Traveling has always been something that has put my perspective back in it’s rightful place. Wether it be by train or by car, I always seem to find myself realizing at one time or another, that this world is so big and filled with so many people. I have never been anywhere outside North America, but just a 20 hour drive or a 4 hour flight, is all it takes for me to realize how minuscule my “problems” are. The fleeting cares and worries of my days, are nothing. And yet, God still cares about them. He still wants me to rely on Him, to give this small worries to Him. When people are dying, and others are trying to make ends meet; when people are sick, and others are starving; my thoughts about wether or not I will do well on a test, or if we will safely arrive at our destination, hold just as much importance in God’s eyes, as all of the other problems that people are facing. It is unfathomable, that such fleeting thoughts are still listened to. It is comforting knowing that even though there are so many people and so many problems in this world, I still matter.

The Mountain

This burden is pushing me into the ground. I am wasting away beneath the weight of it. The race that I’ve been running has now become a walk, or maybe more of a crawl. The dirt and rocks grind into my face as a scrape my body along the ground, trying to reach my destination, but too tired to stand. “Come to me, and I will give you rest.” The voice seems so faint, as though it was just something I heard in my past, thousands of years ago. I’m exhausted, but I continue on. The level ground become a steep mountain. The sunny sky, clouding over, thundering. The threat of what is too come. The battle ahead of me. “I will fight your battles. I will victor over your enemy.” The still soft voice, only a whisper, hardly even making a sound compared to the screaming all around me. The rain pouring now, the wind pushing me left and right. The lightening crashing down, hitting trees all around me. Tired, I trudge on, I will not stop, for I know there is reward and rest at the top. But this pack, oh the weight if this burden I am carrying. It is making this journey so much more difficult. “Come to Me, and I will rid you of your burden.” The encouraging voice is still so soft, but it comes more often now. “Come to Me.” It promises rest, and a light pack. But how? How am I supposed to lay down my burdens. Every time I lay down this heavy pack I am carrying, my journey seems easier, and I am able to run, not crawl. But I still end up in the same place. Running, then walking, then crawling, then on my face, with the voices around my laughing and mocking. Will I ever reach the top? Will there ever be a time when the storm calms around me, when my enemies stop attacking, when the load is light for good, when I experience rest? How much longer must I wait? How much longer until I reach the top? I just want to see the view. “Come to Me.” I’m trying, I’m trying ever so much, but the voices around me are screaming that I will never make it, that I will fail like I have so many other times. Their screams are so loud that my head is pounding. The continue on saying I am nothing, I am worthless, I am a failure, that this mountain is just an illusion and I will make it to the top and find nothing. They are so convincing. They scream at me over and over again, and I try so hard to find the soft whisper through them, but it seems as if it’s gone. They keep telling me to just give into them and to climb back down the mountain, to turn around and face reality, so I do. I give in, I give up, I fail, yet again. But reality is no better, in fact, it seems worse. Not only are these voices in my head yelling at me, but everything I say and do is only confirming what they are telling me. My enemies have won the battle. And now they are storming the castle. They have found me and they are stabbing me over and over and over again. Until there is lo more un-stabbed flesh. I have lost. I have failed. And it is here, where I lay, with blood all around me, and my life quickly fading that I find healing. It is here, that I once again hear the voice, this time loud a clear, “Come to Me, my beloved, my daughter, my child, my bride. Come to me and find what it really means to live.” I try to stand, but my body fails me. Suddenly, A hand is placed on my back and large and warm guiding hand. It helps me to my feet and pushes me on my way. On my way back up the mountain. This time it is harder than before. I am weaker. But I know that the life, rest, and freedom promised at the end will be even more worth it than before. So I trudge up the mountain. The rain and the storms and the heavy pack come, but I continue. The voices screaming at me once again. But this time the whisper is right beside me, right in my ear. And there is a hand on my back pushing me along up the mountain. And I know that I am not disillusioned, I know that I will make it to the top. No matter what it takes, no matter how long it takes, and not matter how many times I backslide. I will make it. And the reward will be great.

