My Virtual Notebook

for Emily

2011-02-19T20:28:00.001-08:00

2010-10-09T22:52:00.000-07:00

kelsiesvirtualnotebook has been, at least temporarily, retired. :(

Blogspot has turned out to be an annoying medium to work with and I'm taking a break.

If you want to follow my writing, go to http://kylermartyn.tumblr.com. That's my tumblr. I post pictures and writings sometimes. The writing is different than the writing on here...I write it for me, and not so much for you. But that's okay, because sometimes it's cool to read too. :)

Thank you for following me through this blog! Maybe someday I'll resurrect it. :)

Love,
Kelsie

Grace and Broken Branches

2010-06-02T22:23:00.001-07:00

"If grace is an ocean we're all sinking..."

I love little kids. I love the funny stuff they say, I love how creative they are, I love how innocent they are, I love teaching them new stuff about the world. And maybe most of all, I love kids' imaginations.

I was babysitting for a little boy the other day, and in his room, he had a spider made out of pipe cleaners, a ladybug made from clay, a flower made from construction paper, and a frog cut from a coloring sheet. When I asked him about it, he casually replied, "Oh, those are from the other day when I made a rain forest." I love that.

I know when I was little, I made up all sorts of things. A stick was a sword. Couch cushions were a rocket ship. My stuffed animals were an audience. The floor was hot lava. Legos were a towering skyscraper.

Little kids seem to have an inherent ability to see things, not for what they are, but for what they could be.

When we grow up, we lose some of that. Sure, we can still play pretend with little ones, but we don't really see the stick as a sword. We see it as a stick. We name it "pretend". Whereas two four-year-olds might actually argue over what the stick is supposed to represent, we are much more mature than that. It's a stick and nothing but a stick.

Of course, it's a good thing to grow up. It's natural to mature. If there were two forty-year-olds fiercely shouting "No, it's a sword!" "No, it's a fairy wand!" in the middle of the office, there would be an obvious problem.

But I think God works a little like those little kids.

See, we're the stick. We're the ugly, broken twig lying in the dirt. Because really, what would a broken branch have to offer? It doesn't do anything. It can't be grown into a tree. It's broken - it's worthless.

But God doesn't see us as the broken branch. God sees us for what we could be.

That's what grace is, really. God could have looked down at me and said, "Look at her. She's worthless. What has she got to offer me? She's broken, lying in her own sin." But he didn't. He looked at me and said, "Wow! Think what I could do with her! She's not a loser...I can make her beautiful, I can use her to further my cause."

And so he offered me grace. He picked up this broken branch and washed off the dirt with his own precious blood. He sanded off the messy bits and held me up and proclaimed me beautiful. God saw past what I was, to what I could be.

God sees my potential. What do I do in return? I will do anything I can to fulfill this potential, to live the life that he wants me to live, to be used in the ways he wants to use me.

God saw what I could be. And at the end of my life, I want to present myself to him, as a living representation of what I could be...now become what I am.

Unrelenting

2010-06-02T22:22:00.002-07:00

"You won't relent until You have it all..."

This is one of my absolute favorite worship songs - You Won't Relent (Seal) by Misty Edwards. The chorus is very simple: "You won't relent until You have it all; my heart is Yours."

I looked up that word "relent". Here's what dictionary.com says: "to soften in feeling, temper, or determination".

God won't give up on us. He won't soften in feeling or determination until He has all of us. Rejection won't stop Him. Outside influences won't stop Him. Satan won't stop Him. Our own sin won't stop Him. He won't give up. He'll fight as long as we're alive to win our hearts.

I'm currently sitting on my bed in my bedroom. Zoom out a bit, and there's my whole family. Keep going, there's my neighborhood, my city, my county, my state, my country, my world. I'm swallowed up in a sea of humanity. I'm one person in a giant pile of six billion. I'm one face in the crowd of our entire planet. And God won't give up until He's won my heart.

If God was a shepherd with six billion sheep and I was the only one who wandered away, God would track me down, stopping at nothing until He'd gotten me safely back home.

But it wouldn't be enough for Him to find me and forcefully drag me to Him. That's not how God operates. Instead, He'll risk himself. He'll make his heart clear, and then leave it up to me to respond. If I tearfully throw my arms around Him and allow myself to be carried home, He will rejoice the entire way. And if I reject His offer and continue to wallow in this world...He won't relent.

He won't relent until He has it all. Until all of my heart is His.

God knew me before the world was formed. He knew me before there was a me, before there were my parents, before there was a King David and a Moses and an Abraham He knew that there would be a me someday. He knew there would be a me, and He knew there would be a problem, because He knew I would have no way to get to Him because of the barrier blocking humanity from getting to God: ourselves, our sin.

And so, before I ever existed, God started planning a way to get me back.

" 'Now we're getting somewhere. But that's not the way it works, Groovy. I need to know what it's worth to you. It's not what I want that matters here. It's how much you want whatever's over there that matters. How much will you pay?'
'Twenty thousand.'
Sweeney just stared at him.
'Fifty thousand - if you get me in.'
'Not enough.'
'For crying out loud, then! How much is enough?'
'Your desire's bigger than that, Groovy. I've seen it in your eyes. You would sell your soul for whatever's in that building...'
'You're asking me what I'll pay you, not what it's worth,' he said.
'They're synonymous. You'll pay whatever it's worth. It's worth what you'll pay for it. What price are you willing to pay for this obsession of yours?' "
-Obsessed, Ted Dekker

God won't relent until He has me. Until He has you. We're his obsession. He won't give up, won't stop at anything to win us back.

As Sweeney said in that piece from Obsessed, something is only worth what someone is willing to pay for it. And for His obsession, God was willing to pay His life.

He won't relent. He won't give up until we choose to love Him back. He loves us enough to let Himself die for the mere chance that we might return His love. And so I will give my life over to loving Him back.

"...my heart is Yours."

As Yourself

2010-06-02T22:22:00.001-07:00

Written a couple of months ago, but I don't think I ever posted it anywhere.
***

We have a tendency to mock those who are different than us.

Even we Christians, we Christ-followers, we who label ourselves with the very name of God, we reject people. We point to people who live in sin and smirk that we are better than them.

But this is exactly like the hypocrites and Pharisees - a holier-than-thou mentality which makes us just as messed up as them. What should our response really be?

We don't see the whole picture, you know.

We see the girl with too-short shorts and a too-small blouse and label her immodest, slutty, a hooker. But we don't even consider her background - a father who rejected her, years of loneliness spent trying to find solace in boy after boy who were unable to fill the void in her heart, who wears these to attract eyes and to mask the insecurity that she won't even admit to herself.

We see the loudmouth boy who likes to say shocking things for attention, and we label him a hopeless rebel. But we couldn't understand how scared he is of being ignored because his family doesn't love him, and all his stunts for attention are just because to him, being in trouble is better than being ignored.

We see the teen throwing his life away with drugs and alcohol and simply pass him by. But we don't care that his heart aches from the abuse of life and that he's drowning himself in a vain attempt to dull the pain.

We judge despite explicit instructions not to. We label, perhaps in the face of our own insecurities. We build ourselves up by tearing others down.

But what are we commanded? What would Jesus say to the lost and broken outcasts of society? All Jesus did was love them. That was all he needed to do. Love - love gently bandaged the wounds and started brokenness on the road to healing, because love was the one thing they truly lacked. There's an empty, aching void in the chest of every person which will never fill no matter how many relationships, drinks, drugs, stunts, friends, pills, clothes, or thrills we try to clam in there. Only love can fill it. Only God can restore. Only God can heal.

So love. Love your neighbor as yourself. Put the stones down and quit judging and open your arms and love somebody. Be the light they're looking for. Be the hands and feet of Christ. Be the love that will finally heal their heart.

Wiped Away the Stains?

2010-06-02T22:18:00.000-07:00

"You've stolen my heart, yes you have!
You've wiped away the stains, broke away the chains,
Yes you have!"

You know God died to take away your sins?

Of course you do - that's a core belief of Christianity, taught from Sunday school on up through adulthood. Possibly the most elementary concept of the faith, because were it not for Christ's death, there wouldn't even be a faith. It's so well known, in fact, that it's become a cliche. Why bother to write about something so simple?

It's more, though, than just my sins being covered up. If I tripped and spilled ink all over the wall, I could paint over it with more white paint. You wouldn't be able to see it, but technically it would still be there, and that's not what Jesus did.

It's more, even, than just cleaning off my sins. I could scrub at the stain on the wall and possibly restore it to what it once was, but even that is not enough - "You've wiped away the stains" does not do it justice.

If I could somehow take back what had happened, if I could actually remove the stain and make it so that the ink had never been there, that that would be an accurate representation.

When the Bible says "as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us" (Psalm 103:12), God means it. The east never meets the west. Has never met the west. Will never meet the west. We are not our past mistakes.

In God's eyes, he looks at us and sees a soul covered by the blood of Christ. He does not see our sin. To him it is as though we never did any of it.

My pastor tells a story of a time when he got up on stage and told the audience: "I was preparing to go on stage to preach the sermon a few minutes ago, and as I stood backstage looking out at the audience, one particular woman caught my eye. I felt God ask me, 'Do you know the history of this woman?' " He tells how, as he said this sentence to the audience, he saw this woman's face fall and her shoulders slump. And then he continued. " 'No, God, I don't.' And after a pause, God replied, 'Hm. Neither do I.' " The woman looked up, hopeful, confused, trying to grasp this concept - when we have confessed our sins, they are forgiven. God doesn't hold a grudge against us.

God remembers our sins no more. Why should we? Why dwell on it? It is hard to forgive oneself, but if God has forgiven, so should we. It is as though they have never happened!

As I said in a previous note, "Guilt is nothing when our mistakes are not only erased from our record but erased from all of history and thrown infinitely far from our lives - made nonexistent."

We were dead men. Corpses. Rotting, filthy beings, drowned in our own shame, shackled in our own sins. And Jesus removed those chains. Jesus brought us to life. Jesus made us as though it had never happened, as though we had never fallen from our original glory. And though we, like a child, will fall again, Jesus is standing there to help us back on to our feet.

So although we sing that God has wiped away the stains - and indeed he has - it's even more than that. Christ's sacrifice means even more than that. It means God has removed them permanently. It means we are freed from our guilt, from the burden of sin. It means he has made us perfect - we can be his child.

"My chains are gone, I've been set free! My God, my Savior, has ransomed me."

Through the Storm

2010-05-23T19:57:00.000-07:00

"It is well, it is well
Through the storm I am held
It is well, it is well with my soul"

I've heard people say before, "God promises to never put us through more than we can bear." But that's not actually what the verse says. People are referencing 1 Corinthians 10:13, which says "...God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it." Meaning God won't put us in a situation where there is no way out but to sin - he always gives us a way out.

It doesn't mean circumstances in life won't be more than we can handle alone. Sometimes things happen in our life that bring us to our knees. Sometimes it's more than we can hold.

And, really, if we could do everything on our own, what would be the point of God? If we could bear life alone, we wouldn't need to give our burdens to Christ. By surrendering our circumstances to Him, though, we draw so much closer.

When we were singing "It Is Well With My Soul" in church this morning, this is the way I thought of it: If I can stand up under life by myself, if I don't need God's help, if I can keep walking on my own, then I wouldn't need God. But if I'm brought to my knees by life, that is when God can hold me through the storm.

There's an age that toddlers reach where they want to do everything by themselves, because they're learning how to be independant. If there's a two-year-old who is determined to walk somewhere by themselves, and you pick them up and hold them, they aren't going to sit contentedly in your arms - they'll squirm and wriggle until you put them down. We're like that with God sometimes. If he tries to draw us in when life is great and everything's going great, we try to squirm and get away so we can get to what we want to do. But if that toddler trips and skins his knee - if something happens in life and we fall and we're brought to tears - they'll run back into the arms of their Father for comfort.

I'm not saying God causes bad things to happen to us, because I don't believe he does. Good things are from God, but he can use the bad things for good. When things happen in life that bring us to our knees, he can hold us through the storm and comfort us where no one else can. When it seems like we're most alone, God is sometimes the closest. He'll never leave us or forsake us. Through the storm we are held.

I Am Free

2010-05-21T21:30:00.000-07:00

My other thoughts from last night came from the song I Am Free. It's an upbeat, praise, jump-up-and-down kind of song, but I was not jumping up and down like I usually do.

Why?

Well, I like to sit in the very front row during youth group. And I like to jump up and down when I'm praising God. But last night, I let the people behind me stop me. I toned down my enthusiasm for the sake of fitting in.

And then it hit me that the song I was singing was talking about just this.

The chorus says "I am free to run, I am free to dance, I am free to live for you, I am free." And just as I was singing these words, I was letting stuff hold me back. I think the song is supposed to be talking about "I am free" in the context of sin, but it works for my situation too: I am free from what other people think about me. I'm free from the burden of sin, and I'm also free from the burden of needing to fit in!

If someone is watching me, let them watch. If someone is staring at me, let them stare. I don't care. It's just me and God. And if I want to throw myself into worship and dance in the throne room of God, then by all means, I am going to dance.

" 'Do you know what children like to do, Caleb?' Father Hadane asked. 'They like to dance.'
Yes, they like to dance.
'Do you know what King David did around the Ark of the Covenant, Caleb? He danced.'
Caleb glanced up at the Father.
'Do you know why David danced around the Ark? Because he was in the presence of God. And in the presence of God you sometimes become like a child. We are keepers of the secret of the Ark, Caleb, and we like to dance.' " -A Man Called Blessed by Ted Dekker

"Don't you know that you yourselves are God's temple and that God's Spirit lives in you?" 1 Corinthians 3:16.

This is what came into my mind last night as I decided that I was being silly and started bouncing up and down like I wanted to. After Jesus died on the cross, and after the Holy Spirit was given as a Comforter to God's people, the temple was pointless - God didn't only indwell the temple, he indwelled all of his people. We are his temple. We are, in a way, the keepers of the Ark of the Covenant, because we have a new covenant with God. We are God's temple, he is present with us. And sometimes in the presence of God...well, sometimes I just like to dance.

Now I know, some people's denomination or some people's beliefs make them not want to dance, or make them uncomfortable, or whatever. And I respect that. That's not what this note is about. This isn't me telling you that you need to dance (although if you decide you want to dance in the presence of God, go ahead!) because that would be silly - that would be doing the exact opposite of what I want to do. The reason I'm writing this, the reason I feel the need to share this, is because I'm not going to let other people limit me and the way I worship God. It's a note for myself, really, that I'm just making available for others to read. It's not so much about dancing as it is about the fact that God's opinion is more valuable to me than the opinion of the teenage kids standing behind me in youth group.

In fact, isn't that what everything I write is about? I am beautiful, because God says I am, and God is the one who is right - not the world. I am God's favorite, because God is the one who loves me. God's is the only opinion that matters.

I'm not gonna let other people stand in the way. I am free.

Quiet My Soul

2010-05-21T21:28:00.000-07:00

There's a beautiful song by Hillsong called Lead Me To The Cross. It's one of my favorite songs, and we sang it in worship today. Unfortunately, I didn't hear much of it past the second line, because those were the lyrics I got "hung up" on today:

Savior I come
Quiet my soul, remember...

I started wondering about that line. Quiet my soul. My first thought was that it was sort of a command to myself. "Quiet, my soul!" But the more I thought about it, I think the better meaning would be that it's asking the Savior to quiet my soul.

I've had a crazy busy day. It's a Wednesday, or a Sunday, or any day if I'm doing quiet time. I've got homework to do, finals to worry about, issues with friends, grades to keep up, chores around the house, and emotions to deal with. My mind is fogged up with all this junk, all these distractions. But I can come before God and ask him to quiet my soul. I can spend some time being still and knowing God.

Then I wondered, how is God gonna quiet me? I've got so much stuff swirling around in my mind. How does God make me finally shut up so he can have me to himself?

Zephaniah 3:17. "He will quiet you with his love."

I think it goes something like this. I'm standing in worship, unfocused and distracted. Finally I realize I need to pay attention, and look up, and see God...and I start explaining how busy I am, how I'm sorry but I just really haven't got time right now. And before I know it, I'm just pouring it all out to God. My burdens, my troubles, all the reasons I'm really just a screwed up little kid. Crying because I'm so not worthy.

And God just wraps his arms around me and just loves me.

He doesn't have to say anything, although sometimes he does anyway. But he wouldn't have to. It's enough for me to just be loved. I quiet down and just rest assured in the knowledge that he loves me. That he thinks I'm beautiful. That I make him happy. That he is God.

I can be still and just...know. I can be quiet. That stuff will still be there later. Right now, I can be content and give my burdens to God. I don't miss the worry, anyway. I wish I had this more often. I want to make that my prayer.

Quiet me, oh God, with your love. Oh God. Quiet my soul.

Take Joy

2010-05-21T21:26:00.000-07:00

I was in youth group one week ago, in praise and worship, when this hit me. Now, understand something about me. When I do praise and worship, when I'm actually focused and stuff, I'll frequently get hung up on one line of the song. There's a lot of truth in the songs that we sing that we don't really think about because we aren't paying so much attention.

Anyway, we were singing the song that goes "I love you Lord, and I lift my voice to worship You, O my soul rejoice." And it was the next line that stopped me cold: "Take joy, my King, in what You hear..."

...We make God happy?

