that courtroom would see the terrible thing she'd
done in secret... from start to finish. They would watch as she
offered her body, desperate for drugs. They would see her allow him
to undress her, and grovel on the ground like a dog. They would be in
spellbound horror as they viewed her merciless killing of a man who
hardly laid a hand on her. <br /><br />She averted her eyes when the TV
was wheeled into the room, focusing with all her might on a
nondescript piece of lint on the carpeted floor of the courtroom. The
jury's reactions were worse than she thought they would be. In fact,
there was such an uproar that she began to fear for her life. She
felt a hand on her arm, and as she struggled against it, she caught a
glimpse of the liquor store video. It showed Jerry (the dealer)
spitting on the ground, turning and walking away. It captured, with
perfect clarity, as the gun was grabbed from the ground, and the
trigger pulled by a familiar hand. <br /><br />There was only one
problem: <i>It wasn't hers.<br /><br />The person pulling the trigger was
Josh.</i><br /><br />Aury couldn't believe her eyes. Her best friend; the
most perfect person she'd ever known; was pulling the trigger. <i>He</i>
was the one who stumbled away, full of disbelief. <i>“What is going
</i>on<i>?,” </i>Aury thought, <i>“He's never done anything
wrong... I'm the screw-up!”</i></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Before
she could comprehend what was happening, or even determine its
reality, she was being dragged out of her Defendant's seat, and Josh
(who they'd spotted in the courtroom) was being put into it. She
locked eyes with him in one agonizing moment, as they passed each
other. Even now, though full of pain, his eyes held peace. Hers were
frantic, full of questions. It was as if no one even remembered she
killed Jerry. There was a swift and immediate call for justice, and
the jury convicted Joshua on the spot. Aury had been yanked
forcefully from the courtroom, hysteric. Her screams echoed through
the halls as she screamed, “I am guilty! It was <i>me</i>!” Her
throat grew sore and raw, and a metallic taste rose in her mouth.
She'd screamed until she tasted blood, trying to make them
understand. The bailiff just brushed her off, saying, “You can't
stick up for your friend; he's on videotape!” It didn't matter that
she was the one wearing prison orange, or that Joshua had never been
known to hurt a fly. They tried him and found him guilty. He was
barred from having visitors, so Aury couldn't even help him. He'd
been sentenced to death, and the date of his execution would be
tomorrow. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Aury
was in a daze that day, but after discovering that she'd had a purse
on (along with a wallet full of money), she checked into a hotel and
eventually succumbed to sleep. That night, Aury dreampt that she
visited Joshua in prison. “What's going on, Joshua?” Aury asked,
frightened. <br /><br />“Another chance,” he said softly, reaching
his hand through the bars and touching her hand.<br /><br />“Another
chance?” Aury was confused. “I-” Then the memory came flooding
back. <br /><br /><i>“If you had another chance - a chance to live life
to the fullest in spite of the hard hand you've been dealt - a chance
to live as generously and lovingly as you could -”<br /><br />“Like
you?” she asked, without a hint of sarcasm. <br /><br />He humbly
acceded. “Like me. Would you?”</i></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Aury
inhaled sharply as she began to grasp what had happened. “You took
my place?” she said, “Why would you do that?” </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8546149127042579300" name="en-ERV-26380"></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Joshua
gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and answered, “</span>The
greatest love people can show is to die for their friends. I've
always wanted to help you, Aury. I'm so glad you've finally accepted
it.” He kissed her hands as she slipped from the dream into
reality. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">As she took in
her surroundings, she awoke in a beautiful hotel room, comfortable
and safe in a warm bed. The room was fragrant with the smell of fresh
flowers. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains, giving a golden
glow to the walls. She thought of Joshua, and how he had slept
through the night in that cold room, on a rock-hard cot that reeked
of urine. Before she had even opened her eyes that morning, Joshua
had been executed by lethal injection. Aury wept tears of sorrow and
gratitude.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Joshua hadn't
been able to fix/rewrite all of Aury's life. Her past was the same.
She was still the daughter of an abusive, alcoholic father and an
impulsive, shameless mother. She was still the girl who had made
terrible choices, and she still felt a pull toward those choices...
but that didn't matter anymore. Joshua had given her something
beautiful: a second chance. Awful choices no longer held her captive.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">She didn't know
how he did it, but Joshua saved her. He took her punishment. <br /><br />Aury
would not allow Joshua's sacrifice to be in vain. She cleaned up and
started up a program for at-risk kids, sharing her (now-honest)
income to create a clothes closet and pantry for poor families in the
area. She found that she had a hunger for the Bible, and even
returned to church. To her, it didn't matter if the Preachers looked
down their noses at her. She was surprised to find that there were a
few genuine believers there, who loved the way Christ did: the way
Joshua did. In fact, many of them were Joshua's friends. Being in
their company was like having Joshua there with them again, and she
was grateful to be surrounded by so many true friends.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">Her parents had
already passed away and it was difficult for her to do, but she
finally forgave her parents. She knew Joshua would want it that way,
and how could she deny him when he'd already shown her so much grace?
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;">For the rest of
her days, and to the best of her ability, Aury fulfilled her promise
to Joshua. She lived a life of love, and gave generously, not because
she <i>had</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> to, but because she
was able to. She spent the rest of her life giving hope and peace,
and she never regretted it.</span></span></div>
BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-52656100822531098562012-10-10T18:36:00.000-07:002012-10-12T00:25:25.756-07:00The Least of These (and it's an Autobiography)Some people are normal from birth. In the womb, they do all things expected of them, and when the time comes, they turn over and ready themselves for the (surely) frightening experience of being born. <br />
<br />
I, however, am not normal people. <br />
<br />
When anyone else would have been prepped in the standard (upside-down) position for birth, I refused to move. I couldn't be bothered by all that stuff, and so my mother was forced to have me C-section.<br />
<br />
Yep, I'm stubborn. And uncomfortably out of place everywhere I go. But hey, it grows on a person.<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------<br />
<br />
Before my beautiful sister was born, my parents used to sell marijuana. It pretty much paid for their wedding, and a lot of nice things for me when I was little*.<br />
<br />
That all ended, though, on one fateful day. <br />
<br />
Mom was breaking up her hash on the floor, getting ready to weigh it. She turned around for just one moment, and when she turned back to me, my cheeks were puffed like a chipmunk's. <br />
<br />
You can imagine what went through mom's mind as she popped the hash from my cheeks. <br />
<br />
I seemed fine... until dad came home. If you have ever had a child, you will know this makes perfect sense. Kids seem to wait until the absolute worst moment to get crazy.<br />
<br />
Anyhow, I started to become VERY drowsy, eventually getting to the point where my eyes remained closed no matter what. My dad held me up to the bright bathroom light. My eyes were still shut, but I smiled a wide, doped-up smile. <br />
<br />
Finally, mom and dad decided to take me to Emergency to get my stomach pumped or something. They concocted a nice lie about how I must have ingested it while they were at a party. Of course, CPS would still need to come and check things, but whatever they did in ER fixed me up (ish, since I contend that my brain is still not quite to standard...).<br />
<br />
<br />
Mom and dad (ever conspiratorial) came up with a plan to deal with CPS as well. "If things started to go bad, I was gonna sneak out the back door with you and Dad would meet up with us later," Mom said. The visit went fine, "And from that day on, we decided NEVER to sell anymore." <br />
<br />
Gee, thanks, mom and dad. Couldn't have thought of that before your kid lost brain cells???<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*(Not that I condone it in any way... I'm just sayin' what mom would tell you if she were writing this post)<br />
<br />
-------------<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When my sister did come into the world, I was thrilled. Though not even two full years older than she, I determined to be the BEST big sister ever.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Turned out I wasn't the only stubborn one, though.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
One day, my mom was on the phone, and I started screaming at the top of my lungs. Mom ran outside, to find me barely holding my sister back from running into the street. <br />
<br />
"You saved her life!" Mom says of that day. <br />
<br />
All that heroism, and how'd she pay me back in our teen years? Hatred. Sheer hatred. <br />
<br />
Come on people, I'm kidding! But her grump-hormones weren't a joy to be on the receiving end of... I can promise you.<br />
<br />
------------<br />
<br />
<br />
Five was a huge turning point in my life. Not really, but I do remember it better than some other years. <br />
<br />
My baby brother was born. (Good thing, too, since he took the edge off my sister's attitude.)<br />