Peaceful Happiness

I am so unsatisfied.  I don’t know what it is, but I feel restless.  There is a yearning in my heart for something more, for something real.  I am disgusted by the life I live.  A life surrounded by riches.  A life where I have everything I need and more.  A life where I drive by starving people in a car that cost more money than they’ll ever see.  I face this reality every waking moment.  From the house I live in to the car I drive to the clothes I wear even to the food I eat, it’s all too expensive.  And yet, I’m stuck in the mindset that I deserve this, that this is what I’m supposed to have.  And so I buy more, and I boast about what I have, and I pretend that it’s all good, and that all of this is what makes me happy.  When in all reality, my life is ripping open at the seams.  It’s coming undone stitch by stitch.  The looks in the faces of those around me, hidden beneath what t me seem like fake smiles, show pain and fear.  That with one wrong turn, everything will come crashing down.  This empire built on ashes, isn’t made to stand much longer.  The foundation is shifting ever so slightly each day.  Soon, it will crumble.  Maybe then, when I have nothing, nothing at all, maybe then I will be satisfied.  I seek peaceful happiness, not a longing for more.  I pray that this thirst for a life with purpose, will one day be quenched.  I pray that that day comes soon, because I don’t know how much longer I can take of lips stretched thin, of eyes looking away, of hearts ignoring the pain.  I don’t know how many more nights I can last, through tears falling silently, unnoticed.  I want to scream, but I can’t find the courage to face the aftermath.  For I know, once the earthquake shakes the world around as, there will still be the small quakes that follow.  The worst will be over, but the fear that it might happen again, will burn in our minds and in our very beings, ruining us forever.  And that is not peace.  But what then?  If I cannot scream, or even say how I feel, but if I must sit here quietly, and pretend that everything is okay, then how will I ever be satisfied?  When will I truly have the courage to get up and walk away?  When will I do what I want to do, be who I want to be, and go where I want to go?  I have to stop relying on the very things that surround me, that suck the life out of me.  I must become reliant on the One, and Him only.  But how?  How do I give up everything around me, the possessions that I cling to ever so dearly?  And will that make me truly satisfied?  Or will I end up with nothing, sitting on the street next to the man who hans’t showered in weeks and his last meal came out of a dumpster.  Maybe that’s where I need to be though.  Perhaps,  the very longing inside of me, is a longing to become nothing.  To be unknown, to do unknown things, to live an unknown life.  If I sit next to the hungry father, or the motherless child, or homeless son, then I might be satisfied.  If I too am hungry, and motherless, and homeless, then maybe I will be content, maybe those people, the ones we feel so sorry for, are the ones that actually know what peaceful happiness really is.  What if, when we drive by them in our cars feeling sorry for them, they feel sorry for us?  Because even though it looks like they have nothing, they really have everything.  Maybe, just maybe, they are satisfied.  And so, if I too become like them, then perhaps I will know true joy.  The joy and satisfaction of being the lowest.  There is great beauty in walking the same path that my Jesus walked.  And if I could no longer just talk about it, or read about, or imagine what it’s like, but if I actually walk it, the road littered with trash, then maybe I will be satisfied.  If I learn the stories and the pain of those who are living on the side of this dirty path, if I take the time to love them, if I become one of them, then perhaps I will no longer be unfulfilled, unsatisfied, and longing for more, but maybe I will have everything, and I will know what peaceful happiness truly is.  

dirty gold.

So this is a little project that my momma has been working on for the past two weeks or so, and we were able to finish it today!  My momma bought the door on craigslist and it was covered in dirt and dust, but with just a little cleaning, it turned out to be a beautiful door.  She then mounted it with wood planks and bolted it in to a bed frame.  And viola!  A gorgeous new headboard that I will be appreciating for a very long time!

A Lack of Faith

Well here I am.  I can hardly believe that it has almost been a year since I was told that I had a tumor on my kidney.  My thoughts right now are all over the place.  I have a desire to write, but I have no idea how to organize my thoughts, so sorry if this is a confusing post.

This Tuesday, I go back to the oncologist for a check-up to see if I'm doing ok.  I am so scared.  This appointment has been consuming my thoughts.  I have been thinking of nothing else for the past couple of days.  I am worrying myself sick, literally.  And I sit here thinking that I am such a fool.  Last year, when the doctor told me I had cancer, I was composed and ready to take it head on.  I wasn't worried or scared, I was confident that my Jesus, the Great Healer would heal me.  I was sure of His will, His plan.  But now a year later, you think I would have learned that God is all He says He is.  However, I have no trust right now, I'm lacking faith.  I have always blamed my dad for my trust problems, but I've been playing the blame game for far too long.  It's really time for me to take responsibility and admit that I don't have enough faith, that I am still holding out on God, that I do not fully trust Him.  I'm scare that a God who said He would be there always, from the beginning to the end, will leave me.  That's asinine, really.  I'm afraid that a God who has been there for everyone, no matter how many times they turned their back on Him, will eventually turn His back on me.  I have back-peddled from where I was a year ago.  How could I let this happen?  Maybe thats a rhetorical question.  Honestly, I have been focusing on myself, not on who really matters, not on my Jesus.  I don't know when I will fully trust God.  I hope and pray that it's soon.  I long for the day when I will be able to truthfully cry out to Him telling Him that I am all His, completely enveloped in Him and His plan.  However, I'm still hanging on, still trying to hold on for some control.  Maybe at my appointment on Tuesday I won't hear the words that I am okay, and maybe that will be the beginning of a lesson on how I'm not in control at all, but how my life is only a glimpse of a big picture, just an scene in a movie, just a stroke on the canvas.  Or, maybe I will learn it a different way.  One thing I know for sure, is that I am a piece of work that God will continue with until the day of completion.