Zoom out for a second. Zoom out of your own world, out past your family, your neighborhood, your community, your school, your work, your city, your state, your country, and take a quick look at the world. It hurts to think about, really. It hurts if you dwell on how bad we've gotten. How fallen the state of humanity has become. There's so much suffering and pain, both natural and man-made. People hurting other people just to get ahead or just for the sake of creating pain. And if you're really contemplating the heart of God, not only is there all of this fallenness in the perfect glorious creation He formed and loves with all His heart, but there's also - beyond just the suffering - there's rejection for Him. These beautiful little creatures that He knit together with His own fingers, these magnificent peaks of His creation, these wonderfully crafted beings that bear His very image, are denying His own existence. Spitting in His face. Taking the sacrifice He made for them and throwing it to the ground and rubbing dirt on that. It's painful to be God.

And somehow, in the midst of it all, somehow this one small child offering meager worship is pleasing? He smiles at my offering? He takes joy in what I have to give? I make God happy?

More than that, God inhabits the praises of His people. He is there when we gather together and worship Him. All of infinite God is in the room with me, and all of infinite God smiles at the tiny gift of love I have to give.

I'm trying, now, to make this my prayer. As I go to youth again tonight, God, let me be pleasing to You. As I live my life, God, let me be pleasing to You. Take joy, my King, in what You hear.

One Day

2010-05-21T21:25:00.000-07:00

Psalm 84:10 Better is one day in Your courts than a thousand elsewhere.

Remember the Gathering with me for a minute. Remember the best part of the whole thing. Remember the trip there, the awkward moments, the joking, the staying up way too late, the video chats, the actual event with Ted speaking, the book signing, the conversations, and the actually getting to hug all of these best friends in person. Think about the days leading up to the Gathering and how excited we all are. Think about the anticipation as the plane is just touching down to the runway, or the car is just pulling up to the hotel.

Imagine for a second that we, the EC'ers, could actually buy the Sleep Inn like I was joking about at the Dallas Gathering. Imagine that we didn't live in New Jersey and Florida and Indiana and Oklahoma and Texas and so many miles apart from each other - imagine we were all right there, together, with each other. Imagine that conversations in the Java Hut would actually take place in the downstairs lobby, in person, with Late Night Randomness, of course, as a frequent occurrence, and the deep discussions we have sometimes about our faith and relationships would happen face-to-face instead of through the internet.

Think what it would be like if we never had to say good-bye. If our Gathering could last forever. Yeah, well, God says Heaven will be better than that.

You know my song, It's Like The Gathering? Technically speaking, I'm wrong. Heaven is not like the Gathering. In fact, Heaven is so much eternally better than the Gathering that this verse in Psalms says that spending one day in God's courts would be better than spending years in a huge, all-out celebration here on Earth. If we could take the best, most pinnacle, happiest moment of our entire communion together and stretch that joy out and feel that way our entire life, it would pale in comparison to a single isolated minute spent with God.

One day we'll get to live this. These aren't only words on a page - they're a foretelling of what is actually gonna happen. One day we'll get to be there. Together. And the best part? The verse tells us that one day there would be better than a thousand here, but we don't have to limit it to just one day. We get an eternity in Heaven. We get an eternity together. Nothing in this world can even begin to compare to what it will be like. Our minds can't even wrap around it. Just like we can't speed up time the week prior to the Gathering to make it come sooner, we'll just have to be patient and wait with mounting anticipation for the day when our longing is finally satisfied and we get to go home. Together.

silent smile

2010-04-30T21:49:00.001-07:00

there isn’t much to say.
we could sit here all day
and smile in the sleepy silence
and just enjoy.
it’s not that we can’t speak,
but empty words don’t need
to fill the happy silence,
being here is enough.
why is it we need sound
to always be around –
TV and music loud,
so we can’t hear the still?
sometimes we just forget
to be quiet and rest
and listen to the nothing,
and smile in the dusk.
and so my heart is loud,
it wants to scream and pound,
because I am just happy.
and softly smiles prevail.

Time Passes

2010-04-30T21:47:00.000-07:00

you can never turn the clock back
you can never have a second back
once it slips over the cliff,
each moment marches forward
which is why we try
to capture time
by staying awake so late
by living thrilled in every minute,
wringing every precious second
to live it to its fullest.
it can’t come back,
it won’t come back –
a leaf dancing in the breeze,
time is whisked away,
gone away,
fleeting and fragile in the wind;
beautiful crystals for scarce a second
which flutter and land and melt
and leave behind
a paperthin memory,
a gentle impression,
a quiet smile.

To Be Won

2010-04-30T21:46:00.000-07:00

What is this desire,
which tugs at a girl’s heart?
The longing in her being,
planted from the very start?
A wish to be unique,
a craving to be thought
someone who is worthy
of trying to be caught.
She wants to be beautiful,
without having to try
or wearing skimpy clothing
just to catch an eye.
She just wants to be loved
in a world that offers none.
It’s the way that she was made,
with a longing to be won.

tangled thoughts from my heart

2010-04-10T21:16:00.001-07:00

I am God's favorite. I am his absolute, unequivocal favorite. He does not love anyone in this world more than me.
I wonder what other people's lives are. I mean, I see people all the time - we drive past people in cars, on sidewalks - brush past people in malls and schools and never give them another glance, a second thought. But each of them is the center of their own little universe, and each of them is God's favorite. God is crazily in love with them, head-over-heels in love, insanely unorthodox in love with them. The whole cloud of witnesses are eagerly awaiting their every move, wondering what their reactions will be to God's intensely all-encompassing offerings of love to them, his divine courtship. He's pleading with them to love him back, to the point of sacrificing his very child for the merest chance at their redemption.
What is the real story of the girl next to me? What is the true background of the boy across the street? Even if I asked them, they probably would never tell me the real story - the deep-entrenched secrets and long-hidden happenings they refuse to let come to light. The heartaches, the lies, the evils, the absues, the rejections they don't want anyone to know about... These are things they will never share, demons in their heads taunting them, persuading them they are unloveable, hopeless, worthless. Rejection has rendered them unable; pain has rendered them unwilling; guilt has rendered them unworthy.
But rejection is nothing when we have a Father who promises to never leave us, an Abba who longs to love and cherish us for all eternity.
Pain is nothing when the one who suffered ultimate physical and emotional abuse for our sake swears to wipe each tear from our eyes.
Guilt is nothing when our mistakes are not only erased from our record but erased from all of history and thrown infinitely far from our lives - made nonexistent.
Jesus, you see, paid it all. Not in the glib or cliche sense, either. Every sickness, every pain, every sin, every shame. Each stripe on his back paid for our disease. Each nail in his hand took our filthy sin and made us clean. Each step of humiliation down a stony road removed our shame.
And as if it weren't enough for him to call us fixed - as if he didn't do enough already by healing our hearts and proclaiming us no longer broken, he took it another step and declared we were beautiful.
The very essence, the embodiment of beauty thinks I am beautiful. The definition of beauty thinks I reflect him. He has adopted me as his beautiful little daughter, and he is intoxicated with love for me. And you. And everyone.
So every person we drive past? They center God's universe. Every broken heart is searching for the solace and healing only God can offer. Every desperate search for hope and meaning ends in God.
He loves me. He cherishes me. He thinks I'm beautiful.
He loves you. He cherishes you. He thinks you are beautiful.
You know you are God's absolute, unequivocal favorite?

Or is There a Difference

2010-04-06T18:21:00.000-07:00

Once, when I was eight,
I found a golden butterfly
lying on the ground.
I touched it gently.
Paperthin and fragile,
it quivered in the wind -
in shock,
I realized it was dead,
and wondered at the irreverence
of a world unmourning.

I have grown since I was eight.
The sights and sounds
and broken hearts
of this world
have dulled me -
I am too callous
to notice
one broken life.

Once, not long ago,
I found a golden dream
lying on the ground.
I touched it gently.
Paperthin and fragile,
it quivered in the wind -
in shock,
I realized it was dead,
and wondered at the irreverence
of a world unmourning.

A Modern-Day Parable

2010-03-19T16:26:00.001-07:00

As the S.S. Mundo set out for its maiden voyage, I leaned excitedly over the railing, watching the retreating green strip of horizon. This was my first trip out on my own, without the protection of Mom and Dad, or my crazy younger siblings. No, it was me and only me, setting out to see the world for myself.
Once the faraway trees had finally faded into the solid blue carpet of ocean, I left my post at the railing and surveyed the towering white metal ship. Gleaming polished walls rose high and contrasted sharply the pale blue sky. A constant loud murmur of human voices mingled with the low hum of ships’ engines and crashing distant waves.
The air smelled like salt and wind. Warm sunshine filtered from the sky and lay in soft fingers across my face.
I smiled and walked across the waxed wooden deck to the café and found an empty table. It was an unusual feeling, having no deadlines, no expectations, only leisure.
I’m unsure of how many miles we had gone. I was out exploring the ship in its entirety, stores with racks of cheap T-shirts and plastic trinkets and flimsy sunglasses, a shallow pool surrounded by dozens of sunbathers working on their summer tan, even a miniature golf course with tiny windmills and pasteboard rocks as obstacles to children and their neon golf balls.
Either way, hours had passed when I saw it. I was standing at the bow of the ship with salty breeze whipping my hair about, and admiring the endless turquoise water, when I saw it. Only a round splotch on the horizon, but it stuck out against the blue and blue of sky and sea. A rock, I thought, but no big deal. I was on a cruise, piloted by professionals. We would veer out of the way.
I wasn’t concerned. I left my spot overlooking the water and returned to the café for a glass of cola. A silver fish arced out of the water next to the ship and sailed through the air, shimmering in the sunlight.
I glanced casually to the horizon again. The speck was larger; a fist-sized, jagged black scar against the soft blue sky. And it was growing visibly now – in three or four minutes I could see foam-capped waves crashing against the weathered rock.
I was still certain that we would go around it, but a nagging doubt chewed at the back of my mind. I turned and set out toward the captain’s cabin, just in case he hadn’t seen the rock.
Two knocks on the door; a call from inside. “Who’s there?”
“I’m just a passenger, sir,” I replied. “Um…may I come in?”
There was shuffling from inside the room, and then the door swung open, revealing a uniformed man with graying hair and a day’s worth of stubble. “Can I help you?”
I gestured in the direction of the bow of the boat. “There’s a rock out there. I’m sure you’ve seen it, but I just wanted to make sure.”
He studied my face. “Make sure of what?”
I paused for a second. Wasn’t it obvious? “Well…that, ah, that we’ll go around. The rock.”
He chuckled, not unkindly. “It was nice of you to be concerned, but you’re quite mistaken. There is no rock.”
Could I have been mistaken? But it was looming there, out in the water. I knew I’d seen it. “Yes, sir, there is a rock. I know what I saw.”
“There’s no rock,” he said simply, “have a good day.” And slammed the door in my face.
I took a few steps back, mouth agape at the sheer absurdity of this. I rushed again to the front of the boat. Yes, the rock was still there, jutting out of the sea ominously ahead of us.
This was ridiculous. We would all crash, all die if we didn’t steer the boat out of the way!
Lifeboats. We’d have to get off the ship to safety, and the only option was lifeboats.
I turned to the person nearest me, a young man with disheveled hair, jeans, and a T-shirt. “Sir? Sir, the boat is going to sink.” I swallowed. That would be a bad way to start.
He stared at me with wide eyes. “What?”
“Sorry. We need lifeboats. We’ve gotta get off the ship, it’s going to crash.”
“There are no lifeboats!” he exclaimed. Images of Titanic swam through my mind, but oddly, he was smiling.
“No…lifeboats? Then we’ll crash into that rock and-”
“There’s no rock,” he answered with the look of someone explaining something very simple to a very small child.
I flung a hand out toward the ugly obstruction. “Right there! There’s a rock right there!”
“A lifeboat is only a crutch. You have to face life intellectually. Rocks and lifeboats are only in the imagination.”
Heaving a frustrated sigh, I turned to a nearby woman. “That rock out there! Don’t you see it? Can’t you see we’re going to crash?”
She gave me a strange look. “There is no such thing as crashing. One can only fear the crash, but in the end, it shall never come.”
OK, that was a little weird. I ignored her and caught the attention of a third passenger. “Ma’am! We need to board lifeboats before this ship crashes.”
“Lifeboats? I don’t believe in lifeboats,” she answered, peering at me over wire-rimmed glasses.
“What do you mean, you don’t believe in them?” I gave a circumspect glance. “There’s a sign right there,” I told her, pointing to a sign that read LIFEBOAT and was hanging above a folded yellow plastic bundle.
“I just haven’t ever seen the work of a lifeboat, so I really don’t think they exist,” she informed me, stalking away with the other woman.
The young man gave me one last smile. “Think about it intellectually. If there were lifeboats, why would rocks exist?” And with that, he walked away.
What kind of answers were these? Wasn’t it blatantly obvious we were in danger and there was a way out?
Maybe I was the crazy one. I peeked at the rock again. It was still there and rapidly growing.
A teenaged kid running past took note of my distraught expression. “You OK?”
“Our ship is going to crash and no one will listen to me!”
He started. “Crash? Wh-why do you say that?”
“There’s a rock dead ahead. We’re steering right for it!”
He peered into the distance. “Where’s the rock?”
“You don’t see it?!” I pointed him in its direction.
He squinted for several long moments, and then sighed. “Well,” he admitted, “there might be a rock, but we’ve got plenty of time before crashing. If we abandon ship now, think of all the fun we’ll miss out on.”
“We’re approaching faster than you think.”
He shrugged. “Nah, I’ll be fine. That lifeboat stuff just isn’t for me yet.” And he walked off toward the bar.
I was dumbfounded. Who could think of fun in a time of crisis like this? At a loss for what else to do, I grabbed a café chair and jumped up on it.
“Hello?” I yelled, waiting to see if anyone would pay attention. Several heads turned my way. “Look, I don’t want to scare anyone, but there’s a rock we’re heading for, and we need to get on lifeboats and get out of here.”
An instant uproar started.
“How dare you! You’ve offended me!”
“She’s just a lifeboat-pusher. Sticking her nose into everybody else’s business.”
“There’s no literal rock. Rocks are figurative.”
But among the crazy crowd, a few people believed me and offered their help. “We’re with you. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Frustrated with the small positive response, I offered one last warning to the mob of passengers. They still refused to listen.
“Rocks only exist in the mind. One must meditate to clear away the negative energy of the rock.”
“When I was little, I went on a boat, and they made us do lifeboat drills, but we never crashed. It’s all scare tactics!”
“The lifeboat is something in my soul. I am the lifeboat.”
“There’s a little bit of lifeboat in everything.”
I ignored them and, with the help of my newfound friends, dragged the pile of plastic out and unfolded it. Someone hit auto-inflate and it began filling with air.
We heaved it over the side and, one by one, leaped down onto the yellow plastic. Not a moment too soon, either, because the jutting rock was now very near to the boat.
A loud splash sounded from behind us as we frantically paddled away from the doomed vessel, and suddenly a head bobbed above the waves. It was a woman clinging to a flowerpot. “Don’t be so narrow-minded! Both flowerpots and lifeboats lead to safety!” she shouted before sinking.
As our lifeboat slowly drifted away, the ship slammed into the boulder in the background, crumbling to pieces. From what we could tell, there were no survivors. I felt terribly bad for them, but I had given fair warning!
So I wrote the whole story down. Maybe, if this ever happens again, this story might make them take heed.
As for me, I’m staying firmly on dry ground.

Flashback! part two

2010-02-06T11:21:00.000-08:00

A couple of stories from my grade-school days. Still 2nd grade. :)

***
My Ice Cream Filled Day
I was sitting at home one day, when all of a sudden there was a big wind. IT wooshed me to the ice cream store, and I got some ice cream. "Woosh!," it went again, this time pulling me to Ice Cream Land. I climbed up Choclate Mountain, and I swam in Vannila Lake. I played at Strawberry Play-ground, and jumped on Mint choclate chip trampiline, did gymnasticks on Cookie dough Mat, and met Pistachio Piper. I had lots of fun, and that night for dinner I had ice cream!
All I'm wondering is how do I know how to spell "pistachio" but not "chocolate" or "vanilla"? I've never even had pistachio ice cream.
***
The Gift

Mark, Kristy, Larry, and Mary were standing outside one day. Mark was sad. He didn't have any toys. The only thing he had to play with was a sock. Mark and Kristy walked home, sad. They barly had anything to play with. Mary and Larry were making a gift of toys and candy, though. They put up their suprise at school. When Mark and Kristy walked in, everyone gigggled. Mark said, "Wait a second. What's going on here!?" Larry just giggled. Kristy said "OK. I'll reapeat it. What's going on here!?" Mary just giggled. "WHAT'S GOING ON?" Kristy and Mark shouted to gether. Mary and Larry just burst into laughter. Supris-ingly, Mark and Kristy did too. "OK. OK. Stop!" said Mark. "I get it. You guys wanted to give thease to us. Thanks!" he added. "Ya," "Thanks!" said Kristy. "YOUR WELCOME!" the class said. Mark had even met some new friends. He was very happy. He lived until the age of 90.
***
The Silver Mine

Once there was a fake silver mine. It was to punish people who were greedy. Once a man came to it, and dug and dug, but found nothing! He backed up, thinking he could find another place to dig, but fell into a deep hole and got eaten by henyas.

That last word is "hyenas", by the way. This story scares me. Why was I thinking about this sort of stuff when I was eight, anyway?

Flashback! part one

2010-02-06T09:57:00.000-08:00

Every writer had to start somewhere, right? Well, I discovered my 2nd grade writing journal this weekend, and decided to post some of my utterly awful, naive, precocious, whatever-you-want-to-call-it writing from when I was eight years old. :) Spelling/grammar mistakes, and all. Stuff in italics is my own comments, from the fifteen-year-old side of it.