<br />
I started Kindergarten. Mrs. Matsumoto.<br />
<br />
I met my first best friend, Elaine Eliff.<br />
<br />
I learned how to spell my name (and I was proud! Jennifer is a whole eight letters long!)<br />
<br />
I became decidedly insecure. Whilst wearing a dress on the jungle gym one day, a boy looked up and said "I see London, I see France, I see Jennifer's underpants!" I ran away and cried. From that day on, I've always tried to wear shorts under skirts/dresses. Yes, even at twenty-something. There was another time, when I was getting a profile of myself drawn (you know, where they bust out the black construction paper and draw a chalk outline of your silhouette?) and my mom had put my hair half-up, half-down that day. My hair looked so poufy in the picture... I hated it. When my sister got her profile done, it was perfect (of course).<br />
<br />
I started doing long-distance hugs. Run-of-the-mill hugs were fine, but what if you suddenly decided you wanted another hug, after mommy had already dropped you off to kindergarten? No worries... just go up to the gate nearest to her, and hold your arms in a perfect circle, while leaning your head on your shoulder (that gives it an added effect). <br />
<br />
I got my first boyfriend... and I couldn't stand him. His name was Ronin McLawski, and he followed me around everywhere. I probably would have liked him too, except that I was already in love with the teaching assistant (his name was Ryan) and the fact that Ronin terribly mistreated my sister, who adoringly toddled after him whenever he came over. One day, we were over at his house, watching Beauty and the Beast. Afterward, Ronin tried to kiss me. I could tell he was going to, because he had this look in his eyes. I was terrified, and tried to reach for the doorknob like Belle does in the story... but unfortunately, I was much shorter than Belle... so I awkwardly reached up around where my armpit was and he figured out what I was doing. He shut the door and said, "Oh no you don't!" and leaned in to kiss me. I was utterly creeped out, so I turned around, flung open the door, and ran into the room where my mom was. Of course, I didn't want to have to tell her what he'd done (it was embarrassing!) so as soon as I reached the living room, I walked. That's how us smooth kindergarteners do. <br />
<br />
I had my first brush with peer pressure. There was a kid in our class who ate paste (no joke). He tried to get me to eat it, too, but I told him no. I've since forgotten his name... bummer. <br />
<br />
I couldn't bridle my emotions, even back then. We had a craft (something involving Red Hots and icing... I think we were making a turkey out of our food). Mrs. Matsumoto had given us instructions NOT to do something, and I either didn't hear her or didn't listen. She scolded me and I cried. She was such a good teacher though... she took time to comfort my silly self. :)<br />
<br />
Let me be clear about my family, though... no matter what I say, and no matter how crazy things got for us, my mother was the best momma ever (she had some struggles, but don't we all?) and my sister is amazing, even if she was moodier than Little Lady Katie from Animaniacs (if you don't get the reference, look it up. Pure hilarity). :) My dad and brother are both epic too, although it seems in my story, there's less criticism toward the males in my family. haha.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-67352542542559515222012-10-01T22:24:00.002-07:002012-10-01T22:34:06.778-07:00Fun Parody to "Rise and Shine"... Lazarus' Story<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>(To
the tune of “Rise and Shine/Children of the Lord”)</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The
Lord found out that Lazarus</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> was
sickly, sickly</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lord
found out that Lazarus</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> was
sickly, sickly</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Had
to get there</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> very
quickly, quickly</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">'Cause
love never fails.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">He
walked, and walked, but Lazarus</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> still
died-y, died-y</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Walked,
and walked, but Lazarus</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> still
died-y, died-y</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Laz
was wrapped in</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> strips
of white-y, white-y</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">But
love never fails.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Laz
laid in his tomb </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> for
four long days-ys, days-ys</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Laid
in his tomb</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> for
four long days-ys, days-ys</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">(Mary
thought Jesus was</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> a
little lazys, lazys)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">But
love never fails. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jesus
came down </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> and
said to roll the stone a-wa-y</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jesus
came down </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> and
said to roll the stone a-wa-y,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Martha
said, “He's</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> really
stinky, no wa-y!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">But
love never fails.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“LAZARUS,
COME OUT!” said Jesus,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> so
loudly, loudly</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“LAZARUS,
COME OUT!” said Jesus, </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> so
loudly, loudly</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Laz
came and scared the</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> entire
crowd-y, crowd-y</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">'Cause
love never fails.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Laz
was unwrapped, </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> and
Jesus hugged his friend-y, friend-y</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Laz
was unwrapped, </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> and
Jesus hugged his friend-y, friend-y</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Love
beats the grave and</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Is
never end-y, end-y</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">'Cause
love never fails. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So
rise, and shine,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> and
give God the glory, glory</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Rise,
and shine,</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> and
give God the glory, glory</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Rise
and shine and </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Go
tell the story, story:</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That
love never fails. </span>
</div>
BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-49295762749806184882012-10-01T20:09:00.002-07:002012-10-01T20:09:46.747-07:00Maggie's Story
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“Hey
there, big boy – you lookin' for a good time?”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
flashed him a brazen smile – one that would fully convey my
loathsome intentions. As a lion might smile shortly before sinking
its teeth into its prey, I smiled. I'd brought many a “mighty man”
to his destruction and </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
reveled </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">in
it. The sheets I meticulously laid upon my bed, perfumed with aloe
and cinnamon, were useful implements of their sorrow. I considered
myself a modern-day Delilah, whispering in men's ears, enticing them
into sharing the very secrets I'd use against them. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">They
loved me, or at least they loved me at first. However, I hated them
with the same measure of passion that drew them to me. Long ago, I'd
promised myself to make their lives miserable. I would do what it
took to lure them, and from that point on I became cold and
emotionless. Nothing could break my icy stare, though many a fool had
tried. They pleaded with me (oh, how I loved their pain!) to “become
that seductive temptress I met on the street”, but nothing, not
even blows to my face or threats to my life, could convince me to do
so. Every time, I started out sweet as honey to them and became as
bitter as gall. This was the punishment I issued to these sick curs,
and I savored every unsatisfactory moment. This was my game, and I
was the ultimate victor. Some might wonder how I was able to play
this game as long as I did, but don't we all know that there is no
end to idiots in this world?</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“Hello,
what's your name?” I looked up, startled that any man would bother
asking my name. My name never mattered, my services did. I knew my
place. I was a piece of meat to those men, nothing more. It took me a
while to respond, and for a minute, I thought I'd forgotten my own
name. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“Maggie,”
I told him, not before eying him suspiciously to see if this was a
joke. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">To
my surprise, his eyes were sincere. There was something different
about this man. He was affluent, intelligent. He was much older than
most men I'd led astray. Rather than asking me how much I charged, he
asked me about my hopes and dreams; my delights and wishes. It was
soon clear to me that he wasn't interested in what I had to offer, he