Hey y'all! Recently my camera broke and so I'm looking to upgrade to a nice one, so that I can continue to do what I love. However, camera's are expensive and I don't quite have the money I need to buy one. So, I want to remind y'all that ALL of my pictures are for sale! Just email me with what picture you would like, the size, and your address and the picture will be on it's way. 5x7-$15. 8x10-$20. Thanks!

Here's a link to my photos:  Outcast Photography

Fitting the Mold

Molds are something that I learned about a long time ago.  So long ago that it almost seems like it was a dream.  I was taught about molds by my mother, in many different ways actually.  I was told that they were used to make pottery and ceramics.  The ceramic is poured into a mold that is made up of two pieces and then fired in a kiln to produce a very fragile, unfinished peace of pottery.  It almost feels like clay.  The piece of pottery still has to be "cleaned" because it has a line where the mold was pushed together.  Thats the thing, the mold doesn't make a perfect piece of pottery.  It still has to be fixed or cleaned in this case, and then it has to go through fire (or an extremely hot kiln).

I started thinking about this last night, after I finished venting to a friend.  I do not know a single person that feels they don't fit into "the mold" even though they are forced to try to fit into it every single day.  And boy do we try to fit into it.  I've colored my hair, I've tried different skin care products and makeup, I've tried not eating, and throwing up, I've cheated, I've stolen, I've lied, I've done EVERYTHING I can to fit into this "mold," to try to come off as the perfect person.  This person that is beautiful, smart, athletic, skinny, funny, liked by all.  This impossible, unachievable person.  Even if there is a person that fits into this mold, they are still imperfect, because molds are imperfect.  After venting to this friend he told me that he too had the same problem.  That he tried to be everything his parents wanted him to be, that he tried to fit into the impossible mold.  That he tried to be smarter, more sociable, and a better christian.  That he was trying to be the perfect person for everybody.  So heres the thing, lets say I finally figured out how to "fit the mold", I would still have have to be cleaned, the extra scraped off, and then from there I would have to walk through fire.  It's impossible.

However, the most beautiful, expensive, are rare pieces of pottery don't come from a mold.  But they are hand crafted individually, and they are made perfectly.  So my question is, who even created this mold?  Who says we have to practically kill ourselves to be something?  I guess the real question is why do we care so much?  We are fearfully and wonderfully made.  Sculpted by the greatest Artist who paints the sky every morning and night, that inspires all of the other artists.  We are unique and have such great worth in the eyes of God.  We are molded by the greatest Sculptor, who sculpted the mountains and the valleys.  We are beautiful.  And we need no mold.

Lime Chicken Tacos

We tried this for dinner tonight and it was so delicious!  It was a great alternate to the normal mundane tacos we usually eat.  Give it a try! 

Ingredients:
1 ½ lbs boneless skinless chicken breasts (cut into small pieces)
1/8 cup red wine vinegar
½ lime (juiced)
1 teaspoon sugar
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
2 green onions (chopped)
2 garlic cloves (minced)
1 teaspoon dried oregano
10 (6 inch) flour tortillas
1 tomato (diced)
¼ cup shredded lettuce
¼ cup Monterey jack cheese
¼ cup salsa
Sour cream (optional)

Step 1: Add a little oil to the pan and sauté chicken pieces in the pan for 20 minutes over medium-high heat. Add vinegar, lime juice, sugar, salt, pepper, green onions, garlic and oregano. Simmer for another 10 minutes.
Step 2: Warm tortillas and add chicken mixture to each one evenly. Top with cheese, tomato, lettuce and salsa.
(Makes 4 servings)

credit: http://blogchef.net/lime-chicken-tacos-recipe/

Still Believe.