***
My Dreams
1. I want to be an astronaut.
2. I will go to the moon.
3. I will bring back moon-rocks.
4. I will put up another flag.
5. I will have lots of fun!

***
How I Would Change the World
1. If I could change something I would make everything free.
Mom's comment as I was reading this out loud: "Oh, everything free? That'll boost the economy."
2. I might make animals talk.
3. I would make hundreds of carnivals.
I didn't think I ever went to a carnival. I probably read it in Charlotte's Web or something.
4. I would make women presiedents.
5. I would make people only love each other.
6. I would make sure nobody got hurt or sick.

...In short, I'll institute communism and the 2nd Coming.

***
Patriotism
1. Patriotism is loving my country and devoting my self to it's good.
2. Patriotism shows my love for America.
3. Patriotism is appreciating my country's history.
4. Patriotism is helping my parents get out to vote.
5. Patriotism is appreciating those who protect my country.

More to come, including an actual story or two.

iloveyou

2010-01-26T18:39:00.000-08:00

i wish i could travel
by car, time, or air
to stop at someplace
where you would be there.
and then i'd slow time down
with your hand in mine
and dance in the rain
and have nothing but time.
we'd skip through the mountains
and dance through the stars
and capture a rainbow
and keep it as ours.
and when the sun goes down
we'll paint the sky above
with pink, red, and orange,
and beauty, and love.
and if i had forever
it would be too few
of minutes and hours
to spend next to you.
and someday i'll travel
by car, time, or air,
and i'll look and i'll find you
and i'll stay with you there.

How He Loves

2010-01-26T18:36:00.000-08:00

He is jealous for me -
for me?
Why would He care
what happened to me?
I'm so short-sighted.
I never do see
the plans in my life
that He's planning for me.
I slip and I fall
and I sin yet again.
What is this one life
to Him?
Why would He care
if I stomped away -
joining the crowd who does that each day,
turning my back and running away.
Why would He be...
jealous for me?
Maybe He loves me, but even so
aren't there millions to love
if I turn and go?
And yet -
for some reason that I don't know,
the songwriter's right:
He loves me so!

Snow

2009-12-24T11:05:00.000-08:00

I wake to
an excited call from
downstairs:
I fling my covers off,
yank open the blinds
and the room
floods with grey light.
Outside the glass pane,
soft flakes are
lazily floating from the sky,
coloring the world white,
blanketing it with heavy cotton.
I rush down the stairs,
pull open the door
and peer outside.
It's like a different world,
hushed,
sleeping,
unblemished and new and clean.
I step outside;
gentle crystals drift
silent.
Fragile flakes
kiss my skin
for a split second
before dissolving.
Cold makes my skin tingle,
so I turn to leave,
cheeks pink and smiling,
and eyelashes draped with soft lace.

Brown Eyes

2009-11-30T20:14:00.001-08:00

Brown eyes
watched him go,
stemmed with tears to
mirror his
then dried,
cried no tears for
weeks, determined
to focus on greater things; but then
Brown eyes turned
inward, to the past,
remembering things
which did not last
and tears brimmed
in the dark when
no one was nearby to see,
springing from
a lonely heart which
longed to just
be loved.
Brown eyes
with a determined glint,
rose the next morning
strong and certain,
able to face life
alone -
but reality hit
and once more they
blinked closed,
futile barriers against
salty, overflowing emotion.
Brown eyes
clamped closed
through silent prayers,
pleas,
to a seemingly-silent God
to fix the hurt,
to bandage a heart;
the night sky
yielded no reply and
once more
brown eyes cried.
Brown eyes
looked and saw:
what had stood there
all along,
a friend,
a good friend,
(but no more than a friend,
of course!)
who offered support,
a shoulder to
cry on.
Brown eyes
cried on his shoulder,
turned away and -
fell in love.
Brown eyes
cry no more,
instead they sparkle
and smile wide
and reflect love,
and they clamped shut
one lovely violet night
and thanked the velvet sky
for listening
before closing in sleep
and diving into dreams
without a single tear.

Observations of Modern Day

2009-11-21T20:37:00.000-08:00

I think I've lived a life as close to perfect as it gets.

I don't mean me personally, that I'm perfect. I've got my fair share of vices, more than I should probably. I mean that my life has been awfully nice. I mean, yeah, stuff sucks sometimes, and sometimes pretty bad. But...well, let me explain what I mean.

For starters, I was born in America. You liberals can whine all you want, but this country is amazing. Do people want in or do they want ou? We are, flat out, the best country in the world. Being born here improved life significantly.

Secondly, see, I like to watch people. I understand more than most fourteen year olds. I'm not bragging. I just naturally do. And like I said, I like watching people, especially people my age because I'm around them a lot. Let me tell you what I see:

Most of the time, I see confused kids who don't know they're confused and who fancy themselves adults. I see people caught in between adulthood and childhood, who are desperately searching for how to fit in while not entirely sure what it is they're searching for. I see kids starving for love and finding it in each other since they cannot find it at home, kids trying to stay afloat in the tricky game of love and loss and doing no better than, often, their parents did. I see them trying to decipher what it means to love, what it's like to be selfless or, more often, failing as they cannot come to terms with anything other than selfishness.

I see kids who hurt and hide it. I see insecurities masked by a facade that often they don't even know is there. I see battered childhoods hidden by bravado, loneliness hidden by swagger, self-loathing hidden by snobbiness. I see how the kids who radiate anger are often the ones most in need of love, and how the sullen teenager is often the one wondering if anyone really loves him.

I see kids raised in a society that doesn't care, either about them or about what they do, and I watch them live accordingly. I watch as they party, break the rules, disobey, yell at their parents, curse, and sleep around. I watch them break every law they can in a desperate search for meaning that they don't know they're in. They are yelled at, punished, grounded, told they don't matter and told they are losers. I see kids who are beaten down by the world, and still the world scratches its head and calls them useless when they, in defiant insignificance, try to hurt it back.

I watch kids who are so immensely impressionable at this age. Not so much by their parents, who had influence for the first ten or twelve years, but by their peers and teachers and friends. I watch them as realization first strikes that it is possible for Mom and Dad to be wrong, and that their beliefs could well be the wrong ones. Then they question themselves, and question everything until they happen upon what they bewlieve is truth, and they swear themselves to that truth.

Often, too, the belief that they finally come up with is that there is no point - and in the world we live, one can hardly blame them. The adults which they look up to without knowing it have often demonstrated nicely to them the best way to fail in a relationship, the best way to lose a job, the best way to be a loser. If a teen manages to grow up in a good home that's not dysfunctional, often an undeserved catastrophe strikes their life - the loss of someone they love, a disease in the family - or society itself manages to convince them that if they don't look this way, weight this much, dress this way, live like this, then they are worthless. After a fruitless period of chasing these unattainable goals, teens too often conclude that they, indeed, must be worthless.

These are awkward years, years of being too young and too ignorant to be an adult, but too burdened with knowledge and experience to be a child. They are children playing grown ups, while in reality neither but caught between the two.

What is the fall out? What are the effects? These masquerading adults fall into lives of addiction, become parents many years too early, have responsibility thrust into their lives well before they are willing to receive it. They wind up jailed, or dropouts, or homeless; for years, the world has informed them that they are losers, and so that is what they grow up to be.

I watch kids carve scars into their flesh, because the pent-up loneliness and despair seemingly has no other outlet. I watch girls cling to abusive relationships, because twisted love is the only love they've ever been offered. I watch kids study life for years only to determine that it is useless and kill themselves, because they feared there was no other way.

Where are you, church?

Where are you, teenagers who are strong in Christ? So often one of this lost and dying generation will wander through the doors of your youth group, making one more stop on the journey of the search for meaning in a chaotic and spiteful world, and where are you? You are not inviting them in with open arms; often, you are in your little clique of church friends, chattering and gossipping, as they slip out the back door, having concluded here is no different from elsewhere.

Where are you, adults? So often one of these hurting kids will strut into your sanctuary, with an air of self-assurance to mask insecurity, but you look no further than the tattoos or piercings or torn clothes or dyed hair before labeling them a hopeless rebel, and your judgemental glances shoo them out the way they came, convincing them you and the world are seperated by nothing more than concrete walls and a Christian label.

I know I will offend some with this discourse. I know some will shrug and wonder why it matters. I know some will simply disagree. I know some will read it and not comprehend; perhaps they are or were one of these teens, or perhaps they just don't see the problems I've described.

But I sincerely hope that some will read this and take it to heart. I know even I am going to make some changes to my lifestyle. I pray that perhaps you will join me.

There's a very confused generation out there. Please help me. Please help them. They want meaning...join me in pointing them toward the Answer.

More Pastels

2009-11-14T13:19:00.001-08:00

Perfect Imperfection

2009-11-01T19:39:00.001-08:00

God formed a child one day.
He knit the infant together in his own image, and then gave him lovingly to a mother who had prayed so long for a baby.
God pronounced the baby beautiful, and God planned out great things that he would do with this child as he grew. God planned how he could touch the world with this child.
God watched as nine months passed. God watched the day that the mother discovered that she was to be a mother, and she cried tears of joy and embraced her husband and they laughed together. God watched the day that she first heard her son’s heartbeat, strong and steady, and wondered at the miracle of a life growing in her.
God watched on the day that the child was born. He watched as the doctors took the baby and pronounced it imperfect. He watched as the doctors told the mother that her child was handicapped.
God saw the mother try to stay strong in front of the doctors, and he saw as soon as they left how she burst into tears. God reached down and held her as she cried for her son and for herself and for her broken dreams.
And God whispered to her, “I love you, and I love your child. I gave him to you for a reason. You cannot see as far as I can.
“I can see the members of your family who will reject this child and reject you, because he is not normal in their eyes. I can see the friends who will stare and who will feel awkward and who will not treat you the same way, because your son does not live up to their standards. I can see the children who will leave him out and who will laugh at him. I can see the people who will stare at him when you go out in public.
“But,” God continued, “I can also see the members of your family who will gradually come to accept him for what he is. I can see the people whose lives will be touched. I can see the tears that will be cried when he reaches every milestone. I can see the people whose hearts he will change forever. I can see the people who will come to see handicaps in a different light, and wonder if perhaps our society has defined handicapped incorrectly. I can see the people who will be better people for meeting your son. I can see the people who will come to Me because of your son.
“And I can see the perseverance that your son will demonstrate as he struggles with things that come easy to the rest of us, and how he won’t give up when it gets hard. I can see how strong he will be in me. I can see how beautiful he is and how much he means to me. I can see how his character will affect others. I can see the loving person that he’s going to be, and the love that he will demonstrate to others.
“I made this child in my image,” God reminded her. “I do not make mistakes. This child has been named imperfect by the world, but this child is not of the world. I have a plan for him just like I have a plan for any other child. You may look at him and see an infant, but I see a man of Me. You may look at him and see a handicap, but I see an enabled little boy who will do great things. And above all, I see someone who I love and who will love Me. And you will teach him how.”
And in a nursery in a different room of the hospital, a little boy, who the world called imperfect but God called perfect, opened his eyes and looked at the world around him, which he was to touch so deeply.
And God smiled.

The Five Proofs for God's Existence

2009-10-28T16:44:00.000-07:00

An essay I wrote for Bible class. (I got a 100, by the way. 8-) )

* * *

The Five Proofs for God's Existence

According to Thomas Aquinas

by Kelsie Beers

1) The proof from motion.

Everything in our world that ever moves, only moves when moved by another (i.e. a rubber ball does not roll until I roll it.) Another way of saying this is potentiality and actuality. A piece of wood has the potential to be hot, but isn't actually hot until I set it on fire with an actually-hot flame. So, everything in the world, the world itself, everything in the universe, and the universe itself is in actual motion, or in a state of actuality. Nothing that is in actual motion has the capacity to move itself, so either the universe is eternal (which is impossible, according to the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics) or the universe did not move itself. Intellectual people believe that the universe did not move itself, which implies that the universe was moved by another force. This "another" must be eternal, or moved by something else. If it is moved by something else, then the something else must be eternal or moved by something else, etc, but somewhere along the line something had to be eternal and start all of the motion. This is understood to be God.

2) The proof from efficient cause, or cause-and-effect.

Every effect has a cause. It is impossible and absurd to conceive of an uncaused effect, because by definition an effect must have a cause. However, an uncaused cause breaks no law of logic, and is in fact necessary, because the universe itself is one giant effect, and as such needs a cause (or, again, the universe would have to be eternal which is impossible.) This cause of the universe must be either uncaused and eternal, or caused by another, but eventually there must be a cause which is infinite and not caused by another. This is understood to be God.

3) The proof of necessary being.

Everything in our universe that exists, has the capacity to not-exist. This is why people die and are born, plants wither and also grow, etc. We all have the capacity to not-exist, because we are not infinite but finite. However, nothing can bring itself into existence. Everything that exists had to be brought about by another (plants come from a seed, people come from their parents, etc.) Well, the universe is not infinite, so therefore it must have been caused ultimately by another, and somewhere along the line this "necessary being" has to be eternal and does not have the capacity to not-be or to not-exist, because this is the only being with the properties to bring everything into existence. This is understood to be God.

4) The proof of relative degrees, or, the proof of morality.

We say that things are good, things are bad, things are better and things are worse than other things. But in order to have these relative degrees, there must be an ultimate moral to compare them to. There must be an ultimate Good to compare all degrees of good to, and this is understood to be God.

5) The proof of design, or, the proof of order.

When we see something in the world that has order or design, like an airplane or a car, or a painting, we know it had to have been ordered or designed by an orderer or a designer. We don't see a machine and think it happened by chance, or by exploding atoms or swirling mathematical points. We know that complex or ordered and designed things had to have an intelligent, or at least purposeful creator (they knew what they were doing). So when we see a butterfly, or electrons and protons and how they work, or the process of pollination, we know that these must have had an ultimate Orderer or Designer. This is understood to be God.

Pastels

2009-10-23T14:56:00.000-07:00

Two oil pastel drawings that I made and hung up in my room.

(I posted them on this blog instead of my other blog because this is kind of all my artsy stuff. I'm gonna start including more drawings and paintings and stuff on here too. :))

Marching Band as a Metaphor for Life

2009-10-18T21:21:00.000-07:00

When I wake up at six in the morning to the sound of my oh-so-annoying phone ringtone, the last thing in the world that I want to do is roll out from beneath my fuzzy grey blanket and get ready for the day.
Nevertheless, I must. So I stumble out of bed and prepare for the day.
Ten minutes later as I'm downstairs in the khaki pants and polo shirt that constitutes my school's dress code, I feel a little better. After I've had breakfast, I feel even more awake.
The sky has only just started to lighten as Mom drives me the fifth of a mile to school. I could walk, but Mom worries about my walking in the dark, and it's hard on my ankle.
Laden down with backpack (crammed with homework, schoolbooks, and lunchbox) and gym bag (stuffed with marching band clothes, a sweatshirt, and a hairbrush) I clamber out of the car and into the school building.
Almost exactly as the clock strikes seven, the sun peeps over the horizon, giving the sky a slight purple tint. I toss my bags into the corner of the lobby and fetch my horn from its slot in the wooden shelves which house all the instruments.
In a few minutes, I'm standing on the dew-dampened football field beneath a rapidly lightening sky.
Halfway through our morning routine, it strikes me: This is life.
I mean, marching band is like life. It's the perfect metaphor. See, when you, the audience, sit in the stands and watch the finished show, you don't see all the work that's put into it. When I get out there for practice on the field, I learn where to stand, but that's all I know.
I don't ever see the full picture. What you see as a shape or a line or a picture, to me, is just another point on the field. I don't have the higher vantage point to see what it is I'm a part of. Only the people in the bleachers do, and only God sees the part my life is playing in the greater story of things.
And I'm out there every day, whether it's raining and life is gloomy and depressing, or bright and sunny and everything is going well. If it's foggy and I can't see, if it's clear and the path I'm taking is obvious, I'm still out there marching.
There are moments, too, that take my breath away. When all is dark and suddenly the faintest orange glow is cast gloriously onto thick clouds, I watch in wonder. When the grass on the field is slick with dew and fresh for a new day, I notice and smile. When it's summer and shimmering dragonflies dart between us as we march, I see them. I don't know if anyone else bothers to slow down and watch the beauty around us, but I see them.
And then, just like that - it's been three or four months. Football season ends. Band is over, and I can hardly remember the days I didn't want to drag myself out of bed, and the work I've poured into this. All I remember at the end is the prize, because I've finally finished the work and I can at last enjoy it. All I know is that I have done well.

Yeah, marching band is a perfect metaphor for life.

Cemetary

2009-10-11T18:06:00.000-07:00

I have heard it said
that a cemetary is the
richest place in the world.
Thousands upon thousands who have died,
but with them to the grave they take
all the ideas they never expounded upon.
Stories never written
poems never penned
paintings never painted
songs never composed.
A world of dreams and hopes and ideas
reduced simply to regrets.

Photos & Memories

2009-10-11T07:34:00.000-07:00

In the dusty dirty attic

there's an old forgotten box

time-worn and faded

but if you brush the cobwebs off

and pry open the cover:

stacks of photos!

Grainy, candid snapshots

of what life once was,

and where it is going. A journey

encompassed in the radiant glow of newlyweds' faces

in a tiny infant and mother's joyful tears

in a toddler wobbling on his unsteady feet.