was interested in who I was. We spent hours in conversation, and over
the next few weeks he showered me with gifts and luxuries I could
never have gotten otherwise. He was very quiet about his life, which
didn't bother me. This was obviously a very private man. I quickly
fell in love with him, and the first night I spent with him was the
first time I ever let myself feel. I wept that night in his arms, and
his kisses soothed me.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">One
day, he asked me how I became a prostitute. Any other person asking
me this would have received a look of indifference and silence, but I
trusted this man, and him only. I began telling him about my life. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“When
I was a child, I reasoned as a child. My parents were very devout and
I believed their stories of the Mighty God of Israel. We spent time
at the tabernacle every chance we got, offering sacrifices to our
Holy God. My parents were very careful to obey every new regulation
that the Pharisees came up with, in the hopes that they too would be
considered worthy to worship in the tabernacle. When I grew older, I
longed for adventure. I wanted to know why all of the rules were in
place, and what purpose they served. I started to question the
Pharisees and none of their answers made sense to me. I tried to
speak to my parents about this, but they were unwavering in their
dedication. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“The
veil of the Pharisees had been lifted from my eyes, and I realized
that they had no compassion. For a year, I watched as they drove away
widows and orphans with their sophisticated rhetoric. They always had
a reason to deny a beggar the bread he needed. In synagogues, with
plenty of men watching, they bestowed upon others the greatest
charities in the loudest voices they could muster, but when I watched
from windows, invisible to their eyes, they were cruel and harsh. Yet
their rules and regulations were chains that bound me to my mundane,
joyless life. I would not live this life in which my only hope was to
adopt the Pharisees' standards. Finally, after coming home from the
tabernacle, my mother began to lecture me about my disrespect toward
their beloved Pharisees. I stood ready to fight my battle out, once
and for all.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">__________________________________________________________________________________</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<i>What
are you, </i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><u><span style="background: transparent;">blind</span></u></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">,</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">
mom? How could you not see what fakes they are? They use God as an
excuse not to do what He commands them to do! Everything is 'Corban'
to them, even the help that God says to give parents in their old
age!” </span></i></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<i>You
will not speak of a man of God like that! Not in THIS house, not
anywhere, Maggie. Have I made myself clear?”</i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<i>The
only thing </i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><u><span style="background: transparent;">you've</span></u></i></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">
made clear is your steadfast faith in an arrogant man who thinks he
IS God!”</span></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;"><br />“He
is a MAN OF GOD, and you will address him as such!”</span></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<i>If
HE is what God is like, I want no part in your sacred, Holy God!” </i></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">As
soon as I'd said this, I felt a sharp sting on my face and watched as
my mother's hand went to her mouth in dismay. If her objective was to
shut me up, it worked: my sarcasm was promptly silenced when I
realized that my own mother had slapped me in the face. She hadn't
laid her hand on me for years, and then only to correct her young
child. </span></i></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">It
was obvious that she felt badly about her impulsive act. She started
to say something, tears welling up in her eyes, but I closed my ears
to her as I stormed off to my room. So what if she wanted to
apologize? I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. At least now I had
nothing to hold me back from leaving this awful place forever.</span></i></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom: 1px solid #000000; border-left: none; border-right: none; border-top: none; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 0.03in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“That
night, while my parents were sleeping, I tiptoed into their room and
took their money. I went out through the window rather than risk the
sound of our heavy door awakening them. When I got outside, I
sprinted down the streets, delighted that I would finally be able to
make my own rules. My life of adventure had begun, and there was no
one to prevent me from living how I saw fit.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">For
a moment I reconsidered telling my story. It was too painful, and
what did it matter what happened then? There was nothing I could do
to change it and nothing I could do to forget it. I looked at him,
ready to give an excuse as to why I couldn't finish, but when I saw
the love and compassion in his eyes, I softened. Try as I might,
there was nothing that could prevent me from telling him the whole
truth of how I came to this hard/difficult life.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
sighed. “Anyway, when I took my parents' money, I didn't realize
that I would need more than that to survive. I had no family ties as
far as anyone else was concerned, and I had nowhere to call home. I
stayed outside the first few days, but after a while the harsh
weather began to wear me down. A group of young men approached me and
offered to provide a place to stay. Their eyes were so compassionate
when they looked at me – what a simpleton I was!/how naïve I was!
– and I went with them to a small inn. I was full of gratitude for
their show of generosity, but I did not know that it was just that –
a show. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“They
waited until I reached the back of the room, walking in behind me and
asking me if I found the room accommodating. When I answered them, an
evil that I had never before seen entered their eyes. They walked
slowly, but purposely toward me with a disgusting, terrifying look on
their faces. I tried to escape, but they held me down. I tried to
fight them, but they fought harder. I screamed, but no one heard. I
begged, I pleaded with them, but...”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">My
sobs broke through and flooded my entire body. I could not finish.
The pain I'd suppressed and denied for years came surging back, and
it was all I could do to keep from melting into a mass of wailing
flesh. He put his arms around my neck and ran his fingers through my
hair. Slowly rocking me back and forth, he calmed me. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">Finally,
he broke the silence, saying, “Oh, dear Maggie... what did they do
to you?”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“Raped,”
I managed to squeak out, my voice nearly gone. “Raped, beaten, left
for dead.” </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
cleared my throat. “So now you see why I live this way... the most
valuable thing I had to offer was violently taken from me, so there
was no point in pretending like it wasn't. There was no way I could
go home now, even if I wanted to. What would my parents think? Thus,
I resolved to continue this life, if for no other reason than to
spite and trap the kinds of men who forced this upon me. No man could
really want a woman who had been raped anyway.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“What
makes you say that? A man could-”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">My
anger and frustration got the better of me as I cut him off: “Are
you saying this to pity me? To somehow make me feel better for what
has happened? I may just be a prostitute, but I remember my
teachings. How is what happened to me unlike what happened to Tamar:
Absalom's sister and David's daughter? Every day, these last words
haunt me: 'And Tamar lived in her brother Absalom's house, a </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">desolate
woman</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">.'
Why should I be any different?”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">There
was a long, aching pause that followed my question. He looked torn
between two different situations, two different answers to my
question. With tears in his eyes, and not without a hint of regret in
his voice, he said, “Maggie, you've read the wrong part of the
Tanakh. If you'd read the book of Hosea, perhaps your captivating
eyes would have seen what mine see so clearly.”</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">That
was all he needed to say. I yielded to his embrace without a word.
What can a woman say when she's gone a lifetime knowing she was
disposable, only to find herself in the arms of a man hinting at
marriage: the one act which proclaims, “I can't live without you!”</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
didn't know it then (or perhaps I did know, just not fully) but that
day was a turning point for me. As impossible as it sounds, I tried
to find a more respectable way to live. It wasn't easy, but he was
worth it. I was intent on letting him know that he made the right
choice. I knew I could never deserve him, but I would make him as
proud to be my betrothed as I could. I didn't get very far, however.
No one would forget who I was...</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">One
day, after Hosea (that was my nickname for him, after our talk) had
visited me and we spent the night together, he got dressed and was
about to leave when I heard some commotion outside my door. Men's
agitated voices in low tones came roaring through the walls, and
before I had a chance to clothe myself, they burst into the room.
