Easy-Rascal Flatts

This song has been stuck in my head the last couple of days....so I thought I'd share it. :)

-Antoine de Saint-Exupert

To All The Haters.

You have the ability to prove them wrong

You have the potential to show them that you’re better

They have made their accusations

And right now, you’re telling them that they’re right

You’re letting them win

You’re giving in

But they’re wrong

They want you to fail

We all know that

They want you to fall 

They don’t believe that you can amount to anything

But you can

Show them you can

Stand up and be a man

Let them crumble

Let them realize how false their allegations really are

Show them that you can conquer your addictions

That you can overcome your disorders

That their judgmental glares don’t control your life

That this life, this life that is only a vapor is meant to be lived

That they can waste their time 

That they can be bitter about their downfalls and their disillusion

But your life should not be wasted

Your life should instead be an adventure

So that when you look back you will have no regrets

So stop listening to the hypocrites all around you

Stop listening and prove the haters wrong. 

Hands and Feet

I apologize for the lack of posting that has happened here recently.  I haven't been in a writing mood for a long time.  I don't know why, but the words won't flow whenever I sit down to write.  Wether I'm writing a blog post, and poem or a letter home, I find myself unable.  So I thought I would give y'all a poem instead.  This one is called Hands and Feet.

People are dying

Their mothers just sitting there crying.

And back home, my favorite team is losing.

While I’m sitting so much on my butt that its bruising

But what happens if I get up?

What happens if I take up the cup?

But it’s so degrading, 

If I get up and start fading

What will the world think?

But maybe, just maybe I am that missing link

Maybe it’s me that needs to go, 

To not wait for the end of the show

But to get up now and never look back

To pick up my cross and carry my pack

Maybe it’s me that could bring the healing

That could restore the feeling

I felt it before, I know where they’re at

I know where they sit, It’s right where I sat.

But to leave everything behind?

People would think I’m losing my mind.

To leave my friends and my family?

To get down in the dirt, to take a knee?

Well thats just unheard of

No one cares for love

It’s all about hate and war

And who of the money can make more

But I’m so sick and tired of all this crap

So sick of everyone just laying around talking a nap

Why do I idly sit and wait?

What am I waiting for? The destruction of hate?

It’s not going anywhere until I love

Not going anywhere until I mimic the One sent from above

This is a problem, when I am so covered in sin

It’s a problem when I don’t look like Him

A problem I can’t fix

A problem that at my brain so ever licks

I want to be your hands and feet

But at this place I need You and me to meet

I can’t go forward without You

Your will can’t do too

Make me, mold me

Shape me into one of the few. 

The few that leaves everything

For Your will and Your praises to sing

The few that really care 

The few that are so rare

The ones that will get down in the mud

And pull out the kids from under the crud

The ones that will go down to Hell make me

Someone who will fight not flee

Make me Yours and Yours alone

That I might rescue those that moan

That I might really show them your grace

That I might be a picture of your face

I’m so tired of making up an excuse

as the rope tightens and makes a noose

It’s killing me, you know

To sit here a reap what I sow

To be lazy and full of hate

A Christian you ask? Well I’m just second rate

I don’t actually care for the ones my God did

I sit around and say I’m just a kid

But what does that matter

When the world around me is one big tatter?

I’m just a kid?  That’s no exception

That’s not a reason for others to feel rejection.

What about Peter? What about Paul?

What would’ve happened if they just leaned against the wall?

What if I go and I’m not second rate?

What If I go and I’m not very great?

What if I go and they don’t remember my name?

What if I don’t find fortune and fame?

What am I saying?! That’s not the point at all.

The point is for me to help save others from the fall

To be Christ and show His compassion

Even if it doesn’t fit in with the worldly fashion

To be His hands and feet

To see people where they’re at and their needs to meet.  

Why do I have a tendency to burn every bridge I build?

I long to be so in love with God that I am intoxicated by His spirit.  I long for the worries and problems of this world would melt away with every thought of Him.  To be so inebriated by Him that all I feel is joy and happiness.  I long for this love.

New favorite song. 

Someone Else's Thoughts...

one of the hardest parts about growing up is realizing that relationships are not as magical or as effortless that we, as children, so naively believed they were.

love is not all about red roses on valentine's day, or waltzing in an empty room to no music. it is not always comprised of sexy, passionate kisses in the rain, or romantic candlelit dinners.

love does not equal that perfect, pristine wedding on the beach, no matter how much we wish it did.

no, sometimes love is broken dishes on the floor, and tempers so high they threaten to burst through the ceiling. it is a drunk prince charming or an slutty snow white. it is loneliness echoing and aching deep inside your bones and it is the feeling of tears drying on your face like wax.

love is not disney. love is complicated. love is messy.

when i was younger, i believed that you could title a loved one. oh, she's his fiance. oh, they're boyfriend and girlfriend. oh, he's her husband. it is only now, as a teenager, that i realize this is not how love works. there is not a name to fit every relationship, although we've certainly tried with terms like friends with benefits.

we keep convincing ourselves that our happiness lies on one set of lips, that our lives would be peachy if we just managed to receive one kiss, or one wedding, or one boyfriend.

but love isn't about kisses or weddings or titles.

it's about how much you care, how long you will listen, how far you will go and to what lengths you will forgive.

the bottom line is, if you truly, deeply and honestly love someone, you will want them in your life, even if you never receive that kiss or that wedding.

-anonymous

Homeless

I've always had this longing inside of me to be homeless. I'm not entirely sure why. Perhaps, because I want to do something countercultural. Perhaps, because I feel like it would help me understand things better. Perhaps, because it might solve all of my problems. I cannot say why it appeals to me so much, but only that it does.
But now, here I am exactly 759 miles from "home," and I couldn't help but feel homeless. A feeling of lostness has overcome my heart. As though I am once again a small child wandering the aisles of a grocery store searching for my mother, and the comfort that she brings. When I was at school last year and this happened, I would think to myself, it will be okay, because you will go home and everything will be the same as it was in high school. However, upon returning home, things were hardly the same. There was a feeling of emptiness there as well. And I once again tried to reassure myself by saying, it's okay, you'll go back to school, and everything will be the same. And for the most part it is, but I feel like I've left a piece of myself behind. Or maybe to put it better, I've left many pieces of myself behind, scattered all of the place. I have become so attached to some people, that I feel homeless and empty without them.
And so, to come to the point as to why I am actually writing this, I started thinking about what home really is. And home should be in the arms of God. But how can you find comfort in the arms of someone you can't feel? How can you find reassurance in a voice so small and quiet? How can you find encouragement in eyes you can't see? How can you find home in someone who was homeless? I guess my point is that I'm struggling with the idea that I might never feel like I have a home, because I was not made for this world. I was made for something more, something greater. So as I live on this earth, I will forever be homesick. I will forever be homeless.

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!