We watch as he grows up,

rides a bike and throws a ball

as another child joins the family,

as they head to school and

so many years later, as they leave the school to

start a life of their own,

(and perhaps a brand-new box will inhabit their attic -

the sequel to the story.)

The gaps between the pictures

are for our minds to fill.

And only those whose portraits are displayed

know the real story;

for them the pictures summon

some old forgotten wisp

of memory.

take all of me

2009-10-08T19:01:00.000-07:00

I plod slowly forward. Thick, grainy sand squishes up between my toes, and every so often a foamy wave laps up onto the golden shore to kiss my bare feet before making a hasty retreat into the churning ocean.
The sky hangs low and dark. Wind whips my hair about my face, obscuring my vision. I walk slowly for fear of dropping the precious cargo cradled in my palms.
Two fragile white hands cupped together, and nestled in them: my heart. Deep red, soft and warm. I carry it carefully. It's been bruised enough times already.
For the thousandth time, I contemplate turning and walking back. This means more than any decision I've ever made. Odd how easily all my emotions, thoughts, dreams, hopes, and fears can be encased in my own bare hands.
For the thousandth time, I remind myself that this needs to happen. I can't bear to live the way I have been.
I toss my head to get the hair out of my face. Slowly, my eyes come to rest on a lone figure standing on the beach ahead of me.
I turn my gaze upward from his sandals to his face, but then my eyes blur with tears. I taste salt as one snakes down my cheek. He does not react.
Carefully, I kneel on the claylike sand at his feet. I gently lay my heart on the sand before him before standing and dusting the grains off of my knees.
He reaches out and gently brushes the tear from my face, smiling at me. I dip my head, turn, and walk away.
Once, I shoot a last longing look back at the figure on the beach. He is cradling my heart in both of his hands, staring at it like it is his most prized possession.
Then he looks up. His eyes catch mine and his lips move. Mouthing words.
"I love you."

Dancing Over Me

2009-10-08T18:59:00.000-07:00

"The Lord your God in your midst
The Mighty One, will save;
He will dance over you with gladness
He will quiet you with his love
He will dance over you with singing."
-Zephaniah 3:17

When heavy rolling clouds
hang low and silver across the sky
stretching as far as the
eye can see
I think maybe God has
rolled them there
as we would draw thick drapes
over a window
and I think if we pushed
the clouds back and
poked our heads in
we might see him
dancing.

Rainbow

2009-09-28T16:53:00.000-07:00

Red
the velvet petals
of a delicate soft
rose
Orange
the blazing power
of a ravenous wild
flame
Yellow
the enveloping warmth
of bright golden
sunshine
Green
the lush blanket
of gently bowing
grass
Blue
the endless expanse
of deep sapphire
ocean
Indigo
the heavy darkness
of glittering quiet
night
Violet
the fragile flutter
of a tiny glorious
butterfly
And all together
the vivid hues blend
softly
to form
a sacred promise
a rainbow

By Its Cover

2009-09-28T16:52:00.000-07:00

You might look around the classroom
You might see
a dark-haired boy
who is taller than all of his friends
with chocolate colored eyes
and a tan.
But you don’t see
his mom and dad yelling
as he takes his sister
and hides
and reassures her
with no one to comfort him.
You might see
a quiet girl
with straight blonde hair
and torn blue jeans
and freckles.
But you don’t see
her mother sick in bed
throwing up again
and wondering if the chemo
will do her any good
this time.
You might see
a scrawny kid
who needs to comb his hair
with light blue eyes
and braces on his teeth.
But you don’t see
a confused teenager
who works at McDonald’s
and gives his mom the money
so she can pay
the rent.
You might see
a popular girl
with stylish glasses
and green eyes
who is admired.
But you don’t see
the lonely feeling
as she wonders if
it was her fault maybe
that her dad left
and her mom cries.
You only see
the impression they want to give off.
but
as if they were books
do not judge them
before you know the full story.

Heaven On Earth

2009-09-28T16:51:00.001-07:00

earth’s crammed with Heaven.
don’t you see it?
in the swirling pink haze
just before the majestic red
sun peeks over a far grey horizon –
in the steady pitter of
shining crystal drops
drizzling from a cloudy silver sky –
in the utter silence of
indigo night with diamond
stars glittering –
in a bold golden butterfly
alighting on a violet flower
wings delicate and fluttering –
in waving emerald grasses
tall and wild and soft
bending in the breeze –
in a strong ebony oak
tree, unyielding, brazenly
towering, casting a long black shadow –
earth’s crammed with Heaven.
don’t you see it?

(Earth's crammed with Heaven
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes -
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

Dark Clouds and Sunshine

2009-09-28T16:50:00.000-07:00

have you ever
seen a sunrise
where the pastels mingle
and blend into a perfect
orchestra of color
blazing pink and subdued gold
but when there are clouds –
when the perfect sunrise is
seemingly
marred by clouds
by thick clouds
black and grey
until the sun peeks over the horizon
and they are splashed
lavender and lilac
clouds make a sunrise
somehow more majestic
and I think maybewhen our lives are clear
uncomplicated
they are beautiful
but when heavy clouds roll
into our lives
black and grey
and then the Son shines –
trials can be used
to make our lives more
beautiful.

Going GREEN

2009-09-14T18:06:00.001-07:00

BLACK is a beautiful story of perfection and sin and brokenness and beauty, a perfectly knotted web where Thomas is caught between his two worlds and finds he is also the key to both.

RED is a tangled story of love and betrayal and death and life, a wonderful allegory of sacrifice and redemption where Thomas must play the slightly crazy end-of-the-world activist in one world and leads the entire world in the other.

WHITE is an amazing story of impossible love against impossible odds, of hiding and capture and how far do you go to love someone, where Thomas is both a hapless romantic and the deciding factor in the lives of 6 billion people.

The story seemed to be over, fulfilled, completed. But they say the best trilogies come in fours...

Now Ted Dekker has introduced his fourth book, GREEN, which does something no author has been able to do before: It makes the story a full circle. Whether you start with Green or Black, it makes sense either way. Personally, I would recommend starting with Black, but it’s up to you.

GREEN was an amazing thrill ride, a story that had me crying one minute and laughing the next. It ties your emotions to the characters’ hearts, and you feel like they are really real.

GREEN was one of the best books I have ever read. I would recommend it to anyone. It fits so many categories: inspirational, thriller, suspense, and almost allegorical. It has all the characters that Dekker fans love - Billy, Billos, Chelise, Samuel, Marie, Monique, Kara, and best of all, Thomas. Some new characters are introduced, too. Some old and familiar bad-guys, some new and improved bad-guys, but it’s all definitely in the Dekker style that’s impossible to forget.

I See You

2009-09-06T22:19:00.000-07:00

I see you.

I see you, my little girl. The little girl I made. The little girl I put together, who I breathed my life, my spirit into. Every breath you take is me. You live in me. You love in me. I love you.

I see you. I see you when you triumph. When the gifts I give you are put to good use, and you jump up and down and you laugh and you cry tears of joy because it worked out good this time. I see you when you make it, when you get first place, when you do the best. I'm so proud of you.

I see you. I see you when you fall. I see you when you don't make it, and I love you anyway. I run to you and I pick you up and brush you off and tell you it's okay. I love you the same, even if you don't do the best of everybody else, because you did as good as you could. You used my gifts to the best of your ability, and I love you.

I see you. I see you when you're singing to me, when you pour your heart and soul out into a poem and a song and a short story because you want to show the world who I am. You're trying so hard. You're doing so good. I gave you these talents. I see how hard you work to communicate it exactly right, to make it rhyme or to make it flow, because you want people to look at it and see me. And they do, even if you don't know it.

I see you. I see you when other people don't see the song you wrote, because you want it to be a song for just you and just me. I love you so much. I love your songs. I love the way you sing. Even if it's not the best of everybody, it's the best to me. I love you. I love your heart. I love how you pour yourself out to me.

I see you. I see you when you're distracted even though you're standing in praise and worship, and you aren't focused on me, even though you want to be. You ask me to help you focus, but I can't help you if you won't let me. But I know you're working on that, and I love you anyway. You are mine.

I see you. I see you when you stumble and you fall and you miss the mark, and you crawl back to me and cry. I know it's hard. I know sin is a difficult trap to avoid. I know you mess up sometimes. I love you nonetheless. I see how you feel like a screw-up, and you cry and you wonder how I could ever love you. But when I look at you, I see only my Son. I see the blood of Jesus. You are holy and precious in my sight.

I see you. I see the little girl I made. I love you even when you don't think anybody does. Even when you feel unloveable and broken, know that in your brokenness I am made visible. In your weakness, I make you strong. In your emptiness, I make you full. You cannot make it on your own. You need me, and I am more than willing to give you what you need. Just recognize that it is me who makes you whole, and stop pursuing other things to fill the void.

I see you. I see you when you're crying and when you're laughing, and when you laugh I laugh with you and when you cry I wipe your tears away. I want you to want me. I want you to love me back, and I love you so much. You feel lonely, but I am right here. I am always with you.

I see you. I see my girl. I see my beautiful girl who I made, who I love unconditionally. I love you when no one else can. I will always be there for you. You will never be alone, because I love you always and I always am with you. I see you when you are broken and when you are strong, and I love you both ways. I always did love you. I always will love you, my little girl.

Rain

2009-07-25T20:23:00.001-07:00

I step into the pouring rain

Cold drops anoint my head, my face

My heart as heavy as the sky

As grey as the clouds that seem to cry

And the pain can still somehow swell

And from somewhere the tears still well

The drops from my eyes mingle with more

And I stand alone in the downpour

No one can tell tears from rain

I hide it like I hide the pain

But when I’m alone it pulls me down

My heart feels like it’s on the ground

How lonely can a person be

Before they give up completely

How much hurt can one girl bear

Does anybody even care

I lift my face to the sky

Bitter heart and wondering why

And where’s the plan in all this mistake

Because all I feel is the ache

How can I make the hurt just end

And the broken pieces of my heart mend

The downpour begins to decrease

And my tears begin to cease

A shaft of light slips through the gloom

And a speck of hope begins to bloom

If God can chase the clouds away

Then surely he’ll turn night to day

Until the day when I am home

I still know that I’m not alone

And even when the thunder rolls

I know that God is in control

So through the tears and through the rain

I’ll go to him when I have pain

The Music of the Road

2009-06-22T10:36:00.000-07:00

Tires hum on a road of black.
Seat belt clips click and clack.
The air conditioner whirs and blows.
Somewhere outside, a bird crows.
Leaves rustle in the trees,
Blown about by a gentle breeze.
Cars roar as they pass by.
The engine rumbles and heaves a sigh.
In the middle of nowhere, all alone,
The road makes music of its own.

Saving CJ - Part Three

2009-06-20T15:51:00.000-07:00

Military headquarters

Michal slammed both fists down onto the wooden desk. "What do you mean, we lost them?"
"Just that. The man we had watching Sean's interaction with the terrorists was shot. And the GPS chip in his cell phone isn't transmitting anymore. They likely found the phone and destroyed it."
"W-wait. You mean Seth is...?"
"Dead? No." James replied. "He was hit in the stomach. He's in the infirmary." He fished a sheet of paper out from a drawer of the stained mahogany desk and slid it across the table toward Michal.
It was a few lines of dialogue. "Nothing yet.
"Still waiting.
"Subject is seated on a rock.
"Vehicle approaching.
"First contact made.
"Apparent foul play. Terrorist just - is he pointing a - oh, my God!"
The script ended there. Michal looked up at James expectantly.
"It's a printout of the transmissions Seth radioed in while spotting Sean," the lieutenant explained. Michal nodded, speculating what was supposed to come after "terrorist just".
There was a short pause. Finally Michal asked, "Is Seth in visiting condition?"
"I don't know," James replied hesitantly.
"Well, we're about to find out."

* * *

The infirmary

Michal knocked gently on the door jamb of the room. "Hello? Seth? Can I come in?"

There was a weakly mumbled reply, which Michal took for a yes. He stepped inside the room and offered a smile.

Seth was lying on the white-sheeted bed, propped up by pillows. A mound of gauze was tied tightly around his stomach. The faint but annoying beep of hospital monitors echoed once every few seconds.

Seth mustered a smile, a loud hiss coming from his oxygen tube as he drew in a breath. "Here to chew me out about losing CJ's trail?"

"No, not at all," Michal stammered. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

Seth's face grew serious. "I'm fine. Look, Michal, I'm really sor-"

Michal held up a hand to silence him. "Oh, Seth. She'll be fine. We'll find her. You did your best."

The wounded man nodded slowly. "I just - if it was Jaimie out there -" he stuttered, referring to his wife.

"Don't get me wrong, it's hard. I'm real worried about her. But you don't need to be going on a guilt trip. CJ's a strong girl. Sean's a smart guy. They'll make it out."

"Yeah," Seth said finally. "You're right. If anybody could survive, it would be CJ."

Michal smiled.

One Year

2009-06-20T15:41:00.000-07:00

It's only one year out of eternity
A year of pressing on
A year since you've been gone
How many more years will I be left lonely?
Until I join you in eternity

One whole year, I've
Persevered, I've
Tried to figure out how to live without you
All this time, you're
On my mind, 'cuz
I want to remember everything about you

It's only one year out of eternity
A year of pressing on
A year since you've been gone
How many more years will I be left lonely?
Until I join you in eternity

One whole year, you've
Lived without fear, you're
Dancing with the one who made the sun and moon
You're up there,
Without a worry or a care, and
I know that I'll join you very soon

It's only one year out of eternity
A year of pressing on
A year since you've been gone
How many more years will I be left lonely?
Until I join you in eternity

I can't even imagine the things that you can see
No longer enslaved to sin, you're finally set free
You've seen the very being who numbered all the stars
You've touched his face you've held his hands, you've felt his scars

It's only one year out of eternity
A year of pressing on
A year since you've been gone
I'll be patient till I finally
Get to join you in eternity

Saving CJ - Part Two (Sketch)

2009-06-16T15:42:00.001-07:00

This is the illustration that goes with Saving CJ, Part Two.

Illustrations

2009-06-16T08:45:00.000-07:00

OK, so whenever I'm writing a chapter of a story - like Saving CJ, for instance - I always have a sketch. Sometimes the chapter comes from the sketch, sometimes vice versa.

But I've decided that since, after all, this is my virtual notebook, I may as well add my illustrations. My real notebook is full of 'em.

Since Blogspot doesn't post pictures very large, you may have to click on them to see details.

And to start it off:

Saving CJ - Part Two

2009-06-16T08:39:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in an underground compound

Sean woke up to find himself face down on a hard, damp cement floor. He coughed and tried to work his way into a sitting position. His hands were cuffed, but thankfully in front of his body, so soon he managed to sit up.
He leaned against the cold wall, squinting to make out his surroundings. It seemed very simple: a bare cement room. Four walls, a floor, a ceiling. No furnishings or anything except -
Except a pile of cloth or pillows or something in the corner of the room. He crawled over to investigate.
As he got closer, the pile moved. Sean shuddered and drew back involuntarily. Then he took a closer look.
Suddenly, Sean sucked in a lungful of air. "Oh my word..." What he had mistaken for an inanimate pile of something was actually a person. And not just any person: CJ.
He choked back bile. CJ had a blindfold tied tightly around her eyes; her hands were wrenched behind her back and cuffed tightly enough to bite into her wrists. Her military jacket, shoes, and socks had been stripped, leaving her in a white cotton undershirt and army green cargo pants. Both pieces of clothing were tattered and soaked with sweat and blood.
Worst of all, though, were the signs of abuse all over her skinny body. Bruises marred her pale skin. Dried blood crusted her nose and lips. Her mouth was slightly open, revealing a missing tooth.There was a burn mark on her shoulder.
Sean had the misplaced thought that he was glad Michal didn't have to see this. He couldn't imagine seeing a loved one abused to this point. CJ was a mere acquaintance, but he was already blinking to hold back the tears.
He awkwardly reached for her face to try and take off the blindfold. She heard his movement and froze, terrified. Sean stopped. "CJ, I'm not one of them. It's me, Sean, Sean Whaley. From back at base."
He heard the slight tone of hope in her barely audible voice. "You guys found me?"
Sean's heart broke. He'd accidentally given her false hope. "No - no, I'm sorry. It's just me. They challenged one of us to come and help you. But it was stupid of me. I think it was a trap."
CJ fell silent again. Sean wondered if he had said too much. He reached for her blindfold again and pulled it off.
"No!" CJ cried in a frightened voice, startling Sean. Her voice fell to the barely audible range again. "Last time I took it off, they hit me."
Something in her tone of voice made Sean want to cry. How could humans torture another person to this point of brokenness?
"They - they won't hit you anymore, I promise. I won't let them, okay?"
She stared at him with hollow, terrified brown eyes. Sean realized she was trembling.
"Shh, shh. CJ, I promise, I won't hurt you. I'm here to help. We'll get through this together, okay?"
Slowly she nodded. At least she understood what he said. He lifted a hand and clumsily stroked her tangled hair. "I'll get you home safe. I promise."
CJ didn't say anything for several minutes. But finally she rested her head on Sean's shoulder and started to cry.