Immediately, Hosea grabbed me, and I was so grateful that he loved me
enough to protect me. It took me some time to realize </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">why</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
he had grabbed me. He wasn't defending me, he was taking me </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">to</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
them! </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
woke up from my dreamlike state and made myself realize what they
were saying. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-style: normal;">What
are you doing here, Ezekiel?” a young, zealous man had asked Hosea.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-style: normal;">With
her? The </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">prostitute</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">?”
His tone was incredulous. I couldn't believe he called me that... he
hadn't ever spoken to me with anything but tenderness in his voice,
but oh! How quickly it had turned to disgust! - “I just saw her in
here with a married man – I barged in here to speak to him about
his lack of judgment before he made this dire mistake, but he fled
out the window and down the street!”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-style: normal;">Is
that so? We were told that a married man of </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">your
likeness</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
had been visiting her regularly. Are you saying that you are not the
man?”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-style: normal;">What
would </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><u><span style="background: transparent;">I</span></u></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
want with her? Only an utter BUFFOON would fritter away his time with
a wicked harlot! I am a temple guard of good standing, and I love my
family dearly.” </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">He
had a family? A wife and children? For the first time since hearing
him speak of me so coldly, I agreed with him. What WOULD he want with
an empty, no-good prostitute like me when his life had been so
blessed?</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
</span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
silently chided myself for not knowing better when he continued, “You
men know me better than to accuse me of such things.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-style: normal;">Do
we?” The young man scowled at Ezekiel and would not back down. I
had a feeling this may not be the first time they had challenged one
another.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">Ezekiel
paused, and I saw a glimmer of terror in his face, but it quickly
shifted to a look of cunning. I then found that the terror had come
upon me, threatening to steal my breath as I waited for his reply.
“If I were lying to you,” he said in a slow, calculated manner;
“would I be bold enough to do this?” With that, he roughly
grabbed me by the hair and shoved me outside. The sun glared
accusingly at me, and the fragrant bedsheets that had accompanied me
as I crushed men's dreams were now my only protection from the
condemning, prying eyes of those on the street. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">A
loud rumble surrounded me as I realized that even more men from the
temple had been waiting outside. They taunted and jeered at me,
yelling coarse words disguised in a pious pity for my “profane
lifestyle”. All the years I had thrown myself away came screaming
back at me, and the light of the day greater contrasted the age of
darkness within my heart. The blinders of sin had been torn off as I
was prodded like a heifer to the slaughter, and I fully realized the
futility of my actions. Who was I to think a man like Hosea-Ezekiel
loved me? I adored him with every good thought my brain could muster,
and esteemed him as I had never esteemed anyone, yet I could never be
worthy of him. All of my dreams lay shattered along the road I walked
to the temple that day, and I knew deserved every ounce of what was
coming to me.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">When
we arrived at the temple, the clamor of the crowds shamed me further.
I raised my head just enough to see where I was going, and saw a
group of men talking with one another. Hosea roughly grabbed my arm
with his left hand – the same hand with which he had, moments
earlier, tenderly caressed my face before showering me with gentle
kisses – and forced me to stand before the men. The revulsion on
their faces spoke for them, but as Ezekiel spoke, they turned to
their unattractive leader without uttering a word. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<span style="font-style: normal;">Teacher,
this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law, Moses
commanded us to stone...”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
heard nothing else from him, as my thoughts grew louder than his
voice. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="background: transparent;">Stone
me..? My Hosea would stone me?</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;">
I sank to the ground in utter sorrow, wailing uncontrollably as my
tears formed a river under my head. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">How
could I have forgotten? The Law was written upon my young heart by
my parents, but the harsh cruelty of the world had erased it from my
memory, until now. I was not only going to be scorned and mocked
today, but today would also be the day of my death. I would never
have spent time with Ezekiel if I'd known he had a family – or
would I have? Was I so desperate that I didn't care who lavished
their affection and attention upon me? I loved him, oh, I loved him,
and I would never think of pouring greater woe upon Hosea's wife and
children by telling anyone our secret. I would die with love in my
heart and a closed mouth, and it would be the only honorable thing
I'd ever done. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">My
thoughts were interrupted by a gaping silence as the men, and Hosea,
waited for their Teacher's reply. I'd heard some hasty footsteps
before as some temple guards rushed to provide every man with a stone
for me. The Teacher was writing something in the dirt next to me, but
I dared not raise my face to him. The silence seemed to last an
eternity, but then he said, "If any one of you is without sin,
let him be the first to throw a stone at her."</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">Disbelief
at what I had heard overwhelmed me, until I heard the stones dropping
around me. I flinched with each sound I heard, sure that someone
would ignore the Teacher's words. Ezekiel's shadow was the first that
disappeared, but soon it seemed as if everyone had gone. Finally I
gathered the boldness to shift my gaze upward. The Teacher and I were
left alone. "Woman,” he said, “Where are they? Has no one
condemned you?" </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">In
a feeble, weak voice, I managed to reply, “"No one, sir."
Who was this man?</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">"Then
neither do I condemn you," He declared. "Go now and leave
your life of sin." </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">As
I stood up, still in shock, I caught a glimpse of what he'd written
in the sand:</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">“<i>You
know, as well as I, what you have done.”</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">I
walked the long road back to my parents' house that day, tears in my
eyes and grateful for this mysterious man and his compassionate ways.</span></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom: 7.50pt double #000000; border-left: none; border-right: none; border-top: none; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; padding-bottom: 0.03in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background: transparent;">That
was only the beginning of my story; only a portion of what He did in
my life. I was swept away by a humble carpenter, in a friendship that
I had never before experienced. Did I love Him, you ask? Of course I
loved him... I loved him as a child trapped in a burning home loves
the man who snatches her from the flames. I loved him as a drowning
victim loves her rescuer. His love was so pure and complete, so
perfect, that there was no need or desire for any tainted
counterfeits. I will love my Lord with the same purity, affection and
dedication that he has shown for me, and a may my worship of Him be
as a fragrant incense. </span></span>
</div>
BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-21816880579274981662012-09-29T21:38:00.002-07:002012-09-29T21:38:49.481-07:00Friendship is Magic (No really... it is)There are many aspects of life that I would consider beautiful. From the way the flowers bloom to less obvious things, like the grace it takes to kick a ball so it will go straight into the air (there are kids at my school who can do it AMAZINGLY), art is everywhere. Sometimes, you just have to look for it.<br />
<br />
In the Bible, it calls the fellowship of believers the "body of Christ". When I was young and hormonal, I found myself comparing my own talents to other members of the body, growing jealous and bitter because I did not possess their gifts. Now that I am older (and hopefully wiser), I have learned how much beauty there is in diversity. I may not be a great singer, but my friends Rosa, Kathy, Erin, Jasmine, Sarah, Hannah, and Nathan are. I may not be a wonderful dancer, but my friends Dustin, Anthony, Lauren, and Julie Ann are. I only know a bit of ASL, but my friends Karisa and Daphne are both very talented at it. I have teacher friends, librarian friends, theatre friends, stunt friends (pirates rock!)... When I really stop to think about it, it's like I'm in the middle of an Armour hot dogs commercial: "Tough friends, sissy friends, friends who climb on rocks."<br />
