February 28, 2012

Yay for...

Feeling fat & lonely.

Breaking a straightener.

Cutting open a fetal pig.

Flunking a French test. (I'm sure I didn't really, but to me a C is flunking...)

Still feeling fat.

Laughing because if you don't, you might cry.

Crying.

Sharing sad memories.

Friends. <3

Running.

..... My day. Life goes on.

February 23, 2012

some pictures









February 13, 2012

Twice - Christina Rossetti

I took my heart in my hand
(O my love, O my love); 
I said: Let me fall or stand,
Let me live or die, 
But this once hear me speak-
(O my love, O my love)-
Yet a woman's words are weak;
You should speak, not I.

You took my heart in your hand
With a friendly smile,
With a critical eye you scanned,
Then set it down,
And said: It is still unripe,
Better wait awhile,
Wait while the skylarks pipe,
Til the corn grows brown

As you set it down it broke-
Broke, but I did not wince;
I smiled at the speech you spoke,
At your judgment that I heard:
But I have not often smiled 
Since then, nor questioned since,
Nor cared for corn-flowers wild,
Nor sung with the singing bird.

I take my heart in my hand, 
O my God, O my God,
My broken heart in my hand:
Thou hast seen, judge Thou
My hope was written on sand,
O my God, O my God:
Now let Thy judgment stand,
Yea, judge me now.

This contemned of a man,
This marred heedless one day,
This heart take Thou to scan
Both within and without:
Refine with fire its gold,
Purge Thou with dross away-
Yea, hold it in Thy hold, 
Whence none can pluck it out.

I take my heart in my hand-
I shall not die, but live-
Before Thy face I stand;
I, for Thou callest such:
All that I have I bring,
All that I am I give,
Smile Thou and I shall sing,
But shall not question much.

February 6, 2012

2012

This year holds a lot of potential for me. I could be moving out, I could be moving away, I could stay here. There's a lot undecided...but here's what I know I want to (and can) do this year:

read 36 books. I have the titles all listed on a piece of paper. I've finished one so far... One Thousand Gifts... it was phenomenal.

finish my journal. I'm about halfway done.

lose those pesky 18 pounds. I could blame it on Sizzler, I could blame it on college... but really I can only blame me. There are plenty of skinny people in college... and plenty of skinny people at Sizzler =\ However, a friend of mine and I are long-distance accountabilit..ing... and we've got a plan all worked. SKINNY FOR SUMMER!

visit Atlanta, GA. this is already scheduled for spring break!

write songs. gawshh I'm such a chicken!

finish watching Lost. I've been on season 2 foreeevvverrrr.

seize opportunities. daang, this is tough!

and from my bucket list which I'm sure you've read extensively... I choose memorize a book of the Bible and get ripped as my top two. I'll keep you posted on that.

What do you want to do this year?

February 5, 2012

I Wear My Dreams

I Wear My Dreams Like Ambitious, Impulsive Thrift Store Finds.


By themselves, they are so ordinary. Tossed away by others... rejected... I picked them up and somehow saw beauty in them. Pieced them together. Created something new out of things old. Now as I turn this way and that in front of my floor length mirror... I like the way these dreams fit. I like how they gently hug my curves and subtley disguise my flaws. The colors bring out my eyes.


I smile.


It's as if they were stitched just for me. Hands that held these dreams before me prayed over them, each thread and stitch. Words were spoken, blessings were blessed, and prayers were prayed.


These are My Dreams. 


That's why they don't look as good on other girls. They were made uniquely for me. My shape, my size. Other girls can't pull off these dreams... can't rock them like I can.


I Paint My Dreams Like Bold, Colorful Strokes Across a Black and White Canvas. 


Sometimes I'm afraid to paint what I really want. Sometimes I wonder if I ought to paint black and white like everyone else, but then I notice that the Colors are what make mine Beautiful. 


Back and forth brush strokes. Back and forth.


It's almost monotonous. I want to give up. Progress is slow. 


"Don't stop. Step back. Look at what you are making. It's beautiful." Sometimes I forget to listen. But sometimes I remember, and I step back... and it takes my breath away, it is so beautiful.


"Beauty comes from those who are beautiful," He reminds.


"Beauty comes from you," I whisper back. And I keep whispering His Beautiful Words over this painting, over these dreams, to dry the paint so it is captured forever, His and mine. Our Beautiful Thing.


I Sing My Dreams Like Calculated Arias. Never off pitch, never quite letting go. Just barely giving but I Will Never Mess Up. I will not be made a fool. I will practice until I get it perfect. I will keep them in the safety of my shower... I will lock them in the airtight box of my bedroom. People will not, must not hear the notes. What if I squeak, or run out of air? They might laugh. I cannot risk it.


He keeps on reminding. "Sing, for it is beautiful." 


I grimace. "Lord, I might screw up." 


"It will echo beauty." 


For some reason, His urging gives me confidence. So finally, finally, I sing.


And Oh, My Soul, it Magnifies the Lord With Beauty.