He Dances

2009-06-12T11:05:00.000-07:00

He dances with me
The Creator of the world dances with me
He holds my hands and he dances with me
He numbered the sands and still he dances with me

The same hands that formed the universe
Gently cup my face
The fingers which intertwine with mine
Formed the outer reaches of space
The eyes that watch the lightning dance
Reflect nothing but love
Green eyes in which I lose myself
Which watch me from above

And he dances with me
The Creator of the world dances with me
He holds my hands and he dances with me
He numbered the sands and still he dances with me

The forbidden fruit dangles just out of reach
So I foolishly let go
The Creator does not force my love
Though all too well he knows
The Evil One seduces me
Sweet poison on his tongue
I cast my lover to the side and
Toward the dark I run

A brand new lover I embrace
A sweet new kiss my wine
But dark his eyes and cruel his love
He robs me of what's mine
No longer can I dance, for sin
Weighs me heavy down
And once I'm spent, his lust fulfilled
I'm broken on the ground

But when I think all hope is lost
There's too much of my sin
Who steps back in and takes my place
As I'm giving in?
And I lay down my life and die
Because he died for me
And in a pool of red, red blood
I find that I can see

And then he dances with me
The Creator of the world dances with me
He holds my hands and he dances with me
He numbered the sands and still he dances with me

A brand new life is mine to share
My lover in my arms
The Evil One defeated now
He holds me safe from harm
His mercy and forgiveness overruled
My foolish, selfish pride
Now tears of joy spring to my eyes
For I am Elyon's bride

He dances with me
The Creator of the world dances with me
He holds my hands and he dances with me
He numbered the sands and still he dances with me
He dances with me
The Creator of the world dances with me
I die, I drown so he may dance with me
He puts aside his crown to dance with me

i drown

2009-06-12T11:03:00.000-07:00

Rushing red waters

swallow me whole

envelop my body

caress my soul

my lungs take it in

my body protests

there's no more to live for

I'll die with the best

oxygen gone now

blackness chokes my mind

chills sweep my backbone

my vision goes blind

I feel my heart pounding

all noises grow dim

and then my heart stops

I surrender to Him

but somehow I'm breathing

my heart pumps once more

I breathe in the waters

and my spirit soars

the water is love

He loves me, I know

He whispers it gently

as the tears start to flow

I made the best sacrifice

a human can give

and here I discover

in dying, I live

Spark the Fires

2009-06-12T11:02:00.001-07:00

It was a spark.

But then the spark became

a flame which became

a fire which became

a blaze which became

a raging, wild, unstoppable

burning, spreading, all-consuming

inferno which singed the very

outer reaches of my soul and

warmed my heart, no,

melted it in the raging fires,

the insatiable and

unquenchable and

overall awe-inspiring fires

of God's love for me.

And He Whispers

2009-06-12T10:59:00.000-07:00

And He whispers

to me, in the night;

the voice that spoke worlds into existence

now gently encourages me,

saying that

"I love you, little daughter, and

I died so you could

return this love, and

I would cross worlds to love you,

to cherish you. And

you are so very important to me.

You mean more than anything, and

if you had been the only one

if you still were the only one

who hated me, I would nonetheless

cross worlds to love you,

to die for you. And

I would rest at nothing until

I won your love.

You are beautiful to me, little daughter, and

you are mine.

I cherish you, my daughter,

my love.

I created you.

I know you.

I rescued you and

words do not suffice to

fully describe my love for you."

Fix

2009-05-17T13:17:00.001-07:00

Where do you turn

when life gets hard?

when you slip and fall?

when you tumble and crawl?

How do you learn

to let down your guard?

how do you regain

purpose from pain?

Who do you ask

to help you through?

does anyone care?

is anyone there?

When all life seems

to conspire against you?

is there a way out?

that anyone knows about?

When your life

has been torn apart?

can anything heal?

can a fix be real?

Can God repair

a broken heart?

is he that strong?

has he loved me all along?

Saving CJ - Part One

2009-05-07T18:20:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in an underground compound

The three men stomped into the room and looked at the crumpled figure on the floor. “We can’t get her to tell us anything,” one of them said in Arabic. “Nothing works.”

“I have an idea,” said another one, their leader. He explained it to his comrades.

A few minutes later, they were set.

* * *

An American military base in Iraq

“Lieutenant, sir!”

A young, sandy-haired soldier in uniform stepped smartly up to Lieutenant James Riley and saluted.

“At ease, soldier. What is it?”

The soldier handed a small package to James. “It’s the insurgents, sir. The ones who took CJ. They’ve made contact with us.”

James unwrapped the package neatly. Inside was a black DVD case. He raised an eyebrow and dubiously removed the disc.

A few moments later, four more officers had joined him in the room, sitting in chairs in front of a small portable television.

The DVD had been played. It basically showed clips of CJ, laying on a concrete floor, hair disheveled, with a stained white rag tied over her eyes and handcuffs clamping bruised wrists together.

A heavily accented voice had offered a deal: Information in exchange for CJ’s life. “We captured her,” he explained, “to extract information for our government. We didn’t expect a female to be this...difficult to break.”

Once the video was over, there was silence for a few moments. Then Sergeant Jerry Fox spoke up. “How cliché.”

“So what are we going to do?” Seth Tyler, a lieutenant, asked quietly. “It’s unthinkable to offer information for one soldier.”

“She’s not just another kid in the army,” Michal Evans snapped, green eyes flashing.

“Calm down, Lieutenant. Don’t let your emotions get in the way of your thinking,” Seth warned him. It was no secret that CJ and Michal had feelings for each other. Michal shut his mouth.

“It seems like a closed case to me. We can’t sacrifice information for her. She knew when she joined the army that something like this could’ve happened,” Jerry said logically.

“She’ll die! You know she’ll die!”

“Michal, there’s no way to stop that now!” Seth interjected.

“It’s someone’s life we’re talking about here!”

“Thousands of lives are lost in a war!”

“Does that make her any less valuable?” Michal was livid.

“Gentlemen!”

The last soldier, Sergeant Sean Whaley, held up a hand for silence. “Michal, I know she’s important to you. Her life is valuable to all of us. But think about it reasonably. We can’t trade military information to save one person, no matter who he - or she - is.”

Michal started to protest, but Sean cut him off. “However. One of us could offer false information. It might work.”

“They’re insurgents,” Jerry spat. “They can’t be trusted to keep a deal. And if it turns out they’ve lied, two lives will be lost.”

“We have to try something,” Michal said firmly.

“We don’t know what kind of information they want, so we’ll have to play it by ear,” Sean pointed out.

“I’ll go,” Michal said immediately.

“No,” Seth told him. “Your emotions would get in the way.”

Jerry stepped in before Michal could respond. “He’s right. I’m sorry, Michal, but you would react wrong if it went badly. You would respond with your heart instead of your head, and maybe end up compromising us.”

Michal opened his mouth, then shut it again, looking upset.

James spoke for the first time. “All right, Sean, so who do you think we should send?”
“You and Seth are lieutenants. You’re needed here. We’ve already established why Michal can’t go, and I think Jerry is too hotheaded to deal calmly with these people.”

“So you’re saying...”

“Yes.” Sean stood and drew himself up to his full height. “I’ll go.”

“You know if this goes bad, they could kill you,” Seth said bluntly.

“I know.”

“You know if you mess up, CJ could die.” This from Michal.

Sean swallowed and nodded. “I won’t let her die.”

Jerry’s eyes were dark with anger. “I hate leaving anything in the hands of terrorists. I don’t want to lose any men.”

“It’s alright, Jerry,” Sean promised. “I’ll come home safe.”

* * *

The desert

The terrorists had left detailed instructions on how this was to be carried out. One soldier was to meet them, alone, in a specified location at a specified time.

James was adamant about following these instructions to the letter, rather than attempting an ambush. “If we try anything funny and it goes wrong, the whole mission fails, and more likely than not, CJ dies.”

So it was entirely by himself that Sean waited, three miles from the nearest base, in the desert. Seth had dropped him off, giving him an apologetic smile and a “Good luck” before driving away. Sean found a rock to sit on and watched the Humvee fade into the distance.

They had all shaken hands with him before he left, with nervous smiles and worried eyes. He himself had wondered why he’d volunteered for this. It was almost certain he would die. Why was he doing this?

But the sergeant had remained outwardly confident, bold for the sake of his friends. At least, Sean thought, I have no wife or kids to leave behind.

His mind flashed back to six days ago, when CJ was captured. He hadn’t seen it happen, but he got the story from a soldier who had been in the same Humvee. An explosion had rocked the vehicle. CJ had been thrown to the sand. A group of three men had dashed out from some nearby shelter; exactly where or what was unknown. Two of them had picked CJ up carelessly and scampered away. The last one had shot CJ’s two fellow soldiers.

One of the women had died on the spot. The other hung on long enough to be taken to Medical and explain the story. She died the next day.

Sean swallowed and brought his mind back to the present. He glanced at his watch. Exactly twenty hours.

Right on cue, he heard an engine. He looked up to see an all-terrain Jeep coming toward him through the desert.

It slowed to a stop in front of him. Three Middle Eastern men climbed out.

One of them stepped forward and offered a hand. “Call me Kamil.”

“Sean,” said Sean, and shook it.

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, then Sean asked, “What do I need to do to save CJ’s life?”

Kamil looked surprised, perhaps at the bluntness of the statement. One of the men mumbled something in Arabic to the other, who snickered.

“CJ? Her identification said Christine.”

“Well, yes,” Sean clarified. “Her name is Christine Jeanette but she goes by CJ.” It felt ridiculous, standing in the desert, discussing a girl’s nickname with terrorists.

Kamil finally answered. “Come with us.”

Sean climbed into the passenger seat of the Jeep. One of the men glared at him. Sean guessed that he’d taken his seat.

Kamil tossed a rag to Sean and mimed tying it around his eyes. “You can’t see where we’re going.”

“No way!” Sean exclaimed.

“I can’t have you seeing the way. Either that or I knock you out. I have to.”

Sean hesitated, then blindfolded himself. He hated it, but what choice did he have?

A few seconds passed. The Jeep engine started. Sean pulled the car door shut.

Something heavy slammed into the side of his head, a fist or the butt of a gun. He yelped. Lights exploded in front of his eyes.

It rammed him again, and he plunged toward unconsciousness. His last coherent thought was to never again put any trust in these people.

Renewal

2009-04-25T08:51:00.000-07:00

She sits awkwardly in the back of the auditorium, wondering why she came.

The twinge in her chest, the one which got her here, has gone - she wonders if she only imagined it in the first place. Something compelled her to come in, to see what these services were all about. But it is all religious stuff - stuff she doesn't understand - now she is considering just leaving.

But now the crowd around her starts to stand. She wonders if it is over, eagerly gathers up her purse and jacket, ready to leave. Only one problem. Nobody exits the room. Instead, six or seven people join the speaker on stage and take up instruments; one drummer, two guitarists, one on a keyboard, and two singers. She groans inwardly, having waited too long to make an inconspicuous exit.

Music starts to play, an upbeat song which has the people around her clapping and jumping and laughing. She smiles in spite of herself. She may not be religious, but these people's joy is contagious.

Then the music slows, changes to a quieter song. More relaxed. People lift their hands and abandon all dignity and sing. The awkward feeling returns and she fidgets nervously, feeling out of place. Almost like an intruder among these in this holy place.

The main speaker takes the stage again. He starts talking about their god. He tells everyone to close their eyes, to not look around. She does so reluctantly, not wishing to stand out.

He starts talking, explaining that god has a son. And the son's name was Jesus. Jesus loved the people in the world so much that he came to earth, became a person, and then let the people kill him. When he died, he took all the sins of the earth with him...he took away everyone's sins if they would just accept him as their lord.

She is floored. She has heard the name Jesus thrown around at school, sure. And everyone in the grade knows the "Bible thumpers" - she herself has made fun of them before. But no one has ever explained to her this incredible story of love, of redemption. No one has ever told her that someone loved her enough to die.

The little twinge is back, like a flicker of warmth in her chest. Somebody loves her, died for her. Somebody has died so that she wouldn't go to Hell for all the screwed-up stuff she's done.

The speaker asks if anyone wants to accept Jesus into their life. It will be life-transforming, he promises. This is a commitment for life.

She becomes wary again. Something inside of her screams for her to accept this chance, to not let it pass her by. She rubs the back of her left wrist absently. She knows she needs help.

But this will change her. What will her friends think? What will the kids at school make of her? What if people make fun of her? What will her parents say?

Her stomach ties itself into an anxious knot. She wants this. Oh, she wants this.

He asks, simply, if those who wanted to do this would lift a hand.

Slowly, she inches her hand into the air.

Warmth sweeps over her. She has made the right decision, she knows she has.

He asks those who have let Jesus into their life to come to the front. She no longer cares what people think. She runs to the front, hardly able to contain her excitement.

One of the youth leaders puts a hand on her shoulder and prays with her. Prayer. She can talk to God and he will listen!

As she walks out of the room with the crowd of other teenagers, she knows she will never regret this choice. She breathes a small thank-you to God for all this.

Then she smiles and walks into the night. It's time to share the new love she has found.

Love is God

2009-04-20T07:26:00.000-07:00

You'll never see her standing there
She's the one in the back with the blue eyes and brown hair
She's learned the best way to fade into the crowd
So she stands there looking shy and avoiding being loud
We all walk around her, avoiding what we don't know
But she'll never learn the love of God if we don't accept her, so-

Open up your heart and let her in
Get to know her for the girl that she is within
Let her know that somebody loves her for the first time
You never know what somebody might be going through
And you never know when that'll end up being you
God's got plenty of love, don't make someone go without
Cause love's what God's about

Slaves

2009-04-17T15:47:00.001-07:00

Everybody's a slave
To one thing or another
Till you find the one
Who's closer than a brother
Let him into your life
And he'll set you free
He can do it for you
Cause he did it for me

She's a slave
To the knife in her drawer
She cut herself once
And she went back for more
Cause she feels so much pain
When he says the harsh words
And when her wrist starts to bleed
She forgets about the hurt

He's a slave
To the pictures on the screen
It builds up in his mind
All the things that he's seen
He hates what he does
And he knows that it's wrong
But it just feels so good
So he just plays along

Everybody's a slave
To one thing or another
Till you find the one
Who's closer than a brother
Let him into your life
And he'll set you free
He can do it for you
Cause he did it for me

She's a slave
To the scars from the past
Harsh memories
Just don't go away fast
She thinks it's her fault
And she cries every night
But all the tears in the world
Cannot make her all right

He's a slave
To the drugs and the drink
Cause as soon as he's high
Then he doesn't have to think
He'll fall asleep
Or his mind will go numb
And he won't have to remember
All the stuff that he's done

Jesus is standing
Right by your side
Never left you alone,
Held you as you cried
He's pleading with you
To let him set you free
Cause you're bound in these chains
But he's holding the key

And everybody's a slave
To one thing or another
Till you find the one
Who's closer than a brother
Let him into your life
And he'll set you free
He can do it for you
Cause he did it for me

An Easter Challenge

2009-04-10T12:11:00.000-07:00

What is Easter?

We have all our glib litle Christian answers ready - "Easter is about Jesus. It's all about His great sacrifice."

But do we really think about it?

Do we really take the time to contemplate the fact that the Maker of the world, who took the time to create everything in perfection, did it all in full knowledge of the fact that the pinnacle of His creation would take everything He'd offered and throw it back in His face? And then, even after we selfishly betrayed Him, He put on flesh, stepped down from His lofty throne, and took on the pains of living in a world full of sin; He told us repeatedly who He was and why He was there, but we ignored it and despised him to the point of where we took Him and murdered innocent flesh.

And He knew we would ahead of time.

And then, as if murder wasn't bad enough, as if He hadn't suffered enough physically, He took ever sin that we ever did, do, and will commit and paid the spiritual price for them. He went to Hell. The One who created Hell specifically and solely for Satan ended up going there Himself.

And while Satan rejoiced and Earth despaired, He waited.

And then, miracle of miracles, He rose again. We say this so easily. We speak of the Resurrection so irreverantly. Even I am guilty of this. We don't stop to ponder the fact that death went in reverse that day. He, quite literally, defeated Death and conquered the grave.

And all this for a civilization that now either questions His existence or wades along in shallow theology and cliched Sunday school terminology.

Yet despite all this, the Creator loves us. We are His bride, and His heart breaks for us. Oh, how He longs for each of His children to hear His call and respond to it! The love for us that is in His heart is incomprehensible by human standards.

So make your choice. How are you going to celebrate Easter this year?

Are you going to go to church, sing some songs about Jesus, go have an Easter egg hunt, eat some candy, and live life like normal while Easter fades into just another day of the year?

Or will you appreciate how the Creator became the created, how He took on the pain of living among corrupted flesh so He could sacrifice His body for us? For you?

It's up to you.

The Noble Duke of Normandy

2009-04-09T13:22:00.000-07:00

*This would be the lighter side of my writing. Like when I'm studying for a history test and suddenly compose all the boring facts that I'm writing into a song that helps me study. ;) To the tune of "The Noble Duke of York." All facts are true (at least according to Mr. Santanelli!)*

Oh, the noble duke of Normandy!

He was the English heir,

He took all his troops to London and

Defeated Harold there!

He changed his name to William,

In 5 years he conquered all the land,

And the barons didn't like him very much

Cause he ruled with an iron hand!

He took the land from the barons and

Redistributed to the lesser guys,

He made everyone swear allegiance to the king

Which was really very wise!

Oh, the noble duke of Normandy!

He upheld Anglo-Saxon tradition!

During his reign they wrote the "Doomsday Book"

Which describes England's conditions!

Exterior

2009-04-09T13:11:00.000-07:00

You look at me and

you judge me by

"my cover", so to speak -

by the front that I

put up so you

can't see the real me.

You see, perhaps,

the athletic side,

the strenght, the physique

which I try to build

so I appear strong.

Or maybe you see

just another boy

lost in the crowd,

trying to fit in and

doing it well.