<br />
I DO feel as though God has given me a talent for writing, but it's a lonely thing to be the only person you know with that ability. He has given me friends to come alongside me in that: Dylan and Bethie. We share story ideas with one another and write them together. When one of us writes a story, we make sure we read it and give critique on how to improve. It's a support system I would not have if I spent all my time envying their talents (by the way, they ARE rather good... and both younger than I am, so they have more years to build their craft. I know they're gonna be famous some day). :)<br />
<br />
As humans, we are prone to mistakes. One of the mistakes I've seen repeated in my life is a frustration and jealousy toward people who are better than me at something. But really, if I would have spent less time focused on my own feelings of inferiority and more time realizing how AWESOME it was that God gave me friends with such diverse, spectacular talents... well, I'd have kept more friends, for one, and for another, I would have felt a lot more joy. <br />
<br />
As a wise pony-show once clearly demonstrated, our differences are our strengths. The more differences there are, the more beautiful a friendship can become. I have friends who have very different interests and life-views than I do, but I appreciate their insight into things that I never would have considered. In fact, my buddy Star recently changed my mind about John Cena. Not being a wrestling fan, I thought he was just a meathead (and said as much), but she let me know that really cares about kids and has probably made more wishes come true ("Make a Wish Foundation") than any other celebrity. I never would have known that, were it not for her. Now I've got all kinds of respect for the guy.<br />
<br />
Through the years, the thing I've learned is that it's far more fun to celebrate with people over their accomplishments than spend the day sulking at their party. What fun is that? And it wins you no points with people, either. Who wants to be around someone who's a bummer all the time? If I could just go back in time to tell "Past Jenn" these things... hey, I know we have some Doctor Who fans out there... anyone think you can hook me up with some time-travel opportunities? I'll be your frienddd... BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-50438319610140998902012-06-19T17:11:00.001-07:002012-06-19T17:11:04.952-07:00Husbands, Love your Wives<i><span class="text Eph-5-25" id="en-NIV-29330">Ephesians 5:25-28</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span class="text Eph-5-25" id="en-NIV-29330">Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her</span><span class="text Eph-5-26" id="en-NIV-29331"><sup class="versenum"> </sup>to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word,</span> <span class="text Eph-5-27" id="en-NIV-29332"><sup class="versenum"> </sup>and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. </span><span class="text Eph-5-28" id="en-NIV-29333"><sup class="versenum"> </sup>In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself.''</span></i><br />
<br />
<span class="text Eph-5-28" id="en-NIV-29333"> I've always felt kinda bad for my husband when I read through this part of the Bible. Though the verse directed toward wives seems to be more well-known (you know the one: "Wives, submit to your husbands"), this one is far more difficult. All I gotta do is submit to him as the church submits to Christ. Well, the church is full of screw-ups. Always has been. Fisherman who weren't deemed important, tax collectors who were viewed as traitors, prostitutes with their shady pasts. These are the groups Jesus chose to come and save. Therefore, my end of the bargain isn't too difficult. "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." I am to do the best I can, but hey: nobody's perfect. <br /><br />Nobody, that is, except Jesus. </span><br />
<span class="text Eph-5-28" id="en-NIV-29333"><br /></span><br />
<span class="text Eph-5-28" id="en-NIV-29333">Maybe I'm takin' it too literally, but to me, this verse is saying that Cam has to do everything in his power to sacrifice for me on a daily basis. That means going out of his way to care for me, not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. It's his job to help me grow closer to the Lord and call me out when he sees spiritual weeds starting to grow in my spirit. Above all, he is to lead by example, giving more of himself than he ever expects of me. He is to love me as his own body, feeding me when he feels hungry, giving me a drink when he is thirsty.... keeping me warm when he is cold. Letting me sleep in when he is tired. These are the sacrifices that come to mind when I read this scripture. </span><br />
<span class="text Eph-5-28" id="en-NIV-29333"><br /></span><br />
<span class="text Eph-5-28" id="en-NIV-29333">That's a pretty tall order for a not-so-tall man.</span><br />
<span class="text Eph-5-28" id="en-NIV-29333"></span><br />
<span class="text Eph-5-28" id="en-NIV-29333"><br />Nevertheless, I am grateful to say that I feel blessed to have Camron as my husband. Many times, he's made me think, "That's what Jesus would have done". It usually comes when I least expect it: when my daughters have awaken far earlier than I hoped they would, when I was exhausted and spent, <b>that</b> was when Cam stepped in and let me sleep another three hours. When cleaning the living room was the last thing I felt like doing, he told me I didn't need to worry about it and cleaned it up himself. When I had no IDEA what to make for dinner, he let me relax and watch the kids while he created a culinary masterpiece out of hardly anything. <br /><br />I am blessed by my husband. Most of all, I am blessed by God, who knows what I want even before I do, and knows that my relationship with Him is more important than my own comfort level. <br /><br />For all the ups and downs that life takes me through, it's good to know I have two people always by my side. :)<br /><br /><br /><br /></span>BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-43815716422651735422012-05-31T09:00:00.000-07:002012-06-18T22:57:54.401-07:00The Secret Ingredient is Fear of FailureI'm going over to my mom's house today, to celebrate my birthday. She said she's making potato salad.<br />
<br />
I hope she's a little stressed out while she's making it.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't feel this way if my momma hadn't let me in on a little secret a few years ago: the secret ingredient, like it or not, is fear of failure.
“I don't know why,” my mom said, “but when I think the potato salad is gonna be GREAT, it usually ends up being gross or mediocre. But when I'm freaking out the whole time, afraid it's gonna be a disaster, people say it's delicious.”
As I mused about this strange phenomenon, I realized that it's also true of my life. When I was terrified that I wasn't going to finish a poem in time, I made it to Nationals. When I fretted about a story I was trying to write, my boss said she loved it. When I'm portraying a character and I think I got it all wrong, a little girl comes up to me and says I am a great actress.<br />
<br />
It's when I have something to prove (and something to lose) that I seem to do my best.
Don't get me wrong: fear of failure can be crippling. There have been MANY projects that have been planted in my brain and never made it to fruition because I was afraid to start. Fear of failure keeps dreamers from making their dreams a reality, lovers from pursuing the object of their love, and parents from embracing their children freely.<br />
<br />
But a<i> small</i> dose – a tiny fear of failure that doesn't keep you from starting but propels you into creative genius – <i>that's</i> the kind of fear that I'm talking about.<br />
<br />
I wonder if that's sort of the same kind of fear that God mentions in the Bible. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge.” The psalmist doesn't mean terror... he means a respect that makes us want to honor God's greatness.<br />
<br />
When I'm struggling with something, I find myself praying far more often. “God, help me with this awful parody I'm writing... Lord, I'm giving you this day, because I have no idea how I'm going to get all of this clean... Jesus, please fix my bad attitude. I'm tired of yelling at my family all day.”<br />
<br />
God enables me to do things the right way – the way I like to do them. But many times, it first takes a humble admission that I have no idea what I'm doing before I see the light.<br />
<br />
Perhaps pride has something to do with it. In elementary school, I was sure I would get a gold medal for track and field day, and I only made bronze. In junior high, I brought a dead lizard to school in a plastic bag because I was SURE that my science teacher would want to dissect it in class that day. (For years, people remembered that, and I unknowingly became the weird kid that day.) After I graduated high school, I thought I looked “hot” in a dress I wore on Valentine's day, and I wound up falling off a scooter and being covered in dirt and road rash.<br />
<br />
I could lament all of these “tragedies” in life, but the truth is that I needed to be humbled. I thank God that He quickly humbles me.