When did we lose hope of marrying our prince charming?  At what point did we decide that it was an unrealistic dream?  Whose words made us believe that we weren't truly princesses worthy of a prince.  Why have we stopped believing that we need rescuing from  the terrible dragon?  These were the questions I asked myself today as my 4 year cousin ran through a park screaming, saying that the dragon was going to get her and she needed to be rescued by her prince charming.  These were the questions that I faced as she ran up to me and said that the prince had saved her life and they were going to get married and live happily ever after - A child's dream.  So when did we lose sight of this fairytale?  Perhaps it was when the king, our father, left us, when our parents got a divorce.  Or maybe it was when we had our heart broken for the very first time.  Or by chance, it was when someone told we were fat, ugly, and absolutely nothing special at all.  Or it could have been when the man we thought we were going to marry was actually cheating on us.  Or perhaps it is now when we are 35 years old and have no hope of a happily ever after left.  Who really knows when we lost sight of this dream.  But the point it, we have forgotten it, left it behind as though we are too old for it.  However, the longing is still there, right?  The need to be loved by someone who will never leave, but will stand by our side for the rest of our lives, fighting our dragons.  The need to be rescued from these so called dragons.  What a beautiful longing it is.  A beautiful longing placed in us by none other than the King.  And this longing is fulfilled through Christ returning and fighting the dragon, and taking up His bride - the church.  It is also fulfilled through God's gift of marriage.  A beautiful and holy gift that we have so botched up.  We have made such a sacred act of worship into something so desecrated.  It has become nothing but empty promises and broken hearts.  However, I still believe.  I still believe in those happily ever afters.  You can see it in spouses fighting for a lasting marriage.  You can see it in couples celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary, still as happy and in love as the day they were wed.  You can see it in the 80 year old husband helping his wife plant her flowers, the twinkle in his eye as he playfully throws a clump of dirt at her.  It is still there.  The fairytale still exists.  So here I stand, waiting.  Not giving into what seems easy or convenient, but waiting for my prince charming.  Not kissing toads hoping they will turn into a prince, but instead knowing that he will come wether it is riding up on his white stead, or walking through the door into the caf.  Who knows?  All I know, is I'm not giving in.  Maybe its foolishness, but I still choose to believe in fairytales.

So cute. 

Ransomed

I’m lonely.  I’m insecure. 

But Your love alone brings the cure. 

You bring me freedom.  You bring me life.

No longer do I have to worry about this strife.

I may not feel good enough, and I know that I’m not.

But recently if there’s one thing you taught, 

It’s that when I fall short

There’s no need for retort.

You fill me up.  You make me whole.

You bring fulfillment to my soul.

My past is gone, there’s no looking back

I no longer have to carry this burden, this pack

You have paid the ransom

And at your feet I will come.

I will lay down my exis-tence

I will no longer ride the fence

You payed the price

Even when I roll the dice

Sometimes I take my chances

When the things of this world put me in trances.

And I’m done with all that

For Your love is greater than what I’ve valued it at

A price too high for me to pay 

But then again you didn’t even give me a say

You paid before I even knew the cost

You paid before I even realized what I’d lost

Or what I gained

You sweet sweet love on me rained

You showed me that I can never live this life alone

That I no longer in my grave have to groan

You showed me that there is hope

That I no longer have to try to climb up that never-ending slope

I would never have made it to the top anyway

Heck, I’d never even make it halfway

But by your power

I don’t have to cower

I don’t have to be afraid

Because every single day you come to my aid

You conquered over death and dying

So I know longer in my grave have to be lying.

Out of my heart you took the knife.

Through Your love, You gave me life. 

Pesto Pasta

I am home from school and loving the time away from studying.  One thing that I hate about college is the fact that you can't cook.  Well, you can, but it is so difficult to do.  But, since I am home, I have been dong some cooking and baking.  Here is a recipe that I found for pesto, and it was delicious! I changed it a bit, so I've put my version of it on here.  bon appetite!

Ingredients

• 1 pound dried linguini
• 1 bunch basil leaves (about 2.5 ounces)
• 1/2 cup pine nuts
• 1/2 cup of parmesan cheese
• 2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice (about 1/2 of a lemon)
• 3 garlic cloves
• 1/2 cup olive oil
• Salt, to taste
• Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

• In a large pot, bring water to a boil. Add the pasta and cook to package directions. 
• While the pasta cooks, create the pesto by blending the basil, pine nuts, avocados, lemon juice, garlic, and olive oil in a food processor. Season with the salt and pepper.
• Drain the pasta. 
• In a large serving bowl, toss the pesto with hot, freshly cooked pasta.

I am 19 years old.  I have struggled with eating disorders since I was 15.  I am sick and tired of it.  I thought I had it all figured out and I was done with it.  But every time you comment on my weight, or you say I'm eating unhealthy, or you talk about me gaining weight, you make me spiral backwards.  You make me think maybe I just shouldn't eat anything at all, then I don't have to worry about wether or not it's healthy.  You make me think that I will never be good enough for you.  You make me realize how ugly and fat I am.  So please, stop talking about food and weight and exercise and whats healthy and whats not healthy.  Please just be quite.  The voices in my head that are already telling me all that are enough, I don't need yours to add to the constant degradation.

It's Poetry Time Ya'll!

So y'all should know by now that I love me some poetry. So rock out! I apologize for the bad word at the beginning   If you want to skip it you will only miss the first line of the poem.  Just skip to 0:32.