What you don't see is

the tears and the

pain which pulls at me

because of the hand which

life has dealt me.

You don't see

sleepless nights or

times when I was weak,

because I don't want

anyone to see those.

I want to be strong

in a world where strength

is hard.

You will never see the little boy

because I have hidden him

behind what you see...

Seeing the Soul

2009-04-07T16:32:00.000-07:00

She sat quietly near the back of the auditorium, surveying the people around her - the hundreds of kids, maybe even a thousand, who she proudly called her youth group; her pastor, standing on the stage, gesturing passionately as he tried to get his message across.

She smiled as she watched people's faces, some nodding in agreement, some watching intently, some taking notes. Youth group night was the best night of the week.

The sermon was coming to a close. Next would come worship.

She closed her eyes and offered up a quick prayer, asking God to open her eyes as he had in the weeks previous.

She waited until her pastor said the last few closing words. There was some shuffling as the singers moved on stage.

She slowly opened her eyes. A smile crept across her face.

She scanned the room again, but the view this time was different. She was no longer seeing the physical, but the spiritual.

The people around her no longer had facial features or any distinguishing features. All the people in the room were either solid white or solid black. Race had nothing to do with it; their color was not ethnic. Rather, it was as though they were somehow a three-dimensional silhouette of white or black, clothes and all.

She knew some of the people standing near her. They sang and clapped and raised their hands, white light streaming from their mouths and eyes and hands and feet. These people made her grin - the people who were already saved, already washed by the blood of Jesus.

But some, standing scattered through the auditorium, were dark. Not just black like licorice or night. These people were blackest black; void of any light.

Most of these silhouettes were standing, arms hanging down, looking more or less uncomfortable. But a handful of them were doing a pretty good imitation - pretending to be a Christian when they really were black-souled. A stab of pity pierced through her heart.

She stood still for awhile longer, singing like the rest of them. The pastor took the stage again. The music softened a bit.

The pastor started to make an "altar call" - asking, like he always did, if there were any unsaved who wanted to accept Christ, and if there were any Christians who had fallen away from living for Christ.

Some people raised their hands. One or two fell to their knees. There were at least fourteen accepting the call, as far as she could see.

This was her favorite part. As soon as they had believed - before they said anything, prayed anything - a transformation began to occur. The sight never failed to awe her.

As soon as a nonbeliever believed, they were washed clean by the blood of Jesus.

It usually started with a streak, a single drop of red cutting through the black silhouette, leaving a trail of light behind it. Then another drop, and another. Then it was like a bucket of crimson had been dumped onto their head. Within a few short moments all the blackness had been washed away, replaced by pure white light.

It was watching God's miracle occur before her very eyes. It was seeing sin vanquished, dissolved...swept away.

She could barely contain the joy that swelled up in her every time she watched this miracle, those souls being added to Christ's kingdom. No wonder the angels in Heaven rejoice!

She made her way over to one of the new converts, who, although she couldn't see any facial features, she could tell was likely beaming ear-to-ear. She threw her arms around the other girl, who gladly returned the embrace. "He loves me!" the girl yelled, "I heard Him say so!"

"I know!" she returned happily. "Isn't it amazing?"

The worship service ended. The lights were turned up. Her vision faded away and the people looked like normal people again.

But she knew better. Each of these people had a soul. And many of them still needed to be reached. They were still void of light. She had seen it.

She started to walk toward one such person, praying silently for God to give her the right words to say.

The work was not done. There were still souls to be saved.

Us/Them

2009-04-03T12:27:00.000-07:00

We see -

a still body,

pale-skinned,

laying in a wooden box.

We cry,

not for them but

for ourselves, because

we miss them.

And it aches.

Our hearts ache.

And then the thought

of our loved one

packed away in a box -

tears wet our cheeks

as the box

is lowered into a hole.

We try to brighten

the day

with colored flowers,

with kind words.

But it

cannot dull the pain...

time helps

remove the ache

but there will forever be

an empty space

a hole

in our hearts.

Because really

we mourn

for ourselves.

They fall asleep

gradually -

and then wake,

like a little child

goes to sleep in his

daddy and mommy's room,

and wakes in his own -

so they wake

on the other side.

Bright light, laughter,

flowers even,

colors unimaginable!

And then, the climax...

they see His face!

The very hands of the One who

formed them!

The fingers that

pieced them together!

And they sing

among the angels,

dancing without

affliction, pain

or broken hearts.

What we would give

to join them there.

Why do we cry?

Why do we weep?

Mourning is all right, for

they are dearly missed.

But, in due time,

mourning should turn

to rejoicing.

For they are home.

Music

2009-04-03T12:26:00.000-07:00

Music

is like a poem

or a flower

or chocolate

for your ears.

Sit, quietly,

be still and let it

wash over you

like a foamy, blue-green wave,

washing onto a golden beach.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

2009-04-02T13:38:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been in a situation where if you make a single wrong move, you die?

Where your life is literally in your own hands? Where you have to depend on your own strength to survive?

* * *

I clung to the side of the cliff for all I was worth, clutching the black jagged rocks with as much strength as I could muster. My arms trembled. I dug my fingers in harder.

I stared upward, not daring to look down. It was only one or two feet to the top, but it might as well have been one hundred. I simply did not have the strength to reach the top.

An accident had toppled me over the side - I was much too close to the edge, tempting danger. And danger had found me when I slipped and fell.

I scrambled wildly, screaming, grabbing for any possible hold. I was certain I was going to die.

Somehow, miraculously, my hand caught on a rock. It gashed my palm open, but I hung on.

I was nearly seven feet below the lip of the precipice. For the first several minutes I inched painfully up the rocky crag.

But the slope steepened, and I became exhausted. I was no rock climber, and this cliff was not meant to be scaled anyway. As I stared upward at the ominous black rocks, I despaired of ever getting back on solid ground.

My arms shook violently the longer I clung to my handhold. I could not move up or down. The rocks above me were too wide to be firmly grasped.

I clung to the steep cliff and shook with sobs.

Suddenly, there was a shout. "Hold on! I'm coming!"

I saw a face peer over the ledge. The man extended a hand as far as he could. "Grab on!"

"I can't!" I cried. Even if I let go and reached for him, there would be a gap of nearly three inches.

He groaned and stretched an inch or two further. I, in a burst of courage, let go with my right hand and swung it up towards him. My palm slapped against his for a second, and then my hold on the wall slipped and I slid downward nearly a foot, leaving nothing but a crimson handprint against his palm.

I screamed, but soon I stopped sliding. Now there were almost ten inches between us.

Beads of sweat stood out on his brow. "I have an idea, but you have to trust me."

I nodded frantically. "Just help me...."

He pointed to something below me. "There's a ledge, a little ledge, right there - put your feet there."

Beneath me? That meant I had to look down...

I dared a glance and became dizzy. It was too far down to even estimate the distance. The slope eventually tapered off and became a solid wall, straight down, until it ran into a tangle of thorns and plants and jagged, jutting rocks. I nearly let go of the wall in sudden fright.

I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to study the cliff for the ledge he had mentioned. There it was - barely an inch-wide lip, but it was right at my feet and would provide a moment of rest.

I managed to place my feet on the ledge before looking back at him. He ventured a nervous half-smile before going back to chewing on his lip.

"Okay," he said. He took a deep breath. "Now jump."

I stared at him in terror. "Jump?!"

"I'll catch you, I swear it. Jump."

I hesitated for another moment.

"Please, have faith in me," he pleaded. "I will catch you."

Fixing my eyes on his, I caught my breath and launched myself into the air.

My fingertips brushed his. For a horrible second I was sure I had missed and was falling to my death.

Then something tightened around my neck. He had caught me by the collar of my shirt!

"Hang on!" he shouted, grabbing me under the arms and hauling me up over the edge of the cliff.

Both of us lay on our backs on the ground for a moment, trembling from head to toe and breathing heavily.

After several minutes I managed to sit up and smile at him shakily. "Th-thank you...you saved my life."

He said nothing in reply, but grinned and hugged me tightly.

The Heart of Worship

2009-04-02T13:33:00.000-07:00

There's the boy standing with wide blue eyes

And a tear rolling down his cheek

'Cause this night is the very first time

That he's ever heard God speak

There's the girl with a hand raised in the air

And a smile from ear to ear

'Cause God whispers words of love to her

That no one else can hear

There's the woman standing with eyes shut tight

Hands clasped beneath her chin

'Cause the message of the Gospel got through to her

And she's finally inviting Him in

There's the man standing with arms open wide

And he sings will all of his heart

'Cause he got back in touch with God tonight

And God gave him a brand-new start

No matter the person or circumstance

Whether or not they have hands raised

All people look more beautiful

When they're singing words of praise

Sacrifice

2009-03-31T10:25:00.000-07:00

I ran, screaming, through the jungle.

Tripping over myself and taking the largest steps I could, I fled - yelling in terror at what was pursuing me. I dared not take a break and catch my breath.

A monster was chasing me, a best - a horrible creature which wanted to devour me. It was set loose for this purpose, to tear me limb from limb.

So I ran. I picked up my feet and ran faster than I knew a person could run. I gasped for air, and then immediately let it all out again in a wordless scream of absolute terror.

I risked a glance back. The monster was nearly upon me now. I burst forward in a spurt of speed.

A root caught up among my ankles. My palms crashed into dirt. Blood dribbled from a split lip. I winced, waiting for the inevitable death which awaited me.

Instead, a hand grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me to my feet. I whirled my head around. A man's face, lined with concern, stared back at me.

"Go!" he shouted, shoving me forward. I did not hesitate but began to sprint again.

A terrible shriek interrupted my crazy dash for freedom. I spun to see what had caused it.

My jaw dropped in horror. The beast had sprung upon the man and set into him with claws and teeth. The man cried out again, writing in pain. My scream joined his own.

I pressed my hands to my ears, weeping, yet unable to tear my eyes away. The creature finished, gave me a long glance, and turned away. Its bloodthirst was fulfilled.

I fell to the ground, pressing a hand to my mouth in an attempt to stifle my tears.

Several minutes passed with no sound except the chirping of insects and, in opposition, my muffled sobs. Finally I stood again, face wet and head pounding, and gave the mangled body one last teary look before heading in the direction which I supposed led back to civilization.

The crunching of the leaves beneath my feet mocked me, echoing dimly the crashing of the undergrowth which had sounded only moments earlier. I remembered that terrible cry he had given, and sorrow welled up in me again.

The trees parted up ahead. I walked toward the sunlight.

I came out on a clearing; a green, rolling meadow. Such a sharp contrast from the tangled, woven vegetation which lay in the jungle.

As I walked gingerly up the hill, a motion off to the side caught my peripheral vision. I turned to see what it was.

A smiling man, several feet away. But not just any man.

Long scars ran down his arms and face, but his clothes were whole and clean. He was strong, happy - in no way battered or beaten.

I gaped, disbelieving, before falling to my knees and bursting into tears.

He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and tilted my chin upward, wiping away my tears. A soft smile crossed his face and he knelt down to my level.

"I did it because I love you."

Then he pulled me to my feet and folded his arms around me in an embrace.

Darkness

2009-03-30T13:04:00.000-07:00

All I have ever known is darkness.

I stumble in the darkness, blindly. I know my surroundings. They are simple: Two walls, which extend on to infinity in one direction as far as I know.

I started in a cell. A prison cell. A single, simple stone room with only one way out - a steel, barred door.

I knew nothing else. I assumed I would live there forever. But one day, the door was open. I don't know how or why, but it was.

Stepping out may seem like an obvious action to you. But for me, it was a leap of blind faith. My life had been in the cell. I didn't know what awaited me in the yawning black chasm which now opened before me. What was I to do?

After days of contemplation, I finally took the first step into the hallway. And here I am.

I've explored every inch of wall which I have walked past. All it is is smooth, sanded material which goes on. And on. And on.

So do I.

I've been walking for years now, for more than half of my life. All I have ever known is darkness.

I walk on. What else is there to do?

More darkness. Darkness which I love, because it is the normal, and which I hate, because it is my prison. If I could see, I could see if there was something more. If there was an escape from this bondage.

The darkness presses in on me sometimes, seeming to squeeze the very life out of me. I choke on the darkness. It tightens. It clutches me.

Sometimes I try to press on, when it does that. But more often I have to wait. I have to sit in a ball against the wall and curl up and hug my knees and cry and wait for it to pass.

Those are the worst of times.

Most of the time there is no pain, though. I just stumble blindly along. The only pain there is not knowing.

I try to keep a hand on the wall, to make sure I'm going in a straight line. But for all I know, I've gotten confused somewhere along the way and I'm going backwards. I don't know anything, really. Sometimes I get desperate to get out, to escape. But how can I? I can't see! I'm trapped in this horrid darkness which refuses to let me go!

I don't know what to do anymore. I think I might give up. It's a tempting proposition. Next time the darkness tries to take me...maybe I shouldn't resist.

It's pulling on me again. It knows I want to give in. How, I'm not sure, but it knows.

Oh, I want to give in! But how can I? How can I let go of life? All these years of working, of walking, of blind faith...they will amount to nothing if I give up.

I must press on. I must...

It is so hard to do blindly. I think I will sit for awhile and regain my composure.

It's pulling me - the darkness is trying to steal me. Don't let it! I can't give in! I have to last this, I have to!

It hurts...it hurts...

What is that?

Something is up ahead, it's a speck - a mere speck -

I don't even know what it is. But looking at it...it's hope, is what it is. There's something ahead. That gives me a reason to persevere forward.

So I walk on. I'm walking toward it, plodding on, parting the darkness in front of me. Heading for that hope.

It's larger than a speck. It's grown now, to the size of my fist. It's still growing. I think it's coming toward me.

I've been walking for hours now. This hope is larger. It's alive in me and growing just like that speck is. The darkness seems to have relaxed its hold somewhat...

I can see! The speck - I know what it is, I think. I think - this could be a thing called light...I've never seen light before, but that has to be what this is.

The darkness is receding. It doesn't want to, but it has no choice. It's being chased away. Its black fingers grab for me, try to stay. They clutch at my clothes and my skin. But the light scares it, and it flees eventually - light frees me!

It's closer now, even closer. I can see it. I can see what the light is. It's a man. Not just any man. He's smiling at me, he's radiating the light that's scaring the dark away. He's holding out a hand to me, asking me to come.

I'm coming. I don't know who he is, but he's the one chasing away my chains.

I think...I think he loves me. He's smiling and hugging me and saying it's okay, because I'm free now and all the dark is gone.

It's gone! It's gone! He liberated me! I can hardly keep from jumping and singing and yelling it for everybody to hear. The walls are gone too. He has taken me out, given me my freedom. He broke down my walls and shone through my darkness.

He told me I could leave if I wanted. But how could I desert him? How could I desert my savior, the only person who has ever loved me?

How could I reject the light which defeated my darkness?

distraction

2009-03-29T13:59:00.000-07:00

crank up the song to

drown out the pain

listen to voices or

music or rain

it's in the silence

that we hear the past

when there's no distractions

memories come fast

laying awake

in bed at night

wondering why the wrong

seems to crowd out the right

the sound of my heart

pounds in my ears

reminding me of

my most hidden fears

so I turn up the songs

and I hope it'll do

and it works for awhile

but the pain just renews

but the sound of real peace

is the sound of one voice

the spirit of God

telling me there's a choice

to dwell on the pain

to let the dark win

or to open my heart

and let the light in

music only distracts

the fix isn't real

only God can restore

only God can heal

More On Happiness

2009-03-29T12:58:00.000-07:00

If happiness could be captured in a word,

what would it be?

Love? Family? Friends?

When am I happiest?

Now...

I am happiest now,

sitting on my bed at two A.M.

chewing a gummy shark,

shocked that my best friend

who I haven't seen in a year

is in my house! is sleeping over!

I have not had a sleepover

in ages;

I watch all my guy-friends hanging out

at each other's houses

and feel lonely.

But she is here.

When she leaves, though,

can I keep this feeling,

feel like everything is so...

...right?

Will I remember how happy

I was

when loneliness comes again?

I will certainly

try.

Maybe that is why

I wrote this...

to cling to the smile

which spans my face

for at least

a little while.

Chances

2009-03-28T10:24:00.001-07:00

He blinked bleary eyes and strained to focus on the road. The faint hum of tires on asphalt and the thum-thum of his heart created a steady rhythm. Stars twinkled from the black sky.

He gripped the wheel tighter, but soon his grip relaxed again. Surely there was no harm in shutting his eyes for only a second. He had pulled an all-nighter last night, but he wouldn’t sleep now. Only shut his eyes, and reopen them. Right? No harm in that...

A horrible crash - he was jerked to the side - his eyes popped open -

He was rolling, the car was flipping. Glass splintered. Pain jolted down his spine. Oddly, he realized his throat hurt; then he noticed that he was screaming helplessly.

Another crash as the car slammed into a tree and halted, upside-down. He heard bone crack. His neck and lower body tingled numbly. Warm liquid was gushing from his nose and mouth. Pain shot like fireworks through his skull.

He closed his eyes. Blackness rushed up eagerly to meet him.

A loud thud echoed through his skull. He moaned. Everything hurt, and he much preferred unconsciousness right now...

Another heavy thud. And another. The sound echoed much like -

Footsteps! Someone was nearby! He opened his mouth to yell, to attract attention. But much to his dismay, no sound emerged. What’s wrong?

He realized, confused, that the tingling sensation which he had felt earlier was gone. He had assumed it meant paralysis, but now his arms and legs could move again. What is going on?