I need to write uncomfortably. I need to LIVE uncomfortably. Because life is not all about me anyway.<br />
<br />
It's about the moments, the memories. Making life count. And <i>that</i> is never comfortable.BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-18985369013224798242010-03-08T22:59:00.001-08:002010-03-08T22:59:37.761-08:00Look at Me!Monday, June 15, 2009 <br /> <br /><br />Look at me – Look at me!<br />I've got “candy-apple” skin;<br />They've torn apart my limbs – look at me!<br /><br />Look at me!<br />Their vacuum ripped me out;<br />Where's their “No Harm”<br />oath now? - Look at me!<br /><br />She took a pill to starve me;<br />They don't want her to hold me<br />She'll close her eyes so she can't see -<br />Why won't my mommy look at me?<br /><br />They say I'm just a lump of flesh;<br />They say I'm merely “pregnancy”;<br />If that is true and you believe,<br />Why can't you bear to look at me???<br /><br />June 15, 2009<br />10:31 AMBlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-2250579035257800612010-03-08T22:50:00.000-08:002010-03-08T22:51:23.834-08:00To my Firstborn (and all my future children)You're a little bean inside me<br />You can't yet see or hear<br />I'm only five weeks pregnant-<br />You haven't eyes or ears<br />But you're still my little angel<br />My blessing sent from God<br />You're my sweet little baby<br />For now, I'm all you've got.<br /><br />As you grow, on through the years<br />My hopes and fears will collide<br />You'll make me want to scream-<br />But even then, I'll be your guide.<br /><br />I know I can't be everywhere,<br />But I'll always be here<br />I know I can't be everything<br />But I'll always hold you dear<br />Now, you won't tell me everything<br />But I'll be a listening ear<br />And if you scream, afraid at night-<br />I'll try to calm your fears.<br /><br />Yes, I'm a youngish mommy<br />And I may not know much<br />But I have the sense to know<br />I'm longing for your touch.<br />I'll count your little fingers and<br />I'll count your little toes.<br />I'll see your widened eyes and<br />I'll touch your little nose.<br />I'll shower you with kisses<br />'Till you're hungry, then<br />I'll feed you 'till you're full<br />And kiss you yet again!<br /><br />You're my little baby now,<br />Asleep inside my womb<br />All comfy-like and cozy-<br />We'll meet somewhat soon.<br /><br />Your daddy loves you too, sweetheart<br />He's grinnin' ear to ear-<br />Every time I call him "Daddy",<br />His face lights up with cheer.<br />We know we can't be everywhere,<br />But we'll always be here<br />We know we can't be everything<br />But we'll always hold you dear<br />Now, you won't tell us everything,<br />But we'll be a listening ear<br />And if you scream, afraid at night,<br />We will calm your fears.<br /><br />You oughta know I love you<br />And daddy loves you, too-<br />But there's a debt that we all owe,<br />That we can't pay for you.<br />All the love we have for you<br />Could never be enough<br />To straighten out the crookedness<br />And smoothen out the rough-<br /><br />God knew this, and so He sent<br />HIS one and only son-<br />The son he showered with kisses<br />When he made love so fun-<br />To come to earth, to pay the price<br />Sad price he had to pay<br />Everything was cold and lonely<br />For three long, sorry days<br />'Till on the third- the sun was shining!<br />The Son was shining, too-<br />'Cause he finally paid the debt<br />For daddy, me and you!<br /><br />He gave us all a promise-<br />And those he never breaks-<br />That if you only call on Him,<br />He'll do whatever it takes.<br />He'll bring you flowers in the spring<br />And kisses from loved ones<br />He'll make your heart so full it sings<br />And never do you wrong.<br /><br />Daddy and I can only love<br />'Cause Jesus showed us how<br />We can only do so much<br />In worship, we do bow-<br /><br />We know we can't be everywhere,<br />But God is always here<br />We know we can't be everything,<br />So hold your Everything dear<br />Now, you won't tell us everything,<br />But Jesus is all-ears-<br />And if you cry, afraid of life,<br />He'll wipe away your tears.<br /><br />-Jenn W.<br />Written 1/13/08BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-52544250037200668172010-03-08T22:47:00.002-08:002010-03-08T22:48:39.065-08:00Tribute to Joe ReynoldsWednesday, September 12, 2007 <br /> <br />A Soldier Coming Home<br /><br />"Welcome our soldier into the gates-<br />Reward him for his faithfulness.<br />Welcome our trekker through the doors-<br />He's finally come home.<br /><br />Give him his crown, adorned with jewels,<br />for rarely has he complained<br />Give him his robe, whiter than snow<br />for he will never sin again.<br /><br />Arrange a reunion for his loved ones here<br />Let his mother be the first to see him<br />She's spent two years preparing his place<br />at my table to welcome him.<br /><br />Give our soldier a place of honor<br />for he's inspired so many<br />to be determined and fight the good fight;<br />He's surely finished the race.<br /><br />Let him prepare a place at my table<br />for the loved ones he left so suddenly<br />Truly, their places will be the best-<br />Proof of Joe's undying perseverance."<br /><br />Written at 7:02 AM on 9/12/07<br /><br />This is how I imagine the Lord welcomed Joe home... with high esteem and honor.BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-46021797735734492082010-03-08T22:46:00.000-08:002010-03-08T22:47:03.741-08:00My thoughts on abortionFriday, August 31, 2007 <br /><br />Take a look outside any abortion clinic. What do you see? You see picketers protesting the death of unborn babies, usually with nauseatingly vivid pictures of unborn fetuses that have met their untimely demise. These people are passionately against any human death, regardless of the age of the infant. The truth is that we all know that child is alive in the womb. From the moment of conception, that baby is growing and waiting for a chance to see the light of day.<br /><br />Many pro-choice activists bring up some very hard-to-answer questions on what can go wrong with a pregnancy. They bring up such questions as, "What if the woman was raped?" "What if the child is deformed?" and, "What if the mother is too young to care for a baby?"<br /><br />I personally have an answer to each of these questions, and my own set of possible solutions for each problem.<br /><br />If a woman was raped, as difficult as it would sound to most, I believe that the woman should not penalize the product of rape for the fault that belongs only to the rapist. Therefore, if it is possible by any means, I think the woman should carry the child until birth, at which time she could put the child up for adoption. I have several reasons for this. First, no matter how young, a life is a life. To abort a baby is to extinguish a life. There are several cases of mothers that have aborted babies and dealt with horrendous guilt. There are also cases of mothers that have gone through abortions and suffered severe damage to their uterus and other vital reproductive organs. This can cause health problems that haunt those mothers for the rest of their lives. Finally, I say that the mother should put the child up for adoption because there are many couples that are trying to have children and are unable to. These parents would love a chance to care for a child, but as it is, there aren't enough children to accommodate the many parents vying for a child. However, there ARE almost the same amounts of people getting abortions as those who desire children and are unable to do so. It would be such a wonderful thing for a woman to see beyond her pain and do what's best for her unborn child!<br /><br />A deformed child. That leaves a bad taste in most peoples' mouths. Yet I say a life is worth a CHANCE at life. There are many children, teens, and adults that have passed through my life and made an astounding impact on me that some would consider "damaged" or "deformed". The idea that a baby with a defect should be thrown out in an attempt to get a more perfect baby sounds uncomfortably like "Survival of the Fittest". If we condone the abortion of unborn, malformed babies, are we not advocating an infant holocaust? What difference is there between Hitler's obsession with the perfect and ours?<br /><br />If a teen mother is unable to care for her child, I defer again to my position on putting the child up for adoption. I won't waste your time by restating what I already said on this subject, so I'll move onto a subtopic of abortion: contraception. I personally don't think anyone should engage in sexual acts unless they are fully ready for the possibility of bringing a new life into this world; however, since that idea is both unreasonable and unhelpful considering the condition of living we're accustomed to, it's best for people engaging in sexual acts to use the proper protection. By this I mean condoms for men, and even birth control for women. This does not, in my opinion, constitute as "killing" a child, because a condom prevents the egg from ever being fertilized, and the birth control is doses of estrogen that fool a woman's body into thinking she is pregnant, thereby inhibiting the possibility of pregnancy. I consider both methods acceptable ways to avoid ever having to grapple with the ethics of abortion.<br /><br />There are ways to avoid dangerous and disastrous situations, we just need to look harder to find them. A baby is a life that should never have to be penalized for his or her parents' bad decisions. Pregnancy can be avoided as easily as drinking and driving. If we are wise enough to think before we drink and drive, we should be wary enough to make better choices about our personal lives.BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-80523362568118883002010-03-08T22:45:00.000-08:002010-03-08T22:46:21.713-08:00Her Story (Original Version)Thursday, August 16, 2007 <br /> <br /><br />You see the torn and dirty clothes that hang about my body, yellow eyes and rotted teeth. You smell the stench of sweat-soaked (days old) clothes; the odor of the garbage I rummage through to find my food. You cannot feel my hopelessness and despair, or understand my vices, and you will never hear, as I do, children's desperate cries as they wretchedly withstand another night without food. You don't think you are me. I am nobody.<br /><br />Do you think that I don't hear your remarks about me? Do you think I don't see your nose turn up in disgust as you walk past me? As the sounds of my own lonely march echo through my ears, do you think that I can't feel the bugs crawling in my hair?<br /><br /> <br /><br />You consider me below you. A useless, repulsive cancer of society. My cracked, darkened skin and unkempt hair are the antithesis of those pictured in your tabloids, and rightfully so. What maddened psychopath could ever want to photograph this?<br /><br /> <br /><br />The sound of sirens at night and a crack dealer's hushed whispers are my lullaby. The grime covering my hands and the grease covering my jacket are my feeble protection against those who would harm me. I feel the shame that comes with my disgrace as vividly as the aching of my feet at the end of a day's journey to nowhere.<br /><br /> <br /><br />The garbage can is a treasure to me. There I find stale, discarded bread, spoiled and curdled milk, and fat left over from a coveted prime-rib steak… but prime-rib steak is for people: fat is for beggars. This meal will be all I eat today.<br /><br /> <br /><br />You look at me as if I am sub-human. Yet, I was you. When I was younger, I taught your children about the love of God in Sunday school. Seeing them learn and knowing their excitement brought joy to my heart. I prayed for them constantly and when their hearts were broken, my heart broke with them.<br /><br />Not long after becoming a Sunday school teacher, I fell in love with my best friend, Anthony. He was such a kind-hearted man, and swept me off my feet. Nothing on this earth could have stopped me from marrying him. I knew we were meant to be together for the rest of our lives.<br /><br /> <br /><br />I gave birth to my first child 2 years after we got married. His name was Alex, and he was my warrior. Alex decided at a young age that he wanted a brother or sister, which Anthony and I had been considering as well, so when Alex was 3, I gave birth to Katie. She was the light in my eyes and the sparkle in my soul.<br /><br /> <br /><br />When Alex got old enough for school, I joined the PTA, and frequently baked cookies for the other parents. They couldn't get enough of my chocolate chip cookies, and I couldn't get enough of the stories they told me about their own adventures in raising children! People once admired me for the hard work and love that I put into my family. I had many fellow parents come up to me, telling me that they didn't understand how I could do it. I always told them that my love got the best of me. In those days, I was a jewel, but to you I am rust.<br /><br /> <br /><br />You never took time to hear my story. You never gave me a second thought. You never thought to ask me my name, and now my name is gone.<br /><br /> <br /><br />If you had asked, I would have told you about the car accident. Everything I knew and loved died that day; broken bodies beyond repair. Anthony, Alex, and Katie were rushed to the emergency room, and I spent every penny I had trying to pay for the medical help they needed. The day they were taken off life support because I could no longer pay the bills was the most sorrow-filled day of my life. I didn't even get to tell them goodbye… I couldn't.<br /><br /> <br /><br />For nine years, I had lived for the joy of my husband and children. I wasn't a working mom; I considered raising my kids the best investment I could make. In one fell swoop, all that made me thrive was taken from me. How could life be so cruel as to take them from me? Why did this have to happen?<br /><br /> <br /><br />I'd lost my strength, my resolve, and my sense of purpose. Without a desire to live and without the resolve to die, I resigned myself to the streets, to become one of the living dead. To you I am another nameless, homeless woman on the streets, an easy face to forget. Yet I can never forget… never will I forget the nightmare that torments me both day and night, and continually brings me back to the place of weeping and gnashing of teeth – my only solace: a dim street light and a newspaper to shield myself from the cold.<br /><br /> <br /><br />(This is her story, and the story of so many others like her.)BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-5807321977214780662010-03-08T22:44:00.001-08:002010-03-08T22:44:35.210-08:00A Calling Unwillingly AbortedTuesday, June 26, 2007 <br /> <br /><br />a mission torn asunder<br /><br />a fault-ridden blunder<br /><br />a love too blind to see<br /><br />'til 'twas too late for me.<br /><br /> <br /><br />an energy spent<br /><br />none will repent<br /><br />an everlasting sigh<br /><br />she won't wonder why.<br /><br /> <br /><br />a takeover of an intelligible kind<br /><br />seeps thru the eyes and into the mind<br /><br />defenseless due to naive ignorance<br /><br />thoughts of such make her wince.<br /><br /> <br /><br />psychology of the worst degree<br /><br />abuse of one who's genuinely<br /><br />trying to figure out her place:<br /><br />legacy's gone, without a trace.BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-68611392400541799882010-03-08T22:40:00.001-08:002010-03-08T22:40:19.584-08:00God's HandWednesday, April 25, 2007 <br /> <br /><br />You might think that a tragedy is just that: a tragedy. But I know now that when things don't go quite the way we planned it, God is using that situation to bring about a better thing. That's not to say that God CAUSES pain, but he does use it. Some of the most tragic events in my life have been the starting point for something good to happen.<br /><br />My grandmother's death: My grandma, Darlene, had cancer when we moved out to this area. We actually moved here so my mom could take care of her. I know that I prayed for her to get healed, but she wasn't. She died, and I didn't understand what was going on. Later on in my life, though, I realized that had it not been for my gramma being in bad health, we wouldn't have moved here, and I wouldn't have been around the people that influenced me and talked to me about being a Christian. And if my gramma hadn't died, my mom's life probably wouldn't have gotten so bad that she knew she needed divine help. God used those circumstances to help me grow, and also to help my parents grow. Many times, we've chosen the hard way to do things, but God is faithful each time and picks us up, spurring us on to continue life's hard journey.<br /><br />My best friend's death: Amber died while I was on my honeymoon. I was somehow strong enough to withstand the viewing and funeral without thinking, "Why, God?" but later on, though the months, I found myself in pain. I guess the shock just wore off. At any rate, I found myself angry at God for taking her away when I so badly wanted her to stay here. She was only 17, and again, I didn't understand. There's still a lot that I don't know, but what I do know is this: God brings people into our lives through our loved ones who have died, and it's our duty to care for those people as that person would. I'm not sure exactly why Amber was called home that day, but I know that, if there is a right timing for someone to leave this earth at such an early age, God chose the right timing. I know He will reveal all the reasons to us later, but this is what I know so far.