His eyes were open, he also noticed. It was dark, then. Very dark. Dark as in too black to see the hand which he thought he was holding in front of his face. Unless it was all a dream, and he was still unconscious.

Could he be in this much pain if he was unconscious? Was he capable of even realizing he was in a dream if he was in a dream? The thinking made his head spin.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Then there were those footsteps. This was definitely not a dream.

A loud creak. He turned instinctively towards the sound.

Two glowing white eyes stood out against the darkness.

His own eyes widened and he inhaled sharply, startled. Okay, calm down. Someone already found you and you’re in a hospital and the lights are off. That’s all.

Some inner part of himself, in his soul, knew he was lying to himself. But he ignored that small voice and kept repeating those words in his mind. That’s all. Nothing more.

An orange light suddenly flickered to life. A torch. Whoever the eyes belonged to had lit the torch. And the person held it closer to his own face.

Suddenly he wasn’t just mute from injury, he was also mute from fear. Because whatever was holding the torch wasn’t a person.

Best as he could describe it, the thing was a monster. Its neck was twice normal size to support a massive head. Its face was dark brown and distorted in a grimace. Yellow teeth peeked out from under a twisted snout. White eyes peered from under a bulging forehead.

The thing sneered at him and opened its ugly mouth in a sort of laugh. It offered some kind of twisted stick to him.

On second glance, the stick was its arm, but the arm was so mangled and twisted that it looked more like a tree root than an appendage. The thing was reaching for him! The simple revelation frightened him out of his mind. He whimpered and scooted backward. What was happening?

He felt his back hit a wall. The thing had crowded in closer. This has gotta be a nightmare! This can’t happen in real life!

He squeezed his eyes shut, instinctively blocking his face with a hand. Go away! Please go away!

It didn’t. He felt a cold, heavy hand grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him to his feet. He opened his eyes again, terrified at what he might see.

The monster was pulling him along down a dark hallway. The only light came from the torch, which threw an eerie orange glow onto the black stone walls.

He could hear someone crying in the distance. Then more than one someone. Then the cries escalated to screams; wailing, demented screams which sent chills down his spine.

He struggled to pull away from the creature’s firm grip. He was rewarded with a cuff to the face. The thing smirked at him.

It turned down a branching corridor. Dim light was coming from up ahead. The screams seemed to be fading away.

The dim light brightened. Wherever they were headed, there was a light source inside. The creature hesitated a few paces before the open doorway, then continued.

Inside, the light was so bright that he had to shield his face until his eyes adjusted. When he could finally see again, he wasn’t prepared for what stood before him.

It looked like an angel. Whatever was standing here was brighter than bright and shone the whitest light that he had ever seen. Blond hair, blue eyes. Seven or eight feet tall.

What didn’t match was the smile. The most beautiful creature that he had ever seen was also wearing a twisted, evil smile like the one he’d seen on the monster.

“Hello,” the angel - he didn’t know what else to call it - said.

It could talk?

“Yes, I can talk.” The angel gestured widely. “You like this place?”

He shook his head fiercely.

“No? Well, you had better get used to it...”

He stared at the angel dumbly.

“You still don’t know what’s going on, do you? You have no idea where you are, what you’re doing here, or who the creature holding you is.”

He blinked.

“Well, the one holding you is a demon, for starters. Do you know who I am?”

Suddenly it all hit him like a ton of bricks. Demon. Angel of light. Oh, God, no! No!

“You’re calling for god to help you? The same god you ignored your whole life? It won’t work down here, I’m afraid.”

He started struggling again, trying to break away from the tight grasp of the demon. Please! I’ll do anything, anything!

“It’s too late for that now.”

How could I be so stupid? Oh, my God, save me! Help me!

“You had your entire life to choose him. But you didn’t.” The angel, Lucifer, grinned evilly at him. “And now you’re mine.”

No! No! No! “No! Noo! Please, no!” He realized his tongue had been loosed and he could speak again.

“Please, please,” he begged pitifully. “Please...no...NO!”

Lucifer shook his head as though bored with the pathetic cries for mercy. “Time for you to go now.”

The demon started shuffling for the door again, literally dragging him as he clawed at the ground, screaming and pleading for mercy. The door slammed shut as soon as the demon had left.

The cries and wails grew louder again, this time sending him into a frenzy. He pounded at the hand which clutched his shirt and threw himself onto the ground. Anything to get away from what he knew awaited him!

He could see the pale yellow light from the flames now. He could feel heat starting to creep into the hallway. He could smell sulfur and smoke and burnt clothes and flesh. And he could hear screaming, which he was adding to.

The demon was on the edge of an overhang. The demon picked him up and tossed him carelessly. He was hurtling over the edge of the cliff, suspended in midair, flames licking eagerly at his clothes and body already. He kept screaming.

Fire was all over him now, burning his hair and his flesh and his arms and his legs and his clothes. His clothes were gone now, eaten up by the flames. He rolled around on the ground in a hopeless effort to extinguish the fire which was eating away at his bare skin. Tears rolled down his face and he continued to shred his throat in a raw, unending scream.

A jolt went through his body. He jerked.

Another jolt.

His eyes popped open and he sat up, still wailing. But the flames were gone, the horrible siren-like cries were gone, the loud crackling of fire was gone.

It was dark, but there was so much noise. People yelling, but their tone was a tone of urgency, not of pain. Cold metal was touching his chest.

“He’s alive!”

“We got him!”

“He woke up!”

Excited murmurs broke out among the people who seemed to be swarming everywhere.

He felt himself being lifted into the air, being slid into a white vehicle. An ambulance.

He caught his breath. I’m alive.

Oh, my God. I’m alive. Oh God.

The ambulance door shut. Someone was sticking a needle into him, but he didn’t even notice the prick of pain. Someone was talking to him, but he ignored the words.

He just lay there, tears streaming down his face, chest heaving with sobs. Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me. Oh, my God. Please take me in. Please take me.

I got a second chance, but there are so many others who aren’t as blessed as me. Oh God. Oh, God! I don’t want that to happen again!

I have to tell everyone else. I have to explain what is out there.

Thank you, God.

Thank you so much.

Eagles

2009-03-27T13:03:00.000-07:00

Imagine if

we could...

She lifts gently

on the summer breeze,

a hand outstretched

to catch the cool vapor

of a snow-white cloud

as she soars by,

her body weightless

in a sky

blue as sapphires,

above a patchwork quilt

of grass, and hills,

and purple mountains with

snowy caps,

and little cities

with silver, mirrored towers

which point heavenward -

imagining themselves

as more impressive

than they actually are...

There is no noise

except that of

silence,

and the wind

rushing by her ears.

Warm golden sunlight

gently caresses

her back

and her head,

mouth spread wide

in a grin

at the beauty

of what is before her.

Nowhere to go,

no need to rush.

And now

the land has receded...

Instead there is

blue ocean

mirroring the sky.

Two waves meet

and crash -

white foam sprays

into the air.

And she smiles.

A silver dolphin

arcs through

the air,

shining body

glinting back

bright sunlight.

And she smiles.

For she has learned

how to soar

on wings like eagles,

lifting gently

on the joy of the Lord,

and her body

dances through the air

and she tastes

his love for her.

Imagine if

we could...

Jeremiah 29:11

2009-03-25T14:36:00.000-07:00

I look around the world

I see -

so much suffering

so much pain

and not only

in the world

but pain has, somehow,

found its filthy way

into my life,

into my circle...

I look around the world,

"how is there a plan in this?"

I yell.

"how is this going to

work for good?!"

I know the plans I have for you.

"Maybe you know them

but I don't."

I know the plans I have for you.

"What good is this?"

I know the plans I have for you.

"I know

you know!

But I don't know!"

Be still and know that I am God.

My soul quiets.

"You are God."

I know the plans I have for you,

plans for good and not for evil,

to give you a hope and a future.

Hope.

I cling to hope.

Letter to a Child

2009-03-22T19:20:00.000-07:00

Dear little one,

You're still young. A child. An innocent child. You skip and laugh and smile, and chase butterflies and climb monkey bars and slide on slides. The worst hurt you know is falling and scraping your knee, or losing a toy.

Life is good.

You don't know about drugs or war or death. You've never heard of alcohol, depression, suicide, or addiction. You know nothing of the problems in our world, in the lives of teens and grown-ups.

So enjoy it!

Dare to giggle at the small things in life. Defy the hurt and grin at an uncaring world. Defeat pain with joy.

The best part is, you don't need encouragement to squeal with delight at the simple things. You haven't yet learned to be scared of life, so you're not. You live it to the fullest.

Cherish this joy. Cling to it. Don't lose it. Hold on to happiness when life shoots its first arrows your way.

Always remember how much you are loved. God always loves you. So do the people around you.

Enjoy the gift that is childhood.

Love,

Someone who has been there

The Heavens Declare

2009-03-22T11:42:00.000-07:00

The heavens declare the glory of the Lord.

Fluffy white clouds float

across an expanse of

the bluest blue.

Soft and round,

white like snow and

magnificently huge.

Or twinkling silver stars

winking down from an indigo sky,

dancing through the night

above the earth, which

is shrouded in a veil

of pale moonlight.

The full moon gazes down

softly

on the sleeping world.

Or -

pink and green and blue and

more colors than there are names for

dance lightly in the North

over the windswept ground.

Waves of color wash through

a deep blue sky.

Stare into the heavens.

How can you not

believe?

Happiness

2009-03-21T10:35:00.000-07:00

Happiness is...

...a touch

...a hug

...a gift

...a word

happiness smiling

joy peace

contentment laughing

confidence

encouragement

...love

can it

is it

could it be

that simple?

happiness = love?

friends are happiness

hugs are happiness

family is happiness

God is happiness

...friends, hugs, family, God

= love

happiness = love

Strength in Winter

2009-03-21T10:33:00.000-07:00

I can sit for hours here,

staring at the trees

but they are

no less dead.

Naked branches

bare and brown

stripped of color -

dead.

And I feel the icy chill

the fingers of winter

clutching me

holding me

oh, God

don't let them take me!

Don't let me succumb

to the cold

to the unforgiveness

to the bitterness

that is in my heart

as well as the winter.

Give me the strength

to hold on -

to stare at the trees

and see

not death

but the promise of life,

the promise of color

splashing on the deadness,

sparkling amidst the grey.

I will look forward

to what comes,

not what is -

warmth will melt the

chill of the outdoors,

and love will melt the

chains of my heart.

For Her

2009-03-14T14:37:00.000-07:00

She was standing

on solid ground

but it shifted -

it shifted

and her life tilted

and the world slanted

and she started to fall -

there was

no one to

grab on to

no one to

stop her fall -

they had gone

And the ground

beneath her feet

left her -

she falls

crying

don't you see her?

Don't you see the

pain in her eyes?

Can't you see the

scars on her arms?

She is falling

still falling

groping for a stronghold

why not you?

Why don't you offer

a hand

to her as she

slips and falls

through the air?

reach down

grab her

and pull her

to safety

love her

hold her

and tell her

she's okay now,

she is safe.

Because all she needs

is one hand

to pull her

to safety.

Because all she needs

love.

She Builds

2009-03-12T12:28:00.000-07:00

She builds her wall
Stone by stone
Brick by brick.
At one time she was
unguarded, open
approachable
then the first wound
bruised a fragile heart
and
it hurts,
how it hurts.
She cried to sleep
but trustingly
kept her heart out
in the open.
Until the time when
another shaft
pierced, deep
deeper than before -
tears fell.
And up went the
first of many
stones.
And more came the
all too many
stabs -
a world
an uncaring world
deals so harshly
with the innocent.
She cries
she cries again.
But tears do not
make it better -
Neither do the
cries at night
shouts for help in the
dark world...
No light appears.
She loses trust
tears fade and turn
to stones.
Slowly the wall is built
a wall of
sorrow
doubt
loneliness
pain.
No one takes
time to help her.
No one reaches out.
So -
she builds her wall
Stone by stone
Brick by brick.

A Prayer

2009-03-09T18:06:00.000-07:00

What are You like?

Do You look at my future and laugh at my foolish, unfounded fears?

Do You wince at what's in store?

Do You smile in anticipation of triumph?

Do You watch me cry from Heaven and wipe my tears away?

Do You cry along?

Do You feel the pain which can wrack my body with each heartbeat?

Do You ignore the pain?

Do You forget it?

Do You care about how it hurts?

My heart says You do

Please show me...

Open the gates of Heaven and rain down tears for the anguish...

...but then wipe away our tears and show us the joy...

...please...

He Loves

2009-03-09T15:50:00.000-07:00

She dismounts from her bike, hands numb from being whipped in the wind, hair blown carelessly out behind her. Her eyes sting from blinking back salty tears. She walks into the woods, desperate for solace, for peace. There is no sound but that of birds lightly singing and wind blowing bitterly against houses and trees.
She is alone. No one else has dared to brave the chill of the grey skies. Alone physically as well as spiritually, for she knows all to well that her love has slipped away.
A sudden sob breaks from her lungs, and she is no longer delicately stepping among the decaying leaves. She is tearing through the black trees, abandoning dignity in search of relief.
Soon, she slows. Her chest heaves and aches with the strain of running and crying. The trees thin out, letting in cold sunlight, light which offers sight but no warmth.
The trees are choked out by thorny vines. They are stripped of leaves, the leaves which lay brown and dead under her feet.
She hears water trickling in the distance. Cold rainwater drips from a nearby branch. Tears drip from her eyes.
Stumbling blindly, she leaves the path. She staggers from the trail towards the sound of water. A song enters her mind, and she attempts to call out the notes. They echo back, dim, raspy.
Even music cannot satisfy the hopeless.
She hurls her frustration at the sky, shredding her throat in a raw, helpless, agonizing breath. Birds flitter away, startled.
She stumbles up a hill and loses her footing. Her hands crash into gravel. Her knees are shredded by the rocky slope.
Cold dampness seeps into her clothes and skin. Completely hopeless, she pulls her knees to her chest and sobs.
There is no one. She is alone. Her God has forsaken her.
A blue light flashes behind her eyes. They snap open.
Gone are the forbidding hill, the dying trees, the broken landscape.
Instead there is a white, a solid whiteness as far as she can see.
The air seems thick, moist, rich. Everything seems at once clear and pure and golden and true.
She is suspended in the air, as though submerged in water. Her tears dry and cease. It is silent.
Then a ripple flows through the air. A giggle, like that of a small child.
The sound is so pure, so real, that she cannot help laughing with it.
Another giggle. Radiant light fills her soul, her very being. Pleasure, raw pleasure is packed into every inch of her body.
A low moan escapes from her lips, a moan of utter joy. She shouts again, this time the note of her voice ringing with bliss.
A single note reverberates, ringing through the air with complete clarity. One note, yet it is the most stunning music she has ever heard. And the note translates to words.
Do you love me?
A tremble runs through her body. She nods her head in dumb silence.
The music sounds again.
I love you.
Burning light cascades through her, from head to toe, bathing her in emotion. She begins to shake, her body vibrating with sobs of passion. She screams it out. “I love you! I love you!”
The voice has become a child’s, accepting, innocent.
Why are you sad?
Blackness begins to creep into the air, violently choking out the gold and white. Red lines streak the sky, pulsing with every heartbeat. Evil, violent, angry tremors shake her like a rag doll.
Bitterness, pain, hate. She inhales and chokes on the thin air. Her breathing becomes raspy and she flails her hands to stop from falling, because suddenly she is; falling into the black, black depths of her own soul.
The pleasure has evaporated. The air licks at her skin like fire, and then that is what it is. She screams in pain, racking with sobs.
A cry pierces through the air, and the physical pain subsides. The cry escalates to a wail, an intense outpouring of emotion which clutches her skull and refuses to let go. The blackness becomes darker, fuller, and a red shaft of light pierces through the darkness.
She presses her hands to her ears and screams. The two cries intermingle.
The flames stop. The burning stops. But the cry continues.
She forces her eyes to open, and what she sees nearly kills her. The flames have not dissolved. Instead, they are eating away at her God, her love! He has taken her pain on himself!
Her cries stop, and are replaced by a groan. She falls to her knees, pleading with him. This is her fault, he is dying when she is the one who should be!
His body begins to convulse violently with the same raw, endless scream. She drops to the ground, crying. She is certain the pain will kill her.
The wailing stops. The horrific, terrible sound of crackling flames is gone.
She opens her eyes. The blackness is gone. The pulsing red depths of her soul have faded away.
In their place are the whiteness and shimmering horizon which are so wonderfully familiar. She cannot hold back a laugh. The beauty of mercy penetrates her heart.
I did this for you.
The words are spoken no louder than the chime of a bell, but they pound at her body.
“I’m sorry,” she cries passionately. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I forgive you.
The simple, unconditional love behind the words hits her. Tears slip from her eyes.
I’m with you. I made you. I love you.
She nods again, unable to speak. A dumb grin nudges the corners of her mouth. What words can suffice to express gratitude for the ultimate sacrifice?
Suddenly, it’s gone. She is back on the hill, tearstained, muddy, damp. But this is inconsequential compared to the love she has found.
She stands and brushes herself off. She looks at the sky and smiles.
“I love you, too.”

I Sat

2009-03-09T15:48:00.000-07:00

I sat in a tree the other day,
And looked down at the silvery creek
whose glinting waters curved through the woods
In which I sat.

I looked at the water, and
I saw patches
Where the sun shone,
and the water was warm and clear. And I saw
myself dancing barefoot under an indigo sky
my two-year-old arms holding a fragile infant and whispering
“my brother.”
my best friend and I, laughing together
At a world in which we both stood out.