<br /><br />National tragedies, such as Columbine, Virginia Tech, and the World Trade Centers: Again, let me say that God did not cause these to happen. But God did not let evil reign in the sense that we were overwhelmed and lost all hope. God gives us a spirit of strength and dignity through these hard times, and a willingness to band together. This togetherness is vital to us. It helps us forget our trivial problems and lets us support and love one another, as is needed during times of hardship. No, God doesn't even let tragedy go to waste. He uses it all and reties the loose ends to still carry out His divine plan.<br /><br />Every hardship, no matter how hard or small, whether it was imposed upon us by evil in the world, or whether it's "friendly fire"... God uses it all and is able to make great things come of it. Just watch a flower as it grows. Something disgusting, that nobody wants to be around, is its bed. The vulnerable seed is stuck, trapped in manure, and seemingly buried. But it grows. And the sun... the sun is nice and something we all appreciate, but if all that little flower gets is sun, it dies before its time. YET rain, as hated as it is sometimes, pours down over that flower, along with the sunshine, and it continues to grow. Sometimes the things that we appreciate least and most want to get out of are the very things that are helping us to grow.<br /><br />Don't look with doubt, fear, or depression into your seemingly hopeless circumstance. God's holding the open door for you on the other side, and this is just life training. Learn what you can... nobody ever learned anything with their head down and their eyes lowered.<br /><br />God bless you all!BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-26354198065929143872010-03-08T22:38:00.000-08:002010-03-08T22:39:26.404-08:00About healing and dear little old ladies. :)healing<br />sweeps in from your prescence<br /><br />you are still here<br />you still care<br /><br />the ones who died for your cause did not die in vain<br />the sweat and tears they shed have persevered<br /><br />do not say that miracles were for the early church, and not today;<br />i have seen visible proof<br /><br />my tia angie, who was bound to a wheelchair; a walker, at best<br />got up and praised the Lord last night<br /><br />not only did she stand; she danced before her Father<br />with tear-filled eyes and words of gratitude<br /><br />it was not her time to sit;<br />it was her time to be used by the Lord.<br /><br />many people say many things about christians...<br />many christians give Jesus a bad name;<br />but tia angie, with a heart full of love for others,<br />and a heart full of love for God,<br />danced with her Daddy last night.<br /><br />4/17/07<br />5:41 PMBlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-59985123270570272352010-03-08T22:25:00.001-08:002010-03-08T22:25:53.053-08:00About God, but OddBuried underneath all that I hold dear<br /><br />There's a truth that's still so clear<br /><br />Though letting it go is my great fear<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />My brain's a mule without a fence<br /><br />I float by ladies, dames and gents<br /><br />Not one bothers to venture hence<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />I give in to the will of forever<br /><br />No matter how far under the weather<br /><br />Knowing there's no such word as never<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />As they all say, I continue to dream on<br /><br />Through the vast wasteland and the steel dawn<br /><br />The endless expanse, close with a yawn<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />The marrow and veins of love had all leaked out<br /><br />While mockers and fools led with a shout<br /><br />Not one understood what it was about<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />"My father's business" a voice is heard<br /><br />The curtain is torn, social lines blurred<br /><br />Sound of silence, no, not a word<br /><br /><br />--> --><br /><br /><br />Here comes the night, it's what we expected<br /><br />And we can't think we'll all be protected<br /><br />It leaves every last one here dejected<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />Some write iambic, some write prose<br /><br />Yet three days later, there she goes<br /><br />To the dead place, drowned in her woes<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />Covered with undying gloom<br /><br />To prepare her broken Savior whom<br /><br />Was perfect since conceived in womb<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />Finding herself at quite a loss<br /><br />Her eyes with a small faint gloss<br /><br />Feeling as if covered in dross<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />'Twas her destiny to find<br /><br />A man with sides and back all lined<br /><br />For he bore the sins of all mankind<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />The woman had gone down to weep<br /><br />The soldiers must have fallen asleep<br /><br />But death could not our Savior keep!<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />The world is amassed and overgrown with haters<br /><br />To me, myself, and I, selfish people cater<br /><br />But as for the rest of us, call us waiters<br /><br />--> --><br />'Cause we know to wait until he comes back<br /><br />The Lord, concerning his promise, not slack<br /><br />His blessings we will never lack<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />If we remember, and we bring<br /><br />Our laughs and joy, and songs to sing<br /><br />The gated pearls will always ring<br /><br />--> --><br /><br />From now on to eternity<br /><br />Outward and internally<br /><br />Not void or infernally<br /><br />His grace is life- eternally.BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-40477232003055419982010-03-08T22:23:00.000-08:002010-03-08T22:24:39.294-08:00John Mark's Ballad of SortsNever again will I feel the pain<br />I'll never lean against wind and rain<br /><br />For my life has finally met its end<br />And soon I'll be with my Savior again<br /><br />No need to cry, no time to fear<br />Life so fragile, eternity near<br /><br />Once brought down, I ran away<br />But now, through Him, I'm here to stay<br /><br />They tore my flesh like chunks of meat<br />They dragged my body through the streets<br /><br />No words could describe, nor could horrors tell<br />What grace to play second fiddle well<br /><br />Yet, if all this is what sacrifice takes<br />Keep beating my body until it breaks.<br /><br />1/15/07 5:30 PM<br /><br />In honor of all the martyrs who showed us what it means to worship God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. But far greater than these is the ultimate sacrifice: Jesus Christ.BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-28769174294104580632010-03-08T22:19:00.000-08:002010-03-08T22:21:54.618-08:00Teen Angst?keep on screaming<br /><br />rip my heart open, tear at your own voice<br /><br />you were only my parents, how could you know<br /><br />that the pain that you spilled on me<br /><br />would continue to flow<br /><br />my uncle hears voices<br /><br />that are not there<br /><br />and as i speak to him, i realize<br /><br />things will never be the same<br /><br />another uncle visits<br /><br />just after my grandma dies<br /><br />and the void in my heart continues to grow<br /><br />until the only thing i can think<br /><br />will fill the ache is chasing after vanity of vanities.<br /><br />i visited a church once<br /><br />and the fire of the truth seared my soul<br /><br />i had to change<br /><br />had to stop abusing others out of my own pain.<br /><br />i gave it all to God, or so i thought<br /><br />but not<br /><br />and i finally realized all these years later<br /><br />that everyone was not against me...<br /><br />i just had to make up my mind<br /><br />who to follow.<br /><br />10:18 pm 1/19/07BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8546149127042579300.post-54707740294920168362010-03-08T22:17:00.000-08:002010-03-08T22:19:55.152-08:00A Wii Little PoemRace to a place - <br />It may be there<br /><br />Wait hours in line<br />Keep patience intact<br /><br />You will have it,<br />You must have it<br /><br />All to find<br />They're gone.<br /><br />Wake up early,<br />call around<br /><br />Ask again...<br />Almost lose your mind<br /><br />Call out of habit<br />expecting nothing<br /><br />Wake your man<br />Jump and plan<br /><br />Spend most of the day wondering,<br />all to find...<br /><br />The Wii<br />is mine.<br /><br />(a tribute to how long it took and how aggravating it was to find a Wii.)BlessedOuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02601590140516319852noreply@blogger.com0