I looked at the water, and
I saw patches
Where the shadows flitted,
and the water was murky and cold. And I saw
my grandma’s still body in a wooden box
the dirtied van leaving my home forever
my boyfriend crying into my shoulder,
“he’s gone, he died alone.”
myself crying myself to sleep, scared
Of a world in which I could not fit in.

I looked at the water, and
I saw two rocks.
Both had tumbled along the
length of the creek, but
one had come out polished, smooth,
while the other had come out scarred and beaten.
I picked the two rocks up.
This was my choice;
how would I turn out?

I sat in a tree the other day,
And looked down at the silvery creek
whose glinting waters curved through the woods
In which I sat.
And I wondered.
And I pondered.
Who knew a silent creek
could say so much?

Who Killed Kayla?

2009-03-09T14:13:00.000-07:00

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind whipped around the two dark figures as they climbed out of the black car. Both of them had come here for a purpose, and that purpose was going to be accomplished.
They escorted the one who they wanted gone into the building. She was blinded, could not see where they were taking her, wasn’t even sure whether to fear or just go along with the flow. She had no idea her life was going to end.
The two pulled her inside. A man was waiting for them. They handed him some cash and he led them to a room.
The room was dark. The walls were a faded grey, and it had no windows. A table sat in the corner. The man turned, face expressionless. This was what he was paid to do. The bodies, the guilt, the sorrow hounded him no more.
He knew everything. He knew that the lies he spread about how killing people would make your life burden-free were just that – lies. He knew her death would not be painless. He knew she would die cruelly. And he didn’t give it another thought.
Kayla screamed, but no one was there to hear her. No one bothered to help.
A few hours later, the two escorts left the building, safe, and burden-free. They wouldn’t have to worry about Kayla anymore. She was out of their lives forever. Rain slashed at their faces as they climbed into the car. One of them turned to the other as the car came to life and began to pull away from the building. “Do you think we made the right choice?”
“Of course,” the other replied. “No one cares about her.”
He turned out to be right. Only a handful of people gave the brutal death of Kayla even a thought. The media didn’t hear about it, neither did the police; the body was nowhere to be found, and no evidence was left at the unassuming building for anyone to find. Not even a splash of blood was left behind as the man wiped the room completely clean. No one saw any evidence of Kayla’s death.
Very few people had even known Kayla well enough to notice the loss. She had no friends. She was an isolated person. Her parents noticed her death, but, well, Kayla had shamed them. That shame was to be faced no more.
Not even a funeral was held for Kayla, because the death was kept secret. Swept under the rug. After all, 150,000 people die each day; what was one more death to the world?
Months passed. Her parents split up. Neither of them wanted to think about Kayla, and they agreed that it was better to deal with their feelings alone. The two people who had actually brought her in kept living their daily lives. The man who had killed her walked on in life, able to go through public places and such without being noticed. He blended in with the crowd, as did her two escorts.
Then, somehow, a lawyer found out. He decided to take Kayla’s case public in an attempt for vengeance, naturally assuming America and the court system would demand justice. After all, people can’t kill for a living!
He painstakingly found, little by little, the evidence he needed to build her case. One person who knew of the death, and felt guilty, but could not bring herself to speak up. A person who somehow knew some of the details and was able to help him greatly.
Finally he was ready. He took the case to court against the murderer. But the response was unexpected. The murderer claimed that the girl had felt no pain, had been a burden to the people she lived with, had been unwanted. He pointed out that the two who brought her to the building were making their own choice. He said that besides, this was his business, and no one had the right to be invading his privacy.
The lawyer was nearly laughing. How could this man build this up as his argument, and expect to win? What kind of an argument was that? If choices had anything to do with it, no murderer would ever be convicted. It was always their choice, and their own private business, but they were punished nonetheless!

Three days later, the case was completely finished and the verdict was in.
Not guilty.
The murderer walked off, free, and actually continued killing people for a living.

The judge’s reasoning: Well, Kayla was unwanted. The people who wanted her dead had more rights than she did, because she was unwanted. Everyone had the right to choose what they wanted.

And besides, it was legal. Because Kayla was just another aborted fetus… so it didn’t really matter.

In the Beginning

2009-03-09T14:06:00.000-07:00

She felt nothing

and then she felt –

she felt?

tongues of fire

warmth

spreading

trying to breathe

gaping

inhale

and then her eyes opened for the first time.

The first sight implanted in her mind was a great expanse of blue, stretched out as far as she could see, unblemished by clouds. Her mouth opened inadvertently, and she gasped. What was this?
She sat up. What – where – who?
Who was she? Why was she here? Her mind raced, but not frantically. Rather, pondering; where had she come from?
She surveyed her surroundings. Graceful trees towered at the edge of a meadow. Splotches of color dotted the field. She stood, wobbly, to her feet and tottered over to the colored patches. Flowers! Awestruck, she bent and rubbed her thumb across some bright yellow petals. She plucked the flower gently from the ground, and brought it to an inch from her face. She studied every detail of the golden flower. A small violet butterfly landed on the flower, oblivious to her. The simple beauty of the scene struck a chord in her, and she began to cry softly with joy.
She sprinted through the meadow, the soft grass tickling her bare feet. She laughed. There was so much to see. A baby rabbit hopped carefree through the field, taking no notice of her. A tiny hummingbird perched on a scarlet flower and sucked deeply of its nectar.
She entered the forest, and enjoyed the cool breeze which began to caress her skin. Several of the trees were heavy with ripe fruits, and their brilliant hues contrasted nicely with the green of the trees. She plucked a red fruit from a tree and bit into it, letting the sweet juice roll over her tongue. She continued to walk.
Then she stopped, and stared. A crystal stream of water trickled softly over sparkling rocks. The delicious rippling of the brook called her invitingly. She ran forward and scooped up the icy and refreshing liquid. After a few swallows, she was satisfied.
She followed the brook through the woods, until it merged with a rippling lake. The trees were reflected in the sapphire surface, which was rapidly becoming golden in the sunset. She stared at the sky in awe and watched as the bright blue faded into subtle violet and blazing gold.
A deer walked down to the shimmering lake and drank. She watched all of this, the sheer wonder of it hitting her at the core. This was utter beauty, exquisite joy, radiant grace.
The sun continued to sink into the horizon. She stood and watched until the last fiery pink tongues of flame had gone out. Now the lake was bathed in moonlight, and she watched the scene, raw emotion building itself in her chest, until it burst out in the form of joyful tears.
A few early stars sparkled in the lake. She could stand it no longer and splashed in. The warm, clear water flowed over her skin. She could see to the bottom of the water in the full moon. She wiggled her toes and laughed. On impulse, she ducked her head under the water, eyes and mouth still wide open. To her surprise, the water was not breathable. She came up, laughing, and coughing water. She ducked under again, this time with mouth closed, and nose plugged.
Shockingly, if she moved her legs and arms, she could propel herself through the water. Awkwardly at first, she began to move about, sort of flailing her limbs. After a while, though, it was much easier and she found she could move any way she liked.
When she came up, she saw him.
A man, standing on the shore. He was tall and strong. She felt drawn to the beautiful man as she pushed through the water. She broke the surface and brushed a few drops from her face as she looked at him.
They stared at each other for some time. Then he stepped forward and embraced her.
The two lay together on the beach for a while, gazing at the stars. Her head rested on his bare chest, and he draped an arm casually around her. They fell asleep.
An hour or so later, the two awoke to a sky awash with glittering stars. She stood transfixed, eyes on the sky. He sat up and smiled, but gazed at her instead. Her eyes shone, her hair danced in the nighttime breeze. Her face revealed nothing but radiant joy. He loved her.
She reached out a hand to him. He took it and stood. There was no sound now, except for her breathing. He leaned forward and kissed her. They held each other for a moment, and then fell back onto a blanket of soft leaves. There they lay, awake, exhilarated with joy and love for one another.
Morning came. Once more, she sat and watched as the first beams of yellow stretched across the sky. It was as though the entire atmosphere had caught fire. Blazing red and orange took over the entire sky, and then it faded gradually to pink, which turned to a beautiful morning blue.
She stood. She wanted to eat something. He followed her as she wandered around, examining every tree for its fruit before deciding if that was the one she wanted or not.
She settled on a tree covered in pink blossoms with pretty aqua-colored fruits that looked like none of the others. It seemed to radiate life itself. He said it was actually called the Tree of Life. She had just picked one of the glistening round fruits when she noticed another tree out of the corner of her eye.
This one seemed to be dead center of the garden. The fruits dangling from its branches were bright green and literally dripping with juice. She walked over to it as though in a dream, slowly, and stared at the shining fruits. She began to reach for one when he ran over and grabbed her arm.
He informed her of the rule – they must not eat these fruits at any cost. A dreadful thing called “die” would happen to them if they did.
She listened quietly, apologized, and walked back over to the Tree of Life and happily gorged on sweet blue fruits.
The days continued, days full of nothing but innocence and joy. Days spent climbing purple mountains and marveling at the white fluffy stuff that was only at the tip of the mountains. Days spent wading barefoot through sparkling blue streams and laughing at the floppy silver fish. Days spent scaling rough trees to watch baby birds pop their way out of light brown eggs. Days spent wandering quietly through flower-dotted meadows, holding hands, and braiding flowers into chains which she placed in her long hair.
These days were full of nothing but joy, joy that was the purest form of joy in the world, joy that was hampered by nothing.
It was a beautiful clear morning. The air was slightly colder than usual, but that was okay, because she loved the cold as well as the warm. She decided that she wanted some of the aqua-colored fruit from the Tree of Life for breakfast this morning.
She walked toward the tree, stopping every few moments to stroke a majestic tiger’s head or to cuddle a baby lamb that approached her shyly. When she finally reached the tree, she began to eat the fruit, but a great longing swept over her. Surely it could hurt nothing to walk over and examine the other tree. Surely that would be fine. She walked toward the tree.
Suddenly a snake slithered from the top branch. She jumped backward in surprise and laughed. Snakes were beautiful creatures, as were the rest of the creatures that the Creator had made. She reached a hand toward the shiny green animal and stroked its head.
It hissed.
She looked at the animal, confused. Then it spoke. It asked her why she hesitated to eat this delicious fruit. She stared at it, and then slowly said that the Creator had told her not to eat the fruit from this tree. It laughed and quietly told her that that was a lie. The fruit was delicious and invoked knowledge, knowledge that the Creator did not want her to have.
She quickly turned and ran. She didn’t know what this feeling was that the serpent set off in her, but she didn’t like it.
When she had caught up with him, she told him all that had happened. He agreed that running off was a good idea. They both put the incident out of their minds and decided to go and play in the lake today.
It was evening before either of them thought about the snake again. In the cool of the evening, the Creator liked to walk through his garden and see the goodness of all which he had made.
He walked past the lake, the brook, the mountains, the field, and the Tree of Life. She walked with the Creator, and he walked with Him too. He seemed to know what had happened at the forbidden tree, because he didn’t walk past that tree like he usually did. She gratefully followed him on the new route, but almost longingly cast a glance over her shoulder at the forbidden tree as they walked away.
So it went on, for almost three days. Every day she went over and ate from the Tree of Life and just stared at the forbidden tree. The serpent was always there, but he never said anything, just watched her.
Then one day both she and he went to the Tree of Life. They began to eat the turquoise fruits when suddenly she threw hers to the ground. He watched her curiously as she walked over to the forbidden tree.
She looked at each of the bright green fruits. The serpent, coiled around a branch, stared into her eyes. Then it told her, once more, that nothing bad would come of eating a fruit – only good. She would gain knowledge and become like the Creator.
She gently tugged one of the fruits from the tree. She held it, and then smelled it. It smelled as sweet as the flowers that grew in the meadow. She did not notice the serpent’s gleaming black eyes and the look of twisted happiness that spread across its face. Finally, she took a small bite. The juice was, well, different – but with a delicious sweetness overriding the strange flavors of bitterness and tanginess.
She took another, larger bite. He walked over and took a bite too. The two of them shared the rest of the fruit happily.
Then, a strange feeling settled in her gut. She looked at the snake. It hissed, loudly – evilly. She stepped back, the feeling washing over her entire body. She turned and ran, and realized that he was running too. Both of them only stopped when they were in the meadow.
She looked at him. Shock and disgust filled his face. She asked him what was wrong. He said that both of them were naked. With a start, she realized he was correct. They both looked around frantically.
He grabbed some leaves off of a nearby fig tree. She took a few of them and found a pointed rock on the ground. Then she poked holes in the leaves and tied grass through the holes, resulting in a crude sort of covering for them. Both of them slipped into the coverings, but they still felt vulnerable. So they crouched in the bushes at the edge of the clearing.
Then the Creator came walking through the garden.
He stood quietly in the middle of the meadow and asked them why they were hiding. He spoke up and said that they were naked, and they were ashamed. The Creator asked how they knew that they were naked. He blamed her. She blamed the snake.
The Creator angrily cursed the snake, and her, and him. He told them that they would have to leave the garden forever.
She felt so incredibly sad – a new emotion – as she dragged herself out of the garden. She watched as a huge angel with a sword of fire stood at the entrance to forbid anyone ever enter again.
New emotions swam through her mind. Pain, sadness, anger, frustration, sorrow, knowledge…
And the knowledge they had gained was not good knowledge. Now she knew what the feeling in her stomach was called.
It was called fear.

Love

2009-03-09T12:51:00.000-07:00

They stand in the middle of the arena, arms outstretched.

Some shout praise. Some sob praise. Some stand. Some kneel.

Some are on their faces before their God.

In the midst of them, lost among the crowd, is a girl. She is just another face, but God knows her. And she knows him.

She stands firm, arms open wide, singing the words at the top of her lungs.

She can feel a tangible presence, a heaviness, a warmth. A smile crosses her face.

She hears a murmur through the crowd. They feel it too. Even the singers, the guitarist, the drummer feel it.

God is among them.

She turns her face to the ceiling. My God, how do you love me? How can you love me?

"Oh, how He loves us so..."

She opens her eyes.

The roof is gone. Not torn off or broken off or fallen in chunks, but simply gone, as though a giant hand has neatly lifted it off.

Even stranger, this comes as no surprise to her. It seems a normal happening, like it is every day that a roof disappears.

She finds herself staring into the wide navy blue sky, wondering what He will do next.

Something touches her face. Something small and round and warm and wet.

Raindrops are falling from a perfectly clear and starry sky.

Another one splashes onto her forehead, then another. Each one produces a buzz of sensation which shoots through every nerve.

Love.

Drops of love.

Somehow, she is still singing. "Oh, how He loves us..."

The rain begins to fall faster, thicker. Yet they do not seem to make impact with her skin. Rather, they gently caress it, sending waves through her spine.

Love. Love. I love you.

How?

"I'm so inadequate..."

I love you.

"My sins are so great, Lord."

I forgave you.

A tear mingles with the raindrops and splashes to the concrete floor.

The singer's voice quavers. "How He loves..."

She knows that everyone in the room feels it. The electricity, the sensation in the air.

I love you.

The rain is pouring now, as though God himself has opened the gates of Heaven and showered love on them in the most tangible, physical way she has ever known.

The lights have dimmed. The arena is bathed in moonlight.

All across the stadium, from the bottom seats all the way up, people are crying out to God. Falling to their knees. Sobbing with the realization that He loves them.

Her hair is glistening in the drenching rain, eyes shut, mouth wide in the unending song to the Father.

"How He loves us so..."

The rain slows a bit. Her clothes cling to her body, soaked. Puddles of blue-green water, puddles of love, fill every crack and every depression in the concrete floor.

Overcome, she falls to her knees, still crying out to God.

Her words become a meaningless jumble. "I love you! Love you love you oh, God, love, love, love, love..."

The rain has nearly stopped. She stays face down, absorbing love, absorbing the heart of God.

Who knew love felt this way?

The rain ceases, but the love continues. She can still feel God's presence in the room.

She stares up toward the dizzying expanse of sky. But it's a ceiling again.

Did she imagine it?

Her wet hair and clothes, the wide puddles on the floor, the smiling tearstained faces around her tell her just how real it all was. Is.

How He loves us so.

City on a Hill

2009-03-09T12:48:00.000-07:00

We're a city on a hill

A lamp on a stand

We shine for the world

'Cause it's Your command

There's a world out there

That's hungry for Your bread

But they don't understand us

Just like You said

That's why we're here

To help the hurt and the lost

To shine for the blind

No matter what the cost

They're stumbling in the dark

And they're looking for the light

So we shine a beacon of hope

To pierce through the night

We're a city on a hill

A lamp on a stand

We shine for the world

'Cause it's Your command

You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house.

Matthew 5:14-15

Introductory Page

2009-03-08T14:04:00.000-07:00

If this was a real notebook, this post would be my very first page. The one where I write "Kelsie Beers" in neat letters at the top of the page, and then scribble some contact info for in case I lose my notebook.

But it's not a real notebook, so I think maybe I'll tell you what this notebook is for instead.

This is where you can read all my writing. You might like some of it. You might like none of it. You might like all of it. I'm still trying to find my style, so some stories or poems might make you go "Yay!" and some might make you go "...Nahh." I guess I'll see as we go along.

I write all sorts of stuff. Stories, prayers, poems. I'm writing a book with one of my best friends, and I may post some excerpts from that.

All the writing is original...and all of it is mine...please don't take any of the stuff I write without giving me credit!

I'm opening my mind, my feelings, my emotions sometimes, and sticking them out on the internet for you to see. So go ahead! Enjoy them.

Writing is something I like to do. Writing is something I'm good at doing.

Maybe writing is what I'm called to do.